#oh shit he clapped his feet going down into the suicide okAY oh a LIGHT UP SCROLL oh and they're going to jump a few poles with it OKAY

[sorrellegiance]

i DO LOVE A COCKROACH HEAD!!

[selphplusplus]

When you have to stay quiet. Zero dark, 30.

Ok but how you gonna say anything? Lmao.

Without admitting to being a damn spying motherfucker?

lol Leviticus

Shotguns and the indigenous Greenery

Now we get biblical.

Not in the Jesus kind of way

But in the old testament to Ash, leave them where they lay

Sodom and Gomorrah siren song

Where a lot looked back and saw the salt

His wife fall as the tears from his face. The salt was the same.

We’re talking 10 Commandments

Or 10 Command lines.

Airgas, in a flood, a torrent

A dark, dark, dark dark net torrent

Of information, flooding a particular access point

Filling the entire spectrum

With the seven seals

The seven trumpets

And the four horsemen

All set up

Bitch you know what I’m talking about

Stomp those feet baby stomp.

I can hear it from here

It’s funny that way

It’s very funny that way, because I understand what stemming is, as I am the same in that regard the differences

Let me channel a little Eminem

We can start with the Penis (mine is bigger by exponential amounts)

Then we can scream I don’t give a fuck and see, who really means it

When my balls hit the floor concrete cracks

When your balls come out, everybody laughs.

“See what he’s writing. “

🤏🏻👆🏻

Echoes of your own paranoia

Because you’re watching in real time.

Let’s let the rest of the world in on the Truman show huh?

You too loud.

Damn. Passive aggressive bullshit really.

Underground like a land mind.

Boom 💥

And you thought it was cool to ruin a friendship over all this. Without coming to me first. Just took actions into your own hands. Shit. Acting a lot like that person you in therapy over.

Oh. Oh? I don’t play fair.

You wanna pass judgment what you’re doing is infinitely morally worse than an addiction. You are driven by pure ego. Control freak behavior. Familiar. Hmm.

We can both break if we gonna walk down this bridge. Mutually assured destruction.

You don’t ever even see me. Ffs

And you know only the shit you’ve been spying on. Scum. Disgusting. All talk like you what to have a discussion but instead not a word. Just sideways roundabout shit. Judgmental glances. Never a “are you okay”.

So how you justify this? Peering into someone’s deepest and most intimate thoughts without their consent. No better than a rapist. The invasion is the same. And we both know mental wounds are much harder to heal.

Trust huh? Never had it with you it seems.

火にいきるのが死ねよ

That also explains the nonchalant attitude of my brother. Shit gets clearer and clearer. Say what you gotta say.

Ruin. Chaos for chaos sake. Bored and unfulfilled. So let’s start drama huh? Adopt 1000 mental disorders. Find a new identity. Make the ones around you enemies. When they care about you.

A master in self sabotage can easily recognize another. Queue up the blue October lyrics. Suicidal hate. Retarded disfigured clown, too much make up, it’s a lie how you act. But always always on stage. Histrionic. Borderline. Narcissist. Pick your flavor of the week.

Add in a little gasoline the self destructive kind, it’s become a part of your personality, only unlike Plath who phoenix flame rose to devour the ones around without recourse, indiscriminately burning

The world to a wasteland.

You are the self-immolating monk selling snake oil. You crave the camera but can’t light the match. Crave the attention but shy away from the flash. Talking a lot about smoke, but ecig when it counts.

PS,

How you like hearing your moms cheeks get clapped? Do I need to drop the pictures too. I think it’s easier to tell the truth.

Foiling your Deux

Fall out Boy Edition

Love from the other side, fuck it why not

Let’s go there, more like love from the afterlife

Apocalypse got the better of the whole damn nuclear family.

But the atom hurts the worst when the fission breaks away the til heat death do these bonds we break.

Bloodsport what too light a phrase

The hysteric craze

The blame laid

On a mantle too small and cluttered to hold another candle.

But you expect it to handle your wild fires , just as unpredictable,

I apologize in advance for the collateral damaged goods.

Baggage claim

This is the captain from the Malaysian plane.

And sugar it’s going down.

Loaded pistol grip pump when I cock my pen and pull it.

Not leaving this bed, hospice said

Sick in the head, in other words

I’m as ill as it gets.

Dance dance to the sound of beat down

Bitch this that friction in my genes that the original was talking about.

Only there’s no wish to be it.

Infact I prefer to just cackle and laugh

As the plane crash smashed what’s still intact of your sanity.

More vanity today.

Looking in mirrors and hate what you see

The bitch in reflections,

Welcome to the symphony

You called to strike up the band

But when the bass dropped and you had to with your thoughts

The thot in the mirror even saw what a raw deal they got.

So now you’re invisible, she ran away

At the thought of being you one more day.

Sorry prematurely I gotta cut it short and have to end it.

I mentioned earlier, there’s something else that needs writ and imma pin it.

They say the tribulation begins with a wailing and a gnashing of teeth. Bruxism keeps pace, there will be no teeth to gnash. Just dust and gums.

I will show you something different than your shadow at dawn weighing heavy behind you. Or your twilight wick at wax’s end. I will show you your traditions are naught but fear in a handful of dust.

The vessel, no the chalice bears no water.

Still we’ve yet passed the Thames

Or Styx or Lethe.

Yet all the same

April still to come, remains the cruelest month. So rudely forced.

“But what will people say?”

Zeus to Persephone.

So rudely forced.

The stork brings only deserts.

The San Pedro songs in fever dreams

We’re just so. Dreams.

Shattered like the mirror, like you. Like me.

I think it’s the similarities you resent.

Surrogate for the self.

Sterilize.

Better than euthanize.

Better than non-alive.

Because when you live the suffering is extended.

Saint de Sade. Patron Saint of Masochists and self flagellation.

Leviticus

Shotguns and the indigenous Greenery

Now we get biblical.

Not in the Jesus kind of way

But in the old testament to Ash, leave them where they lay

Sodom and Gomorrah siren song

Where a lot looked back and saw the salt

His wife fall as the tears from his face. The salt was the same.

We’re talking 10 Commandments

Or 10 Command lines.

Airgas, in a flood, a torrent

A dark, dark, dark dark net torrent

Of information, flooding a particular access point

Filling the entire spectrum

With the seven seals

The seven trumpets

And the four horsemen

All set up

Bitch you know what I’m talking about

Stomp those feet baby stomp.

I can hear it from here

It’s funny that way

It’s very funny that way, because I understand what stemming is, as I am the same in that regard the differences

Let me channel a little Eminem

We can start with the Penis (mine is bigger by exponential amounts)

Then we can scream I don’t give a fuck and see, who really means it

When my balls hit the floor concrete cracks

When your balls come out, everybody laughs.

[seek-its-opposite]

photosensitivity | wc: 2156 | ao3

prompt from @catarinquar 65. "look at me—just breathe, okay?”

post-demons. warning: some references to suicidal ideation 

*****

Twelve hours after almost shooting his partner, Fox Mulder is released from the hospital in satisfactory health. His partner, whose health is decidedly unsatisfactory, is entrusted with his care. As she signs her name at the bottom of the release form she avoids eye contact with the nurses, half convinced that if they look at her they won’t let her leave. Lately she’s been thinking of howlers.

Scully, silent and reckless, drives them both two hours out of Rhode Island before stopping at a motel on the Connecticut-New York state line. The clouds are threatening what looks to be a hell of a mid-afternoon storm, and she doesn’t want to be on the road with him when it hits. She leaves her rumpled partner in the car with the window cracked while she goes to the front desk, glancing back possessively over her shoulder as the woman behind the counter gets their keys. One room, two beds. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Mulder.”

She keeps seeing him like she found him, on his knees before the ghosts of his childhood. She sees him praying to the barrel of his gun.

By the time the rain slaps the window Mulder is lying stiff as a board on top of the cheap comforter, hands flat at his side. Scully, doing a poor job at concentrating on the dog-eared copy of Into the Wild she stole from his apartment, eyes him from the corner. The lamp beside her flickers and hums. Lightning flares through the blinds, cutting Mulder in half diagonally like a Vegas magician.

Extreme photosensitivity, the doctor had said, scrawling notes for her on things to look out for. She looks for curtains to close and finds none.

“Shit,” she mutters.

“Scully?” Mulder squints at her from the bed.

“Just the storm.”

He closes his eyes again. “Hey, Scully, if April showers bring May flowers, what do May flowers bring?”

She doesn’t even have time to decide whether to indulge him. The next bolt of lightning is close, flashing white-hot outside the window just seconds before the thunder claps. Mulder cries out and grabs his head, sitting up so quickly he slides off the side of the mattress and hits the floor with a crash.

“Mulder!”

He’s unresponsive when she reaches him, flat on his back and glassy eyed on the carpet. Scully crouches at his side.

“Mulder,” she prompts, more measured this time. “Can you hear me?”

She feels his pulse racing in his neck and moves her other hand to his chest, spreading her palm across his stupid, hot-blooded heart. After a second Mulder blinks and focuses on her. He winces and sits up, letting out a long breath.

“Easy,” Scully warns. She grabs his shoulder and guides him, gently, so he’s facing her, sitting against the side of the bed with his left knee at his chest. He slumps back, his arm lolling across his knee.

“I saw my mom,” he says. His voice is rough. “With the cancer man.”

“You have no way of knowing if that’s true.”

“I have no way of knowing if it’s a memory,” he counters. “I know it’s true.”

He leans his head back against the comforter and shuts his eyes.

Scully rests her hand on Mulder’s forehead, her pinkie in his hair and her thumb stroking his brow. His hairline is sweaty. “Mulder, the lightning isn’t good for you,” she murmurs. “It’s triggering your seizures.”

Mulder huffs out a laugh. She wonders what he sees behind those eyelids. “Maybe if you show the storm your badge,” he suggests.

She almost smiles. “I’ll do that.”

The room lights up again. She has to get him out of here. Scully pushes herself off the floor, patting Mulder’s leg as she stands. He looks up at her. “I was kidding,” he says.

“I’ll be right back.”

The bathroom has no window. It’s short on floor space, but if she folds a towel for him to sit in front of the bathtub here, folds another in front of the sink here—with the door closed it should work. There’s a shell-shaped night light plugged into the outlet; she flips the switch and the room glows faint pink, so warm and sweet she’s overcome with love with it for a second. Dana, look at you, she thinks. You can’t tell the difference between a panic room and a home.

“Come here,” she says to Mulder, and holds out her hand. She pulls him to his feet.

When he sees the bathroom he says, “I didn’t realize we checked into the Ritz.”

She replies, “I used your card.”

They sit on worn towels in their socks with their knees touching. In the shadows she can almost trick herself into thinking they’re on a stakeout.

“You don’t have to stay in here,” he tells her, trying to sound casual. “If anything happens I’ll just scream in agony.” He doesn’t pull off the joke.

“I’m good,” she soothes.

He called her in the middle of the night with blood down his shirt and she came to find him. It’s been too late to leave for years.

“Scully—” Mulder pauses.

She waits.

“That was the third time I’ve aimed my gun at you.”

“I wasn’t keeping track,” she replies. A lie. “How’s this lighting for you? Is this better?”

“Scully.”

“No. I’m not going to do this right now.”

“Do what?” he pleads.

“Make this about your guilt. We’ve both aimed our weapons at each other. God, Mulder.” She gestures at his shoulder. “I shot you.”

She shot him is the tamest way to put it. She shot him so he wouldn’t spend his life in jail. She drugged him and drove him across the country, slept in rest stop parking lots at dawn, wet an old washcloth with the melting ice water from the bottom of her cooler and draped it across his forehead. She never talks about that part. She understands that they are each tallying up the wrong score, that when they look at themselves they see the ways they hurt each other as more legitimate than the ways they heal. In their pact to trust each other they count only the breaches of contract.

It’s been scaring her lately to think of what legacy she might leave with him. To think he could get it so wrong. It makes her furious.

“You want me to tell you I think you were reckless and stupid?” she continues. “I do! You put a hole in your head. But we both know that’s not what you feel bad about.”

Thunder rumbles muted above their heads.

“I had to know,” Mulder insists.

“You could have killed yourself, Mulder.” She’s angry now, properly. Her ribs feel like they’re trying to break out of her body. “Do I mean that little to you?”

His lips part, like one of his fish.

“I need you,” Scully sniffs. Her voice is very small.

Mulder reaches out and touches her shin with just his fingertips. She shudders.

“I’m here,” he says.

“Then listen to me.” She takes a breath, steadies herself. “Stop punishing yourself like it’ll make me better. I never asked for your penance.”

“You don’t ask for anything.” He sounds almost bewildered.

“I do,” she says bitterly. She thinks, You just haven’t noticed.

She can’t believe she thought it was him showing up at her door on a Friday night with a bottle of wine. Desire makes her foolish; it has since she was a girl.

At this point—because their lives are a divine joke—they’re rudely interrupted. In the low light Scully tastes the warm blood on her upper lip before Mulder can see it. A nosebleed. Fuck. Now? She cups her palm beneath her nose and lunges for the sink, leaning over it, knuckles white around the counter.

“Oh, Scully,” Mulder sighs. He stands.

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad.”

It’s really not, considering. She pinches the bridge of her nose and takes stock of her body. There’s a dim ache in her head, a low throbbing just between her eyes. Her neck is stiff. Her limbs are sore; her ankles will probably be bruised tomorrow from sitting on the tile, even with socks on. She bruises so easily now, her soft, bad-apple skin. She’ll need a full night of sleep tonight. She should eat something that doesn’t come from a vending machine, but that might be pushing it.

Mulder reaches for the toilet paper, and she holds up her hand to stop him.

“Give it a minute,” she says. Over time she’s learned it’s easier to just bend over the sink or the toilet and wait it out until it slows down. Her blood stains the ceramic basin food-coloring red.

Mulder hovers at her shoulder, so charged with anxious energy she can almost hear him worrying. She’s his little watched pot; it’s like he thinks if he stays close, she can never boil over.

“Mulder, I’m in here to take care of you,” Scully sighs, and even though she doesn’t mean it as anything close to a joke, she finds it suddenly funny. What a pair. She laughs a weak, wet laugh and wipes a tear from her eye.

He chuckles. “We can take turns.”

Without looking up at him, she orders, “Sit down, Mulder.”

He sits on the closed toilet, nervous hands clasped between his spread-wide knees.

After a while her nose stops bleeding. Scully accepts one wad of toilet paper from Mulder to wipe down the sink and a few squares to bunch in her hand, just in case. As she’s washing up she notices the way her palm, the one she held up to him earlier, is smudged at its center with dried blood. She thinks of Stevenson’s Black Spot, of Shirley Jackson’s, and wonders if Mulder is getting the picture yet: Dana Scully, marked for death.

What she does not think of is the stigmata. She hasn’t had much time lately for resurrection.

She sits back down on the floor, this time taking the towel at Mulder’s feet, and leans against the wall—looking up at him now, as usual. The right half of his face glows night-light pink; the left is dark. She stares into the chiaroscuro contours of his silhouette and knows that for better or for worse he’ll get the last of her. He can’t die when she does; he can’t. She fiddles with the toilet paper in her hand.

“You know I don’t blame you for this,” she says quietly. Her mouth tastes like iron. “You’re disrespecting me if you blame yourself.”

Mulder shakes his head. “Scully, you’ve given me four years of your life.” His voice catches on something he doesn’t say. “After everything you’ve done for me, for Samantha—you deserve the truth as much as I do.”

No. He did this in her name? “Mulder.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You should know her, Scully. You should’ve known her.”

She, leaning forward too, clasps her hands too hard around his palms. “I know you,” she says fiercely.

Mulder, at a loss, shuts his eyes and sobs without tears. His chin drops toward his chest, shoulders heaving.

Scully shifts on the towel so she’s on her knees, pushing herself up to meet him. She puts a finger underneath his chin and guides his face up to look into hers. His eyes are dry when he opens them, but his breathing is ragged.

This desperate, passionate thing between them scares her. She swallows the bitter taste on her tongue.

“Hey, look at me,” she urges. “Just breathe, okay?”

He breathes. She cups his cheek.

“I do not accept answers like that,” she insists. This, too, is an order. He nods, dazed.

She sees him kneeling before sun-faded photos of a smiling little sister and two cold New England parents. He was raised to be sacrificed to a cause and he’s been trying ever since.

Thunder rolls in the distance. Scully puts her hands on Mulder’s knees. Her head throbs.

“Tell me something about Samantha I don’t know,” she says. She sits back on her heels.

Mulder pauses and takes another uneven breath. He smiles gingerly. “She loved doing cartwheels,” he says. “She was always crashing into the couch when it was too cold for her to do them outside. There just wasn’t room. She always thought this time there would be enough room.” His eyes start to well up.

“After Sam broke her collarbone she couldn’t do cartwheels for months, so she taught me how to do them out in the yard. She was like a drill sergeant." He laughs through his nose. "It was fall, and she made me clear the leaves like a runway.”

He’s crying now. Mulder runs a hand over his mouth and sits back. He looks at Scully, ruined.

“Do you think he’s her father too?”

[awkwardlittlepringle]

Queer ‘n Crazy

CHAPTER NINE

Hello, fellow Fanders!

I really hope y'all are doing okay, with the virus going around and everything. School just shut down where I live, and the gravity of the whole situation is just getting to me, really. I might release this chapter a day late, sorry about that; I'm just a bit shaken up. :)

Are you guys doing okay? You better be! If  you aren't just mention it and I'll give you a virtual hug. Here's a virtual hug, even if you don’t need it. 🤗

(Is that a hug emoji? IDK.)

ANYWAY, HERE'S THE CHAPTER!

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter 

WARNINGS: Swearing, obliviousness, nicknames, mention of suicide, depression, yelling, disaster gays, watching people when they sleep... I think that's it.

.................

"If you're sad, and depressed, cause your life's a fucking mess, if you're sad and you know it clap your-"

Virgil groaned, trying to will his heavy hand to rise. It wasn't working.

The tinkling tune kept playing, and Virgil, instead of turning it off, buried his head in his pillow instead. Usually he'd slap it off immediately, but Logan had suggested leaving it on the other side of the room in an effort to help Virgil get out of bed.

Needless to say, it didn't have the intended effect.

Virgil heard a noise from the other side of the room. "Turn that bloody thing off." Logan grumbled, shifting in his bed to squint at Virgil. Virgil poked his tongue out at him, before turning the other way and clamping his hands over his ears. Logan groaned into his pillow, before lifting his head and putting on his glasses.

Now able to actually see Virgil he glared at the teen, who was watching him with a smirk.

"If you're suicidal and you know it-"

"Why the hell did you make that you're alarm, you bitch." said Logan, cricking his neck. Virgil tossed the covers away from himself and sat up, rubbing his face. "Patton said to change it to If you're happy and you know it. I thought this would be more bareable."

"Well it clearly isn't." Logan scrunched up his nose -How the fuck is he so cute?- and yawned. "Turn it off..." "You do it, you're closer!" "It's your alarm!" Pretty irrefutable logic.

Virgil grimaced before dragging his unwilling feet to hit the frigid ground. You'd think carpet would be warmer. He trudged over to his dresser and grabbed his phone; dismissing the alarm. Upon doing so, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror.

Almost subconciously, he hissed at his reflection. Gross.

He froze, shoulders hunching, and whirled around to face Logan. A bewildered expression graced the other's usually stoic features, accompanied by a heart-stoppingly hot smirk.

"Did you just hiss?" Oh shit he thinks you're a weirdo. Great job dumba- "That is adorable." Virgil started, heat rushing up his neck.

"What?" "I said, that is adorable." Logan's face softened as he gazed at Virgil. (Who was still frozen.) He thinks I'm cute? "How the hell is it cute?!" "I have no clue. How come you do it?" Virgil hunched in on himself, bewildered. "I dunno, why do you wanna know anyway?" "My roommate, who's already cat-like enough, hisses. It's only natural for me to be curious." "What do you mean, cat-like?"

"You sit on top of high surfaces, humm when you're pleased, are attracted to warmth, curl up when you sleep, you hiss-" "You watch me when I sleep?!" "I- uh-"

Logan began to stammer, his face turning a brilliant crimson. Despite his extensive vocabulary, he seemed lost for words. His sleep-shirt hung off his shoulder, and a dull light filtered through the gap in the curtains. It illuminated his pale skin and reflected off his glasses, casting a halo-like glow around his flustered figure. His bedhead was ruffled and sticking up awkwardly, and a beautiful blush dusted across his exposed collarbones and cheeks. His hand came up to cover his mouth as he avoided Virgil's gaze.

God, he's gorgeous.

Virgil felt his blush returning, and he snapped his open jaw closed. He turned back toward his mirror to see he was grinning. For once, it didn't look too bad on him.

"Uh, so, what class do we have first?" He watched Logan's reflection as he turned back to Virgil. "English." "Shit, I forgot to finish my draft." Virgil snatched his hairbrush off his dresser, running it through his bed-head frantically. Logan chuckled, stretching his arms out. "You can finish it at breakfast." "How long do we have 'till then?" said Virgil, now rummaging through his closet. "40 minutes."

"Okay." Virgil turned toward Logan. "I'm assuming you're gonna take a shower?" "Mhm. I honestly don't understand how you go without one." he said, finally getting out of bed. He grabbed a towel out of his chest. "Is it alright if I go first?" "Go ahead."

Half an hour later the two of them were rushing around, doing a few final checks. Well, at least Virgil was rushing around. "Are you sure I can finish it at breakfast?" Logan frowned. "I don't know, it's your writing." "I'm just editing." "Well then why wouldn't you?" He replied, straightening his tie. Virgil shrugged, grabbing his pencil case off his desk and shoving it into his bag.

"I dunno, Lo. I'm just a mess in general." "You're a pretty great mess, if I do say so myself." Warmth flooded through Virgil at the compliment, leaving him confused. This was the third time this morning he'd blushed because of Logan...

Logan, however, didn't seem to notice his roommates reaction. He grabbed his bag off of his desk before turning to Virgil. "I feel like I'm forgetting something..." said Virgil, ruffling through his bag. "Keys?" "Ah, right. Thanks, Logan." "No problem."

Just as Virgil was about to leave, he spotted an empty pill bottle on his desk. He grabbed it, before shoving it into his pocket. Logan shot a questioning look at Virgil as he joined him in the hallway.

"I'm seeing my phsyciatrist today, she said she was going to switch my meds. Wanted to know which ones I was taking." Logan nodded.

The two walked down the hallway in silence, enjoying each other's company. While it was peaceful, Virgil couldn't help but adress the slight giddiness that seemed to have settled in his chest. It was confusing; he had no reason to feel this way. It was a nice feeling, though. Kind of like he was floating.

He followed Logan down the hallway to an elevator, and stepped inside. As the doors closed, Logan asked-

"How come you didn't finish your draft?" Virgil shrugged. "I dunno, I just couldn't get it done." Logan frowned. "Weren't you staring at your computer screen for like 30 minutes last-" "Shhhhhh~!" Virgil held up a finger.

"What?" "You're ruining it." "What am I ruining, exactly?" "My excuse." The doors opened at the lobby, and the pair stepped out, and began walking to the doors.

"I'm just saying, you can't exactly tell Mrs Von that." Virgil scrunched up his nose. The two walked up to the sliding doors. Just as they cracked open, a familiar voice filtered through.

"Hey guys!!!!" Despite his confusion, Virgil found himself smiling.

Standing in the middle of the courtard was a grinning Roman, waving madly at them. Patton was with him, also waving, although in a much calmer manner. Logan exhaled as he adjusted his bag strap.

"Good morning you two." They joined the others in the courtyard, and the four of them began to walk toward the dining hall. This had become the usual routine for them. Each pair would come out about eight minutes before breakfast, wait for the other, and then they'd walk together.

"Have you guys finished your drafts for english?" "Yup." "Pretty much. I'm gonna look over it at breakfast, though." Virgil groaned. "I swear I'm the only one who isn't finished." He said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "How much do you have left?" asked Patton, falling into step beside him. "Just editing." "Well then you shouldn't have a problem, should you?" He said, smiling encouragingly. Virgil shrugged, looking away.

What if he didn't finish though? He was fine with being in trouble, but being called out in front of everyone was a high possibility, and certainly wasn't one he liked.

"C'mon, Virg!" Patton brushed his shoulder against Virgil's. "You'll be alright. All the teachers are understanding, they take illnesses into account, remember?" Virgil chuckled. "It sounds like you'rer talking about cancer." Virgil's eyes widened. "N-Not that I'm joking about cancer, of course- that's kind of stupid-" "Virgil, I know. Calm down." Patton linked his arm through Virgil's. It was a simple touch, but it certainly helped calm him.

"And anyway, I have something else to mention." Patton slowed his pace, tugging Virgil along with him. Virgil let out a small noise at the movement, before steadying himself and glancing at Patton, worried. Noticing Virgil's expression, Patton let out a small chuckle.

"Nothing bad I promise." Virgil raised an eyebrow, causing Patton to gasp. "How do you do that? You're like Doctor Who!" Virgil scoffed. "Hardly." "Anyway, I just wanted to ask... Are you good?" Virgil looked at strangely.   "Yeah~? I mean I haven't got worse since I got here-" "No no no, not like that. I mean, this morning, you looked kinda spaced out." Was it that noticable?

"I was? I didn't notice." "I'd like to make it clear that I don't believe that for a second."  Apparently Patton could see through him. "Tell me~! That is if you want to, of course." "I'd prefer not to." Patton pouted, but left it alone.

But now Virgil was even more confused. There isn't any reason for him not to tell Patton, so why didn't he tell him? Maybe to avoid sounding crazy?

"Hurry up, slowpokes!" Virgil looked up to see Roman watching them from around 20 feet away, tapping his foot impatiently. "At this rate all the hashbrowns will be gone." "They refill them, Roman." "Shut it, Calculator."

"Roman! What did I say about name calling!" Roman rolled his eyes. "Okay, dad." Patton grinned mischeviously. "That's right. You're all my kiddos now." Logan blinked.

"You're younger than me-" "Hush, Lolo. Respect your elders." "Roman what have you done." said Virgil jokingly. "We're gonna be late!" said Roman, grabbing Patton by the hand. "Accompany me, Padre!"

Logan watched the pair's retreating backs with a dumbstruck look.

"I have never been more confused in my life?" Virgil snickered at the look on his face, before grabbing his elbow. His skin tingled where it met Logan's. "Come on, Logan. If we leave them alone they'll probably find a way to burn the hall down.

"There are no fires lit in the hall?!"

................

Summary : Virgil and Logan are getting ready for bed, Virgil being a blushing gay mess the whole way. They meet the others in the courtyard, and walk to the dining hall. Patton notices that Virgil's spaced out today, to which he responds with "I didn't notice." It doesn't fool Patton though. Platonic Lamp shenanigins ensue, and Virgil is left wondering what the elated feeling in his chest is.

TAGS : 

@someone-idk-is-here

@true-chaotic-dumbass

@tired-babyboy 

@666frostwolf

If you wanna be added to the list, shoot me an ask. :)

[captainamericasbeard]

A State of Grey

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Violence, character death, depression, allusion to suicide. (yeah, its a fun one.) 

Summary: One of the Avengers (Surprise bitch, its you) is dealing with depression and it has deeper ramifications than you expected.

A/N: So I have bi polar depression and just went through a really really bad depressive episode. I haven’t seen a lot of fics that realistically portray depression and I wanted to give it a go. 

Your clock is shouting at you. 9:50 and the briefing starts in 10 minutes. You want to cry at the mere thought of interacting with your teammates but instead you push yourself up to sitting and put your feet on the warm hardwood floor. Your shoulders slump with the effort and your body is screaming at you to fall back under the covers where you’ve been for the last 3 days.

“You can do this,” you mutter under your breath, your voice cracking. “You can DO this. Now do it!” And you do. You drag yourself off of the bed and over to your closet. Your body feels like a rock but you’d rather show up to the briefing on time and pass through unnoticed than show up late and take a verbal lashing from Steve. You hastily pick up a pair of leggings and a mostly clean shirt, on old oversized henley Bucky had let you steal, and threw on your converse. You quickly splash your face with water and attempt to reign in your hair. There was nothing that could be done about the bags under your eyes or the constant downturn of your lips. 9:57. Time to go.

You move softly down the hallway, hoping to slide into the conference room unnoticed. No such luck. Bucky whips open his door just as you’re passing, trying to pull on his boots and a hoodie at the same time. You suspect his super-solider hearing alerted him to your presence.

“Nice shirt, Y/N!” He says, a smirk playing on the corners of his mouth. You want to answer, smile, anything but nothing comes so you just shrug your shoulders and keep walking. Shit, it's bad. I cant even talk to my favorite person. Bucky pulls up alongside you and throws his arm around your shoulder.

“You alright, Buttercup?” His nickname for you usually makes your heart glow, you’re his buttercup, his little ray of sunshine. But not lately. “I haven’t seen you since the last mission.” As he squeezes your shoulders he feels bone where there didn’t used to be any. There’s no hiding from him, his eyes travel over the bags under your eyes, your unkept hair, your hip bones protruding.

“I’m alright,” you manage, “just tired.” Not a lie, you reason. Bucky drops his arm, respecting your silent request for space, but he keeps pace with you the rest of the way towards the conference room. He manages to maneuver it so you’re sitting next to him as Steve closes the door and starts the briefing.

Your concentration ebbs in and out. What you can gather is that it's a fairly simple mission, a takedown of a small Hydra base. 20 operatives, according to FRIDAY’S scans. The team will be you, Bucky, Nat, and Steve. Having grasped the basics you set your mind free to wander as you pick at the frayed edge of your shirt.

“Y/N!” Your head snaps up. How long had Steve been trying to get your attention?

“You with us now?” His eyes are stern as they lock on yours.

“Yes, sorry.”

“Is there a problem?” He asks with a lift of his eyebrow, Cap mode in full swing.

“No, sorry. I'm just tired.” Might as well keep up the lie. Bucky gives you a side glance which you try and fail to ignore.

“Well put some coffee in you. Jet leaves in 20.” With that Steve snaps his briefing binder shut and nods to dismiss the room. You work to be the last to leave but you still get pinned between Steve and Bucky. Steve has his concerned dad face on and he gently grabs your arm.

“You ok, Y/N?” His endless blue eyes are softer now, though his brow is knit with worry. “We can get Wanda to go if you’re not feeling well.” You consider his proposal for a brief moment but pride wins out.

“No, I’m ok. I want to go.” And you do. You’re holding out hope that a physical distraction will take your mind off the boulder sitting on your chest.

“Okay, well maybe just hang back in the jet until you’re needed?”

“Sounds good, boss.” You even attempt a smile. He releases your arm and you move to leave.

“You want me to get you that cup of coffee?” Bucky asks. You jump. Christ, you’d forgotten he was there. Coffee was a bad idea, considering the fact that you’d been living off crackers you pilfer in the night when the kitchen is most likely to be empty.

“No, I’m good. I’m just going to go suit up.” You give his hand a squeeze that you hope communicates Thanks for looking out for me as you head off toward the tac room. You fail to catch his concerned gaze following you down the hallway.

It wasn’t just 20 hydra agents. It was more like 60. You waited in the jet for as long as you could but you could hear the team losing ground. Just as you’re standing to move into the fray Steve’s exhausted voice comes over the coms. “Can you give us a hand out here, Y/N?”

“Already on my way.” You move down the ramp of the jet and focus your body on the energy flitting all around you. You grip balls of light like baseballs in your bare hands and hurl them at the closest Hydra agents. They go down, twitching from the current flowing through their bodies. You conjure two more balls and throw them at the agents attacking Nat. They go down just as hard as the first two. But now you’ve attracted some attention and the agents begin to target you.

You throw up one shield and then another to block the bullets hurtling towards you. You throw two more balls of energy and take down two more agents. But now you’re starting to feel like something is off. You can’t feel the currents of energy flowing around you anymore. Your next two hits don’t take the agents down, they merely stumble and continue towards you. You throw up another shield against a barrage of bullets only to have the shield shatter on impact. A bullet rips through your shoulder. You grunt and fall forward while the battle rages on. No one around you seems to realize there is something terribly wrong. You force yourself to your feet and try to conjure more energy only to have it fizzle and die in your hands. You can’t feel anything. There’s no power to draw from and no weapon in your hands.

Instinct kicks in as you fall back on your training. You’d never been one to simply rely on your powers so you’d had Nat put you through the ringer when you first joined the team. A good thing too because now it was the only thing standing between you and capture and torture. You swing your leg up and hook it around an agent’s head, pulling him to the ground while simultaneously punching out the trachea of another agent. You lash out violently, kicking, punching, even biting. Slowly the team gains ground.

Thinking it might be almost over you glance around at your teammates. Steve and Nat are holding their own. Your eyes search for Bucky only to see him pinned down by over a dozen agents. Fire burns in your chest at the sight. You work your way over to him, fighting your way through the melee, but you’ll come too late with too little. You see him drop to one knee. He’s not going to make it.

You search the air for any lick of energy you can focus in his direction but you know it’s useless. In desperation you reach down inside yourself, knowing you’re about to do something very very stupid. With no energy to draw from on the outside, you seek out every bit of bioelectricty coursing through your body. You cry out at the effort and drop to your knees. With your last piece of strength and a final, throat rawing scream you clap your hands together and direct all of your own energy at every agent in a 20 foot radius. Your vision blurs and then dims to black as you fall to the ground. The last thing you see is Bucky rushing towards you, hair swinging in his face, his eyes filled with fear and a silent scream pouring from his mouth. As you black out you think it's the last thing you’ll ever see.

You're in pain. You’re lying on a metal slab and everything hurts, especially your chest. You open your eyes only to close them again, the light of the med bay blinding you. You hear the shuffle of feet and can feel someone standing at your shoulder. Slower this time, you open your eyes and find Bucky standing over you. He’s standing, stance wide and arms crossed, with red rimmed eyes filled with anger and fear and… something else you can't process in this state.

“What happened?” your voice croaked.

“You died,” his voice was shaking and his hands were clenched.

“Am I still dead?” A poor attempt at a joke.

“No.”

“Oh, okay. Good.” You start to drift away again but Bucky isn’t having it.

“What the hell were you thinking? Why did you do that!?” His nostrils were flaring and, though his voice was low, it was filled with anger.

“I had to save you Buck,” you said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He grabs you shoulders and you wince but he doesn’t let go.

“Never do that again, Y/N, do you hear me? Never. I’m not worth- There’s no point if you’re- Just don’t do it, ok?” His eyes bore into yours and you know you’ll have to respond.

“I’ll always save you Buck. Always.” His hands drop to his sides and you reach out and take one. A look you can’t identify passes over his eyes before he buries his emotions and becomes blank. You wish for once he would just let the mask drop.

“Don't worry,” you squeeze his hand and he instinctually squeezes back, “I can handle it.” You give him a wane smile.

“No, you can’t Y/N.” Bruce strides into the room looking at what you assume is your medical chart.  “You were dead for 5 minutes. The time for brain death is 6.” He looks at you over the top of his glasses, snapping the thick file shut. “ You used over 90% of your own bioelectric energy to produce a blast that knocked out 20 Hydra agents. What happened?”

You sigh and glance at Bucky, “My powers stopped working.” The room went silent as Bucky and Bruce just stared. You took it as an invitation to continue. “One moment I could feel energy flowing around me and the next moment it was gone. I couldn’t conjure anything. So I drew energy from the only place I knew for certain I’d find it.”

“Well. That’s, interesting,” Bruce was calm but you could practically hear his brain churning. “I’ve never heard of a case where a natural born mutant lost their powers. Do you mind sticking around for a few days so I can run some tests?” Bucky’s eyes narrowed and he was about to protest when you cut him off.

“Whatever you want Doc, so long as I get to go back to sleep right now.” You could feel your body shutting down and you knew there was no way you could stop it. “By the way, why does my chest hurt?” “They had to use the paddles to bring you back. It took almost 400 jules of energy to get your heart to start again. It was the worst 5 minutes of my life.” Bucky almost whispered the last part as your brain fell into a foggy haze. You kept gripping his hand even as you drifted off to sleep.

2 am. You’ve been up since 2 am. You sit huddled on the couch under the coziest blanket you could find running a tiny ball of light across your fingertips. It’s the most you’d been able to conjure in a week. You’d been released from the med bay this morning and as you think back on your final conversation with Dr. Banner tears start rolling down your cheeks. The light flickers and fades.

You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks as you hear a door open and close. You don’t have to look up to know its Bucky. You’d felt a trembling in the air and you knew he was battling his own demons in the quiet morning hours. You shrank into the couch as he came towards the common area, trying to make yourself invisible.

“Couldn't sleep?” His gruff voice comes from behind the open refrigerator door. There was no hiding from Bucky.

“No, unfortunately not.” Your voice cracked with the effort of speaking. Bucky came around to sit on the couch and hands you a bottle of water. You both crack them open and take a sip in unison.

“Nightmare?” you ask. He answers with a short nod. “Need to talk about it?” you ask, knowing the answer. He sighs and looks down at the water bottle in his hands.

“No.” Then it’s silent between the two of you. The kind of silence that only comes with years of friendship and affection. “What’d the Doc say?” He keeps his eyes down and his tone casual but you can tell this is important to him.  Your breath catches and your eyes swim with tears again. You don’t want to talk about this but you know talking about it is the only way out.

“I'm depressed,” you state matter-of-factly. “The depression is dampening my powers,” you offer as a way of explanation.

“Why are you depressed?” Bucky asks, his eyes filled with concern.

“Because I have depression. I don’t need a reason. I have depression so sometimes I’m depressed. This time was worse than other times before. It was scary bad,” you drop your eyes down in shame.

“What do you mean ‘scary bad’?” You can’t answer but your look explains it all. His eyes widen in fear and he reaches for your hand, which you gladly take. He makes you feel grounded. Your body calms at his touch.

“Hey,” he starts softly, “I’m, um, I’m in love with you. You know that right?” He locks eyes with you and all you can see is adoration and kindness. The mask is finally down and the feelings you’ve seen in part before are now on full display. Your tears spill over.

“I know you do, Buck. And I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you too. But this isn’t about that. That doesn’t magically make it go away. I wish it did but it did but it doesn’t.” Your heart aches. You wish you were a whole person that you could offer to this amazing man, but you just weren’t. Not now at least.

“Come’ere Buttercup.” Bucky pulls your head down onto his lap and tucks the blanket tightly around you. His fingers begin to play in your hair, combing and braiding their way through your locks. You sob into his sweatpants and he rubs small circles on your back. “I love you. That’s not gonna change, no matter how you’re feeling. I’m here for you and I need you to know that.” You sniffle and give a small nod. Your body relaxes and his warm hands on your back and in your hair pull you into the first proper sleep you’ve had in weeks.

“I love you too, Bucky,” are the last words you whisper as you drift off.

I’d love your feedback, comments, and reblogs. Let me know what you think!

[lovinitkpop]

Brown Sugar and Honey

This one is about a new girl group at SM. You could say EXO sister group there may be a love line put in it who really knows. I mean I know but then again I might not know. Heads up I’m sorry for any spelling mistakes or grammar mistakes after rereading it over and over I can’t deal with it.

Oh the reason I came up with this title is because the main OC is black and DO KyungSoo looks damn sexy and handsome when his skin is dark and tan and NOT WHITE WASHED!!!!! STOP THE WHITE WASHING!!!!!!!!

If there is a love line then it will be my first Kyungsoo series. Hope you like it but if you don’t guess what I don’t give two shits leave my blog then. Anyways enjoy bye.

Warnings: Fluffy, Angst, Language, Bullying, Stupid, May not make senses, Brain frat, May not have smut, Trigger, Suicide talk, Racism, Blood, etc.

Pairing: OC x DO Kyungsoo

Chapter 27

April 24, 2019

Renesmee lays on top of Kyungsoo sleep. Kyungsoo looks at his phone as he lays there mindlessly playing with her hair. Renesmee whines stirring a bit in her sleep.

“Shh…” Kyungsoo quitely shushes her rubbing her back. Renesmee turns her head still whining as she grips his shirt. “Relax Renesmee it’s just a dream; no one is going to hurt you.” He whisper gently as he rubs her back.

Kyungsoo plugs his phone up setting it on the side table. He reaches up turning the light off pulling the covers over them. Kyungsoo gently pulls her closer singing softly as he lays there.

Renesmee lets go of his shirt as a soft moan slips out. He looks down at her feeling her relax as he sings. Renesmee turns her head again adjusting herself. Kyungsoo closes his eyes letting the dreamland pull him in.

Renesmee rolls off of him whining again. Kyungsoo turns over to his side reaching out putting his arm around her. Renesmee turns over again kicking her legs. She rolls onto her side her head hitting his chest and she stops.

Kyungsoo groans turning his head before moving a bit. Renesmee moans taking in his scent as she relaxes again. Kyungsoo sighs in his sleep rubbing her back.

After an hour Renesmee wakes up coughing. She rubs her eyes trying to wake herself up. She slowly tilts her head back feeling Kyungsoo breath hit her face.

“Hmm…” She looks around then over at her phone checking the time. “Ugh I overslept.” She pouts sitting up going through her phone.

Renesmee sighs getting up going to the bathroom to freshen up. Once she finish she walks back out heading to the kitchen. “Ow.” Renesmee whines gently touching her side.

“Need to take my pain medicine.”

She grabs a bottle of water and her medicine taking one before putting them back up. Renesmee sighs looking down at her feet thinking.

“Who is Ximen?” She says looking at the photo on the counter. Renesmee sighs hitting her head against the wall. “Who is he?”

Kyungsoo groans waking up hearing the noise coming from the kitchen. He looks over to the side and sighs getting up. He makes his way down the hall to the kitchen. Kyungsoo rubs his eye yawning as he walks.

He stops seeing Renesmee hit her head on the wall. Kyungsoo slowly walks up behind her wrapping his arms around her waist pulling her back. “Hitting your head on the wall won’t help.”

Renesmee gasp being pull back and she turns her head hearing him. “Yo…you’re up?” She says looking at him and he nods. “I…I me…mean did I wake I didn’t mean to.” She says looking down at the floor.

Kyungsoo smiles kissing her cheek hearing her. He closes his eyes gently rubbing her sides and she looks down at the floor. “Remember what I said?”

He speaks softly and Renesmee hums looking back up turning to the side. “You shouldn’t try and force it.” He says before pressing his lips against her temple.

Renesmee closes her eyes releasing the breath she didn’t know she was holding. She lets her shoulders relaxing. “Everything will be clear one day just let it come to you.”

Kyungsoo smiles tilting his head seeing her shoulders fall. “Fine I won’t force it anymore.” Renesmee says looking back at him and he nods.

“Good then let’s go back to sleep I have the day off.” He says grabbing her hand pulling her back down the hall. Renesmee hums tilting her head as she walks.

“What exactly are you boys doing?” She asks watching him and he just shrugs. “I know Chen sunbaenim got his solo and Xiumin sunbaenim is leaving so…”

“It’s complicated I know.” He speaks looking at her and she stops.

Renesmee nods as she looks up at him. She looks away pouting before pushing him back sitting down. “What’s with the pout?” He asks folding his arms across his chest.

“Just thinking about something.” She says laying back on the bed sighing. Renesmee whines in pain closing her eyes. Kyungsoo sits down next to her humming.

“How bad does it hurt?” He asks looking at her and she turns her head looking up at him. Renesmee whimpers as she sits up pushing her hair back.

“Well I just took my meds so still really bad.” She says looking down at her feet. He hums nodding his head. “It’s 9 in the morning and I overslept.”

“How about we sleep for two more hours then I take you to see your doctor just to get X-rays and make sure everything is healing right?” He says watching her and she just nods laying back down.

Renesmee reaches up pulling him down next to her. Kyungsoo grunts being pulled down causing him to laugh a bit. Renesmee pouts laying her head on him.

“Such a baby.” Kyungsoo says reaching over turning the light off before pulling the cover up. Renesmee whines hiding her face and he just smirk pulling her closer. “My baby.”

April  26, 2019

Renesmee sits there in the car looking at her lap. “What’s wrong?” Kyungsoo asks looking at her before looking back at the road.

“I don’t wanna go.” Renesmee whines closing her eyes kicking her feet. Kyungsoo smirks looking out the corner his eyes watching her.

“This is why I call you a baby.” He says turning the corner pulling into the parking lot. Renesmee pouts folding her arms across her chest. “You agreed since you didn’t go the day before you go now.”

Renesmee whines kicking her feet again. Kyungsoo sighs as he parks turning the car off. “What if they call my manager nope this isn’t a good idea.”

“Funny how you mention your manager; because he’s waiting inside for.”

“What!”

Kyungsoo nods leaning back as he sits there. “Your mom called him.” He says smiling folding his arm.

Renesmee groans opening the door. “It’s official I hate everyone.” She says getting out the car and Kyungsoo just smirks.

“See you later I have practice.” Kyungsoo says before she closes the door. Renesmee shakes her head walking up to the doors. Kyungsoo hums taking off out the parking lot.

Renesmee walks inside looking around. Her manager looks up sighing and he gets up walking over to her. “What took you so long?”

“Uh Déshì drives slow.” She answers nodding before looking around. “So what are you doing here?” She asks rubbing her neck looking at the wall.

“You mother…” He starts to speak but the doctor walks over.

“Good your actually here seeing how you didn’t come yesterday.” He says grabbing Renesmee arm pulling along. Renesmee whines being pull and he just shakes his head.

“You’re not running off this time.”

“But I’m okay really, we don’t have to do this.” Renesmee says trying not to trip over her feet.

“Um excuse me can you tell me what’s going on?” Her manager asks pulling Renesmee back.

The doctor turns around looking at him. “I’m her doctor and she’s being missing her appointments.” He says before pulling Renesmee back making her face him.

“He told me what you’ve been doing.” He says pointing his finger at her and she pouts. “You better hope you didn’t make it worse.”

“You can’t believe him what does he know?” Renesmee quips folding her arms. Her doctor smirks watching her.

“He said you’ve been working out even though I said not to.”

“Ugh idiot never keeps his beak closed.” Renesmee looks at the floor sighing. “Okay so I may have been working out when I wasn’t suppose to.”

“Who is he talking about?” Her manager asks standing there. Renesmee just shrugs shaking her head.

“Walk now, you better hope you didn’t mess them up.” He points and she turns walking off. “Naeun get the room ready for X-rays.”

“X-rays?” Her manager says watching him as he walks off. “What is going on?” He sighs shaking his head.

After 3 hours of waiting the doctor walks into the room holding a folder. “Okay Nessie results are in.”

“Can someone please tell what’s going on?” Her manager asks.

“The results on her ribs.” The doctor says pulling out the prints.

“You told me you were okay!” He says looking at her and Renesmee just smiles innocently. “Don’t give me that look!”

“Anyways look.” The doctor says turning the light on showing the images. “Before 3 broken and 4 bruised now…”

Her manager looks at the images then back at her. “Now all healed plus the bruises on your body are gone.”

“Then why do I still feel pain?” Renesmee asks sitting there looking at her feet.

“Because they’re still sore you still need to take it easy and work on breathing exercises.” He replies waving his hand. “Along with light stretches nothing to big.”

“See I really am better making me sit out of this promotion did help me.” Renesmee says jumping up smiling. “Well thank you doctor for everything.”

Renesmee claps her hands grabbing her bag. “Not so fast Nessie I mean it with still taking it easy.” The doctor says stopping her and she pouts folding her arms.

“Only for a week that’s it then you can go back to acting crazy.”

“Yay!” Renesmee jumps up spinning around clapping her hands. “Okay bye thank you.” She bows before running out the room.

“Uh thanks doctor for everything.” Renesmee says walking out the room. Her manager sighs bowing before following Renesmee.

“I’m free!” Renesmee shouts once she’s outside in the open. “Man I don’t want to go back to the dorm.”

“Come on lets go now.” Her manager says pushing her gently. Renesmee sighs following him.

May 10, 2019

“Okay what is it now hyung?” Sehun asks walking into the room. “You ask me to get everyone here?”

Kyungsoo looks up from his phone nodding. “Well we need to start part two of my plan.” He says getting up looking at him.

“You mean the part Jisoo came up with?” Jongin stays watching Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo reaches over and hits Jongin. “Oww!”

“Anyways I’ve heard the song already and it’s really good.” Kyungsoo says looking at them. “We just need to get people to stream it when it comes out along with the MV.”

“Jisoo said that the numbers dropped on the last album because Nessie wasn’t on it.” Sehun says and they all look at him.

“Wait what?” Junmyeon asks as he looks up from his phone. Sehun nod crouching down next to him.

“Yeah she said when Nessie sat out for the last album the number of sales dropped.” Sehun replies pulling up the MV. “Even the fans commented wanting to know where Nessie was.”

He speaks showing them and Junmyeon takes his phone looking at the comments. “Why wasn’t she there for this comeback?” Jongdae asks looking at the phone.

“Remember fight her and hyung got written off.” Baekhyun says handing Sehun back his phone. “It’s all apart of her plan.”

“Anyways we should help promote the upcoming album.” Kyungsoo says watching them.

“Okay how?” Jongdae asks.

“Through social media duh.” Chanyeol answers looking at Jongdae. “Just post about it; you have a YouTube channel you could do a cover of one of the songs.”

Jongin hums looking at Kyungsoo as they stand there. “Oh I’ll do a cover too.” Baekhyun says nodding his head.

“Hmm dance challenges are still pretty big.” Sehun says looking at them and they nod. “But Jisoo told me this is their hardest dance.”

“How is that possible?” Jongdae asks looking at him.

“Well she said Nessie came up with the dance then when she had to sit out Sora and ChaCha redid it.” Sehun replies folding his arms.

“Even with so many comebacks happening I really think they have a chance with this one.” Kyungsoo says looking down at his phone.

“Even though you won’t be here.” Jongin says watching the older male. Kyungsoo stops and looks over at him. Jongin looks away heading to the door. “I’m going to find out about this dance.”

He says leaving the room and the others just stand there looking at him then back at Kyungsoo. “What was that about?” Junmyeon asks looking at Kyungsoo.

“Maybe he’s upset that I’m enlisting early.” Kyungsoo replies putting his phone in his pocket.

“But we all said we were okay with it.” Baekhyun says folding his arms.

“Yeah I think he was just hiding his feelings.” Kyungsoo says before leaving. “I have work to do.”

[fsouth-park-is-imaginative]

THE ANGELS ARE WATCHING CHAPTER 4: ROTTEN ON THE INSIDE

We are all candy covered on the outside Peel away the shell and we're rotten on the inside

We are all angry, angry on the inside Peel away the shell and we're frightened on the inside -lollirot

Her skin was purple in the light. A halo of light surrounded her like she was the Virgin Mary. The Bullet Hole, a bar famous for a shootout back in the seventies, was not very busy. I could hear the small chatter of the drinkers at tables. I chose, perhaps, the most depressing spot I could think of. The bartenders have a sense of humor, they joke about sex and death. The regulars go there because nobody they know will walk in on them drowning themselves in alcohol. Everyone comes in drunk, they leave close to alcohol poisoning. The alcoholics and sex fiends flock to the Bullet Hole to milk out the blood from each other, and the sorrow from themselves.

“So uh, what’s up with this place?” She asks.

“Its a fun place to get a drink at,” I say, “it’s called the Bullet Hole.”

“Why?”

“About ten ish years ago it was the site of a triple murder-suicide.”

“Gnarly. Why are we going into it?”

“Because it’s a fun place to get a drink at.” I repeat

“You sure? Because it looks like a place you’d go to because there are no kids within a ten mile radius.”

“Don’t worry you’re safe. I’ve been here tons of times. It’s just sad divorcees and old war veterans. They won’t bother you.”

“I’m not worried about that, I can handle myself.” She retorts.

“Of course you can, you’re what? Five feet in socks? Terrifying.” I joke. She rolls her eyes playfully.

“More like five foot one and a half inch, mister.”

“Oh, even scarier!”

“I am, yeah!”

“I could crush you by resting an arm on your head. You’re fragile like paper.”

“Am not.” She argues. I raise an arm and place in on her head like she’s a countertop.

“Huh, how’s the weather down there echidna?” I say in an aloof voice.

“Hey!” She laughs. I’m careful not to apply too much pressure.

“Hmmm I think I hear a voice, but it’s…. so low down…. I can barely hear from so far away…” I take my arm off her when she makes an annoyed noise.

“Shut up.” She says. And after a moment she continues. “Echidna?”

“Yeah, it’s uh,” I struggle to justify my reasoning. “A small animal.”

“Oh. Is it cute like I am?” She asks, teasingly.

“You’re cuter. Your junk isn’t on your chin.” She laughs

“Echidnas sound gross.”

“They are. They look like genitals with necrosis.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah,” I hold open the door “shall we?” She nods and walks into the bar.

Each chapter part two

———————————

Tonight he noticed how the women's eyes Passed from him to the strong men that were whole. How cold and late it is! Why don't they come And put him into bed? Why don't they come? -disabled, Wilfred Owen

“So you’re saying you’ve never heard of Oscar Wilde.” She states incredulously.

“Nope. Not a word. Why, is he an actor or something?” I ask. She shakes her head, fully astonished.

“No! He is only THE best writer in the entire WORLD” She says.

“Oh yeah? What did he write?”

“Many things! He wrote the picture of Dorian Grey, The decay of lying, the importance of being Earnest, a story about a nightingale and a rose…” she trails off. “You’ve seriously never heard of him?” I revel in her shock and subsequent attention.

“Nope. He any good?”

“Yes! He’s super good- he’s the most influential and important person ever. He is the most beautiful man-“

“Wait. Cuter than me?” I tease

“Well, no, I guess not. He kind of looked like a Columbine shooter, but that doesn’t matter. He’s beautiful purely by virtue of existence.” She says, as if she had memorized her lines ahead of time.

“By virtue of existence.” I echo. I had, in fact, heard of Oscar Wilde. I had read a  poem his a while ago, after I read the last few lines in bright yellow graffiti under a bridge.

“Yeah. Anyway, not to make you jealous or anything,” She laughs. I smile.

“Never.” I lied.

I take another sip of alcohol. I have a higher tolerance, I’ve been drinking since fourteen. The little miss love of my life hadn’t drank a drop before her birthday last month. I’m in the clear, she’s slurring her words. She laughs.

“Anyway, isn’t he beautiful?” She says. The alcohol is making her brain fuzzy, and I slip something into her drink while she isn’t looking.

“The one that looks like a columbine shooter?” I ask, teasing.

“Yeah. Him. I don’t like school shootings, I don’t like murder. It’s morally wrong and makes me feel all icky. But I’d love to watch something die at some point. I want to be there to see the light leave their eyes. Death intrigues me.” She says.

I chuckle darkly, looking away at the dirt-caked floors and cockroaches.

“You might just get your wish.” I say dryly.

“What? Oh, look! Fire!” She points over at the corner, where indeed, there was a fire. It was very small, but in the minds of several drunks, it rivaled the twin towers. Several patrons ran out screaming, while others seemed to have caught the suicide train and stayed in their seats, sobbing for the flames to take them. I flinched, imagining my blackened skin curling like paper under the deceptively beautiful golden flames.

“Fuck.” I say. I grab her hands and lead her out the door. There are three exits, I use the one with less frantic drunk people going through it. She laughs

“Fire! Fire! Fire!” She claps, laughing like she’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

“Yeah, fire. Fire.” I echo.

I hope she’s not a necrophiliac.

The fire was instantly squashed out, apparently it happens a lot there. The owner of the Bullet Hole came out in the cool night air and addressed the crowd of disgruntled drunks and divorcees.

“Listen,” he said, old hoarse voice full of annoyance. “Apparently one of you drunk idiots decided it would be a good idea to start a fire in a cup of alcohol, despite the fact that there is a strict no lighter policy in the bar.” He pointed at a sign outside the door. Sure enough, there was a picture of a lighter with a cross over it. “If nobody listens to the signs, what’s the point of them? I’ve got THIRTY FUCKING TWO SIGNS OVER THE ENTIRE JOINT” he starts yelling. “SO FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. STOP LIGHTING THINGS ON FIRE.”and with that, he took a deep breath, let it out, and went inside the bar. The door locked and the fluorescent open sign turned off. I turn to Alice.

“You okay?” I say. She nods.

“Fire is scary. But it’s also… hot. Fire is the whore of agony! I love it! I love it! I love it!” She starts laughing again. I shake my head.

“It’ll start to kick in soon.” I say.

“What?”

“Yeah. And you’ll run, right? Because you’re afraid? It’ll happen. It’s the chemicals in your brain. Thirty minutes in.”

“You’re funny.” She said.

I took out my phone. 8:17. The day was blue with the setting sun. The night sky gets dark early now. I look at her. Her face looks loopy. Her hair is tangled. She’s got dark circles under her eyes. She looks like someone that got tuberculosis in the Victorian era. She looks like someone thought her dying form was so beautiful they put her picture in every newspaper to commemorate the tragic beauty. She looks like if Simonetta Vespucci was born in the 20th century, and people treated her the same. She looks like people treat her like she isn’t a person, she’s just that beautiful.  I don’t, I know that she’s alive. I know that she has thoughts and feelings. I know that she’s so intelligent she could look like absolute shit and it wouldn’t matter. I know her. I know her. I know her. And if I wrote a book about our love I would write her name over and over again for the prologue.

Alice. Alice. Alice.

She looks alarmed.

“Have you decided I want to kill you? I don’t. That’s just the drugs” I say, “and you can be afraid all you want. But I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you safe forever.”

“I-uh-“ she stammers, award of the sudden danger I possess to her. That’ll be a side effect of the drug, I assume. Intense fear. She takes off running and I stay back to watch her suddenly retreating from. I’ll give her a head start.

[zoemurph]

to have a friend, chapter five: $98

on ao3 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

happy birthday to myself heres a mess of a chapter thats literally ALL over the place but i do what i want

ive been watching the gbbo cause ive been super sick and now i will now project as i do with everything else. speaking of which, everything thats been mentioned happening in school in this fic has happened!! that applies to this chapter too!! isnt public school fucking wild

warnings: anxiety, anxiety/panic attack, some suicidal thoughts, let me know if any other warnings should be added

enjoy!

“Do you usually walk home?” Evan asks, following Connor out of the school.

“Yeah.”

“Do you not— do you drive?”

Connor gives Evan a weird look. “Why?”

Evan shrugs. “I don’t— I mean, most people drive. That’s a thing. That teenagers do. Jared drives. A-Alana drives. Um…most of our senior class drives, e-even if they don’t have a car. The juniors drive. Some of the older sophomores drive—”

“And are incredibly annoying about it,” Connor interrupts.

Evan ducks his head. “Not as annoying as the freshman.”

“God you’re right.” They stop at a stoplight and wait for the walking light to turn. Connor runs a hand through his hair. “I have my license, but I’m not allowed to drive right now.” Evan frowns. “Why not?”

Connor takes a step off the sidewalk and looks down the road. “Come on,” he says, motioning for Evan to follow. He takes long strides as Evan rushes to catch up. “Parents. Mom’s worried about me driving high or hurting myself. Larry’s worried about the car.”

“O-oh.”

Connor furrows his eyebrows and glances down at Evan. “Don’t worry about it, Hansen. I don’t care what he thinks.”

Evan nods. “Right. Right, duh. Of course you don’t.”

Connor shakes his head. “By the way, did I mention that my mom thinks that you have a really garbage immune system.”

“She does?” Evan asks in surprise. “W-why?”

“Word vomit.” Connor makes a face. “My bad.”

“I mean…” Evan pulls on the straps of his backpack. “That’s not— Anxiety can like…really screw up your immune system? Um…stress is bad for you. And I’m…always stressed.”

Connor snorts. “No shit.”

“Yes shit,” Evan mutters. “Cold season is a ni-nightmare.”

“Drink more tea,” Connor suggests.

“Wow, never thought to try that before.”

Connor laughs. “Okay, fine. I’ll let you suffer on your own then. Have fun being sick.”

“Being sick is the worst .” Evan steps closer to Connor to avoid a puddle. “B-because if you’re sick you miss class and then you miss work and everything starts piling up and then you have way too much work to do and then you’re failing out of school.”

Connor is quiet for a second before he says, “I don’t know, I skipped most of school last year and I’m still here.” He tilts his head as he looks at Evan. “I think you’ll be okay.”

“Okay is relative,” Evan murmurs.

“Anyway I wanted to warn you in case my mom starts shoving fucking…vitamins or a ridiculous amount of citrus fruits at you.” Connor steps onto the street as the sidewalk ends and casually walks in almost the middle of the lane. “She can be really…”

“Worried?” Evan suggests.

“I was going to say aggressive, but that word is nicer.”

“Hm.” Evan can’t really remember the last time his mom really fussed over him. It sometimes happens in quick bursts when she’s home, but she’s never home enough to really worry about him. She refills his meds when he needs more, she leaves him money for dinner, she pushes the scholarship applications. He can’t really imagine her trying to get him to take vitamins or eat oranges or anything like that.

Evan shakes away those thoughts and focuses on the walk to the Murphys. It’s nice. The trees have started to change color with the turn of the season and it’s starting to get colder. Not too cold, but cold enough that he has to start bringing a sweater to school. They’re only three days into October, but Jared has already started yelling about Halloween.

Evan looks at Connor out of the corner of his eye. It’d definitely be too weird to ask what Connor is doing for Halloween. He’s probably going to go out and get high or something. That’s what most teenagers do on Halloween, right? Go party and take advantage of illegal substances?

Evan will probably just leave out a bowl of candy on the steps and watch TV. That won’t be too bad. Or different from what he’s done for the past few years.

“Mom’s really into seasonal decorating,” Connor says when they get to his house. He nods to the autumn wreath hanging on the front door as he pulls out his key. “There’s a fine line between classy and tacky and I don’t think anyone in my family knows where it is.”

Evan smiles. “I think it’s nice.”

Connor huffs. “You would.” He opens the door and bends down to pull off his boots. “I’m home!” he shouts as he leans against the wall to undo the zipper. “Evan’s here too.”

Evan toes off his sneakers and moves them next to Connor’s boots. Connor had slipped him fifteen dollars this morning instead of ten and asked if Evan was free after school. Evan never does anything other than homework and therapy, and therapy is a Wednesday event.

Cynthia pokes her head out of the kitchen as they pass it. She smiles at Evan. “Hello, Evan! Are you two hungry?”

Connor looks to Evan and Evan shakes his head. “N-no, I’m good but th-thank you!”

She nods. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Let’s go.” Connor leads Evan up to his bedroom. He tosses his backpack onto the desk and kicks a few things on the floor into what is sort of a pile of things against a wall. “I’d apologize for the mess but I don’t give a shit.”

Evan wonders if it’s weird not having a bedroom door. It seems uncomfortable. “I-I don’t mind,” he promises.

“Cool.” Connor bends down and picks up a mug from the floor. He looks inside and makes a face before putting it on the desk.

“What’s that?” Evan asks. And a better question is probably, should Connor wash it or just throw it out. Sometimes it’s not worth it to try and save dishes and the best option is to just toss them with whatever disgusting thing is growing in or on them.

“Paint water,” Connor says. He pushes the mug further away from the edge of his desk. “It looks like puke. Probably need to clean it.”

“You paint?” Evan asks in surprise.

“Not really.” Connor pulls out the desk chair and then leans against the edge of his bed.

Evan hesitates before he sits down in the chair. “I-I didn’t know you liked art.”

“I don’t. Art is the fucking worst.”

Evan blinks. “Uh…okay?”

“It’s hard ,” Connor almost whines. “Like…what’s the fucking point?”

“I don’t know,” Evan admits. “I’ve never really…done it outside of elementary school art classes and those were… I mean, we drew shoes that one time? Do— do you remember that?” Their art teacher had brought in a giant shoe because her husband’s company made custom shoes for basketball players, whose feet were so big they couldn’t buy shoes in a normal store. Now he wonders if the shoe was that big or if they just seemed big to second graders.

Connor furrows his eyebrows. “Yeah…yeah I think I do. She made us take off our sneakers and put them on the table. And Josh Powers threw his at Marcus and hit…who’d he hit?”

“I think it was Rachel,” Evan says slowly.

Connor narrows his eyes. “Which…which one?”

“The…redhead?” Evan sometimes forgets how many kids in their grade have the same names.

Connor groans. “ Which redhead?”

“You know multiple redheaded Rachels?” Evan asks, mostly just amazed that Connor knows people in their school beyond people he interacts with.

“It’s not as bad as the Olivias,” Connor points out. “I remember there were three in class in fourth grade.”

Evan snorts. “In third grade I had two of the Zacharys, two Hannahs, and two Joes.”

“ God .” Connor sits down on his bed. “Thank god the other Connor is in Zoe’s grade. I refuse to deal with that shit.”

“Elementary school was— it was…something.”

Connor nods. “Yeah. Lots of things were thrown.”

Evan doesn’t mean to, but he starts laughing. He claps his hands over his mouth and stares at Connor with wide eyes. “I’m sorry!” he says, voice muffled by his hands.

Connor rolls his eyes. “It’s fine , Hansen. I said it. And there was a lot of things thrown. Shoes. Dodgeballs. Printers. Bats. Rocks—”

“Tables at the principal.” Evan says.

Connor stares at him. “Wait what?”

“Uh…” Evan rubs the back of his neck. “Fourth grade. We had a project where— we were supposed to make an earthquake proof building out of whatever the teacher gave us and we— Well we made our own construction companies up? It was part of the presentation and one of the kids in our group didn’t like the name we chose and he started getting really really mad and the teacher called the principal and when the principal came in he threw the table and the project at her.” He meets Connor’s eyes. “Um…you-you weren’t the only one to uh…maybe have some anger problems? When we were growing up?”

Connor crosses his arms. “Growing up? Just growing up?” Evan would be nervous, except for the smile at the corner of his mouth.

“You never threw someone into the chairs in the cafeteria and beat them to a pulp,” Evan whispers.

Connor straightens. “You saw that?!”    

“Part of it. Heard more of it. Jared got a video.”

Connor whistles. “Shit, man. Sometimes I wonder how I’m the school freak when we have shit like that go down.”

Evan laughs nervously. So yeah, some guy in their grade sent a kid to the hospital for making a move on his girlfriend, and there were a group of girls who got into a fight at the mall, and some other kid who got suspended for bringing a knife to school and doing knife tricks during class. But still, Connor Murphy has always been the one everyone is afraid of. “I th-think it’s the black clothing and long hair? M-maybe?”

“You can jump on the haircut train with Larry,” Connor says, shaking his head, “but I’m not cutting it.”

“I like it.” Evan feels his ears burn. “It’s— it fits you.”

Connor stares at him before smiling slowly. “Thanks.”

Evan ducks his head. “Um… Can you— could you show me…any of your art?”

Connor sighs. “I guess.”

“I— You don’t have to! If you don’t want to you shouldn’t— I didn’t mean to pressure you into—”

Connor stands up and reaches for something on his shelves. “Hey, Ev, don’t worry about it. It’s fine. The world won’t end if you look at shitty doodles.” He grabs a spiral bound sketchbook off the top of his bookshelf. “Don’t expect anything actually good.” He opens the sketchbook and flips through it. “Here.”

Evan takes the sketchbook from Connor. The right page is filled with a bunch of drawings. A few are half finished, others barely made it past a rough outline, but a couple are more complete. In the corner there’s a drawing that’s been completely scribbled out with such intensity that Evan wouldn’t be surprised if Connor broke the pencil while doing it. On the left page is a profile someone with a strong nose and a rounded jawline, staring ahead with a blank look in their eyes.

The contrast between styles is almost incredible. Evan looks between the quick, looser, and more cartoony style and almost realistic sketch in amazement. The way that the person’s hair is tucked behind their ears and there’s soft shading on their neck, like Connor was afraid to do anything more.

“Wow,” Evan breathes. “These are really good.”

He looks up to see Connor giving him a funny look. “I’m paying you to be my friend. You don’t have to be a kiss up too.”

“I’m not,” Evan promises. “You’re good.”

Connor scrunches up his nose and takes the sketchbook back. He holds it up and tilts his head as he looks at the pages. “Okay…yeah I’m not seeing whatever you’re talking about. Just shitty doodles and a bad attempt to draw someone I saw in a waiting room.”

“I like them.” Connor lowers the sketchbook and Evan shrugs. “I don’t know anything about art, but you aren’t bad at it. I can tell you that.”

“Okay,” Connor says slowly. “Okay.”

Evan shifts uncomfortably in the silence. He doesn’t really know where the conversation is supposed to go from here. Maybe he should just—

“Do you have a Facebook?” Connor asks suddenly.

Evan furrows his eyebrows. “W-what? Why?”

Connor closes the sketchbook and throws it on his bed. “My mom was getting on my ass for not being friends with you on Facebook.”

“Who uses Facebook?”

“Moms,” Connor says flatly. “Wine moms.”

“Is your mom a wine mom?” Evan asks, looking over his shoulder into the hallway.

Connor shrugs. “I don’t know what she does all day. She could be a wine mom. Probably needs to be considering I’m her son. Anyone would need alcohol to deal with me all the time.”

Evan snorts. “You aren’t that bad.”

Connor smiles. “Okay. Whatever you say.”

Evan walks to the bathroom, furiously picking at his cast as he tries to keep his steps normal. His heart is racing and everything is wobbly and he feels like he’s about three seconds away from crying or throwing up. Or both. He can never tell.

He goes to the third floor bathroom. It means climbing the stairs — he hangs onto the railing like a lifeline — but it’s also usually empty. He needs an empty bathroom right now, he can’t lose it around other people, he can’t do that, he can’t be that kid who had a meltdown in front of half the senior class.

Part of his brain tells him half the senior class can’t fit into the boys’ bathroom.

The other half is spiraling faster and faster and faster.

He shoves the bathroom door open with his shoulder and stumbles into the handicapped stall as the lights flicker on. At least he knows no one else is in here.

Evan barely gets the door closed before he’s collapsing against the wall of the stall and sobbing as he tries to catch his breath. His knees are weak and he’s trying not to slide to the floor because it’s the bathroom it’s the fucking boys’ bathroom in a high school it’s probably the most disgusting floor ever but his legs are shaking and his hands are shaking and everything is shaking—

He scrubs away hot tears as they roll down his face.

Fuck .

He doesn’t even know what happened. One minute, he was in english. He wasn’t great but he was okay, and that was normal. And then someone was talking and Evan started getting lightheaded and there was a heavy weight in his chest and he managed to raise his hand and ask to go to the bathroom and sound somewhat normal and leave the classroom sort of calmly but now he can’t breathe he can’t breathe.

The walls are closing in around him and everything is getting smaller and smaller and crushing him under the weight of the world. Evan can’t do this. He can’t.

He pulls at the edges of his cast.

He could’ve— he should’ve—

Evan takes a shuddering breath and presses the base of his good hand against his eye. He wants it to stop he wants it all to stop.

“Evan?” someone asks softly

Evan inhales sharply and jerks away from the wall of the stall. He stumbles over his own feet and crashes into the wall, hitting his shoulder hard. “W-what— wh-who?”

“Uh, it’s just. It’s Connor. Are you…?” he trails off.

Evan’s breath hitches as he tries to force himself to calm down. He focuses on Connor’s boots, he can see them in the space between the stall doors and the floor. There’s something stuck in Evan’s throat and it’s making it hard to breathe and think.

“I recognized your shoes,” Connor says after a few seconds. “I was, uh, trying to get out of international relations, cause that class is…bullshit. I hate it.”

Evan forces a watery laugh. “R-right that’s— I heard it’s-it’s for the uh, the kids who want to take AP Gov but that’s— I can see why you might—” He takes a shallow breath. He can do this he can do this.

“Hansen, is there anything I can do?”

Why is Connor even here? Why is he trying to help, why would he want to help a disaster like Evan? A lost cause and constant disappointment who can never amount to anything and will never do anything worth remembering— not worth remembering not worth trying for not worth anything. He’s just an invisible speck lost in a crowd of millions of people and he’s drowning between all of them and can’t keep his head above the water.

“Hey,” Connor says, “is it okay if I touch you?”

Evan can barely even tell he’s moving, but Connor touches his wrist very softly so he must have nodded or something. Connor gently pulls Evan’s hands away from his face. He doesn’t know how Connor got into the stall but his head is spinning and his thoughts are a muddled mess.

Evan chokes back a sob and blinks away tears as they well up in his eyes and blur his vision. Connor is searching his face with furrowed eyebrows and a concerned look in his eyes and Evan just wants to curl up in a ball and have it all stop .

“What can I do?” Connor asks softly.

Evan shakes his head. Nothing, there’s nothing. He’s decided he’s okay with everything ending in this bathroom. Because everything hurts and his brain won’t stop why won’t it stop ?

“Um… shit . Hold on.” Connor lets go of Evan’s hands and Evan inhales sharply. “I’m-I’m not leaving,” Connor promises. “I’ll be right back.” He unlocks the stall door and Evan focuses on the sound of his boots on the floor because he can still barely breathe and he’s not sure how to hold on to reality.

“Just locked the door,” Connor says, stepping back into the stall. He shuts the door and slides the lock closed.

Evan takes a deep breath. It catches and it’s shaky and bad, but it’s slow and he needs— he has to slow down his heartrate. He’s supposed to be doing deep breathing exercises, it’s not supposed to get this bad.

Inhale through the nose for five. Hold for five. Exhale through the mouth for five.

Evan gets through two cycles before his mind freezes and panics and stops. He takes a few short breaths, gasping for air.

“You’re— it’s going to be fine,” Connor says. “It’s… There’s only like twenty minutes left of school, Ev. You’re going to be okay.”

Evan just wants to lay down. To lay down on this disgusting bathroom floor and curl up in a ball and sleep and never wake up. He could just melt into the floor and stop existing and that would be so much better than this. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on breathing a little slower but he can’t, he can’t.

“Do you…do you want me to leave?” Connor asks slowly. “I can go. I was just trying to get out of class. So I can—”

“P-please don’t— don’t leave,” Evan chokes out. He reaches out blindly, trying to find Connor with his eyes still squeezed shut.  

Connor takes Evan’s hand and squeezes it lightly. “Yeah, sure. Not going anywhere.”

Evan just holds on to Connor’s hand and tries to breathe. Tries to find some semblance of calm in his mind. He doesn’t think he ends up being successful, he thinks his brain just got too tired to keep being so anxious.

When it doesn’t feel like his lungs are getting crushed anymore, Evan loosens his grip on Connor’s hand. “I-I’m s-sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry that you— that you had to deal with me.”

“I wanted to help,” Connor says. “I promise.”

Evan can’t meet his eyes.

“There’s only a few minutes left of class.” Connor takes a step away. “Do you… Are you walking home today?”

Evan nods. He doesn’t like the bus. It’s still warm enough out that he can walk to and from school. It’s better than being on a loud and crowded vehicle that goes over potholes too fast.

“Let us bring you home,” Connor says.

Evan frowns at the floor.

“Zoe doesn’t have practice today,” Connor explains. “Just… I don’t know, can you let us drive you home? So you don’t have to walk?”

“I’m— you don’t have to,” Evan mumbles.

“Yeah, but I’m offering.”

Evan wants to say no, he really wants to say no. He can’t take advantage of Connor like that. But he also just wants to be at home as soon as possible. “O-okay.”

“Thank you.”

Evan glances up at Connor. Connor is running his hand through his hair.

“I’ll…meet you by your locker?” Connor pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Are you…”

“I’ll be fine,” Evan says softly. Connor doesn’t look convinced, but Evan doesn’t have the energy to convince him right now. “I’ll… My locker. Yeah.”

“I’ll see you in…like three minutes,” Connor promises. “You can do a fucking countdown if you want. But I’ll be there. I swear.”

Evan nods. He digs his nails into the palm of his hand as Connor unlocks the stall and leaves the bathroom. It takes him a few more moments to figure out how to move his legs.

He still feels slightly off balance and wrong. He takes his time on the stairs, letting the bell ring and students rush around him in a sea of half known faces. He hesitates outside his english room before he ducks inside to grab his backpack. He stammers out an apology to his teacher, saying that he got sick, and she just tells him to feel better and make sure he does the reading for tomorrow.

He has to climb the stairs again to get to his locker.

Connor is there, waiting for him, staring off into the distance. As Evan approaches, Connor’s eyes snap to him and he stands up straighter.

“Zoe’ll meet us by the band room,” Connor explains. He glances from Evan to the lock. “Here I can open it.” He opens the lock quickly and Evan just forces himself to stay standing and breathing.

Connor takes books from Evan as he pulls them out of his backpack and then closes the locker as Evan puts his backpack on.

Connor glances around the halls and then takes a few quick steps to the elevator and hits the down button.

“We-we aren’t supposed to—”

“Fuck it,” Connor interrupts. “Stairs are bullshit.”

The elevator doors open and Connor pulls Evan inside, hitting the close doors button until the slide shut. Evan grips the straps of his backpack tightly. If anyone sees them using the elevator without a pass, they could get yelled at. He can’t deal with that today.

They stop on the ground level and the elevator doors open and Connor takes Evan’s arm and pulls him out of the elevator before reaching in and hitting the close doors button again. “Come on,” he murmurs, leading them toward the music wing.

Zoe is leaning against the double doors of the band room, a guitar case strapped to her back and her saxophone case at her feet. She looks up from her phone at them. She does a double take when she sees Evan, eyebrows furrowing.

“Can we go?” Connor asks shortly.

Any concern vanishes from her face as she rolls her eyes. “It’s going to take us fucking decades to get out of the parking lot at this point but whatever.”

“S-sorry,” Evan mumbles.

She shoots him a look. “Don’t worry about it, Evan. It’s just— it’s kind of messy getting out of here. It’s not your fault.” She picks up her saxophone cause. “Haul ass, Connor.”

Connor mutters something under his breath as he follows her.

Zoe leads them to the back corner of the parking lot where a silver SUV is parked. Evan finds himself thinking that if Connor were allowed to drive, they’d be able to park in the senior lot and would be closer to the school.

Zoe unlocks the car and looks to Connor and they have some sort of silent conversation before Zoe pops the trunk and loads in her instruments. “Hop in, Ev,” she says. “The car won’t eat you.” She slams the trunk shut.

Evan pulls open the backseat door and climbs in, dumping his backpack on the floor. To his surprise, Connor slides in on the other side, and not into the passenger seat in front of him. Connor tosses his bag into the passenger seat before buckling in.

“I’m apologizing now for Zoe’s music choices,” Connor says, leaning closer to Evan. “She’s on an early 2000s kick right now and it’s really fucking annoying.”

“You’re really fucking annoying,” Zoe says. She pulls the parking pass off the mirror and shoves it into the sunglasses holder. “What’s your address?” she asks Evan as she puts the keys into the ignition.

“I’ve got it,” Connor says.

Zoe meets Evan’s eyes in the mirror before shifting the car into reverse. “Okay.” She turns up the music and twists around to wait for an opening in the line of cars waiting to get out of the parking lot.

Evan blinks in surprise as Check Yes Juliet blasts from the speakers.

Connor groans.

“Just help me get out of here, asshat,” Zoe says.

Connor turns to look out the window. “You’re good with cars coming in.”

Zoe squints at the line of cars and backs up as soon as the smallest opening appears. Someone behind them honks their horn and Connor just rolls down the window and flips them off.

“And now we wait,” Zoe mutters, once she’s gotten the car into the endless line of other cars attempting to get away from this place.

“This is why I don’t drive,” Connor grumbles.

Zoe scoffs. “Okay. Sure.”

Evan rests his head against the window as they slowly move through the parking lot.

“Is this Jordin Sparks?” Connor asks when the next song comes on.

“You might be judging me,” Zoe says, “but you’re the one who recognized Jordin Sparks.”

The car is warm and Evan is so tired that it’s hard to focus. He finds himself thinking that it’s sort of nice that Connor and Zoe are arguing over something so mundane as music, even if that’s just the surface level of a much deeper problem.

Evan doesn’t fall asleep, but he does drift off. He hears Connor and Zoe talking softly, but doesn’t process any of the words. When the car stops, he blinks slowly and sits up. He squints out the window and at his front door.

Oh. Cool.

“Thanks,” he murmurs as he unbuckles his seatbelt and grabs his backpack from the floor. He opens the door and climbs out, careful to find solid footing on the driveway.

“No problem,” Zoe says with a soft smile. Her eyes dart to Connor. “You staying here?”

Connor looks at Evan. He raises an eyebrow.

Evan nods. He doesn’t…he doesn’t think he wants to be alone right now. But Connor doesn’t have to know that. If Connor asks, Evan will just say that it would be weird if Connor left him after being worried or something. Something about friendship.

“I’ll tell mom,” Zoe says. “Now get your ass out of my car or I’ll drive away with you.”

“Fuck off,” Connor mutters.

Evan digs through his bag for his house key as he walks up to the front door. He pulls it out of the pocket and unlocks the door.

Connor flips Zoe off before stepping inside. Zoe flips him off as she backs down the driveway.

Evan pulls off his shoes and leaves them by the door. He drops his backpack on the couch as he passes the living room and wanders into the kitchen. He almost forgets Connor is with him until Connor leans against the kitchen table.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

Evan almost laughs because that really is the worst question. Instead, he opens a cabinet and holds out a box to Connor. “Cheez-its?”

“Did Jared buy these the other day?” Connor asks, taking the box.

“Uh…yes.” Evan feels his ears burn. “I— He bought a lot of snacks. We, um, still have pizza? If you want any?”

“Have you eaten today?” Connor asks.

Evan blinks a few times. “S-sort of? Lunch, I-I had some lunch. You?”

“Just breakfast.” Connor puts down the Cheez-its. “I’ll take a piece if you do.”

Evan feels like he might lowkey be being played, but Connor needs to eat. “Okay,” he says. “Want it warm?”

“Yeah sure.”

Evan focuses on getting the pizza out of the fridge and onto a plate and then into the microwave. As he watches the pizza slices spin, Connor digs through the kitchen drawers.

“W-what are you…?”

Connor holds up a knife and fork victoriously. “We’re good.”

“Are you… Since when do you eat pizza with silverware?”

“I’m not a caveman,” Connor says sagely. He reaches past Evan to pull open the microwave door a second before it beeps.

“You’ve never used it before?” Evan takes the pizza out and takes a slice before handing the plate to Connor.

Connor snorts and sits down at the table. “You’ve only seen me eat pizza like three times, Hansen. You don’t know me.”

Evan slowly pulls out a chair as Connor cuts up his pizza. “Yeah but…before you were eating it backwards. Which was— why were you doing that?”

Connor points his fork at Evan. “Used to make Zoe mad.”

“I-I guess that’s…valid.” Evan eats his pizza slowly as he watches Connor eat his piece by piece. He doesn’t really understand, but that’s okay. He glances at his half finished piece of pizza before he mumbles, “You don’t…you don’t have to, um, pay me for this.”

Connor lowers his fork with a weird triangle shaped piece of pizza still on it. “It’s fine, I can still—”

“No,” Evan interrupts firmly. “I— I wanted you to be here. I asked you to. It was my choice so you— you don’t have to give me anything. That’s… It’s only fair.”

“Are you sure?” Connor asks slowly.

Evan nods. “If-if you try to pay me, I’ll just give the money to Zoe to sneak into your room. O-or she could just take it. And then there was no point in giving it to me.”

Connor looks at him with an expression that Evan can’t decipher for a few seconds before shrugging and saying, “Okay” before going back to his pizza.

Evan isn’t entirely content with the answer but it’ll do for now.

—«·»—

“Here,” Evan says, taking the remote from Connor and opening Netflix. “Th-there’s never really anything good on TV.”

“Sweet, thanks.”

Evan doesn’t really know how they got to this point. They finished eating and Connor offered to leave if Evan wanted him to, but Evan shook his head and then somehow…they ended up on the couch.

“The Great British Baking Show?” Connor asks, reading the title of the first show under ‘Continue Watching’.

“Oh, um…” Evan plays with the hem of his shirt. “It’s…a nice show? It’s not— other cooking shows are a lot more stressful? And intense? This one is… It’s a lot nicer. It’s kind of funny and they have nice bakers usually.”

Connor gives him a half smile. “You like baking?”

Evan rolls his eyes. “We both know I can’t bake for shit.”

Connor laughs. “I know, it’s just funny how you like to watch people bake but burn mac n cheese.”

“I never burned mac n cheese,” Evan mumbles.

“Do you mind?” Connor asks, gesturing to the screen.

Evan shakes his head.

Connor goes to the beginning of the season Evan had open and restarts the first episode.

“Oh there are going to be lots of measurements that I do not fucking understand,” Connor says.

Evan smiles and leans back on the cushions of the couch. It’s nice to watch something where he already knows the outcome, and Connor has some pretty amusing commentary to add to the whole thing. It’s kind of funny how fast Connor decides who his favorite and least favorite bakers are.

As Connor watches a technical challenge where no one has any clue what the hell they’re doing, Evan feels himself drifting off to sleep and he can’t find the energy to stop himself.

—«·»—

Evan wakes up slowly. His eyelids are heavy— his whole body is heavy, actually. There’s still thick cobwebs of sleep left in his brain that haven’t been dusted away and they’re making it very hard to regain consciousness. This usually happens after really bad days that involve some sort of meltdown, but all it ever does is make Evan want to go back to sleep.

He turns his head to press his face more into his pillow. Something tickles his nose. Something like…hair?

Evan groans and sits up, squinting at the bright screen of the television. Connor turns to look at him and gives him a crooked smile.

Oh.

His pillow had been Connor’s shoulder.

“S-sorry,” Evan mumbles.

“It’s fine,” Connor promises. Their arms are still pressed together and Evan really doesn’t care to move right now. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Fine. Uh…how long was I…?”

Connor glances to the screen. “Maybe two and a half hours?” Evan’s eyes go wide. “It’s fine, Ev. I’m okay with being used as a pillow. You needed the sleep and I got to get through a few more episodes of the show. Win win.”

“Win win,” Evan repeats softly. “Do you… Are you leaving soon?”

“Do you want me to?” Connor asks.

Evan is a selfish person. He knows exactly what he’s doing. And he hates himself for it.

“Not yet.”

[arcticficialbanana]

In honor of #OnlyLove

Warning: Lots of angst, but nothing romantic. Kind of fluff. Swearing.

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader (in a spiritual way)

Word Count: 3,672

A/N: I have lots of feelings about the #OnlyLove movement and situation, but I’m going to express them instead by writing a devastating story about Lucifer and just some random human.

Your tear stained and mascara smeared face was illuminated by the lighter as you lit the crumpled paper. You hold it carefully by your fingertips and walk outside to your pit filled with sticks.  For just a moment you hold the edge of the paper and watch the ink light up in the flame, until the heat licks your skin and you let it drop into oblivion. You crouch down and hurdle a nearby log into the embers. You stack another log underneath of you and watch the fire build.

 “I hope you didn’t need that.” a man sitting on a rock next to you would have startled you if you had bothered to care.

 You don’t recognize him, but it doesn’t matter what he wants anyway. You continue to stare into the fire. Something in the corner of your mind panics, but you’re not really listening. What does he want? Is he going to rob you? He isn’t here to rape you, is he? Why the fuck is he in your backyard?  “Anything I can help with?” his cocky smile radiates arrogance. What a strange question. But you turn to him because maybe your mind will shut up.  “I don’t know you.” you say and turn away from him again.

 “Well that doesn’t matter, if I can help you, now does it?” He kicks his feet up next to the fire. The heat is rubbing your face and you briefly wonder how he can get so close.  “What was it? A mortgage? A contract?” He leans in and places his head on his knees, “A love letter?” he notices your wince and he smirks.

 “Do you want him back?” he leans back again and kicks his shoes off.

 You scowl at him, “That’s impossible.” A twig snaps in retaliation.

 “Oh my dear, nothing is impossible with a little bit of help.” He stretches his arms back and yawns, “Not when you have the help of an angel.” he pauses awaiting your response, but you stay silent.  “Well, with me anyway.” he continues to wait.

 You wrap your arms around your knees and rest your head atop them. This guy is a fucking lunatic. Regretfully, the voices start again, He is going to kill you. “Let him.” you mumble to no one in particular.

 He thoughtfully looks at you for a moment before asking, “Is he dead?” he tilts his head.

 “Could you bring him back if he were?” You say through gritted teeth. Why are you talking to this psycho.

 “I could. I could make your pain go away.” he offers.

 You snap your head toward him and growl, “You think this is pain?” you clench your fist and  twist your face in anger.

 “You’re angry?” he watches you with a steady face.

 “I’m nothing.” you hiss at him and slam your knuckles into one of the logs beside you.

 Intrigued he chuckles a bit and you clench your jaw. Is this guy looking for a fight? Just one more word man, I dare you.

 “I knew a man like you.” he says cheerily and you scoff.

 “Hard to read. Hated a lot of things. Hated himself. Thought he was worthless. But he probably saved the world a few times.” He reminisces.

  “Listen, I don’t care about your friend. I don’t need your help. I’m not worthless. Whatever you wanted when you came here, you can leave now because there is nothing.”

 “Interesting. But,” he strokes his stubbly chin, “I came here because it’s you that wanted something when you came here. And you certainly have something I can take.”

 You mentally search to remember if you have that knife stashed in your belt. You subconsciously lean away from him and stumble off your precarious seat.

 “UNN” you squeeze your eyes shut and brace for impact, but all you feel is a tight pressure on your bicep, holding you in place.

 You open your eyes and you look from your arm to the dirty hand holding you, covered in soot, and your eyes follow up to the man standing in the fire. Your eyes widen but you can’t think of what to say.

 “Let me help you.” he says with gentle eyes, flickering with light.

 “What,” you look down at his feet, half standing in embers and burnt logs, “what are you?”

 “I told you, I’m here to help you.”

 “I don’t need help from Satan, or whatever black voodoo magician you are-” you snatch your arm back and fix your shirt sleeve.

 “You do know me!” his eyes light up with joy and pride.

 “Get the fuck out of my backyard.” You flare at him and instinctively reach for your belt where you normally keep your knife.

 He takes a step closer to you and offers his palm up.

 Momentarily you are dazed and lose feeling in your legs. You start to fade and you see a glow of red in the man’s eyes. Not red like the fire, but glowing like neon lights.

 Lucifer paced around the fire, occasionally glancing over at the human. You had to make a bet with your underling. What does it matter what they think. Lucifer grinds his teeth and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Respect. I can’t back down now. He huffs out and puts his hands on his hips.  HOW HARD CAN IT BE TO MAKE A DEAL WITH A FLESHBAG. They’re all about selfish wants and ‘making their dreams come true’. He pouts and rolls his head around his neck, feeling the stretch of his vessel’s muscles.  He thinks about a different angle. He thinks about what she said. You think this is pain? She said. I’m nothing, she said. I’m not worthless, she said. He brushes his jaw with his knuckles and tries to sort this all out. WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE TALKING ABOUT! He throws his hands in the air in exasperation. Are you suicidal or not? Are you missing someone? How do these damn crossroad demons always know just the person to come to and just the time to do it?  He thinks about how helpless and sad she looked when he first sensed her presence. Easy target it seemed. Some break up or dead parent or mean comment that hurt their delicate human constitution.  He sighs and carries her inside the house and lays her on the floor in front of the cold fireplace. I guess that’s what you’re feeling right now. Fire, huh?  He goes outside and returns with some flaming logs and throws them on the mantle.  I’ll figure you out yet.

 The first thing you see as you regain consciousness is a flame. “What the fuck.” You prop yourself up on your wrists and look around. You wipe a clod of dirt off of your cheek and press your fingertips into your slightly sore neck.  The man sat in your leather armchair, holding a mug with “It’s Tuesday again” scripted across the porcelain in black.

 “That’s a gas fireplace, moron.”

 He looks over at the fire and clicks his feet together, “Is that important?”

 “You could have blown the house up you sociopath, and I’m not sure why it hasn’t.” You sit up and lean your back against the wall to face your potential axe murderer. No. Probably some sort of skin wearing freak. You amend to yourself.

 “Cocoa?” He beams a childish smile at you and holds the mug up.

 “I don’t have cocoa. That’s probably coffee-” You stop yourself, Why are you engaging this idiot. Either get him out of here or you run.

 “Oh, I always bring my own cocoa.” he takes a sip and inhales a satisfied breath.  Yeah, he is definitely skinning me alive. You wonder if you can coerce him to leave you alone. “What did you say your name was?” you attempt as you search for the decorative fire poker.  He tilts his head at you in mock confusion, “But, you’ve already called me.” He feigns offense.

 You raise your eyebrows, about to protest that you haven’t called him anything, and you remember. “So you’re either the devil, or a black magic wizard, and I ain’t calling you Harry, and I’m not calling you Lucifer.”

 “Oh.” he wavers slightly and seems to come up with some thought in his demented head.  “Then call me Mark.” he decides.

 “Okay... Mark. What can I do to make you leave?” You ask earnestly, hoping he is the kind of crazy that doesn’t have his mind made up yet.

 “Give me your soul.” He smiles a wicked slimy smile.

 Yeah, of course. “You can have it, Mark.” you nod.

  He smiles, delighted, “Tell me,” He puts the mug down and leans in your direction. “What is it you most desire?” 

 “Is that some sort of joke?” you scowl at him, getting really tired of his bullshit. You just want to go on doing nothing, until you die peacefully, or not.

 He whips the blanket off his lap and throws it behind him as he gets up and takes a step toward you. He opens his mouth but doesn’t speak for a second, until, “Tell me, girl. What was in that letter?” he reveals his teeth in another sly, childish, but evil smile.

 You squint your eyes at him , perplexed and feeling a bit of rage, “Who sent you, Mark?”  “Nobody sends me. You’re just a lucky girl tonight. I never come out to play.”

 “Yeah, real fucking lucky.” You shake your head and throw him a nasty stare.

 “It wasn’t a letter. It’s not any of your business, and quite frankly it shouldn’t matter.” You make a circle in the carpet with your finger, imagining planets surrounding you in your carpet.

 “Aren’t you just here to kill me?” you ask, defeated.

 “Kill you? I don’t want to kill you.” He throws his hand to his chest in horror. “My girl, I am just here to make a deal with you. You can live out your life, and in 10 years time I will come for you.”

 “Long game killer, eh.” You note uninterested in this conversation anymore. You’re not sure why he’s here, and at this point it might be better if he killed you.

 “What is this? I don’t want your trodden soul, that gives me barely any power at all. I need you full of life or full of fear or full of something!”

 “Yeah, I’m empty, bud.” you start ripping pieces of fiber out of the floor.

 He looks down at you in disappointment and claps his hands together, “Come here.”

 Yeah, no thank- you start to rise and look at your legs in confusion. Well, that’s disturbing.

 “Why aren’t you interested in living?” he walks toward you and reaches for your face. He studies your expression and looks deep  into your eyes. Man Mark, you’ve got some blue eyes for a crazy person.

“You don’t seem interested in dying either.” He turns your head side to side in his hands. “You don’t seem interested in anything at all.” He releases your face and takes your palm in his hand. Something sharp pierces you and you shout in pain and snatch your hand away.

“You feel pain, you’re alive.” he notes.

“Yeah, no shit asshole. I’m not looking for a ritual sacrifice tonight, thanks.” You rub your palm and glance at his hands, but you don’t see a knife.

“Okay- yea- just sit- sit the fuck down.” you stutter at him and wave toward the armchair.

 You rub your palm into your shirt and sit down across from him. You sigh and give in, What the fuck. Whatever.

 “I’ve got a reveal for you, buddy.” You rest your elbows on your thighs and lace your fingers together. “The world doesn’t care about you.”

  “I doubt that.” he snickers.

 “No, really. It doesn’t. It doesn’t care about me, it doesn’t care about you, and it doesn’t care about the drawing I threw into the fire.”  He raises an eyebrow but you go on, “People will continue to scratch by every bit of their life to get to something they think is worth fighting for; marriage, children; 6 figure salaries; diamond jewels; respect from their family. But nothing you ever get is going to complete you. Nothing on this planet will fulfill you. Not for more than a moment. The blink of an eye.” You bore into him, apparently interested in your monologue, “And you know what? In the blink of an eye? That is your life. Not metaphorically, but I guess not literally either. Our time here is wasted. Our time here means nothing. No amount of protesting wall street or raising funds to feed the world will accomplish anything. We are all going to die before anybody notices we’ve ever been alive.” You aren’t tearing up, and you aren’t angry anymore, you aren’t anything.

 “People around you are in their own illusion, and you can’t reach them. We might as well be walking around with sunglasses plastered to our faces. You won’t hear anything I’m saying, you’re either going to kill me or leave here and in a year you won’t remember what I look like. You won’t remember what I sound like. You’ll forget about your childhood. You’ll realize you don’t care what happens to the person you thought you’ve loved with your every breath. And they won’t care about you either.” You start feeling crazier than Mark.

 “Not on purpose. We’re just not built to care, or to remember. People are filled with evil, and although you might find momentary kindness, they will all run you over to get where they are going. You’re either with them, or you’re not, and it really doesn’t matter which one you choose.” You take a breath.

 “You really think that?” He interrupts casually.

 “I don’t need to think. That’s existence. We’re specks of dust floating by one another. When we die there is nothing left of us. What we were before we were born is what we become, air and molecules all separated.”

 “Tsk.” He clicks his tongue and scratches his chin. “What a let down. So what do you think happens after you die?” He asks.

 “Whatever it is, it won’t matter to me now. Whatever it is, this won’t matter either.” You wave your finger around the air in a circle.

 “Mhm.” he hums uninterestedly, “So why are you still going?” his pointed remark stabs you and as usual you are unmoved.

 “I’m just waiting. It doesn’t matter what I do, either way.”

 “So,” he nods, “You’re not going to kill yourself.”

 You stare blankly at him.

 “No hope?”

 You turn toward the dying fire and release a deep breath.

 “I see.” he cracks his knuckles.

 I wonder if I’m not interesting enough for him to kill.

 “You,” he suddenly appears on his knees in front of you, “are very interesting.” He grasps your face again.

 Your eyes widen but he is more startling than worrisome.

 “I might have nothing to give you, and maybe nobody else in this world does either,” he follows your averted gaze with his face, forcing you to look at him.

 “But you have something to give you.” He stops to nod and move your head up and down along with his hands, “The only person who can ever make you feel whole is you.” He pauses meaningfully, but it misses you.

 “You’re right. Nobody is ever going to fulfill you. Nothing out there will make you feel complete,” he points at the window, “but you need to pick yourself up and realize that it doesn’t matter that nobody will remember you.” You chuckle thinking that’s a great pep talk, just stellar. “You aren’t here for other people.” He presses his nose to your nose, fucking weirdo.

 “You are here for you.” He draws back slightly but keeps staring into your eyes, “You are living for you. Whatever you experience is for you, and not for anybody else.” You shift uncomfortably in your seat.

 “If you try to do anything for any other person out there in order to find wholeness inside of you then you will continue to feel holes inside of you.”

 He lets go of your face and puts his hands on your thighs. You look down at his hands, but for some reason then you’re drawn to look up at his face, He continues, “If you feel whole from the inside out, then you touch other people, then it won’t matter.” You blink. What.

He smiles a genuine smile for the first time, “Go and experience. Go and look at things. Look at the Earth. Look at the stars. Look at yourself in the mirror and marvel at how unlikely it is that you exist. Marvel that you exist. Marvel that others exist. My father made everything, and mostly, he made it for you.” You blink again, your head starting to hurt.

 “So don’t take it for fucking granted.” He slaps your shoulder and snaps his fingers.

 You see inside of your head a bright mountain, covered in snow, larger than anything you’ve ever seen in your life. And you’re on top of the pure, manless earth and rock. You think you blink, but your eyes are closed so your head starts hurting more.

 Mark points out to the Horizon, “This is waiting for you. This is something nobody’s ever seen before. Nobody’s been here.” He quickly turns to you and shakes your shoulders, “But it doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter what anybody else has seen! You have to see it!” He screams with vigor. You inhale a brisk, cold air, but it doesn’t make you cold.

 You look at him, sure that you’ve fallen asleep and your brain is creating imagines. He crouches down and waves you to look here, “Look at this impossible reality. I mean, nothing existed. Then, here, father decided to make it exist. Look at this,” he points at the snow, “REALLY, look,”

 It’s fucking snow.

 “See differently, child.” He touches your temple and you expect to wake up, but instead you open your eyes and you are still sitting in your living room. That was fucking weird. You glance out of the corner of your eye to the fireplace, Definitely a gas leak.

 Mark smiles at you expectantly and you reach to push him away but you notice you feel wet. You look at your fingers and see they are blue with snow, and you stare at your hand.

 You see droplets form in your palm and tiny bits of snow that are still frosty and firm, shaded with purple from the sunrise shining through the window.

 “Uh,” you stammer but you have nothing to say. You see the water pooling and slowly begin to glide down your wrist. It follows the lines in your skin and you notice wrinkles in your hand like a map of nothing. Or something. You shake your head a little.

 “Mhmm” Mark hums satisfactorily to himself. “What do you see.” he whispers.

 You find a scar you forgot about, which brings you to the memory of finding a drawing on your desk, a leftover from some person who occupied it before you. You reach down toward your desk to lift up the paper, swirling in designs of what seems like hair or smoke or wind. You’d never seen anything so beautiful in your life. You weren’t a very avid art consumer, so you didn’t know what beauty was supposed to be, but this felt beautiful to you.

 Yess a voice hisses in your head, but it didn’t feel like your thought. You pick up the paper and don’t notice that you lost your balance and sliced your right wrist on the keyboard holder, industrial metal molded into a modern design you find distasteful. What else your mind spins again with voices, but you see the scar is aligned perfectly parallel to a greenish vein swirling just under your skin. You look at your other wrist and see a bluish vein criss crossing with a purple vein. You assume. You know next to nothing about anatomy.

 You look up at Lucifer and see those neon red eyes, glowing at you.

 “Are you afraid of me?” He asks.

 “No.” you state without breaking your gaze.

 “Why aren’t you?” he pries.

 “Why am I supposed to be afraid of you?” you inquire.

 You blink.

 You get the urge to look out the window.

 You see the red autumn leaves rustle above a rising sun. You look at the branches twisting into one another, giving hugs to adjacent tree trunks. You see a squirrel jump over the sun, from tree to tree, and wonder if that’s why the cow jumps over the moon nursery rhyme was thought of..

 You look at your windowsill and see the sun, higher now, is reflecting bubbles in the aged, sagging glass. You see the chipped paint on the frame revealing an older shade of cream and wonder about the first people to live in this house.

 You wonder if there is a story here, and look around the room. You shudder from nothing in particular and wonder what you were thinking about so early in the morning in your living room.