#plus now there will actually be a spring i and wear my spring jackets again

[kaleigh-color]

I really fucked with this outfit and the jewelry so enjoy my wet hair dry hair

[smolghostbot]

Patchwork Melody Snippet: Observations

I still haven't really had the writing brain cell, but I have had the editing brain cell and have actually been making decent progress on my silly little blorbo's first meeting story. And I figured, "Sure, it's been a hot minute since I posted writing" so... here's a very small snippet of the absolute first chapter of the story when Patch and Melody are first observing the oddities that are each other, pretty much just a physical description of each of them plus some size comparison for funsies.

Word Count: 500ish Character bios in my pinned post

CW for G/t First Meeting-typical accidental dehumanization, and mentally using it pronouns for a character who does not use them.

======

"Hey, don't be afraid, I don't want to hurt you, just know what you are," said the human. At least, the terrified sprite thought the being was a human. It had the height and weird rounded ears, but its eyes were a bright red, and its hair seemed to be a greenish… blueish… a color that human hair is not, at least as far as they knew.

Even aside from their hair and eyes, the human was definitely an odd-looking one, being rather tall and lanky, even by the standards of humans. They were wearing a simple gray shirt, with some sort of figure on the shirt that the sprite couldn't recognize, and a denim jacket with matching pants. Their face, staring in wonder, was somewhat pale, with a light dusting of freckles that matched the sprite's own. Their face was outlined by a fairly chiseled jaw, more so than most female humans the sprite had seen before. Round glasses were perched on their nose, causing an odd distortion on the giant creature's eyes from the sprite’s perspective. The human was staring them dead in the eyes and leaning down even closer, before they spoke again, their voice a soft whisper, as if afraid to hurt the sprite's ears.

"Hello? I'm guessing you're either ignoring me or can't understand me. I promise I mean you no harm, little cutie. I just want to get a closer look at you real quick... I'll let you go on your way in just a moment…"

-

Melody bent down to lift the adorable tiny thing, to investigate it more closely, and immediately noted just how small it was. Held within her loose fist, the tiny thing's squirming legs didn't even reach her pinky finger. Her comparatively massive red eyes, the result of her decorative contacts, gazed at the tiny creature with fascination, watching it flail about in her hand with a raw curiosity. Despite putting almost no pressure into her grip, afraid of hurting this small creature, she couldn't even feel the struggles of the little thing. Now that it was closer and (slightly) more still, she was able to get a more detailed look at its features. Its skin had a grayish pallor that Melody wasn't sure was natural for whatever it was. Its eyes were a vibrant purple, offset by the duller purple of the bags under them. Purple eyes would help the theory that it has magic… maybe. Aside from the backpack, which she now noticed was denim, it seemed to be wearing a loose-fitting brown cloak or tunic of some sort, with one shoulder exposed, and a small green scarf around its neck, both made out of some kind of fine fabric. Definitely not silk, but not any fabric she recognized. The scarf was a bit odd, given the spring weather, but maybe its body is supposed to be as cold as it felt in her hand. Something cold-blooded? Layers would make sense, then.

The creature's squirming slowed down, as it seemed to realize the futility of its motions. Its long ears drooped down in a clear display of sadness, and its vibrant purple eyes closed. Melody attempted once more to communicate with this tiny thing in her hand.

"Are you done, little cutie? No more thrashing around? If I let go, do you promise to not try to, like, jump or anything? You would probably hurt yourself falling from this height."

[blahandwhatever]

Seasonal wins and fails

1. Despite its ups and downs, last winter was largely better than others in recent memory - some of which featured overwork in December, and all of which featured too little stimulation most months. I really got on top of things stimulation-wise this time around, between Tumblr and television and games and more, plus I had more money and the furnishing/decorating to work on (though I didn’t get very far). Did a little better with physical activity. STILL never went for any walks in the snow but did make a bit of progress with getting out of the house before dark more often.

2. Spring was more satisfying than usual too. I did better than last year at finding and enjoying the flowers, which can be surprisingly tricky despite their abundance in streets I drive through, and probably went places more overall.

3. Recently spent a week searching very intensely for flowers for my balcony. I wanted to find the ones my mother got me at Lowe’s last year that did exceptionally well. Went to Lowe’s - they didn’t have them. Checked Home Depot and Menards - two different locations - and even, finally, Knupper’s Flower & Garden - still nothing. I could settle for something else, but I’d had so many failures, and I knew these specific ones worked and looked good. Ventured further to other locations in Vernon Hills, where I found one hanging planter in the right color in stock at Menards and one in stock at Lowe’s. The planters were different and thus not entirely the matching pair I’d have liked, but it seemed to be the best I could do. I’ve since revisited other locations and had no luck.

Meanwhile, I finally found some cute little planters for my balcony railing. It’s something I always wanted but never had before because there wasn’t much a selection - mostly colors and sizes that didn’t work well for my balcony. They were in stock at both Jewel and Menards, with a variety of flower types and colors, only a handful of which worked for me - this collection also took several expeditions to complete. Then there was the puzzle of how to actually hang them - most brackets were made for much bigger planters; others were ridiculously expensive and would’ve cost me twice as much per planter as the planter itself. I finally found some suitable ones for a decent price at Lowe’s. I worried they might be too flimsy and spent a lot of time fussing around trying to get the most stable possible configuration with the railing and the planters. So far things haven’t budged, so I guess they’re okay. As for how the actual flowers will do, I have no idea. So far they’re surviving, but it’s only been a few weeks. Some of them don’t need much sunlight. A couple need more, but I’m hoping sticking out from the balcony will help a little with that.

Things still don’t feel complete, but again I am limited by my budget. It’s still more flowers than I’ve ever had out there. Frankly I spent more money than I should have, but I wanted this so badly. Flowers in the spring and summer are feeling ever more essential to me.

4. I feel like this was the worst spring in terms of climate control at home. So many uncomfortable days, and they turned on the AC a little later than last year. It’s such a shame because 60s-70s spring weather should feel very nice, yet it can be so oppressive here - not to speak of the 80s days.

5. Didn’t wear all the nice outfits I’d hoped to. I have persistent trouble finding the kinds of jackets/sweaters I’d like to wear over things like dresses in spring weather - and my budget plummeted this spring. Last spring wasn’t any better in these regards. Also, given the above, it can be hard to even look good when I’m always getting sweaty and greasy-haired from heat and humidity at home.

6. The weather itself was relatively good, but now we’re in a rainless period that has me a little concerned. I’ve spotted fall leaves in some trees again.

7. ’Tis the season for bugs all over greens again! Every store, every brand, some more than others. Shit drives me crazy. Some days, I don’t feel like bothering with the miserable work of picking through the leaves and just have seaweed snacks or something instead. I’m trying to make frozen kale or spinach more often. I don’t know if there should be a difference between the fresh and frozen stuff, but I’ve never found bugs in the latter. Granted, I don’t inspect them as meticulously, but I do look over them a little.

8. So far, things haven’t been too bad in terms of bugs at home, but I’ve been finding little black beetles on my windowsill. They’re not the grossest thing I could be finding, but I hope I don’t have a big population growing in my plant or something.

The kitchen bugs have been relatively under control the past couple of years but never 100% gone. I don’t really find them on the counters or in/near food, but they have a weirdly persistent attraction to... shiny clear containers. Like the plastic silverware tray I originally found them in - there’s still always one or two in there, and I’ve long given up on storing my silverware in that drawer. Or a glass measuring cup in the bottom cabinet on the other side of the kitchen. Do these remind them of something in nature..? Do they think it’s water?

[a-supernatural-writer]

Playing With Their Hair

Poly Lost Boys, Michael and Star x Gender neutral reader

Came up with this while chatting with @aliypop. Thank you for giving me this idea, I had so much fun with this!

I love playing with hair/having my hair played with so here's an imagine where the reader like playing with their partners' hair and they receive some loving back.

Warnings?: there's like a few curse words...?

Playing with your multiple partners' hair was something that you did absentmindedly. Whether it be while you were doing a task that kept you in one spot, cuddling with them, being near them or even to just get your mind off things.

Though some of your partners allowed it more than others. Dwayne was at the top of your list of people that loved it when you played with his hair. He loved it when you would run your fingers through it and scratch his scalp. At times you would catch him almost falling asleep.

He also liked it when you would braid his hair. Sometimes when he would wake up in your nest he would find small random braids in his hair and thought it was absolutely adorable. He wore them the entire night and didn’t take them out until you did so yourself.

There were a handful of times that you’ve given him an actual french braid. You would smile when you would take it out the next day, his usual straight hair now a little wavy.

Dwayne would also reciprocate the action. If you were laying down with him or just leaning against him, he would play with your hair as well. If it was long enough, he would braid your hair as well. He’s the only one who kills it at braiding. If your hair was short, he would just run his fingers through it, scratching your scalp to lull you to sleep.

Beads were also a big thing between the two of you. If you wanted to give him a few braids, you sometimes wanted to add a couple of beads as you braided. He would do the same with you, picking out your favorite colors and wearing a smile the entire night when you wouldn’t take them out.

Paul enjoys it as well, I mean, have you seen his hair? The boy runs his hands through his hair to get that teased look. He loves it when you tease it yourself, trying to fix it from laying down in your nest or even just from causing chaos.

This boy purrs when you run his fingers through his hair. He’s like a big cat… or a golden retriever that loves the attention. He will lay practically on top of you as you play with his hair. You wanna put in a few braids? Sure! Just please take them out before he goes to sleep. He’ll wear them out no problem but he doesn’t want them for too long.

Paul mostly enjoys you just running your fingers through it. He will play with your hair, no questions asked. If he does, expect him to stare at your face like a love-sick puppy when he does. He loves you to death and just watching you be so relaxed by his touch could make his dead heart beat one more time.

Plus, he fidgets a lot so letting him play with your hair was a BIG thing. He would try his best to give you braids but would fail and you were lucky that he didn’t tie your hair into a knot if it was long enough. If it was short, he would still have fun just playing with the small strands of hair.

Michael 100% down with you touching his hair which made you very happy. Have you seen his curls?!?! They are so soft!! Probably has the softest hair out of the entire bunch. You love running your fingers through his hair and you are not the only one. Everyone seems to love the softness, everyone somehow and someway has run their fingers through his hair.

He loves affection and playing with his hair not only calmed you, but it also calmed him. Multiple times he has fallen asleep in your lap and you definitely aren’t complaining about it.

Since his hair isn’t necessarily long, you can braid it, but it isn’t going to be the best. You are incredibly lucky if you can get a couple braids. You mostly just play with the curls, pulling them and watching them spring back into place which always makes you giggle and make little sound effects with them. (Side note: I have really curly hair and so many people did this to me.)

He is the only one, apart from Star and Marko that you can put anything in his hair. Sometimes you’ll put in random clips, pulling some of the hair back into a new hairstyle. The clips would range from simple bobby pins to colorful metal snap clips to more fancier ones with tiny jewels on them. A pretty boy deserves pretty clips.

When he plays with your hair, he’s so gentle. Treating you like glass and mostly is pushing you hair out of your face so he could stare at it. Your heart clenches when he looks at you lovingly and running his fingers through your hair.

Star is on the same level as Paul. She melts from your touch. Her favorite thing to do is hug you as you play with her hair. You detangle her long curls, giving her braids like the others and even adding in small beads like Dwayne, but that’s very rarely.

You are convinced that her hair is the longest. Followed by Marko, Dwayne and then Paul. David’s is just a tiny bit longer than Michael’s, so you have so much fun with Star’s hair the most.

Even when you weren’t playing with it while relaxing, you were trying out new hairstyles out on her. You’ve both gone through multiple different looks for her. Experimenting to see what worked and what didn’t. Star could never see what you’ve done but you always explained it to her the best you could or even showed her pictures of what it looks like from magazines.

Star does the same for you. She’ll style it and play with it depending on what length or even what type of hair you had. She always tried her best, giving you looks that she knows you would love. Heck, she’ll even help you dye it or cut it to your wishes if you ask her too. To be honest, Star is the only one you’ll allow to cut or do anything drastic to your hair.

Marko is weird about his hair. He takes care of his luscious golden curls like it’s his baby. It’s on the same level of his jacket. Nobody can really touch or play with it. But if he’s in the mood or gets a little jealous that everyone else's hair is getting love, he wants it too!

Without a word, Marko will just either plop down in front of you or sit on your lap, pulling out the hair tie that keeps his hair back and just mumble that he wants you to play with it. How could you resist? Answer: you couldn’t.

His long beautiful curls were like Michael’s but had a bit more of a bounce to them. You would detangle them, he would love it when you scratched his scalp, closing his eyes and leaning into your touch.

Good luck doing anything to his hair because curly hair is very tricky to work with. The curls get caught easily on each other. You think you have it down? Nope. Nice try. Marko’s hair: 1 You: 0

Marko’s hair is the second softest. Again, he takes care of his curls, he takes pride in them and he will never cut it. Maybe trim it to keep it healthy, but nothing more than an inch off. He’ll lose it.

He LOVES playing with your hair though. Anytime the two of you are together, his hands are playing with anything he can get his hands on. He will even take tips from Star on how to take care of your hair. There are some nights that Marko will take Star’s place and try a style that he thinks will look good on you. You know he was happy with his work because he was smiling all night long.

Now David… David’s hair is a no. Don’t touch it in front of the others, don’t even think about it. He’s like Marko. His mullet is a part of him and he doesn’t like people fucking with it. But that’s when he’s around the others. In private, just the two of you, it’s a whole different story.

Even in private though, he’s still a little protective of it. Very rarely will he just let you "play" with it. It’s only if he’s in a really good mood or he’s stressed. If he’s stressed, it’s probably one of the best things you can do for him. He especially likes it when you scratch the lower back of his head, right where it connects with his neck. Don’t ask why, it just feels good.

Another thing that he really likes is when you push back any stray hairs of his. Your fingers would brush against his face, hitting a little bit of his scruff as you pushed back a stray hair behind his ear. If you do that, dear lord, have mercy on your soul because he likes it way too much.

Other than that, you aren’t touching it unless you two are doing some kinky shit, which is the only other time he’ll let you touch it. Just pulling his hair at the base, the same place he likes scratched, and that’s when I wish you all the luck in the world. He isn’t letting you go at all that night.

David really only plays with your hair if he’s thinking about something. He’ll usually be laying with you in your nest, smoking a cigarette in one hand while petting your hair with the other, deep in thought. He doesn’t say anything as he does so and that’s okay. He’s content and so are you.

Also, don’t let anybody else know, but how the hell do you think his hair is platinum blonde, almost white? You are the only one to bleach and dye his hair. He will never live down the teasing from the others if they saw him with the foil in his locks. The only one he would allow to see was Dwayne. Before you came along, he was the one helping.

Apart from that, there are multiple times when a handful of you have braid trains. And that includes Michael, you and Dwayne; in the specific order. Michael learns from both you and Dwayne on how to braid hair.

Occasionally, Marko might join, letting Dwayne braid his hair. You’re a little jealous cause somehow Dwayne has magic fingers and is able to braid Marko’s hair with no problem.

Of course, like David, all of them either like pulling your hair or getting theirs pulled in a certain way. More or less, it’s David, Dwayne, and Marko that prefer pulling yours. Paul and Michael like it when you do it to them and Star… this girl is a wild card, you never know with her.

Either way, playing with their hair or them playing with yours is, in a way, therapeutic for all of you and it brings you all even closer together.

[20moonchild21]

𝗦𝗲𝗵𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵𝘁 [𝗯𝘁𝘀]

⇉ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 15

[pairings]

JK x female!oc, Bunny!JK x human!female!oc, Jin x female!oc, Leopard!Jin x human!female!oc, Jimin x female!oc, white Tiger!Jimin x human!female!oc, Taehyung x female!oc, black Tiger!Taehyung x human!female!oc, Hobi x female!oc, Fox!Hobi x human!female!oc, JK x Jin x Jimin x Taehyung x Hobi x female!oc

[warnings]

none, just a lot of fluffy fluff

[words]

4.4K

[author]

I hope you all are doing fine! Finally, it’s moving forward in the story and I am so excited what you think about it.

Important information:

For the next few weeks, I will only upload new chapters each Sunday, because I will take my final exams in two weeks, and it would be too much to learn and write at the same time. I am sorry for that, it’s just for about 3 or 4 weeks💜I hope you can understand

If you need more and can’t wait for next updates, you will definitely have to check out Inferiority complex written by @starlightauroras-writes. Her story is super cute and inspiring. Plus, she puts a lot passion and effort into her story, so please, leave likes and messages under her chapters!

Make sure to also leave under this chapter a like or comment! It would make my day!

Stay healthy and safe!

Mꨄ

[chapter 14 ||| chapter 16]

“Are you excited for the day, Kookie?” Hope asked happily, as she walked around the car.

A few days ago, she had promised Jungkook that they would spend a day on their own, because with all the boys home it could get really hectical sometimes. Together, they wanted to go to the park, walking around and maybe making a picknick somewhere. Luckily, Jin had prepared them a few sandwiches this morning.

“Yes, I am.” The bunny stepped out of the car and stretched his arms in the air.

The weather was actually really beautiful, because it was a little bit sunny and warm, but not too warm for wearing a beanie. Like this, Jungkook could hide his ears with no one noticing. When he opened his eyes again, he looked happily at the girl, before he reached for her smaller hand and both of them began to walk towards the park.

As they were walking, Hope noticed for the first time how other people would see them. Since they were holding hands, the people passing by would probably think that the two of them were together in a relationship. Her cheeks went red when she thought about that.

Her gaze fell onto the boy next to her. Jungkook had his eyes closed, as the sun fell right onto his face, letting his skin glow. He looked so healthy and happy, nothing left from the shy, skinny boy she had found in the alley several month ago. She caught herself watching the shape of his nose and lips closely, bringing up the memory of that night where they had almost kissed into her head.

But still, there was one thing missing in the picture of his beautiful face. The poor boy still had to hide his long floppy ear that the girl loved so much. She loved to driver her fingers through the soft, grey fur, all the way up from the base towards the white tip and that back towards his dark hair. In that moment, she wanted to pull his beanie form his head so bad, showing all the people the true boy, but she knew that Jungkook would feel uncomfortable.

“Are you enjoying this?” He suddenly asked and turned his head down towards her, catching Hope completely off guards. “Just walking around, I mean.”

If it was possible, her face became now even more red when she realized that he didn’t meant her staring. She quickly cleared her throat and ripped her gaze away from his face.

“Y – Yes, I do enjoy it.” She said, trying to steady her voice. “It has been a long time since I have found the time to do something like that. But it is nice to actually clear my head like this.”

The boy just nodded, before he squeezed her hand a little bit tighter.

“Me too.” He eventually said after a few seconds of silence. “Especially with you. Doing something simple like this is anything I have ever wished for. Even though I have to hide my ears, I don’t care.”

Hope gripped his hand tighter when he spoke, pulling herself closer to press her face against the soft fabric of his jacket. Even though she had no extra senses to fully smell the boy’s scent, she caught catch at least the slightest hint of his masculine smell. Immediately, her heart began to beat faster.

Together, they kept walking a little while longer, talking about anything that came into their minds, until Hope spotted an empty bank. Both of them agreed to take a seat and take their picknick there. Jungkook placed the backpack he had insisted to carry, because it would be ‘heavy’, in between them, and both began to eat their sandwiches.

“Did I actually tell you that I have a job interview soon?” She swallowed the last piece of bread down and cleaned her mouth with a tissue.

She had told Jin a few days ago, that she applied to that lawyer firm in New York that were standing up for Hybrid rights in front of the judge. Jungkook’s eyes went wide, before a large smile formed on his beautiful lips.

“Are you serious?” He breath out, reaching over and grabbing her hand carefully. “That is great. I am so happy and proud at you.”

Hearing him saying that he was proud of her was making her cheeks blush again. She tried to hide it with a few giggles, making the boy giggling as well. But suddenly, Jungkook stopped and looked pretty serious into her eyes.

“But will you still have time for us once you will have started working?” He asked in a small voice.

“Of course, I will.” The girl slide a little bit closer towards him, giving attention to not let their hands go of each other. “I will always have time for you, Kookie. You guys are my number one priority.”

Jungkook was still not looking up into her eyes. He kept his head down and carefully slide his thump over the soft skin of the back her hand.

“But what if you will find a boyfriend.” He almost whispered. “Will there be space for us anymore?”

Hope chuckled slightly. It was cute how worried and protective the bunny was about his brothers, but inside in, she had known for a long time now, that there would not be a stranger boyfriend in her life. It were the simple things that would make her heart beat faster, like Jin hugging her from behind while she was cooking, or Jungkook holding her hand and sliding his thumb in small circles over her skin.

Lately, she even had taken Jimin and Taehyung into her heart, even though they hadn’t know each other for long. Those boys had made their way into her life and straight into her heart, making it difficult for her to organize her emotions. Could it be possible that she was developing feelings for all 4 of them at the same time?

“I don’t think I will find myself a boyfriend so quick.” She tried to overplay her awkwardness. “But what is about you? Should we find you a cute bunny girl?”

Immediately, Jungkook’s head shot up, and sharp eyes were looking into hers. He squeezed her hand even tighter, before he shook his head wildly.

“I don’t want a cute bunny girl.” He stated with a steady voice, making Hope think that she might had overstepped the border. “Besides, I already have a mate.”

The last part he mumbled more to himself, but Hope could clearly understand the word ‘mate’ from which she didn’t know what it meant. She wanted to ask the boy, but she decided against it, not wanting to upset Jungkook more. It should be a happy day for both of them.

She leant her head against Jungkook’s shoulder an closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun that was shining into her face. Both stayed like that for another few minutes, before Hope felt Jungkook’s nose nuzzling into her hair. She opened her eyes again and looked upwards.

It was just now that they found themselves once again int the same position like they had been a few days ago in her bedroom. Their faces just inches apart, noses almost nuzzling against each other, but this time, there was nothing that could interrupt them.

Slow-motion-like, Jungkook face came closer, until she could feel his hot breath on her lips. Hope could swear that her heart would spring out of her chest any second. Never in her life had she been that close to someone, but in that moment, there was no one she would rather be in that situation as with Jungkook.

Time seemed to stop when their lips met properly for the very first time. Carefully, Hope started moving them after a few seconds, exploring Jungkook’s mouth while steading herself by pressing her free hand against his chest.

A million questions were racing through her head, as Jungkook started to move his lips more passionately against hers. What would happen after this kiss? Would their relationship change now? Would they be together? What would be about the other boys that had a place in her heart?

All those thoughts faded away and her mouth escaped a small gasp when they both pulled away, facies staying close. Both were now looking into each other’s eyes, cheeks red and not knowing what to say.

“Look at those two.” They suddenly heard an older lady say towards her husband, as they were passing by. “Isn’t young love beautiful?”

Jungkook and Hope were looking back at each other, breaking out in small laughers. The boy wrapped his arms around Hope, pulling her closer and leaning his head against her hair. Both of them stayed like this the rest of the day.

“Out of the kitchen, woman!” Jin pretended to scare the girl away with his wood spoon, before she fake-whined and quickly walked out of the kitchen. “I have to concentrate in here!”

She turned her head back and stuck out her tongue, before she looked around for something else to do while Jin was preparing the dinner. She spotted Taehyung, Hobi and Jungkook sitting on the sofa with their fingers sliding over the controllers wildly, while they screamed some comments from time to time.

It was amazing how fast the boys had accepted Hobi in their circle. Just after a few days, they were already joking along with the older boy, laughing and playing together like they had known each other for years. It made her happy. Hobi was a great person, always funny hand happy.

When her gaze fell onto Jungkook, her cheeks redden. The memory of earlier came into her mind, but she had to remind herself that drooling now wouldn’t be suitable. She sighed and was about to sat down next to them, when she noticed that there was one boy missing.

Jimin was nowhere to be found in the living room or in the kitchen, which was quiet strange, because normally, he loved to hang out with his brother and Jungkook, and if he wasn’t with them, he usually would be with Jin.

She walked down the hallway when she already heard a soft humming coming from the two tiger’s room. Hope slowly pushed the door open a small gap, peeking her head into the room. Jimin was laying back down on the bed, his eyes were closed the small ear buds she had given him a few days ago in his ears.

He must have smelled the girl coming inside, because he suddenly opened his eyes and looked towards the doorway. When he spotted the small human, he pulled out the ear buds and smiled wildly at her.

“Hello, Hope.” He sat up straight, as she walked closer towards the bed. “Come and sit down with me.”

Jimin was always a warm and welcoming person. Every time she saw him, he had his wide, beautiful smile on his face, making his eyes from into half-moons and her knees weaken. When she sat down on the bed next to him, he laid himself back onto his back and with his head into her lap.

“Why aren’t you with the others?” She carefully asked him, before she began to slide her hands through his thick hair.

Jimin hummed a little bit, before he closed his eyes again and pushed his hands further into her hands.

“I wanted to listen to some music.” He simply said. “Thank you again for the MP3 player, Hope. I love it.”

They stayed in that position for a little while longer, just enjoying the moment together. She had grown attached to Jimin really quick. His sweet and lovely personality made it hard for someone to not love him.

“Did you had a great time with Jungkook today.” He suddenly whispered into the dimmed room, not trying to hide the smile in his tone.

Hope was glad that the room was a little bit darker, because for the thousandths time that day, her face went red as a tomato. She awkwardly laughed and shifted around the mattress before she could find her voice again.

“I – “ She stuttered, not knowing if she should tell him or not, but it wanted to come out of her. “We – ehm – we kissed.”

She was giggling like a little school girl while talking, trying to cover her embarrassment. Jimin was now chuckling as well.

“I know.” He confessed, and she could practically see the smirk on his face. “You smelled more intensive like him when you came home earlier. I could tell straight away that something happened.”

A gasp escaped her mouth when he told her about that. If he smelled it, the there was no doubt that the rest of the boys had smelled it too. She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her away forever.

Before she had the chance to think about it further, Jimin had already pushed himself up from her lap, and was now wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close towards his chest. Instinctive, she placed her head onto his shoulder while he snuggled his head into the creak of her neck, moving it carefully around. This gesture didn’t stay unnoticed by Hope, because she knew this gesture form Jungkook.

“Jimin?” She slightly chuckled as his breath tickled her sensitive skin. “Are you scenting me?”

The white tiger hummed a little bit, causing a wave of shover over her spine, before he pulled away. For a moment, they were just looking into each other’s eyes, before Jimin moved his hands to screech his neck.

“I am sorry.” He quietly whispered, pressing his ears flatly against his head. “It’s just – you smell so strongly like Jungkook and that just triggered my – my instincts. I am sorry.”

Hope chuckled at his cute stuttering. Though they had known each other for a few weeks now, Jimin would still get shy over the simplest things sometimes.

“It’s okay, Jimin.” She said, before he laid his head back into her lap.

As she drove her hands through his thick hair, she sunk back into her thoughts. She had never thought about the boys actually having animal-like instincts. Of course, she knew that their ears and noses were really sensitive, but she had also heard about other – needs – that Hybrids would develop while living together with a girl. Her cheeks blushed immediately when she thought about that.

“What are you thinking about?” The boy in her lap suddenly asked, looking up at her.

With redden cheeks, she quickly tried to find an answer when suddenly that one question popped up in her mind.

“How – how do I smell actually?” That question had been burning in her head ever since she had met the boys. “Do I smell – okay? I mean, do I smell like sweat or something, because if I did it – “

“Do you smell okay?” Jimin had abruptly pushed himself up from her lap and was now facing her directly. “Your scent is absolutely….amazing. You can’t imagine it, but a scent isn’t comparable to – sweat. I don’t know how to describe it, but every time you enter the apartment your scent is flashing me and the other boys. It smells so sweet and clear but also natural at the same time. Just amazing.”

With every word Jimin was using to describe her scent, her cheeks would blush more and more. She would have ever guessed that the boys enjoyed smelling her. Not knowing what to do, she began to twirl a strand of her hair around her finger while starting to laugh awkwardly.

“O – okay.” She eventually stuttered between her giggles. “Thanks, I guess?”

Though it was an uncommon way to compliment someone, she somehow felt proud to hear those words from the male. Never in her life had some boy made a compliment to her. Only her mother had told her often that she was a beautiful, but that was different.

Since she had been living with the boys, she had got a lot of compliments. Jin would often tell her that she was beautiful or that she would be cute when she couldn’t reach the top shelf, because she was tiny. Jimin had told her that he liked her scent, but he had often told her that he liked to hug her, because he felt comfortable around her. Taehyung was another thing. Though their relationship had made much process, he was still more reluctant when it came to compliments. Jungkook on the other hand made a lot of compliments. What she loved that most was that they all really meant what they said, not just like telling a phrase.

When she thought about Jungkook, her thoughts drifted back towards the scene where both of them had been sitting on the bank in the park together. Jungkook had seemed to be pretty upset when she had joked about finding him a bunny girl, before he had said something about ‘finding his mate’.

“Jimin.” It was just now that he realized that she had said his name pretty often today. “What is a mate? I heard Jungkook talking about it, but I didn’t know what he meant by that.”

Jimin cocked an eyebrow up, his ears standing up high in attention.

“He told you about it?” He asked, his voice was holding a hint of surprise and confusion.

“He just told me that he already has a mate.” She quickly answered. “Whatever that means.”

The white tigers chuckled slightly, before he sighed and scratched his neck, obviously looking for the right words.

“A mate is something like – what do you call it – marrying someone?” He began, before he sat up straight across from her. “Or more like a soulmate! You met a special person you love and with whom you want to spend your whole life together. You have no influence on the time you will meet your mate, under which circumstances or who he or she is.”

Jungkook had a mate? Someone he loved? Somehow, that hurt her more than she thought. It was not like she was not happy for him, because everything she wanted was that her boys could feel happy in their lives.

“But – but –“ Her mind was suddenly filled with thousands of questions. “ – what do you mean by who he or she is?”

“It means that there are no rules for finding one’s mate.” While he was talking, a small smile was forming on his face. “Age, gender, religion, race, breed – it doesn’t matter, everyone is just equal. Boys mate with boys, girls mate with girls, Christians mate with Muslims, Hybrids mate with human. Love has no definition in that point. There are even cases where Hybrids have more than one mate.”

Her heat shot up at that statement and her heart was suddenly pounding in her chest. On the one hand, it should make her happy that it was possible for Hybrids to find their mates in a human – like her – because in her heart she had known for a long time that she like her boys very much, but on the other hand, was there actually a chance all of them would feel the same for her too?

“What if one partner doesn’t want to be the mate of the other?” Her voice got quieter and quieter.

“Usually, mates are destined for each other, but of course, there are cases where one partner doesn’t accept his mate.” Jimin began to talk again, and Hope could tell that he was pretty serious about that topic. “It’s one of the worse cases ever. Losing our mate is like someone rips out a part of your heart. It’s very hard to get over the pain.”

Hope gasped slightly. She knew how much it hurt to loose someone you love deeply, but she didn’t know if that was comparably with losing your mate.

“How do you know who your mate is?” She almost didn’t dared to ask more question, not wanting to step on Jimin’s nerves, but somehow she got more and more interested with every new detail about that topic.

“I don’t know about you humans.” Jimin lifted his hand to scratch his neck, a slight tone of red was somehow covering his cheeks now. “But we Hybrids, we can smell it. It is the best feeling ever when you find your mate. It feels like you have thousands of butterflies in your stomach every time you see her – or him! Yeah – ehm – and you just want to be with your mate all the time, hugging him, marking him and just be together. It’s great.”

“Marking?” Hope had the feeling that with every word she got more and more confused.

“Hmm.” Jimin hummed. “It means that you bite your mate somewhere on his neck or shoulder to leave a mark there. When you mark your mate, it means that you will be together forever.”

Every word Jimin was using, she could hear the passion and love he put behind it, just like he had already felt all of that. She wanted to feel that too.

“Did – did you already find your mate?” Actually, she didn’t want to hear his answer, knowing that it would probably hurt her.

Jimin hesitated for a while, before he bent his head to the side, smiling almost unnoticed by her.

“I would say that Tae is my mate in some way.” His eyes sparkled slightly when he talked about his brother. “We are just clicking with each other and I love to hug or to cuddle with him, but yes, I – I think I also have another mate somewhere.”

When he showed her his perfect smile, Hope just couldn’t destroy his happiness by showing him that it hurt her. She just leant forward and hugged the boy tightly, burring her head into his neck.

“I am so happy for you, Jimin.” She whispered.

“Okay, gentlemen.” Jin looked at the 4 boys in front of him, who were sitting on the sofa in a row. “You all know that Hope has her job interview today, which is pretty exhausting for her. Therefore, we will make this evening as relaxing as possible for her. I – “

The leopard was interrupted by Hobi, who was carefully holding up his hand in the air, gesturing that he wanted to say something. He patiently waited for the older boy to give him a nod so he could start talking.

“What is a job interview?” The younger boy asked innocently.

Before Jin could answer his question, Jimin had already bent forward from the other side of the couch to look at Hobi.

“People are asking her a lot questions to see if she is suitable to work in their company.” He simply answered.

The fox cocked an eyebrow up, but eventually, he nodded after a few seconds and turned his attention back towards the oldest boy.

“Exactly, Jimin.” He showed Jimin a smile, before he was about to start talking again, when suddenly Taehyung was interrupting him. “That’s why –“

“Why are you even talking like that.” The black tiger asked with a smirk on his face. “Are we some kind of soldiers now?”

Jin just rolled his eyes. Though Taehyung had laid off his bratty attitude some days ago, he still loved to teas and provoke the people around him.

“Because –“ He locked eyes with every one of them, before he continued. “ – I want you to understand the importance of the situation. Hope is doing everything for us. It would only be fair from us to support her whenever we can. She will be pretty exhausted when she is coming home, and that’s why we will cheer her up with the apartment already cleaned, the laundry washed and a prepared meal. Do you understand? Okay, then let’s go!”

Without any protest, all the boys stood up from the sofa and began to do their job. While Jin and Jimin went towards the kitchen to prepare dinner, Jungkook and Hoseok went towards the storage to get the vacuum cleaner and cleaning stuff, and Taehyung began to collect all the used clothes into a basket to sort and wash them.

When two hours had passed by, all the boys met up in the living room again.

“It looks pretty good.” Jungkook stated, as they were all staring at the set up table. “I think she will like it.”

The other 4 boys agreed with the youngest. They had really put all their effort in preparing a nice evening for them and especially the girl. They didn’t even had to wait long, because all of them were still standing in the middle of the living room when they heard the front door being pushed open.

“I am ba – “ The girl stopped in her mid-sentence when she saw all 5 boys turning around at the same time. “What are you guys doing? Oh no, did you break –“

“Hope!” Jungkook was the first one to break out of his staring.

He almost ran over towards the small girl and threw his arms around her, quickly followed by Jimin who pressed himself between the bunny and the girl. Jin on the other hand waited patiently for the younger ones to let go of Hope, before he pulled her into a tight hug himself.

Hobi and Taehyung watched the scene in front of them in very different ways. While the fox Hybrid stood a little awkward and dumb folded there, not knowing what to do or how to behave, Taehyung held his typical smirk on his face and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hello, human girl.” He smirked, before he stretched out his hand towards her.

“Hello, Tae.” The girl just rolled playfully her eyes but eventually, she shook the taller boy’s hand slightly. “Hello there, Hobi.”

She happily waved at the older boy, before she placed her purse and coat onto the sofa. She took a deep breath and turned back towards the boys.

“Hope, you look sad.” Jimin carefully took a step forwards, while he fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Did you not get the job?”

Hope didn’t answer for a moment. She took another deep breath, before she looked up with her big eyes, making the boys believe that Jimin guessed right.

“I – ehm – “ She cleared her throat, before her face suddenly changed and a scream left her mouth. “I got the job! I did it!”

[inspirations ||| recommendations]

@starlightauroras-writes

@wishesunderthestars

@agustdakasuga

@ditttiii

@angelicyoongie

[awfullybigwardrobe44]

Shirts, dresses, and the God of the small things

Mini testimony time!

I have many, many instances in my life where I believe God has shown up and answered small requests/teeny tiny prayers, and those instances never cease to amaze me. I wanted to share just two of them here, especially since they’re so similar and related.

1. My dad and I go hiking in one of my state’s national forests. My dad also hunts there. To go hiking here, you have to wear bright hunter’s orange, in order to not be mistaken for Something Else and be shot by mistake.  I went through a period of time where I was very strict about wearing “women’s clothing” due to a bible verse in the old testament. I still am, to be honest, but I’m not QUITE as strict as I was back then. But in this period of time, I felt like the only t-shirts I could wear were v-necks (to differentiate them from men’s shirts--yes, I know some men wear v-necks too, I just felt it was a good distinction).  The only orange shirt I had did not meet my Criteria for my convictions. So I was shopping for a new one. I’m not sure if I prayed about this or not beforehand, but either way: On the SALE rack at the store, there was a BRIGHT ORANGE, V-NECK shirt in my exact size. Fit perfectly. EDIT: I somehow neglected to mention originally that it was also THE ONLY SHIRT OF THIS KIND THERE. THERE WAS ONLY ONE!

(I am carrying a gun in this picture solely because my dad needed help carrying things and because there are very very large and scary animals, like bears and cougars, in this area, please don’t @ me)

I have always believed this was a God Wink moment and that God saw I was doing all I could to obey my convictions/conscience and not sin against Him. And that He wanted me to be able to go on this hike with my dad <3 

2. A lot of you know now that I wear head coverings when I pray because of 1 Corinthians 11. I have had a lot of trouble and spent a ton of time trying to find styles that both meet my criteria for my personal convictions of what constitutes a “covering” and look cute/not frumpy. Mostly I wear beanies and slouchy berets.

As a side note, I like to believe that even if I felt convicted to wear old-fashioned styles, I’d still do it to obey. I hope that’s the case. But my personal conviction is that modern styles are ok, as long as they meet my other criteria for convictions--cover enough, etc.

This year, I have been invited to play for the worship team for Easter for the first time. I’ve been struggling a ton to find an outfit that meets all the necessary points: it has to incorporate a head covering, be a dark color (since I was told band members should wear dark colors to blend in on stage), and be warm (since my church’s stage is FREEZING). PLUS I wanted it to be floral/spring-ish and a bit more formal than what I normally wear to church.

I had an outfit figured out that would work, I just was not excited about it and was going to be a little self-conscious. It also involved jeans, since none of my dresses/leggings would work with the jackets/head coverings I have. It would do, but I was not excited to wear it.

And then today, my mom was randomly getting rid of a floral dress...

(Don’t judge my messy room, I’m working on it lol)

The dress is a hand-me-down from my mom and the heels are a hand-me-down from a friend that I got a few weeks ago. (I might actually wear different heels, but those are from a wedding I was in last year, so I already had those as well.) 

I definitely believe God saw me struggling with this, knowing I was trying to make it work with my convictions/conscience stuff about head coverings AGAIN, and decided to bless me again. I’m very excited about this outfit and that I get to feel Cute on Easter instead of just having an outfit that barely worked.

********************

Just... tldr, I can’t believe God cares about such small things, and yet, I CAN believe He does, because being this generous with good gifts I don’t necessarily NEED but will still enjoy is right up His alley. I think both times, He’s seen me trying my best to obey Him/my convictions and decided to help me out. 

What a wonderful, generous, tender Father we serve.

[moonbeamsung]

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele​ @kisshim​ @radiorenjun​

network tags: @kpopscape​ @neo-constellations​ @starryktown​ @culture-cafe​ @dreamlab-nct​

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

[simonsrosebud]

Dalton + the foxes spring break trip

this was one of the first prompts sent for kalton and i’m SO SORRY that it took me this long, anon!! almost a month, now!!  okay that’s not really that long but still, i kept saying i’d have it and NOW I FINALLY DO!!!  (and she long too)

dalton’s sitting in the lounge while kevin gets his spring physical when allison comes through the room.  she backtracks when she sees him, and sits on the arm of his chair.

“getting excited for spring break?”  she shrugs her one shoulder at him.

dalton shrugs.  it might be nice seeing the girls.  “sure, might go home for the week.”

allison frowns.  she leans away from him and grabs his shoulder.  “you’re not coming to florida with us?”  and looks the other way when kevin comes out of abby’s room.  “did you not invite dalton to florida?”

kevin stops.  fuck.  “i was going to.”

dalton starts to smile.  “he definitely wasn’t.”

allison looks between the two of them and stands.  “okay, well, if this causes drama please call me over?  i’d hate to miss it.”  she sends a wink dalton’s way and heads into abby’s room for her spring physical.

dalton stands and grabs kevin’s hand to lead him back out to the car.  “i don’t care that if you don’t invite me, kev.  me hanging with your friends makes you nervous, but keep in mind that andrew approves of me?  remember the date to the zoo?  i know he’s who you’re actually worried about.”

kevin knows this.  god, he knows.  he remembers their double date to the zoo with andrew and neil- as awful as it was because animals make him nervous.  but it was obvious that andrew approved after he talked to dalton after the winter banquet, and neither were harmed or fazed.

kevin’s still trying to get the scoop on  that.

but he still can’t promise the foxes will behave, and a week with them without a way to get out?  scary.  it’s not like they’d be able to just go to dalton’s.

plus, the night they got him wasted and spilled some of kevin’s secrets still haunts him.

“i’ll think about it.”

two days later, kevin stops by dalton’s classroom before they start.  “you can come, but i’m not letting you do shit just to please my friends.  they’re assholes and we both know it.”  that’s fair.  kevin lowers his voice.  ”if they cross a line and you don’t call them out on it then they’ll keep going, and you won’t be having sex for the rest of the month, and i find you won’t like it.  got it?”

dalton’s smiling.  kevin’s 100% serious, and dalton knows he won’t hesitate to hold up his bargain, but he doesn’t care.  it’s wickedly entertaining regardless.  “yes sir.”

kevin nods, and goes to leave.  halfway out of the room he turns.  dalton’s students always watch him like hawks, but he’s used to it by now.  “i’m serious, miller.”

the house is bigger than their first spring break house.  it’s beach front, and if they have neighbors within a mile then kevin surely can’t see them.

he and dalton get one of the two bedrooms on the top floor.  it’s them, and allison in the room beside them.

the first day they’re there, after everyone’s settled, the drinks immediately start flowing.  dalton starts to get more clingy, and at one point they disappear for two hours.

when they come back, changed and showered, dalton sits on the sofa tucked into kevin’s side.  allison points a drunken finger at dalton.  “i’d ask you why you left, but i could practically hear you guys fucking just going up the stairs!”  she sticks a finger to her mouth to fake gag.

kevin’s not one to talk about his sex life with this crew.  and dalton knows this, but kevin can see a snarky remark brewing in his head anyway, so kevin decides he can indulge his boyfriend this once.  “just because you’re not getting dick doesn’t mean i can’t.”

nicky chokes on his drink.  “no way is kevin a bottom!”

a few wads of cash silently get handed to neil while the group reacts to his comment.

matt turns to look at them.  “eh, i guess i can see it.”

“me too,” dalton says.

aaron gags.  “i’d rather die than continue this conversation.”

the next day is going well until lunchtime when kevin, nicky, andrew, aaron, and himself are in the kitchen.  dalton has offered to make the sandwiches for the beach so long as in exchange for not having to drag one of the coolers down onto the sand.

“okay but for real, how do you put up with kevin?  we lived with him, but i can’t imagine dating him.”

“the same way i couldn’t imagine dating you, but erik can.”

aaron steals a piece of cheese from the pack.  “i’d pay someone to kill me.”

“you guys realize he’s sitting right here?”  dalton glances to kevin sitting at a stool to the island.  he looks unbothered.

nicky shrugs.  “yeah, but he’s used to us teasing him.”

“cause he knows he’s an asshole.”

“does he get pissy when you try to talk about anything other than exy?”

“he was an uptight dick when he first stopped drinking.  how does it feel to date an alcoholic?  kevin, how does a vodka sound?”  andrew raises a brow.  dalton notices kevin stiffen just a bit.  that one stung a little.

dalton clenches his hand on the knife and stops what he’s doing to look at andrew.  “you remember our talk, andrew.”  andrew stops.  “don’t talk to him or me like that ever again.  i don’t cross your lines, don’t cross mine,” he says.  “yes or no?”

andrew is still for a solid minute.  dalton knows he respects him just enough to stop when he says no.  dalton has proved himself, and andrew knows he isn’t intimidated by him.  kevin doesn’t even have that from andrew yet.

plus, dalton learned pretty quick how to speak his language.

which is why dalton waits for the nod he knows will come.  “i’ll indulge.”  and leaves the kitchen.

when he does he looks to the other two.  “tease me all you want, i’ve got tough skin, but insult my boyfriend or my relationship to my face again and we’re going to have real problems.”  he continues making the last sandwich of the bunch, his own.  “after all, aaron, i’m sure you don’t like it when the foxes all question why on earth katelyn would a simple minded seemingly homophobic dick when there are plenty guys on the football team that would kill for a chance with a cheerleader.”  he shrugs and takes a bite of his sandwich.

nicky looked guilty before, but after that he tries holding in a shit eating grin as aaron storms away.  when neil comes in a moment later confused, he asks, “why’s he pissed?”

“dalton came at his neck.”

neil, a little alarmed, takes a step away from dalton.

“that means he called him the fuck out on his bs, neil.”

oh.

“for what?”

dalton doesn’t care to stay for the rest of it.  he’s finished making sandwiches, and kevin looks smug where he’s sat.

“do good enough to keep sex for the month?”  dalton whispers and kevin tries not to laugh.  instead he takes dalton’s hand and leads him to their bedroom.

the next incident comes from the water balloons that dalton had brought.  no one notices they’ve disappeared until andrew comes through the house with a straight face and a bucket full of them.

he stands on the balcony that afternoon, pelting whoever went out on the deck with balloons.  and when dalton comes out with a few of his own he throws them right back.

but then neil comes out with more of his own, and matt joins neil’s side with a water gun.

dalton’s face falls.  “oh- oh this was not supposed to happen.”

as the attack starts, he tries to get back inside, but kevin is standing on the other side of the sliding door with a cocky grin, waving at him.

and the door’s locked.

“kevin!”

kevin cocks his head.  “i can’t hear you, d!”

dalton gawks, but then gasps when a bucket of ice water is dropped over him.  he looks up at neil leaning over the deck railing and laughing his ass off.  it’s a good thing he considers neil a friend.

kevin opens the door.  “sorry, i think the door must have been locked.”

dalton glares, and chases kevin soaking wet through the house.  when he grabs him by the thighs he lifts and throws him over his shoulder. 

“put me down or i- dalton don’t you dare throw me in the pool!”  he shouts when dalton runs out the door again.  and kevin shouts and grips onto dalton’s shirt as he jumps into the pool with kevin over his shoulder.

when they come back up kevin gasps and latches onto dalton.

“kev, i can’t carry us both!”  dalton jokes, kicking his legs to stay afloat.

kevin tries not to show his panic for a second.  he can’t touch the bottom.  “oh my god.”  his arms tighten around dalton’s neck, “i never learned how to swim,” he whispers.

dalton swims to where kevin can hold on to the ledge.  they’re both in their clothes, kevin even has socks on.

“you can’t swim?”

kevin shrugs and pulls himself out to sit on the concrete.  he peels his socks off, then his shirt.  dalton takes his shirt off, but he’s wearing swim trunks so he stays in.

“we never had the luxury of going to a pool or beach, i’ve only been to the beach a few times since i’ve come to south carolina.  i never go deep enough that i can’t touch.”

dalton holds a hand over his forehead to block the sun from his view.  kevin kind of looks like a god, backlit like this.

or an angel.

anyway…

“do you want me to teach you?”

kevin scowls a little bit, more to himself.  “don’t need to give them another reason to come at me.”

dalton nods.  he gets it, the foxes are a tough crew and kevin doesn’t always tell them when they’ve hit a nerve.  he just gives a “fuck you” and insults them back instead of telling them that he doesn’t like when they do ______.

to each their own.

but that night, dalton tells kevin to put his swim trunks on and meet him outside.  he’s in the pool when kevin opens the door.  “you know it’s like three in the morning, right?”

“you were up anyway.”

“sure, but not to go swimming.”  kevin sits on the edge of the pool.

dalton swims to him.  “what will it take for you to let me teach you to swim?”

kevin rolls his eyes.  he’s not doing this right now.  “d, i don’t go swimming.  there’s no point, really.”

“what if you’re on a boat and it sinks?”

“life jacket.”

“and if there’s not enough?  remember what happened in titanic?”

kevin glares.  they sit in silence for a minute, and eventually kevin looks his way again.  “what do you want me to do?”  he mumbles.

dalton pushes away from the wall.  “just swim to me.”

kevin stands.  “that’s not really teaching- oh!”  andrew rams into kevin to shove him into the pool, and dalton can’t really say he expected that, but it doesn’t surprise him once he registers it.  he knew andrew was awake when he passed him earlier.

andrew walked into the living room with a book in his hands, and stopped when he’d seen dalton.  “go to bed.”

“i’m waiting for kevin.”

“no fucking on the sofa, i’m not leaving.”  he said, and plopped down on the loveseat.

dalton kind of stammered for a second, and stood when kevin texted him back omw.

“i’m, no, we’re just going in the pool.”

andrew already had his book propped open.  “he can’t swim.”

“i’m gonna try to teach him.”  he’d said, and that was the end of it.

kevin gasps when he comes up from underwater, and on instinct swims to the edge of the pool and pulls himself out.  he goes to yell at andrew, but he beats him to it.  standing there, dry, andrew wipes a single splash droplet from his bicep.  “you can swim.”  and leaves.

dalton is grinning when kevin turns back around.

“i-i didn’t, i was already at the edge.”

“you swam like five feet, kev.  i think you’re capable of swimming, you’re just scared.”

he is not scared.  of water, for christ sake.

when dalton convinces him to get in the pool again, it’s just shallow enough that kevin can stand on his tip toes if he needs.  dalton is waiting on the other end.  kevin feels like a child.  “this is stupid.”

“just do it, and we can go have sex.”  and kevin isn’t even in the mood, because he’s still annoyed at andrew, but he’s not a coward anymore, so he ducks underwater and swims to his boyfriend.  when he gets close enough, dalton grabs his hands and pulls him the rest of the way.

kevin is smiling, a little.

he feels accomplished.  dalton isn’t stupid.

“okay, i didn’t include andrew in that, i promise, but at least we know you do know how to swim.”

and kevin literally has his lips on dalton’s.  he doesn’t want to think about andrew.  “shut up, please.”  and kisses him.

the only people who really get more color from the beach kevin, nicky, dalton, matt, dan, and allison.

neil’s is a special case, because while he gets tan, it’s only his legs, face, and arms to which he gains a wicked farmers tan that everyone teases him about.  he doesn’t really care.  you can only tell if he lifts his short sleeves, and since he never goes shirtless or wears tank tops, he can hide it.

aaron gets sunburnt, but that doesn’t count.

nicky claims that aaron always gets burnt, and that he’s never seen so much as a single patch of red skin on andrew.  only that he gets a little tan, sometimes, in the summer.

andrew decides not to let him be proven right (even though he is) and conceals himself under an umbrella, so no one knows for sure.  his armbands stay on, of course, and no one else is allowed to use his shade but neil and renee.

dalton plays football on the beach with matt and goes boogie boarding with neil and dan at one point.  and one day he surprises the group by saying that they should go surfing.

“you know how to surf?”  kevin flips his sunglasses up to look at his boyfriend clearly.  “since when?”

“we used to go on vacation to florida a lot, my grandparents used to have a condo.”

“and you surfed?”

“i mean, i’m no expert.”

kevin doesn’t care.  he’s seen surfers in motion.  it’s hot.  he wants to see dalton out there straddling a surf board.

but no one else knows how to surf, and they don’t feel like learning.  “we could go horseback riding like last year?”  dan offers.

dalton notices neil grimace.  kevin groans into his arm.  “what?”  he mumbles.

“i don’t trust large animals.”  he lifts his head up and points a finger at him.  “don’t make a comment.  that’s a perfectly valid argument.  they’re not to be trusted.  imagine if that thing kicked you in the face with a metal hoof?”

“aw, alright, it’s okay baby kevin,”  he pets kevin’s head, and jumps up and squeals when kevin lunges.  he tries to run, but falls behind tripping in the sand.  kevin grabs him from behind and jumps onto his back. 

dan turns to the group really quick.  “we all like dalton, yes or no, show of hands?”  everyone but aaron and andrew raise their hands.

neil looks back at him.  “andrew likes him.”

“aaron’s just still pissy that dalton told him to knock off the bs a few days ago.  he’s a yes.”

dan nods.  matt wraps an arm around her shoulders.  “man, i know kevin’s a pain in the ass, but it’s always just been his paranoia and anxiety.  the dude’s a little more fucked up than some of us.”

“that’s not necessarily relevant,” aaron says.

“no, i mean.”  matt shrugs.  “dalton’s good for him.  i think he’s helped a lot with that stuff.  he’s a good support system for kevin.  and a happy kevin is like the happy wife happy life thing, no?”

“you got that right.  plus, dalton’s not bad to look at.”  aaron kicks nicky’s foot.  “i’m allowed to acknowledge when someone’s attractive.  don’t tell me you don’t look at megan fox and go hm, she’s not bad to look at.”  aaron rolls his eyes.

allison looks out to kevin and dalton in the ocean.  they’re standing at almost chest deep, and dalton has one arm draped over kevin’s shoulder, keeping him steady, and the other pushing kevin’s hair from his forehead.

“this week was really fun.”

“i probably would’ve been annoyed at them all week without you here.”  dalton raises his eyebrows.  “you ground me.”

that makes him smile.  “i’m glad.”

kevin kisses him, and he means for it to just be chaste, but he goes in again because he can’t help himself.  and because he can.

dalton starts to smile against his lips, and slides a hand to the back of his head, through his wet hair.  “love you.”

kevin hums.  “i love you,” he mumbles, and when he pulls away he wraps himself around dalton in the water and drops his head on his shoulder.  thank god he invited him.

[aromanticmara]

wait actually erin @onlyonebison you have inspired me to give my opinions on every season. (this got super long so i’m putting it under a cut)

🌸 ok so spring. i love the later part of spring once the buds have sprouted. but that being said the beginning is sooo hopeful with the tiny green buds because ik its going to grow and everything will look alive again. the only con of spring is my allergies but wearing masks has helped and i start building up my allergy meds now so they’re not so bad! oh spring is my 2nd fav season 10/10 love.

☀️ ok ok ok summer my one true love!!! summer is so free and happy for me! yes it is hot as hell but i go to my neighborhood pool when it’s super hot and don’t go outside during the hot parts of the day bc north carolina heat sun can actually be dangerous 🥵. anyways i mostly spend my time outside at night or in the morning bc it’s so different but i love them both. summer at night is less hot without the sun and it’s nice to just wear a tank top and shorts and walk around my neighborhood. it’s super safe and well lit and i always bring my dog with me and walk with a friend and i’ve made so many memories with doing this. mutuals we r hypothetically doing this ok. and summer mornings are so peaceful. when i used to do swim team at 5am it would be dark out and the area around the outdoor pool would be quiet. we’d do land workouts around 7am and you could hear the world wake up and it was so nice. but now i wake up early and take my dog to the backyard and stand in the grass and listen. just listen because no one’s awake for school and you can hear everything waking up and start to make noise. it’s great i highly recommend it to anybody who can do it. and there’s no school which is always a plus lol. summer 1st fav season 1000/10

🍁 fall. it’s pretty good. i don’t have much to say so this will be short and sweetish. fall is so fun but school starts which -1 point. it’s nice and cool in the nights and you can stand outside in a jacket. the breezes here are a nice break from the summer suns and it makes my hair move which makes me feel fancy :0. the leaves are the prettiest things i’ve ever seen but they fall in 2 weeks here. um the only other negative that is really just a personal thing is the looming haunting of winter. as fall progresses everything slowly dies or goes to sleep and it makes me sad. 8.9/10 3rd fav fun fun not much more to say.

❄️ winter. oh oh loathe loathe i’m sorry mutuals who love winter but it’s so sad here. literally idk if it’s my seasonal depression or school or swim but something makes me hate winter more than anything. winter is only enjoyable here if it snows bc no school. all the trees are dead and naked and it looks so sad bc all our pines are on the other side of town that we never go to. it’s super freaking cold here and fluctuates every day. it could be 25f one day then 64f the next day. i think i’d enjoy winter if it was in florida or something because it’d feel like fall here but north carolina got the short end of the stick with winter. ok sorry winter loving mutuals i’ll end this here 🙏. tldr: dead and cold AND ICY. 1/10 no :( least fav

[primatechnosynthpop]

Wow! Against all odds, I finally got around to actually writing the follow-up to I'm Gonna Be The Anti-Hero that's existed exclusively in my head for months! Well uh here it is :3

---

The secret underground room beneath Plymouth rock was dark and silent as always, save for the faint dripping of water through a crack in the ceiling. It figured that, after living there for countless centuries, the structural integrity would finally begin to erode. That dripping sound, although highly irritating when it first started a month or so ago, had now settled into background noise which John Smith paid no attention to. He was a pilgrim, not a witch; it wasn't like the water could hurt him.

Then again, he realized a few moments too late one rainy spring day, perhaps he should have reevaluated that statement. He was minding his own business sitting in his chair and reminiscing about the very old days (that was the only thing he could really do anymore, slowly decaying as his body was) when the soft and steady dripping suddenly escalated at an exponential rate into what sounded like a small waterfall. He turned his head to see a semi-transparent humanoid figure taking shape out of the water pooling in the corner--strangely tinted red, as though the water were mixed with blood. As the old pilgrim watched, jaw agape, the figure strode purposefully toward him, taking on a more solid form as it did so.

"What are you doing here, intruder?" John Smith demanded, one hand tightening around the hilt of his sword while his other hand reached behind his back to fumble for his musket.

"This secret underground room isn't government sanctioned," the stranger hissed. (Although... was he a stranger? John Smith somehow felt that he'd seen this youngster once before, but he couldn't quite place where or when.) "And you have no official identification registering you as a legal citizen. Not to mention, you haven't been paying taxes... disgraceful."

Before John Smith had the chance to concoct a retort or draw either of his weapons, the masked man's hands were around his throat and crushing his windpipe with a force that could only be driven by an inhuman amount of bloodlust. And within seconds, the life of a pilgrim that had been extended for centuries past its expiration date was finally put to an end.

*

"I can't believe they want us to make a clown movie at a time like this."

"I can believe it," Neil replied without looking up from the shopping list in his hand. "The studio wants a lot from us, remember? They're not going to care how sad we are. Anyway, it's been four months--" The emotions bubbling up within him refused to let his voice stay level, so he gritted his teeth and hissed out the rest of his sentence rather than let himself start crying in the middle of the dollar store. "We should be over it by now."

"Neil..." Kevin began in the way he'd often addressed Neil over the past few months--brow furrowed, voice edged with an obvious and vaguely patronizing concern--only to trail off and shake his head with a sigh. Apparently he'd finally given up on trying to make Neil feel better, which was just fine by him, because things are never gonna go back to the way they were before and it's my fault and I don't deserve to feel good about it.

"Anyway, we've got what we came for," Neil muttered, waving his hand in the general direction of Kevin's shopping basket without looking him in the eyes. "Let's go."

At the checkout counter, the cashier frowned and shook her head when Neil offered her a five-dollar bill. "Sorry," she told them, "But all this is going to cost $29.99."

"What? But we don't have that kind of money!" Neil lamented. "And we got this stuff from the clearance section... plus this is the dollar store, so shouldn't everything just cost a dollar?"

For a visual aid as he spoke, he grabbed one of the items they were ringing up--a bargain pack of multicoloured clown wigs--and shook it in the cashier's face. Apparently unmoved by his bargaining, she pursed her lips and crossed her arms.

"Maybe you should have checked the price tags first, sir."

"Huh? But, but..." Neil trailed off when he looked down at the price tag on the item in his hands. The bright orange tag had the original price, $7.50, crossed out and replaced with $2.35... but then below that, scribbled in tiny and barely legible font, it read "just kidding, it's actually eleven dollars now." "Aw, man," he groaned, tossing the pack down on the conveyor belt and sticking his hands in his pockets. "Just our luck."

Kevin had a thoughtful look in his eyes while he drove them home empty-handed. When he pulled up outside the clubhouse a few minutes later and they climbed out of the truck, he suddenly laid a hand on Neil's shoulder.

"Say, Neil, let's not get discouraged," he said. "I've got another idea for how we could get our hands on some props."

"Really?" Neil asked, perking up despite himself. "How?"

"Well, I think--" Kevin broke off as unexpectedly as he'd started, encouraging smile briefly dipping into a grimace. "...You know what, I'll take care of it myself. You can hold down the fort here, okay? I won't be long."

Neil's brow furrowed. "Okay, but what are you...?"

Without explaining himself any further, Kevin clapped him firmly on the back, hopped back into his truck, and drove off. Neil watched him recede down the road with bewilderment. Being all secretive like that wasn't like Kevin... Unless he's trying to protect me from something, he realized with a twinge of bitterness. That would be just like him, the way things had been recently. Ever since the past winter, and what had happened with Ryan, Kevin's latent big-brother-ish tendencies had escalated; now he watched over Neil like a hawk and freaked out every time he so much as stubbed his toe. Under different circumstances Neil would have relished being fussed over, but now it was more annoying than anything else. The thing was, he didn't deserve it. If anything... his fingers strayed up to absentmindedly fidget with the four-leaf clover pinned to his shirt. I deserve to have bad luck. I deserve to suffer, after what I did to Ryan.

Still, there wasn't much he could do about it now, and he wasn't going to say no to having the clubhouse to himself for a while. With a sigh, he disentangled his fingers from the clover's leaves, ran a hand through his overgrown bangs, and turned to head inside. Maybe he could play cards or something to pass the time.

*

A thick layer of dust had settled over everything in Ryan's house. That made sense, of course. It had been four months--no, five, since Ryan hadn't come home once while he was being a vigilante--since anyone had set foot there. Even so, Kevin was unprepared for the full-scale assault on his lungs when he opened the door, and promptly broke into a coughing fit.

"Man, good thing Neil stayed home," he thought aloud as he batted thick, swirling clouds of dust and spiderwebs out of his face. "The way things have been going for him lately..."

He'd probably choke to death on all this dust, he thought but didn't say aloud, and then felt bad for thinking it in the first place. Kevin didn't understand what had happened to Neil in the course of the past few days, but ever since picking up that clover, he seemed to be having a run of uncharacteristically bad luck. Whether it was random chance or something more suspicious was afoot, it sure wasn't doing much for his already thoroughly frayed nerves.

"Alright, calm down, James," he muttered to himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts and ideally dispel the rest of the dust. "Focus. Concentrate. What are you here for? Props for your webisode. Right."

Keeping that objective in mind, he made his way past the front entrance and into the living room. There, a few objects were strewn around that caught his eye: a mannequin bust wearing a colourful wig; an eccentrically patterned jacket draped over a chair; a brush dipped into a rusted metal container filled with what he hoped was red paint. After looking around a little more he found a large cardboard box filled with mutilated stuffed animals, which he mostly emptied out and started filling with the useful items he came across.

All the while, a persistent feeling of unease stirred in his gut, becoming increasingly hard to ignore with each belonging of Ryan's he packed away. This is wrong. I shouldn't steal from him. Kevin paused and looked down at the box in his arms with a frown. One of the items sticking out the top, a blank-faced doll head, seemed to stare accusingly back at him. For a moment he saw it not as a plastic figure, but as a human form encased in ice and then broken apart. He blinked and the illusion quickly vanished, but an unsettling feeling remained in its wake. Neil was right; it had been months already. So why did going through Ryan's things make him feel so dirty? Ryan didn't need any of this stuff anymore. He was gone. Wasn't he?

With a weary sigh that, had anyone been around to ask, he would have accredited to the physical exertion of carrying heavy stuff around, Kevin set the box down and stepped back to survey the room he was in now. If he remembered right, this kind of room was called a study--there was an armchair with a few suspicious stains lurking beneath the dust, a desk strewn with papers all scrawled full of nonsense like the ravings of a mad scientist, and an ornate bookshelf. He wandered over to the latter furniture piece and ran his hands along the spines of the books, letting their leathery texture ground him in the present. He noticed several unusual bibles and other ancient texts, and a stash of calendars, some of which he was pretty sure had originally belonged to him or Neil; the up-to-date calendars and one of the more normal-looking bibles went into the box, while he decided everything else was better left where it was.

There was one other set of books he recognized: a teen fantasy series that Neil had often gushed about. Thinking back to the previous fall and all the events he normally tried not to think about, he experimentally lifted one of the fantasy books off the shelf. At once, just as he remembered from when Neil showed him, the bookshelf rumbled to the side and revealed a narrow staircase descending into the basement.

If anyone asked him, Kevin couldn't really say what compelled him to go down those stairs. The secret chamber was as empty as he remembered, with nothing down there that could possibly be of use for the webisode. And without a lantern, he could barely even see the only things that were there to speak of: the paintings of Ryan's ancestors.

"Ryan..." The name manifested on Kevin's lips unexpectedly as he stared, squinting through the dust and darkness, at the row of portraits grinning lopsidedly back at him. He knew the paintings couldn't hear him--hell, they weren't even paintings of Ryan himself, just his relatives. But their faces were practically identical to him, that face he hadn't seen in person for nearly half a year, and that alone was enough to clog up his throat with unbearable emotions.

The thought of It's a good thing Neil isn't here for this surfaced again, and this time Kevin had to agree with himself. Losing a close friend was... well, there was no way not to take it hard. But Neil seemed to have taken it particularly hard, even blaming himself, to the point where any mention of Ryan would immediately send him straight back into a depressive spiral no matter how happy he'd been a moment earlier. That was why Kevin had kept this idea a secret from his friend in the first place--that, and he wasn't sure if it was going to pan out and didn't want to get Neil's hopes up. He figured that if Neil asked where he got all the stuff he'd found, he'd just say it was from a garage sale.

Now, looking into the achingly familiar manic blue eyes of those portraits mounted on the wall, Kevin thought of those news reports about the mysterious killings that had been going on around town. If that really was Ryan, and he was somehow still alive...

"Why?" he whispered. Without really thinking, he reached out and pressed his hand against the painting as if to cup its cheek. "Why haven't you come home, Ryan? Where are you?"

*

The target was at home, alone in her bedroom playing video games. Casual, unbothered by any harm her actions may have caused. Shameful. In an icy swirl of perhaps not-so-righteous fury, the vigilante took form in the corner of her room and crept up behind her. With an average build and no weapons at the ready, she would be no trouble to dispose of.

"Playing dead in order to toy with an innocent man's feelings," he growled. "Some people would call it ghosting. I call it a crime punishable by death."

"Jesus christ, what the fuck?!" Wendy yelped as she spun to face the vigilante. "How'd you get in here?"

"You shouldn't worry about that," he told her, gloved hands already flexing in anticipation of tightening around her neck. Or perhaps this time he'd thrust his hand straight through her chest and rip out her heart--an appropriate punishment for her crimes. "You'll have plenty of time to figure it out once I send you to hell."

"Okay, seriously? What is happening here?" Eyes narrowed, Wendy put her game on pause and got to her feet to stare the vigilante down. "You said something about me playing dead..." Her eyes suddenly widened with recognition, and the vigilante waited for the fear to set in along with it, but instead she shook her head and laughed. A pitying laugh. "Wait, you're not friends with that, uh, that filmmaker guy, are you? Geez, I seriously must have dodged a bullet there."

"Filmmaker..." the vigilante murmured as the word echoed in his mind. Yes, that's right. The man she stood up was a filmmaker... of a sort. (How did he know that? How did he even know who this woman was? Those questions weren't worth dwelling on, he decided.) "You may have thought you dodged a bullet back then, but I'm here to see that the bullet circles back around and destroys you like you deserve."

Wendy crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow, any trace of fear on her face outmatched by her sad, pitying smile. "Sure, keep the edgy sayings coming, Mr. Hot Topic. And what's with the getup, anyway?" she added with a nod to the vigilante's predominantly dark outfit. "Must be kinda warm."

Warm? The vigilante snorted derisively. No, of course he wasn't too warm. His blood, as it always had for as far back as he could clearly remember, ran cold like that of a snake. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been warm. And he certainly couldn't remember a time when he'd worn anything other than his current ensemble. Rather than waste time telling this insufferable woman as much, though, he simply took a few purposeful strides to close the distance between them, hands extended and more than ready to kill.

"Ugh, get away from me, creep!"

In a startlingly swift motion, Wendy's leg shot out and connected with the vigilante's ankles, sending him toppling to the floor. He hissed in irration, though not in pain--when his sensations were already perpetually numb, it would take a lot more than that to hurt him--and got to his feet, dusting himself off with a scowl. In the few seconds this took, Wendy grabbed a baseball bat from the corner of the room. Now she stood brandishing it in perfect athletic form with a battle-ready glint in her eye.

"Not another step, you hear me?" When the vigilante didn't dignify her with a response, she gritted her teeth and gave the bat a twirl--attempting to show off, it seemed, but her hands shook slightly and she nearly dropped the bat, only barely managing to regain her grip on it. "My mom is in the other room right now, and... well, she hasn't done anything wrong, so you don't want to punish her, right? And if anything happens to me..."

He stiffened at Wendy's mention of her mother. An innocent citizen? That was the type of person a vigilante was meant to protect at all costs; otherwise vigilante justice was no better than the police. But no one is innocent in this city. Even so, he understood the implicit threat--not that Wendy's mother would bring him down herself, but that either woman could very well call the police. And the last thing he wanted was to get law enforcement involved.

"...Fine," he snarled at last, turning on his heel with a twirl of his vigilante cape. "You can live a while longer. But I'll be back, and then you'll regret your sins."

He heard her gasp but didn't bother sparing her another glance as he let his form dissolve into a splash of red-tinted ice, sinking through her floorboards and off to thwart another criminal.

*

Slowly and carefully as a technician deactivating a bomb, Neil set the three of spades down across the top of the three other cards he'd lined up on the table. The humble beginnings of a tower stood for a moment, and he held his breath eagerly as he reached for another card to place on top, only for it to suddenly shudder and collapse like an anime girl who'd stood in the rain for too long.

"Dang it!" Neil threw his hands in the air in exasperation. When he did, a droplet of his own blood landed on his glasses, and he realized with a start that his hand was bleeding--just a paper cut, but still, he'd better wash up.

As he ran his hand under cold water, transfixed by the sight of the blood swirling down the drain, a sudden cracking noise rang out just above him. His head snapped up to stare at the spontaneously cracked bathroom mirror. His reflection stared back, stricken and gaunt, as shards of shattered glass rained down into the sink, where they mixed with the water and the blood. Neil shivered, his breath quickening.

Icy water... ice, blood, broken mirrors. All mixed together. Shattered. Blood, guts, ice, mixed together, down the drain. My fault my fault my fault my fault--

"No," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into his scalp as hard as he could. "No! I didn't do it, I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

Deep breaths, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. It sounded like Kevin's voice, worried to the point of being slightly patronizing. Neil grimaced, annoyed at his own brain for manifesting its self-preservation in such a way, but he complied nonetheless. Keeping his eyes wrenched shut, he took several deep breaths in and out until his heartbeat slowed to normal--he hadn't even noticed it speeding up--and his hands didn't shake when he lowered them away from his head.

"Hey, you know what'd really make me feel better?" he said aloud to nobody in particular, putting on a broad smile and wiping his hands off on a towel. "A nice hot bath! Yep, that'll counteract my blood running cold, alright..."

He ran his hands up and down his arms as he spoke, although he didn't know who he was trying to fool; the chill that had settled into his bones had nothing to do with the temperature. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure who this whole performance of forced cheerfulness was meant for... the studio, maybe. He wouldn't put it past them to hide cameras everywhere. Either way, even if it wouldn't fix his psychological issues, a bath really would be pretty nice. He put the plug in and started running the tub, with the water temperature set just hot enough that it would scald him a little at first.

He wasn't sure exactly what happened when he sat down on the edge of the tub to take his socks off, whether he slipped on something or leaned too far back or what, but suddenly he lost balance. And by the time he realized he was falling backward, he only had a split-second to curse his rotten luck before his head connected with the wall and he blacked out.

*

In the end, Kevin managed to get a pretty good haul from Ryan's house. In addition to the stuff he and Neil could use for their webisode, he'd retrieved the calendars and a couple other things it looked like Ryan had stolen from them, as well as their old communicator wristwatches. (He wasn't sure if the watches fell into the camp of things Ryan had stolen, or if they'd just brought them over to his place for a sleepover once and forgotten them there. Either way, Kevin figured it could come in handy to start using them again.)

"Hey, Neil," he called as he stepped into the clubhouse with the box in his arms and kicked the door shut behind him. "I'm back."

There was no reply. Frowning, Kevin set the box down with a slight grunt of effort and wandered through the living room and down the hall. There were a few playing cards scattered on the table, suggesting that Neil had been trying to make a house of cards but given up halfway. Kevin couldn't really blame him for that; assembling cards in such a way that they'd actually stay upright was yet another thing that had been more in Ryan's ballpark than in either of theirs. Still, that didn't explain where Neil was now...

"Neil? You there, bud?" Still being met with no answer, Kevin came to a stop outside the bathroom door, which was ajar with water pooling out from inside. "Oh, man, that's not a good sign..."

He gave a tentative knock, and when there was still no response, grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. The sight that met his eyes when he did so immediately made his breath hitch and his blood run cold. The broken mirror over the vanity reflected his slack-jawed expression as he stared at the overflowing bathtub, the pair of still-clothed legs dangling over the rim, and the smudge of blood on the wall leading down to the head of the man those legs belonged to, slumped inside the tub with his head submerged in the water.

"Neil!!"

Kevin sprinted across the room to lift Neil out of the tub. It then took him a few seconds longer to turn off the faucet and pull the plug, as by that point the shock had turned to dread and his hands were shaking. Once the water was slowly starting to drain, he fell to his knees and pulled Neil tight to his chest, one hand clutching at the back of his soaked-through t-shirt while the other fumbled across the back of his head searching for the source of the blood. It didn't take long for him to find the slightly matted patch of damp hair indicating where Neil had banged his head against the wall. Kevin swallowed hard as dread leapt up to claw at his throat. The only question is... how long was he submerged?

"Neil," he whispered, and was almost embarrassed to hear how hoarsely his own voice came out. "Wake up. Please."

No response. Kevin reluctantly pulled back to hold Neil at an arm's length, and shuddered at how limply his friend's body flopped forward. He noticed, with a white-hot jolt of irrational anger, that the four-leaf clover was still in place. Fat lot of good that thing's done for him. He grabbed the clover and crumpled it in his fist, all the while tears pressed against the back of his eyes; he struggled not to let them fall. Damn it... first Ryan, now Neil... What kind of protector was he? What kind of friend?

He slammed his fist, the useless clover still clenched within, against the drenched floor tiles. At that moment, the lightbulb above his head exploded and sent sparking wires raining down around him. As soon as electricity met water, it sent a nasty shock through Kevin's veins; he screamed out of equal parts surprise and pain and scrambled up onto the countertop, which was barely wide enough to support him.

On the floor below, Neil's body convulsed. Then his eyes snapped open and he drew in a gasp that turned into a scream halfway through. Although touching his friend's hand sent the current through his own body for a moment, Kevin was quick to grab him anyway, and he managed to pull Neil safely out of the electrified water and into a fierce embrace. Neil kept shrieking, and he squirmed frantically around, not seeming to recognize his surroundings at first.

"It's alright, Neil," Kevin assured him despite how hard his own heart was pounding. "I've got you."

"Oh..." Neil's body slackened, and he pulled back to blink slowly at Kevin, realization dawning in his eyes. His cheeks coloured with embarrassment and he ducked his head. "Uh, thanks."

Neither of them said anything else, for lack of ability or perhaps willingness to put it into words. After a moment, Kevin realized he was still holding the clover, and he handed it back to Neil, who took it with a dip of his head and a murmur of acknowledgement, and pinned it to his soaking wet t-shirt.

Somehow out of everything in the room, themselves included, that little scrap of plant matter was still intact. And although he wasn't superstitious, that simple fact was what would stick in Kevin's mind for the rest of the day, turning it over until he could only conclude: Yep, there's definitely something weird going on with that thing.

*

Despite the many months he'd prowled the city, this was the vigilante's first time in the hideout of a proper gang. It looked about the way he expected: dimly lit, no windows, weapons hung up on the wall and cigarette butts littering the floor. The gang members, dressed primarily in leather jackets with a few in denim, lounged in chairs leaning too far back, or on top of tables, or on their motorcycles parked right in the middle of the room. Most of them didn't even notice the vigilante as he approached. They were too caught up chattering and cackling amongst themselves like a nest of overgrown crows. The one gang member who did seem to notice the vigilante from the get-go simply looked up at him with raised eyebrows and addressed him once he got close enough to strike.

"Hey, haven't seen you around before. Looking to join the club?"

"Hardly," he snarled. "This whole place is crawling with criminals."

The whole room broke into laughter at that. The vigilante gritted his teeth, fists clenching at his sides. These people were different from the criminals he'd taken down before; between their numbers and all the weapons they had easy access to, they might just pose a serious threat if he wasn't careful.

"You're the ones, aren't you?" he went on once the laughter had died down and the gang members were all watching him with a mix of bemusement and curiosity. No trace of fear amongst them yet, but that would change... "Throwing bricks at innocent people, even seeking to damage their property. Absolutely detestable."

"Woah, hang on," another of the gang members cut in sharply, reaching for a weapon as they stood. "First off, the whole brick throwing thing was months ago. Second of all, we never did that to innocent people, you know!"

"Yeah!" yet another gang member cut in, pumping her fist in the air. "Only to those losers who blew up our boss!"

...Boss?

The vigilante slowly turned, a deeper chill than normal running down his spine, as a strangely familiar smug cackle echoed from behind him. He came face-to-face with a man in a tank top and baseball cap, sneering at him with his arms crossed. Max. Gulping, the vigilante took a step backward. He's their boss?

(How did he know that name? How had he known Wendy's name either, for that matter? Why, out of all the criminals in the city, did a select few ignite disproportionate resentment within him? He'd dealt with some of these people before, he knew, but when he tried to remember when and how it all just turned to slush in his brain.)

"Yep, those losers got what was coming to 'em," Max said. "Except not really, 'cause they didn't suffer enough. But it's okay, we'll get 'em extra hard next time."

"No..." For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the vigilante's voice shook with equal parts fury and sudden fear. "Don't you dare hurt them."

"Huh?" Max tilted his head, already slightly squinted eyes narrowing further. "Heyyy, wait a minute, aren't you one of--?"

Before he could finish that thought, the vigilante was upon him with a karate chop to the windpipe. It was a more reckless attack than he'd planned, and even as Max stumbled backward coughing, he could hear the rest of the gang grabbing their weapons and running up behind him. But it was fine; the vigilante could take them all on and then some. He could kill any number of people if it was for the sake of defending his friends.

(Friends? Did he have friends? Somehow it felt that he must have, once. But that was strange, because the only thing he could clearly remember himself ever being was a cold-blooded vigilante.)

*

"Don't you see? Society's the one to blame! It's society's fault that he had no choice but to become this way!"

As Kevin delivered this speech, waving his arms dramatically toward the focus of the scene, Neil spun the video camera around to point it toward himself. Hopefully the studio would think of the disorienting cinematography for this webisode as a bold artistic choice rather than thinking of it as amateurish and embarrassing. He then leapt back, breaking into maniacal laughter with his prop gun raised in the air. Under ideal circumstances, this role might have been better suited to Ryan, but... well, they couldn't stay hung up on him forever; they had a job to do.

"Eh-heh-heh! Thanks to society, I have the urge to kill!" Neil twirled around to show off his clown costume, while just out of frame, Kevin hastily put on a wig and fake mustache. "And now... I'll kill this innocent man, who's different than the guy who was talking a minute ago!"

(It was fascinating--fascinating and dumb--how a broken mirror and a bit of blood could set him off, but something as heavy as a gun in his hand only brought him the faintest twinge of discomfort, easily ignored for the sake of making a webisode. After all, as Kevin had assured him many times over the past few months, it was the gun and its villainous weilder who were to blame for what had happened to Ryan. On an intellectual level Neil knew that was true--and besides, if he hadn't deflected that bullet, all three of them would have died. But knowing that did nothing to redirect when and why the darkness in his brain manifested.)

Now, much to Neil's surprise as he took aim with his prop gun, Kevin shouted "Cut!" and walked across the abandoned lot they were filming in to turn the camera off.

Neil lowered the gun, confused, as his costar removed his costume with that now all-too-familiar look of concern etched across his face. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know... somehow I've just got a bad feeling about this," Kevin muttered. "Maybe try firing into the air a couple times first."

Neil complied, and was met with the expected result from the prop: a couple of clicks indicating an empty chamber. "You worry too much these days, Kev," he said as he fired one more blank into the sky and then lowered the prop again. "It's not a real gun; it can't--"

As he spoke, his finger accidentally pressed the trigger again, and he broke off with a yelp at the sudden burst of pain in his right foot. He dropped the apparently very real gun with a clatter and clutched at his injured appendage, losing his balance in the process. Kevin swore under his breath and rushed forward to catch him. Before his friend could reach him, Neil's other foot came down on a wide crack in the pavement. A chill ran through him, momentarily distracting him from the throbbing pain, but it passed as quickly as it arose without seeming to trigger any effects.

"By god, what's happening to you?" Kevin exclaimed as he grabbed Neil by the shoulders and held him upright. "You've been so unlucky lately, it... it almost seems like a curse."

"A curse?" Neil stiffened, but quickly forced himself to shrug and morphed his grimace into a dismissive eye-roll. "Pfft, what are you talking about? There's no curse! I've just been, y'know, having an off-day..."

"Neil." There was that concerned look again, that almost parental tone of voice, as Kevin stared him down and tightened his grip on Neil's shoulders. "A couple hours ago you almost died, and now... you can tell something weird is going on, right? And, look--" He sighed, gaze darkening. "I don't exactly know how to fix it, but whatever's happening, I can't just sit back and watch you succumb to it. I can't lose you, too, Neil... not after..."

He trailed off with a faint warble in his voice, lowering his head. Neil gulped, a heavy weight surfacing in his chest. It was true; though he hated to admit it, at this point it was hard to deny that he was cursed. And yet, even as his foot throbbed around the spot where the bullet was lodged and his shoe was slowly stained from within by his own blood, it was hard to convince himself that he should accept help. On some level, didn't he deserve this? Wasn't this a fitting comeuppance for getting one of his friends killed?

Yet here was his other friend, clutching at him ever tighter to the point where his grip on Neil's shoulders was nearly as painful as hitting his head or getting mildly electrocuted or shooting himself in the foot. I'm not the only one who lost Ryan, he reminded himself--another thing he knew perfectly well on an intellectual level, but easy to forget in practice. Kevin is hurting too. I shouldn't make him hurt any more.

"Fine, I admit it," he sighed, letting his tensed-up shoulders slump. "I'm unlucky, okay? And if you think it's possible--" He tore the clover off his shirt and glared down at it-- "then we're going to beat this thing."

*

For as tough as the gang presented themselves, it must have been most of these people's first time in an actual fight. The vigilante swerved to avoid weak punches, clumsy kicks, poor attempts at stabbing. It all blended together after a while, and he stopped thinking of the gang members as individuals; they were just an indistinguishable swarm of insects whose attacks were easily dodged. Unimportant, save for their leader.

The vigilante had Max pinned to the floor now, holding his thrashing form in place with one arm while he brought his other fist down on the ruffian's face, over and over, as hard as he could. Not every blow connected cleanly, and Max had managed to bite him several times already, but that was irrelevant. Criminals must be brought to justice. That was why the vigilante hated these people, wasn't it? Because they were criminals. Yes, what other reason could he have, when this was all he'd ever been?

And then, just as he managed to land a blow to Max's jaw that left him defiantly spitting out blood and a couple of teeth, the vigilante's spine snapped.

It took a moment for him to register what had happened. He just heard a loud crack, and a sharp pain shot through him, and suddenly he couldn't hold his legs in place and collapsed. Max wasted no time taking advantage; he delivered a kick to the vigilante's gut that sent him flying back across the room, where he hit a wall and slumped to the ground, gasping in breathless agony. At once the other gang members closed in on him. Grimacing, the vigilante drew himself up onto his hands and knees, then braced himself against the wall and, with a far greater strain of effort than expected, dragged himself upright. By the time he'd managed to get to his feet, dozens of knives were inches away from him.

Then, to his surprise, Max pushed through to the front of the crowd and held his arms out to hold back his underlings. "Nuh-uh, this one's mine," he told them, sneering as though oblivious to the blood dribbling from between his lips. "I said I'd get him twice tomorrow, and I meant it."

The vigilante flinched as Max took a swipe at him. But rather than a fist connecting with his face, he was met only with the shock of exposure as the bully grabbed his mask and triumphantly yanked it off his face. He was left dumbfounded, blinking, as his vision readjusted to the light.

Wait a minute, I remember--

And then came the punch, square in the nose. Ryan yelped, pressing his gloved hand over his nose to stop the bleeding. When he dodged another punch, his body failed to cooperate and he crashed to the ground again, back aching furiously and heart pounding against his ribcage.

How and why his back had broken, he couldn't say, but one thing was clear: he was horrendously outmatched. Max was saying something now, gloating as he advanced on Ryan with a dagger in his hands, but Ryan couldn't make out the words over the blood rushing in his head. Why on earth had he gotten into a fight like this in the first place? What was he doing? He had to get out of there!

With that thought, yet another thing happened that Ryan didn't entirely understand. (Ryan didn't understand, but the vigilante did. It was one of the few things the vigilante knew: dissolve, reform, enact ruthless vengeance, dissolve again.) His body shuddered, and suddenly he found his solid flesh and bone giving way to a slurry of blood and ice that slipped through the cracks in the floor and disappeared. Then he was formless, freefalling through the dark, or at least that was what it felt like. When he took shape again it felt like dragging himself out of quicksand. Yet when he raised his slowly resolidifying head and looked around, he found himself in the basement of his own home, staring up at the portraits of his ancestors that had started it all.

No. Not started it all. "I had a life before this," he whispered, voice raw with the shock of memory and too many months spent speaking in an inhuman growl. "My name is Ryan, I have a life and a job and friends, I..."

Yes, that's right. Friends. Where were they? He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Each recent memory that took form in his mind was accompanied by a crashing wave of guilt and regret, and soon his body shook and tears pricked at his wrenched-shut eyes. That's right... I became a vigilante, and I teamed up with such a horrible person, let him manipulate me, all because I was too afraid to go back and apologize. And then...

The last thing he remembered, just after the flash of light and shock of paralyzing cold, was the sound of a gunshot, something shattering, and Neil screaming.

"Oh, dear god," Ryan whispered. He raised his head, opening his eyes and lowering his hands from his newly tear-stained face, and sat back on his heels as though worshipping the paintings before him. "What have I become?"

*

The ropes were just slightly too tight around Neil's limbs to be comfortable; he couldn't resist squirming a little as Kevin laid out the open bible on the end table next to his proton pack and began reading from it.

"Okay, um, let's see... ex-or-ciz-amus te, omnis immunde spiritus..." He squinted at the yellowed, faded pages, biting his lip. "Omni satanica pot-es-tas, omnis incurs--incursio infernalis adversarii... uh..."

"You're doing great," Neil called from his position tied to the bed frame; Kevin gave him a weary smile and thumbs up.

As Kevin continued reciting the verse, occasionally stumbling over a particularly tricky Latin word, the room's temperature eventually dropped a few degrees. Neil shivered, but his heartbeat picked up in excitement. He could feel something stirring in his blood like ripples on a lake, and when the furniture in the room began to quiver, so too did his body in eager anticipation.

"...Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux..." A chill wind swept through the room; Kevin gritted his teeth, one hand pressing down on the bible to hold its pages in place while he grabbed his proton pack with the other. "Vade retro Satana! Nun-quam-suade mihi vana!"

The furniture rumbled louder. Neil's eyes widened as an entire bookcase lifted off the ground. "Kevin, watch out!"

"Hang on, Neil, I'm almost done. Uh, where was I... sunt mala quae libas..."

"No, Kevin, the--"

"Just one more line, okay? Ipse ven--"

"KEVIN!"

That last terrified yell was what it took for Kevin to finally turn, just in time to see the six-foot block of polished oak fly directly into him. Neil shrieked and thrashed against his bindings with all his might, but even if he weren't tied up, there was nothing he could have done. The bookcase came crashing down, its contents spilling out onto the floor around it in a flurry of paper. And when the dust settled, Kevin was pinned beneath it, unmoving.

"N... no..." Neil whimpered. Dread tightened like a noose around his throat as the horrible thought seeped into his mind: This is because of me. Now I've gotten them both killed.

"Oh, yes, what a tragedy... just your luck, isn't it?"

Neil's blood ran cold. He raised his head to see the translucent, smoke-shrouded figure of a giant clover looming over him. Its four leaves, dark green tipped with crimson and speckled with barnacles, opened down the middle to reveal a row of needle-sharp fangs. For a second, "Where did you come from?" was on the tip of Neil's tongue. But it was just as well that he was too terrified to speak, because no sooner than the question appeared in his mind, he realized the obvious answer. Oh, right. This is the demon that cursed me.

"Don't worry, your friend is alive... for now," the demon jeered. "But that could change. It's so easy for accidents to happen, you know?"

As if to demonstrate, the demon's leaves fluttered and suddenly a fire sprang up dangerously close to the scattered pile of books on the floor. When Neil screamed in protest, the demon laughed, and part of the ceiling gave in, sending down a controlled shower of debris to put out the fire before anything flammable could catch.

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Neil exclaimed with a shake of his head; he'd be almost exasperated if he weren't so terrified. "You're really powerful and want to hurt people, geez, not exactly a challenging concept. So, what do I have to do?"

That question seemed to give the demon pause. "...Do?"

"You know, to appease you or whatever. If you're threatening me with Kevin's life, then there must be something you want from me, right?" An idea occurred to Neil just then, and his already hammering heart beat even harder, to the point where he hoped the demon couldn't hear it and tell how freaked out he was. "Hey, it must suck having to be a clover. What if a lawnmower or forest fire had gotten to you before I did? And if you like hurting people so much..." He paused, smirking as the demon leaned toward him with obvious interest. "Wouldn't it be easier just to possess my whole body instead of wasting time messing with my luck?"

"That's..." The demon hesitated, its leaves curling up in what looked like excitement. "Ah. Ah-ha-ha! You're a clever little mortal, aren't you?"

"But don't get it twisted," he put in, glaring defiantly up at the demon despite hardly being in a position to threaten anyone. "You have to promise not to hurt anyone else. Especially not Kevin."

"It's a deal!"

Before Neil could stop and reconsider whether this was really a good idea, the demon dove toward him, row of fangs wide open as though it were going to bite his head off. He flinched a split-second before something cold and stinging like nettles clamped around him.

When he opened his eyes again, the world was tinted dark green as if viewed through a dingy screen, his head felt hazy... and he couldn't move, at least not of his own volition. Even opening his eyes just then wasn't his decision. He heard himself cackle, felt his arms and legs flex far harder than he'd known he was physically capable of flexing, breaking the ropes that bound him to the bed frame and setting his body free to do whatever the demon wanted.

"Hah..." the demon muttered in his voice as it made him walk over to where Kevin lay, still trapped and unconscious. The demon knelt down and poked experimentally at Kevin's shoulder and forearm. "This one has more muscle. It might have been a better choice for possession, if it wasn't so damaged already..."

For one petrifying moment, the demon grabbed Kevin's head and stared intently at him, stretching Neil's face into a grin so wide it made his whole face ache, and Neil's mind raced with horrible thoughts of things the demon might make his own hands inflict upon his poor helpless friend. But the demon simply laughed and dropped Kevin, who let out a low groan as his head lolled to the side--an indication that at least he really was still alive. But all of a sudden Neil had trouble believing that small mercy was really worth it.

"Ah, well, this body will do," the demon decided. "Let's take it out on the town and see how long it lasts!"

*

This time when the vigilante materialized in Wendy's room, she did little more than roll her eyes and move to grab her baseball bat. However, rather than try to attack her or even growl out any threats, the vigilante took two shaky steps and then collapsed, catching himself against her dresser. Wendy's eyes widened as she took a closer look at his face. His mask was off now, revealing a pair of striking blue eyes glistening with obvious distress, cheeks flushed with exertion, and a streak of half-dried blood running from his bruised nose. And when he spoke, it wasn't in the gravelly tone she'd heard from him before, but in a quiet higher-pitched voice--almost a whimper.

"Please... tell me..."

Wendy hung back, caught between a sharp tug of sympathy in her heart and a very rational wariness based on their previous encounter. The vigilante tried to walk again, and again nearly fell; his face wrenched up and he let out a pained hiss. At that, sympathy won out over rationality. Wendy edged toward him with her baseball bat in hand, and when she was close enough, held it out to him.

"Hey, uh... here. It's not exactly medically sanctioned, but maybe you could use this like a cane?"

"Oh... good idea, thank you!" He broke into a grin, and Wendy shivered; somehow he was far scarier when his eyes were bright and cheerful. "Terribly sorry for how I treated you last time, by the way. I really wasn't myself."

"Uh-huh?" While the vigilante tested out the makeshift cane, Wendy sat down on her bed, arms crossed. "And who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Ryan... or at least I think I still am." His smile faltered, and he looked away, anxiously running a hand through his hair. It was starting to come unpinned, and his hat was askew; evidently he'd been through a lot in the few hours it had been since their first encounter. "It's been... strange, lately. I don't think I'm entirely human anymore, if I ever was. But I came back here because there's something I want to understand."

"You want to know why I ghosted your friend?" It was just a guess, but Ryan nodded; Wendy smiled privately to herself for having figured it out. "Alright, I can tell you..."

She uncrossed her arms and leaned back on her bed, thinking back to the disastrous date she'd gone on several months prior. It was a story she'd recited many times to friends, relatives, other first dates as sort of a half-joking warning ("So, as long as you don't blow it as much as that guy did, we should be good...") and the more she told it, the more warped and exaggerated it became within her memory. But when she really thought back on it now, it hadn't been so disastrous at all--pretty damn awkward, sure, but not even close to the worst date she'd been on.

"Kevin actually seemed really sweet," she recalled, smiling despite herself at the memory of his big dorky grin. "I would have gone on a second date with him. But then, first thing the next morning, I read in the news that some guy got arrested right outside the restaurant while we were on our date. And the criminal's name? Neil. Same name as the 'friend' Kevin had said was helping him out." She shrugged, lips twisting into a frown. "I just got kinda freaked out, you know? Like, 'oh geez, did I go on a date with a drug dealer or serial killer or something?' Of course it probably wasn't anything that serious, and pretending to be dead was probably an overreaction, but... well, what's done is done."

Wendy was so caught up in her own memories as she explained all this that she wasn't really observing Ryan's reactions. Once she concluded her story, she glanced over to find him sitting on the floor with his legs tucked up awkwardly beneath him, the baseball bat in his lap; he was staring at the floor, expression unreadable. He stayed like that for a long moment, not seeming to notice that Wendy had stopped talking, until she cleared her throat. Then he jumped to attention, eyes flashing like those of a woodland cryptid in headlights.

"Ah! Yes, of course... well, I still don't entirely understand, but I think I resent you less now." Ryan tilted his head and shot her another shiver-inducing grin. (Whether it was supposed to be threatening or not, she had no idea.) "And you're right; I almost forgot--we're all criminals too, Neil and probably even Kevin and especially myself! So how can I be a vigilante?" He answered his own rhetorical question with a shake of his head, manic grin softening into a melancholy smile. "It's ridiculous. I've been so foolish."

With that, his body began to ripple, losing a little of its solidity. But before he could break apart and dissolve through the floorboards like last time, a chirpy little beep-beep-beedle-beep noise rang out. Ryan's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced down at an accessory around his wrist... Wait, is that one of those communicator watches like the one Kevin had?

If it was, Ryan wasn't quick to answer it. He simply stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at the beeping device in silence. Although she knew even less about Ryan than she knew about his apparently only slightly more normal friends, and she didn't normally care to get too involved in the personal affairs of strangers, he was still in the middle of Wendy's bedroom. And the longer that little jingle repeated, the more annoying it got. So she cleared her throat again and asked, in as polite a tone as she could manage given the circumstances,

"So, are you gonna answer that, or what?"

*

It was a stupid, pointless idea. Not an idea at all, really. Just the last scraps of... not even hope, that was pretty much deplenished at the moment, but effort. The effort not to let everything fall apart even further than it already had.

Kevin had woken with a throbbing pain throughout pretty much his whole body. Judging by the crushing weight pressing down on his torso, he was lucky to have woken up at all. The only parts of him not pinned down were his head and right arm, and even those hurt to move, though at least the spinning in his head put some degree of separation between himself and his broken body. Forget about trying to wriggle free when it hurt just to breathe.

So there he was, stuck, the shelf slowly crushing the air out of him, and Neil was gone. Where to, he didn't know. When he craned his neck he could see the empty bed frame, and the ropes broken and discarded at the foot of it. The bible he'd gotten from Ryan's house was facedown beside the tipped-over end table, next to a crushed and twisted lump of metal and plastic that he was horrified to recognize as his beloved proton pack. So wherever Neil was now, he must have still been cursed... or worse. And there was nothing Kevin could do about it.

Unless. Grimacing at the way his joints twinged, he raised his unpinned arm above his head. There on his wrist, perfectly intact despite everything he'd been through, was his communicator wristwatch. In all the hubbub of that day, he'd never gotten around to mentioning them to Neil, so his friend wouldn't be wearing his. But what if...?

It was stupid. It was pointless. There was no way in hell. But it was the only thing he could do. In a display so lacking in dignity that he was grateful nobody was around to see it, Kevin used his teeth and tongue for lack of a free hand to dial in the frequency and send off a signal. The watch's screen flashed in affirmation; he let his head flop against the floor with a weary sigh. Now all he could do was wait.

When he was at Ryan's house going through his things, and he found those communicator wristwatches, he'd only found two of them. And although that could have meant a dozen different things, there was just one wild, far-fetched possibility that any last semblance of hope now rested upon: that the third watch was missing because Ryan was alive, and he was still wearing his.

He didn't expect to get a response. By the time he did, he was struggling to stay awake--funny thing, trying to breathe with fifty pounds of wood pressed directly on your chest really takes it out of you. But he snapped to attention, or the closest he could get when his head was swimming and his body was beginning to go numb from lack of circulation, the moment he heard that voice crackling through the speaker.

"H-hello? Kevin?"

The relief that coursed through his veins was so overwhelming, especially on top of everything else, that he could only laugh--only for it to quickly turn into hacking as his ribs offered a sharp jab of protest. He raised his sleeve to wipe away a streak of blood that dribbled from his lips before speaking into the watch.

"Ryan. Where are you?" He regretted wasting time with that question the moment he asked it; he could tell from the way his organs felt like they were curling in on themselves as he spoke that he didn't have the energy for a full conversation. So before Ryan could stammer out a proper response, Kevin continued: "Neil is in trouble. You've gotta help him."

"What?" The shrill uptick of anxiety in Ryan's voice was palpable, and even just hearing that voice in and of itself stirred up a whole miasma of feelings that there was no time to properly react to. "What's going on? Are you okay? You sound--"

"I'm fine," Kevin lied through gritted teeth. "And... I don't know exactly where Neil is, but I know he's in trouble." A choking mix of emotions and his own blood swelled in his throat as his slowly blurring gaze wandered to the facedown bible. "I've tried to do some stuff today that I couldn't do without you. I-- we need you, Ryan. So, please... help."

With that final plea, something broke within him like a dam that he hadn't even realized was cracking. His arm flopped to the ground, wrist landing near his ear, where the communicator watch kept emitting Ryan's voice as it slowly rose in pitch until he was almost shouting. But even as his friend called frantically out to him, Kevin found it harder to make out the words. He groaned, letting his head loll to the side and his eyes fall shut. The last sensation he was aware of as darkness closed around him was that there was something wet on his face.

*

"Kevin, are you still there? Hello? Kevin!"

He wasn't responding. Why wouldn't he be responding, if the situation was so urgent? Maybe because he couldn't respond. Because he was--

"What are you going to do?" Wendy's voice cut into the swirl of panic Ryan was rapidly descending into. She hovered over his shoulder, peering down at the watch with wide, anxious eyes. The watch's screen had gone dark. No signal. Yes, indeed, what to do?

"What else? I have to save Neil."

If Kevin didn't know where Neil was, then there was no way that Ryan should have been able to instantly find him. But when he closed his eyes and let his vigilante instincts take over, he found that he didn't have to know where someone was. Whatever dark magic was infused in him now, letting him exist in this not-quite-human state even after what should by all accounts have been his death, it was hardwired for vengeance. And saving Neil meant exacting vigilante justice on whoever or whatever was harming him. With that in mind, the vigilante dissolved in a flurry of blood-tinted ice and reformed seconds later in the place it somehow knew it needed to be.

The first thing Ryan noticed when he appeared on the rooftop was the storm brewing overhead. He raised his eyebrows at that; earlier that day there hadn't been a cloud in the sky--and for that matter, when he looked around, it appeared that most of the sky was still perfectly clear, with the storm clouds being localized around this building. The second thing he noticed, upon peering over the edge of the roof, was that he wasn't on just any rooftop, but a skyscraper that towered above every other building in the vicinity. Lastly, he noticed a flagpole at the far corner of the rooftop, several feet away from him. And that was when his gaze fell upon Neil.

Neil was laughing as he swayed back and forth, clad in a brightly patterned jacket that wasn't his usual style at all, his arms and legs wrapped tight around the tall metal pole. Above him, the dark clouds lit up in a flash, followed almost instantly by a rumble of thunder. Although these particular stormclouds didn't come with rain, Ryan shivered. An incredulous exclamation was on the tip of his tongue (What on earth are you doing, stop it, you'll be killed!) when Neil locked eyes with Ryan, and he realized with a jolt of horror that this wasn't Neil at all--his body, yes, but someone or something else was controlling it. His mouth was stretched into a grin far wider than what a human face could normally achieve, and rather than their usual brown, his eyes glowed a sickly shade of green.

"Why, if it isn't my dear friend Ryan!" Neil--or whatever was piloting him--called, raising one arm off the pole in an exaggerated wave. "Oh boy, the guy I got this body from is sure surprised to see you alive! And as much as I'd love to send you plummeting off the edge of this building, I did promise not to hurt anyone else, so..." He waved his hand in a circle, unnaturally glowing eyes crinkling with amusement. "How about instead I pull you in a little closer so you can get a nice good look when your friend's body fries?"

With that, a sudden gust of wind blew into Ryan from behind, sending him stumbling forward. When he attempted to regain his footing, his broken spine betrayed him once again and he flopped to the ground with an undignified oof just a few feet away from the base of the flagpole. Grimacing, he pushed himself up and crawled the remaining short distance to grab Neil's ankle. As he did so, he noticed there was a bloodstained hole in his friend's shoe, and that his pant leg was slightly damp and already bore a few singe marks. Between that and whatever had happened to Kevin... he shuddered at the thought of what his friends had gone through in his absence.

"Nice try, vigilante," the thing in Neil's body jeered. "But I've gotta say, you don't pose much of a threat since I broke your spine."

He stomped his other foot down on Ryan's hand; Ryan yelped and instinctively released his grip. And at the very instant he let go, in such perfectly unlucky timing that only a supernatural entity could orchestrate, the stormclouds above them opened up with a searing, crackling, blindingly bright lighting strike.

Neil tilted his head back and laughed at the top of his lungs as countless volts of electricity tore through him. That horrendous laughter drowned out Ryan's screams of protest, not that there was anything he could do anyway in his current state, when he couldn't so much as get to his feet. All he could do was lay there and gape in horror as Neil's body shuddered and his flesh began to sizzle and burn.

Though it felt like an eternity of torture, the lightning strike couldn't have lasted for more than a few seconds. When it ended, Neil dropped like a ragdoll into Ryan's arms. Ryan, too stricken to even check for a pulse, simply stared blankly into his friend's glazed-over eyes. Then Neil blinked, and his eyes were glowing green again, and he laughed, the sound rougher now that it was being produced by a charred set of lungs.

"Ah-ha-ha-ha! I wasn't expecting this body to survive that! Can you believe Neil is still kicking in here?" He tapped a finger against his head, then sat up with a playful kick of his legs. "...Or is he? It would be just like a demon to lie, wouldn't it?" He grabbed Ryan's chin with his burnt and blackened fingernails and forcefully tilted his head up so their gazes met. "You can't tell, can you, vigilante? So, how hard are you willing to throw your broken body around to try and save someone who might already be toast? Maybe you should just give up and go on with your day, hmm?"

While the demon taunted him, Ryan's mind raced to concoct a plan. Some miraculous last-minute solution that would fix everything... Neil would be able to think of one. Perhaps he already had. But that wouldn't do them any good when Neil was trapped and helpless within his own mind. If this really was a demon, and a powerful one at that, the only thing that might work was an impromptu exorcism.

"Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux! Vade retro Satana!" Reciting the passage from memory as rapidly as he could without tripping over his tongue, Ryan grabbed Neil by the wrists and held him tight while he hissed and tried to jerk away. "Nunquamsuade mihi vana! Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas!"

An ungodly noise somewhere between a shriek and a roar erupted from Neil as he tossed his head back and convulsed. It was far too visually similar for comfort to his electrocution less than a minute prior, and Ryan wondered if the demon was doing it that way on purpose in an attempt to scare him into stopping. If so, it wouldn't work. Even if this process was as painful for Neil as it was for the demon possessing him, it had to be done.

Sure enough, as the final line of the chant echoed across the rooftop, Neil shuddered and slumped to the ground next to Ryan. When their gazes met this time, the demonic glow was gone, but Neil was breathing fast and shallow and his eyes were wide with lingering terror.

"Ryan," he whispered. "You're... alive."

"I think so," he replied with a tentative smile. "It's all a little confusing. But we're going to be okay now, Neil."

However, no sooner had those words left his mouth than Neil stiffened up again, eyes momentarily flashing green. "No," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as if to dispel the demon's grasp. "Not yet. Still gotta... get rid of it..." He grabbed Ryan's hands and held them desperately tight, like a scared child clinging to their parent or older sibling. His eyes flashed once more, and this time when the glow faded, his face bore a strained smile. "I've got an idea. Ryan, don't freak out."

And with that, before Ryan could process what was happening and reach out to stop him, Neil sprung to his feet and took a running leap off the edge of the building.

*

For a while now, Neil had been having unusually vivid dreams. They weren't always nightmares, but they often were. Dreams about different worlds, different realities, different lives. Ones where him and Kevin and Ryan weren't all friends. Or worse, ones where they still were, but that wasn't enough to save them. One of those recent dreams, which began as an exciting fantasy only to devolve into a nightmare, was about some kind of flying vehicle. Ever since having that dream, Neil had made two vows to himself. Firstly, that as soon as he gathered the funds to afford it, he'd go back to school and complete his aeronautical engineering degree. Secondly, to always carry a parachute, just in case.

But the demon possessing him had no way of knowing that, now did it? And it wouldn't want to still be trapped inside a host body that was splattered all over the pavement. That was what Neil was banking on, at least. Otherwise he might really be in trouble.

As he fell, a stinging sensation rippled through his body. He shuddered, yet there was a smile on his face--no longer a grin stretched unnaturally wide, but an expression of his own volition--and his heart pounded not with terror but with exhilaration and boundless relief. Sure enough, the demon leapt forth from him and departed in a swirl of green smoke. And with it gone, he wasted no time in engaging the parachute--just in time to slow his acceleration enough that the fall wouldn't kill him.

Admittedly, he didn't exactly come down gracefully. He landed in a tangle of limbs and fabric that he had to shrug off the borrowed jacket, parachute and all, in order to escape, and the landing was just rough enough to deliver a painful reminder of the electrical burns covering the better part of his body. Still, Neil couldn't stop grinning as he gingerly picked himself up and dusted himself off. He was alive and no longer possessed; that was a win in his book.

When he craned his neck to look up at the roof, he thought he saw Ryan still sitting there. Neil grimaced as he recalled what the demon had said about breaking Ryan's back; hopefully that injury was undone with the demon being vanquished, but since Neil's injuries were still there, maybe that wasn't so. Either way, he couldn't just leave his friend up there alone.

As quickly as he could run with a bullet wound in his foot, he entered the building and took the closest elevator to the rooftop. But by the time the elevator chimed and its doors slid open, the rooftop was abandoned, with no sign of Ryan save for an abandoned hat, cape, and gloves, and a slowly fading dark red stain.

*

If Kevin hadn't already been surprised to wake up alive the first time, he sure as hell was now. The only reason he knew he was alive at all was the deep, persistent ache that wracked practically his entire body. That, and the warmth of the hand laid atop his own.

Forcing his eyes open with a pained groan, he turned his head to see the man sitting at his bedside. Ryan squeezed his hand and flashed him a sad smile when their eyes met. His vigilante costume was gone, traded for a simple dress shirt and tie, and his hair fell unpinned around his visibly tired face; the chair he sat in, upon closer inspection, was an old-fashioned wheelchair.

With some effort, Kevin pushed himself into a sitting position. Looking around, he found that he was laying on the couch in the living room with his chest bandaged. How Ryan had managed to pull him out from beneath the bookcase, he had no idea, but he sure wasn't going to complain about it.

"Ryan, you... you're hurt?" It was a stupid question--why else would he be in a wheelchair? "Did the demon...?"

"It's gone now," Ryan responded. "But..." His gaze lowered, and he dropped his hands into his lap to fidget with the blanket draped over his legs. "It was a costly victory, I'm afraid. In order to defeat the demon, Neil--"

His tearful speech was interrupted by the distant bang of the front door being thrown open.

"Geez, you could've told me you were going straight home!" Neil's indignant voice rang out down the hall. "I wandered all over town looking for you."

Ryan's head snapped up, and he and Kevin turned in unison to see their friend running toward them with a slightly crooked gait. With a cry of joyous disbelief, Ryan opened his arms, and Neil tackled him in an embrace that nearly sent him toppling over; Kevin had to lean forward to grab the back of Ryan's chair to keep him upright as he and Neil clung to each other.

"Neil, you're alive! I-I thought..."

"It's okay, Ryan," said Neil. Then, pulling back and glancing at Kevin with a melancholy smile: "I think we're all going to be okay."

*

"So, what do you think?"

As the ending credits rolled on their latest webisode, Neil and Kevin turned to face Ryan with matching expectant grins.

"Well..." Ryan drummed his fingers against the keys of the laptop and tried to think of something positive to say. "The costumes you used were a lot more fashionable than usual--wait, hold on. Weren't those my clothes?"

They were in Kevin's truck parked outside the studio's headquarters, with Neil in the passenger seat and Ryan in the back. It had taken a little over a week for them to recover to the point where they could comfortably climb inside a vehicle, let alone Kevin being able to actually drive, and the studio had already sent them several notes warning them that their pay would be docked for submitting their webisode behind schedule.

"Ah, yeah, sorry about that," Kevin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"To be fair, if he hadn't broken into your house and stolen a bunch of stuff from you, he couldn't have called you on your communicator watch," Neil interjected cheerfully. "Or tried to do an exorcism... but I guess that didn't really work out for him anyway."

"Hey, c'mon, it wasn't stealing!" Kevin gave Neil a gentle shove, prompting him to briefly wince but laugh anyway. "If we'd known you were still alive, we wouldn't have taken your stuff, Ryan, honest."

"Ah, I'll have to remember that for next time," Ryan quipped. He closed the laptop and handed it back to Neil, who tucked it away inside an oversized shoulder bag. "Well, that may not have been the best webisode we've made, but I can tell you two did your best."

"Yeah, it'll be way better once we get back to making them as a trio," Neil said.

It was still amazing to Ryan that his friends were so quick to accept him back after all he'd done. If anything, it made him feel worse about his prolonged absence, because he knew now that he could have come back at any point and they would have been glad to have him. It was easy to fall into regret when thinking of all that had gone wrong, and all that could easily have gone even worse. But the fact was, they were together again now--altered by what they'd gone through, and not entirely for the better, but still themselves.

And despite it all, the preceding events and the possibility that another horrible thing could happen to them in the future, he found himself agreeing with Neil's hopeful statement.

"Indeed..." Ryan reached out and took Neil and Kevin's hands in his own. They smiled back at him with the same residual traces of relief in their eyes that Ryan had felt every so often over the past week--relief that they were still there to smile at each other. "Gentlemen, I look forward to working with you again."

¤--END--¤

[horrorslashergirl]

Slasher OC: Alexander Chirilă (Update)

Authors Note: He was supposed to be a supporting character, but my brain developed his character more and decided to make him a full on OC.

Full Name: Alexander Chirilă

Nickname(s): Ally, Alex, Sasha, Black Killer, Panther, Blackburn, Colton

Age: 38

Gender: Male

Nationality: Romanian

Place of Birth: Bucharest, Romania

Current Location: Travels all around the world to find his twin brother to kill him (formerly), Traveling alongside his brother and sister (Currently)

Occupation: Assassin

Languages: Romanian, English, Japanese, Greek, and Belarusian

Appearance:

Height: 6'8

Weight: 240lbs

Body Type: Atheltic

Skin Color: Warm Beige

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Hair Style: Short on the sides and longer on top, unlike his twin brother Decebal, his hair isn't wavy, has a spikier look

Eye Color: Pale Grey, almost white, giving the impression he is blind

Clothing: His clothes are all black, wearing combat gear that consists of black shirts and black jackets, black cargo pants, and black combat boots, black gauntlet gloves. He also wears knee and elbow protection along with a tactical bulletproof vest and utility belt where he carries his weapons. As an assassin, he wears a tactical black skull mask.

Other features: Unlike his twin brother Decebal; Colton has a much darker and scarier appearance, especially the two scars on his face that start from his hairline, down his forehead, and over his eyelids, continuing over his cheeks and neck and stopping at his collarbones.

Weapons: Twin Katana swords, throwing knives, grenades, gloves with metal claws and twin guns strapped on the holsters on his thighs.

Power/Skills:

Murderous expertise

Strength

Skilled usage of weaponry

Skill in hand-to-hand combat

Knifesmanship

Swordsmanship

Ruthlessness

Fearlessness

Marksmanship

Stealth

Superior agility

Impressive Flexibility

Overly High Inteligence

Knowledge about Bombs and Chemistry

Medical/Surgeon Skills

History/Bio:

Alexander Chirilă was the second born son to father Apostol Chirilă, and his mother, Maria Stratulat of Moldovic heritage. He was born after 20 minutes after Decebal was born, during the communist era in Romania, and because the parents couldn't support both children, they passed Alexander to an orphanage only to be sold over the country boundaries for human trafficking.

Before he could be bought for organ trafficking in America, an old lady took him in, raising Alexander, choosing a new identity for him so that he could protect him from his former life.

Until the age of 12, former Alexander, now Colton was raised in America by the old lady who quickly got sick by a severe form of cancer. Before she could die, she decided that Alexander had the right to know about his former life and she told him his story before she died in her bed.

After the reveal, Alexander researched all about the information, finding out what his biological parents did and about Decebal, only to blame his older twin brother for what happened.

As a teenager, Alexander was raised more by the streets, doing everything to survive, drug smuggling, stealing and he even killed a man for trying to steal the drug package he was carrying. That's when a hitman saw the 16-year-old boy and took him in, seeing all the hate and rage in Alexander's white eyes.

The hitman trained Alexander to be a ruthless killer, making him a master of sword fighting and hand-to-hand combat. Spending time along with assassins and hitmen, he meets Yumie Takahashi, a female assassin with prosthetic blade legs that quickly took a fancy for him, following him all around to the point where she fell in love with him, but Alexander doesn't return her feelings and used her blind love for him in his own greedy ways, her being his lap-dog.

Later on, Alexander and Yumie meet Nikita Sergei in Belarus while they tried to track down Decebal. They meet the Belarusian during an ambush between the Belarusian Police and the Belarusian Mafia, Nikita being one of the Mafias hitmen.

Nikita was almost killed during that bullet rain between Police and Mafia, only for Alexander to save him, but for that Nikita had to work for Colton, being his left hand next to the right hand, that being Yumie.

The three continued together, Yumie and Nikita assisting Alexander on his mission of annihilating his twin brother, Decebal.

After a brutal fight between the two brothers which resulted in both of them almost dead, they get on an agreement of peace between them, with the help of their third part, their little sister Nadia.

Personality:

Alexander is the complete opposite of Decebal in the matter of personality. Decebal is a happy-go-lucky, easy-going, charming, seductive, and modest guy, while Alexander is brutal, snarky, comes of as straight-up rude, blunt, and sharp-tongued if provoked, but overall keeps to himself since he has a problem with his 'intimacy'.

The smaller twin brother, unlike Decebal who is all laid-back, Alexander has a bad temper, but the type of temper that comes and goes, like the one of a child. He would be considered passive-aggressive.

Alexander doesn't know how to deal with his strong emotions and usually they manifest into a tsunami of uncontrollable feelings; especially when teased about sensitive topics, and may have outbursts of anger which would be considered 'funny' because he gets all red-faced, voice shuttering and doesn't know what to say or how to react. This part of his personality may also come off as very shy and sensitive, especially if people flirt with him because he is socially awkward and he never was one to be good at smooth-talking.

After making peace with his big brother, Alexander may open up little by little, showing good traits of his personality, but is still the opposite of Decebal.

Unlike Decebal, who is very charismatic, sensual, and opened up about his sexuality; Alexander is the very hard opposite, especially considering he had never been intimate with someone. Alexander is very shy when it comes to his intimacy and sexuality, almost to the point if someone presses him with sexual questions he will get all flustered and defensive.

This is a sign that Alexander is very self-conscious about his complete inexperience in the matter of getting intimate. It's a very big irony, seeing how on the battlefield he is very confident in his combat skills.

A good trait of Alexander is that he is a very big hard worker. He has the mentality that you cannot achieve something for free and have to work hard to earn it, since all his life he had to work to make it through life: As a little kid, he had to take care of the old lady that was his guardian until she died, then he had to do everything his Master said if he wanted to achieve the assassin training.

One thing that he shares with Decebal is the daredevil and competitive side, but Alexander's competitive side takes a very serious turn, finding himself willing to challenge his big brother at all kinds of provocations. It's the brotherly antagonistic demeanor.

His favorite drink: Green Tea

His favorite food: Ramen or Chicken and Rice Casserole

Other Characteristics:

Alexander loves fairytales and all types of mythic legends, mostly because the old lady that was his guardian in the first part of his life always used to tell him these types of stories before bedtime.

He is actually a very good cook. When he went to train with his Master Hitman, he has also signed the duty to do the cooking and clean the Masters' house as a form of payment for the training services. The Master would throw the food on the floor or at Alexander if it wasn't good enough and Alexander had to cook the dish again until it was 'perfect'.

He is an earlier riser in the morning, mostly because that's how he was raised; his assassin training started very early in the morning and before that, he had to prepare breakfast for his Master.

He loves to listen to the birds singing in the morning while he drinks his coffee or green tea.

His scent can be described as on a more feminine edge; giving off floral scents like lotus, orchid, and jasmine, with middle notes of vanilla tobacco, bergamot, and white musk.

Unlike his big brother Decebal who is a heavy drinker, Alexander cannot hold his liquor and is a sad drunk, getting depressed over the fact that he was separated from his siblings at birth, especially Decebal. When Alexander gets drunk he tends to mutter to himself 'I wish I never was born'.

Considering his personality, he would be described as a tsundere.

He is a master at chess due to playing with his Master in their free time. He can sit for hours and play chess, probably the only thing he is the most patient with.

He loves hot springs; immersion in warm water produces hydrostatic pressure on the body that results in reduced joint inflammation and increased mobility, plus it helps him relax his vulcanic mind.

He is a smoker just like his siblings, Decebal and Nadia.

Despite his scars and hard training, he has soft baby skin.

Symbolism for Alexander:

Black Panther- speaks to our soul with the shimmering energy of the Moon; this big cat is the ultimate shapeshifter and the master of disguise. Panther’s sleek black coat cloaks its true identity in the shadows. It isn’t until you are close to a Panther that their illusion falls away and who they really become visible. Alexander may seem like a very cold and harsh individual, hard to approach from the distance, but as you get closer and closer to him, pulling away all the layers that hide him, you learn that he is actually a pretty sensitive and misunderstood guy.

The Black Panther is a loner, hunting solitary. They hunt silently, seeming to appear and disappear in the blink of an eye; this means that Black Panther people can be very elusive. You may have to wait for them to find you. This means that you will have to wait and be patient in order for Alexander to open up to you, which cannot happen in one day. People who have the Black Panther as their spirit animal rarely reveal too much about themselves.

The Lotus flower- is a symbol of purity, enlightenment, self-regeneration, and rebirth. Its characteristics are a perfect analogy for the human condition: even when its roots are in the dirtiest waters, the Lotus produces the most beautiful flower. This shows Alexanders' persona, like a lotus bud, in his earlier life and so on, he was buried deep within lots of responsibilities, hardships, and struggles. We can say that once he made peace with his older brother, his blooming slowly started to take place, Decebal acting more so like the essence to Alexanders blooming. Its journey from a muddy seed to a glorious blossom offers the hope that something beautiful can grow from suffering, that we too will eventually bloom.

[tenderlyrenjun]

[4:05 P.M.]

“Na Jaemin!” you exclaim, running into your friend’s arms. 

Renjun follows slowly, walking behind you like an escort, even though he made sure to hire a few. They all assume positions around the estate - your guest bedroom, the kitchens, a few entrances, the gardens. ‘A few’ to him includes an elite, small group of trained warriors whose sense of duty got enhanced after bitten; to you, ‘a few’ should have meant taking Mark and his trusted favorites, but Renjun convinced you to let them safe guard your own manor.

You hug Jaemin over his shoulder, letting him melt into your neck. His guards take microscopic steps that your ears became accustomed to before they were even born. “Tell your newborns to back off,” you hiss in his ear, “or I’ll do it myself.” You pull away, smiling sweetly.” And you know I don’t play nicely.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “They’re all at least 200 years old.”

You give him a serious look, red flashing across your irises. “Still.” You do not ... react very favorably with guards standing at attention so closely to your every move, especially with Renjun in the room. “I’ve had whiskey older than them.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes again, a pacifist’s smile on his face, but complies with your request nonetheless - probably something to do with Renjun’s presence. He silently brushes his nose, telling the guards to stand down. Jaemin embraces Renjun in the same manner, hugging him tightly. “Tell your mate to quit threatening my guards every time you two stay here.”

“Can’t,” Renjun mutters in his ear. They pull away then grasp each other’s forearms, sharing a look: can’t, or won’t? Renjun breaks the silent conversation first, shaking Jaemin to break the spell. “Separate minds and all.”

“Yet in all 700 years I’ve known you two, never have I seen you separated.”

You slide into Renjun’s side, kissing his cheek as an annoying public display of affection that does not bother Jaemin in the way it would your partner had his mate been present. Even so, Renjun accepts you, draping his arm possessively over your shoulders. “And we have no intention, moving forward.”

“The infamous ‘we’ couple of the Huang Coven,” Jeno announces loudly, bouncing down the stairs, into the throne hall, dramatically. Renjun rolls his eyes; he hates that moniker. Maybe while the two of you visit the Na, he can convince Jaemin to change the title. Jeno, his antithesis, oppositely more traditional, tightens the watch under his suit. And you just know Renjun wants to poke fun at you. Wearing business casual, over streetwear, was a smart choice. Although, Jaemin’s guards wear sunglasses and leather jackets, indoors.

You speed over to Jeno faster than the others, embracing him in the same fashion as you did Jaemin. And he accepts it, all his friend congregating closely by the exit. “It’s been too long, old friend.”

“What are you doing here?” Renjun asks half-jokingly. “Doyoung actually let you outside?” The Kim Family patriarch is rather ,, protective of his members, and has been for the last millennia, even more so actually since officially turning Jeno sometime during the Second Dark Age.

Jeno hugs you in return, his friendship grip crossing diagonally over your back, unlike Jaemin’s around the neck position or Renjun’s more romantic hold. He pulls away seconds after to extend handshakes with the other two. “Doyoung is actually more relaxed than you think,” he admits, hoping that enemy ears are far (one cannot be too careful, especially as other covens accumulate members, like grains of rice - for power, he assumes). “And you would know that,” Jeno redirects to Renjun, “if you got to know him.”

“Hmm,” Renjun hums, not really considering it. You return into his arms, hugging his waist like a newlywed incapable of separating. “The air between us is always so ... tense.”

“Awkward,” you correct. Renjun glances down at you, pinching your side as you continue, “He means awkward. Speaking of -” You smack Renjun’s hand away and spin to Jaemin. “- how is Jaehyun? Ever since breaking off his -” Renjun clears his throat, asking you not to say the word coven, and you nod your head, easily persuaded. “- family, things have been tense between you two, no?”

“No,” Jaemin denies. He refuses to admit that he is awkward with anyone, although his introvert tendencies appear when in large groups, especially if he does not see those people daily. “Jaehyun just added two new members - Jungwoo and Sungchan.”

“Oh, cool,” Jeno interrupts. “That’s why I’m here too.” He passes off a calligraphed note to Jaemin, whose shoulder you nosily look over until Renjun tugs your back into his chest. “His name is Donghyuck, or Haechan when uses his special ability - luring blood with his voice.”

“He and Renjun should get along well,” you comment. “Their powers are compatible.”

“Not as much as yours and mine, love.” Renjun kisses the crown of your head, hanging his arms around your shoulders, to which Jaemin rolls his eyes. You are starting to think Renjun is just making Jaemin jealous, on purpose. Psychologists say that people start complaining about being single while near couples, and since Renjun hates all the formal meetings, getting Jaemin a long-term mate might back him off.

“You don’t have a special ability though,” Jeno points out.

“No,” Renjun disagrees, shaking his head. “Beauty.” You take your turn, for the Huang Clan, to roll your eyes. He always says that your natural looks became enhanced after you turned (however, he usually keeps the flirting private), and although you disagree, you cannot stop him from saying so. His own natural ability becomes stronger when he is happy, which is anytime around you.

As the sun settles into the sky’s middle, everyone sits around a short, long table. Renjun assumes the head across Jaemin, you at his right hand and Jeno at Jaemin’s. Your mate was granted hosting duties, despite being a nomad to this estate. Probably because he is the best at straining tea. And to begin the ceremony, he asks the first question:

“So, Jaemin, how is Jisung fairing? Adjusted to vampire yet?”

“No,” Jaemin shakes his head. He accepts a glazed cup though, with both hands, from Renjun, who hands out empty earthenware as a way to keep track of who is drinking. Jaemin has an extra servant at beck and call in case anyone wants something more or he wants coffee. This set is meant to remain empty until he starts pouring the first round (into new glasses). “I think he’ll get over it once we turn him in a few years.”

“Aish,” Jeno mutters, waving his hand across the table. “Recruitment is starting younger and younger these days.”

“Yet none of us look a day over 23,” Renjun comments. He starts a fire under the second teapot, an empty one that he will fill with blood in a few minutes. “Did you get water from the spring outside, or did you have a servant retrieve a bottle from Nunobiki again?”

“The latter,” Jaemin nods, popping a white sugar cube in his mouth. He relaxes more on the pillow cushion, stretching a legs underneath the table. “It is a special occasion after all. I haven’t seen you three in the same room in what? 80 years?”

You push his shoulder, throwing him off balance. “We’re not divorced. You can visit us any time.”

“I haven’t left the compound in -” Jaemin looks at his watch. “- God, ninety years.”

“All the more reason to. Plus you’ll never guess what Renjun got us into!”

Speaking of the devil, Renjun clears his throat, asking for attention as he places a strainer over a teapot, pouring cold blood into the wide opening. He takes the now hot water and drizzles it in as well while the conversation comes to a stop, the ceremony’s second phase. Everyone watches closely, your eyes more permanently sparkling red, almost like having being starved for weeks. Renjun pours the now warm mixture on some leaves, then removes it just as quickly, repeating the process twice more, to fully rinse the leaves. When he takes the pot of boiled blood, spilling into the decanting bowl, you hear a guzheng in the steam, transporting you to the park in 1500 where Renjun would escort you to feed the ducks. No wonder Jaemin relinquishes hosting duties to Renjun; he always emits a beautiful memory. Renjun starts an hour glass, timing five minutes for the water to cool while everyone resumes conversation.

Jeno bites into an hojicha brownie, chewing the hazelnuts extra thoroughly (it takes like bits of flesh, which make it all the more delicious. “You were saying? What did Renjun rope you into this time?”

Renjun rolls his eyes, already groaning, and you smirk, knowing that your friends will take your side.

“College,” you seethe.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds!” 

“It is,” you point at Renjun, though he knows you are at least half-joking. You look at Jaemin, who sports an amused look; he, nor Jeno, has never seriously entertained college, preferring their current roles. “We’re registered for a full year of classes. I want to come visit three weeks ago, but midterms and projects take up extra hours of our time.”

“We don’t sleep though,” Jeno points out, siding with Renjun. “It can’t be as hard as it is for mortals who need 8 hours a night.” He taps Renjun’s shoulder. “Ha, remember being 20?”

“Heavens,” Renjun sighs nostalgically, reclining on his pillows in thought, staring at the ceiling like it can show a movie of his first lifetime. “Learning how to write from pictures? Carving lines into bronze with literal ancient tools? Computers are so much better.” He gently kicks your foot. “It’s why I signed you up for that Microsoft class.”

“Microsoft?” Jaemin scoffs. “Does your school not provide Apple courses?”

“No.” You roll your eyes. “Not that it matters anyways. I have to perform calculus by hand. I didn’t even do that during the Han dynasty! I still have the original suanpan in my study.”

“Yes, but,” Renjun drawls, “you have to admit how much easier it is to type integrals into that new graphing calculator I bought you.”

You turn to Jeno, deadpanned. “Everyday, I have to do homework, but yeah, no, you two should totally try it.”

The last grain of coarse sand falling onto the pile echoes loudly for your vampiric ears, so all of you stare at it, suddenly dehydrated again. And ever so slowly, almost theatrically (ever the moongwa), Renjun takes the original pot, adding some extra warm water until the blood’s color becomes translucent enough to see the pretty leaves. He pours everything into the decanting bowl, disrupting the ration between blood and water. The ceremony’s final phase comes to an end as he serves the drinks, handing one to Jaemin first as a sign of respect. You are next, his co-leader, then Jeno, the only member without a title (ironic, considering that he was a prince in his first lifetime, higher than any of you), and himself in closing. Everyone waits for Jaemin to take the first sip, ignoring the fact that Renjun assumed a host’s role. When his reaction is satisfactory, you take the second sip. It is very sweet, the floral aroma lingering the longer you keep the small cup near your nose. Renjun’s stoic demeanor does not give away anything you recognize, possibly because he is too humble or because he additionally drinks in all the praise. When Jeno takes the last first sip, reciprocating the tastefulness, you all resume conversation and the ceremony, more laxed.

Jaemin gestures for a guard to let one of the servants enter and asks for an iced americano, ending his tea drinking.

Renjun waits for you to also ask for coffee before also ordering it, and Jeno follows suit when the last pot empties.

“It is our cycle to sleep,” Renjun announces, cleaning his hands with a wet wipe. A servant comes in to clear the table, and all of you wait for the table to be emptied before retiring to your individual rooms.

Renjun starts tossing the extraneous throw pillows on the bed foot bench, already dressed in a comfortable matching pyjama set while you still have yet to change. He runs around the bed, after he finishes preparing it, nestling his chin into the crook of your neck.

“Come to bed.”

You hear him whine, interlocking his fingers above your liver, one of his most favorite places to drink your blood, once he punctures the right spot. His fangs start growing, gently knocking your skin for an invitation. You give it to him freely, extending your head left - better access, wordlessly.

“These meetings are infinitely more tolerable with you here,” he whispers, already reliving the ambrosial tea that seems to just be steaming through your tiny pores. He takes one lick, preparing you for the deep puncture. “You should come to them more often.”

You anticipate his bite but he only nibbles your jugular, grazing his teeth ever so lightly when his lips part too wide. “If I went with you, then I wouldn’t miss you.” You spin around, still enveloped by his arms. Renjun pushes you into the wardrobe, and your hands brace his shoulders, like a prey trying to escape, except your fingers dig into his shirt, attempting to pull him impossibly close. “We wouldn’t have these moments if I always went with you.”

“But we’re having this moment now, while you’re with me.”

“You’re so clingy,” you whisper as he tugs your hair by the base of your scalp. You sigh, knees faltering. 

Renjun places a singular kiss on your neck, displaying immense restraint against drinking you dry. You feel his fangs reach maximum length despite not sinking into your skin yet, so you draw him in by his throat. And he smirks. “Who’s the clingy one now?”

“Bite me.”

“Well, if you insist.”

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-3: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation [3rd Beta Test]

*Light and Night Master-list is under WIP *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Game is slated for release this summer! (Estimated to be 8/8/21) *Beta Test’s main story tag will be #Dreams of Light and Night

Police: Name?

Cindy: My name's Cindy. My earrings are gone! I've spent an entire week on them. Please, you must help me find them!

The girl who was desperate to the brink of tears was none other than Cindy, the oldest contestant amongst us all.

Half an hour ago, Cindy had suggested reporting this to the police seeing as how many of the designers had their accessories go missing. Now, she was the first one to undergo questioning by the police.

Police: Earrings, you say? Alright, I've noted it down. Has anyone else lost anything?

Designer A: Me. I lost an Emerald hairpin.

Designer B: My pearl necklace is gone too.

MC: I'm (Y/n), my brooch has also gone missing.

Police: I've gotten the gist of the situation here. All of your items were found lost after less than half an hour after having been left here.

Police: My colleague went to check the surveillance tapes. There was no one suspicious who entered and left the room during that time frame.

Cindy: How can that be...

Police: But there are blind spots where the surveillance cameras cannot reach. Plus, things don't simply disappear for no reason at all.

Police: So, I'm asking everyone to think carefully about it again. Did any of you see anyone who was acting suspicious?

MC: A suspicious looking person…

The image of the figure dressed in black and wearing a mask flashed into my mind along with his skull pendant and flickering silver chains.

MC: I saw someone that I didn't recognize walk out of the room, but I thought that he was a model…

MC: But now that I think about it, no model would come here.

Police: What did this person look like?

MC: He’s very tall and looks to be around 185cm. He wasn’t wearing a staff uniform. 

Police: Can you give me a detailed description of his appearance and how he was dressed?

I nodded, trying my hardest to remember what I’d seen in that split-second.

MC: I couldn’t make out his features since he wore a black mask, but I remember his clothes…!

MC: He wore a black leather jacket paired with light grey jeans and a pair of studded boots.

MC: He had a long silver necklace with a skull pendant hanging from it along with a few silver chains hanging from his waist.

MC: His countenance is hard to describe. He appears to give off a very mysterious vibe, but honestly, the design of the pants he wore needs to be optimized...

I continued prattling on, unaware of how the policeman who’d been recording my descriptions down stopped short.

Police: Optimized?

Suddenly realizing what I'd just said, my face flushed in embarrassment.

MC: Sorry, but that's pretty much all I saw…

Police: Alright. We'll look further into the matter with this information.

Police: However, considering the large number of people here, the vastness of the venue and the small number of missing items, it’ll be quite difficult to find them.

Police: You'd best be prepared.

Everyone lapsed into collective silence after the police left. The solemness of the atmosphere in here was tangible, like a heavy cloud that hung over all of our heads.

Cindy had already succumbed to despair. She silently squatted down; head buried into the crook of her arm.

★Night Choice: Settle your own problems (Didn't select)

☆Light Choice: Comfort Her

I walked up to her, gently patting her back.

MC: Don't worry, I'm sure the police will be able to help us all find our missing accessories.

Cindy: You guys are all young and talented… you'll have other ways to spring back if you fail here, so of course you wouldn't be too worried about it… but such a thing doesn't exist for me…

Her soft voice was distorted by her sniffling, so much that I could barely distinguish what she was trying to say between sobs.

I'd overheard the others talking about her before. Cindy was originally a white-collar worker who'd eventually resigned and got a loan to study design overseas. It was a do-or-die situation for her, in a way.

I didn't know what I should say to comfort her, for everything I say right now would only pale in comparison to what she was going through. All I could do was to gently pat her back.

Cindy: Why did this have to happen now…? It took me such painstaking efforts to get this far…

All the doom and gloom that she exuded was contagious, and I soon felt my heart drop along with her worsening mood.

???: What are you crying about?

No one actually expected Wu Yue, of all people, to be saying something this harsh. She strode out of the crowd under everyone's surprised gazes, walking in front of Cindy and pulling her back upright. Her expression was a tad savage.

Wu Yue: If you don't want to let all your previous effort go to waste, then you'd jolly well shut your trap and redo it. Do you really think it was all so easy for everyone to get this far!

Wu Yue: Those who whinge and always feel sorry for themselves but do nothing to fix it will never succeed.

This was the first time I've ever heard her speak off-stage.

I couldn't help but to be surprised at the look of dead seriousness on her face.

MC: There's still another 3 days before the competition, so let's hurry and start re-doing what we've lost.

Gao Cheng: I... I can help everyone fetch the materials they need. You can also ask me for help if any of you need an extra hand...

Designer A: I've already long since wanted to change my hairpin design! I'm sure the new one this time will turn out a hundred times better! You guys better watch out!

More contestants started inputting, and the gloomy atmosphere soon dissipated. Cindy had also stopped crying, vigorously rubbing at her eyes.

Cindy: You guys are right. I cannot give up here…

Despite all of us not knowing what results awaited us 3 days later, and despite all of us being fellow competitors, we were all teammates now, working hard with the same goal in mind.

After getting our moods in check, everyone returned to their own working space, making the best out of the remaining time left to continue with their respective creations.

❖☆———————————★❖

The hands on the clock had already moved past the 8 PM mark by the time if gotten up for a good stretch.

MC: The gown's pretty much good to go, and I've also finished drawing out the new brooch design. Everything's turning out pretty well~

Gao Cheng: Your design's inspired by the starry skies, right? It's really pretty…

Gao Cheng's faze lingered on the draft of my design for a while before he seemingly snapped out of it. He raised his head, frantically waving his hands in front of him with a flustered look on his face.

Gao Cheng: S-Sorry, it wasn't my intention to peek at your design. I just happened to get attracted to it when I walked past…

MC: Don't worry about it, you came at a great time. Could you tell me what you think about it?

Gao Cheng: Is the brooch meant to represent the brightest star in the sky?

MC: Yup, it represents the north star.

Gao Cheng: But Polaris isn't actually all that bright. It shines at 2nd magnitude, so you can use a darker gemstone to represent it.

It was as if he were an entirely different person when it came to the topic of stars. He gushed enthusiastically about it with unrivalled passion and seriousness.

Gao Cheng: Ah, I just like astronomy, so I know about it a little more than others. Please don't get mad at me... 

MC: Why would I be mad? I'm actually extremely thankful for your input!

I'd previously searched up pictures of the starry sky up on the internet to use as reference pictures, but what Gao Cheng said reminded me once again that even though the pictures captured by a camera's lens turn out beautiful, it still isn't as real as the real thing.

Nothing beats seeing it with your own eyes and ascertaining it for yourself after all.

MC: Maybe I should go up to the rooftop and check the stars out.

❖☆———————————★❖

The cold air of the night greets me as I push open the doors to the rooftop. The vast night sky was spread out before my eyes, the many little red dots beneath it denoting lights of the thousands of households below.

I held onto the railing with both hands raising my head to inhale deeply.

It was then that my phone rang to life as messages from An'an came pouring in one line after another.

An'an (SMS): I've gotten my hands on the guest list!

An'an (SMS): You won't believe how elaborate this guest line-up is! Osborn's actually coming, you know!? His club's going to be collaborating with the Warson Group!

MC: ...Osborn?

An'an (SMS): Please tell me you still remember him. I've shown you a picture of him before! He's my favourite R1 racer who has won 4 consecutive championships!

I hadn't yet had the chance to truly think back on it when I suddenly heard a faint noise. It was the familiar sound of metallic chains clinking against each other.

There had been no one here when I came up to the rooftop.

My heart leapt to my throat as I unwittingly headed towards the direction of the sound.

There was someone hidden within the shadows, standing silently in one of the corners where the moonlight never reached.

Seemingly having noticed my gaze, the person moved forwards, stepping out of the shadows.

❖☆———————————★❖

I finally managed to vaguely make out his appearance. He was tall and intimidating even from a distance away. He wore a black jacket across his shoulders, the moonlight glinting off the skull necklace that rested upon his chest.

MC: That's the guy I saw back in the corridor!

I hadn't yet recovered from the initial surprise of seeing him here when I suddenly noticed that he was holding a red earring between his fingers.

Cindy's Earrings! So, he really WAS the thief!

The clouds blocked off the moonlight, darkening the skies as my heart raced, pounding loudly in my ears. Did I interrupt him in the middle of something? Am I going to be "silenced"?

All hesitation flew out the window the moment my thoughts stopped there. I immediately turned and made a dash for the exit.

However, just as I was about to pull the door open and make my escape, a well-defined hand pressed against the door, blocking off my escape.

??: And just where are you running off to now?

❖☆————— ⊹ Dreams of Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-1) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-5)

[johnkrrasinski]

𝐄𝐱𝐢𝐥𝐞

Chapter 2: Those Eyes Add Insult to Injury

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: Dark!Steve Rogers (in future chapters) x Reader

Word Count: 2,554

Summary: Steve Rogers; a Hollywood A-lister and your clandestine occasional hookup. Best friends since childhood, but people change and friendships fall out. Now you were merely strangers with benefits. What happens when one day you stopped being his doormat to be a better man’s queen? The selfish Steve Rogers would not like it. How far is he willing to go to get his favorite possession back?

Warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, dark Steve (in later chapter), angst, Steve Rogers is an asshole in this one, no redeeming qualities. (MUST BE 18+)

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @belovedcherry​​ who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for being a friend when i truly needed it. i’m really glad that you trusted me to write this story for you. with all my heart, i sincerely hope you like it. this series will be updated everyday, there will be 4 more chapters ahead.

Several years had passed since you graduated. You and Wanda remained close despite the bustle of life would get in the way sometimes. She got accepted in Yale University and she chose to study Psychology. Maybe that’s why she and you got along so well. You both were humanitarians at hearts.

College was a lot more fun than high school but that also meant the bigger pressure would come along in one package. Nothing that you didn’t expect. You went into social study major to groom yourself for the future you had set for yourself. Life went along as methodically as you originally designed.

But fate was a comical thing sometimes. When it has settled its decision to place two people who have such a rich history in their past together, it would be inevitable and inescapable one way or another.

The past couple of years of high school, you and Steve were practically strangers who went to the same school. He never greeted or talked to you anymore in class and he abandoned every ritual you had in the good old days. He stopped calling or texting, he stopped answering and he stopped coming over.

He just… stopped knowing you.

There wasn’t a day that passed by without you pondering about where did it all go wrong? How did the fair-headed friendship that bloomed like the flowers in spring slip away as briskly as a bottle of wine? A million questions rushed through your nostalgic head and as the season changed, the gap between you and Steve kept extending wider and wider.

You didn’t even know whether he really went to college or not. Or perhaps, he decided to go straight into auditions and found himself a good agent who was willing to manage his career. You still remember when he was so eager to do whatever it takes to study in NYU but you assumed that things had changed since then. He was a different person, after all, maybe he had new plans to pursue his dreams. But of course, life deprecated its surprises being spoiled.

Who would’ve warned you that you would get accepted to New York University as well as Steve?

You didn’t know until you ran into him at a sorority party that you were reluctant to go at first because you were never that much of a party gal, but your roommate, Natasha coerced you to.

Natasha was a kind person but she could also be a little bold than you were used to. You were grateful that she was your roommate though, you were a little worried that you might have to live with someone who was mean or untidy, everything that Natasha was not. You could imagine the relief when you learned how organized and sensible Natasha was. You had a feeling that the friendship you and Natasha had was going to last a lifetime.

“My sweet girl, y/n, I love you but you really gotta put yourself out there, okay? Forget that motherfucker Steve Rogers. He ain’t shit. If you go to the party with me, you might actually find yourself a decent guy who’s a lot cuter than him and who will treat you right. Because if he doesn’t then I’m gonna kick his ass and he will think twice before cheating on you.”

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend, Nat. Besides, I don’t care about Steve anymore,” you lied. “It’s not even about him, I’m just simply not much of a partier.”

“Bullshit. You are now. Let’s go. I won’t hear any more excuses.”

So you had no other choice but to put on a simple dress and went to the party with Nat. There was no saying no to her when she had made up her mind. Plus, you thought it would be a good idea to familiarize yourself with the vicinity and your potential classmates.

You also wrote a new resolution in your invisible diary that you were going to expand your connection in college and socialize more. You were only really friends with Wanda back in high school. You also shared a few classes with Pete Parker who was nice and smart, despite being a little gauche sometimes and you would often talk to him but that was it.

You also lost your childhood best friend who knew you better than anyone else before Wanda did. It truly deteriorated your trust issues and that’s why it was difficult for you to insert yourself in social situations and just effortlessly talk with any stranger.

You stood in the corner with a red plastic cup in your hand that was still almost full of beer. You didn’t drink either so you had no idea why you even bothered holding it. Maybe it gave you a sense of comfort that you wouldn’t be totally alone in this party.

Natasha had asked you to dance but you knew you’d look like an untrained clown at a circus, so you refused to join her. Natasha was currently lost in the music, dancing with a guy named Clint. You had no idea who the hell he was but he seemed nice, and you knew that if Clint had bad intentions with Natasha, he wouldn’t stand a chance and you wouldn’t let him so you assigned yourself the job to watch over Natasha and bring her home safely in case she chugs down a little too much alcohol.

Your eyes wandered around the room, trying to recognize and learn some faces. It felt like you were the only lonely person in the room as the exuberant music faded into the background. Everything felt slow and steady until the person who just walked through the door made your heart stop.

It was Steve. Steve Rogers.

The person you had incessantly wondered about. You hadn’t seen him in over a year even during the gap between graduating and starting your freshman year in college. You were too occupied in moving out, spending as many time as possible with Wanda and your family and filling out college requirements. Steve would emerge in your mind every once in a while but you tried to erase him away as quickly as possible when it happens because you didn’t want to waste your time missing a ghost and someone who probably never spared a second of his life thinking about you too when you are surrounded with your loved ones for the last time.

You didn’t know when you were going to be able to see Wanda again. She was going to New Haven and that means, it would take at least at two hours drive to visit her so you cherished the last moments that you had with her. She was like a sister to you. You still talked to Wanda nearly every day through texts but you also didn’t want to intrude her study too much. Besides, you had your own duties too as a college student now.

So why did it feel like your lungs stopped functioning when you saw his gorgeous face and those familiar pair of cerulean blue eyes? He had a grin on his face as he walked in with five other college boys. You didn’t know who they were but you assumed they were his new group of nitwit friends. Steve was wearing a brown leather jacket with a black shirt underneath.

He walked to where the kegs were with the boys trailing him along like they were his security team. They joked with each other boisterously as if they owned the place. Typical. Nothing you hadn’t seen in high school. But you couldn’t avert your sights from Steve. You were too riveted by the fact that Steve was here, at a sorority party of NYU.

It couldn’t really be him, right? I mean, is this serious? You two really attended the same university? This must be a joke.

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted when Nat pat your shoulder with her energy still blazing from the dance floor. “Whew, that was fun but I need some drink now.”

You didn’t respond as your lips were still agape, not knowing what you were supposed to say to her.

“Y/N? You alright? You look like you saw a ghost.” 

“He’s here.”

“What? Who?”

“Steve Rogers. The guy that I told you about.”

“Where?!”

You pointed in his direction where he was surrounded by a bunch of pretty girls in skimpy dresses now. One of them was groping his bicep shamelessly and Steve had his arm around her waist. She threw her head back as she laughed cheerfully at something he just said.

“You gotta talk to him! Have some closure.”

“What? What the hell am I supposed to say to him?”

“Tell him that you and him are through and maybe, throw a drink at him afterwards. That scumbag deserves it.”

“Nat, no! Are you insane? I don’t wanna cause a scene.”

“But you can’t just let him get away with whatever he wants, y/n!”

“No, let’s just go home and forget it, okay?”

“Alright, if you’re not gonna talk to him, then I will.”

“No, Nat! Stop! What are you doing?! ” But she was already approaching him with ardent footsteps and fire in her guts as she brazenly inserted herself into the middle of the scene.

“Excuse me,” she sarcastically greeted the group. “Yeah, hi, I just need a minute. Are you Steve Rogers?”

You followed behind her but you stood just a few feet away from the incident so that Steve wouldn’t see you. But you could see from over Nat’s shoulder that Steve had a perplexed look on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed and all the girls around him were staring at Nat like she was a crazy person who just randomly popped up uninvited.

“…yeah.” He answered.

“Oh, so you’re the asshole that my roommate has been talking about. Man, she really didn’t lie.”

“Excuse me?” The puzzled look on his face turned into an offended one.

“Yeah, my roommate y/n. Does that ring a bell?”

He was aghasted at the mention of your name. Before he was given a chance to answer, Natasha filled his silence with more of her venomous words. “You really have the audacity to show your face here, huh? I swear to you, the next time I see your irritable face again, I will make you regret for ever breathing in my direction, but for now, I think this will do.” She threw the beer in her cup onto his face, humiliating him in front of everyone who was entertained by the drama.

Steve wiped his face with his hand and he was too stupefied by the information that had just been dumped on him like a cold water. Well, it wasn’t entirely figurative though.

Before Natasha walked away, she sneered with a sly smirk on her face, “enjoy your party.” She shoved the empty cup to one of the girl’s chest as she reflexively caught it, with a flummoxed expression, her eyes didn’t stray from Natasha.

She walked away vauntingly from the flock towards you, “let’s go, y/n.” as she kept walking towards the entrance. You were still frozen in your spot as she was already going for the door. But before you could follow her, your eyes landed on Steve’s doused face as his eyes were already fixated on you.

For a moment there, there were only you and Steve and the intimacy of unspoken farewells and muted longing that were encapsulated in one bubble of silence that comes when two people understand each other. It was like the drawer of Steve’s things that he left with the memories and he never asked you to return came hurdling back like ocean waves and everything just evaporated in the ticking time.

There was no need for words because your eyes delivered more than both of your lips had in the past couple of years.

“Y/N?” He uttered your name. That was perhaps the first time he had called you in years. And with that, it was like every broken piece you had intensively woven back together ruptured and there was no safety net that would prepare you for this fallout.  

He was bewildered by seeing you here and you had no clue what you were supposed to say. So you threw him a poignant smile, forcing yourself to put on an impassive facade in front of him. You were good at that, you had years of practice from all those times you found Steve making out with Janet in the parking lot. You wonder if they were still together?

You wordlessly walked away and joined Natasha to the front porch. Steve watched you turn your back on him, not knowing whether he should call your name again, follow you or he should just let you go. You on your way back home were filled with so many thoughts. You couldn't help but wonder, what would’ve happened if you had stayed and talked to him at the party? What would he say to you? Would he even care at all?

But on the other hand, you were relieved. It’s like, you truly got the closure Natasha said you deserved. Never in a million years, you would ever dream about standing up to Steve like that. Hell, you weren’t even brave enough to tell him how you feel back when you were younger. But may God bless Natasha and her parents for creating her, she defended you in a way that you could never do. And she showed you that maybe, it’s time you hold on to your promise that you vowed to yourself, that you were finally going to move on and bury him into your memory dump.

You were in college now. You had no time to wallow in sadness and heartbreak caused by a douche like Steve Rogers. So you made peace with the fact that it was probably the last time you were ever going to see him. You might run into him around college but you weren’t going to let it shake your ground. You unlocked the door of your dorm with a contented smile on your face as you sat on your bed.

Natasha instantly went for the small closet to change into her pyjamas but was briefly delayed by your mumble. “Thank you.”

“Pardon?” Natasha turned her head into your direction.

“Thank you. For doing that… At the party.” You smiled at her. You sincerely meant every word.

“I’d never let a man walk over a good woman like you, y/n.”

You nodded as she carried on with what she was doing. She went into the bathroom to wash herself off and you laid in your bed, feeling lighter than you had ever felt in years. Maybe she was right. It was time you realize your worth. You spent too many years doubting yourself just because Steve was too much of a reprobate to cherish you.

You closed your eyes, relishing in the comfort of your bed without fearing a ghost looming in your sweet dreams anymore now.

Letting tomorrow surprise you with whatever it has in store. Sometimes it involves a charming devil standing on the other side of your door with flowers in his hands and a wicked scheme to accomplish.

[99simproblems]

Rules: 1. Pick a sim of your choice 2. Tell us about them 3. Tag someone else (if you want to!)

I was tagged by @theageofsims.  Thank you!

Name: Kim Kyung-hwa

How old is your sim? 

He's actually 40 years old, but like all Witches, he stopped aging in his mid to late twenties.

When is your sim’s birthday? 

April 30

What is your sim’s zodiac sign? 

Taurus Sun  Scorpio Moon  Leo Rising

(Aries Mercury, Leo Mars, & Gemini Venus)  

Martial Status: Married

Does your sim have any nicknames?

I suck at giving my OCs nicknames.  

Do they have a job?  

He owns and runs a Bakery-café.

 ( He was a hairstylist, but it’s difficult to pull off in this game, so I changed his career again.)

Where does your sim live? 

Currently Willow Creek, but he's planning to move.

Who does your sim live with? 

Isaiah, his two cats, and dog. 

What environment did your sims grow up in? (strict, loving, cold etc.) 

His father was a strict disciplinarian. His mom was the more loving and relaxed parent, but had no problem being stern when necessary. 

What are your sim’s favorite food?  

Turtle Cheesecake

What is your sim’s favorite drink? 

Anything sweet and fruity.

If they have one what is your sim’s favorite color?  

Purple, Red, and Black

Is your sim introverted or extroverted?  

He's definitely an extrovert. He can easily walk up to a stranger and start a conversation if they have good vibes.   

What is your sims favorite woohoo position?  

Prone bone (prefers the dominant role) and Cowboy. 

Is your sim a pet person? 

He has a soft spot for cute animals, plus he has the ability to communicate them. It’s annoying sometimes, but it’s useful.

Does your sim have a best friend?  

He has three close friends: Thanh, Ramón, and Takeshi.

What is/was your sim’s favorite school subject?

His favorite subjects were PE, Spanish(he loves learning languages), and Social Studies.

(I’m on the fence about giving Witches separate schooling, but if I choose to go that route, his favorite subjects would be Spellcasting and Divination.)

Are they planning to go or have they already been to college?

 Already been. He graduated from Britechester in 2003.

What are your sims political beliefs? (if they have them) 

He’s strongly left-wing.

Does your sim have a favorite TV show:  

Honestly, I don’t know. 😅

Does your sim like books?

Kind of? He rather watch a movie, though. Reading is Isaiah’s thing. 

What is your sim’s personal style?  

Snazzy suits, form fitting pants(esp ripped pants), half open shirts, chest harnesses, hats, earrings, ankle boots, big hats, and chokers. He also wears leather jackets(I just haven’t found any that look flattering on his body type :P).

Is your sim religious? 

His religious beliefs are a mix of Buddhism and Muism (Korean Shamanism).

What kind of music does your sim listen to? 

His playlists have songs from a variety of genres except Country, Death Metal, and other genres I can’t name right now. 

What is your sim’s favorite type of weather? 

He likes mid-spring weather. It’s sunny, but not too hot. 

Does your sim have a dream job?

One day he wants to expand his business. He’s working on making that a reality. 

Does your sim have any siblings? 

He has an identical twin sister(she's cis, he's trans), an older brother, and a younger sister.

Does your sim get along with their family?

He's close to his siblings. He has a great relationship with his mom too.  His relationship is father is pretty good these days. He clashed with him a lot growing up. He thought he was emotionally distant and controlling. His  strictness pissed him off. He also hated how he prioritized work over spending time with his family. Min-chul was driven by his need to be successful and financially stable, so his children could have a better life than he did. Kyung-hwa didn't understand that when he was young. But still, his dad didn't have to be so damn strict and overprotective. He felt stifled and controlled. (Having autonomy is very important to him).

What is your sims favorite hobby?

Collecting Vinyl records. He has them organized by year, date, and genre.

(An ESFP being organized? It’s more likely than you think.)

What does your sim look for in a romantic partner? 

Someone who loves him for who he is and doesn’t try to control him.

What is a flaw your sim has? 

His confrontational personality has gotten him into risky or even life threatening situations. His flirtatiousness almost ruined his relationship with Isaiah.

Does your sim have a greatest achievement?

He’s working on it.

If they have one, what is your sim’s greatest regret? 

He regrets giving his virginity to his high school boyfriend. That asshole basically ghosted him after he gave it up. Kyung-hwa isn’t the type to dwell on the past, but he’d chew him out if ever sees him again. He would’ve confronted him back then if his friend didn’t hold him back.

[comradelup]

clouds and operas

Kravitz is waiting for him when he gets there. He smiles at Taako as he approaches and looks his outfit up and down.

“You certainly know how to dress up,” he says, then meets Taako’s face again. “I feel underdressed.”

“Because you wear suits all the time. You gotta learn to dress down.”

ao3

An opera. What a nerd. Who knew the grim reaper was such a nerd? Well, Taako knows now. And now he’s on a date with him. His second, to be specific.

After he heard that conductor comment he demanded to know more about it, since it was surprising to hear Mr. Work Accent was apparently so classy. Kravitz told Taako to dress formally for it, so he did.

His suit has a tailcoat jacket and it matches his pants. Powder blue and patterned with little white clouds. To drive it home, he’s wearing a yellow bow tie to represent the sun. It would make that shitty train wizard so jealous and is fancy as all hell. His hair… he doesn’t really know what to do with it. He cut it after, y’know, Glamour Springs, so it’s shorter now. It’s had time to grow back, no doubt, but it still isn’t at Taako Brand Length™. He pulls it into a low but tight ponytail at the base of his skull. The tail end of it barely reaches the bottom of his neck, but it’s the most “formal” hairstyle he knows. Plus it’s not like he can’t pull it off.

Kravitz is waiting for him when he gets there. He’s dressed in a fancy black suit like he always is, but it’s appropriate for this setting. He smiles at Taako as he approaches and looks his outfit up and down.

“You certainly know how to dress up,” he says, then meets Taako’s face again. “I feel underdressed.”

“Because you wear suits all the time. You gotta learn to dress down,” Taako says, using his umbrella as a cane as he starts up the stairs with Kravitz at his side. (Apparently the skeleton he lifted it off of had taste, because the umbrella’s fabric changes at the user’s will. Tonight it’s the same blue shade as his suit.) They join a steady flow of others into the building which is good, they aren’t late.

Kravitz has the tickets and hands them to the attendant, who gives Taako’s suit an impressed look. Taako doesn’t notice though, because—

“Why are you wearing gloves?” he asks Kravitz as they walk into the building. It’s fancy and has crystal chandeliers, but he’s giving Kravitz his attention.

“Oh!” Kravitz says as if just noticing them. It’s fair, Taako randomly brought it up. “I thought it’d be a little fancier? And uh,” He looks nervous as he says, “last time you said my hands were cold.”

Taako laughs and Kravitz looks more nervous. “That’s fair! That’s fair, I’ll give you that, Bones.”

Now Kravitz chuckles. “Bones?”

“Yeah, you’re a skelling-ton. You’re all bones under there.” Taako gestures to Kravitz with his free hand.

“So are you,” Kravitz says.

“Yeah but I’m not the grim reaper,” Taako says. They reach a grand staircase and start ascending.

“Fair enough.”

On their way up Taako gets a good look at the building. Dark green carpets and walls with gold accents, and hanging golden chandeliers that twinkle. It’s beautiful.

Kravitz says, “I’ve always loved this hall. It’s gorgeous.”

“Always?”

“Oh I’ve been around way longer than this place,” Kravitz says.

“Right, you’re immortal, aren’t you?”

“Kind of. After I died The Raven Queen let my soul live on as a bounty hunter under her rule.”

“So… immortal?” Taako asks, earning a small laugh from Kravitz.

“Guess so.”

They get into the actual concert hall and get to their seats. The seats are comfortable and pretty close to the stage, which is nice. Taako has no idea what operas are like though, so he doesn’t know what to expect.

Something must have shown on his face, because Kravitz asks, “Have you ever been to an opera before?”

“Nope,” Taako admits, trying to sound nonchalant. Part of him worries that he’ll look like an idiot here.

Instead of a joke or a look, Kravitz says, “Oh, then you’re in for a treat, this show is amazing.” He’s smiling like he’s excited. Huh.

“I’ll be the judge of that, Bones,” Taako says.

“…Alright.” Kravitz leans back into his seat, giving Taako a look. A daring and playful look. A look that says, go ahead and judge.

Taako feels his face darken, just a bit, and tries to match it with a look of his own. He says, “Alright.”

The show starts and Kravitz is right: it’s amazing. He’s not surprised, a place this pretty can’t pump out bad performance. Although Taako can barely make out what’s being said. Halfway through the show, he feels a hand grab his own and looks down to see Kravitz’s gloved hand holding his. The fabric is black, and it dampens the coolness of his skin. Not completely, Taako can still feel a lack of warmth, but it’s nice. He finds himself smiling at brown skin against black velvet before looking back up to the stage.

If he thought he couldn’t keep up before, Kravtiz laying his head on Taako’s shoulder made his brain blue-screen. Almost immediately he leans his head on Kravitz’s in return, and the show suddenly becomes even more enjoyable. As the big finale approaches, he can feel Kravitz squeezing his hand in anticipation and Taako squeezes back. They have death grips on each other’s hands until the show ends and they’re on their feet applauding with the rest of the audience.

Kravitz is practically floating with giddiness after they leave. They haven’t let go of each other’s hands, which Taako likes most of all. They’re walking… somewhere, Taako isn’t sure. He just wants to stretch his legs after sitting still for so long. Getting to listen to Kravitz talk about the show is a bonus.

“I know you said this is your first one so I don’t know what your expectations were, but that was phenomenal, even by my opera standards. And I’m not saying that to brag— I’ve been around long enough to see months worth of shows.” Kravitz sighs, shaking his head a little. “It really is a shame that that was your first show. Any other show you see will completely pale in comparison.”

“Well you better pick a good show next time then, Bones,” Taako says, and wow he didn’t mean for his voice to come out that soft. When he sees Kravitz’s slightly flustered expression, he ends up not regretting it.

“Next time?” Kravitz asks.

“Hell yeah next time,” Taako says. Duh, obviously. “That was fucking cool, I gotta see more.”

Kravitz just lights up. Who knew Death could look so lively? “Yeah, yeah I agree.” He brushes a dreadlock behind his ear. “I’ll look out for a show to top this one. Although I doubt there is one.”

“I trust you can surprise me,” Taako says, bumping his shoulder against Kravitz’s.

“I could say the same to you.” Kravitz bumps back. Then he stops and he turns to face Taako.

“What’s up?” he asks. Kravitz is looking away from him, at the ground or their intertwined hands.

“I just,” Kravitz looks up, into Taako’s eyes. “I’ve had a great time tonight. Thank you for joining me.”

Taako chuckles. “Course. I had fun too. Although,” he says, dragging out the word. For added dramatic effect, he taps a finger against his chin as he says, “this date could be even better if you ask me.”

Kravitz quirks an eyebrow, clear confusion written all over his face. “What do you mean?”

“This,” Taako says, then he closes the distance between them to kiss Kravitz. The hand not holding Kravitz’s goes to hold his shoulder. Kravitz instantly kisses back, his own free hand moving to Taako’s waist. It doesn’t last long though because Taako is soon breaking it, laughing a little as he moves away just slightly.

“What?” Kravitz asks.

“I… I forgot you were cold,” Taako admits. Instantly Kravitz looks super embarrassed and it makes Taako laugh.

Kravitz starts to stutter out an apology and Taako waves him off. He’s laughing with Kravitz, not at him, though he’s not sure if Kravitz can tell the difference.

“Wait, let me just…” Kravitz moves his hands off Taako to bring them to his face. Taako laughs again as Kravitz starts blowing into his hands to warm up his face. Kravitz starts laughing too, though it’s muffled by the hands over his mouth.

When they collect themselves Taako gently moves his hands away from his face. Holding both hands in both of his own, he says, “Let’s try this again,” and they do.

It’s much nicer. Taako could get used to this.