#please don’t be cross if my jokes aren’t up to par!!!

[skelecentral]

Just saying I LOVE your drawing style, I just gotta say my favorites are Nightmare and Killer. Mainly because their designs look like there from a nightmare and look killer. (See what I did there?)

AAAAAA TYSM YOURE SO KIND!!! AND FUNNY AJSJNSJS!!! Softens my dusty old heart and makes me feel like a dream💞💞

[candyk0rn]

Good evening, my darling, ma chérie!~

Seeing that your requests are open, I just had to passer par!~ If I may request the darling first years (if you're open to people requesting them(If not then just the Scarabia dorm <3)) reacting to a GN!Reader asking to break up. (I am in an angsty mood today!~)

Remember to take care of yourself, my darling Queen, and take plenty of breaks. Je t'aime!~♡♡

Hello my dear hunstman! I haven’t written angst much, so I’m rather happy you have asked for this! The last angst I did was in fact my very first TWST fanfic, and that kind of spread the flame for me! (੭ु˶˭̵̴⃙⃚⃘᷄ᗢ˭̴̵⃙⃚⃘᷅˶)੭ु⁾⁾~❣I hope I don’t disappoint!

Gender neutral reader! (Per usual + request!)

First Years with reader who is asking to break up

(First years include: Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, Sebek.)

Ace:

Denial.

Even if you had been throwing hints or trying to let him down slowly for the past few weeks or so,

He just shrugged it off as a bad mood

But when you said those words, he smiled

Because this had to be a joke, right?

“Haha, very funny Y/N!”

You have to explain to him you are serious

He looks down at his feet, stuffing his hands in his pockets and he bites his tongue

He doesn’t know what-or even how to say anything

When you leave him, he curses to himself

What did he do wrong? And when did you first feel like you need to cut the rope?

He is just filled with self doubt, slumping over on his bed and beating himself up over it

He wasn’t going to try and get you back, because he knows that would be a douche move,

But he can’t help but yearn for you

And hope it was all a joke, even if he knows he wasn’t

Deuce:

Like Ace, he is rather confused

However, he’s much more formal about the situation

He asks why, but he knows you probably won’t answer him

And if you do, he sits there with an almost knowing look

You aren’t the first to leave him because of the way he acted, or how he would go on spurts of anger or rowdiness

He’s self aware in this situation, but dear sevens he wishes he wasn’t

He thought back to how maybe he could have kept your endearment, or maybe could have kept your love

But why did it end like that? And so quick?

He finds himself resorting to violence after you leave him, just like how he used to.

Jack:

He snarls lightly when you tell him

Although he dreads it, he tries to play it off as something that was bound to happen

Something he expected

Because he was supposed to be the tough guy, the one that could take on these sort of obstacles

But he felt so weak in that moment

He tries to play the respectful card, saying he wishes you well after you leave

But he wants to hold you so terribly, he wants you to coo as you massage the back of ears,

Or tell him he’s a big softie when he shows an act of kindness

And even though he had sworn to hate when you called him that…

That’s all he wanted to hear at that moment

Epel:

He is completely silent

It’s because he can feel his lower lip trembling and his hands starting to shake

But he can’t cry in front of you, because then he would be “pathetic”

When you leave him be, he can’t stop but whimper as tears roll down his face

Is this why you left him? Because he was so weak?

He couldn’t think of any other angle to the situation,

He hadn’t been strong enough, he was too small, too fragile to hold you up

He made you look bad, didn’t he?

He fills himself up with the idea that if he was different, you wouldn’t have left him

Maybe you would be comforting him right now if that was the case, too

But it wasn’t. And he couldn’t accept it

Sebek:

You can see his eye twitch

He’s offended if anything, did you not support his practices towards the Young Master?

Did you not appreciate his many efforts to please you?

He storms off after you tell him, not without yelling a, “Good day!” To you

He grumbled as he angrily walks to his bedroom, crossing his arms as he looks out his window

The very window you would look out with him

A sudden tide came crashing down on him, like a wave

No wonder you had wished to leave him, if he treated you like that?

I sort of war was being fought in his head

One side of him trying to tell him that this was better, that you were a distraction

But the other, wanting to apologize and hear you say “I love you” again

He’s so conflicted, it hurts his head

Can’t you just come back to him? Can it be that simple?…

Thanks for reading!~

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Killing Cure (Part 24)

Salvatore is a surprisingly useful little creature. It seems to trouble him none to slink about and stalk around Donna’s home.  This time, Ethan is more than content to stand outside and wait. He will be doing much of the work when it is time to meet Karl. Admittedly it is rather boring to simply stand about in the cold. But it is infinitely better than trifling with those abhorrent dolls and whatever else might be lurking in the darker, lower corners of House Beneviento.

Ethan shivers, the frosty breeze seeping through his skin and into his very bones. He can’t help but think of the massive fireplace in Castle Dimitrescu. His mind betrays him further still with a memory of laying with the Lady herself. Of her warm skin and her soft embrace. He imagines being curled up with her in front of that fireplace basking in its heat… He shakes his head. He is mad at her and he has to hold himself to that. There is no room for domestic fantasies. Especially not when he has family matters to attend. Family matters that Dimitrescu had willfully hindered.

“I’ve got it.” The man looks pleased with himself as he holds out the third flask. The moonlight catches on its glass throwing a twinkling prism at the treeline.

“Good work, Salvatore.” Ethan whispers. “I hope that it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“None at all.” The man smiles. “Donna let me have it right away when I explained that Mother Miranda wanted me to watch all of them.”

“Th-then what took you so long!?” He sputters.

“Donna makes good tea. I don’t get to talk to her often.”

“I don’t have time to wait for you to have tea parties.” Ethan grumbles. He sighs when the fish man flinches and seems to shrink back. He rakes his fingers through his hairline and lets out a frustrated puff of air. “Okay, I didn’t mean to snap. Socializing is very important but I thought that we could do that at Karl’s place where I can talk more and you can see less dolls.”

At this Salvatore chuckles, “it isn’t the dolls that you need to worry about, it’s the hallucinations.”

“Hallucinations?” He pauses, “nevermind, explain it to me as we walk.”

Said trek through the forest had already been plenty unpleasant without listening to the fish man prattle on and on about deformed fetuses and grotesque imitations of his loved ones. Worse still, the cretin seemed to be rather delighted by these morbid monstrosities. For a few moments, the man didn’t seem so helplessly meek and pathetic. For a short while he could understand what Mother Miranda had seen in the beast. Of all of the repugnant things that this village has shown him, Salvatore Moreau has to be the most repulsive. If only he weren’t also the friendliest.

The Duke and his hearty banter are pleasant enough but he is too shrouded in mystery for Ethan to confidently call him a trustworthy man. It might be that he his annoyed by the man’s teasing and matchmaking attempts…

“And that is why I choose to stay on my own reservoir.” Salvatore concludes a topic that Ethan had realized had begun.

“Yeah, that’s fair enough.” Ethan replies and to his relief the other man grins at the validation. He sighs, likely he still has to endure a few hours of this, perhaps a few days. He can’t even see the distant outlines of Karl’s factory yet.

.oOo.

If he had known that the bastard was coming, Karl might have ensured that the route would have been more hospitable and easier to navigate. But Ethan Winters isn’t a bright man, couldn’t be fucked to ring before dropping in. And for his spontaneity he was awarded with the full Heisenberg experience! It was none dissatisfying to Karl, in fact it was quite reassuring to see that Ethan could hold his own. He likes to think that his traps and tricks are on par with Mother Miranda’s and if Ethan could weather them then he would make a superlative ally.

“Have a seat, Ethan. Wherever you can find.” Pushing up on his sunglasses he leans back in his chair and has a drag. “It’s a bit cluttered in here but, fuck, if you want a clean visit then you’ve got to warn a man that you’re coming by. Is it an American thing to come by unannounced?”  He slaps his hand upon the table and chuckles at his own joke.

“Uhh...some Americans do that I guess.”

“Well let’s get straight to the point then--Americans like things fast, right? You’re here because you’ve finally seen the light. You know that the screeching bird bitch has to go. And I take it that, since you didn’t come in guns blazing, that you know that I’m your best chance.”

“I...something like that.”

Karl rolls his eyes. “Don’t be shy now, I heard that you did a number on the super-sized bitch.”

He notices the man tense.

“You did get her out of the way, right?” He takes another drag and exhales. “Because we’ll have to take care of her if she’s not on our side.” His gaze flickers over to Salvatore. “No loose ends.”

“I’m not a loose end.” Salvatore squeaks.

“Aren’t you? I’d wager that your devotion to Mother Miranda might be even deeper than the super-sized bitch’s.”

“He’s on our side.” Ethan says firmly. “He already helped me get a flask from Donna.”

“And the head flask?”

“Alcina gave that one to me.”

“Aw shit, Ethan.” He quickly rubs his thumb and pointer over his lips. “So you haven’t put that bitch down.”  He rises from his chair and wanders over to his hammer. “No matter, we’ll take care of that easily. She’s only human, right?”

Ethan rubs his hands over his face. “Actually she’s done more to help me than Salvatore.” He clears his throat, “no offense, Salvatore, you’re very useful too.” The little man grins, tiny sharp teeth glistening in his maw.

“Then where is she now?”

“She said that if you saw her you wouldn’t be as...willing to talk.”

Karl shrugs, the man isn’t wrong. “You're an idiot to think that she won’t double cross you.” He trusts the bitch only as far as he can throw her in her largest form.

“She won’t.”

“You don’t sound too certain of that.” At these words Ethan seems to cringe.

“Listen, it’s complicated. You said that you wanted to get to the point so let’s get to it; I want to take Mother Miranda down, you want to take her down, and so does Alcina…”

“And Salvatore!” The fish puts in.

“Are you in or not?”

Karl strokes at his mustache and works a muscle in his lips. Truly he does resent the idea of working with Dimitrescu, resents it more than anything. More than anything but being stuck under the command of the bird bitch. “Well shit, Winters, how can I say no to a face like yours?”

.oOo.

She wakes up groggy, and with her head pounding. This is more or less a routine when the Duke isn’t  around to distract her. Her girls must be terribly frustrated with her; they’ve been carrying her to bed for the past several nights and she is more or less dead weight to have to drag up a flight of stairs.

This time it is terribly early. Early enough that the stars are still twinkling brightly outside her window. Alcina has, perhaps, a few moments of peace before sensations slam into her without mercy. It is those, now very familiar, sharp pangs in her belly. This time they are debilitatingly unbearable. As soon as she rises from her mattress she is splayed back upon it. She has enough strength to curl up into a quivering little ball and tightly hug herself around the middle. The pain festers and branches out. Spreading so far and fast that she isn’t sure which  part of herself to cradle. Her aching chest, her cramping legs, her throbbing arms and head… The solution is rather apparent; it is easier to keep her hands where they are. It isn’t as though massaging or cradling does anything to alleviate the pain. To a degree, with the numbness and tingling in her arms, it only makes things worse.

She bites back a whimper and squeezes her eyes shut. She wills the feelings to pass. She needs them to pass. She needs to find the strength to get to her medications… Everything stings and jabs, she can’t find it in her to get up.

Stress. Drinking. Neglect. The three finally come together to topple her and she doesn’t have the strength to call for her daughters. She doesn’t want them to see her in such a prone state anyhow. Just why the hell did this have to happen on a night when The Duke wasn’t there to fetch her medication? How had she managed to forget to take it? She gives a bitter laugh, the empty bottle on her bedside is an answer in itself.

She wonders if this will be the night that she dies. She wonders what Ethan will do when he finds her stiff and cold. Wonders if he will feel pity and guilt or if he will sneer and find relief in her passing. And her girls...she imagines them looking on in horror and dismay. Perhaps mouths agape while one of them cradles her limp form in loving arms.

Alcina presses her head deeper into the pillow. Her beating head… She can’t think straight, not that she has had much clarity these days anyhow.

She lays there for an hour or so before things start to get strange. There is a haze in her mind, a foggy disconnect. And in it there is relief. She sees her hands, they are connected to her body but they don’t feel like they belong to her. And soon her body doesn’t feel like her own. It is easy to feel as though it isn’t because technically she doesn’t think that it is. She dosn’t think that it matters how much time passes, this body will never feel like hers. And maybe that is why it is so easy to let the disconnect overtake her. To let this sense of detachment carry her away…

She doesn’t remember much but she remembers how piercingly her chest and stomach ache. She remembers the first few tremors and the blurring of her vision. She remembers acknowledging that she is, aside from leaving her girls, perfectly fine with this. She remembers a cacophony of grating caws and the tapping of a beak at her window sill.

She realizes that she hasn’t called Mother in a while...

[razorblade180]

Twin snowflakes part 24: Date Night.

Part 23 here! <-

Still exhausted, Veronica flopped back onto her bed with the help of Nick. The girl let the mattress steal all tension from her body, letting out a sigh of satisfaction. “Aaahhhh! That’s the stuff. Appreciate the help.”

“Don’t mention it. Especially after what you just did. Frankly I had no plan to get Summer to cooperate.”

Veronica chuckled the best she could. “Hehe, not often Nicholas Schnee doesn’t have a plan. I guess you owe me then? Lucky for you I take words of affirmation as payment all the time.”

Nick smiled. It was nice to see Veronica joking. Encountering Shiva always put a dread over him, but she seemed to not care much. That’s Veronica alright, refusing to take crap from anybody. “I could praise you, or how about I praise you over a nice dinner?” Nick quickly responded.

All the neurons in Veronica’s brain suddenly came to a screeching halt. Her body immediately came flinging forward to sit upright to stare at the smiling boy. “What…?” She asked, still processing the question.

“Let me take you dinner.” He said again, “I have a reservation at this place in Atlas tonight. I was gonna cancel but we could just have a night out together. You still haven’t tried much food from here right? Plus I know you still have to be hungry. This works out.”

Veronica couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Did Nick just ask her out on a dinner date? That didn’t sound right, even if it was a thank you gift. As quickly as her eyes lit up, they began to squint at him with skepticism. “What happened with Valerie?”

Now his eyes got big. He wasn’t expecting that response. “Uhhhh what?” His voice gave away his nervousness and Veronica could clearly tell.

“Don’t play dumb with me Nick. I’m not gonna call you a liar or anything, but I know you, and you know me; as well as my feelings.” She said that last part sheepishly. “You aren’t the kind of person to play with my emotions or offer a dinner date when you’re crushing on Val, so what’s up? Be straight with me”

It was becoming clear to Nick that he apparently could be read like a book. This is the third person within twenty four hours to look at him and automatically knew to ask about Valerie. This was ridiculous! His life had many things that made him bummed out. How are people guessing right on the first try!?”

“Uhhhhh” he scratched the back of his head and sighed. No point tip toeing around it. Not like it was a secret or anything, yet his stomach felt queasy all the same. “I ran into her yesterday. She was pretty upset that I didn’t tell her I got sick. I apologized and tried to smooth our recent bickering over with dinner. It was going okay, but then…Val immediately started to brush me off. I got upset, she started deflecting, people started staring, then she really started saying some things that really got me upset; kinda made a little scene out of it before walking off. Nor really princely, huh?” He tried smiling at the self jab, but failed. “Anyways, next time we meet per her request more a less will be at the tournament. We currently aren’t on speaking terms. Something she should be fine with since distance was what she wanted in the first place.”

Veronica could hear a little venom in those words. Val really did have Nick upset. He’s never this openly bitter. Though maybe it was being behind closed doors that allowed him to drop the facade of being consistently pleasant. Frankly, that made Veronica a little happy for him, in an odd way. However… “I see. So I assume that this dinner reservation was for you and her?” An answer wasn’t needed. Nick’s moment of sulking was replaced with a guilt ridden look on his face the moment she asked. “You know, kinda shitty you’re asking me to a dinner meant for another girl that turned you down. Not a fan of being someone’s second choice.”

Nick closed his eyes and let in a sharp breath like he had just been hit. “Oooo yeah, yeah that was pretty messed up for me.”

“Mhmm, big time. No girl wants to hear that you know?”

“I didn’t mean- I wasn’t trying to...sorry. That was tasteless and selfish of me.” He looked down, shamefully and with genuine guilt. It was only when Veronica’s hand lifted his head by his chin did he see the girl stare at him with an observing gaze and lips pouting to the side. She then crossed her arms and looked away from him, ears tucked and a tinge of red visible on her.

“You’re lucky you’re a good person and I am hungry. I…guess you could apologize with a good dinner?” Veronica knew he wasn’t trying to be insensitive. Still, she was more than a little ticked off at herself for letting him off easy. Darn his good qualities! Being mad towards him for long was never gonna happen. Not to mention having a calm outing together is a golden opportunity. No way she wasn’t gonna capitalize off of Valerie’s mistakes. Her eyes shifted towards Nick to see a relieved smile that only made staying upset harder.

“This place better be good! Also I’m gonna order every expensive thing possible!” Veronica declared, attempting to save face.

“Hehe, thank you, and go right ahead and order anything you want. It’s not until around nine so please, get some rest.”

“I should be saying that to you. Isn’t going out at night in the cold while moody only gonna give you more sniffles?”

“Pfft, I’m sick anymore. Just focus on healing and rest. Not that I have to tell you this, but you gotta dress nice for where we’re eating.”

Veronica smirked, pointing at a closet of designed outfits. “Careful. I may not be worth billions but I’ll make you look like a pocket change if you don’t wear you best.”

The boy let out a cocky chuckle before walking to the door. “For your information, I’m two billion.” He said puffing out his chest playfully, leaving on that note. He could hear her gentle laughter behind the door. At least he could lift one girl’s spirit. As for the other, Nick looked at his sister’s locked door. He couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t going to knock, but he had to at least walk to it. Come to think of it, Nick had a hard time remembering when this door remained open. Most days it kept either the warmth in, while shutting others out. Slowly he rested his hand against it. The wood, cool to the touch.

“Tell me what you need.” He thought, “I’m not a mind reader…” Nick could only sigh. He removed his hand and stepped back. As he began to walk, the door moved. As if something was pressed against it from the other side.

“I know you’re there.” Summer said from the other side. Nick quickly walked back to it. Somehow he could imagine how she was on the other side. One leg extended while the other was bent as she pressed her back to the door. Nick took a seat himself, mimicking the pose he envisioned.

“You okay?”

“Far from it, but that’s par for course…” Summer looked over her shoulder as if she was actually resting against her brother’s back. “Honestly I feel so fucked up some days that therapy feels like a joke. I think I need a break.”

“What kind of break?”

“The usual…” Summer let her words draw out lazily. The back of her head rhythmically tapped the door. “Care to join me?”

Nick tugged at the carpet fibers, mulling it over. “Mmmm sorry, I’m not in the mood for that kind of relief. Besides, I already have plans. I’ll cover for you though. I think venting could do some real good for ya. Just don’t stay out too long. Leave around… half past nine.”

“Will do, thanks Nick.” Even though a door separated them, Summer could feel the care from the other side. Veronica’s words back in the forest about Nick and how Summer treats their relationship struck an all too sensitive cord. “I promise not to worry you. Have fun with whatever you’re doing tonight. I’ll keep you updated and everything.”

“Don’t stress about it. I believe in you. Anyways, I gotta get going. I think I’ll do a bit of distressing in my own way.” Nick stands up. “Better go while there’s daylight.”

“Gonna pay respects?”

“Yep. Enjoy your outing. I’ll see ya tomorrow if I don’t see ya tonight before I leave. Love ya.” He walked away after that, not expecting a response. Didn’t need one. After all, Summer coming to the door said enough.

All in all, things felt okay. Life felt okay. By no means was it perfect, but Nick was thankful he had blessings to count. He’d feel better after the tournament. What should’ve been an exciting time was getting more troublesome. Training, performing, fighting Darren in the duos, and now a not so friendly rematch with Valerie. At least Eliza still had a sportsmanship attitude. He still needed to ask her favor as well. By the end of this she would certainly be sick of him. Nick was surprised she didn't block his number yet. That would royally suck.

His slow walk took down the stairs and back to the front of the manor. He heard dishes clanking from the door to the far left while he grabbed his dark blue winter coat off the rack. “That you dad?” The kitchen door swung open to show Jaune drying a cup and Yang waving in the background as she held a slice in her mouth while talking to Blake. How they managed to swipe pizza out of Veronica’s room was beyond Nick.

“What’s up?” Jaune said, noticing his son put his jacket on. “Heading out? Your mom and aunts should be back soon. Pretty sure they’d want-”

“Veronica and I are going on a dinner date later.” Nick interjected. As planned, his father was derailed. Stammering footsteps came plopping out of the kitchen in the form of a very wide eyed blonde, and a shocked ninja. Blake’s ears even did the little twitch Nick as seen Veronica do whenever she’s caught off guard. “Yeah I thought you all should now. I’d say don’t bug her about it and let her rest, but considering Yang’s feet are already pointed towards the stairs…”

Yang looked down. “Huh...how about that?” She said, walking up the stairs with Blake trying to stop her.”

“Let her rest Yang!”

“But I wanna say stuff~” she whined, “I guarantee you she’s listening to us right now.”

Yang was right on the money. Veronica was currently judging how much strength it would take to lock the door. Her odds were bad. “Okay I don’t care how cute he is. This was cruel!” Veronica thought loudly to herself.

Jaune watched Blake slowly get dragged up the stairs by trying to stop Yang. Without looking, he leaned forward and reached out to grab Nick’s shoulder, who was trying to slowly back up to the door. He faced forward and smiled. “Good attempt, but you’d need a better distraction than that.”

“Eh it was worth a shot…” Nick sighed. He was pulled forward and fell into a surprise hug. He stood silently for a minute before wrapping his arms around his dad. “You needed a hug?”

“Not really, but you looked like you did.” Jaune said, squeezing tired. “You know you’re growing up into a fine young man. Better than me by a long shot at your age. I hope you know your entire family is proud of you.”

“I know dad…” Nick said, his voice getting stuck in his throat a little.

“I know I can’t relate to some of the pressures you feel. Honestly being a part of a household with this much attention and expectation still gets me anxious from time to time. So don’t hesitate to vent to me. You’re a young adult yeah, but I’m still my son and sixteen. Weiss and I would much rather see you yell at an annoying cameraman or get scrappy with a bully than see you try to hold it in for the sake of family image. Remember that.”

How did he do it? It was unfair, downright cheating almost in Nick’s eyes. How could so many people easily call him out? “What’s the point of enduring if everyone I wanna reassure sees right through the act? So much for a brave face.” He muttered. Jaune finally let go of him. The compassionate father poked Nick right where his heart was.

“Enduring an ordeal for the sake of others is pretty brave in my book, but who said you couldn’t endure hardships and still be open to those who matter? Have you meant your friends and family? Besides your sister I don’t think there’s a soul close to you who isn’t an expert of seeing past masks. Val and Vee live with bleeding hearts and the rest have had to put up with me!” He chuckled, “Just like I’m sure you know when someone is upset.”

Nick had his doubts. “Mmmmm, starting to think I might not know them as well as I think. Val is...ugh, I don’t know she is. Learned about Vee’s traits recently for the first time, and Summer-”

“Okay, I see your point. But! Learning new things about them and knowing there’s things you don’t know, doesn’t erase what you did. Y’all are teens. There’s a bunch of things to sort through. At the end of the day though, you know them where it counts. Does that make sense?”

“....Yeah, I think I do.” Nick nodded, thanks dad. Seriously. It’s kinda scary how good at talking you are.”

“Comes with practice, specifically learning to listen and just watch closely. You may not realize it but you do this plenty. It’s a big reason people gravitate towards you. Well… people who are just money hungry anyways, but that’s more of a rich person policy than a Nick-ism. I digress! You better get going before your mother comes back and give you her own talk.” Jaune said. He opened up the door for Nick to leave. “From the way you’ve been acting I assume you’re heading to pay your respects?”

Nick nodded, “I’ll try not to be terribly long. Don’t tell mom unless she asks. You know how she gets?” Nick walked through the door, fist bumping his dad on the way out.

Jaune closed the door and went back to the kitchen. Somewhere above him he could hear giggles and a few squealing. “Hopefully nothing catches on fire up there.”

“You are starting a fire!” Blake yelled, trying to contain Yang’s excitement so the blonde’s hair would stop flaring up. “Use your words.” Blake laughed.

“Please…” Veronica groaned. This level of energy was higher than usual. “You’re more excited than me. It’s just a dinner date. Barely even that. More like a thank you gift I suppose.” That being said the blush coming to her face clearly sung a different tune. “Can we please talk about anything else? I mean mom, you’re here!”

Blake crossed her arms. “So I heard you got into a fight? Let’s talk about that.”

“Ummm, so this date, any suggestions on what to wear?” Veronica poorly deflected. Blake didn’t even respond and Yang was smart enough not to. There was no choice but to talk about it unfortunately. “Sigh….I know okay? Ma told me I should’ve eaten and I didn’t listen. I should’ve, or learn to walk away from-”

“I’ll stop you right there. Don’t think for a second I wasn’t okay with a person getting hit when they were clearing harassing you.” Blake took a seat on the bed. “Expecting you to balance instinct, emotions, and logic here in Atlas was never in the cards, because frankly we don’t know what that balance is. Not to say I assumed you’d fight here. All I wanted was for you to try and...take a break from the norm.”

“If that’s the case then school should’ve been removed right off the back. It doesn’t matter the location, people act the same. Different faces, same insufferability. Only difference is these bozos are rich and human.”

“You make it sound like you aren’t crushing on a rich human whose parents are allowing you to stay in their manor.” Yang deadpanned. “Not making you go to school would only leave you bored and gods know what you’ll do with too much time on your hands. Then again you managed to stir things up already by stealing a spot on the cheer team.”

Blake did a double take. That wasn’t mentioned earlier. “Cheer team? How did that happen?”

“A girl got cocky with me so I out performed her. Honestly I was more than a little surprised by it all. Holding pom-poms, doing flips on mats, and even the couch blowing the whistle, kinda forgot what those things were like until I was in the moment.”

“See? That’s a change from norm.”

“Pretty sure that counts as a return to form.” Veronica countered. “It’s whatever though. Just a temporary thing. Although I’ll admit that Eliza chick, Marigold’s kid, she’s pretty decent.”

Blake wasn’t expecting that easier. “Oh? Well that’s nice. Sounds like that could be not so temporary?”

“Eh, whatever happens, happens.” It was a nice thought. Veronica couldn’t deny that. “Any other thing you wanted to discuss with me? I’d like to lay down for a bit longer.”

“How’s it feel to discuss all this genetic stuff with Nick and Summer? Call it what you want, but telling them was no different from a therapy session if it made you feel better.” Blake stated.

Veronica frowned. “Not how I see it. I’m pretty indifferent for the most part I’d say. Haven’t thought deeply about it. Veronica plopped her head on the pillows and turned away.

Blake and Yang took their scrappy daughter’s hint to leave. Blake got off the bed and was more than fine revisiting the discussion later. Yang briefly bent over Veronica’s covered face and kissed her head.

“Muah! By the way, I’m pretty sure Nick would love to see you in his colors. No heels though. He’s a little touchy about his height.” Yang left after that, closing the door gently. Veronica could only lay there pondering the advice.

“Hmmmm that could work.”

xxxx

While the youth finally got some rest, Adults were hard at work trying to piece together all that’s happened. Ruby and Weiss scoped out the undisturbed frozen lake along with Winter, Nora, and Penny most importantly. Though there wasn’t much to go on. Just crushed rocks, claw marks from ferocious grimm, and a mix of blue and red blood that made Weiss particularly uncomfortable. Ruby sensed that uneasiness and quickly began rubbing her partner’s back.

“Your daughter’s fine.” Ruby reassured. “If what she said is accurate then she never actually lost control.”

“Yeah but the blue dyed snow before us means she just barely held on. That’s too close for comfort.” Weiss held her hands together gently. “It feels like things are getting worse.”

“Because you’re in the thick of it.” Nora spoke, projecting her voice to get their attention. The strong and prideful woman made her way over to them. “Every day you’re worried for her and wake up knowing your daughter is a few rooms away upset. A parent is only as happy as their saddest child, and seeing Summer so distant makes it difficult to see the good stuff. This situation is trying, yes, but Summer still fought back. Your daughter fought Shiva off and killed grimm to protect someone. Determination like that is a sign Summer isn’t done fighting by a long shot, so that means you shouldn’t mope. I mean she gets all that strength to defy assholes from you.”

Ruby gave a big smile. She couldn’t have said it better herself. “Yeah! Nora’s right. We’ll turn this around.”

“....Geez, you two ever stop being helpful?” Weiss said, smiling gently. She was happy to have them here. “Thank you, especially you Nora.”

“Considerate my way of apologizing if Valerie really upset Nick. I told her she needed to call him, especially after him having the decency to call me so I could keep her in the loop about this. Apparently she wasn’t very pleased that he was ill and didn’t mention it. She’s….a lot sometimes.”

“Hey, so were we. I’m sure she means well and I’m not oblivious to the fact Nick can be...a lot as well. I’m partly to blame. I enable some of his actions towards her from time to time. I think I’m projecting a bit. Maybe I should tell him to move on?” Weiss sighed. Perhaps she played matchmaker too much and misread things.

Nora could only chuckle. “Hehe, I wouldn’t. Believe me when I tell you Valerie doesn’t hate having Nick look her way. A little forwardness is the only way she’ll acknowledge problems she doesn’t want to deal with. I can’t say for certainty what those problems are but I don’t pin any of it Nick. Val has a way of wanting her cake and eating it too. She’s gotta learn hard ways that’s not how life goes. I just hope Nick finds it in himself to not hate her because of this.”

“Pfft, I don’t think hate truly exists in his vocabulary.” Weiss laughed. She could count on her hand how many times Nick truly despised a person. “He’ll be petty about it I’m sure, but that’ll go away. Space between them might be good. At the end of the day I at least want them to still be close. Val has a way of motivating him that I like. He actually has fun.”

“Yeah, my Little Thunderhead excels at moving people, that’s for sure. Her semblance would be pretty mediocre otherwise if she wasn’t.”

The three continued talking lightly until Penny eventually walked up with Winter. “Okay, so I’ve finished running some tests of the area and the deposit of Diamond Dust. I have….unique results.” Penny said, a bit baffled.

Ruby wasn’t a fan of that statement. “Ummm that doesn’t sound great coming from a person who reads books written in binary. What did you find?”

“This dust is less volatile than the samples in my lab, even though it’s been untouched for longer. By all means it should be more refined.”

“Well isn’t it a good thing that it isn’t?” Weiss asked. “We barely handle what we have.”

“True, but it’s strange. There’s a couple possibilities that may explain this. Summer may have used up some unintentionally, or maybe Shiva herself was syphoning it.”

Winter folded her arms, “Not a fan of that second option. Based on the story though, what if it wasn’t touched at all?”

“Panic attack.” Penny said immediately. “She hasn’t been here since the accident, right? It’s entirely plausible that Summer’s mind and body remembered the trauma. Repressed memories or outright fear and anxiety could be the basis for this entire event. I tried contacting Oscar if he’s noticed anything different in Summer’s behavior, but I can’t get in contact with him. The seas have been rather violent lately due to weather changes.”

“So what you're basically saying is we're as lost as usual?” Weiss said, falling backwards into the snow. “Juuuuuust great. I’m going to assume the pain attack option then. That’s something I can work on with her. If Shiva is by any chance stronger now then the only thing we can do is what we always do. Brace ourselves.”

Ruby looked down at Weiss. “And option one actually means we have less dust to deal with. That’s a plus!” She knew it was a small amount of positivity but every bit helped. Weiss smiled at her and sat up.

“Here’s hoping for option one as well I suppose. We should probably head back. This place creeps me out a bit.”

Ruby helped Weiss up and everyone began leaving. Penny kept staring at the data she collected and trying to call Oscar. Unfortunately the man wasn’t answering. Her displeased sigh was heard by Winter, who rubbed the girl’s back.

“Not to be insensitive, but your son and Qrow wouldn’t do anything too crazy out a sea would they?”

Winter laughed nervously. “Hehehe….I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t inspire confidence!” Penny yelped. Now she was only going to think about them being stranded by the gods or in a storm. Hopefully she would hear from him soon. “I guess a deeper study will have to wait. Ruby, can I stay at your place with Whitley for a bit? I don’t wanna go home yet. Too lonely.

“Sure thing! Door is always open. Though I bet you’ll have a livelier time at the manor these days.”

Penny tried her best to act like that would be a good idea. “Tempting, but a certain blonde teenage girl wouldn’t like that much, considering her parents so desperately want my husband to be her therapist. Summer also sees me enough as is. Nick would be happy I was there.” She said in a happier tune.

“He’s not home if I know him well enough.” Weiss frowned. “Times like these, I’m sure he’ll visit the graveyards.”

Truly, her son was easy to read.

xxxx

Right now the boy in question walked through an alley of tombstones and snow, his and covered in pollen. Atlas’s central graveyard had become a place for Nick over the years. The wide space and solitude became a welcoming barrier that blocked out most strangers from approaching him. Even the paparazzi had enough tact to not disturb a person here. His feet carried him down multiple lanes towards an old tree barren of any leaves looming over a grave with no actual tombstone. Standing before it was Eliza, wearing a dark blue winter coat and deep in thought. He wasn’t expecting to see her today.

Nick kept approaching until he stood beside her silently. A cool breeze went by them as the air itself felt still. Eliza eventually shifted her gaze to him, completely aware he was there. She looked down at his dusty yellow hands before speaking. “Talking to your grandma again?”

“Yeah. She says I should eat more sandwiches. Afraid I’m a little too then.”

“Heh, always witty. Visited your gramps yet?”

Nick shook his head, “No that’s halfway across Atlas from here and further from my home. It’s the next stop. What about you? Didn’t expect you to be here today.”

“Haven’t been in awhile.” Eliza waved her hand to cause a brief gust that blew away the snow from the grave and several others. “It needed cleaning and I was in the area. So what brings you here specifically? You only visit here on anniversaries, holidays, and when you’re moody. Last time I checked this is a random day, soooo”

“Eh don’t worry about it. Everything is alright now. Just decompressing.”

“Fair enough.” Eliza put her hands in her pocket and went back to thinking, until she realized Nick was looking at her again. “Uhh can I help you?” She said a little confrontational.

Nick got a little defensive and spoke quickly. “No, just surprised you’re not pressing me to open up.”

“Why? Your business is your business unless you make it my business. Something you’ll do if your attitude negatively affects the preparation for the tournament.”

“Ouch...well if that’s the case then the favor I’m about to ask you shouldn’t refuse.”

That peaked her interest. Eliza actually turned around fully. “You’ve been asking a lot of favors of me lately.”

“I’ve asked like two favors, and you’re the one telling me to directly involve you if-”

Eliza covered his mouth, irritated by him being right. “I know what I said! Sigh… what’s up?”

Nick looked down at the hand on his mouth, getting Eliza to remove it. “You’re lucky I didn’t lick it.”

“You’re lucky I don’t beat you up on hollow ground.”

Nick smirked. “Oh, so you think you can finally take me?”

Eliza squinted at him as her face got a little red. Why the hell did he have to be like this sometimes!? “The next words you speak better be your favor, or I’m walking away.”

“Well I wouldn’t exactly call it a favor but if you’re training by the harbor tonight, I’d appreciate it if you swooped by the seventh dock. The one with the huge building they rarely put cargo in. Summer is going to be there blowing off some steam. I don’t think anything will go wrong but you know, if you got the time…?”

“Hmmm I guess that’s not unreasonable. Wait, how do you know I train by the harbor!?”

“Did you forget my cousin literally owns a ship? If I’m correct, one time he said his sail caught on fire when a random bolt of lightning came down one day.”

“......” Eliza put her hand back in her pocket and began walking. “You’re really annoying Nick.”

“I’ve done nothing! Also I’m not done talking! I actually do have a real favor I’ve been mulling over for about a day!” Eliza kept walking away from him. “Hey! Don’t just- Can you train me!?” He shouted, hoping to gain her interest again.

It worked wonderfully. Eliza stopped mid-step and pivoted around. “Excuse me?”

“Training, yeah uh there’s this thing Schnee’s do called the candle test. Helps with our glyphs. Long story short, I’m ass at it hehe. Summer has stuff going on and it’s not really clicking with my mom or aunt. Since your magic is sorta like what I have to do, I thought maybe-”

“We are in a contest against each other, Nicholas.” She said firmly. “You are my opponent! One of two people currently in my way from reaching the top. Why on Remnant would I help you?”

Nick’s eyes avoided contact with hers. He began to scratch the back of his head as if he’d been caught red handed in a lie. “Because… you value sportsmanship?” He looked at her to receive an unamused blank stare that was colder than the snow. “Uh, and also you helping me in any capacity will let you in on a proposition that you’d find very intriguing. But I’ll only tell you when we’re training.”

“Tsk, I would think a Schnee would know better how to do business negotiations. Why would I make a deal when I don’t know if I even care about it? You tell me now or not at all.”

“I can’t say it now! I gotta smooth out details.”

“Then I guess we’re done here.”

“Fine, then I guess you don’t want a shot at gold with a sure fire way of at least getting silver!” He boasted, catching Eliza off guard. Nick slicked his hair back and crossed his arms to intimate his uncle’s calm yet assertive demeanor. “Yeah that’s right. I’m saying I have an idea crazy enough to benefit you and I. Everyone wants gold of course. However, you got a little more riding on this, don’t you?”

Eliza remained silent. Nick began walking a little closer to refrain from speaking too loud. “Last year was your real debut to the public eye and it was pretty good one at that. Third place is nothing to snuff at in the singles bracket. However...trust me when I say I know third is the worst seat in the house. That’s where the pressure and stress is. One mistake and you're off the podium and that feels terrible when people finally start looking your way.”

Eliza began tapping her foot. He wasn’t wrong. Not by a long shot. Confident as she was, Eliza was aware of her only two options. Do better, or hit the same bar. Winning was the goal but no one was gonna give her shit for losing to the top two contests. Nick and Valerie have been dominating for about three years now, and here he was saying he can get her to second. “Get to the point.”

Nick unfolded his arms. Time to be gentle again. “I cannot get into specifics at this time, but if you wanna show up at the manor anytime this week to help me, we can talk. I can get you second at minimum in King of the Hill.

His eyes burned with eagerness. Eliza had so many questions but obviously he wouldn’t answer them. This plan clearly had to be in his favor to get first, which neither of them had earned before. However, Valerie was first. How did she fit into this? What was going through his head!? Eliza had to know what regardless if she’d actually be okay with it. Her eyes narrowed at him. “Tsk, I take back what I said. Guess you are a Schnee. I will see when I can come over and help. Now, any other obnoxious request before I get driven away from this conversation?”

“Well……” Nick could feel just how dangerous this situation was. “It’s quite a walk to the other cemetery from here….hehe.” Laughing was hard when someone’s nostrils were flaring at you in frustration. Getting closer might’ve been a terrible decision.

Eliza closed her eyes briefly, then turned around to walk away. She went a few steps before briefly stopping. “Knock the snow off your shoes before you step in.”

Nick lit up like a Christmas tree. “You’re the best!!!”

“Why did he get more votes than me!?” Eliza internally screamed.

xxxxx

The day seemed to drag on. It had taken some time for Weiss to return home with the company of her sister and Ruby. Nora had departed earlier to check in on her family. Penny had opted to head towards Ruby’s home before her. They would’ve gone together but Ruby did want to see her niece and Blake. Penny had yet to properly see her friends. Though she wanted to, she thought it best to hold off for now.

The trio walked into the house and were assaulted by the strong scent of what had to be Jaune’s amazing cooking. They could practically see the aroma of spices dance in the air. One spice in particular hit Ruby. It was subtle but sharp at the same time. The kind of spice that sent a zing through your nose and hit your tastebuds. A mouth watering smile spread on her face and her stomach growled.

“Mmmmmm” Ruby hummed, “Somebody brought spices with them from Menagerie.” She sang. Ruby and Weiss wasted no time heading to the kitchen. Inside was an apron-wearing knight stirring a pot of stew, and their favorite faunus in the whole wide world in an apron cutting vegetables.

Blake didn’t even need to turn around to know what giggling pair just entered the kitchen. She put the knife down all the same and turned around with her arms wide open. “Well-” she couldn’t even say her boastful introduction before her two cheecky smile teammates dove in for a hug. All three of them just became a choir of happy laughter as they embraced one another.

Weiss finally let her friend go to get a good look at her. “Look at you! Traveled all this way and you’re helping make dinner!? I don’t deserve you!”

“Well I saw Jaune breakout a pot and I figured he’d enjoy some help without fear of something burning.” Blake jabbed. Ruby immediately tucked her lips to stop herself from snickering at the diss.

Weiss’s jaw dropped. She still smiled however, crossing her arms. “Oh ha ha, I’ll have you know my cooking is leagues better than what you remember since last time you had it. I can cook amazing meals all by myself!”

“As long as it doesn’t involve a fryer.” Jaune added, walking over to kiss his wife’s cheek really quick.

Weiss’s face got a little flushed. “Grease is bothersome.” She mumbled. Blake could only chuckle at the remark while walking to the pot and dumping the vegetables inside. The smell of the stew intensified and reminded Weiss she is still very much the weakest in her friend group when cooking was involved. “How are you going to outdo me in my own home? Why’d you bring spices in the first place!?”

“Don’t question it!” Ruby shouted. Her body went on autopilot to grab the plates and cups for the dinner.

“Ruby, aren’t gonna make dinner at home?” The room said, thinking about Whitley.

Ruby then proceeded to grab one of Jaune’s tupperware containers. Apparently they were now feeding Whitley as well. Ruby knew they wouldn’t mind, so she felt no remorse when filling it. Her boldness knew no bonds.

“Ruby, how do you know they aren’t making enough food for the people in this house?”

“Because this household would crumble anytime Jaune did a mission and didn’t make enough food for weeks.”

“I can cook!!!!” Weiss yelled.

Jaune playfully rolled his eyes and patted Weiss’s back. “Ruby isn’t completely wrong. Anyways she can take as much as she wants. Nick and Veronica have a dinner date tonight so they won’t be joining us for dinner. Then I don’t if Summer-”

“Nick and Veronica have a date!?” Weiss and Ruby shouted.

“Oh yeah… that happened while you left.” Jaune tried to reach for the ladle for the stew but Weiss swatted his hand before turning his head back to her. Fortunately Blake swooped in to continue stirring. “Yeah so they’re going on a date tonight. I don’t know details.”

Weiss turned to Blake who shrugged. “I didn’t press Veronica too much about it. Yang should be upstairs with her trying on dresses.

“Behold! A beautiful sunflower in the snow!” Yang cried out from outside the kitchen unexpectedly.

“Or I guess she’s downstairs now.” Blake turned off the burner on the stove and moved the pot before following her friends out to the main hall. Outside was Yang standing proudly with her hands on her hips and staring up the stairs proudly. Jaune and Weiss’s eyes went wide while Winter seemed….impressed? As much as she could be. Her feelings towards Veronica in general were mixed. The girl was definitely beautiful though. That was just a fact.

Blake looked up to see her daughter all dressed up at the top of the steps. She wore a white, thin strapped dress that had a light blue sash around her waist. The skirt portion went down to about knee level and the flats she wore were also white. The bottom of the skirt brought more color in by being an intense light blue that faded to white half way up; lace snowflakes were intricately etched on to that portion to break the color up. Gloves that went just passed her elbows followed a similar scheme but started white at the hands before transitioning to blue. To top it all off, a pretty little light blue ribbon formed a bow on top of her head. It was that accessory that made Blake notice that not only wet her ears gone from sight, but so was her tail.

Veronica’s face was stricken with a decent shade of red. Her feet shuffling in place a little as she rubbed her left arm. “So….ummm thoughts?” She said anxiously. “This is just one of several ideas so no need to hold back.”

“Several? What, did you make these in a couple hours?” Winter asked.

“No. I’ve been working on a Fire and Ice collection recently. This dress in particular was already put together for the most part. Although the snowflakes at the bottom was a last minute decision I made half an hour ago.” Veronica swayed to make the skirt flow side to side. “Normally I’d say adding flames or snowflakes is a bit heavy handed since the colors of the outfit already speak fire and ice, but I don’t know. Felt appropriate. Especially since the white lace is on the blue. I even have them on the upper rim of the gloves. Made sleeve versions too.” Veronica inspected the stitching to make sure it was okay. “Hmm not my best work, but I kinda like it.”

“I kinda love it!” Yang proudly said. “Oh it takes me back to the Beacon dance a little. Back then another Schnee was outdone by a Xiao Long wearing white.”

“Ha, no! Your dress didn’t even look done!” Weiss shot back, refusing to take such slander. “This dress is ten times better than what you wore.”

Ruby nodded. “Yeah sis, your dress was pretty plain. Didn’t even have a bow.”

“I couldn’t find one!” Yang defended.

Judging by the banter, Veronica was getting positive vibes from the dress. She looked at Winter since the woman was there. Surprisingly, a thumbs up was given. “Well that was more positive than I expected from her.” Veronica thought. The only person who remained silent was Blake. Veronica turned to see her mother assessing what her daughter had on. The silence she gave made Veronica a little concerned. “What’s up mom? Not a fan of how thin the straps are? It’s not a low cut anywhere.”

“No, all that is fine. I just have to ask, why-” before Blake finished, the front door opened once again with Nick coming through it this time. Everyone froze in place by his sudden entrance. Including him!

“Uhhh why is everyone just standing in the front of the house?” Nick questioned. It was only when he looked up the left staircase did he get his answer. “Oh, that’s why. You look...wow.” He said, rather clumsily. “I didn’t think you’d get ready three hours ahead of schedule. I still gotta wash up from the grav- I mean my walk. Yeah, walk, around town. With no real location stopped at.” He had no idea why he kept saying things. The deadpanned look on Winter and Weiss’s face clearly showed they knew where he was.

Weiss gave a reassuring smile and poked his forehead. “No need to lie, especially so poorly. If talking to them brought you some form of clarity then by all means have at it.”

“Yeah it’s not my business either.” Winter added, ruffling his hair.

Veronica wasn’t exactly sure what they were discussing, but it looked like things were going well. Nick even looked like he was in a better mood then when he left. His eyes went back to Veronica and made her fidget a little. The gaze he gave her was focused, deliberate even.She didn’t know how to feel about it until Nick began to look a tad displeased. “I-Is something wrong?” Veronica asked hesitantly.

“Not wrong, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cover your ears. Tail yeah, since it can get in the way a bit, but why the bow?” He asked, pointing at it from afar. Everyone looked towards her for an answer, especially Blake. Nick had beaten her to the question.

Veronica looked down at her feet for a moment before looking at her family, crush, others. She never really knew what to call Weiss or her siblings. “Well normally I wouldn’t cover them, but while you were gone I kept thinking about this date…and how I wanted it to be a simple night out.” Heat began to rush to her cheeks. “So you know, people will stare and judge less if I’m like this. Not that their opinions matter, but I’d like to keep things peaceful as much as possible tonight. That’s all.” She looked at Blake who was looking right back at her. The answer didn’t seem to upset or surprise the mother. Veronica played with her a bit. “Is...that okay?”

“Hmm? You’re asking permission? It caught me off guard seeing it. Whether it be for aesthetic or personal reasons, I won’t dictate how you wanna design your clothes as long as it’s appropriate. After all, ribbons and I have a history. Couldn’t judge you if I wanted.”

That was a relief to hear. Veronica had completely forgotten her mother wasn’t a stranger to trying to blend in. “Well if that’s settled-”

“Hold on.” Nick softly said, his calm footsteps walking up the stairs to meet her. Everyone fell speechless as they watched him. Veronica for some reason felt as if the mood had changed. The room was quieter, air completely still. The face of the boy in front of her began to look more earnest than it has ever been as it got closer, stifling her breath. Nick extended his hand out slowly till his fingers clasped a corner of the bow, then unraveled it.

The ribbon flowed slowly into his palm and then was brought down towards Veronica’s. “If a calm night means you have to hide, then is it really a calm worth having? Like you said, those people don’t matter. Besides, I like your ears.”

Burst, Veronica felt like her heart could’ve burst. The blush on her cheeks deepened greatly and her eyes went wide from the shocking words. She had barely remembered to breathe. If she paid attention to the audience below then she would’ve been embarrassed by the grins that went ear to ear but no. Veronica only noticed Nick and his gentle smile that matched his words. Her mind finally caught up with itself and Veronica grasped the ribbon ever so slowly.

“O-Okay…” she said without thinking. Anybody else may have gotten more of a debate on it. Not him though. Not after words like those. “I’ll...make a few adjustments then.” She said, flattered and flustered as she walked back to her room without any more words.

“Take your time. You still have about three hours like I said, plus I gotta wash up.” He reminded her, not realizing just how sweet his words were. He turned back around to see smug faces and contained laughter. “What?”

“Nick…” Winter said, smiling with her hands on her hips. “And you wonder why girls flock to you obsessively. You’re too much.”

“I’ll say.” Blake said, admiring the boy. “But you know what? There’s something perfect about that. Nicholas, thank you.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what he did but he got embarrassed all the same, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. At least things finally felt relaxed in this house. “Umm you’re welcome?”

With teasing done and the mood lightened, everyone went back to doing their respective things. Jaune and Blake went back to prepping food. Weiss went with Ruby to set tables and properly catch up, while Yang decided to keep Winter company since both her son and Qrow were off adventuring. The chatter filled the hallways and even reached upstairs to not only Veronica, but Summer, who finally managed to fall asleep peacefully. Even Nick found a bit of proper rest in the bath. The soothing warm water filled with epsom salt was more than enough to make him doze off. Time steadily went forward and the adults began winding down. However, the kids were just getting ready for the night.

xxxxx

Dusk finally came. Winter leaned up against the main door waiting until she saw Nick coming walking down the stairs looking dashing. His crisp white suit, ice blue tie and handkerchief were perfectly in place along with his slick back hair.

“Hey Whitley jr.”

He groaned, “Please don’t. This is why I do nothing with my hair. One minute I look like dad, then the next I’m uncle.”

“Grow it out more then.” Winter suggested.

He shook his head. “That’s a slippery slope. Too long and I’ll be compared to you, mom, and sis. I guess my face is just too great.”

“Pfft, you just know you can’t compete with all this.” Winter sassed, turning her head to sway her hair. Nick would have objected if she wasn’t right.

“Whatever hehe. Anyways, everybody still here?”

“No, Ruby eventually headed home, but everyone else is strung about. I’m heading out myself but I figured I could drop you and Veronica off for your date.”

Nick gave her aunt a huge smile. “Awww, auntie!”

“Oh hush, don’t make it a big deal. It’s convenient, that’s all.”

“Well I appreciate it nonetheless. Veronica will too.”

Winter mumbled,“She better show it by not getting you or sister into trouble.”

“I heard that.” Veronica called from up the staircase. Winter and Nick looked in that direction to see her walking down. Nick wasn’t prepared.

Veronica had switched the gloves out for detachable sleeves that still exposed her shoulders. They also followed the same white to blue pattern. What really changed was she used the ribbon to make a high ponytail and now dawning jewelry. A pearl white necklace rested around her neck and complemented the pearl earrings she wore. Slowly she approached Nick with her hands holding each other in front of her. Veronica’s face was still a healthy shade of red. This close, Nick couldn’t help but smell of peach nectar. An interesting and oddly refreshing choice for perfume.

“Well...ummm...you weren’t kidding when you said you would out dress me.” Nick said, captivated. “I’d say you’re one billion, easily.”

Veronica chuckled nervously. “Hehe,th...thanks. I wouldn’t go that far, but I appreciate it.” Looking at him was harder than usual. Men’s dress shoes had a bit of heel, so Nick actually was a bit taller then her now since she chose flats. It could only be by an inch or two but it made a hell of a difference to her. “I had a little help near the end. These are actually your sister’s pearls.”

“Really? Oh, that’s right! I think the only reason she got them was so this other rude girl couldn’t. I don’t remember the specifics.”

“Wow. You two are….extremely petty at times.” Veronica said. Yeah pettiness was nothing new to her, but she’d never bought something to spite someone else. That’s the lifestyle in Atlas she supposed. “Anyways, if you’re ready to go then I am too. I’d really like to avoid-”

Click! The sound of a camera cut her off. The two teens looked back to see their parents all taking photos. Trying to stop them would be impossible. The only thing they could do is quietly wait for the clicking to stop, which was thankfully over in seconds.

“Gee I didn’t realize I lived with paparazzi.” Nick quipped. Another flash came from up above the second floor. Summer and her bed head leaned against the railing. “Summer!? You too!?”

“I came down to eat and saw we were embarrassing you. How could I not?” She took one more photo and then made her way down to the kitchen. “Have fun. I’m gonna eat and go right back to bed.”

Nick knew she was lying of course. That was the real reason she came down now, to announce she’d be sleeping in her room so nobody would disturb her. Summer, never missing an opening, also collected everything she needed from upstairs without anyone noticing. It was scary how far she’d plan ahead sometimes.

Winter finally decided to open the front door and head out. “Let’s move people. Rich or not, it’s rude to be late for reservations.”

“So strict. Almost think that you’re about to go drill instructor on me.” Veronica jokes, walking out the door.

“Don’t think I won’t make you drop and give me twenty just because you’re in a dress.” Winter shot back, closing the door as Nick walked out.

“The sad thing is she isn’t kidding…” Weiss nervously said. “That’s gonna be a long car ride.”

Summer came out of the kitchen with a bowl of stew and an evil look in her eye. “Why are there less left overs than usual? Who had seconds?”

“Ruby took some for Whitley. As well as had seconds…”

Summer squinted as if Ruby was there to actually receive the grumpy look before putts spoonful in her mouth and walking back upstairs.

“Ma’am, the table. Not your room.” Weiss said, using her mom voice.

Summer did a heel turn to the dining room. “Who made this stew!?” She said annoyed. Jaune and Blake both raised their hands. “It’s fantastic!” Was all she said as she continued walking.

Blake and Yang looked at each other confused before looking at their friends.

“Hangry.” Was all Jaune said.

“Ah…” the couple said together.

The moment Summer was out of sight from everyone she put the bowl down and searched around the living room quickly until she found her guitar case. Quickly, she grabbed it and opened a window towards the side of the estate and tossed it on a set of glyphs that hopefully propelled it right into her open room window. She then ran back to the dining room to sit down and eat comfortably.

“Phew! That was the last thing. And now I wait.” She took another bite of the stew happily. Nothing tastes better than an escape plan coming together.

[queenoffanfictions]

Just a Midgardian ( Loki x reader)

Chapter 1: Mortal

Summary: You go to Asgard with Loki and Thor. You think it’s a dream coming true, but Odin is willing to make your life a living hell. Fortunately, Loki is here for you.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

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Thor and Loki insisted that you accompanied them in Asgard. Tony was upset you were leaving so soon, but how could you say no to going to Asgard? When Thor and Loki first brought it up, you thought it was a joke. And yet, here you were, walking on the Bifrost with Thor and Loki at your sides. Walking wasn’t an easy task when a city as marvelous and unbelievable as Asgard was right in front of you.

When you arrived in front of the huge doors of the palace, you began to notice hundreds of Asgardians staring wildly at you and the princes. You forced a smile, though, you knew, they were staring at you. You were a Midgardian, and they were Asgardians among gods themselves. You could live at least ninety years old whereas they would live for thousands of years. A shill run through your body at the only thought your life was probably worth ten minutes for these gods.

Already feeling self-conscious, you saw the Asgardian women all glaring at you with jealousy, envy and anger. You were a mere mortal, and yet you were with the princes of Asgard. You shivered and watched a woman ran to Loki, and hugged him tenderly. It was Frigga, Loki and Thor’s mother. You smiled. Frigga loved Loki deeply, even knowing what he had done in New York. She loved him, nonetheless.

Thor greeted his father, and Odin wrapped his arms around his son with affection.

Loki tensed, observing Thor and Odin. The God of Mischief waited for their embrace to end, and then he headed towards the Allfather. You thought maybe Odin would have hugged him like he had done with Thor, though, he only stood still like a marble statue.

“Odin.”Loki declared with a nod.

“Loki.”

It was awkward. So awkward you walked up to Loki quickly to help him. You knew it was going to make things worse, but you cared too much about Loki not to intervene.

You cleared your throat to distract Odin from him, and fortunately it worked.

It worked too well...

Odin took several steps towards you with a threatening look.

“Who are you?”He questioned, pure astonishment written all over his face.

“My name’s Y/N. It’s an honor to meet you.”You declared, trying to bow properly.

Though, it must have looked as your back was broken.

“Who brought a mortal to Asgard?”Odin shouted, frowning and clenching his fists tightly.

Odin advanced again, and you began to back off. He was still a god, and he was walking dangerously towards you, eyes red with hatred.

“Father, stop!”Thor screamed, preventing his father from advancing further.

“Why is she here, Thor?”

The God of Thunder looked at the ground, avoiding purposely the gaze of his father.

“Loki. Would you tell me why a mortal is in Asgard?”

The God of Mischief searched your eyes, and when he finally crossed your gaze, you found regret, and fear. He didn’t say a word. Were they ashamed of you?

“Someone needs to tell me how a pathetic Midgardian got there?”Odin cried, eyeing you suspiciously.

“My dear.”Said Frigga with a soothing voice.”Let them rest a bit. We’ll discuss this at dinner.”

Frigga put her hand on her husband’s shoulder, and he immediately relax under her touch.

He nodded and entered in the palace, without caring about his sons. Frigga glanced at you, smiled warmly and followed Odin.

What had just happened?

Sadness filled in your eyes, you headed towards the two brothers.

“I shouldn’t be here. Odin was right.”You said, trying not to burst into tears.

The princes gazed at you, still not saying a single word. It was answer enough for you, you began to walk towards the Bifrost again. At least, Tony and Natasha would be happy to see you return.

“Y/N!”You heard Loki shout.

You accelerated the pace and stopped when you felt a hand grab your shoulder.

“Stay. Please.”Loki pleaded, his hands on your shoulders, forcing you to look straight in his eyes.

Amazed, Thor was watching you argue with Loki. He knew his brother, and if he really didn’t care about you, as he always told Thor, he wouldn’t try to make you stay.

“Why should I stay?”You cried, tears burning your eyes.”People aren’t exactly happy to see me, Asgardian women already despise me, and Odin can’t bear to stare at me for more than one minute! Give me one damn reason to stay in this nightmarish place!”

“Stay... for me.”He muttered, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

With wide eyed, you tried to open your mouth, but Loki put a finger in front of your lips to prevent you from talking.

“Forget them. They’re always like that. Beautiful place. Awful people.”

You nodded, and let the tears fall on your cheeks, not caring if Loki sees you so weak. So fragile. So human.

“How? How can I stay?”You questioned, weeping your tears with the sleeve of your shirt.

“At first, it’ll be hard, but I’ll be here, Y/N. Don’t let me alone with them. Please.”

Staring at the ground, you sighed.

“I won’t.”You replied, eyes red.

He smiled and traced your cheek with his hand slowly. You closed your eyes, leaning under his touch.

You would survive. Eventually. For Loki.

Loki headed towards the entrance of the palace, and you followed him.

It would be hard to be only a Midgardian among all these perfect people. Although you may not have been a god, you had the power to fix the most broken person on Asgard.

⬇️Chapter 2⬇️

[ddaenggtan]

forever rain | knj | m

Being dead isn't anything exciting. Just a lot of walking the same halls of the same apartment day after day after day. Things change when the new tennant arrives, though. Kim Namjoon isn't anything you could have expected; not the way he's so careful and gentle with his plants because he breaks so many other things, not the way his friends joke that he's psychic because you refuse to let him get in the face one time, and certainly not the way he comes home after literal months spent moving things away from table edges for him and announces that he knows he's being haunted and he has some questions for you. You didn't know ghosts could fall in love, but he makes you feel alive again, like you're standing in the rain while thunder crashes around you. You should've known nothing good would come of falling in love with someone living, though. You should've known that heartbreak was the only way this could end...that the rain doesn't last forever. 

part of the Love Yourself Collab, please please please go check out the other fics. Everyone involved is so freaking talented and I have been vibrating out of my skin with how excited I’ve been to read all of these. 

pairing | kim namjoon x reader (unspecified gender, even!)

word count | 18.8k | cross posted to ao3

genre/warnings | ghost!reader, slight fluff, hard angst, literally the most angst ever it gets fluffy for a bit but litERALLY this is an angst fic, major character death, unprotected sex (idk what the etiquette for ghost sex is but you should still wrap it before you tap it fam), depictions of terminal illness (v mild), mentions of blood (several, but not graphic), major character death, allusions to violence, namjoon is a klutz whats new, depictions of terminal illness, major character death, i added that tag three times pls dont read this if you aren’t comf with mcd bc i literally tagged it three times so y’all would definitely see it, also probably have some tissues ready bc i cried while writing it so 

a/n | this is, to date, the saddest thing i have ever written in my entire fucking life. formal apologies to this joon bc oh my god you poor soul. i’m not kidding when i say you might cry, because i’m a big baby wuss and cried while writing the fucking outline when i first decided to write this for the collab so like......rip my own heart. i was really honored when i was approached about the LYA collab, bc like,,,,,mE? WHAT? and i was really nervous because i’ve never been part of any collabs in any fandom ever, and to have to do something like forever rain and mono as a whole justice, like,,,,,,, *screaming* y’know?? so i went on mono lockdown and just had the whole thing on repeat and was like “alright. what emotions does this make me feel.” and i eventually settled on the loneliness and isolation that he expresses, and feeling like no one understands what you’re going through, but that ultimately the album as a whole and forever rain give off this feeling of like. things get better, you’re not as alone as you feel, and you just gotta get through the bad stuff to find the good stuff. basically i just got really in my feels about it and was like ‘lets make myself cry ahahaha’ and,,,i dID i cried several times while planning and writing and editing bc im a Soft Bitch and don’t read much angst for that exact reason lmao. so buckle tf up y’all, this a helluva ride!! 

Of all the things you'd heard about death, all the different possibilities that existed in the world, the one thing you hadn't been prepared for was the boredom. You hadn't been prepared for any of it, really, too surprised by your own demise to plan at all, but even if you'd been able to, you don't think that this is what you would've counted on. An eternity - or however long ghosts existed - of being stuck in the same studio apartment you'd lived in when you died. The same walls, the same floor, the same view out the only window of the alley beside the building. It's boring and lonely and boring.

You've found more creative ways to entertain yourself as time passes. First, you started by figuring out just what being a ghost meant. You can't really communicate with anyone, haven't figured out how to make sure everything you say is heard, but you can manipulate objects pretty easily these days. The most difficult thing is becoming fully corporeal - completely visible and able to interact with things at the same time. It's hard enough to be visible, and you aren't really sure what the point of it would be when it would just scare whoever's living in your apartment; that's the last thing you want to do, run them off when they're the best source of amusement you've found.

You won't lie, you were a little offended when the first tenants moved in after you. It was difficult to watch your things get packed up and moved out by your friends, hard to lose all of the little things you loved in your apartment, like the shitty bead curtain you'd gotten as a gag gift or the photo collage of all of your loved ones. It's frustrating to not know how they're all doing these days; the one time you got brave enough to fuck with a laptop to check on them, you nearly broke the thing, and you haven't tried since. Still, it seemed cathartic for them to clear out your apartment, and it was a bittersweet sight, but you tried to focus on the positive side of it.

And then the couple moved in.

Not only did they fuck like rabbits - which is something you're going to stay pissed about, because there's no satisfaction to be had by you anymore, and it's the one thing you can think of that would be endlessly entertaining - but the couple was also grossly obnoxious. They had zero respect for your apartment , or you, and while one could argue that they didn't actually know you were there, it still made the sting of losing your entire life that much worse. You spent you don't know how many nights hovering awkwardly in the bathroom while they fucked, would constantly wander in to see them going at it on the kitchen counter at ass o'clock in the morning, and once you came in to see them tossing actual literal eggs at the ceiling like the absolute fucking weirdos they were.

So, naturally, you got a little mad. How dare they treat your apartment like that? They had no respect, but they were going to learn it real quick if they were going to live there with you, whether they wanted to or not.

They didn't last long after the first night of slamming cabinets and squealing hinges, but the thrown picture frame of their family was the conclusive end to their stay.

There have been others, since then. They haven't all been terrible, not like that first couple, but most of them have been sub-par roommates, and if you decided early on that if the rest of your immortal life is going to be locked in one shitty apartment with the absolute worst view in the city - because no one wants to see the drunken hookups and potential body dumps that take place in that alley - then you're at least going to share said apartment with someone nice to exist with.

You release a heavy sigh, staring at where your hand disappears through the shower wall. You've taken to testing the boundaries of the apartment again; you already know what the result will be, learned in the first few hours that you're stuck here, but you can't help trying when you get really bored. You just got distracted fucking around with the pipes in the meantime, because you're literally too bored to even focus. It's part of why you miss the last tenants so much, because you weren't ever really bored with them around.

A single mother and her two kids, crammed into a much-too-small apartment because it was all they could afford, and they were the light of your un-life. One a budding teenager that wrote angsty poetry who loved your trick of making things float around, and one an adorable toddler who adored playing peekaboo with you and coloring, and a mom that was too busy to notice anything out of the ordinary. It was like having a family again, made you feel useful when you could pull the meat out of the freezer for her to make dinner with or scratch a quick 'do your homework' on a steamy bathroom mirror. It was fun and it made being dead that much more bearable.

You really should've known that letting the toddler draw the two of you would be a bad idea, especially since there were several artistic liberties taken. It's not your fault the kid thought you'd look cool with fangs and bloody holes instead of eyes and claws that reached the floor. It was art, it was supposed to be a little different from reality. Still, you can't blame her for seeing the picture of her kid and 'my new best friend' and immediately calling the landlord. And a priest.

So, perhaps you gave the apartment a bit of a reputation. Maybe it's been a couple of months since the mom moved out and took your two buds with her. There might be the possibility that you've been the slightest bit salty about losing your friends and you've been extra-ghost-y whenever someone comes by to view the place in an attempt to make yourself feel a little better. Can you really be blamed for that? You just want a decent damn roommate for your life after death, and if that means putting the potentials through a little bit of a test, then so be it. You only feel a little bit bad for the landlord.

The creak of the front door pulls you from your thoughts, and the echo of a voice makes you narrow your eyes. Your first instinct is to slam some windows to scare off whoever's in your apartment, but you repress the urge. You'd die of boredom if you could die again, and whoever this is could provide a few hours' entertainment at the least.

You pop your head through the bathroom wall to see what's going on, and wow , who let an actual giant into your apartment? Fucking with the pipes could definitely wait for this guy.

"I know it's last minute, yeah," He says into the phone that's held carefully between his cheek and shoulder. His arms are loaded down with boxes and he's angled away from you just enough that you can't see his face, but he's tall and broad and wearing what looks like the world's comfiest sweater, and you want to badly to wrap yourself up in him. "But you know Joon needs the help. Don't pretend you aren't constantly willing to put off your thesis, I know for a fact that you went out to look at stationery with Tae last week, and everyone knows that's the most boring thing on the planet."

He's quiet, listening to the soft crackle of a voice from the other end. You slide through the wall completely, hovering as close as you dare to try and hear what the other person is saying. Tall, Broad, and Comfy scoffs.

"He can stare at one sheet of paper for at least ten minutes, Yoongi. Do I need to remind you of the time he spent an entire fucking hour debating which set of holiday scrapbook to buy because, and I quote, 'this one has the really nice rose pattern on it that would look great with the invitations, but, oh, look at the pinstripes in this one!'" His voice morphs into what you guess is an approximation of whoever Tae is, and you laugh at the high-pitched, nasally tone.

Tall and Broad spins, eyes narrowing as he looks around the room, and fuck , he's literally gorgeous. You've never seen someone more attractive in your life or your death and it would probably knock the wind out of you if you actually had breath. Comfy McGorgeous turns back around and sets the stack of boxes in the corner, continuing his tirade about Tae and stationery while simultaneously trying to talk Yoongi into coming, you assume, to help Joon move. You don't know who any of these people are, but they're already proving to be the most entertaining bunch that's ever graced these walls.

The door to your apartment flies open, making both you and Boyfriend Material whip your head around.

"Christ, Jin, you couldn't hold the fucking door open for us?" Someone grunts. Beauty Von Softness - or, Jin, as you should probably refer to him - winces and strides over to do just that as two more guys stagger in with a couch suspended between them. The second they're in the door they drop it to the ground and flop onto it, panting and sweaty.

"Listen, I was busy trying to get our resident hermit out of his cave to help us carry some of this shit," Jin spits back. "And you all know what it's like getting him out and about."

"Did you tell him that there's pizza after we're done? Because I've found that food is the best motivator for him," the guy closest to the door says. His hair is soft-looking and long and you wish you could pet it.

The other guy, the one who cursed Jin out and has the softest pink hair you've ever seen, laughs. "Jeongguk, you always think the best motivator is food."

"Well, yeah, because it is."

"For you, maybe. Other people require actual rewards."

"But food is a reward," Jeongguk mutters into the fabric of the couch. Jin tsks and smacks As Yet Unnamed on the back of the head.

"You're lucky I hung up on him when you bombarded your way into this place, or he'd definitely not come help us," Jin says as he leans against the back of the couch.

Unnamed starts to say something else but is cut off by someone running straight into the end of the couch. They all shoot to their feet, spouting apologies as the three of them maneuver the couch into the apartment properly.

"Sorry, sorry, Jimin distracted us from properly finishing our job," Jeongguk says quickly. He looks to the stranger with a small apologetic smile, and you're pretty sure if it were humanly possible, there would be actual literal stars in his eyes.

"Oh, it's okay, Jeonggukkie. I should've been looking where I was going." New Challenger walks straight towards where you stand, and you realize seconds before it's too late that he is not aware there is a massive stack of boxes in his path. Instinctively, you shove them to the side with your foot. Tall And Oblivious sets his boxes down without any trouble, none the wiser about any of it, and the three near the couch are too busy bickering in hushed whispers to have noticed you doing anything.

The newcomer straightens and turns to look at them all with a bright smile, and you think you might actually see The Light in the way his cheeks dimple. If you thought the other three were beautiful - which they are, no doubt about that, you're seriously wondering why the hell a bunch of supermodels are moving stuff into your apartment - then this guy is easily an Actual Fucking God or something. His brown hair is soft and shiny, his smile is warmer than the sun, and you're fairly positive that for the first time since you died, you feel goosebumps along your arms.

"Seriously, Namjoon, we should've realized you'd be up soon. You stay, start unpacking while we go get the rest of the furniture." Jimin shoves Jeongguk out the door while he's speaking, ignoring the taller's complaints, and Jin just shakes his head at the sight.

"Yoongi'll be here soon, he's finishing up another draft of his thesis. Hobi and Tae are stopping to get the pizzas and then they'll be here, too." Jin's voice is calmer than it was Jimin and Jeongguk, more soothing, and it makes you curious. Not only because of the tone change, but because you know Hobi, he owns the building and is the one who rented you the apartment when you first moved in. One of your favorite things to do is scare him when he comes by to make sure everything’s ready for a viewing.

"What? No, I said I was gonna pay for pizzas!" Namjoon looks distinctly more upset about this than someone should over not having to pay for pizza, at least in your mind, and it only makes you more curious.

"Yeah, but you also just moved out of your old apartment because it was too expensive, and had like an hour to load everything into a truck, so you're gonna let their trust fund asses pay for pizzas. We're seven adult men, and Guk could eat an entire horse and still be hungry. I'm not letting you pay for that."

Silence hangs in the apartment for a while before Namjoon gives a soft thanks to Jin. They share a smile before Jin makes his way back out. You follow each step, shadowing him all the way to the door before you're stopped. You lean your entire body forward, struggling against the invisible barrier keeping you inside, and the force of it nearly slams you back into the wall when you sag in defeat.

You aren't sure why you try anymore, but you know yourself well enough to admit that you're not going to stop until you can at least make it to the hallway.

Whatever you expected Namjoon to be like as a roommate, however unknowing he is about the situation, you don't think you could've guessed what he's actually like.

Out of the seven boys you saw the day he moved in, he's the only one living there. Not a complete surprise, considering it's a studio apartment, but you remember when there were nine people living there at one point, and there was barely room for anyone to breathe even if it had been pretty consistently amusing. Still, for one person, he's got a ton of stuff, and it's a shock it all fits. His bed is massive and comfortable and the best place to lay during the day because it's shoved between the brick half-wall and the large windows that take up one wall. The area's supposed to be for a dining table, you think, but you'd had your bed there, too, and the familiarity is nice.

His couch is small and old but manages to fit five of them, and it's a pleasantly jarring difference from the coffee table that looks like - and might actually be - an old steamer trunk. The exposed brick wall you love holds his mounted TV, a feat that took Jeongguk and Yoongi a solid hour and a half because they kept stripping the screws, and it's got one of those 8-cubicle bookshelf things under it that stores a frankly obnoxious amount of books.

He's got mugs for days, an adorable if odd collection of figurines and mini-statues scattered around the apartment, a strange obsession with some reclaimed wood shelf he's got hanging above his bed, but the absolute highlight of it all is The Wall.

It took them three hours to get it installed and set up the way he wanted, between the placements and the thick wooden shelf they’re perched on with supports and a small safety bar along the edge to keep them from falling off, but along the entire windowed wall and partway after it turns the corner runs a long shelf absolutely covered in plants. There are some elsewhere, like the one he keeps hanging from the bathroom ceiling and the couple in the kitchen, but most are on The Wall. Each one is in its own special pot, each a unique color with a name painted carefully along it, and most of them look half-dead. They're all distinct and unique from each other and they all surely have different needs and ideal conditions, but you'd never guess because Namjoon is so wholly committed to them all. He takes time every day to water them and prune them if he needs to, he checks on them constantly. He even reinforced the safety bar for the ones that sit beside his bed, so there was less chance he'd accidentally knock them around while sleeping.

It's fascinating, watching him tend to them. He's so careful and gentle, with absolute precision in every moment. He cares for his plants the way some people would care for a pet or a child. He doesn’t believe any of them are past caring for, slowly nurses all of them back to health and frequently turns up with more he’s saved from some department store. The most endearing thing, though, you decide as you sit curled among the haphazard blankets of his bed and watch, is the talking. It's every day, for as long as it takes him to care for the plants, and it's the cutest thing in the world. He's talking to some succulent as you just stare at him, filling the comfortable silence of the apartment with his soft, soothing voice, and you wish he could hear you when you talk back to him.

"I know they mean well, but at some point, I've just gotta live my own life, y'know? I can't study something just because everyone expects me to, and I can't pursue some dream just because people think I'd be good at it. I've gotta do what's right for me, don't I?" His tone is positive and bright, a contrast to the gloomy sky that casts shadows across the apartment.

You float over, hovering beside him to look at the plant he's lovingly stroking with his thumb. It's in a pretty periwinkle pot, with the name 'Mang' painted in careful but shaky black handwriting. It's not your favorite - that's the one in the bathroom that hangs over its light blue bowl, a quickly scrawled 'Koya' on the bottom - but it seems to be one of Namjoon's personal favorites based on how often he talks to it specifically.

"I think it's nice you do things for yourself," You tell him. He doesn't react, unable to hear you, but it's nice to hear your own voice after so long. You slide one of the plants - Chim, in a small yellow bowl - to the side and away from his elbow, and he doesn't notice. "You know yourself better than they do. You should trust yourself."

He keeps mumbling to Mang, something about everyone following their own dreams and doing what they need over what people want or expect, when you lay your hand over his.

Thunder cracks through the sky and the first raindrops hits the window as your non-existent skin hits his, and it's the most real thing you've felt in a long time. It's as if the scent of ozone and electricity is in the apartment itself, crackling in your hair and filling your nose with the overpowering scent of the sweet summer rain. You can almost feel the water hit your skin, the way the wind whips at your hair, and it's so intoxicating that you almost miss the sharp inhale from the man beside you.

He's not looking at his plant when you look up, but instead at the window in front of the two of you. You glance at it, and for a fraction of a second, you can see yourself in the reflection. The glimpse has you jerking towards it before you can stop yourself, desperate to know if something has changed. You haven't seen your reflection since you died, not in the mirror or the window or the toaster, and maybe, just maybe, it means something's changed.

Your hand stops against the glass of the window as you reach forward. You can't feel the cool of it under your palm, but it's no less a barrier for you as it would be for Namjoon. Something in you breaks as you watch the raindrops race each other to the ground.

"Ah, I forgot the forecast called for rain today," he mutters, eyes focused on the lightning that streaks by. He doesn't react when your fist slams against the glass, nor when you let out the scream that's been building in you for however long it's been since you died. You're so close, not even a hair's breadth from feeling something new yet familiar for the first time in so long, and you can't. You're still stuck in these four walls, unable to even reach the air outside.

You just want to feel the rain again.

You move dejectedly away from the window, ignoring the way Namjoon shivers as you pass. The temperature in the apartment has dropped considerably, you think, between the storm and your own mood. You can't tell, really. You haven't felt warm or cold or hungry or anything since you died that isn't the oppressive loneliness of life after death.

A dry sob tears itself from your throat and you hurry to hide in the bathroom as Namjoon turns to look around him. He mumbles something you can't hear and after a few minutes, he returns to tending to his plants, leaving you to your tear-less cries in peace.

It becomes quickly apparent to you that Namjoon should really have a roommate, if only to save him from himself. It takes a few weeks for you to realize this, but luckily he seems to narrate his life as he goes through it - which is overwhelmingly adorable to you, and you refuse to acknowledge that - and that means that you hear it every time he goes, "Ah, Namjoon, be more careful next time," or "Oh, shoot, that's not, fuck, I gotta buy more eggs now." It's painful to watch, even for you, and at some point, you just couldn't take it anymore. No one else is around to help, but someone needs to you, and clearly the universe means for you to be that someone.

It's a full-time job, protecting him from himself. You've saved countless mugs, pushing them farther away from the edges of counters and tables, and been just in time to shove bowls or vases an inch over so that his elbows glide harmlessly past them. It's almost exhausting, if you could get tired you would, but it's worth it, you think, as you catch the bookshelf under the TV as it tilts. You slide it gently to the floor, glad that Namjoon is distracted by how close he came to losing a toe to notice.

Because that's the other thing about this tree of a man: he's the most oblivious person you've ever fucking seen. It doesn't matter what it is you do, whether it's bouncing his spray bottle of water so it doesn't break on the hard floor or shake the counters so that the knife he's about to drop on his fucking hand falls the other way, he doesn't see a single fucking thing. You'd think he was blind if he wasn't so attentive to the way his plants grow. He notices nothing and you're glad for it because you really aren't sure what he would do if he knew you were going around haunting him just to keep him alive. You just want to help, want to keep the soft smile he wears more often around for as long as possible.

You don't dare to look into why you want that, too afraid of what you might find there.

It's also just fun to watch him and his friends, relaxed and unreserved. You never had many friends when you were alive, just a small handful that you really truly loved and whom you miss every day. Watching these seven boys fills you with nostalgia and a strange sense of joy because they really are some of the funniest people you've ever been around.

Like now, with four of them sprawled on the couch while Jeongguk and Hoseok make themselves comfortable leaning against the bookshelf under the TV - which has been bolted to the wall since it almost broke Namjoon's foot - and Namjoon watches them all from his bed since it's the only other place to sit. There are beer bottles scattered around and decorating the half-wall that separates the bed from the room proper, everyone is varying levels of drunk, and you're curled up close to Namjoon, leaning against the wall so you can stop him from knocking over any of the bottles nearby because you know him too well at this point.

"I'm just saying, I don't understand why they made him so over-powered in the new movies, because he's supposed to be some kid from Brooklyn! Giving him the high-tech suit essentially strips him of the friendly neighborhood persona that he's always relied on!" Jeongguk has been ranting for a while about the newest release in the Spiderman franchise - apparently, he's part of the actual Avengers now, which is a shock to you since the last thing you heard before you died was that the franchise was canceled until further notice or something.

"And I'm saying that if they didn't give him the suit then it would've made no sense how he was able to do those things," Yoongi responds. You're pretty sure he's just arguing to be contrary at this point, because you remember him telling Namjoon the other day that he prefers DC over Marvel.

"Garfield's Spiderman could do those things," you mutter, "And he didn't have a fancy suit."

"Okay, then how do you explain Andrew Garfield's version being able to do that stuff? He doesn't need the suit, he never has!" You preen at the way Jeongguk echoes your thoughts. "I'm telling you, I don't care how good the relationship with Holland's Spidey and Iron Man is, by giving him the tech and the advancements they did, they've undermined everything that Spiderman is supposed to be about."

"Jeongguk come off it, everyone knows Garfield's Spidey was just all bad writing. I mean, what kind of person can do all that stuff, realistically? He's the one that really needed the Stark suit." Taehyung's voice is slurred and quiet, definitely as drunk as the rest of them. 

"What-! No! I could do half of that without being bitten by a weird science spider!" Jin scoffs at Jeongguk's words. 

"Yeah, sure, Guk. The same way you can do that bottlecap challenge."

"Bottle cap challenge, and yeah, I could!" The youngest stands and you don't bother to hide your grimace. 

"This isn't going to end well, is it?" You ask. No one acknowledges you, too busy finding something Jeongguk can kick the cap off of as the boy readies himself. He's steady on his feet but his face is red and he can't seem to stop giggling. 

"If I do this, you gotta call me SpiderGuk from now on, okay?" He says. No one agrees, but it doesn't stop him from laughing again and doing a couple of roundhouse kicks to warm up. 

"Okay, okay, Joonie doesn't have any regular water bottles, but we found a screw-top beer in the fridge so ya gotta use that," Jimin says as he stumbles over with said bottle. Jeongguk just nods, an adorable focused expression on his face. Jimin holds the bottle in the air, and you can already tell his grip isn't tight enough to keep the bottle still when Jeongguk kicks it. 

The next ten seconds happen in slow-motion. Jeongguk's leg flies out to kick but his drunken body isn't able to handle the sudden shift in balance, and he slips. His foot hits the bottle slightly too low, and it goes flying out of Jimin's weak grip into the air. Everyone in the room watches as it hurtles straight towards Namjoon's face, and you react out of habit and instinct, catching it in one hand before you even realize you've moved. 

Everyone freezes, staring at where the bottle hovers in front of Namjoon's face. You're the only one able to see your fingers wrapped around it. A shock jolts through you at the realization of what you've done and you drop the bottle as if it burned you. Fuck, they were all going to freak, then Namjoon would move out and you'd be stuck alone once more. You should've just shoved him out of the way, what were you thinking, you're so fucking stupid-

"Dude," Hoseok mutters from where he's perched on the arm of the couch. "Holy shit, Joon, you're fucking telepathic." 

Yoongi rolls his eyes and smacks his chest. "Telekinetic, you fucking-"

"Holy shit, you've got fucking superpowers!" Jeongguk squeaks. "Do it again!"

Namjoon isn't even able to get a word out before there's a book flying at his face, and you panic. You can't catch it, too rushed, but you manage to deflect it so it hits the bed with a soft thump instead of braining Namjoon straight in the nose. 

"Woah, you really do have superpowers," Jimin whispers. He lobs a bottlecap at Namjoon, and you catch it in your palm before letting it drop onto the half-wall. 

"I don't have...what the fuck you guys," Namjoon insists. His eyes are as wide as saucers behind the thick glasses he has on. He looks freaked out and you want nothing more than to hug him. Your hand reaches out of its own accord, halfway closing the distance to stroke his hair before you catch yourself. 

"Hey, levitate your plants," Jin demands. Namjoon looks panicked as he glances at the wall of plants, and you heave a sigh. With any luck, they're so drunk that they'll remember this as a strange fever dream, but you can't just let them keep throwing things at him. You crawl over to the wall, avoiding Namjoon as you do, and grasp one of the plants tight. It's a white pot with red polka dots, a simple RJ on the side, and it's fucking heavy. You only get it a few inches off the shelf before you're forced to put it down.

"Oh my god, catch this!" Taehyung throws a coffee mug straight at Namjoon's head and you panic again. You catch it, and you've decided you're fucking sick of them throwing things at him, so you lob it back and dart across the room to bounce it safely to the counter before it can break. 

Everyone in the room stares at the mug and then looks back at Namjoon, who hasn't moved from his spot on the bed. 

"Oh my god, you're a superhero," Jeongguk whispers, awe in his eyes. 

"That's fucked up," Yoongi mutters, wincing when Hoseok elbows him. 

"Maybe we should get some sleep," Namjoon says quietly. The others look like they want to disagree with him, and you have no doubt they want to explore the newfound 'abilities' of their friend, but they still start gathering trash together before they head out. 

Namjoon lays awake for a long time that night, glasses folded and sitting atop the half-wall beside you. He's oblivious to the way you watch him, too lost in thought to feel the weight of your stare or the chill in the air. 

"I don't understand," He says after a while. "I really don't, but there's got to be a reason for it." He doesn't elaborate, merely turns over and evens his breathing out until he starts snoring, but you watch him for most of the night. He's fascinating, this human, and you wonder what makes him so different from the others you've met. 

He apparently decides to experiment. You've known Namjoon is intelligent since he first moved in and you saw his collectible encyclopedias, but you hadn't realized just what it would be like in actuality. 

It starts simple. He'll toss something in the air and let it clatter to the ground. Nothing big, just little things like pencils or bottlecaps, and not far, just enough that his eyes narrow as he apparently tries to use his telekinetic abilities to manipulate them. 

It slowly graduates from there. Next comes the way he stares at something across the room, hyper-focused on whatever it is until you notice and move it around for him. It's a guessing game, sometimes, trying to figure out just what he wants to move or how he wants to move it, but each time you're successful, he smiles so brightly, dimples on full display. Who wouldn't want to make him smile like that?

It's hit or miss, sometimes. You're only so strong, and while you've had a lot of practice, you still get tired. You lifted his bookshelf almost a full inch before blacking out. Next thing you knew, a couple of days had passed and Namjoon was staring at a coffee mug. That was a significantly less fun day; between losing time and having to catch coffee mug after coffee mug, you were exhausted and a little shaken. 

So when he stops staring at things for extended periods of time, when he starts to go back to reading and scrolling the internet and bingeing all the completed shows that Netflix and Amazon had to offer, you're grateful for it. He still occasionally tests it out; he's always subtle about it, choosing to stare quietly until you notice and make whatever it is float around for a minute. Once you wandered around looking for him - a feat in a studio apartment - and found him just sitting on the bathroom floor, staring at a shampoo bottle.

You'd like to say that you don't move things entirely because he wants you to. It's a good test of your abilities and how far you can push yourself until it becomes too much, and it's always nice to have actual evidence that you still exist - in some form, at least - in the world. The validation that comes from seeing him smile every time you lift a pencil or slide a coffee mug to the side, it's not for any reason but the satisfaction of knowing that you have some kind of existence. Some kind of impact on the world, even if you can't be seen and can't leave the apartment.

It's part of why you start moving things around yourself more often; you're hoping he just blames it on his overactive 'abilities' if he notices because you really aren't sure what he would think otherwise. But you also know for a fact that just seeing that you have some kind of sway over the world still - over the things inside this tiny apartment - makes you feel just that bit better about being dead.

Which is why it's such a fucking shock when the door to the apartment slams open one evening just for Namjoon to slam it closed again and announce into the air, "So I know you're haunting me, please don't try to deny it, I only want to talk to you."

You freeze where you are, halfway through the closet door from where you were reorganizing his clothes because they made no sense and you were bored. He's looking around the apartment, almost desperate in the way he's searching, and you can't bring yourself to move. It's obvious he can't see you, and you aren't even sure if he's being serious, but the way he huffs and clenches his jaw before moving into the kitchen tells you that he probably is.

You follow him, curious, and watch as he pulls a small package out of his bag and starts ripping it open. You float the remains of what looks like gift wrap over to the trashcan, because you know Namjoon will forget, before going back to watching him. He's only a little careful as he cracks something in his hands and then slaps it onto the fridge, and you peek around him to see that it's some kind of words or something. There’s a wide variety, with no clear theme to them, as well as at least one of each letter of the alphabet. It's then you remember the throwaway comment Yoongi made during that night - "You need, like, poetry stuff, like those magnets that go on the fridge that people write that deep shit with, y'know? I'm gonna buy you one," - and realize that he'd followed through on his vow. 

"Alright," Namjoon says, leaning against his kitchen counter and staring at the magnets. "First and foremost, am I really being haunted or is this some kind of hallucination?" His gaze never falters, doesn’t ever drift from the magnetic words now spread across his fridge doors. It takes several minutes to build up the energy and the courage to move closer to the fridge.

You don't look at him as you move the words around, but you can hear the sharp intake of breath. That's likely all the confirmation that he needs, but still you clear a spot and let the words ' I am here ' sit where he can see them clearly. You wrinkle your nose, disliking how formal it sounds, but you have to make do, you suppose.

"Okay," Namjoon breathes. "Okay, prove it. My brain could work this into a hallucination. How do I know you're really a ghost?"

"Seriously?" You huff. "What the fuck am I supposed to do that wouldn't work into a hallucination, dude?"

He gets fidgety in the few minutes that you spend wondering how the fuck you're going to prove that you're a real actual ghost to someone who clearly doesn't believe in them. His foot taps at the floor and he scratches at his hand, which only makes you want to wrap your own hands around his until he stops, much like your best friend used to lay her legs across your lap to get you to stop shaking your knee.

The realization comes in a flash, and you're moving letters around before you can stop yourself.

Face book, Park Jihyo, best friend.

Namjoon stares at it for a long while before he brings his phone out of his pocket and begins to tap at the screen. You don't get too close; you've got a history with shorting out electronics, and you aren't sure you want to know what your best friend is up to without you there with her.

"Okay," Namjoon says. "Okay, I've never seen her before, so I don't think my brain could work her into a hallucination. Okay. Alright. I'm being haunted. This is fine."

"Calm down, I'm haunting the apartment, not you." He doesn't react to your words, as usual, but it still makes you feel the slightest bit better. He stares at his phone for a little longer, and the curiosity burns under your skin, but you resist. You know from experience that if you try to get too close, his phone will stop working. Just like TV, the stereo, the laptops, everything. You've had enough experience with that kind of thing to know what will happen.

"Okay, Casper," Namjoon huffs out after several minutes of waiting. He looks up and his eyes dart around the apartment, and you wonder if he's just nervous or if he's trying to spot you. "Where are you right now? Can you make yourself visible? I mean, I know you're a ghost, but it feels rude not talking to you to your face."

You huff a laugh but reach for a coffee cup. You know you can't just make yourself visible at will; you've only done it a couple of times, to your knowledge, and none of them have been on purpose. It's even more difficult to make yourself corporeal and physical, harder than just manipulating objects, but you did it once. Back when the single mom still lived here, when her toddler was falling and you had no way to cushion the fall except with your own body; you still aren't sure how it happened, but you remember being able to feel the floor against your back and the warmth of the baby on top of you for a split second before you were gone again. You won't forget that any time soon.

You float the mug towards where you stand, holding it in front of your face long enough that when you pull it away, Namjoon's eyes don't follow it. It's a strange feeling; you know he can't see you, can tell by the way his brow furrows and his eyes slide around the space, but it feels like he's looking straight at you. It feels like you're being seen for the first time since you died.

"So, where are you from, Casper?" His tone is forcibly conversational, as if he's trying his best to keep himself calm. You roll your eyes and move the magnets to show ' here ' and he nods. "You're not gonna try to possess me, or kill me, or run me off, are you? No offense or anything. I figure you would've already at this point, but...cover my bases."

No. Am nice. I think.

"You think? You don't know if you're a nice ghost?"

Does anyone truly know if they are nice? You frown, trying to figure out how to say what you want to say with the limited words available. I can only try. It's still not perfect; there's more that you want to say, more that you want to be heard, but this has to do for now.

"I can accept that. Alright. Just talking to a ghost in my kitchen. Okay. This is totally normal." He rubs a hand over his face, and you're a little impressed. Everyone else that's lived here has freaked when presented with the knowledge that you're a ghost. Namjoon looks very much like his world is exploding, but he doesn't have the same fear and apprehension in his eyes. He's certainly coping better than the single mom.

"Are you the only ghost? Here, I mean, are you the only ghost here?" He breathes a sigh of relief at your 'yes.’ "Can you see other ghosts? Do you know any other ghosts?" The 'don't know, no' that you move around on your fridge seems to unsettle him a little, but there's a curiosity burning behind it that makes your skin tingle.

Can't leave, is what you say next, cutting off whatever question he was about to ask.

"You can't leave at all? The building, or the apartment?"

The second.

"Wow. You're really stuck here?" He looks around the apartment as if seeing it for the first time and sucks in a breath. "What do you do all day?"

Watch. He cocks a brow. You are... You hesitate. The word you need isn't there, everything that comes to you is too poetic or corny for you to actually say, but the weight of his eyes is heavy on your hands. Fun is what you settle on, but it's not right either. 'Interesting' isn't there, nor is 'fascinating' or 'lovely,' and you don't want to scare him off by telling him that part of the reason you watch him so much is that he's so full of life that you feel less dead when he's around.

He laughs at your words though and shakes his head ever so slightly. "Alright, well, I'm gonna shower, so just, don't...watch that?" You squawk at the insinuation that you would, quickly rearranging the letters to spell ' privacy' and making a large angry face out of the rest of the words. He's already turned away, though, and it makes you angrier.

You don't want him thinking that you would peep at him. You already make sure that you're facing the windows when he finishes showering, you've been determined to not be creepy since the day he moved in, and to have him think otherwise is like a slap in the face. You slam the mug against the counter and he startles, turning to gape at it. You carry it to where your words and make-do emoji sit waiting for him to notice them.

"Okay," He says quickly. "Okay, privacy, yeah, got it. You respect my privacy. Appreciated."

"How fucking rude," You mutter as you set the mug back down. You don't adjust the magnets as he disappears into the bathroom. You want him to see them, want him to be reminded of the fact that being dead doesn't mean you don't have basic decency.

You can't get him to shut up now that he knows you're there. He still forgets sometimes, mostly when he's talking to his plants or narrating the way he carefully constructs some origami creation, but more often than not, he's talking to thin air. He spends a lot of time perched on his counter, watching you move magnets around his fridge through the thick lenses of his glasses before he spouts off some other question for you to answer. 

He covers the basics first: how old you were when you died, when your birthday is, your favorite color, what you were studying in school, and of course your name, though he insists on calling you Casper. You aren't sure why but you also don't get a chance to question it, because he hits you with more and more questions every day. Sometimes you don't answer because you can't, too limited by the poetry magnets to be able to really converse; sometimes you just don't have the energy to move the magnets around, but those are days are rare. The only times you use the tired magnet are when you find your limbs too heavy to move, weighed down with the memories of what it meant to be alive. 

Those are the bad days, but his questions make them just a little easier.

"How do you move around? Do you just float everywhere?" Walking, but different. No weight. Soft.

"How are you able to manipulate things in my world? Are they different from things in your world?" Focus. Takes time. Same.

"Do you sleep at all? Do ghosts dream?" No sleep. Just existing.

"You don't eat, do you? Should I be stocking up on snacks for you?" No. Save your sustenance. "What was the last thing you ate?" Don't remember. "Huh. I hope it was something good." Same.

"Were you ever in a relationship?" Once. A long time before. "Do you miss them?" Not anymore.

"What did you do while you were alive?" School. "Oh, really? Do you remember what you studied?" Boring. Important then, but it made me forget to live. Not important now. Namjoon goes quiet for a long moment after this one, staring out the window at something you can't see. He nods but doesn't ask any more questions, and he reads for the rest of the night.

It only takes a couple of weeks for both you and Namjoon to get tired of standing in his kitchen fucking around on the fridge. His legs get tired and he gets distracted by his thoughts, and you can barely keep up with the rapid-fire questions you get.

So Namjoon buys one of those cheap cookie sheets with the slightest lip at the edge and dumps the magnets on that. He leaves it on the coffee table, usually, there for you to pick up if he asks something but out of the way for when he stretches out to nap lazily in the afternoon sun.

You like the cookie sheet more than the fridge. He watches you as you work out your responses, can see the way you start to move one word before moving another instead; it makes it feel more like a conversation.

It becomes a favorite pass-time of Namjoon's, curling on the couch and putting some sort of music on in the background and just talking to you. A lot of nights his questions stop with a lingering silence from one or both of you; yours because you don't have the ability to share the words running rampant through your mind, and his for reasons still unknown to you. Still, you've missed it. You've missed talking to someone, being heard when you speak, having someone ask how you are at the end of the day.

It's the little things.

"You said you can't leave, right, Casper?" Namjoon's curled up on his couch, tucked into the arm with a blanket thrown over his lap, a mug of something warm in his hands to combat the chill of the season, and some R&B track playing lightly from his phone. You knock your fist against the cookie once - a sign for yes that you'd both agreed on. "So, are you just always here then? You don't go anywhere else?"

"Fuck, how do I explain this?" You mutter. You stare at the magnets in front of you for a long time before rearranging them. Not always. Tired sometimes, disappear.

"Disappear?" He reads. "What do you mean? You just, what, stop existing?"

Don't know, you respond. Only happens when tired. When used too much of me. He hums an acknowledgment, eyes focused on where the cookie sheet sits on the couch between you. You? What entertains you?

"Everything," he answers without hesitation. "I'm trying to work through my stack of books I want to read and finish all the shows I'm interested in, but the guys would have my head if I didn't get out and do things like a normal person."

That's where you leave to?

"Yeah." He sets his mug - now empty - on the coffee table and settles into the blankets. He looks cozy and soft and you would wrap yourself up with him if you could. "I take a lot of walks, and bike rides. I like to see the river, the trees, all the animals that live there. The beach is always fun, I get to see all the crabs and whatnot that wander in and out of the ocean."

"I wish I could go with you," you whisper.

Fun is what you spell on your sheet.

"I guess," he mutters. "It's enjoyable, at least. I'll bring you some souvenirs, or pictures next time."

You let the sheet settle on the couch as he turns the TV on, setting up a drama that he's on recently. He doesn't say anything else for a few hours, waits until the sound of rain hits the windows and stifles the apartment in an otherworldly haze.

"How long have you been dead?" His voice lingers in the air. You've been expecting these questions, and you're honestly impressed he's held them back for as long as he has. That angsty teen hadn't hesitated a single second to start asking you questions.

A while. Years. I think .

"Do you ever get tired of being a ghost?" There's something in his voice that you can't place, something that tells you this is more than just his usual morbid curiosity. Every part of your soul - whatever's left of it, anyway - is screaming at you to lie to him, to tell him that no, being a ghost is great. You've never wished he could hear you more than this moment, when all you want to is wrap your arms around him and ask him why he looks so much older than he is.

Sometimes, you tell him. It is lonely here, and boring. Fun to be unseen, but unable to do much more.

He nods like that makes all the sense in the world to him, and he brings the blanket up around his shoulders. "Do you ever miss your friends, or your family?"

Would you not? He huffs out an unamused chuckle, nodding again.

"Yeah," He says softly. "Yeah, I would. Do you want me to help you check on them? See what they're up to?" The single knock that echoes in the room is deafening to you, filled with a hope that you haven't felt in years. You've never let yourself think about them for long; if you did, you don't think you'd be able to come back from whatever that place is that you disappear to when things become Too Much.

Namjoon pulls his phone closer and starts fiddling with it. He doesn't hesitate when he types in your name, and you feel an emotional blush fill you when you see that he doesn't even have to finish typing for your profile to pop up. You glance at him, the way his brows are furrowed behind his glasses and his tongue pokes into his cheek just a little while he concentrates, and you wonder how many times he's looked at the pictures of you when you were alive. How many times has he scrolled through, reading the words people shared after you were gone, scrolling through the grief and loss to get to the words you posted yourself, the little snippets of your daily life that you would give anything to be able to relive?

"Do I still look like that?" You wonder aloud. As expected, he doesn't react, just continues tapping at his phone.

You two spend the rest of the night like that, each curled at opposite ends of the couch while Namjoon slowly looks up your friends and family and updates you on each of them. Jihyo got married, to someone she'd gone on a date with a few weeks before you passed, and she's apparently trying to start having kids; Your mother and father aren't very active, but they never were. They both share pictures of you when you were a baby each year on your birthday, and more recent photos of you on the anniversary. They have a dog now. It's cute. You wonder if it helps them cope with the loss.

Your other friends are doing well, too; most of them are still figuring out their lives, but it seems like all of them are settling in their skin and finding comfort in who they are. They're out there, navigating the world and doing things they enjoy, meeting new friends and making new memories.

You stand by the window for a long time, cookie sheet of magnetized words pressed against your chest as if you can feel the cool of the metal against your skin, and watch rain drip down the panes as you imagine what your life could have been.

You can always hear Namjoon before you see him. He whistles as he walks down the sidewalk, his small way of letting you know he's on his way back from wherever he's gone that day, and today isn't an exception. Relief sags through you and you move away from the windows, let your fingers trail against the ceramic of the newest succulent he'd bought, and head towards the kitchen. The kettle is turned on and heating a few moments later while you pull a mug down from your cabinet and set it carefully on the counter where Namjoon will see it.

It's a regular routine, for the two of you. He heads out, usually in the early morning after turning on some music or a show for you, and when he comes back, you make sure there's hot water for his tea or cocoa or whatever he feels like drinking that day. The sound of his whistling gets louder the closer he gets, a simple way to let you know he's safe and he's home. You glance through the cabinets and quickly make a note on the fridge that he needs to buy more of his special tea blend soon.

The lock turns and you smile, waiting patiently as Namjoon saunters into the apartment. He sets something down on the kitchen counter just as the kettle starts to scream, and you wait while he pours the water and gets it ready.

"The cherry blossoms bloomed," He says. You grin. "They look great. I got some really nice pictures while I was there, I'll show you tonight. I was thinking we could try to finish Voltron tonight if you want. We'll have to go back an episode though, I think I fell asleep during the last one." You knock once against the counter beside you, and he turns with a wide grin to glance at the spot where you stand.

It's ridiculous for your heart to speed up in your chest, for the hair on the back of your neck to rise, for breath to catch in your throat; you don't have a heartbeat, you don't have breath, you're a shadow of the person you used to be, and yet...

And yet, seeing his dimpled smile focused so naturally on where you are, as if it's just second-nature, is like a breath of fresh air after years underwater. It smells like flowers, like dirt and earth and a new beginning. It feels like you're alive again, and you don't want it to end, but too soon he's turning away to finish steeping the tea. Something lingers in the air for a moment after but it's gone too soon for you to place it.

You both settle on the couch, Namjoon tucking whatever he brought home with him under his arm, between his body and the arm of his ratty old couch. Your cookie sheet is in its place on the coffee table, unneeded at the moment. You can't help the glare that you give it; the things you would give to be able to just speak and be heard are endless.

It rattles a little and you look away.

Namjoon is quiet as the show plays. He doesn't react when you move to turn the oven on, but he does laugh quietly and thank you for it when he goes to put his dinner in. He eats and you don't bother him, though the way he keeps his little package hidden away makes curiosity burn through you. Eventually, once he's eaten and washed his dishes and laughed at the way you rubbed them dry before setting them carefully in their places, he settles back into his blankets and turns on the music he loves so much.

He's got a book balanced in his hands and your cookie sheet rests on the coffee table, and you both just sit like that for a long while, enjoying existing.

"You remember your life, right Casper?" You thump lazily against the wall in response, eyes drawn from where you watch the gloomy sky slowly get lighter with the dawn. He isn't looking at his book anymore; he probably hasn't been for a while, based on the way the pages have migrated around his thumb, too busy staring at the wall across from him. "Do you remember your death?"

You hesitate. You've tiptoed around the subject before. He's always been too afraid to ask directly, and it's too painful for you to offer it freely. You thump against the wall once more, and he nods like he already knew the answer.

"Are they very different?" His glasses are falling down his nose and your fingers itch to push them up. Instead, you reach for your cookie sheet. He makes a sound in the back of his throat when he sees it moving, reaching under him for his package. "I forgot, I got you this. Thought it might be easier."

He sets it down and you slide the contents out of the wrapping easily. Inside is a small dry-erase board, complete with markers and eraser, small things that should be easy for you to manipulate. You beam at him; he can't see it, but you think he might be able to feel it because he perks up and smiles a little.

"You don't have to answer," He adds. "I was just curious to know if being dead is really as different as everyone makes it out to be." You nod and thump once against the board before you uncap a marker and start writing.

It's a bizarre feeling, after so long. The muscles in your hand don't ache, no matter how much you write, and you can't feel the smooth surface of the board under your fingers or the weight of the marker in your palm, but it glides against it cleanly and leaves a thick black streak behind.

It takes you a minute to write everything out, get it worded how you want. Namjoon doesn't interrupt you, just watches the marker move against the board and smiles every time you go to erase something that isn't right. Eventually you show it to him.

There are similarities. I'm still me, I still enjoy TV and music and books. Things are duller now, like there's a filter over them, and it's harder to do things. Like when you're in water, or mud, like that. Resistance.

"Oh," Namjoon replies, "That's not what I expected. It makes sense though I guess." His hand moves against his chest, rubbing lightly as he looks over your words again. "Is there anything you actually like about being a ghost?"

"Well, being invisible is pretty cool," You say, writing the words as you do. "And it's actually really fun being able to walk through walls and stuff, even if I can't go anywhere outside of the apartment."

"I'm sorry you're stuck here," Namjoon says. You startle a little, looking up at him. You think he actually heard you for a split second, but his eyes are locked on where you're writing your words out on the dry erase board.

"Yeah, me too," You tell him. He stares at the board for a long moment, chewing nervously on his bottom lip as he does. "Ask what you want to ask, Joon," You write as you say it.

"How did you die?" He blurts. You sigh and he jumps a little, looking fully at where you sit. You're shocked; you know that sometimes little noises cross over, like when Jin heard you laughing, but it's still rare. You can't figure out how it works, but you want to.

You write for a long time, letters small so they fit on the board. The whole thing is crowded together, looks like one long string of letters instead of the story it is.

There's a lot of violence in this neighborhood. You probably know that by now. People are always getting robbed or mugged or something around here. Someone tried to break into my apartment by banging the door down. It didn't work, luckily, but I got really paranoid afterwards. One night I was cooking, and someone's door slammed really hard. I spilled the water I was boiling, slipped. Blacked out after a while, and when I came to, there were police everywhere. I guess I hit my head harder than I thought, because they carted me away, and I couldn’t follow.

"I'm sorry," Namjoon says softly. "You deserved more time."

Yeah. The universe had a different plan, I guess. He smiles at that, and it settles the anxiety thrumming under your skin. Wouldn't have met you, so I guess that's a bonus. He rolls his eyes at you but he laughs softly, so you consider it a win. You doodle on the board then, simple little designs that don't mean anything beyond being able to see your effect on the world.

Namjoon sucks in a breath beside you and you look up at him. He's always been good about looking towards where you are, doing his best to make eye contact with someone he can't see, but he still always tends to look through you.

Not this time.

This time, electricity sings through the air as your eyes meet his. You don't know how, but you know he can see you. His eyes roam over you, taking in the crumpled sweater you were wearing with the stain you like to think is pasta sauce on the arm, the hair you can't ever really tame, the way you sit cross-legged on his old thread-bare couch with a dry erase board in your hands.

Neither of you moves. He looks torn between fear and amazement, every emotion in between flitting quickly over his features, and you're terrified that if you move, whatever spell that's been cast will fade. It had been so long since you talked to anyone when Namjoon slammed those magnets on the fridge, and the conversation has been a reprieve, but to be seen for the first time in years...

It's invigorating.

Watching Namjoon just look at you is something you won't ever forget, not for as long as you exist in the world. He looks at you like he's memorizing every detail, every hair and wrinkle and pore, and just knowing that he can see you fills you with something new.

"Namjoon...?" You call hesitantly. His eyes fall on your lips.

"Again," He says. Your brows must furrow, maybe you frown, you don't know because it's been so long since you've needed to pay attention to your facial expressions, but he notices your confusion. "Will you say something again?"

Breath you don't have catches in your throat, wraps itself around a heart that doesn't beat, but you smile a little. "I'm glad I met you."

Namjoon smiles. It's big and blinding and knocks everything out of you except for that emotion that's been sitting in your chest since the first time you watched him talk to his plants. You lean forward, and you can tell the exact moment you disappear, because his smile falls and his eyes unfocus. A whimper leaves your throat, but he doesn't react, and that may be the most painful thing that's ever happened to you.

"Can I feel you?" His voice is hushed but the words reverberate in your head. His eyes dart around, looking for any glimpse of you, and your hand trembles as you reach out.

Goosebumps raise on his cheek where your hand touches him and his breath stops for a moment, but he smiles again and leans into the chill. You bring your other hand up to cup his other cheek, your dry erase board lying forgotten on the ground, and Namjoon's eyes flutter closed.

"I think I might love you," You say quietly just before you press your lips to his. He doesn't react to your words, but he lets out a soft sigh at your kiss. Thunder cracks through the apartment, a torrent of rain unleashed on the windows, but you don't move.

The two of you sit like that for hours, until he starts shivering and his nose turns red, like it does when he forgets his scarf on the cold days, and his breath puffs in the air. When you finally pull away from him, he smiles, and the blush on his cheeks has nothing to do with the cold air that makes up your form.

"Yeah," He says softly, voice nearly drowned out by the storm raging outside. "Yeah, I can feel you."

If you expected things to change much after that, you were wrong. At least a little. Namjoon still disappears to go on his walks, you still start the kettle the second his whistles drift up to the apartment. He still asks you a million questions, but they're more normal now. Your favorite music, color, what you wished you'd done with your life, if you've been able to corporealize again recently, what you wanted to watch that night.

"Come on, Casper," Namjoon groans. "I promise you can do it." You huff and he smiles, clearly having heard it. You're tempted to just disappear somewhere, rattle some pipes in the bathroom or the kitchen so he thinks you're in there and leaves you alone, but he smiles at you again and you're weak for that dimple.

You grip the watering can again, doing your best to lift it and manipulate it the way you need to. It's heavy, and something about the metal makes your skin itch, but the more you struggle the more you're able to pour the slightest bit of water where RJ - a giant plant that you don't even know the name of - sits in the corner of the room across from Namjoon's bed. It's the twentieth-something time you've tried this today, and you're ten seconds from just giving up completely, but you can tell this is important to Namjoon.

He's been talking all week, between the late nights where you lay over his blanket-wrapped form and the mornings where he ducks out with a soft goodbye. He's told you everything about his plants that you think he possibly could, teaching you about them and showing you how to care for them. It's interesting, you won't lie, and it's always fun to see him light up when you recall something he's told you, but you're exhausted and every part of you is shaky, and you're more than a little worried of what might happen if you push too far again.

Still, Joon hasn't looked great lately, like he might be getting the flu, and you want to be able to help him with all the things he does in the house. You've already started doing the dishes and folding laundry, since those were the two things he was the absolute worst at, but you feel like you should be doing more.

"Good job, baby, I'm proud of you!" You grunt and let the watering can fall back to the ground with a loud thump that almost definitely has the downstairs neighbors cursing Namjoon's name. "See, and now we're done for the day! C'mon, we can put on Sens8 and cuddle."

He's on the couch before you can stop him, wrapping himself in blankets except for one lone hand that sticks out, expectant. You roll your eyes and sit beside him, close enough that if you had a body you would be cuddling instead of just sitting awkwardly beside him.

You know that this is just going to make your hand all pink and gross, right?

He just smiles when the board flips around to reveal itself and wiggles his fingers. "It's worth it," He says. "I'd rather be pink and gross than never get to hold your hand at all."

You can't even feel my hand, Joon, there's literally no point to this. He huffs and wraps his hand around the marker in your hand, shivering at the chill that runs through him when he does. He grins and gestures down to where the tips of his fingers are already turning red.

"Clearly I can feel it, Casper."

You're glad he can't see you, that you don't have a heart that beats or blood that runs, because if you did, your face would no doubt be red. You have no doubts that Namjoon would tease you about it.

He's quiet as you both watch the show; he makes the odd comment here or there, but his mood seems to have calmed some. When he first got back from whatever place he visited that day, he'd been anxious and jumpy and entirely too on edge.

"Hey, Casper?" He asks quietly. You slide a hand against his cheek to let him know you're there, and he leans into the chill again. "What do you think about me?"

You don't move for several seconds, hand still poised around his cheek.

"Like, your feelings. What are they? Will you tell me?" You knock once on the wall behind the couch. Your hand stays poised over your board for long enough that Namjoon starts to get a little restless. Words refuse to come to you. Every time you start to think you have a way to describe to him what he means to you, they disappear as quick as fog on a summer's afternoon. Frustrated, you let the board fall to the couch and scrawl a quick 'hold on' so he knows you aren't just ignoring him.

It's been weeks since you've seen what you're looking for, your cookie sheet with the word magnets having been basically forgotten in lieu of the more personal and convenient dry-erase board, but right now you know that if words won't come to you, you'll have to go to them.

You finally find it, shoved under several encyclopedias and magazines, and the noise you make is so triumphant that even Namjoon hears it. You curl back up beside him, careful to make sure the blanket is wrapped tight around him, and make sure he can see the words as you move them. It still takes a long time, constantly changing and rearranging and stacking to make sure it conveys the things you need it to convey.

You are like music. A symphony of summer days and peach skies with soft rain. You are a storm in the moonlight. I'm not lonely when I have you pouring around me. You make me feel alive again.

Namjoon is silent for a long time, and you wonder if you've gone too far. It's more poetic than you'd like, too frilly and fancy and emotional than you usually are, but they're the only words you have.

After too long, he exhales. It's heavy and deep and it feels like he's trying to expel more than just air from his body.

"You make me feel alive, too," is all he says, whispered into the softness of his blanket in a voice too small for his long limbs. He shivers, and you hear him choke down a cough, and then he disappears into the bathroom for a long time. When he comes back out, he doesn't say anything, just slides into the mass of blankets on his bed and lays his arm out across the mattress. You spread out across from him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he looks through you and out the window where the rain is letting up.

"Looks like the rainy season is gonna last longer than everyone thought." You slide your hands around one of his large ones and just hold them like that. His eyes sink closed and something like relief stands on his face for a moment before it's gone, swept away by the peace of sleep.

You wonder what it is that he sees when he looks out the window. If it's the plain brick wall and windows of the building next door, or something more.

You aren't sure you want to know.

Namjoon's flu only seems to get worse. He leaves early in the mornings, as if he thinks you might not notice the way he coughs into his scarf just because the sun hasn't risen fully yet. He stays gone most of the days, and even when he apologizes quietly during the twilight when he slinks back in to the sound of the kettle screeching on the stove and his tea already waiting to be steeped, he still doesn't stop.

You've taken to playing blues while he's gone, mostly the old school stuff, digging out the vintage record player he has buried in the closet and setting it up on the coffee table. It’s the only technology you can use without shorting it out. You don’t know why, but it makes you grateful the record collection Namjoon keeps tucked away inside the coffee table that you’ve learned is in fact an actual steamer trunk that he salvaged and restored himself.

The music fills the apartment, distracts you from the oppressive weight of his absence. He knows you wait at the window for him, you told him that back when the two of you were first getting to know each other.

You're so fragile, you had told him. He had laughed at you, quiet and fond, and waited for you to explain further. You're so full of life and breath and possibility, and the world is so big and so dangerous. I'm scared you won't come back.

"Of course I'm going to come back," he told you. You didn't even need to tell him that you're afraid of what being alone might do to you, now that you're so used to his presence. You're being heard again, sometimes even seen, and you don't know if you can go back to the stagnant depression of solitude. "I'll always come back to you."

That was the first time you thought you might love Namjoon. The feeling has only gotten stronger, and now that you wait at the window with your eyes focused on that tiny section of sidewalk you can see at the end of the alley, it threatens to consume you whole.

You wait at the window for hours. You know because you glance at the clock every minute and a half, mocking you with every tick as it hangs limply on the bathroom door. The sun sinks below the horizon, the moon rises to take its place, and they switch again while you wait. The dawn paints the sky in beautiful shades of pink and red and orange and the faintest purple, but you can't appreciate any of it, because you're too anxious.

He could be hurt. He could be gone, and you wouldn't ever know until his friends came to pack his things. He could have left, too; maybe he finally decided that living with a ghost was just too much for him and just ran. Maybe he figured out that you love him, that you would move heaven and earth if it meant he was safe forever if only you could leave this apartment, and it was too much for him.

What if he knows about how you lay beside him every night? How you tuck the blankets tighter around him, cover him in warmth and comfort before settling on top of them and closing your eyes and pretending that you can feel his arm draped over your waist and his breath on the back of your neck. What if he felt you, that night you wandered into the bathroom while he was showering to write on the steam-covered mirror that he needs to buy more eggs soon and got distracted by the way he looked stepping out of the shower? What if he knows your stomach flipped at the long limbs and the hidden muscles and the sheer size of him? What if he knows the real reason you were quiet that night, the way you kept replaying the moment in your mind and wishing you had a body so you could have just touched him, at least.

It's closer to noon than midnight when his whistle echoes up through the window.

"Hey, I'm home," He calls as he enters the empty apartment. You're upset, but you're more filled with relief than anything because at least he's safe and he's here now. He makes a beeline for where the kettle is just starting to whistle, already reaching for the honey and the tea you set out on the counter for him, and you do your best to calm the storm of emotions inside you.

Did you have fun, wherever you were? You ask him, floating the whiteboard in front of his face so he has to acknowledge it.

"Yeah, I did," he responds as he stirs his tea. "Jin invited everyone over for some end of summer thing. I didn't feel too great at the end of it, so I just spent the night there."

Don't party too hard, you might remember how to have fun, you joke. It falls a little flat based on the grim smile Namjoon gives you. Are they gonna come over here again anytime soon? I've missed scaring Hoseok.

He lets out a real laugh at that. "I don't know, maybe. My birthday's coming up, after Jeongguk's, so they could definitely be planning something. I'm heading over to Yoongi's later to help plan for Guk's party. I might stay there tonight, so try not to worry, Casper."

I'll try, you tell him. You both know you'll stand at the window every second he's gone, but you don't want to tell him why. You don't want to tell him that you love him through a dry erase board, or some fancy poetry magnets. It doesn't matter that you may as well have already said so by telling him that he makes you feel alive again; you haven't said the words to him, he hasn't seen 'I love you' in the messy scrawl that is your handwriting on some stupid board, and therefore he doesn't know.

You don't know if you want him to.

He stays gone that night, as he said he might, and reappears the next day to shower and change before he vanishes again. The next time he shows up, he takes a bag with him when he leaves, which only worsens your fears. He stays gone for three days this time, doesn't apologize when he turns up again and just mumbles a soft hello into the air before he makes tea and sags into his couch. He's asleep in seconds, and as much as you want to scream at him, you can't bring yourself to disrupt how peaceful he looks.

When he wakes, he takes a shower and ignores the ' can we talk ' you scrawled in the steam. He packs a bag of fresh clothes and doesn't say goodbye when he leaves, just disappears and leaves you standing at the window with the pail in your hand, caring for the plants he isn't. The slam of the door sounds like nails in a coffin and breaks what little was left of your soul.

He shows back up nearly a week later, and the relief at seeing him again is overridden by the sheer anger at being left in the first place. You don't start the kettle when you hear his whistle, the quiet and hoarse tune of a familiar song barely reaching the window, but there's plenty of noise when he enters.

The cabinet doors are quaking with your fury, the lights flicker and threaten to burst, and Namjoon just leans back against the door. He’s soaked from the storm thundering outside, even his jacket plastered to his skin, and he’s shivering slightly, but you can’t see anything past the rage.

"Where the fuck were you?" You demand; there's no point, it's not like he can hear you, but the way he sighs makes you feel like he can, so you continue anyway. "It's been almost a week, you didn't even think to stop by for ten seconds so I know you're okay? I thought you were dead somewhere, you could've been, like, shot, or something, I don't know, just bleeding out in some ditch, and I wouldn't know! And what about all the plants? I know how to take care of them, sure, but do you know how hard it is for me to do it?"

Namjoon sighs again, the breath catching in his throat and coming out in a cough, but you don't pay much attention to it.

"Why would you act like this, Namjoon? What did I do, is it because of the things I said? Do you not want me to feel like this about you? Because this a damn good way of making sure I don't, I assure you, so by all means, just keep disappearing and leave me alone with the plants you decided to rescue and save!"

His cough gets worse and he just shakes his head, covering his mouth and making his way towards the bathroom.

"If you want me to hate you, it's too fucking late, Joon!" The slam of the bathroom door punctuates your sentence, and you quiet at the sound of continued coughing. You knew his flu was getting worse, but it's never sounded like that. Even when you were alive, you knew that the wet sound that's muffled by the bathroom door isn't what a cough should sound like. The lock of the door clicks, and it shocks you into movement because he's never - never - locked you out of anywhere. He knows it wouldn't stop you, knows it as well as you know that you'd respect that boundary if he set it, and yet here he is, locking you out even as he coughs up what sounds like a lung in the other room.

You hesitate at the door, torn between respecting his boundaries and knowing what’s happening. You want him to trust you, always, and yet you find your hand disappearing through the door before you can stop it. You stand like that for a long moment, just listening to the sounds of his wracking coughs; the sound of a crash echoes through the apartment, though, and you’re through the door completely in the span of a heartbeat. 

Nearly everything that had been on the counter is scattered on the ground, Namjoon himself gripping the sides of the toilet as if he would fall apart otherwise. A single glance tells you that the crash happened as he turned from the sink to the toilet, and if his jolting shoulders didn’t tell you why, the sounds of his retching would. That isn’t what fills you with dread though; the disorientation, the vomiting, all of it comes with being sick sometimes, but the red staining the bathroom sink? 

That’s not normal, and you know with every part of you that it’s the reason he’s been gone so much. 

The temperature in the apartment drops with the sun, but your arms surround Namjoon as best they can. Goosebumps break out on his arms, shivers run down his back, but you don’t move away from him; he doesn’t say anything, just sits there with his forehead pressed against the cool of the porcelain. He stands eventually, ignores the way he passes completely through your body to rinse the sink and brush his teeth. 

You let him stay quiet until you’re both on his bed; you’re pressed up against his side and running your hands along his forearms, idly wondering if you would be able to feel his heartbeat if you were alive. 

“It’s not...it’s not gonna get better,” He says eventually. “There’s not a cure, just some things to draw it out and give me a little bit longer even if they come with more pain. I go once a week to see if it’s gotten worse, check how much longer I have. It’s why Hobi let me move in here rent-free. He pays the bills, says it’s the least he can do. I wanted to be closer to him anyway, so that’s a bonus, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry, Joon,” you whisper. Your board lies forgotten, somewhere on the couch maybe, you aren’t sure and can’t be bothered to pull yourself away from him long enough to find it. You don’t need it right now, though; he knows what you mean by the way the cold presses against his bicep with your palm. 

“I didn’t want you to know.” You’re not exactly surprised at that; you’d figured as much. You just don’t understand his reasoning. “I didn’t want you worrying about me, or anything like that, like the guys do. They always look at me and it’s all they can see. Like they’re already mourning me, even though I’m still here. I didn’t want to feel like that with you.” 

“I know,” you say. You don’t, not really. Your own death was sudden, a shock to everyone you knew; you didn’t get the luxury of saying goodbye, didn’t have the burden of knowing you would be gone soon. 

The two of you sit in silence for a while, until you can feel Namjoon’s chest quivering under your palm. When you look up, he looks at you, really and truly at you , and he has tears in his eyes. 

“I don’t want to die, Casper,” He whispers. You suck in a breath because he can see you, and you don’t even know why, but you don’t want to lose this moment. “I don’t want to leave all of this behind. I don’t want to leave you.” 

“It’ll be okay,” you say softly. His brow furrows and a tear slides down his cheek. “I promise you it will be okay, Namjoon. It gets easier, and people remember but they aren’t stuck forever. And I…” You falter, and it takes his eyes meeting yours to make you realize he can hear you. And there’s only one thing you’ve ever needed him to hear. 

“I love you,” You tell him. “I love you, and I will never forget you.” 

He surges forward, lips meeting yours in a rush of air. You moan at the feeling of him against you, realizing that for the first time since you died, you can feel something under your fingers. His skin is warm against your fingers, his lips soft against your own, and when he reaches up to cup your jaw with his hand, he doesn’t pass through your form. Instead his hand settles heavy against you, and he moves your head to lick into your mouth. 

Tears that won’t fall prickle at the back of your eyes and you climb into his lap before he can stop you. He’s still crying so you wipe away the tears before they can fall, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, his dimples, his nose, every bit you can reach. A question sits at the back of your mind, and you can see it lingering in his eyes, but neither of you asks it.

“You’re so cold.” His whisper is nearly lost amidst the thunder that shakes the apartment, but it makes you smile a little. 

“Warm me up?” 

His chest is still quivering with unspoken sobs, but he nods. “Always,” he tells you. “I’m always going to be here.” It doesn’t take long to pry him out of his clothes, takes even less time for him to sink into you. It feels just like it did when you were alive, only magnified; you can feel him hot and warm inside you, can feel the beat of his heart in the firm muscle under your hands. His moans are quiet and hoarse but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He keeps one hand on your waist and the other on your neck, holding you close enough that he can kiss whenever he wants. “You’re beautiful,” He whispers. “The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” You just press another kiss to his chapped lips and let him dig his fingers in hard enough that it would bruise if it could. When he’s close to his peak, he stops thrusting, just sits inside you as he grinds your hips down to his, and presses his forehead against yours. 

“I love you,” He tells you, lightning casting his shadow across the wall for a brief moment. “I love you, I do, I wish-”

“I know,” you tell him before he can continue. “I know, Namjoon, I know, and I do, too. I love you, too.” He comes a few seconds later, the warm seed soaking into his sheets because it has nowhere to go. His warmth disappears from under your hands and his arms fall to his lap when the only thing holding them up is gone. All you can hear is your quiet sobs mixed with his and the rain against the window, and for the first time since you came back, you really, truly, wish you had died. There’s no point in being a ghost when you can still feel your heart breaking in your chest. 

“Casper, are you ever scared?” 

It’s the middle of the afternoon. Namjoon is sprawled across the couch wrapped in blankets while Lucifer plays in the background and you doodle aimlessly on your board. You don’t need it as often now; you’ve gotten better at focusing your energy into being heard, though being corporeal still eludes you. You don’t know how you did it that night, but you’re grateful for it. 

“Of what?” You ask, looking towards him. He’s not looking at you or watching the show, just staring at the ceiling. He focuses at your words, lifts himself up into a sitting position. A shiver runs through him when his legs move through you, and you settle a weightless hand against his knee out of habit. 

“I don’t know,” He replies. “Just...whatever comes next. If there’s something that comes next. Being forgotten. Being stuck here forever.” 

You aren’t stupid; you know why he’s asking. The question lingers in the air, colors all of your conversations now, but the truth is that neither of you has the strength to ask it and neither of you knows the answer. 

“Sometimes,” You tell him. “Sometimes I wonder what Jihyo is doing, if she ever had a baby like she wanted to. I wonder if my parents are still alive, and what they say if they visit my grave, what they tell me now that I can’t respond to them.” 

Namjoon nods like he’s already thought of that, and he probably has. 

“Most of the time I try not to focus on it, though. It’s not helpful, it only upsets me, and I don’t…” You trail off, unsure of how to word your thoughts. “I don’t know what might happen if I only focus on the negative. I don’t know anything about what’s true about ghosts and what isn’t beyond that I exist now, and I can’t risk becoming something bad. So I try not to focus on it. It’s easier when you’re here.”

He grins and blows a kiss in your general direction, and you pretend not to notice the blood on his cracked lips. He’s quiet for the rest of the episode of half of another. 

“Have you ever seen a light?” 

“What?” He doesn’t seem to hear you, and you repeat your question on your board for him. 

“A light,” He echoes. “Like, the light.Y’know, the light at the end of the tunnel, ‘don’t go into the light,’ that thing.” 

You hesitate at that. You knew what he meant, what he actually wants to know here. He’s easier to read now than he was in the beginning. 

You watch him as he watches the space where you sit, curled up beside him on his couch. He can’t see you, of course, but he can see where the board rests in your hands. His gaze is heavier than it was when he first moved in; his cheeks are hollower, skin more gaunt with a grey tint that’s only made worse by the constant rain. The sun is just starting to break through the clouds, a brief reprieve after weeks of the dreary stone-colored clouds. It casts shadows along the walls, reflects off something in the window across the alley, and backlights Namjoon beautifully, casts a halo of light around the brittle brown hair you love. 

Once, you tell him. Just once.

“Why didn’t you go to it?” 

There are so many things you could tell him, so many different ways to answer such a simple question, but you find yourself lingering on the one thing you know is the ultimate truth. 

Because I love you.

September comes with even more rain and a bittersweet atmosphere. Jeongguk spends his birthday at Namjoon’s apartment and then comes back a little over a week later, surrounded by the other guys and carrying enough food to last a few months. You stay curled on the bed, one of the only safe places for you to not mess with anyone or anything. Your board is tucked into the blankets, ready to be used but hidden from view just in case. You watch as Namjoon sits on the couch, tucked between Taehyung and Yoongi with both of them leaning into him as much as possible, Yoongi’s hands wrapped in one of his and Tae’s head on his shoulder. 

The other’s aren’t far, leaning against the back of the couch and on beanbags they’d brought with them, all laughing as Hoseok does his best to act out whatever he’d been given in charades. He’s not bad at it - you’ve guessed the last few he’s done - but he is utterly ridiculous in his mannerisms. You know why; it’s the same reason everyone kept smiling when Namjoon refused all of the food he was offered, why Seokjin would crack a terrible joke whenever it got too quiet for too long, why everyone is resolutely ignoring the growing pile of tissues on the table. 

It keeps a smile on Namjoon’s face, though, and a laugh in his eyes, and you can’t ever be anything but grateful for that. 

Hoseok stumbles, nearly falling and whirling his arms to catch himself before eventually falling anyway. You laugh along with the others, grinning at the way Hobi pouts and rubs at his hip. You’re focused on the way Joon laughs, the way it lights up his face and brightens the entire room, which is why you see it first. 

The tickle at the back of his throat quickly becomes a cough, wet and wheezing and enough to make him throw the blankets from his lap and stumble to the bathroom. 

You’re there before he is, helping him slide the door closed and locking it behind him as he bends over the toilet again. The six of them are quiet in the main room, speaking in hushed whispers that neither you nor Namjoon wants to hear. You turn the knob on the sink, wetting a towel while you drown out the sound of voices, and letting a hand run over Namjoon’s back. 

“I’m okay,” he mutters. You ignore the way his voice shakes, the way his lips are redder than before, the way this happens more often than before. Instead, you just press the damp rag to his neck and watch his eyes close in relief. When he stands and flushes the evidence away, you already have his toothbrush ready and waiting, and you stay as close to him as you can until he takes a deep breath. 

“I’m okay,” He repeats. “I’m okay. It’s my birthday, and I’m okay.” 

He goes back out with a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice, teasing Hoseok about the way he fell and reenacting it, even. When he settles on the couch, he urges the others to continue the game. There’s a brief moment of hesitation before Jimin declares that he’s next and pulls something from the bowl on the table. 

You know you aren’t the only one that notices the way Namjoon’s eyes linger on the six men around him, but you are the only one that notices the way they also linger on his steamer trunk, the shelf with his books, the TV, the record player, the scrapbook of his life that they all worked on and Taehyung pieced together over the months, the plants on the wall that he had cared for. He looks around his apartment as if he’s looking at it for the last time. 

As if he’s already planning who’s going to get what. 

He finally asks the question you both have been thinking about, nearly two months later. His breathing comes in ragged pants, his lips stay chapped, and he keeps several blankets around him at all times to try to hide the shaking of his body. Your soft sobs echo through the apartment constantly; while you reheat the tea he doesn’t drink for the millionth time, while you quietly water and prune the plants he’s saved from death the way you wish you could save him, while you sit curled around him as he sleeps, soothing his coughs with quiet whispers. 

Night has just begun to fall, the rain of the day turning into a soft drizzle, and you stare at him blankly, unsure how to process what you’ve just heard. 

“Do you think I’ll come back?” He asks again, slightly louder. As if you hadn’t heard his shaky voice the first time. It’s not the question that floors you. You’ve been expecting this for weeks, months even. You’ve wondered it yourself as you prepare tea and ignore the sounds of him vomiting blood in the bathroom, as he disappears to the hospital and returns with a worse prognosis than before, as you’ve adjusted to the idea that you are dead and he is dying and you cannot do anything to help him. 

You never would have expected the hope that his words carry though. 

“Why does it sound like you want to?” You ask. Your voice is clear in the air and you’re glad for it, because this isn’t something you want to talk about through your board. 

“Because I do?” His response is delayed and sounds more like a question than a real answer. 

“Why?!” You demand. 

“Are you serious, Casper?” His brow is furrowed as he sits up and lets the blankets fall away to sit haphazardly off the couch. 

“Are you? Joon, why would you want to come back?”

“You’re seriously asking me that question? Why would I not? I’ve got so much I still want to do, I never thought I’d get the chance to after I got the diagnosis and now I might be able to. Why wouldn’t I want that?”

“Because it doesn’t work like that! You don’t get to just wander the world and fuck around, Joon, you’re dead.”

“Yeah, but you can still read and write and everything. I’d have all the time in the world to read the books I want to read, watch the shows I want to watch, write the music and stories and lyrics that I want to write.”

“Yeah, so long as it all stays in this apartment!” The light in the room flickers slightly with the force of your irritation. “You can’t do anything that isn’t in this room, Namjoon, you can’t use any of the electronics, you can’t read a book unless it’s here, you can’t write music unless it’s on actual paper, you can’t do anything.” 

“Yeah, and I could make that work. Why are you so upset about this? I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy? You think I’d be happy that you’d be stuck in these four walls forever, too? Why would that make me happy?” Namjoon stands, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. 

“Because I’d be with you! We’d be together, forever! Do you not want to be with me?”

“Of course I want to be with you, Joon, but not at the cost of you being stuck here. I don’t want that for anyone, certainly not the man I love.”

“And what if that’s what I want? What if I want to spend the rest of time with you? I’m already spending the rest of my life with you, I’m in love with you, I don’t want to leave you.”

“And I don’t want you to go, but Joon, why would I want you stuck here, too? This isn’t something fun. This isn’t anything that I enjoy.”

“Oh, so you regret it all then?”

“I didn’t say that, I just don’t want you to be stuck in a shitty studio apartment for who knows how long when you can’t fucking do half of the things you love! You wouldn’t go on walks, Namjoon, you wouldn’t go with Guk and Jimin to the movies, you wouldn’t get visits from Hobi, you wouldn’t get to shop with Taehyung or Jin, you wouldn’t get to drag Yoongi away from his thesis or celebrate with them when he finishes it! It’s not like being alive, Namjoon, you’d be dead and alone and in hell!”

“Whatever,” He mutters, shoving his arms into his coat. “Why can’t you understand for one fucking second that it wouldn’t be like that with you? I’d rather be stuck here forever than have to die in some shitty apartment and not even be able to touch the person I love.”

“Why can’t you understand that it’s still death? You’d be dead, Joon, your friends would go to your funeral and disappear from your life, and you’d be stuck staring out that window at that shitty alley for the rest of time. You don’t get it, you don’t how terrible it is to be stuck here and watch life pass you by.”

“Then why the fuck are you still here?” He asks. The door slams behind him before you can answer him, and your scream shakes everything in the room. You just barely catch one of the plants in the kitchen, a brown-potted one with ‘Shooky’ scrawled in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting, before it crashes to the ground. You return it to its place gently and huff another frustrated groan. 

You wish you could explain it better, but you know he wouldn’t get it even if you could. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be trapped between four walls and unable to do anything without massive amounts of effort. And he won’t, not unless he experiences it himself. 

You’ve already watched him wither away. You’ve watched him become thin and sallow and a shadow of the Namjoon who first moved in, and you don’t know what you would do if he came back. You wouldn’t be alone anymore, of course, and you’d have him here with you, but at what cost? Namjoon was built for cherry blossoms and sunshine and the riverside. He would hate being trapped here even more than you do.

Still, you could have been more understanding of his view. You can admit that even being stuck in a shitty apartment wasn’t so terrible when you had Namjoon there to make you laugh or watch TV or read to you. It may even get better if he turned into a ghost; maybe you could hold his hands in yours, could feel him wrap his arms around you, could press kisses to his skin again. 

You move to the window and stand there waiting. It’s not good for him to be out, even if the rain had stopped a few days ago and the forecasters promised it was the end of the downpours. He was still weak, you’d be surprised he even went anywhere to begin with but you know he likes to walk to calm himself down. 

You worry for what feels like hours. You can’t focus on anything, not the way the sun starts to set, not the sound of cars passing or the neighbor leaving. You’ve worked yourself into knots by the time you hear his whistle echo up through the streets, nearly lost in the sound of some argument in the alley below you. You catch a brief view of his coat and smile when you see that he’s got some half-dead plant tucked under an arm. There’s the briefest glimpse of what looks like a Ca scrawled onto it, and your heart jumps in your throat.

You make your way to the stove, turning the heat up slightly too high so that it’ll be ready when he comes in. The arguing outside gets louder but you pay it no mind, pulling the honey out and setting it next to his favorite mug. You’re reaching for the tea when you hear something else. It definitely sounds like Namjoon’s voice, but it’s not in the hall or at the door like usual. It’s raised, like he’s yelling at someone, like it was just a while ago when he was fighting with you. A crash startles you and before you can even reach the window to see what’s going on, there’s a deafening bang. 

You slam your fist against the window, watch the red mix with dirt, and the kettle isn't that only thing that screams. 

“I think that’s the last of it,” Jeongguk says. His voice is scratchy and quiet, but it’s deafening in the silence of the apartment. 

“Yeah,” Hoseok replies. His eyes are rimmed with red and his hands shake as he slides the last mug into a box. “Thanks for the help, Guk. I don’t, um.” He sniffles. “I don’t think I could’ve done it myself, y’know?” 

“I know,” Jeongguk agrees. They’re quiet again, adjusting the things they’ve boxed and avoiding finishing what they’re doing. 

“Oh, can you get that?” You don’t have to look to know what Hoseok is talking about. Jeongguk grunts an affirmation and makes his way over. It’s a strange feeling, having someone pass through you again for the first time since. His hands fly into the air as he tries to lift, clearly not having expected it to weigh anything. 

His reflection in the window frowns, and he tries again, tugging on the pot. 

“I can’t get it,” He says. “Do you think he glued these things down or something?” 

“No,” Hoseok replies as he wanders over as well. “He used to pick them up to re-pot them, remember? And the others came up with no problem.” 

“Well it’s stuck or something, you try.”

Hobi takes Jeongguk’s place and pulls hard at the plot, but your grip doesn’t waver. He huffs and disappears. When he returns, he’s got a butter knife in one hand that he does his best to slip under the pot. He tries hard to pry it up, so hard that you almost want to give in. You don’t though. 

The knife clatters to the floor with as much force as Hoseok can put behind it, a curse following quickly behind it. 

“Fuck it,” Hoseok says. His voice is shaky and you know he’s near tears again. “Just fuck it.” 

“But that was-”

“You can try if you want, Guk, but I just-” He chokes back a sob, shaking his head and moving to pick up the boxes he’d set down. “I just can’t, okay?” He disappears out the door in a hurry, and you wish you could follow after him. 

Jeongguk looks down at the small plant, with its painted periwinkle pot and soft leaves. He runs a quivering finger over the leaf and sniffles. He doesn’t try to lift it again, just stands and lets his tear soak into the soil.

“I wish you could come back to us,” He whispers. “We thought...we expected more time. It’s not...it’s not really fair, y’know? So if you can hear me, if you can come back to us, please do. Please.” 

He turns and leaves, the apartment door slamming behind him like the lid of a casket. Your grip on Mang loosens now that you know no one’s going to try to take it. You’d watched them pack everything else up; you’d let them take the steamer trunk full of records, the shelf full of books and movies, the collection of mugs, the soft blankets, the ratty couch, the rest of the plants he’d cared for so tenderly. 

Piece by piece they had packed Namjoon up and walked him out of the apartment, but this was the one piece they couldn’t have. This was his favorite and none of them knew how to care for it like you did, and you had to. You owed it to him. He deserved to come back to at least one familiar thing, never mind that you woke up not even a day later and it’s now been weeks. If there was one thing you wanted him to see when he got back, it was his favorite of his plants. 

The sun glares into your eyes from where it shines down on the city. It reflects off something in the window from across the alley, would be blinding if you actually had eyes. You pay it no mind, focused instead on the remains of the broken brown pot down in the alley, the way you’ve pieced them together in your head a thousand times just to trace the word Casper with your eyes. You can almost hear his voice saying it, even now.

You whip around, eyes darting through the empty space of the apartment as your hands tighten around Mang.

All that rests there is empty space, mocking in its loneliness. You remember when he moved in, remember how it felt to test the boundaries of the apartment and wish you were free. The want is still there, to leave and never think of it again, never think of him. You know better, though. You could never escape the memory of him, the way he laughed and smiled and spoke. You could never abandon Mang. Not when he said he’d always come back to you. 

You turn back to the window, cursing the sunlight with every other breath. It fades, slowly, into the black of night, before returning again, and again, and again. Days pass, each one feeling like years. Hoseok doesn’t appear to show the apartment, no one comes to collect the small periwinkle pot between your palms, and the ghost of his laugh echoes around you. 

The sun blinds you again. You don’t even know how long it’s been, just that you’ve yet to move. Light glints off whatever hangs in the window across the alley. That's when you see it, a vague reflection in the weathered glass of a dimple and a grin, and warmth surrounds you.

“I told you I’d always come back, Casper.”

[fadiingstarliight]

( @qvietwhispers )

jayden

He barely knew Faye at all but she seemed like a lovely person and he was honestly eager to meet her and.. also then break up her old stuff. When he got there he saw a woman at the entrance but wasn't entirely sure if it was her.  "I was told to look for the enthusiastic shop owner, I'm Jade." he said with a smile on his lips.

faye

Faye wasn't lying, she'd definitely recieved weirder text messages in her lifetime, and if anything, Jade had only intrigued her. She'd been half tempted to text Declan about them, before realising Jade would walk through the door at any moment. She'd been fixing a mannequin by the entrance, draping a feather boa over it when the door charmed. "Hey! That'd be me," Faye chipped happily, a wide smile upon her lips. Her eyes scanned over the other, recognising him from a few odd times he'd been in the shop. She made a mental note to tell Mira later that he was definitely cute. "Ready to smash some shit?"

jayden

Faye was a lot more chirpier in person than he could guess over text but he didn't complain. Her smile was contagious and he grinned back at the other. He suddenly realized that the reason she seemed so familiar was not exactly his previous visits to the store but the video he had seen of her during the elections. This wasn't just any Faye, it was Faye Waters, but he didn't think it was remotely close to a good idea to bring that up. Now or ever if they stayed friends. "Nice to meet you Faye." he said before a small laugh left his lips. "Yes, I would absolutely love to do that as long as you don't write me off as the weird guy who came out of the blue and smashed shit." he chuckled.

faye

Faye had a lot of questions, but she figured he had enough going on without her hounding him about it. "Nice to meet you too, Jade," she told him brightly, the smile never leaving her lips. "I would never," she teased, "Though that certainly is an interesting title, don't you think?" She gave a head up to the other on shift, before gesturing him to follow out back.

jayden

"Interesting title?" he repeated before he got what she meant and a laugh left his lips. "The weird guy thing I said? Please do not." He chuckled and nodded in response to her question, following her to the back room where it was far more abundantly clear that this was the second hand shop with a bunch of old things lined up without any reformation done to them. "Do you do this often?" he asked as the other handed him a baseball bat and he took it from her looking down at it in mild amusement.

faye

"Yeah, weird guy who came out of the blue and smashed shit," She repeated, laughter leaving her lips. "Alright fine, just Jade it is," Faye grinned at him, practically skipping out to the back. She grabbed the bats she kept lying around, handing him one without hesitation. At his question, she laughed. "Fairly often. I used to live in LA, and they had this place called Rage Ground. You ever heard of Rage Rooms? You basically just go there to smash shit. I used to go with a friend of mine Landon, it was a great way to relieve stress." Faye admitted, shrugging her shoulders before pointing at one of the items with her bat. "Give it a try. Trust me."

jayden

Jade looked amused as the other called him the same weird guy thing again before she referred him by his name. "Thank you." he chuckled and listened as she spoke of the rage rooms back in LA, still looking down at the bat skeptically. "I have heard of them, never actually been to one." he told the other. "I mean, it's not often I go anywhere that's not work. I went to New York one time for a wedding, and then Vegas to get married." he shook his head a little as he spoke of his drunk wedding at Vegas. "And I did go on vacation to Miami but I suppose beaches and rage rooms aren't the same thing." He nodded and took a deep breath before he swung the bat with all the strength he could muster at the bunch of stuff, a deafening smash echoing through the room before he turned to look at Faye and laughed in shock. "You are right that does feel good." he said sounding rather startled by that fact. "Are you going to do this too?"

faye

"You're welcome," Faye laughed with him, shaking her head. "Oh they're so much fun," she told him before tilting her head as she listen to him speak. "Did you not want to travel? Or just didn't have time?" She asked him curiously. "You got married in Vegas?" Faye arched an eyebrow, before realising that was probably the divorce that was causing him to smash things. "Well, I went travelling after high school. Been here, there and everywhere. Settled in LA though, but I used to travel a lot with my previous jobs," she moved the conversation from vegas swiftly, shrugging her shoulders. "Oh yeah definitely not, beaches are fun, but a different kind of stress reliever to this," she admitted, pointing at the pile of junk. Faye watched as he swung the bat, laughter spilling from her own lips as he laughed in shock. "Right? I'm not entirely crazy," she teased, before nodding. "Well I can't let you have all the fun." Without hesitating further, Faye swung her bat at one of the cupboards she'd found no use for, grinning widely.

jayden

"Maybe one day. Or maybe there are those in Charleston, I don't know." he mused before he shrugged at her question. "Guess I've always been busy? So I never really thought of it but when I do go I have fun so maybe I should plan vacations occasionally." he chuckled. Not that he would anytime soon having had taken a few days off work to visit Nessa in Miami. Perhaps, next year or so. "Yeah, I did. Would recommend a Vegas wedding but not a Vegas marriage. The trip was actually a lot of fun." He didn't really want to talk much about it but then again he saw no point to keeping it to himself and not talk about it at all. It was a chapter of his life he can turn over and move on from but it was always gonna be there anyway. "Traveling for work doesn't sound like the worst thing." he smiled at her before raising his brows in amusement as she trashed one of the cupboards. He followed her lead, feeling his anger leave him little by little with every swing of his bat. "You're definitely not entirely crazy." he said as he laughed, looking down at the resultant mess.

faye

"Oh I've not actually looked in Charleston," She admitted, tapping her chin in thought. "That makes sense, but you should definitely plan more vacations. Hey, if you ever need a travel buddy, you know where to find me," Faye grinned, gesturing at the store. She wasn't sure he'd ever take her up on the offer, but she loved travelling, and hadn't actually left Wakefield since she'd come back. "So I just need to find someone to get married in Vegas so I can witness it," She joked, laughing. "I'm glad you had fun though." As he spoke of her old job, Faye shrugged. "Yes and no. Sometimes I didn't actually get much time to actually explore anyway." Pulling a face, she swung the bat again. "Somewhat crazy, but only enough that it's fun, and not horrifying."

jayden

"Maybe there is one and we can go." he suggested grinning at her before a laugh left his lips at her suggestion to travel together but he stopped abruptly on realizing she wasn't joking. "You're serious? Like actually travel somewhere together?" he asked her, his words coloured with disbelief at the offer. "That would be ideal." he said, that was a great conclusion to come to from what he had told her about his experience with a Vegas wedding. He simply nodded as she spoke of her old job, she was very vague and he didn't bother to dig more. If she left it and owned a shop here, there was probably a reason for it. "Yep, not completely horrifying." he said before he swung his bat again, this time a few times consecutively, channeling all the anger he felt at himself on the poor dresser which Faye seemed to think was of no use anymore. It went on longer than last time, longer than he realized and when he was done he dropped the bat and sat down cross-legged on the floor, hands in his hair and taking deep breaths to steady himself.

faye

"I'll have to look and find out," She agreed with a grin. At his abrupt stop to his laughter, Faye let out a giggle of his own. "Not used to strangers offering to go on holiday with you?" She joked, "but yeah, why not? You want to travel, I want to travel, could be fun." Shrugging her shoulders, Faye's smile never left her lips. She was pretty sure the other wouldn't take her up on the offer but she meant it all the same. Faye focused on smashing the offending objects, taking her recent stresses with worrying about Dean out on the poor furniture. Faye had finished before Jade had, watching him as he then dropped the bat and dropped to the floor. "You okay?" She asked softly, sitting down opposite him, concern lacing her features.

jayden

Jade chuckled in response and he definitely was not used to this. The last time this happened he had gotten married in Vegas so he wasn't entirely sure it was the best of ideas either. "It could. I would need to take time off work though which wont be happening for the next few months at least." When he finally let the bat fall to the ground and sat down himself Jade's head was spinning. He hadn't really given himself a moment to come to terms with the fact that his marriage with Nessa, if one could even call it that was actually over. "Yeah, yeah." he said distantly, barely focusing on the others words.

faye

"Well the offer's always open, and hey, at that point we may actually know eachother," she mused with a grin. However her cheerful nature faded as she saw how he was, her frown growing as she watched him cautiously. "Hey," Faye spoke softly, reaching out and placing her hand on his bicep. "Talk to me, come on, what's going through that head of yours?"

jayden

Jade hadn't even realized how angry he was about the divorce with Nessa. Not at her, but more at himself. Because it was so many years that he had hoped for something with her when a part of him had always known that they would never work out. She was too wild, different, demanding, and he could never keep up with her. He should have known. And the more he thought of it the angrier he became, and with an outlet for his anger right before him, he used it without holding back. He took a few deep breaths before looking at the other. "I fucked up my own life." he admitted out loud. "I just.. yeah, I knew this was going to be the end result and I dragged it out for years. It sucks."

faye

Faye frowned as he finally spoke, brows furrowing together at the admission. Her teeth tugged on her lower lip, before she shrugged. "Don't take this the wrong way, but people do stupid shit when they're blindly in love with someone. I would know. I've been there." She admitted, voice unusually quiet, it wasn't often Faye spoke about her ex. "You have every right to be angry. Even if it's at yourself. I was, for years. It'll get easier."

jayden

"Yeah, I suppose." he said quietly saddened on hearing that she had a similar situation. "I'm sorry to hear that. Sucks to be us, I guess?" he said, a small smile on his lips but it didn't reach his eyes. He hated how he felt, he hated the anger, he wished he could skip past of of this mess and go right to the moving on. "I hope so. I doubt you have enough things for me to break if it doesn't get better." he added, hoping to lighten the mood.

faye

"Yeah, I guess it does," Faye forced out a huff of laughter, shaking her head somewhat sadly. However, at his comment, the corners of her lips twitched upwards in amusement. "It will, but in the mean time, we should definitely try and find a rage room. Most of this trash I actually rescue," She admitted, "These were lost causes though."

jayden

"That's a good plan. But also, I don't really do this often, or ever. So, I don't know if I need a rage room." he chuckled. As much as he felt good, this shouldn't become a regular thing, right? He didn't know if it was good for him or not. "I think I'm all out of rage now though." he said with a smile. "Do you want to show me some of the things you actually rescued?" he asked the other, not really in the mood to be breaking things anymore.

faye

"Well no, but sometimes this is the healthiest way to get your frustrations out. Better a piece of furniture than snapping at someone you care about," Faye shrugged her shoulders. As he said he was out of rage, Faye grinned again, standing up. "Yeah of course, follow me." She told him, leading him back into the shop.

jayden

Jade nodded in agreement at the others words, she did have a point. He smiled a little as the other got ready to take him back to the front to actually see what she sold in her store. He silently followed the girl out of the room, leaving the destroyed remains of what she called the lost causes behind.

END

[mostfacinorous]

GO Whumptober Day 31: Today’s Special- Torture [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25][26][27][28][29][30]

“You know,” Crowley heard, as he slowly woke. “Every hunter worth their salt has a tracking device they keep on their person. And his led me straight to you. So tell me the truth: where is Mathias?” 

Crowley opened his eyes to find himself in a mostly dark room, tied to a chair, plastic spread out on the floor around him, and floodlights hitting him right in the eyes. 

There was a woman standing in front of him, arms crossed and looking both unimpressed and threatening. 

“I mean-- I ate him.” Crowley answered, feeling a mite groggy, like he may have been drugged. The pounding in his skull backed up that theory. 

“Oh, a jokester. Funny. Mathias is my brother, so I hope for your sake he’s around here somewhere.” 

Crowley groaned.

“Mathias sent a child after me by lying to her about the source of her ma’s illness, and then he attacked when I turned up to help them, so I turned into a snake and ate him.” Crowley told her. “I’m not joking, and I’m awful sorry for your loss, though he was a bit of a prick.” 

The woman looked less than pleased with that answer, and paced back and forth a bit. 

“You wanna talk me through what you’re thinking, or would you rather wear a hole in that tarp?” He finally asked. 

“Well, your eyes say demon, so that makes your story a little more plausible. I don’t want to believe my brother’s dead, because if I come home without him, my father will be furious.” 

Crowley listened, nodding. 

“So I suppose,” she continued, “My options are to take you back to my father and let you tell him your story, and hope I get let off the hook while he kills you slowly, a little bit at a time, or, I do it myself, here and now, save myself the trouble of the roadtrip with you, and know I’ll probably kill you off faster than he would, so it’s really sort of a favor, on account of how you’re right, and my brother was a prick.” 

“Sounds like either way is pretty shit, as far as options go on my end.” Crowley quipped, and she huffed a little laugh. 

“Shame about you eating him,” she responded. “I feel like we really coulda grown to like one another.” 

---

Crowley swam in and out of consciousness for the next several hours, as this incredibly disturbed human woman made a game of removing bits of him and putting them in labelled mason jars. 

It really was like some kind of parody of a decor show, the way she tied little ribbons around each one, and labelled them with what they were and the time when she removed them from him. 

He had no idea where they were or how they’d got there, but she’d done a damn good job of making sure she wouldn’t be interrupted. 

He’d yelled and cried and screamed as loud as he could, but it seemed like there were no neighbors around to hear, or care, or help. 

And he had no idea where Aziraphale was. He wished he could call to him, though, reach him, ask for some kind of way out of here. 

“So it occurs to me,” Amber said, for that was her name, and Crowley hated that she’d bothered telling him about her, because he sympathized now, a little. 

“I haven’t had much opportunity to learn about demons, and how they react to things. For example:” She held up a bottle of salt. “I can make a circle with this, and you can’t leave it, yeah? But what happens if I just…”

She upended the bottle over his chest, slashed open and bleeding sluggishly as it was. 

He screamed again as the salt began to dissolve in his blood and sting at the open skin. 

She watched, dispassionately, and when he voice broke and his screams turned to little whimpers, she hummed to herself. 

“I’d say that was about on par with a human, actually.” She noted. “Which is a real pity, I expected more… fireworks, or the like.” 

Crowley twisted his wrist back and forth, trying again to work his hand free, but she laughed. 

His fingers were broken; she’d done that first thing, so even if he could get free, the act of summoning a miracle would be even more painful. 

“How about the old folklore fixes, eh? Silver? Iron? Garlic?” 

“Werewolves, fairies, and vampires. Not me.” He answered her, voice rough from screaming and ruining his attempt at sounding cool. 

“And how about holy water? Does that do anything?” 

He croaked out a little laugh.

“Tingles a bit. Demons use it as hot sauce.” 

He had loosened the duck tape around his wrist enough to be able to move his hand a bit, and he smashed it against the chair, forcing his broken bones back into some semblance of being hand shaped.

“Hm. Hot sauce, you say?” She asked, and he didn’t like that at all. He wiggled his fingers, braced himself, and summoned a miracle.

“Maybe I should go get you some, then. After all, you are being punished for having eaten my brother-- maybe keeping your mouth on a constant holy water drip will make the punishment fit the crime a little better.” 

Crowley sucked in air, in too much pain to try and figure out how to talk his way out of that one. 

“Did I hear,” A new voice said in the darkness, and Crowley felt his eyes filling with tears of relief, “That you are in the market for some holy water?” 

Aziraphale stepped forward, looking prim and proper as ever, and he’d even pulled out his halo and wings for the occasion. 

Amber looked up at him in awe.

“You’re an angel aren’t you?” She asked, and Aziraphale smiled. 

“I am. And it seems you’ve captured my own personal adversary.” He flicked his eyes towards Crowley, and Crowley whined at the cold expression in them. 

Oh, Aziraphale was pissed. And worse, he was righteous. 

“Oh, did you want to get in on this? It turns out he ate my brother, so…” 

“Were you aware,” Aziraphale asked, voice still light and sweet and casual, “That your brother had made a deal with devils? That your brother kidnapped me, and sold me to hell?” 

Amber took a step back as Aziraphale turned to look at her again. 

“What? No, I mean, Mathias was an arse, but…” 

“Your brother.” Aziraphale said, advancing on her, “Was a monster. And so are you.” 

Crowley could not actually see what happened, but he did see that Aziraphale did not so much as lift a finger. 

Amber screamed and fell to her knees, her eyes bleeding, her mouth wide open and her tongue suddenly missing. 

“Crowley, darling, I think you had better close your eyes.” Aziraphale warned him, and, when he’d obeyed, he could see the bright holy light that suddenly shone throughout the room even through his closed eyelids. It stabbed into him and set his head off again, and he whimpered. 

Just as fast as it began, it ended, and then Aziraphale was there. 

“Alright, here we are, I am so sorry. Come on, let’s get you out of here, get you healed up.” 

“What-- what did you do with her?” Crowley asked. “She was just-- her and Mathias both, their dad…” 

“Oh, I know.” Aziraphale told him. “I sent her body back to her father, covered in writing that tells the entire story of their awful line. No further children will be born to them. The old man will see his daughter, read my letter, and then never see again. And whatever monster he is running from will finally be able to catch up.”

Aziraphale’s voice echoed with a sort of certainty, a knowledge beyond what they knew, and Crowley realized he was tapping into the weapons available to angels in the most extreme of circumstances. The sorts of weapons he’d have been given back in the beginning, back when it was a very real war, and he’d been set out to kill demons like Crowley. 

Instead, now, he was using those powers in defense of a demon. 

“I don’t think heaven’s gonna like this too much.” Crowley told him, head lolling as they moved, and suddenly Crowley realized he was being carried. 

“I don’t give two fucks what heaven does and doesn’t like!” Aziraphale said hotly, but sounding more like himself. “I won’t let anyone take you from me again!” 

Crowley smiled at that, even though, as they crossed out of the darkness and into the sunlight, his headache flared up, and all the moving was jostling the salt in his chest wounds. 

He was woozy and in and out of it, and Aziraphale got him laid out on the grass by a roadside, the day crisp and bright and lovely, and Crowley felt cold and vague. 

“That crazy bint killed me, didn’t she?” He asked, and Aziraphale’s eyes flashed, brighter even than the noonday sun. 

“Not if I’ve anything to say about it.” He answered. “I am so very sorry,” He added, softer and sweet. 

Crowley sighed, trying not to tense even though he knew what was coming next. 

Or, he thought he knew. Aziraphale had done some laying of hands on him before, once or twice, and it was terrible for them both each time. They both suffered when they went about helping one another that intimately. So he tried to prepare for more pain. 

What he felt instead, though, was Aziraphale’s hand on the side of his face, and then his lips on his, and he was kissing him back to life. 

And somehow, it didn’t hurt. 

It was like being dunked suddenly into a cold pool, a shock to the system, unpleasant, but bracing. He felt alert again, like he’d just woken, and he felt the pain in his chest going away, the throbbing in his fingers ceasing as everything straightened out and reknitted itself, pieces regrowing and reattaching and healing. 

And Aziraphale was kissing him. 

When he was done, Crowley chased after his retreating lips, panting and confused. 

“That didn’t-- it didn’t hurt me at all. Did it-- are you alright?” He demanded, sitting up and reaching for Aziraphale to catch him in case he fainted from the efforts.

But Aziraphale just smiled. 

“When God said she wanted us to be closer,” He said, sounding, finally like himself, “I suspect this is more what she had in mind.” 

“You mean I could have been kissing you since winter?” 

Aziraphale laughed and helped Crowley to his feet. 

“If we weren’t so scared, I would say we could have been kissing for much longer than that. But, yes. I don’t think we’ll have any problems with healing one another any longer.” 

Crowley felt tears coming to his eyes again, and he grabbed hold of Aziraphale and held onto him tightly. 

“Let’s go find somewhere that’s quiet.” He requested. “Somewhere out of the city. You bring your books, I’ll bring my plants… and with any luck neither of us will have to heal the other ever again.” 

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale said on a sigh, “That sounds delightful. How do you feel about the south downs?”

“If you’re there?” Crowley told him, as he reached to pull him into another kiss. “Better than heaven could ever be.”

[jhmyguardiangel]

❄️ six snowflakes ❄️

librarian!wonwoo x bookworm!femreader

category: seventeen days of christmas

———

there were little chatters, soft flickering of pages, monotonous clicks from each press on the keyboard, and creaks from tables or chairs. these were the sounds that a young man hears every day, he founded them therapautic.

the slightly dimmed light from the lampost just outside the little bookstore really outlined the snowfall. wonwoo looked ahead as the soft christmas coffee music played at the background. people were relaxed, drinking hot chocolate or coffee that the store gladly had to offer. he expected that people would come rushing as the snowstorm was gradually sweeping in. 

wonwoo have been working in this bookstore during the weekends for two years now. since five weeks ago, he had to fill in since the owner was on maternity leave. she had a liking to the boy, seeing herself in him; loving literature or just books in general.

he found the job just par, normal, and just at ease. he may have been seen as ‘bored’ or ‘dozing off’ to some people, but three of his colleagues- jeonghan, hansol, and mingyu- knew he would perk up or stand at attention whenever he saw a certain someone enter the earth toned bookcase.

the bell gave a soft ding as a group of three girls entered, holding books and laptops; wonwoo figured they were going to do a study session. their hairs were filled with snow and apologised to the four bookstore workers for messing up the floor.

the three boys helped the girls to hang their jackets while wonwoo just stared at this certain one. mingyu and jeonghan smirked at each other, knowing his tensed cheeks whenever he sees her.

“y/n! put your beanie down, it’s warm in here.” jihee told you as you both sat down, followed by seunghee and yerin.

and boy when you pulled the cotton beanie off wonwoo felt his heartstrings tug in the most unexplanable feeling. he thought that you were pretty as the long locks that fell though it was frizzled, your cheeks pink from the cold, and the signature smile that made him first lay eyes on you.

“would you look at him staring at y/n.” jeonghan whispered to mingyu, “so obvious that he likes her.”

“be quiet, he might hear you.” hansol warned the older one, fixing a messed up shelf.

“even though he looks so cold on the outside, i bet you he’s all exploding like ‘agh!’ on the inside.” mingyu tried to imitate on wonwoo’s inside emotions, his arms stretched wide, making the boy in glasses look at them in dismay.

“ah crap he heard us.” jeonghan smiled, his hands on his hips, leaving to take another offer from a customer.

wonwoo sighed, he didn’t know whether it was a right move to have told them about his interest in you. now that he was all exposed, there wasn’t any way out of teasing. he was so into his thoughts when he didn’t even realised that you were in front of the counter, asking him for recommendations this christmas.

“hey wonwoo, i was wondering if there’s any new releases this month?” you smiled shyly, tucking a hair stand behind your ears.

“um,” he coughed, checking the inventory on the computer and shaking his head after, “no. there aren’t any right now, i’ll contact you i get any updates.”

“is that a way to ask me for my number?” you smirked, arm crossed.

“well someone’s assuming.” he smirked back, crossing his hands together before placing his on them.

he was awfully close that it made you blush, putting cash in between the both of you, “a-anyway i’ll get a hot chocolate with mini marshmallows, please.”

he took the cash and placed your order, “mhm, okay.”

you sat back down, slapping your cheeks softly as your friends gave you a teasing aura. ah, here they go again-

“is that a way to ask me for my number?” jinhee imitated your tone.

“girl you were really pink.” yerin poked your cheeks.

“smooth, y/n.” seunghee giggled.

“oh shut your mouths.” you covered your face.

———

two weeks later, you stopped by the bookstore, only to see wonwoo working alone. since that awkward but butterfly filling incident over a phone number, wonwoo confessed and he was more than happy to know that the feeling was mutual. all of your friends knew the restrained feelings you both had, and after giving it a good thinking about it, you both decided to give dating a try despite being friends and schoolmates for years.

you lined your fingertips through the books and had a difficult time choosing which stories to read. slim but toned arms wrapped around your waist from behind, small kisses were placed on the nape of neck to your temple.

“it’s cold out and you’re wearing a thin layer of clothing. you’ll get sick.” he said softly, his voice deep with passion and a little worry.

“i have a personal heater anyway.” you turned around to give his nose a kiss. “you’ve always made me warm.”

“maybe because i dialed the right number.” he held you closer, “previous numbers didn’t ring right.”

you hummed, “it’s because you dialed the right way.”

“i’m glad you picked up and answered me even if i kept dialling after three years.” he chuckled, kissing your cheek. “i was put on hold for too long.”

“we’re getting too literature-y here, won.” you snuggled to his chest.

“that’s why i love you. you get my bookish puns.” you both sat on a beanbag that big enough to wrap you both warm, your bag fell off and three bookmarks in the shape of snowflakes fell out from it. “wait, those bookmarks. where they from the annual christmas bookfair?”

your eyes lit up, “yeah they were. you know of these?”

he left for a brief second and came back holding three exact same bookmarks. “i collected them before they stopped giving it out three years ago. they were pretty.”

“you have three and i have three.” you said, spreading them out on your laps. “cool.”

“six snowflakes, took us three years to get together. the cords didn’t work right back then.” he cracked another pun, chuckling at himself after.

“we were seventeen, and there weren’t any way for us to meet because we were so in love with books even though we were in the same high school.” you laughed.

“well i’m glad it us took three years,” he placed a hair strand behind your ear, admiring your eyes. “that bookfair was where i first saw you, and now we’re connected-“

“you took too long to call, won.” you joked, making him kiss you, this time on the lips.

“i’m sorry, but those lost three years make up for the double love i’m giving you in the future.”

“is that a dialogue from our favourite author?”

“ah please don’t ruin it.”

[medea10]

Medea Plays Pokemon Sword (&Shield): Part VI

Okay, it’s been several months since my last update with Sword & Shield.

Mostly because as soon as you finish the main story and the side-quest with Tweedle Dick and Tweedle Balls, what else is there? Just fill up the Pokedex and have a go at the Battle Tower.

I just took some time to go through the Shield game (since Sword is kinda my main game this time around).

I would just like to say, Allister is the cutest little fella.

Maybe it’s because of the episode of Pokemon Twilight Wings that just aired a few hours ago here, but Allister is such a sweetie.

And of course we have Thick-Chick Mama, Melony.

I knew going through her gym was going to be a pain in the rectum, just like Gordie’s. I was right. Her gym is on par with Wallace’s gym in Ruby & Sapphire.

But thanks to some Youtube videos, I managed to avoid falling through the ice pitfalls.

Sorry, she set me up for this joke.

Then in January, we got a taste of what to look forward to when the Isle of Armor expansion hit.

Like catching the odd-looking Slowpoke and meeting new rivals like Klara and Avery.

And I could tell then and there that Klara was one of those psycho, pink-haired bitches and Avery was Robert’s psychic cousin. Will that theory let up once the expansion hit? Let me think about that while I chow down on some Slowpoke Tail curry.

Itadakimasu!

Then a month passed and we were introduced to Pokemon HOME and Professor Oak’s other relative from some weird timeline where Macho Man Randy Savage and Jiraiya did the fusion dance and merged into the Grand Oak here.

A place where you can transfer all the pokemon you’ve caught throughout the years and STILL not transfer them to Sword and Shield.

And then Animal Crossing came out and we forgot about Pokemon’s existence.

Three months later and here we are!

At your arrival, you get an update to your Pokedex.

Don’t get too excited. We get SOME old pokemon added. Not all. Just some.

It’s nice that pokemon like Poliwag and Bulbasaur aren’t illegal in Galar anymore. But um...Ampharos? Dragonite? FRIGGIN’ BLAZIKEN?!

Whatever, take your time, dudes!

After the upgrade, you are met by Klara (in Sword). In a mistaken identity story line, she mistakes you for some other wank for joining the dojo nearby.

You battle her (or Avery in Shield). You wallop her.

OH, YUP! YUP! Look at that! Crazy bitch alert!

Anyways, this rival will try by any means to keep you away from the dojo by enticing you with a style card (which gives you exclusive hairdos and clothes).

But because I like to move this story along, I’m gonna go to the dojo.

Up yours, skank.

The dojo is headed up by an old fella named Mustard. And you’re met up with Mustard’s dotting wife...

I am not kidding.

His wife is named Honey.

And she’s a MILF.

Like I give a fuck about you, Yuno Gasai-Lite. Sheesh, maybe Avery isn’t this much of a cunt like Klara.

Oh, go shove a bent spoon up your ass, you watered-down looking Alucard, mother fucker.

Oh and if you’re wondering, I actually hate Bede, Sordward and Shielbert more than these two. I just feel like being mean since Tweedle Dick and Tweedle Balls aren’t around for me to poke fun at anymore.

Once inside, you’ll meet the master of the dojo, Mustard. He gives you a uniform and then we get down to the three tasks.

Task one:

Catch three speedy Slowpokes.

They took Avery/Klara’s dojo uniform and it’s up to you to catch them.

Just don’t expect a thank you from the Slutty Succubus of the South.

Task Two:

Find the Max Mushrooms.

These babies are the key to unlocking certain pokemon’s potential in Dynamaxing. So in case you keep getting your ass kicked by these special pokemon at raid dens, here’s your chance at getting the Gigantamax pokemon.

So after going through this twisted forest and nearly going insane by getting lost, I’m not about to have this little tramp steal my findings.

After you beat Klara/Avery in a battle again, you get the Max Mushrooms. But they come back with the mushrooms too and insist on cooking them instead of the ones you found.

For once, you did me a favor. I can use this for my Cinderace.

Task Three:

Fight Klara/Avery.

Now this might be a little tricky. Because at the beginning of the battle, Klara and Avery do something sneaky.

Before you could start, Klara sets up Toxic Spikes, causing immediate poisoning for your pokemon. At least Avery only had mist surrounding the battlefield. This bitch intentionally poisons your pokemon.

Just use a Steel type when going up against Klara.

After these three tasks, you get the secret armor of the dojo.

Kubfu.

You will get a Kubfu from Mustard. But that’s not all folks!

While you’re on the Isle, you are now able to have the first pokemon on your roster walk around with you.

Good that you bond with the Kubfu before you go to the next part. Also, all of those XP candies you earn in Max Raid Dens are going to be your best friend.

Okay, time to do what I love to do in Pokemon games.

FUCK YEAH! MISSY GETS TO TRAVEL BESIDE ME!

Anyways, once you bond with Kubfu and you’re the best of friends and train Kubfu to a decent level, then it’s time to take on the Tower of Water or Tower of Darkness.

You can only choose one. If you choose water, Kubfu will evolve into a part water type. And if you choose darkness, Kubfu will evolve into a part dark type. And the tower you do not choose will be closed off to you forever.

You’ll fight a few trainers with one pokemon each. Suggestion is to have your Kubfu past level 70 and know moves like Aerial Ace, Zen Headbutt, and/or Thunderpunch.

At the top of the tower, you are challenged by Mustard. And once you defeat him, you can evolve Kubfu.

By staring at a wall scroll.

I’ve seen stranger ways of evolving a pokemon. I’ll just sit back and accept it for what it is.

After this part, there’s a baby side-quest you have to go through in order to have this fella take part in the Dynamax process.

Apparently, this pokemon is picky about his food. But some Max Honey will make the Max Mushroom soup taste pleasant.

And that’s when Hau 2.0 comes in! And once again, we go through a three-tasked mission in order to get some Max Honey.

Task One:

Reunite a mother Lilligant with it’s baby Petlil.

Back to that twisted-ass forest again.

Some friendly advice, don’t use your bike to get back to Hop when you find Lilligant. Lilligant will get lost and just go back to where it originally was. Just walk.

Task Two:

Chase an Applin.

Task Three:

Go to the special tree.

Hop will tell you to shake it to get the attention of a Vespiquen.

...

ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE HOP?! It is 2020, the worst year on the record. I am not about to be stung by Pokemon’s answer to the fucking murder hornet. And what do I do next?

I shake it like a Polaroid picture.

So I’ve chosen death.

*snorts*

No you didn’t, Pokemon.

You didn’t do this!

-___-

I can’t EVEN...

Anyways, you’re taken to a Max Raid den and you take out a Vespiquen.

Fuck you Hop. Just fuck you.

Now that those three tasks are taken care of, you can feed your picky pokemon some Max Mushroom Soup. And now you can battle Mustard in a six-on-six.

After winning...

Can I please shove her off a cliff?

I know, I shouldn’t be mean to Klara and Avery. But I am. Klara tried to be a pop sensation and only sold 8 copies of her CD. And Avery is the outcast of his family with the least psychic energy. So maybe I’ll cut them both some slack.

I’m just not over Klara poisoning us at the beginning of the match with absolutely no warning.

And that’s the end of that story line.

But there’s still plenty to do around the Isle of Armor.

Catch pokemon for the updated pokedex.

Catch an actual level 80 wild pokemon!

No joke, friggin’ Wailord is level 80.

Also look out for Sharpedo in the water. They’re so fast that you won’t finish the Jaws music score fast enough before Sharpedo bites you in the ass.

Help this fool find his 151 Digletts.

At least he gives you gift pokemon for your hard work.

Like Alolan Meowth, Alolan Raichu, etc.

Combine four items to get a special item or pokeball.

So this nightmare fuel takes four items and can combine them into a pokeball, a TR, or a special item (depending on which four items you use to combine). And now that Apricorns are back, you can use them to make those special pokeballs you’ve been only able to get one up to this point.

Help the MILF around.

Welcome to the daunting task of getting Watts. Honey will not be fulfilled until she gets her hands on at least 2,000,000+ watts. Yes, I said that. But it’s to help put special things around the dojo like vending machines, a hair stylist, food for the fridge, and other essentials. But then there are other incentives you get for helping Honey out including battling with Honey and getting rare league cards.

Best method of gaining watts, find Digger Pa and Digger Ma. The digging brothers have parents. Pa digs for watts as long as you give him special ores. And Ma finds the ores (as long as her stupid shovel doesn’t crap out).

Now was buying the expansion package to Sword and Shield worth it? I don’t want to be premature in my thoughts since the second part of the expansion package isn’t out yet. So I’ll save it for later. This has been a fun side-story and it’s been able to take my attention away from Animal Crossing for just a little while. I know there will always be special events with Max Raids. I just hope we can add more pokemon from the National Dex when we can go to the Tundra later this year.

But if you’re one of those folks that’s National Dex or bust, maybe wait off on purchasing the package until we get more info about Tundra.

Okay, see you in a few months!

[dearlazerbunny]

Lie to Me (Ch. 14 of 28)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 2,700

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, who are now happily living in my closet amongst my cosplays and stuffed animals

Requested Tags: @deraniel​, @iamverity,  @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany, @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings

Another vague email, another secret meeting. Par for the course you suppose. You brace yourself to walk into another room full of superheroes, but thankfully when you push open the door there’s just two relatively standard-stock agents in black suits, albeit with incredibly stony faces. The man gestures for you to sit, and you do so at the head of the table, so the pair are flanking you on either side.

“Hello.” You set your stuff down. “Can I help you?”

The female on your right, wearing her hair in a severe bun, raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow at you. “Do you know why you’re here, agent?”

“No, you guys didn’t exactly put it in the subject line,” you joke, but are met with nothing but glares. Yikes. Tough crowd. “Am I… did I do something?”

“Not precisely.” The man sitting on your left hand side pulls out a few unassuming folders and sets them across from you. “My name is Sitwell. We recently received a few… interesting reports, from Agent Barton.”

Oh, crap. This can’t be good. “I see. What about?”

“How long have you been assigned to Loki, Y/N?”

“Um-” you count back the months in your mind. “It’s been a while. Eight months? Nine?”

“And what would you say your relationship to the prisoner is?”

You can’t help but wince a little at how he says the word prisoner. “Friendly, I guess. I mean, you talk to someone every day for almost a year, you get used to them, I suppose.”

The man- Sitwell- nods. “Agent Barton expressed similar sentiments. While it appears your assignment has been going smoothly, there have been concerns regarding your  ability to maintain… neutrality.”

You bristle. “What does that mean?”

He slides a folder towards you, flipping it open. “You were in D.C. for the Incident, correct?” You nod. “I’d like for you to take a look at some photos.”

The first photo, in horrifically excellent quality, is a skyscraper crumpled to ruin, its steel bones twisted and mangled into a fatal position. The street before it is upended, with concrete shattered everywhere.

You know what these pictures are from. You’ve seen the news. The city workers pushing rubble from one place to the next. The memorial reels commemorating the funerals of those caught in the crossfire that day.

Despite trying to brace yourself, your stomach twists at the images of carnage marring New York’s proudest city. You aren’t heartless, you can imagine the anxiety that permeates the alleyways. Once, it was the city that never sleeps. Then someone finally put its lights out.

“If you’ll flip to the last photo, please.” A picture of an incredibly unassuming man greets you. Receding hairline, watery blue eyes, same professional yet nondescript suit everyone wears around SHIELD. You squint at the headshot. His tie has a subtle design on it- do they really make neckties with Captain America’s shield on it?

Apparently you asked that last question out loud, because Sitwell gives you what you assume is the closest you’ll get to a smile from him. “They do, though I believe he had this one specially made.” He sobers. “Did you know Phil Coulson, agent?”

Oh. So this is the agent everyone’s had on the tip of their tongue. Apparently he was a legend around here- Fury’s right-hand man, both the Black Widow and Hawkeye’s handler, not to mention all the fantastical rumors of his own exploits. It’s something of an initiation process, scaring the interns with stories of how he battled his way out of a secret underground HYDRA base and escaped the Amazon with nothing but a Dasani water bottle and a popsicle stick. “No. I mean, I know of him. Everyone does. But he was gone before I transferred.”

Sitwell nods. “Phil Coulson was a very special man. Unfailing loyalty, a sharp eye, and a knack for keeping us all out of trouble.” He pauses. “He was one of my best friends.” You’d known that even before he had told you, just based on the admiration and grief in the agent’s voice. “He was also one of the most personal tragedies to result from the Manhattan Crisis.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” He nods elegantly, graciously. “There are, of course, dozens of other agents who ended up in the crossfire. Not to mention the civilian count.”

“Why are you showing me this?” You ask tiredly, even though you already know the answer.

“We thought it prudent to remind you who we have in that cell, and why.” The folder is closed; the pictures of a devastated city fade back into history. “Loki Laufeyson is not your friend, agent Y/L/N, nor is he someone to be reformed, rehabilitated, or empathized with.” His words are crisp and incredibly cold; hailstones biting at your cheeks in December. “He is an inter-dimensional war criminal with hundreds of innocent lives hanging over his head. He is a murderer, a manipulator, and a liar. He speared Coulson through the chest and left him to bleed out on the floor. Do not forget that,” he adds gently.

You open your mouth to say- something. To defend him, or yourself, or both. But nothing comes. Sitwell and his friend rise from their seats and tuck cream folders neatly under their arms. “Thank you for your time, agent.” When the door closes behind them, you’re still sitting blankly, imagining Phil Coulson staring blankly at you with just a hint of a smile in his blue eyes.

                                                            XXX

“Copper for your thoughts, darling?”

You smile wearily at Loki, head propped on your hand. “It’d be a waste of a penny; I’m not thinking anything in particular.”

“Mmm, I do not believe so. It’d be nothing compared to your attention. But beyond that, something is clearly wrong.” He gestures to you, at your shoulders that are clearly slumped and your fingers twisting anxiously. “Tell me about it?”

You sigh and force yourself to stop fidgeting. “I was called into a meeting. It wasn’t very fun.”

He hums noncommittally, clearly waiting for you to elaborate.

Everything in you hesitates. You don’t want to go there. You really don’t. In the beginning, you told yourself you wouldn’t because it wasn’t your job; later, it didn’t really seem to matter. But if you’re being honest, it’s been digging at the back of your brain for a while now. Every so often you’d be laughing with him and then suddenly stop and think to yourself, this is the man who tried to take over the world. Loki is a tricky, temperamental bastard with a lot of issues, but world domination always seemed a bit… much? You can’t reconcile the carnage downtown with the man sitting across from you. And yet…

“Promise you won’t get mad?”

Loki tilts his head, worried. “I suppose. Is everything alright?”

“… why’d you do it?”

He doesn’t ask what you’re referring to.

For a minute the both of you just look at each other. Your gaze isn’t accusatory, it isn’t angry or demanding- simply confused, and a little sad. Loki, similarity, doesn’t react with heat or deflection or any of his hundreds of other tools of the trade. He looks sad, too, and considers you with a heaviness that’s tangible all the way across the room. “You don’t have to say anything. I just-” you drop head in your hands, as though it’s suddenly too much to hold it up. “If I’m being honest, I’ve been trying to wrap my brain around it for a long time. And then they showed me these pictures, and I guess an agent you, um… stabbed… and it- doesn’t make sense.” You can see your own reflection mirrored over Loki in the glass, just slightly superimposing your features on his own. “I like to think that I know you. I want to think that I know you. But everyone keeps trying to convince me that you’re not the person I think I know.”

You shake your head and laugh a little at yourself with a weary tone. “I’m sorry. I’m probably not making any sense.”

“You always speak intelligently, Witling. I admire you for that.” He laces his hands in front of him, as he does when he wants to keep himself still. “It is… complicated. And incredibly ugly.” He glances at you. “I would not wish to burden you with the story.”

“I’ve got nothing but time.” You smile a little at him, though it’s tinged with melancholy. “And I think we’ve established I’ve got a decent perspective on ugly stories.”

You feel his green eyes on you- such a familiar feeling, even though now it makes you shift anxiously in your seat. “I suppose you deserve to know. You are one of the few who have shown me any grace for my actions.” In a graceful movement, he criss-crosses his long legs in front of him, and lets his elbows rest on his knees. “You know of the events in New Mexico?”

“More or less.”

“It was, in essence, a desperate scheme to win the affections of my father. To prove my worthiness in the eyes of someone who had never seen me as such.” Loki is excellent at hiding his feelings when he wants to, but by now you can see through all the façades he throws up to protect himself. “I had discovered my heritage in… less than ideal circumstances. I believed Thor’s downfall was my chance to claim everything I’d ever yearned for, only to realize those dreams were never possible to begin with. My anger was- immense.” Something in his voice cracks. “I was mourning so many different lives. My childhood, my Aesir form, my father’s son and an heir to Asgard. Everything I had ever known was simply an illusion waiting to be shattered.” He grimaces. “I did not handle it well.”

You don’t think your chest has ever hurt this much. “I don’t think anyone would, Loki. You can’t blame yourself for feeling angry.”

“What has anger every gained us,” he says softly, as though he’s quoting some wise scholar.

You don’t know what to say to that.

“I pleaded with my father over the broken Bifrost,” he says, “asking him if he could ever truly love me the way any child craves. And he denied me that simple need once and for all.”

“Loki-”

He shakes his head. “Thor was holding me aloft over the abyss. He would have pulled me to safety, I am sure of it. But instead- I let go.”

In your entire life, you don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone sound so broken as he does in this moment. It makes you physically ache, and you want to take his grief and shoulder it yourself so he might have a spare moment of peace; let your thumb rub away the lines etched in his face until they smooth into something happier.

“When Thanos found me, I did not have the strength or heart to resist.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Who is-”

“Don’t,” Loki warns. “Please. He is…” he mumbles a few things under his breath, but in languages you can’t understand. “He is a titan that has risen from the depths intent on his own ideas of perfection. His cruelty is outshone only by his ambition.” You can’t hold back a small noise of dismay when you notice his fingers are trembling. “I could not have fallen into his power at a more opportune time.”

“I will not claim to be wholly innocent. I am not. When he offered me dominion over Thor’s beloved Earth, I did not stay my hand from the weapon he gave me. But only after I received it did I realize his true intentions.” He takes a shaky breath, and presses his spine to the wall behind him, like he needs the support. “Casualties the likes of which you could not imagine. Violence, brutally meted without hesitation. The entire galaxy balanced in the palm of his hand. I tried to run- but I was weak, and now he had a grip on my very being.” The smile he gives is mirthless, haunted. “I am not easily broken. But they did so… effortlessly.”

By now you’ve drawn your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them, curling in on yourself as tight as you can manage. It’s like the room has dropped in temperature, slowly freezing your blood from the inside out. “What did…” you trail off, your voice thin enough to crack the most fragile sheet of ice. “Do I want to know?”

“I would not tell you even if you did.” You roughly wipe away a tear with the heel of your hand. “But the heat was immeasurable, and the scars were thoroughly and deliberately gifted.”

You wince reflexively. “How do you torture a frost giant,” you murmur, trying to push all kinds of horrific images out of your mind.

He nods briefly. “Precisely. All the while the infinity stone was working its power. I can resist thrall more than most, but not completely.”

“You mentioned an infinity stone before.”

“The mind stone is one of them. It is housed in the scepter Thanos gave me; the one I brought to Midgard during the invasion.”

Pieces are coming together one by one, into a warped and twisted sort of understanding. “That scepter- you used it to brainwash Barton, and everyone else.”

“Yes.”

“And it was also… controlling you?”

“Not so completely. I could resist in certain moments.”

“No, but- Loki.” You sit forward, trying to understand what he’s telling you. “It was controlling you. You were being controlled. Just like Barton. Just like all the others.”

“One could say.”

“Loki! This means- it means it wasn’t your fault!” You’re a strange mix of hopefulness, wrath, depression, and enlightenment. “Does SHIELD know this? Do the Avengers?”

“No,” he says fiercely, and he pins you with that gaze of his. “And you will not tell them.”

That stops you short. “Why-?”

“Because I am guilty no matter the circumstances, darling.” His voice is gentle, like he’s trying to let you down easy. “I did not refuse Thanos’ offer.”

“You had just fallen through space and time after your entire identity was stolen from you,” you retort. “Even if the latter hadn’t happened, would you have physically been able to resist after your fall? Enough to escape?”

“I- do not know.”

“Loki.” You sit back and rub your eyes. “This changes everything.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does! If Barton isn’t being held responsible for what he did when he wasn’t in control of his body then you sure as hell shouldn’t be!”

“Witling-”

“When Fury knows he’ll have to-”

“He will not know! And you-” he looks at you firmly, “will not tell him. Anyone. Promise me, Witling.”

“But why? Loki, you could clear your name-”

“He is the most dangerous thing in the galaxy,” he hisses, “and he will be coming back.” When your eyes widen, Loki closes his own and takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I fear it more than Ragnarok,” he says simply. “I would not bring any more destruction to this world than I already have. At least for now.”

You’re ready to argue, ready to fight with him tooth and nail until he realizes just how not at fault he actually is for this whole catastrophe- but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Not when he’s shivering and vulnerable and minutes away from tipping into a headspace you know would be hell to drag him out of.

“Okay.” He looks at you. “I- I don’t agree with it. But I trust you. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Thank you for telling me.”

Loki nods, his face exhausted and drawn. “In here, I would trust you before I trust myself.”

[prorevenge]

Revenge is sweet it marinates for a racist man

Please excuse my grammar and writing, hopefully my story is worth the struggle tho.

--

My mom and my dad have been split up and she started to see this guy. He was very much one of those "if you don't get up at 5 am and chop wood till the sun goes down you're a useless piece of society" kind of guy. Idk why she started dating him but I bared with it because I love my mom. But him and I didn't exactly see eye to eye since my career path involves me sitting most of the time indoors.

But there was one particularly night were I had just gotten home from a Cross country meet, and I had to shower and change. "Hey, can you do the dishes?" he asked through the bathroom door. "Yeah! Lemme get out and put clothes on." Nothing biggie. Got cleaned, put clothes on, pattered down stairs to do the dishes. It was a very normal night and everything felt okay, my mom and I were laughing he was on the couch and I was doing the dishes. It was almost shocking when I heard him gruff out "you're a disgusting half n*gger." I was in shock and then most of the night was a blur with anger, other phrases of him telling me "we should have slaves, i'm not prejudice" " I think n*ggers should be slaves to me" . This man had only ever seen one picture of my father, one just in passing that day and determined 'woohoo, I can use the n-word now' because my dad has a very dark skin tone. Jokes on you buddy, we're southeast Asian, try to get the insult right next time. There was a lot of different things that lead up to my revenge including breaking into my house, physically/ mentally abusing my mom, and trying to drive me over with his car, but that is for another story-time.

A good point about me is that I am very much a patient person. Even in the moment with me yelling and enraged, I wasn't eager to seek out my revenge out so quickly. My pa always told me "if you're going to hit back, do it hard."

Give or take 2 years, and I overhear from my mom (who is desperately trying to cling onto this man I have no idea why) that he was in jail for not paying child support to his ex wife. My ears perk up to this. It was subtle joy but my mind started to work.

He bullied my mom to take care of his dogs, and a big note about him, he is obsessed about dogs, like, all the decorations in his house are Labradors, even his clocks! They are the most important things to him and he owns 27 Labradors and breeds them. He keeps them though in barely big enough caged areas, and have a plywood box with holes cut out of them so they can get in and out and nothing else more to protect them from the freezing snow of the North. And with breeding them, they aren't the most diverse genes, they're all from the same family.

My mom was losing her mind running around trying to take care of these dogs and care for a litter of pup in which are so sick that a pup was dying every day, and I would go up to attempt to help. At one point his cousin came up, we got on fairly well and he had a soft spot for my mom, but he would come up and take some wood from the woodpile against the house and doesn't ever come to the back of the house. Snatch some wood and yeet out of there. I manage to strike up a conversation with him and worked "yeah, my mom is losing her mind over the dogs. She keeps crying over the puppies because they're dying every day." There was a spark in his eyes. Oh Yessss.

He asked me to show the pups and I gladly brought him back to show them, and he was absolutely enraged by everything, grumbling about how his brother shouldn't shove all of this on my poor mother while he's in jail. He took the four last living pups and said he was going to go to the vets about them.

This is where things start getting shaky but I learned it from my mom since I wasn't there, but the next day, the town's officers, (i believe an animal humane society was there was well?), and staties came up to take away all the dogs. Apparently in the town he lives, he has to own a kennel license to own more than a certain amount of dogs (which he didnt) and they were all required to have had their shots, and only 3 of the 27 dogs have ever seen a vet (1 because her foot got ran over, 2 because they were having pups). They checked out the caged areas, and the sad excuse of homes, this was during the Polar Vortex, so the cops weren't particularly forgiving about 27 dogs stuck outside during the storm with such little protection. They made him sign the rights over the dogs to my mom who was more than willing to let the cops take them away and left 4 dogs to her because he desperately wanted to keep the dogs. That didn't last long till the next day when the staties came back and took the last four of the dogs (don't know why they waited a day to take them). From what I've heard they have all been fostered. I am sad I didn't get to see his reaction, but within a month he had lost all his dogs, thrown in jail for owing thousands in child support, on top of that having to deal with fees with the dogs and losing his house as well that is forcing him to sell, so I am not so sad honestly since he thought it was okay to attack me with an incorrect racist slur for absolutely no good reason.

A happier note if this seems rather mean, his most favorite dog, she does this squirrel thing where she stands up on the back of her feet and lean her head against you with her pars tucked against her, she did this to the foster lady who fell in love and almost immediately started to strive to adopt her. <3

TLDR : Racist dog obsessed man calls me racist slurs. Waited 2 years till he was in jail, for owing thousands of dollars, to leak about his unfit home for his dogs and lack of a kennel license. Staties proceed to take every single one of his dogs and foster them to better homes. Dogless, In debt, and bout to lose him home. Oh sweet sweet tea.

(source) story by (/u/bostonscholarly)

[chicagocryptid]

Hm... Im gonna go with 23 cuz I think I already know what pairing you're gonna go with and i'd love to see how you do it

(I actually couldn’t decide what pairing I wanted to do but I decided on this one so I hope you guessed right!)

Bad Blood//Larry x Ash (WC:2,170)

Warnings:Language, Mentions of underage drinking, Alcohol Use

"Ash!” 

Sal’s voice was distinct, low and gravelly, cutting across her backyard. Even over the din of the party raging inside, it was unmistakably him, calling her name from the back door and interrupting the conversation she was having with Maple on the garden wall. Maple waved her away with a tilt of her solo cup, and Ash slid off the stone and crossed the yard, a little bounce in her step. 

They embraced, and she gave him an approving once over. He’d been nervous about the party, he’d told her. He didn’t really drink, crowds weren’t his thing, but she’d begged him to come. Eventually, he’d agreed, on the condition that he could bring a friend. She assumed that was who had dressed him for the evening, because he was looking a little edgier and... Laid back than normal. Even his hair hair was braided in a way that looked as though he’d slept in it. It suited him. 

She offered him a drink from the patio table, near where Todd and a few other kids had set up a ping pong table, including one older boy who Todd kept touching on the arm. Sal refused, politely. Sal did everything politely. 

“Nah, I’m good. Larry’s grabbing me a beer from the kitchen.” Maybe it was the alcohol in her own system that caused the delay, but she raised an eyebrow at him over the edge of her own cup. 

“Who?”

“Oh, Larry Johnson. That’s the guy I’ve been telling you about.” Ash felt her heart tighten. That didn’t make sense... For months, Sal had been talking about his downstairs neighbor who was so amazing - Who stayed up late playing video games when Sal couldn’t sleep, who helped Sal with his PTSD flashbacks with bad movies and cups of cocoa, who slept over almost every night so when Sal woke up screaming, he wasn’t alone. That didn’t seem on par with the Larry Johnson she knew. Rather, the one she had known. She hoped there were two in Nockfell and she had just never realized. 

The backdoor slid open again, almost on cue, and Ash’s heart squeezed even tighter. No, it was the same Larry Johnson stepping onto the back patio with the necks of two beers between his fingers. He was tanner than she remembered, taller, more toned. His hair was pulled up into a low bun to keep it off his neck, but she could tell he still hadn’t cut it. Their eyes met, and she had to work to hold her gaze with his - Hard and steady. It was obvious he hadn’t forgotten, but neither had she. 

It had been the summer before seventh grade. Like every summer before it, Larry and Ash had spent every day together. They split their time evenly between Ash’s pool and Larry’s tree house, and they had no secrets from each other. Ultimately, that had been their downfall. At the beginning of that summer, they’d carved their initials into the floor of the tree-house, pricked their fingers and pressed them together to seal a blood oath. By the end of it, Ash had screamed that she’d never wanted to see him again. And until now, she’d made good on that promise.

Sal, oblivious to the tension between them, took the extra beer from Larry and gave him a playful punch on the arm. 

“I was just talking about you, man. Ash, this is Larry. Larry, Ash.” 

Larry started to say “Nice to meet you,” just as Ash started to say “We’ve met.” Sal looked between them, confused. 

“You guys know each other?” Again, they both opened their mouths to speak at the same time. Ash frowned and took a long pull on her drink, draining it. Larry busied himself by opening his beer with his car key. They were quiet for a moment before Sal, clearly irritated, stamped his foot on the concrete. “What the fuck is going on?”

Ash looked at Larry accusingly, but his eyes were on his bottle cap, which he was weaving between his fingers. They were longer than she remembered; slender and bony. She could see a callous on on his index from paint brushes, and a place between his index and middle that had started to discolor from cigarettes. She cleared her throat, and he looked at her without meeting her eye. 

“Do you want to tell the story or should I?”

Larry rolled his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitched, the way it always did when he was losing his patience. “I don’t think we need to talk about it right now.” His voice was low, irritable. Ash huffed. 

“Someone better.” Sal said, cold.

“We used to be really good friends,” Larry started, looking at a crack in the concrete. 

“Best friends,” she corrected.

“Do you wanna tell it?” He snapped, and she folded her arms over her chest, but said nothing. 

“We were best friends, six years ago, and now we aren’t. That’s it.” Larry put the bottle to his lips, obviously done talking, and Ash pulled at a thread in her sweater to keep from reliving the nightmare all over again. Todd’s voice cut through the air from behind them, and she wondered if he’d been waiting for a lull in the conversation, or if he just had impeccably good timing. 

“Ash! Come on, some of us want to play seven minutes in heaven but the some of the guys will only play if you do.” Ash looked hesitant, but Todd nodded towards the boy he’d been fawning over earlier and pleaded with his eyes. Sal, frustrated and annoyed, jumped on the excuse for a change of subject before she could answer. 

“We’ll all play,” he said, grabbing Larry by the elbow and giving Ash a stern look over his shoulder while he steered the former inside. She followed, exchanging her empty cup for a full one, which was empty again when they reached the circle that had formed in the living room. 

Maple was already there, Chug next to her, and Todd and the other boy, who someone had called Neil, were settling into their spots. Sal and Larry took a seat too, and Ash sat on the opposite side, as far away from them as she could get. Maple set an empty tequila bottle on its side in the middle of the circle and gave it a test spin. Her cheeks were flushed and she was laughing at something Chug had said. At least she was having a good time.

 A few more people joined at the edges of the circle, hanging on furniture and sitting on the coffee table that had been pushed out of the way. When it seemed like everyone had settled down, someone spoke up. 

“Who spins first?” 

“Well, it’s Ash’s party.” Came Maple’s voice. “She should go.” Ash blanched, and put her hand up in protest. 

“No, no. It’s your birthday party Maple, you should go.” 

“Please,” Maple laughed. “Half the people here don’t even know me. Just spin to see who you’re going in the closet with.” Ash chewed her lower lip, but leaned forward and spun the bottle. Anyone but Larry, she prayed. Anyone but Larry. The bottle stopped between Larry and Sal. If he hadn’t had his legs crossed, Ash would have gladly been enjoying seven minutes telling bad jokes in the dark with her best friend. But as it were...

Maple, who hadn’t been paying much attention to the spin, noticed the look at Ash’s face and reddened when she saw who the bottleneck had landed on. She seemed to want to say something, her face empathetic, but Larry had already stood, and Todd had pulled up a timer on his phone. Embarrassed and angry, Ash followed Larry’s suit and they stood awkwardly outside the entry closet, shuffling their feet.

“Okay! I’ll start the timer as soon as the door closes!” Todd, who had somehow ended up in Neil’s lap, shouted from his spot on the floor. Larry opened the door and made a gesture with his hand for her to lead the way, so she did, and then the two of them were engulfed in the darkness, surrounded by coats. 

She thought two full minutes had gone by before he spoke. 

“Should I turn the light on?” 

“Why would I want to look at you?” Oddly enough, she did want to look at him, which only made her angrier. She could barely see the outline of his shoulders move up and down in a shrug. 

“Can I smoke in here?”

“No.”

“You didn’t have to come in here with me, you know,” he said, softer. She stuck a finger in her mouth and bit the nail. She didn’t answer. 

Another minute, maybe two, and then, “Do you remember the winter break we ignored the signs and went skating on Lake Wendigo?” She made a small affirming sound. “You begged your dad to buy you skates so we could go, and then the ice broke and we fell in. You were tall enough to stand up, but you freaked yourself out so bad I had to pull you out.” 

In spite of herself, Ash laughed, though she cut it short. “I never went ice skating again. I think those skates are still in this closet actually.” Larry shifted across from her. 

“You looked so small, you know. After I got you out of the water. We didn’t want our parents to know we’d broken the rules so we went back to the tree-house and wrapped you up in the sleeping bag. You were shivering and your hair was stuck to your face.” His voice sounded far away now, like he was back in the tree-house himself, watching. She rubbed her arms, remembering the chill. “Up until then, I never thought of you as a girl, you know? You were just Ash. But in that moment, you became someone I felt like I had to protect.” 

“Hey,” the flame in her voice was reignited. “I never asked you...” 

“Would you shut up and let me talk?” She scoffed and leaned back against the wall. “I’m trying to tell you something.” 

“Fine.” 

“I felt like I had to protect you because I never wanted to lose you. Even though there was no way you could have drowned that day, it still felt like you could have. And I couldn’t handle that... So the next summer... When you kissed me...” Ash was holding her breath, though she hadn’t realized it. “That was all I could think about. Was that I would lose you, and you would stop being my friend. So I started that fight with you before we went back to school because I didn’t know how to deal with how I was feeling.”

“Ben was really sick and you said you hoped he’d die.” The words were sour and slimy in her mouth.

“And you said I was the reason my dad left.” She hadn’t felt good about those words either. She could remember them tasting the same way. “I should have told you sooner what was going on. It wasn’t that I didn’t want you... I guess I just... If we were going to have a falling out, I wanted it to be on my own terms. Instead of just waiting for you to disappear.” 

The closet felt even smaller somehow, stuffy suddenly. 

“I’m sorry, Ashley. I loved Ben, you know that. And you. You were my favorite person in the world.”

“Do you really do all that stuff Sal says?” 

“I... Didn’t realize we were bringing Sal into this but... What does he say?” 

A knock on the door made them both jump. Maple’s voice. 

“One minute warning!” 

“He says you help him a lot. You stay up with him. Comfort him.” She could hear the embarrassment in his voice when he answered. 

“Yeah, I guess I do. He’s a good friend too though. And he’s been through so much shit I kind of feel like it’s the least-” 

Ash leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, cutting him off. He tasted like beer and cigarettes. For a moment, she felt like she was back in time, when she had kissed him before, and he had pushed her away, laughing. But then he kissed her back, softly at first, and then hard, his arms snaking around her waist. 

And then her back was against the wall, the two of them shrouded in coats, the hook of an umbrella digging into her thigh. But she could barely register it over the feeling of his hands, now in her hair, and the warmth of his body against hers. He pulled back, to plant a line of kisses along her jaw, and she steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders. 

Almost laughing, breathless, she said, “I still hate you.” 

He kissed her on the mouth again, and she could feel the smile on his lips against hers when he spoke. “Yeah?” Another kiss, rougher, needier. “Good.” 

[multisfabulis]

The Road to Forgiveness Be Damned

Ripples of the Past (Chapter 2/7)

Word Count: 3793

As per a poll I ran on Twitter to see if anyone wanted chapter 2 sooner or later, I’m posting this now rather than after finishing chapter 3!

Not gonna lie, this will probably be the most lighthearted chapter of this story and, to me, that’s saying something. This won’t have the dark stuff I mentioned last chapter nor is it going to be an emotional rollercoaster like the next couple chapters will be. Enjoy it while you can.

As always, I hope you enjoy reading this and I look forward to any and all criticism you have!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA

     Dim morning light peeked through the vines as Ferreth waited up for Ven. Were it not for the noise outside, he’d have no idea how early it was. He needed to get better at waking up earlier. If they wanted to accomplish their task within the four day time limit, he couldn’t be sleeping in like this. It’d help if he knew how far they’d have to go to the swamp but nothing in life was that easy.

     He found it weird how Filaurel didn’t tell them of anything to look out for. Nothing of its appearance, its behavior. If he didn’t know better, it was almost as if she was setting them up for failure. By not telling them jack, they’d waste away the four days wondering what they were hunting for till they eventually gave in. It’d be par for the course for that sadistic bitch.

     The way she treated Ven yesterday infuriated him. Barely letting her get a word in, twisting her words around to seem as if she were at fault… She probably would’ve done way worse had he not stepped in. He already resented her for being the core of Ven’s issues but her actions yesterday cemented his hate for her. If only he could make Ven realize she wasn’t to be trusted at her word…

     Ven came out at that moment, struggling to tie her hair up. She seemed to be the same as ever, though that didn’t mean much to him today. With her tendency to hide how she really felt at times, she may be feeling worse than she let on. She proved herself to be a better actress than he gave her credit for sometimes.

     Despite his concern, he mustered up a smile and asked, “Hey, how’d you sleep last night?”

     “The usual,” she replied, becoming increasingly frustrated over tying her hair up without the help of a mirror.

     “Any nightmares?”

     “No more than usual. Hey, can you help me with this? I can’t seem to get it right…” She held out a brush and hair tie to him.

     Although she said that nonchalantly, he was worried. She may be used to the nightmares but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to. Seeing how she acted when they arrived, he hoped being here wouldn’t exacerbate those bad dreams at some point. The only thing he could do was lend an ear, though he wished it wasn’t so.

     Brushing through her hair, he asked, “Ven, you’d tell me if the nightmares got worse, right?”

     “Would that be okay with you?” she asked, the tone of uncertainty he’s heard times before present in her voice. “I don’t want to be more of a burden to you than I already am…”

     “Yeah!” He gathered all of her hair and tied it up into a ponytail. “I know I can’t do more for you than just listen but… I’ll always be there for you, you know?”

     She barely responded to his words. He couldn’t tell if she believed him or wanted to, in any case. His mind flashed back to the time they had to wait out rain in a cave nearby during one of their missions. He promised her she could rely on him in times like this and no way in hell would he back out on that now. Not when she might need him to help her through this.

     Putting an arm around her shoulders, he bumped his forehead against hers and said, “Remember, you can lean on me whenever you want to. I can’t offer much but I’ll be there for you. I promised you that and I’m sticking by it.”

     The smallest glimpses of a smile rose up on her face. Smiles were rare to see from her, making this moment mean more than it usually did. He loved her smiles just as much as he loved her and wanted to make her as happy as she deserved to be. No matter how long it may take him, he was determined to see her smile without anything holding her down.

     Upon leaving, they made their way over to the outskirts. It was considerably busier today, with carts going in and out at the gate and several guards checking the insides of each one. If they were worried about someone bringing in contraband, that person would be pretty stupid to do it in plain sight.

     He felt hands grab onto his arm, knowing them to be Ven’s. This was something she did whenever she felt there were too many people around and needed to ease her anxiety. She was like Eric in that they absolutely hated being in or around crowds because it’d overwhelm them to the point of panic attacks. Unlike him, she still hadn’t gotten a handle on it yet. Being in this place probably didn’t help.

     He also felt as if there were eyes on them. Someone watching them from a place he couldn’t see, no matter how many times he looked. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was Filaurel making good on her threat through one of her lackeys. Nice to know the bitch didn’t trust them to carry out her “assignment” without any supervision.

     Getting through the gates was surprisingly easy. He thought, for sure, they would be stopped and he’d have to waste time convincing the guards to let them go. Instead, they just saw them off without a word. Whatever the reason was, he wasn’t complaining and went on his way. Once they were far enough away from the village, she let go of his arm and walked alongside him.

     Making their way westward, he hoped to find a high place to scout from. It wasn’t necessarily a requirement but it’d be nice to have one all the same. At least it’d prevent him from going into his Dradnach form and waiting a while to turn back once he was done. If he were an Air Dradnach, none of this would matter and he’d just be able to fly up. Just another thing to add to the ever-growing list of “why being an Earth Dradnach sucks”.

     “Ferret, could you… not help me so much with this?” she asked out of the blue as they trekked up a steep hill.

     Taken aback by her question, he stopped walking and replied, “W-what do you mean? I can’t just not help you.”

     “I know, it’s just that…” She stopped at the peak. “I feel like if I depend on you for anything I could do on my own, it won’t feel as if I’ve truly earned my forgiveness. It’s hard for me to explain and I know it doesn’t make any sense but… I’m only asking that you not help me a lot with this task. Not until I feel as if I’ve put in the work. Can you do that for me, please?”

     How could he just not help her with this? It wasn’t that he doubted she could carry this out on her own or saw her as a damsel in need. He knew better than anyone how strong she was and how extraordinary her abilities were. It seemed like she was only asking this because she believed it’d get her into Filaurel’s good graces. Knowing her, it still wouldn’t be enough.

     Even so, he begrudgingly gave in and said, “All right but I’m not promising anything.”

     “It wouldn’t be right of me to ask you to promise something like that.”

     They continued on till they reached a field. A couple dead trees were over to their left while their right had nothing but tall grass blowing in the breeze. Despite the sun bearing down on them, it was a nice day today. The perfect day to do some reconnaissance, he thought.

     Unfortunately, this would be where they’d stop. He didn’t know how much further the swamp was and they needed a good view of it to proceed onwards. No way could they risk stumbling in there blind only to get ambushed. Too bad it meant turning into his Dradnach form but it couldn’t be helped.

     “Hey, Ven,” he called out to her, “I think I know how we can do recon.”

     Tilting her head in confusion, she asked, “We’re not moving ahead?”

     “Nah. We don’t know how close or far we are from the swamp and I’d rather play it safe than risk falling into a trap.”

     “Okay, so what’s your plan?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

     “Well, since I’m about 20 and a half feet tall as a Dradnach, I could just turn, have you on my head as lookout, and turn back in the span of… 10, 15 minutes.”

     “We’re really desperate, aren’t we?”

     “It’s better than nothing. Besides, I know you’ve gotta be dying to see what I really look like. It is a pretty rare occasion, you know.”

     A snort and roll of her eyes gave way to a small smile. He liked making her smile, whether it be through cracking jokes or playful teasing. Her laughs were even rarer than her smiles and he managed to do that twice this trip. Even if their mission came out as a bust, today wouldn’t all be in vain.

     “All right, I’m gonna go change,” he said, heading into the field on his right side, “Don’t freak out if you see a big, fat, brown lizard in a few minutes!”

     The grass was about chest-high as he pushed past the golden blades. He needed to be a good distance away for this. His transformations always took quite a bit of space and there was no telling how much room he had in this field. He wandered down a straight line for some time before stopping.

     This spot was as good as any. He did some warm-up exercises, such as stretching his arms and legs out and cracking his bones, to prepare himself. The last time he did this was in Thornewind several months ago, back before he met Eric. At least the reason for it was different this time around. He took a deep breath, clearing his mind of any and all distractions, and underwent the transformation process.

     He grew to thrice his size, flattening the grass around him. His skin hardened, causing scales that felt rough and rigid to grow over. Steely claws made to dig through the toughest of rock replaced his thin fingers. A stubby tail sprouted out from his backside, resembling that of a docked animal. Despite his grand stature, he was smaller than others of his kin, due to not being a pure-blooded Earth Dradnach. His brother loved to lord that over him when he could.

     Bringing his head down for Ven, he asked, “So what do you think? Pretty cool, right?”

     “If I can be honest, you seem more like a dog than a dragon.” She placed a hand on his snout. “A very scaly dog.”

     “How do I look in any way like a dog?”

     “Well, aside from the both of you being cute, kind, funny, lovable, and protective, you’re very huggable in this form, like a dog. If you just had fur, you’d be even cuter!”

     She let out a laugh as he nuzzled her. Only she could get away with comparing him to a dog and making it sound good. He wished this kind of thing happened more often, though without the “being compared to a dog” part.

     “I’m still cool, though, right?”

     “Very.”

     She climbed up and sat atop his head, waiting. He slowly stood up on his hind legs, carefully raising his head so as to not let her fall. Without any horns or spikes for her to grab on to in case she did, this was especially important. Once he was in an upright position, he could breathe out a sigh of relief. She was still perched on his head, meaning the hardest part of the job was done.

     With that out of the way, they saw what laid beyond the field. A dark forest still miles away from their current location sat before a marshy region. Tall willow trees were scattered across black water, decorated with green lilypads and algae. He hoped to see their quarry roaming about but luck wasn’t on his side. Well, they had the lay of the land now, which was all that mattered.

     Despite knowing all this, he let her relay the information back to him. He stayed silent, remembering what she asked of him earlier. Things of this nature, such as giving her a boost without taking away her instrumentality, had to be fine by her. Although he couldn’t show it, he was beaming with pride.

     Half a day’s travel was his best estimate for the swamp. If he were right, it’d mean they could be out by noon, finish the mission, and be back before dusk. They wouldn’t even need the fourth day if everything went to plan. The deed would be done, they’d report it to Filaurel, and head home the next day.

     Soon as he put her down, he turned back to being human. His body shrunk and became more compact, a far cry from his Dradnach form. The scales that grew over him receded, his skin once more smooth to the touch. His claws straightened, thinning out to human fingers again. The stubby tail he had only in this form vanished, as if it never existed in the first place. Now he was back to regular, human-like Ferreth, with the exception of one last thing---

     Excruciating pain erupted from his arms, as if someone was jamming several knives into them all at once. He muttered an expletive through gritted teeth under his breath as the pain ebbed. That was the one thing he hated about shifting in-between the two forms. Every time he turned from one to the other, he had to endure the pain that occurred in his arms. No matter how much time had passed from his accident, it still hurt like it happened yesterday.

     A hand on his shoulder, Ven was crouched down next to him and asking, “Are you okay? Do you need to rest?”

     “I’m all right, I just need a minute and we’ll go, okay?” he replied, giving her an assuring smile.

     He looked down to see if blood was beginning to seep into his wrappings. While his arms dully ached, the cloth was still a pristine white. Thank god for that, because he’d have a hard time trying to explain why he was suddenly bleeding. She didn’t need to know the reason why he kept his arms bandaged up. It was an unrelated matter, nothing she needed to be worried about.

     Once his small break was done, they began walking back. Cool wind blew in from behind them, ruffling their hair and clothes. It was somewhat reminiscent of Thesriden, a place he didn’t think too fondly of. The times of him being tormented by his brother far outweighed any of the good memories he had of that place. He doubted he’d ever go back there, now that he had an actual home.

     “Has anyone else seen you as a Dradnach yet back home?” she asked.

     “Nope. I prefer staying in this form--” he gestured to himself-- “since it’s just easier doing stuff than it’d be if I stayed as a dragon.”

     “I must be pretty special, then,” she said almost jokingly.

     “I’d say being the girl I’m in love with counts as being pretty special.”

     A roll of her eyes and a warm smile were all she gave in response. This wasn’t the first time he professed his love to her and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He didn’t need her to reciprocate his feelings because he just liked being her friend. Not like she’d want to be with someone like him, anyway…

     “Oh, I just realized, would your powers be able to work in swamps?” she asked.

     “Maybe?” While he did work best in the kind of environment they were in now, swamps were like gray areas. “I mean, if there’s earth around, I can work with it. With swamps, though, everything’s practically mud so it may be tricky…”

     “You never tried?”

     “My mother died before she could teach me. Trust me, if she were still alive, she’d conquer that swamp for sure.”

     Memories of his mother flashed through his mind. He remembered how strong and confident she was, the way she used the water and earth around her so effortlessly as if they were tools for her to create with. She was a woman he was proud of being a son to and he loved her so, so much. Then she died, leaving him alone with his father and brother to deal with. Years have passed since her death yet the scar it left on him still festered to this day.

     “I wonder if she would’ve been like her…” He heard her mutter under her breath. It was easy to forget she didn’t have such a thing growing up. She had it so much worse than him and he needed to keep remembering that.

     The sun was beginning to set when they made it back. People were either closing up shop or returning home, a scene carried over from yesterday. Quick glances at Ven revealed a face full of melancholic nostalgia. He’ll never understand why she’d want to remember every bad thing that happened in the past when he’d rather just forget it all. Maybe it was just a difference of opinion on how they wanted to cope with the effects of what their crappy childhoods burdened them with.

     Having to stay in her childhood home for the duration of their time here made him apprehensive. Despite her assurances of its security, he felt inclined to say otherwise. How the hell was this rickety old house in any way safe, he wondered. Still, he kept his mouth shut so as to not upset her. This was once her home, even if he didn’t have a good thing to say about it.

     “Oh yeah,” he said suddenly, remembering what he discovered last night, “did you know anyone named Thessalia?"

     Her eyes widened in shock and she replied with, “…That was my mother’s name.”

     “I’m only asking because, after you went to bed last night, I got bored and decided to explore a bit. I found this old journal in a drawer and when I opened it, the first page had the name Thessalia on it.”

     “Could I see it, please?”

     He went over to a dusty cabinet and pulled out the drawer. An old leather book full of yellowed pages sat inside. If this really was her mother’s journal, then it’s been laying in that drawer for about twenty years. The fact she hadn’t known of its existence meant this would be the first time she’d see this.

     As he handed the book over to her, she said, “I’ve wanted to know about my mother and who she was for so long and the answers were here the whole time.”

     Several different emotions flickered across her face as she held the book in her hands. She took off a glove to feel the crinkled leather from underneath her bare fingers. Then she opened the cover to touch the first page, only to quickly flip through the rest of the musty pages. This was easily the most excited he’s ever seen her and, considering how she was normally, it’s become a big highlight of the trip so far.

     Still holding the journal, she hugged him and said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

     The sudden hug rendered him speechless. Not noticing his lack of a response, she bid him a good night and walked to her room with a bounce in her step. He patted his cheeks to get rid of the blush, flabbergasted at what just happened.

     Despite how dazed he was, seeing just how happy she was right now put him in such high spirits. That journal was a goldmine of answers for her, who had been wondering just hours ago what her mother was like back then. No doubt she’d be reading through that book all night tonight.

     Even if it ran the risk of her being tired for tomorrow, she deserved this. Hopefully, they didn’t die tomorrow and she could be forgiven for her crime. So long as they kept their wits about them and protected each other, it’ll be smooth sailing. Then, when the four day time limit was up, they could go back home.

[silverfootstepswrites]

Equinox: Spring [4]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 (here) | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

As Old Pines continued to thaw, green crept back over the town’s limits. Little shoots began poking up all over the yard. The hard little buds that formed at the tips of branches began to swell and open. And Sakura knew that spring was really here when she spotted bees hovering over the early flowers scattered around town.

The welcome mat she had used during the winter was crusted with salt and dried mud. A thorough scrub and washing did little to help. She headed to the home improvement store just outside town. And in the parking lot, she spotted Kiba carrying a stack of huge plastic totes.  

“Hey!” Kiba yelled. Sakura watched as he ran to his truck to dump his purchases in the back. And then he sprinted over to sweep her up in his arms.

Sakura couldn’t help but laugh. “Hi, Kiba,” she replied.

“I haven’t seen you in a while. Avoiding me again?” asked Sakura.

He began shaking his head, which shook her too. She slapped his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Kiba said, lowering her back down to the ground, “But no way! I’ve just been swamped with work lately.” His eyes lit up as he glanced back at his truck.

“Actually, it’s not too busy right now. Let’s run away and have a quick brunch?” he suggested, checking his watch.

“…You’re the boss, Kiba. You shouldn’t be playing hooky,” she pointed out.

Thumbs slipping into the loops of his belt, Kiba smiled. “Why? You gonna rat me out? And turn down eggs benedict?” he asked.

“Hell no. Let me buy my stuff and let’s go eat,” Sakura agreed, hooking her arm through his.

The cheese and wine fundraiser was a dull affair. That didn’t surprise Sakura at all. Itachi had sort of guaranteed that.

At least Itachi looked sharp in his navy blue suit. He was fiddling with his tie when he picked her up at the salon. One of the assistants at the salon whispered that her date was here.

“He’s good looking, Bunny,” she reported.

Sakura winked at her. “Wouldn’t be my date if he wasn’t,” Sakura whispered in response. They giggled.

Sakura entered the waiting room and caught Itachi tugging at his teal tie. There were light purple flowers scattered across the fabric.

“That’s heinous,” Sakura told him. He froze mid-tug, elbow still up in the air.

“Hey, Hinata, what do you have that goes with a navy suit?” Sakura called over her shoulder. In the distance, she heard Hinata yell back, “Be right there!”

Sakura crossed the room to grasp his tie. She began undoing the knot, the silk swishing against itself.

“Hi,” Itachi said.

Sakura paused. She looked up into his eyes. He wasn’t charmed. His gaze was alert. In fact, he looked a little shocked.

“Hi,” she replied as she continued working on his tie. She managed to smooth it out. With one deft tug, she pulled the tie out from under the collar of his shirt. She folded it before tucking it into the pocket of his jacket.

“You look… wow…” Itachi trailed off.

Sakura glanced at his face again. Her expression warmed. “Thank you. And you will too… in a second,” she responded.

A few moments later, Hinata walked in with several silk ties draped over her arms. She brought them over to Sakura for inspection.

“I like this one,” Sakura said, pointing to one in deep emerald. Hinata frowned.

“You just like the color green, Bunny. I think with his olive complexion, this one is a better fit,” Hinata suggested, holding a silver one up near Itachi’s face. Then she held the dark green one up.

“You’re right. Silver it is. Thank you, Hina,” Sakura agreed.

Itachi bent his head so that she could loop the tie around his neck. She began knotting it with ease. She could feel his eyes on her face the entire time that she worked. Even when she stepped aside so that he could look in the mirror, his gaze followed her instead.

“There. Isn’t that nice?” she asked, dusting off his shoulders and straightening the lapels of his jacket.

“Yeah. It is,” Itachi answered, still looking right at her.

She smiled.

Itachi made the rounds to greet his bosses and his coworkers when they got to the fundraiser. Just a little fashionably late. She kept her mouth shut, though. No sense in drawing more attention than she needed to. When Itachi introduced her, she just smiled and shook hands.

Sakura recognized several faces around the room too. Or, at least, she could smell and see the faint aura around the fairies. One of the servers looked right at her, eyes glinting gold for an instant. Another half-siren. They nodded at each other in passing.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

Sakura turned. Her arm slipped from Itachi’s, eyes lighting up.

“Genma,” she greeted him. They exchanged kisses on the cheek.

“Finally, some real personality at this party,” Genma sighed.

“Genma, don’t be rude,” she warned him. He rolled his eyes at her reproach. But the lazy smile returned to his face as he noticed Itachi over her shoulder. Genma reached his hand out.

“Hadn’t seen you in a while, Itachi. Thought you took a stake to the heart or something,” Genma joked. Itachi grasped his hand.

“Clever,” Itachi replied, giving a half-smile. Sakura noticed the way Itachi looked at her out of the corners of his eyes. She took a half-step back, pressing up against his side. She nudged his arm with her elbow.

“Still doing the commute from Old Pines? That’s rough,” Genma commented.

“Just on the weekends. I’m renting a place closer to the office during the week,” Itachi replied. Itachi moved his hand to rest on Sakura’s shoulder.

Genma’s eyes followed the movement. The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Relax, compadre. Sakura and I aren’t like that. No need to get all alpha male,” Genma told him. He grabbed a glass of wine off the tray of a passing waiter.

“But be careful. Helen of Troy wasn’t and look what happened,” he added. He clapped Itachi on the shoulder before he excused himself to start another conversation.

“…Was Helen of Troy a siren?” whispered Itachi as they moved toward the bar.

“Of course,” she replied. Sakura grabbed his hand off her shoulder and moved it to her waist.

“Anyway, this party definitely sucks. Shots?” she then suggested.

Itachi dumped the rest of his wine out in a potted plant as they walked past. Sakura tried to stifle her laughter.

They stayed for the silent auction because, according to Itachi, his bosses would leave right after. And once they were gone, he was free to slip away too. As soon as the stuffy suits began to move to the door, Sakura and Itachi crept out through another exit. Giggling in the cool night, they strode out of the pretentious bar.

Sakura rubbed her stomach as they waited at a red light. She leaned against Itachi as she fixed the strap of her right shoe.

“Ugh. The hors d'oeuvres weren’t even worth stealing. I’m starving,” she complained. She straightened. Itachi handed her clutch back to her. And then he was on his phone, typing away and scrolling. The light changed. The people around them surged forward, but Itachi’s eyes remained glued to his screen. Sakura pulled on his arm and began guiding him across the street.

“Watch the curb,” she said.

“Thanks,” he replied, hopping up on the sidewalk.

Halfway down the block, he tilted his screen toward her.

“Burgers and milkshakes?” he suggested. He had pulled up the menu of a diner just a few blocks away.  She hugged his arm a little tighter to her chest.

“Perfect,” she declared.

The waitress did a double-take when they walked in in their fancy clothes. Sakura’s diamond earrings glittered, swaying back and forth as she walked. Itachi’s Italian leather shoes clacked against the scratched linoleum. Sakura smiled as they walked up to the waitress.

“Two, please,” she requested, holding up the right number of fingers.

The girl took a second. And then she smiled too. “Uh. Sure. Right this way.” She grabbed two laminated menus before she guided them to a booth in the back, right up against the windows.

Itachi flipped the menu, heading straight for the desserts and drinks section.

“Ooh. Cheeeeeeseburger,” Sakura read, stretching the word out. Itachi snickered.

They didn’t say anything to each other until the waitress arrived to take their order.

Sakura lowered her menu to look at Itachia cross the table. “Are you getting a milkshake?” she questioned.

“Strawberry,” he confirmed. The waitress scribbled that down on her notepad.

“Cool. So I’m going to steal a sip of that. And I’ll have a cheeseburger. Can I get the fries extra crispy, please?” Sakura asked, smiling at the waitress again. The girl nodded, her ponytail bouncing. “And a diet coke. No ice, please. Thank you so much,” Sakura added, handing the menu over.

The girl read the order back to Sakura, who confirmed it. Taking Itachi’s menu, the waitress went to hand the order over to the kitchen.

“I never said I’d share that milkshake,” Itachi spoke up.

Sakura smirked at him. She heard the note of teasing in his voice. Clasping her hands together, she leaned across the table toward him.

“Oh generous and handsome Itachi, will you please let me have some of your sacred milkshake?” she pleaded.

“Sure,” Itachi responded.

They laughed.

“You know, I never would’ve guessed you were like this. I’m so glad you’re not all starry-eyed anymore,” she sighed, leaning back in the booth. The vinyl padding squished under her weight. Itachi tilted his head to one side.

“Yeah, it’s kind of nice to be able to string sentences together. You seriously turned my brain to mush for a while,” he remarked. And then, he added, looking at her, “Not that it was on purpose. I get it.”

They passed the time mocking the awfulness of the event they had just attended. Everything from the main MC’s lisp to the sub-par quality of the bacon-wrapped shrimp.

“I think some boxed wine and some slices of American cheese would’ve been fine,” Itachi told her. Sakura snorted a little into her water.

The waitress arrived a little while later with their orders. The burger buns glistened with melted butter. Sakura squeezed one of the fries, watching just a little bit of oil gleam on her fingertips. She spun her plate so that Itachi could easily reach her fries too.

She let out a moan as she took her first bite of the burger.

“Good?” Itachi asked.

“I take it back. All my suffering was worth this one burger,” she told him. Itachi smiled as he dunked a fry into plenty of ketchup.

They demolished the food in no time. Sakura leaned back in her seat a little, glad that she was wearing shapewear under her dress. The spandex was doing a good job of hiding her food baby.

She made a grabbing motion for Itachi’s milkshake. He pushed it over to her but took her soda in exchange. She didn’t protest.

“This place is really good. But the best burgers are right by our studio. $5. Instant food coma,” she declared. She took a slurp of the strawberry milkshake.

Itachi held up one of the last french fries and wagged it at her.

“No. The best burgers are on 14th and Central. And you have to get the fries with malt vinegar,” Itachi protested.

“You don’t even eat burgers,” she pointed out, snatching the fry out of his fingers. She gobbled it down.

“They have vegetarian burgers,” he said. She made a face.

“Look, everyone’s got their preferences. I acknowledge that. Just like I need you to acknowledge that you’re wrong and I’m right,” she stated, tapping the table with her pointer finger. Itachi scoffed. He took a slurp of her soda.

“Best dessert on 3,” he demanded.

“Fine. 1, 2, 3-”

“Matcha parfaits in Chinatown,” Sakura announced.

“Chocolate donuts and coffee at Henry’s,” Itachi said at the same time.

They eyed each other. After a while, Itachi asked:

“Agree to disagree?”

“Yeah,” sighed Sakura. She stirred the straw in the remains of the milkshake.

“Should’ve guessed you only went to all those trendy spots. Since you have bamboo blinds in your apartment,” she muttered.

“Hey. There’s nothing wrong with liking different things. I bet I could take you to a bunch of places you’d love,” answered Itachi.

“Well… then show me your city,” Sakura suggested as he took a sip of her diet coke. An odd look crossed his face. He lifted his head.

“It’s the same city, Sakura,” he laughed.

“Okay, Uptown,” she snorted, tossing him a napkin. “Show me what you got.”

They paid for their dinner. This time, Itachi called an Uber for them, punching in an address that Sakura didn’t recognize. Itachi double-checked the website on the ride over.

Sakura gasped as they got off in front of a whiskey bar. She could see string lights wrapped around the rafters. Someone at the bar ordered a drink that was served in a lightbulb. She turned to point at Itachi. “You’re a hipster!”

“I resent that label,” Itachi answered.

“Just what a hipster would say,” she whispered. They burst into laughter as Itachi opened the door for her. Because hipster or not, any excuse to drink in a cute bar was fine by her.

The hostess led them onto the fenced-in patio. It was chilly, but the heat lamps near each table kept things at a comfortable temperature. Sakura sat back as Itachi ordered flights for each of them. He asked questions about the age of each drink and the type of wood used in each barrel. Sakura didn’t pay much attention. That sort of stuff didn’t really interest her.

“Is it socially acceptable to get drunk here?” she wondered.

“Absolutely,” answered Itachi.

An hour later, the tip of her tongue felt a little numb. Sakura leaned closer to Itachi, elbows resting on the table. She pushed her hair to one side of her neck before she turned to look at him. She actually felt a little warm. One of the whiskeys had honey in the name somewhere. And she had liked it so much that she had ordered a glass of just that. It filled her with a rosy glow, kind of like sitting next to the fireplace on a cold night.

“Not bad,” she admitted.

“Yeah?” Itachi smiled.

“Yeah,” she replied.

She remembered giggling as she leaned against Itachi when she got to her feet. His arm was warm as it wrapped around her. When she complained that it was cold, he took his jacket off and draped it around her. She also recalled talking with him about how she wasn’t that drunk. And when he tried to call her an Uber, she complained about not wanting to go home. He asked if there was a friend she could stay with. She suddenly couldn’t remember the friend’s name, but she pulled the contact up on her phone.

When she woke up, she was sprawled across Temari’s sofa. Temari sat on the arm of it. She was slapping Sakura’s foot, which was probably what had woken her in the first place. Temari was already dressed and had a full face of makeup on.

“You messy, messy bitch,” Temari remarked, shaking her head.

Sakura sat up. Itachi’s jacket flopped off her, falling into her lap.

“Did I throw up?” asked Sakura.

“Yeah. But you made it to the toilet. So I’m not mad,” Temari told her.

Sakura groaned, hands pressing to her forehead. “In front of him?”

“No. After he left,” Temari replied. And then she patted Sakura’s foot a few more times.

“I like him. Seems like a decent guy. What is he? Fairy?” Temari went on.

“Vampire,” Sakura corrected.

“Huh.”

“Anyway, wash up and get dressed. I’ll give you a ride to the office,” Temari ordered her. When Sakura didn’t stir, Temari shoved her off the sofa. Sakura landed with a thud on the rug.

“Tem,” Sakura called.

“Hm?”

“I probably shouldn’t be saying this after you let me crash at your place, but I hate you right now.”

“That’s fine. Hurry up so we can get breakfast. I’ll buy.”

There was a pause. “I love you,” Sakura amended.

“That’s more like it,” Temari chuckled.

Temari was close enough to her size that Sakura could borrow her clothes. Temari was taller than her, but Sakura just rolled up the cuffs of the jeans she borrowed.

They walked into the office an hour later, Sakura wearing sunglasses and chowing down on a glazed donut. They managed to slip into Temari’s usual studio without running into anyone. Temari tried to turn the lights on, but Sakura shut them right off. Temari sighed. She sat in front of the computer and logged in.

“If you’re not too hungover, Ernest Hemingway, you mind listening to something for me?” she requested.

Sakura sighed. “Yeah. Just don’t ask me to run a marathon.”

Sakura closed her eyes, leaning her head back as she listened. When the clip ended, she asked Temari to play it again. This time, she folded her hands across her stomach. Tapped her fingers every once in a while. The third time, Sakura mimed drumming out a few rhythms. Temari watched her, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

But before Temari could hit the replay button again, Sakura got to her feet. She slipped into the recording booth. Moving the electric guitar someone had left to the side, Sakura sat at the electric drums. These were a little different than the ones she had at home, but she had used them before. She picked up the drumsticks, twirling them in her hands to limber up her muscles. Temari watched her through the window. When Sakura made a circle with her pointer finger, Temari played the audio again.

Sakura banged out a couple different rhythms, just to get a feel for what sounded right. And then she settled on an old funk rhythm she had once heard somewhere. Temari’s face lit up.

“Ooh. Let’s do another one. Can you do something more New Orleans style?” Temari asked through the intercom. Sakura gave her a thumbs up.

She ran through different styles until she settled on one that really seemed to click.

“Hey, Tem, I thin-” As Sakura looked up, she realized that Temari wasn’t alone anymore. Tobirama stood next to her, one hand on his hip.

“What if you play in double-time at the beginning of the second verse?” he suggested.

“…Won’t that sound messy?” Sakura wondered.

“Well, let’s try it. If it sucks, whatever,” answered Tobirama, shrugging one shoulder.

Sakura’s eyes moved from Tobirama to Temari. Temari cringed.

“Uh… I’m gonna… go to the bathroom,” Temari excused herself. Tobirama nodded once at her before he looked back at Sakura.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Do whatever you want,” she retorted, turning away from him.

There was a pause. And then the heavy door opened. He picked the guitar out of the stand that she had ignored. He slipped his head through the strap and strummed out a couple chords. And then he plucked out a melody. Something dreamy and a little floaty. He bent over to adjust the knobs on the amp and then tuned a couple of the strings.

When Tobirama resumed the melody, Sakura sat and listened for a while. Her drumsticks were still.

“Is that new?” she inquired, not looking at him.

“Yeah.”

“It’s pretty.”

“Yeah.”

He kept playing. And eventually her fingers began to itch. She played out a simple beat. Drumsticks bouncing off the pads. But in the middle of a measure, her hands faltered. Tobirama continued playing for another measure. And then he went quiet too.

Sakura tightened her grip on the drumsticks.

“Can you start again? From the top?” she requested.

“Yeah,” answered Tobirama as he started strumming again.

[wtfrace]

a lapse of judgement— chapter one, racetrack higgins.

in which rosie lewis is all of a sudden very flustered around her roommate, racetrack higgins— and has absolutly no idea what to do about it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

rosie lewis must have been on something last august. something that must have desparatley lapsed her common sense— otherwise there was no explanation for how she ended up living in a sub-par apartment with three chaotic boys.

she had just started her sophomore year of college, and after two of her roommates transferred to another school a state over, she was desperate for either help with rent, or a place to move in. she had put out an ad on craigslist, as well as several flyers around campus, and waited anxiously for a reply. it came in the form of an email from someone named albert desilva. the message had begun with okay this is a long shot, and had more or less gone down hill from there.

the boy had then explained that he, and two of his friends, had been kicked out of their shared house off campus (under circumstances that were absolutly not our fault, please don’t let that lapse your judgment) and they were looking for a decent place to stay. here comes the part that made rosie think she absolutly had to be smoking something at the time— because she said yes.

now, a year and a half later— she was living in a decently large, very messy, apartment with albert desilva, antonio, racetrack, higgins, and elmer kasprzak.

now, don’t think for a moment that rosie didn’t adore those boys. at first she had been hesitant towards their loud & boyish personality’s, but now she wasn’t sure how she had ever lived without them in her life. they were as messy as her, and usually pretty annoying— but above all that they were caring & considerate & really good at making her smile. living with them had come with perks, including but not limited to almost free takeout (via elmer’s job at the italian place a few blocks away), exposure to the best movies she had ever seen thus far (via albert’s excellent taste) and rarely wavering emotional support (via race’s general personality).

so it definitely wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy living with them— moreover that occasionally it made it hard to do simple things. last month, they had sat down to figure out bills together, but had become distracted half way through by a new episode of criminal minds. a few days after that they tried to do it again, and ended up following race to the roof to see what he claimed was “a giant garfield balloon” (which there was, but still.) now, as rosie tried to complete the simple task of creating a grocery list— she found herself overwhelmingly distracted.

“in conclusion,” elmer said assuredly, “turning race’s bedroom into a vegetable garden would be only profitable to the over-all wellbeing & financial structure of our group.” rosie looked up for the first time during his spiel, continuing to write vegan mac & cheese (cheap kind) as she did, and gave him a pointed look.

“and in this made-up situation, where exactly would race be living?” she asked, glancing at the tall boy that was currently trying to see how many of albert’s textbooks he could balance on his head.

“well, race is statistically the least useful person in this apartment. we could kick him out, or just make him sleep on a mattress on the fire escape.” elmer said dismissively, mostly joking but also a little serious.

“el, we aren’t kicking race out so you can overtake another room with your herbs & dahlia’s.” rosie said, a small smile on her face as she glanced pointedly at the not one, but three pots placed on top of the cabinets (so high that it took two people to water them, one with the watering can, and one holding a rickety step-stool.)

“aw, that’s sweet flower, you care about my wellbeing.” race said cheesily, dropping the books back onto the kitchen table & pinching her cheek. this brings us to what had been distracting her the most. all day she had been weird around race. he was an unusually touchy person, but rosie has grown so used to it she barely noticed— except for today. all of a sudden every touch sent her face heating up & her heart plummeting. it was the strangest thing she had experienced in a while, and it was beginning to make it difficult to be in the same room as him. now though, she was determined to finish her grocery list, and ignored the stir in her stomach to shoo him away with her pen.

“more like your rent, racer.” albert said, yawning as he joined them in the kitchen. “wanna watch interstellar with me, rosie?”

“no! i’m determined to get this done this weekend, and it’s sunday and i’ve barely finished a list of what we need.” rosie exclaimed, “the only thing in the fridge right now is elmer’s prized wonka-bar, and three half finished arizona ice teas. so if you don’t want to starve— help, or leave.” albert and elmer shared nervous glances, and simultaneously exited the room. rosie was very rarely angry or annoyed, but when she was, she was a force to be reckoned with. talk about an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

but, to rosie’s great dismay, while those two left, race chose to stuck around.

“i can see you’re frustrated, rosie— and i assure you, we won’t leave this room ‘til your list is finished!” race said, sliding into the bar-stool next to her. great, just what she needed.

“c’mon race, be serious.” a statement equivalent to asking a penguin to be a giraffe.

“hey— serious is my middle name, doll!” rosie screwed up her face, ignoring the fact that her heart was beating rapidly at that comment. she was beginning to tire of whatever new variable was causing her body to go into SOS mode when she was around him.

“you sound like a newsboy from 1899 when you call me that.” she said, eyebrows raised impertinently, and cheeks dusted with red. oddly specific, but completely accurate. race grinned back at rosie, stealing the list from in front of her, and sliding the stool closer to her so their elbows were touching.

“there’s a soar lack of ninja turtle fruit snacks on here.” race said, then stealing the pen from between her fingers to scribble down a few words across the sheet of paper. it was going to be a long night.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

it took rosie the rest of the night to figure out what was bothering her.

after race had enthusiastically helped with the grocery list, he had been insistent on accompanying her to the store a few blocks away. the walk had felt a little better— the cool march air refreshed rosie a little, and she had settled into normal conversation with race (the downfalls of dunkirk, and the proper rating of 17th century artists.) they walked side by side, both with smiles on their faces, through the ever-crowded streets of greenwich village.

they got to the grocers at around 7, just as the sun was beginning to set, and rosie was thinking that maybe she had a temporary lapse in judgement earlier, seeing as she didn’t feel anything looking at race now. and then, he had blown her theory clear out of exsistence, when he easily scooped her into his arms, and deposited her into a shopping cart. rosie could feel her entire body flush red, as she gaped slightly at the taller boy. her stomach was doing a gymnastics routine not unlike elmer if you got him drunk enough, and race was grinning adorably like it was the most normal thing in the world.

still though, she had no idea what was causing her so much tribulation. until the canned foods section.

race had been unwilling to help rosie out of the cart for the entirety of the trip, insisting that she needed a break after working on her feet all day saturday— so she watched from her mildy uncomfortable seat in the basket, as race tried to bowl using a can of soup and six skinny boxes of spaghetti. too entirely flustered to insist that he stop, rosie simply stared— something in her alighting when he turned back to her with a pleased smile on his face. his hair was messy, in need of a cut, and hanging sloppily across his forehead— and every freckle & scar of his face was clear in the harsh light of the grocery store. his hands were raised in victory (having successfully knocked down all the boxes without being caught by an employee) and the baggy sleeves of his sweatshirt bunched at his wrists.

then she knew.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

24 hours later, rosie stared pitifully into space, as she ate a bowl of lucky charms, sitting criss cross on jack kelly’s countertop. jack, along with his boyfriend davey, leaned against the counter opposite her, eyeing the girl with an air of concern.

jack had been a friend of rosie’s for years— and had subsequently met davey (a friend of race, elmer and albert’s) when they were inevitably at the apartment at the same time. seven months later, they were dating, and sharing the rent on an apartment at the border of chelsea & greenwich village. albert called them gross, elmer called them a match made in heaven, but either way it was agreed that the four were subsequently the reason they met— and therefore should have the right to be the namesack of their first four children.

“okay, rose, you got your lucky charms. are you going to explain why you were on my doorstep in near tears at one in the morning, now?” jack asked, eyebrows raised with conviction.

“i got feelings, jacky— i need to know how to make them go away.” rosie’s voice came out barely a whisper, her statement sounding much more ridiculous once she said it out loud.

“you— what?” davey elbowed jack in the side, a knowing expression on his face as the two had a clear wordless conversation.

“you heard me!” the girl exclaimed, her face pitiful & desperate enough to draw genuine concern from the boy. “you got over kath, i need to know how to get over this.” jack scratched the back of his neck.

“well... it helped that kath was a lesbian. i’m assuming that’s not a variable in this situation.” jack shrugged, “c’mon rosie, you’re going to have to give us more information than that.”

“race.” the single word drew a scoff from jack’s mouth.

“rosie, i could have told you that weeks ago.” davey said, confusion clear in his expression, “what’s so bad about having feelings for race?”

“that kid wouldn’t do anything to hurt you if we paid him a million bucks & threw in a razor scooter.” jack added. rosie glared at them, opening her mouth to respond but struggling on how to word her feelings. jack crossed his arms over his chest, head tilting a little to the side.

“it’s a problem! i-i live with him! an’ on top of that he’s one of my best friends, and he would never in a million years like me back so if he ever found out— which he definetly would the way i’ve been acting, then—“

“dear god lewis, i love you, you know that, but you’re actually hopeless.” jack huffs, causing rosie to stare blankly at him. “race doesn’t like you back? how do you explain— like everything he does! are you forgetting the time he literally proposed to you with a basket of olive garden breadsticks!”

“he’s race, jack, he’s like that with everybody! that same day he flirted with a pigeon on the sidewalk outside of olive garden!” davey blinked, holding a hand up to interupt.

“first of all— that was months ago and the fact that you both remember it so vividly is a little unsettling. second of all, i knew him before you did, rosie. before he moved in with you he did flirt with anything that breathed, but now? i haven’t seen him give any man, woman, or bird other then you a second glance.” rosie looked dreadfully unconvinced, stirring her spoon absentmindedly through the now empty bowl. her heart had admittedly soared a little at the thought of race liking her.

for a split second, her brain let her imagine her and race together: sprawled across the sofa in the living room, his hand in her hair, we bare bears playing lowly in the background, race occasionally laughing gently & pressing a kiss to her forehead. she imagined waking up to his ungodly snoring, but smiling like an idiot anyway, because he was damn beautiful in the mornings. she imagined walking through little italy hand in hand with him, giggling as he pointed out stupid things in the windows of shops. then— she got a grasp of reality, pushing the thought out of her head. she couldn’t afford to get her hopes up— not when there was a huge chance race had never thought about her that way.

“i don’t like this,” rosie mumbled, setting the bowl by the sink, and pulling her knees to her chest. “how do i make it go away? seriously— no matter whether you think race likes me or not, how do i make it go away?” jack and davey exchanged a look, before laughing simultaneously.

“that isn’t really how it works, rosie.” davey said sympathetically, “you can act on it, or you can put up with it until it eventually fades away but—“

“i can’t put up with feeling like this for much longer.”

jack looked at her like the answer was obvious, “then act on it.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

part two to be posted soon