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hddnone · 7 years ago

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Steve Rogers and the Three Thefts

Steve x Tony Stony Fairy Tale Bingo (Goldilocks and the Three Bears square) Rated: G Word Count: 1.7K A/N: Many thanks to @kaci1ynn for the beta, and @bill-longbow for the blueberry assistance ;)

Summary: The first time Steve takes something of Tony’s, it’s an accident. The second and third times though, those were less accidental. There’s probably a better way to get Tony’s attention, but since it’s working… Read here on AO3 or below the cut

The first time Steve takes something of Tony’s, it’s an accident.

“Where are my blueberries?” Tony demands as he rifles around in the refrigerator.

Steve freezes, his fork hanging in midair and holding his next bite of blueberry waffle.

“Um,” is all Steve says, and Tony whirls. Tony’s gaze darts to Steve, to Steve’s fork, then to the last bit of blue-speckled waffle that remains on Steve’s plate. Tony hits Steve with an accusing glare. “You didn’t put your name on them!” Steve defends, because he had double-checked.

Stark Tower is more spacious than Steve is accustomed to, but the Avengers still manage to make it feel small. He doesn’t know if that’s more of Tony and Thor’s big personalities, Clint and Natasha’s ability to be both everywhere and nowhere, or Steve’s own issues in trying to find his footing, but somehow even with all the roominess in Stark Tower they still can step on each other’s toes.

“You used them all?” Tony asks. “And didn’t even save me a waffle? Was there a food eating competition or something?”

“No,” Steve answers, because there had been eating competitions between Thor and Clint and sometimes himself. “There weren’t that many,” he tries to explain. He knows he eats a lot compared to a non-enhanced human - Tony had even shown him a graph of it once - but he isn’t the kind of person who would’ve tried to eat Tony’s food on purpose without at least asking permission.

“And you decided to take the last! Search and seizures are a no-go here, Cap. Must have a warrant, must pass go before collecting your two hundred dollars.”

“Well, next time you should mark your food,” he says, straightening his shoulders. Tony shares equal blame if he isn’t going to follow the rule that if it’s not labeled then it’s fair game. Steve pops the last bite of the waffle into his mouth and then gets up to put his plate in the dishwasher.

“Well next time save me a waffle!” Tony calls out to his back.

The second time Steve steals something of Tony’s, it’s spontaneous.

Weekly movie nights have become tradition if they’re home from Avenging or missioning or traveling. The spots that they sit in have been settled since the beginning.

Thor sprawls across the floor in whatever pose he feels like that night. Natasha and Clint settle into the two-seater sofa and fight over snacks the entire time. Bruce and Steve share the couch, comfortably spreading out with their own bowls of popcorn while Tony occupies the armchair in a variety of ways, only some of which could be called ‘sitting.’

Tony is late, despite JARVIS saying that he’d set several alarms for his creator to make sure Tony could make it on time. This is the first movie night in a month that all of them could make it, with Thor visiting Jane and first Clint, then Natasha and Steve getting called out on missions. But tonight Tony is late, and his overly fluffed armchair that does not fit with the rest of the sleek decor is empty.

Steve sits in the armchair.

The rest of the Avengers give him raised eyebrows but say nothing. Steve stuffs a handful of his popcorn into his mouth as JARVIS rolls curated previews to give a more movie theater feel (and to help them pick out new movie choices) and waits.

The lights are dimmed, the movie just starting, when Tony strolls in. He almost sits right on top of Steve, until he leaps up when he realizes there’s someone in his seat.

“What are you doing?” Tony hisses.

Thor shushes him from where he lays on his stomach with his head propped up on his hands.

“Sitting,” Steve whispers back. “Go find your own seat.”

“This is my seat!”

Steve rolls his eyes, over-exaggerating so that Tony can be sure to see it even in the dark. “They’re all your seats, I know. Whatever, just be quiet.”

“So help me, Rogers, I will write my name on everything in this Tower!” Tony threatens. He huffs and crosses his arms.

For a moment, Steve fears that he’s miscalculated and that his seat-switching is going to make Tony walk away from movie night entirely. But with a final glare at Steve, Tony simply whirls and sits down on the couch with Bruce.

“Popcorn?” Bruce offers, extending his bowl over.

Tony grabs a handful and eats it as sullenly as someone can manage to be sullen while popping popcorn into their mouth. He glares at Steve whenever he looks away from the movie, and Steve pretends not to notice while he tries not to smirk.

The third time that Steve takes something of Tony’s, it’s intentional.

There’s something about being able to get under Tony’s skin that settles Steve. Billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist, Iron Man - how does a kid from Brooklyn, even one called Captain America, compare to that? Tony Stark always has a quip, a comment, a smirk for reporters, for Fury, for Coulson, for anyone and everything and even for Steve when they’re on the battlefield.

But it’s Tony who makes snide jokes about blueberries whenever Steve makes breakfast, all while making sure there’s always a stash - one with Tony’s name on them, one without. It’s Tony who shows up at movie nights on time, sometimes early, to make sure to guard his spot from Steve. It’s Tony who goes off on crazy, outrageous tangents as he dances around and accuses Steve of other heinous deeds like leaving one cracker in the box (Clint) or leaving the toilet seat up (Natasha, for unknown reasons) or not looking both ways before he crosses the street (Steve and every other New Yorker).

It’s Tony who manages to get under Steve’s skin, in turn, but that has less to do with Tony’s attempts at retaliation - hiding all of Steve’s socks, really? - and more that Steve finds himself craving the attention that comes with getting a rise out of Tony.

Steve’s Ma would slap him upside the head for this. She taught him better.

Steve does it anyway.

“Don’t make me put on the suit,” Tony threatens.

“Put on the suit and see how that works out for you.” Steve grips the mainframe of the couch and holds on, refusing to budge when Tony tries to roll him off. The couch in the workshop is stained, lumpy, and faded, and Steve gets an up close and personal view. He grimaces at the idea that Tony sleeps down here more than his own bed.

He gets it, kind of - the beds now are huge compared to what he’s slept on since before the ice, and he’s filled the space with pillows to feel less alone. That Tony would find a smaller space to sleep in isn’t a terrible idea, and now it’s one that Steve wants to copy. That Steve sleeping on the workshop couch irritates Tony because ‘I bought you the best mattress anyone in the world can possibly have, Steve, why are you sleeping on my couch’ is, of course, only a small benefit.

“Get off my bed, Steve,” Tony growls. He stomps over to one of the tables and grabs a gauntlet, slipping it onto his arm.

Steve settles deeper into the cushions. “It’s a couch, not a bed. Figured a genius like you would’ve figured that out by now.”

Tony powers up the gauntlet, but Steve doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he raises his eyebrows in challenge.

Tony discharges, the blast flying just above the couch and Steve’s head. Something shatters, and Steve snorts.

“Quite the power play,” he taunts.

“You’re an asshole,” Tony spits and crosses his arms in a huff. “You take my food, my spot, now my bed? You’re nothing but a thief in patriotic pants.”

Maybe Steve could’ve picked a better spot to make his last stand for Tony’s affections. Occupying the workshop couch had many strategic merits, though - prime location to Tony, transport lines of resources via DUM-E, and a fortified station that Steve could sleep on.

And, for better or worse, Steve has gained Tony’s attention.

“You keep telling me you have great taste, and I wasn’t supposed to be curious?” Steve asks. He keeps an eye on the suit, just to make sure that JARVIS isn’t going to take control and knock Steve out of it on Tony’s orders.

Tony glares at him. “The bed in the penthouse is much nicer. Go steal that one.”

Steve pretends to think about it. “Too big. This one is just right.”

“For me,” Tony argues. “Not for super soldiers!”

“How do you know?” Steve asks and before he can second-guess himself he reaches out and yanks Tony onto the couch. Steve presses himself against the back of the couch so that Tony had some space, but it’s not a lot. “See,” Steve says, trying not to breathe too hard, “isn’t that just right?”

Tony gapes, blinking at Steve. “Are - are you flirting with me?”

Tony doesn’t sound happy about that. Steve lets go of Tony and tries to push himself back but there isn’t anymore space on the couch.

“I, um…”

“Have you been flirting with me?”

Steve blushes.

Tony props his head up on his hand and stares down at Steve, a grin twitching at his mouth. “Wow. That might be some of the worst flirting that I’ve ever seen.”

Steve flushes darker. “Can’t be that terrible,” he mumbles. “You’re still here.”

Tony laughs, so hard that he almost falls backwards off the couch. Steve grabs him and steadies him, and then suddenly Tony is closer than ever.

Tony grins wide, his eyes sparkling. “Do you steal all the pretty girl’s blueberries as an introduction?”

“If it works,” Steve says, giving Tony a half-shrug. He smiles, a tentative one, because Tony hasn’t tried to roll back off the couch yet or even remove Steve’s grip around his waist.

“Guess you got some game after all,” Tony teases.

“That mean you’ll go to dinner with me?” Steve asks, his heart thumping in his chest.

Tony grins. “As long as you promise to not steal the food off my plate, I’m there.”

Next Friday at seven o’clock, Steve doesn’t have to steal any of Tony’s food because Tony freely offers it on his fork. Steve doesn’t back down from the challenge, though - not when Tony looks at him like that - and so, face red, he leans over and lets Tony feed him the bite.

“Don’t I have the best taste?” Tony teases as he gives Steve a heated look.

#stony #superhusbands #stevextony #stony fairy tale bingo #megan writes things

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oracleofthegods-archive-blog · 7 years ago

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1/4 | Four months, he thinks. A hundred and twenty one days since they were unceremoniously stapled at the hip. It's felt a lot less like obligation in the last month than the three before it. His feet are bare, and his hands free of the leather that's usually snug around his skin. His coat is hung behind the door, and he's sitting on a small two-seater sofa with a pen in hand and several papers sprawled out on the table in front of him.

2/4 | Her weight isn’t unwelcome beside him, he’d invited her in after all, but it’s unsettling. Unsettling at how natural nights like this are starting to become. Unsettling how easy it is for him to exist quietly in this shared space. Unsettling at how unsettling it actually wasn’t. Squall doesn’t ponder these recent turn of events, and how they casually speak of the things that keep them awake at night.

3/4 | He doesn’t contemplate the meaning behind the odd feeling of comfort her magic has become, that the chill beneath his skin, especially when she’s near, is what helps him sleep at night. He doesn’t pretend that he isn’t aware that she finds an ounce of peace similarly, but he doesn’t blatantly mention it, either. Instead, as he drops the pen and forgets the papers that Garden has sent, Squall reaches a hand to work at the stiff tendons in his neck, —

4/4 and addresses her nonchalantly, “Do you want to sleep here?” He views it as a fair question to pose given the hour. She hasn’t lingered as late before, but it’s the first time her emotions are quiet enough that he can’t hear them, nor tell what she’s thinking. (But I feel calm, so I’m guessing you do, too.)

@r1trigger

It is a rare moment anymore when her thoughts are relatively untroubled. There are, of course, the continuous nuances that plague her mind, yet they have become so consistent that she has learned how to sequester them away when these brief hints of peacefulness manage to find her and quell her into a gentle presence. She is not the fiery rage that consumes some people, at least, not on the outside. Her thoughts and fears, anger and growing anxieties, though, are shared between Squall and her, and she imagines that when her own mind is calm, it can allow for his to be, as well.

Or, perhaps, it can be an influence on the storm raging within him. She knows he is far from the stoic face he wears so naturally; life as a soldier has refined him into steel in as many facets as could be managed throughout the malleable nature of youth. It has taken a while to become accustomed to it, to know that it is simply how he is, and not that he dislikes her presence.

And he needn’t speak a word for her to know that he doesn’t dislike her presence. A slow lowering of all walls they had put up tells her as much. He is far more unguarded now with her than he was before, and she with him. So strange from less than half a year ago, when he had been not more than her Knight, with all the formalities and business clauses to follow suit; pay schedules and duties and what might be expected of both Luna and Squall, all details worked out between her parents and Garden. They had once been unwilling players in all of this. His agreement, regardless of how reluctant it might have been, had been permission enough needed to draw up contracts and spend days in discussion. Luna had been unwilling all around, but with no choice in the matter.

So different now, and in the span of just a few months. Four months, three, perhaps even two months prior, she would not have stayed so casually beside him, and for quite this long. Knees pulled up, feet peeking from beneath the hem of her nightdress; hair down and cheek resting on her hand against the back of the small couch in his room. The silence is soft as she watches him flip through various papers, the remnants of a contract she no longer feels a business attachment to, save the continued payments transferred to him. It is only fair, after all, since his life, his entire life, must now be devoted to keeping her safe.

He does not put up his defenses around her quite so much anymore, and she finds a certain comfort in it. In him. In how he tempers the chill in her bones and the fire in her heart. He keeps her from succumbing to her fears as hopelessly as she had before. Beside him, she feels stronger than she had when it had been only her and her nightmares and a house of people frightened by her power. And she - she has tethered him to a life that had left him so hurt before.

She doesn’t allow herself to dwell on the guilt of that. Not this night. Not when his eyes are focused and his hands are relaxed. That is just another of those feelings that she has learned to live with, that she pushes to the side in favor of a simple moment spent in relative calm.

The silence is broken when he speaks, and his question has an easy answer. She is comfortable and warm, has found solace in his company, even in the quiet; and far less simply, she does not wish to be alone tonight. “I do,” she says quietly after a moment of thought. Before, she might have added, ‘If it is alright,’ but she refrains. She knows now that it is alright. He would not offer if it was something that would bother him. Not anymore.

So very far have they come.

A soft smile crosses her lips as she stretches her feet to the floor and turns her eyes to look at him. Her eyes are tired and her body exhausted, and yet she knows that she is strong with him. Catching his gaze, she feels at ease. “Thank you.”

#○ Are you getting stronger or is time shifting weight || V: FFVIII #r1trigger #(it's kinda short but I felt like the moment was captured nicely :] <3)

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herecirmsims · 8 months ago

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A Small Gift

Oki, I've got so many unreleased posepacks just sitting on my computer and I really need to start getting them out. Here's a start. 😆

This was a commission for TheBatAndHisClown and contains 5 couple poses for use on a 3-seater sofa and 1 solo animation for use on a double bed, plus all-in-ones. The Sim who's receiving the gift will need the unicorn toy acc for all poses. Thank you to @simdertalia for allowing me to convert one of their plushies!

M and F rigs were used and there may be clipping or floating depending on clothing and body type.

You will need: - Pose Player - Teleport Any Sim - Unicorn toy acc (included) and unicorn toy from this set - any three-seater sofa (some sofa arms may clip) and double bed

Acc details: - 1198 poly - found in the wrist category - UV mapped to hat category

Download here: SFS | Patreon

TOU: you may adjust for personal use to avoid clipping etc., but please do not reupload/paywall/claim as your own.

I’d love to see them used! You can tag me on Twitter, Instagram, or Tumblr. I repost. ❤️

You can easily browse more of my posepacks using my Ko-Fi gallery. Have a request or want to make a commission? Details here!

@ts4-poses @alwaysfreecc

#ts4-poses #ts4 posepack #sims 4 posepack #sims 4 poses #sims 4 couple poses #alwaysfreecc #herecirmposes

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catsblob · 8 years ago

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hello! this was the most voted thing on my recent poll, a sofa couple pose pack ♥ this was originally from an old request, but I thought it was too cute to just simply throw out, so I added another pair !!! I would’ve added a w/w set but I would never find time to do so :~(

hope u enjoy these!!

↝ download and info down below!

This was made with, obviously, a female/male model for the first three poses, and two male models for the rest of the poses.

I previewed everything with an ab enhancement, so it may look different for you if you don’t have it! Hands may clip through with thick clothing, ab enhancements (obv), or if there’s anything on the bed that is in the middle.

The sofa used (in blender) is an EA base three-seater sofa, so any sofa with a long width should be good!

Use two teleport statues in the same place in the middle of your three-seat sofa :-)

download is here! (no adfly | SimWorkShop)

All In One poses are not given since the pose update allows you to select them all quicker ^^

please do tell me if there are any issues or if want any of the cc used in the preview pics! also tag/mention me if you use them in a post, I’d love to see them~ C:

#ts4cc #sims 4 cc #s4cc #ts4 poses #sims 4 poses #pose #tcc

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ma-ng · 8 years ago

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come back for me (iii)

chapters: i. , ii. , iii. , iv. , v.

ao3 link for those who prefer

this story is getting a lot of love and it's making me super happy!! it's a lot of fun to write even if i just want to get to the point where i can introduce all of gotbang's witchy peculiarities but!! pacing is good to. builds up expectation and giddiness lmao.

so here's chapter three!! and we get to meet everyone's favourite at the end~ yay for managing to worm another child in at the third chapter, haha.

iii. death

jinyoung’s gaze follows coco as the dog trots in, jumping up and placing her paws on his shin, tail wagging furiously until he pets her head. she gives a happy little bark and wanders further into the house, stopping at every single person in the room to say hello. when she arrives at her second owner, she refuses to leave mark alone until the man has scooped her up and held her close to his chest. she strains a little in his arms when she spies taehyung still wrapped up in his cocoon of blankets, and mark shifts close enough for taehyung to reach out a hand to let her sniff.

the thud of boots to jinyoung’s left has his gaze turning back to youngjae. the witch is struggling slightly with the laces and, honestly, the dream weaver doesn’t blame him much. it had started raining only a few minutes ago and already it looked dreary and freezing outside. he wouldn’t be surprised if he found out that his friend’s fingers were numb to the bone. when he drops slippers in front of youngjae’s socked foot, the witch in turn tils his head to give him a small smile.

a loud poof sounds behind him, followed by coughing and an indignant squawk from jaebum that he would later deny to within an inch of his life.

“oh, my god! jinyoung-hyung, you have honestly been so mean.”

jinyoung turns his head, intent on asking kunpimook what, exactly, he had been so mean about when he’s suddenly attacked by the sight of yellow. a bright yellow that smothers kunpimook’s torso and crawls up his neck. the sweater should be hideous — and honestly, if he saw it in a shop on a wrack he would be filled with the urge to burn every single last one of them — but somehow it doesn’t look hideous on kunpimook. only mildly disgusting.

youngjae seems to have managed to get his other boot off and stuff his feet into his slippers, as well as close the door behind him, because he’s walking past jinyoung and shooting kunpimook the most appalled look jinyoung has ever seen on his face. “never mind that, what are you wearing?”

and because it’s kunpimook, the man strikes a ridiculous pose, going so far as to include his legs in it to make him look like an obnoxious model, and sends youngjae a sultry look. “do you like it? it’s my own creation.”

“I think it’d look better if you take it somewhere that can unravel it,” jaebum butts in, arms crossed over his chest in an attempt to make everyone forget the squeal he’d made moments earlier. it doesn’t work, because jinyoung is sure that mark will use it as future blackmail, if the curve to his lips is anything to judge by. and if mark doesn’t, jinyoung might just have to.

“excuse you!” kunpimook gasps, dropping the pose to press a hand to his chest. “this is a masterpiece and I would like you to respect that!”

“guys,” mark says, absentmindedly stroking coco.

“by masterpiece,” jinyoung says, walking into the living room and stopping behind the sofa, leaning his hip against the back. “if you mean an actual disaster, then yes, it is a masterpiece.”

kunpimook’s jaw drops open, forcing his lips to make a perfect ‘o’, and his eyes narrow as he practically glares at the dream weaver. “park jinyoung,” he says slowly, dropping his hand and squaring his shoulders. “you did not just insult my hard work.”

youngjae blinks several times, eyes roaming over the sweater while jaebum points at it questioningly, and says, “that is hard work?”

“I cannot believe I am friends with all of you. none of you deserve me, I should just leave right now. I can see where I’m not wanted.” the thai witch jerks his chin up and spins around on his heels, disappearing round the corner down the hall

“guys,” mark tries once more.

“yugyeom! jackson-hyung! just the people I wanted to see!”

“bammie?”

“what are you wearing?”

“I made it myself! isn’t it pretty? I wanted to show off how good my ideas are but they don’t think I should have wasted time making it.”

“well…”

“guys!”

three heads snap to look at mark sat on the sofa, eyes wide and lips parted, as they take in the frown etched on the tattoo artist’s face. slowly, the three witches from the hallway emerge into the living room, their hands raised in surrender and eyes looking specifically for mark. when the six of them have their attention on the man, he leans back in his seat and tilts his head slightly.

“now,” mark says, raising his eyebrows. “can we get down to what you guys came over for?”

jinyoung’s eyes fall to taehyung. the five-year-old is paying little to no attention to the adults in the room, making him wonder if that’s because of the boy’s illness, too, or if his attention span is just that easily distracted by a soft, fluffy dog that keeps licking his hand whenever he tries to stop petting her and recluse back into his blanket fortress. a sigh leaves his lips and, before he knows it, he’s moved around the sofa to sit beside his foster child, crossing one leg over the other.

the others fall suit, sitting on the sofa where they can manage; which ends up with jackson practically forcing kunpimook to sit on his lap as he squidges in beside yugyeom on the two seater, jaebum dragging a dining chair over and youngjae quite content to just sit on the floor, leaning back on his hands.

mark’s eyes slide over every face in the room before he gives a triumphant nod, shifting back in his own seat and pulling coco away from taehyung so the boy doesn’t get distracted. “now, taehyung-ah.”

the five-year-old drags his hand back underneath his blankets and sits up a little straighter, looking up at mark with wide, watery eyes. “yeah?”

“do you think you can tell everyone what you told me a few minutes ago?” mark asks, not dropping eye contact with the boy. “about the woman?”

“okay,” taehyung says with a nod, he turns his head to look at jinyoung before he starts talking, voice ever so slightly nasal from the blocked nose he’s still sporting. “she says she doesn’t like talking to me. she says she wants to find someone older.” taehyung frowns as he gazes at jinyoung’s bewildered expression. “she’s wet and she won’t let me help her.”

jinyoung can’t look at anyone else for a moment, stunned by the idea that ten minutes ago taehyung had complained to mark about a woman while there was definitely no woman in sight in the whole apartment. there hadn’t been a woman in his flat since his mother visited for new years, giving him a surprise and gushing over the rest of his coven as much as she did over him.

“woman?” he finally manages, spying out of the corner of his eye as jaebum frowns, and yugyeom and jackson share a look between them. “what woman?”

taehyung doesn’t miss a beat, hand darting out to point just over jinyoung’s shoulder. “that woman.”

despite the feeling that he already knows what he’s going to see, jinyoung turns his head to gaze at the empty space behind him, eyes focusing on the sky outside his window and the rain hitting the glass. he turns back to look at the boy, who’s taking his hot chocolate from mark and sipping on it loudly.

“I don’t see a woman,” jinyoung admits tentatively, unsure how the child will take it.

taehyung blinks and pulls his mug away from his mouth. “it’s okay,” he says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. and, honestly, between witches, it probably should be. “mark-hyung says he can’t see her either.”

mark and jinyoung lock eyes over taehyung’s head, the tattoo artist shrugging one shoulder at the questioning look. of course, taehyung is a growing boy, a five-year-old witch. and, though it isn’t rare for children this young to start showing hints at what type of witch they might be, what their powers will revolve around, something about the whole situation seems a little more worrying than it should be.

“what does she look like, taehyung?”

the boy turns his head to look at youngjae, opening his mouth to speak. but instead, his jaw just hangs as he stares at the small dots, stars and feathers youngjae has tattooed onto the apples of his cheeks, following the curve of his eyes. although taehyung isn’t anywhere close enough to look upon them in small detail, the ink still manages to capture his attention until jinyoung gives him a nudge that he almost doesn’t feel thanks to his blankets.

“she’s got dark hair!” he blurts quickly, curling in on himself and hugging the mug closer to his chest. his cheeks colour a little in embarrassment. “she’s really wet and she shivers a lot. she keeps saying mean things to me,” he adds on, bottom lip slowly pushing out into a pout. “she doesn’t like me.”

jaebum’s eyebrows raise high before they fall into a frown. “she doesn’t like you.”

taehyung shakes his head. “she keeps saying she doesn’t want to talk to a kid. that I don’t get it.” the boy ducks his head even more, looking more than a little put out when he mumbles, “that I’m useless.”

the frown on jaebum’s face matches those on the other six adults in the room except for one. mark shifts a little in his spot, taking taehyung’s mug when it’s empty, and jinyoung wraps an arm around the five-year-old as well as he can, pulling the boy a little closer to him. the boy’s been here over a month now and jinyoung already feels his heart taking the child in with open arms. he should probably try and put some distance between the two of them, keep his feelings to something less familial, but it’s a struggle he doesn’t think he’ll win.

“you’re not useless, taehyung-ah,” he says as tenderly as he can while keeping his voice stern. he rubs what he thinks is taehyung’s arm, giving the boy a squeeze for reassurance.

taehyung pulls the covers tighter around himself. “she’s saying I am again.”

it honestly looks like everyone’s ready to fight someone they can’t see as they all shift in their spots; jaebum’s jaw is set and eyes narrowed, jackson is digging his fingers into kunpimook’s hips, who looks like he wants to pounce on thin air, and yugyeom is forcing his fists between his thighs, shoulders hunched, the frown set so deep into his face jinyoung thinks it might just become a permanent fixture. the only one who hasn’t reacted so badly — merely suffering from the twitch of an eyebrow — is youngjae.

jinyoung watches his friend and skims his gaze over his face, analysing the pull to his mouth, arch of his brow, the ever so slightly out-of-focus glaze that has been present in the witch ever since the two met. suddenly, youngjae perks up, as if he’d been pricked by a needle, and pushes himself slowly onto his feet until he’s crouching. “what does she look like, taehyung?”

the child blinks and looks over at youngjae, eyes wide and watery. “what?”

youngjae waves a hand at kunpimook, who looks like he’s about to point out that taehyung has already mentioned what she looks like, and persists with, “can you see through her?”

taehyung blinks owlishly at him, eyes leaving youngjae for a simple second to the empty air in front of the window. there’s something that settles in jinyoung when he notices how the five-year-old’s eyes focus on something and follow it as it moves to stop beside youngjae. the child looks back at youngjae and gives two small nods.

“good, good, good,” youngjae says, standing abruptly and patting the back of his trousers. “how long have you been able to see her?”

mark’s fingers reach over and start playing with taehyung’s hair gently, pushing themselves under dark strands and then gently combing their way through knots. it makes the boy relax against jinyoung a little further, eyes moving between the standing witch and thin air.

“um,” he says, uncertain, eyes moving as if he were looking someone up and down. “maybe…. I think she came here tuesday?”

youngjae’s nodding, no longer patting his bottom, and moves past jaebum’s chair and the two-seater housing yugyeom, jackson and kunpimook. he stops at the dining table to dig about in a black messenger-style bag that jinyoung had failed to notice he’d brought with him — probably how he’d kept coco dry on the way over — that was a gift from kunpimook several years ago. “have you seen others like her?”

taehyung nods against jinyoung’s chest, making both him and mark stare at each other with parted lips and blank faces. youngjae sends a look over his shoulder and snaps the five-year-old out of the trance he’d been put into upon seeing the ink that decorated the back of the adult’s neck. “yes!”

youngjae turns back to his bag, elbows deep into it and still looking for all the world as if he can’t find a single thing he’s looking for. “when did you start seeing them?”

“I don’t know,” taehyung mumbles, turning his head into jinyoung’s chest. the way he says it, as if he feels sad and guilty for not being able to answer something, makes jinyoung’s heart beat hard enough to bruise his ribs. he squeezes the five-year-old and mark ruffles his hair.

“okay.” youngjae huffs and seems to have given up on whatever it was he was looking for, leaning against the table and crossing his arms over his chest. he chews on his tongue in thought, squinting down the hallway. “do you remember a time when you couldn’t see people like her?”

taehyung shakes his head, speaking when jinyoung turns him around so he can still be practically cuddled in the dream weaver’s lap but speak without sounding muffled, “no… I don’t remember things good.” he refuses to look at youngjae when the witch turns his attention from the hall to him. “I’m sorry.”

“did you see people like her at home?” youngjae questions, face impassive.

the answer is immediate if quiet, as if taehyung wants to be of as much help as he possibly can to make up for his uncertainty. “yes.”

youngjae nods. jinyoung spies jaebum’s attention turning from youngjae to taehyung, up to jinyoung and then back to youngjae once more, his confusion evident in the pull of his features, the way he splays himself out on the chair, legs spread slightly and heels resting against the floor. jackson doesn’t look much better in understanding, and is much more obvious with his flickering attention. yugyeom seems to be intending to try and find the invisible woman while kunpimook is the only one gesturing wildly.

the heavily tattooed witch catches his eye with a raised eyebrow, and kunpimook thrusts his hands out in front of him, “what? what is it? what have you figured out?”

“I can’t be certain, but I think I might know what type of witch taehyung is,” youngjae says. he pushes away from the dining table and juts his chin out at jinyoung, catching the man’s attention easily. “but first, jinyoung, you won’t happen to have any mullein, wormwood, mugwort, lavender and thyme?”

“you know,” yugyeom says, standing a few feet away from youngjae but unable to keep himself from giving into his curiosity and intrigue at the ritual about to take place, no matter how many times he’s seen it, “when I came here today, I didn’t think I’d get to see you at work.”

the witch kneeling on the floor snorts and continues to flick his lighter until the flame stays steady, moving it along the lavender until it catches fire, quickly extinguishing the lighter and patting the lavender against the plate it’s sat on until the small flames die out and only smoke is left. coco, sitting beside him, twitches her nose at the smell but otherwise doesn’t move. “shouldn’t you be fawning over taehyung like everyone else?”

the two witches lock eyes and then turn their attention to the five-year-old boy on the sofa. jinyoung is no longer sat beside him, instead rummaging around in his kitchen trying to find where he put the thyme that he swears he has. instead, kunpimook has moved to take his spot and jackson mark’s after the tattoo artist stood to allow the ever excited healer a chance to meet the boy face to face for the first time. despite the grogginess that still clings to the sick child, he grins as wide as he can, just the hint of a box-like shape to the stretch of his lips, looking back and forth between jackson and kunpimook.

the three of their voices carry between the thuds of jinyoung’s cupboards opening and closing, creaking hinges only adding to the atmosphere, and mark and jaebum’s murmuring from behind the two seater, eyes stuck on taehyung and company while they speak to nobody but each other. there’s questions about tattoos and magic and pets, neither youngjae nor yugyeom being able to deny the squeal of delight and look of excitement on taehyung’s face when he finds out kunpimook has a pet snake — a banana python called banana.

yugyeom and youngjae turn their heads to look at each other once more, both supporting the same, smitten and soft smile on their faces. yugyeom shakes his head and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “nah. I’ll talk to the kid later. maybe when he doesn’t look like he’s about to pass out any second.”

youngjae snorts before he can stop himself. “nice choice.”

yugyeom continues to cock his head and watch as youngjae turns the bay leaves he’d gotten from his bag as well as the thyme jinyoung finally returns to the living room with into incense. the mixture of smells that slowly strengthens in the living room is enough to give yugyeom a headache and he backs off, fingers itching to open a window. jackson did that once and almost threw himself out of it straight after when youngjae’s screeching scold reached him.

jinyoung moves to stand next to yugyeom, crossing his arms over his chest, and also watching their friend. “you know, I thought you said that you’d cleared this flat the week before taehyung got here.”

youngjae pauses where he is, hands holding the mug of mugwort tea to his lips. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, mug pulled an inch away from his lips to allow him to speak, “yes, because the spirits that stuck around beside you then were ‘exorcised’, as you put it. what, did you think your flat was free from the rest of the spirits that walk the earth from now ‘till forever?”

the dream weaver scowls, and then scowls deeper when he hears yugyeom try to hide his laughter between sealed lips and failing miserably. “just drink your damn tea and get on with it.”

there’s a twitch to youngjae’s lips as he finishes his tea, downing it quick as if it were a shot, complete with grimace once everything had been ingested. jinyoung took the offered mug from his hand and moved to take it out to the kitchen.

“okay,” youngjae says, and it’s louder now because he’s no longer only talking to yugyeom. jaebum and mark look up from where they’re standing, still huddled close with mark’s head dangerously close to lying on jaebum’s shoulder, and the younger man’s hand resting on his boyfriend’s hip. kunpimook and jackson �� reluctantly, yugyeom notices with much amusement — turn away from taehyung to give youngjae their full attention. “I’m going to need everyone to be quiet and form a circle around me.”

jinyoung walks out of the kitchen and hesitates slightly. they’d moved things around in the living room, shifting the coffee table out into the hall and pushing the small sideboard with the tv on it as close to the wall as possible. youngjae said he needed to sit as close to the centre of the room as possible and surround himself with his necessities — lavender, thyme, mullein, copal, graveyard mold and god knows what else — in order for the ritual to be most effective. everyone else already moves to sit behind one of the plates.

“does taehyung need to be here for this?” jinyoung asks. he walks closer slowly, stopping a few feet away from his foster kid still wrapped up in blankets.

youngjae stares at him for a moment and jinyoung doesn’t like the feeling that his friend thinks that he’s stupid. “he sees spirits, jinyoung-hyung, and he’s a young witch. do you think he’s not going to become part of rituals in later life?”

pressing his lips together into a thin line, jinyoung asks as politely as he can, “it’s a bit of a heavy ritual to be his first, don’t you think?”

the necromancer’s gaze is unwavering, steady and unblinking, so the dream weaver just sighs, shoulders slumping. “alright, aright. taehyung-ah?”

the boy perks up where he’s sitting, fingers grasping tightly around the first blanket that had been wrapped around him, and looks up at jinyoung with wide, hopeful eyes. “yes?”

jinyoung waves the boy over with his hand, sitting beside yugyeom and leaving space for the five-year-old to plop himself down between the two of them. “I want you to listen carefully to what youngjae has to say and follow his directions if he tells you to do something, okay?”

“okay!” taehyung whispers, practically bouncing where he sits as he stares at the bowls in front of him.

youngjae surveys the two of them, then spares a look at the other four adult’s faces, raising one of his eyebrows. “okay, we good?” when he receives a nod from every single one of them, he nods himself and shifts about on his knees, straightening his back.

shedding the jacket he’d been wearing shows a loose sleeveless v-neck tucked into his jeans, the fabric flowing over the waistband, and allows the multitude of inked designs on his skin to come into view. they seemingly activate with the smoke, rippling, moving, twitching, breathing whenever the thick smoke touches them or brushes against the necromancer’s skin. even the feathers beneath his now closed eyes shift as if they’re being played with. jinyoung looks at taehyung out of the corner of his eye and is unsurprised to find the five-year-old gawking, but feels a small amount of pride bloom in his chest when he notes that he hasn’t moved an inch from his spot, though he looks like he wants nothing more than to touch youngjae.

sometimes, jinyoung forgets what his friends hide beneath their clothes. he lets whatever dead tongue youngjae starts whispering wash over him as his gaze drags over his friend’s body; etchings of some of the herbs they’re using now and some jinyoung can just about recognise through the fog that’s building up in his flat decorating youngjae’s wrist like a bracelet and circling his biceps in two bands an inch apart from each other, the moths and butterflies that live on his throat, the black cat that stretches on the back of his left hand and the crow that continuously flies around and around his collarbones.

somewhere in his mind, jinyoung tells himself that mark has contributed to the art on youngjae’s body before his eyelids feel heavy and fall down until he can see nothing but black. the fog in his home is seeping into his mind — and, he’s sure, the minds of everyone else present — and weighs down on his consciousness until it leaves him thinking of nothing but a woman. a woman with dark hair and dark eyes to match, with small hands and feet, a gangly body. she’s moving in a kitchen that doesn’t become to be jinyoung’s, talking to a little girl that doesn’t look familiar. then she’s sitting at a desk in a suit, phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder, familiar lines on her face that anyone would be able to associate with stress. and then a man comes in, out of focus, winding his arms around her waist and pulling her against him, resting his chin on her shoulder.

there’s something about the images that feel dated, and suddenly jinyoung can’t hear properly any more. it’s like he’s underwater, a film pushed over both the conversations happening in — what he can only assume are memories of a person he’s never met — his mind and youngjae’s chanting that he knows will have grown from whispers and murmurs to normal volume.

he doesn’t have the time or awareness to worry about taehyung because there are more memories flashing through his head that aren’t his; the little girl’s second, fourth, tenth birthdays, the woman laughing in the park, at a movie, content reading a book, joking about with the unfocused man as the two of them wash dishes. there’s trouble in paradise when the woman shouts at the man for something he did or didn’t do, for a misconception, for discomfort. he doesn’t know what it is, just knows that he witnesses several that all end with the two of them clinging to each other tightly and apologising.

everything seems so mundane, from witnessing the woman giving birth to the clean-up of the house, from moving out when she can’t be much older than eighteen to her first date with the unfocused man. it seems like such a normal life that jinyoung loses himself in the tranquility until it slaps him around the face so hard he thinks he’s gotten run over.

the little girl isn’t very little any more, maybe thirteen, when she comes home from school and runs to the bathroom, intent on relieving herself only to find the bath filled to the brim with water and her comfortably clothed mother lying submerged beneath the surface, peaceful.

belatedly, taehyung comes to mind, and jinyoung wants nothing more than to pry his eyes open and reach out for the five-year-old, to make sure he’s okay and not scared out of his goddamn mind. but he can’t, because instead he’s staring into the face of the dead woman as she’s dragged out of the bath by the little girl, only to be found minutes later by the unfocused man as he comes in from who knows where.

the feeling of consciousness and the awareness of air in his lungs hits him almost as hard as the woman’s suicide had. the dream weaver’s eyes snap open. they’re too blurry, almost to the point of spilling over and dripping tears down his cheeks. he thinks they might be puffy, might be red-rimmed, but he says nothing, doesn’t move a muscle except to blink so he can focus, doesn’t even dare to look to his sides.

in front of him is the same woman from before, in her soaking wet clothes with her hair plastered to her scalp and neck, dripping water to his floor that leaves a ghostly puddle. she’s glaring at youngjae, hissing something in the language of the dead before turning on taehyung.

it’s with wide eyes and an urge to let his jaw fall slack that he watches youngjae at work, listens to the sharpness of his tongue and the determination in his words, spies the hands that offer several of the objects and plants laid out on plates, but the woman refuses. she hisses and curses and almost roars, face stretching to accommodate unreal expressions of anger that twist her into something no longer human, into something that portrays only what truly could have been her soul.

the air is tense and it burns jinyoung’s lungs and he worries that he can’t breathe, worries that taehyung might not be able to stay seated and still, worries that jackson will try and do something to stop the shouting and unintentionally just make everything worse— the woman in the middle of their semicircle explodes.

it’s not as cool as it sounds; it’s damn near frightful. there aren’t flames, or fire, there’s just a ghost one second, dangerously close to stepping too close to youngjae and absorbing herself into his body when she freezes, face contorting until she screams and scratches at her face in vain. because nothing happens; there aren’t any scratches left behind, she doesn’t manage to make herself bleed— jinyoung wonders if she can feel anything at all. but then it comes, she lets out the biggest wail and just combusts. air and dust and what jinyoung would like to call ectoplasm rushes past all eight witches in the living room, reaching every corner on offer.

the silence that falls afterwards is deafening.

slowly, jinyoung spies out of the corner of his eye that yugyeom has started to move. it’s shifting his weight about on his legs, but then jinyoung can see him more clearly because he’s shuffling around the bowls youngjae set out and gently places a hand on the necromancer’s forearm. there’s a sharp intake of breath and youngjae snaps rigidly to attention.

“jinyoung-hyung,” he says, and his voice isn’t the nice, soft little thing jinyoung’s used to hearing, instead it’s deep and raspy, dry and sounds like it hurts. the dream weaver gives a sharp nod when youngjae locks eyes with him. he knows from experience that there’s nothing youngjae hates more when he’s in charge of his rituals than people not listening or doing as they’re told. “I want you to get taehyung dressed, pack an overnight bag for him and yourself, and then leave your flat.”

he’d like to say that he understood what he was being told straight away and sprang into action, scooping up his foster child and getting him dressed and out the door in a matter of five minutes. but he doesn’t do any of that. instead, it takes kunpimook gently nudging him and jaebum shifting to rub taehyung’s back to make him even register that he’d been given orders.

“what?”

youngjae doesn’t repeat himself, instead turns to look at yugyeom, who’s still got a hold on his arm. “help jinyoung pack and get out. I need jackson and bambam to stay with me. you two are going to be invaluable.”

jaebum shifts to pick taehyung up bridal style, holding the five-year-old close to his chest, and under mark’s guidance moves down the hall and enters the small boy’s bedroom. the tattoo artist then grasps jinyoung’s arm and pulls the witch to his feet, snapping him out of his daze by snapping his fingers in front of his face until the two of them lock gazes.

“go and help taehyung calm down and get ready, me and yugyeom will worry about packing you an overnight bag for you, okay?” mark says, already walking jinyoung towards the hall.

yugyeom standing up in the background and moving after the two of them seems to be what snaps the dream weaver out of it. he gives a nod and turns of his own will, walking down the hall and entering his foster child’s bedroom. taehyung’s sitting on the edge of his bed, legs dangling and fists pulling his blanket tight around his small form, staring down at his lap as jaebum tries to comfort him with a soft voice and reassuring touches.

jinyoung steps forward and places a hand on jaebum’s shoulder. “can you pack a small overnight bag for him, hyung?”

the florist raises his eyes and searches jinyoung’s face for a moment. he looks close to grinding his teeth together in thought, but stops just before and gets to his feet instead, moving away from the two of them and grabbing the backpack taehyung had brought with him on his first day. jinyoung nods and sits down next to taehyung, wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders gently. immediately, the child turns and grabs a hold of his shirt, burying his face into his side. it’s only now that jinyoung realises he’s trembling.

“it’s okay, you’re alright,” he says softly, moving his other hand so he can rub the boy’s side as reassuringly as possible. “I know it’s a bit of a shock but it’s over now, okay? we don’t have to see any more.”

taehyung doesn’t give him a reaction, just stays with his face pressed against jinyoung’s side. the adult witch wonders if he should pull the other into his lap and hold him close, or if that would only exacerbate things. instead of giving in and coddling the five-year-old, he gives him a squeeze and lowers his head, “we need to get you dressed, okay? we’re going to go out and have some hot chocolate and then we’re going to have a sleepover, okay?”

the child pulls his face away slowly with a sniff after a brief moment of hesitance. he looks up at jinyoung and the man is floored by the look on the little boy’s face. he registers the nod and jumps into action as quickly as he can while still being gentle enough to keep taehyung from freaking any more out. in the end, the five of them are waving goodbye to youngjae, jackson and kunpimook in seven minutes before the door closes behind them.

“what do you think youngjae saw in your flat, hyung?” yugyeom asks, twiddling the straw to his chocolate milkshake between his fingers.

the four of them are currently sitting in a café they frequent enough that they’re on first-name basis with the staff. they’re occupying a booth, with mark and jaebum sat on one side and yugyeom taking the seat next to jinyoung when taehyung made it adamant that he isn’t going to leave his foster dad’s lap any time soon. the five-year-old himself has hot chocolate in a to-go cup with its lid in place so spilling it would be more difficult. his little hands struggle to hold the cup occasionally, either putting it down on the table until he can steady his grip or cuddling the warmth to his chest.

jinyoung has an arm wound round taehyung’s middle, and he stares at his own coffee that glares right back, half gone. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know there was a ghost in my flat to begin with.”

yugyeom gives him an exaggerated one shouldered shrug. “they do get around a lot.”

the dream weaver sighs and rests his chin briefly on the child’s head, tightening his grip. their bags are under the table, by his feet, and although taehyung is no longer trembling and walked alongside jinyoung without protest, holding onto the adult’s hand, he had yet to say a word or show any of the enthusiasm that he had had before the whole ritual ordeal.

“well,” jaebum says, and he’s sloshing his iced americano around on the table with one hand, no doubt grinding his back teeth together in thought if the twitch of his jaw is anything to go by. “it wasn’t really… usual, either. or was that just me?”

jinyoung blinks. “usual?”

“she exploded. at the end. or did you miss that?” jaebum points out, eyebrows disappearing under his fringe and making jinyoung want to quite possibly drop kick him into next week.

mark nudges his boyfriend without even looking into jinyoung’s direction, instead surveying the inside of the shop, and jinyoung both loves and hates how well the tattoo artist knows him. “don’t speak like that to jinyoungie, jaebum-ah.”

they lapse into silence after that, each of them concentrating on their own drink and thinking over the events in their own minds. because now that jinyoung doesn’t need to worry too much about taehyung, about the boy suffering from shock right after the ritual and seeing him more or less functioning, jinyoung now has the chance to reflect back on things he himself missed when he was still trying to return to himself.

mark had been deathly pale when he’d stood up and moved to help jinyoung to his feet. he was sure, now, possibly, that jaebum had felt ice-cold beneath his hand when he’d touched his shoulder back in taehyung’s room not half an hour ago. youngjae had looked exhausted, yugyeom the epitome of panic. jackson and kunpimook hadn’t registered too much in his sight, in his mind, and he can’t help but kick himself at the idea of having missed something. well, normally he wouldn’t care. when taking part in a ritual like this, it’s usual for the participants to suffer from some kind of after effects of the memories they watched. which is why jinyoung had returned to himself with his eyes burning, practically crying where he’d sat.

taehyung shifts in his lap and he lifts his head, loosening his hold just slightly. the five-year-old places his hot chocolate on the table and grabs one of the cookies they’d bought gently. he takes a small bite, the crunching loud despite the murmur that lives inside the cafe. with the cookie apparently being up to par, the child shifts until he’s sat sideways in the dream weaver’s lap, curling up against his chest as much as possible.

“do you think,” mark says, letting his gaze return to his friends once more, “do you think it’s possible that there might have been something else?”

yugyeom swallows his mouthful of milkshake. “like what? another ghost that’s tormenting the ghost that was being mean to taehyung-ah?”

at the mention of his name, the small boy flicks his eyes up to yugyeom and then to mark, locking gazes with the eldest witch. he continues to eat his cookie quietly and does nothing to the relief that washes over mark’s face. sweet treats always helped beginners in rituals come back to themselves safely if they still felt disconnected. and if not, it was still a nice bonus.

“can you rule it out?” mark says, looking content at yugyeom’s lack of an answer. he shifts about on his side of the booth and moves closer to jaebum, a little sigh leaving his lips when an arm wraps around his shoulders. “taehyung-ah, do you remember seeing any other people like that woman in jinyoungie’s flat?”

the five-year-old straightens his back and raises his head enough that he can look at mark properly when he answers. jinyoung wraps both his arms around the small body and relaxes back in his booth, suddenly feeling very tired. “there, um, there was one. he was really mean and scary. he kept shouting at me in the middle of the night and wouldn’t let me sleep, so I went to jinyoung-hyung’s room, and he let me sleep there.”

jinyoung blinks, looking down at the top of taehyung’s head. “that’s why you came into my room? I thought you had a nightmare.”

the only way he could explain the manner in which taehyung looked at him was shyly, even if there was a little bit of guilt underlining his expression. “I… I didn’t know how to explain him. he looked like a nightmare, so… so I just thought…”

“hey, hey, hey,” jinyoung says and gives the boy a gentle squeeze. he waits until he’s got taehyung looking at him again and offers a small smile. “it’s okay. it doesn’t matter why you were scared, you came to me and you felt better, yeah?”

taehyung nods slowly.

“that’s all that matters. we know what it was now, yeah?” jinyoung smiles a little wider at the second nod he gets and he relaxes once more, still keeping his arms around the five-year-old.

“yeah, taehyung-ah,” yugyeom says, ruffling the boy’s hair and smiling at him, lips parting to show teeth and bunch his cheeks up. “you don’t need to worry about being scared when jinyoung-hyung is here to take care of you!”

jaebum snorts, mark kicks him under the table, and jinyoung doesn’t try very hard not to laugh at the dirty look he sends the oldest. shaking his head, the dream weaver nicks a cookie for himself and takes a bite out of it, hiding his full mouth behind his hand when he speaks. “I don’t know where we’re going to stay tonight though. where do you think the nearest hotel is?”

he looks sharply to his left when he hears a snort and resists the urge to smack the younger witch upside the head. “what are you talking about? you’re going to stay the night at my place.”

“at your place,” jinyoung repeats.

“yeah.” yugyeom shoots taehyung a smile and nudges the five-year-old playfully with his elbow, managing to get a tentative smile that only grows when he starts tickling the child’s sighs. “you want to sleepover at mine, don’t you, taehyung-ah? it’ll be so cool!”

“yugyeom,” jinyoung starts, voice presenting a warning.

“oh, come on, hyung,” the witch whines, pouting exaggeratedly and looking like the worst lost puppy in the world. period. “hotels don’t have wiis or games for taehyung to play with. you’ll be bored with nothing to do. but if you come over to my house,” yugyeom says, now turning to speak to taehyung, poking his knee, “you can play all the games you want until bed and you’ll even make a new friend!”

taehyung eyes yugyeom owlishly, jaw slightly slack at the word friend. “new friend?”

the older witch nods. “I have a younger brother who’s about six. he loves meeting people and can always do with more friends.”

mark and jaebum’s faces register nothing more than fond amusement when jinyoung looks over at them, tracing the curve of their smiles and softness in their gazes. it’s honestly a bit of an enigma how a little boy could make the seven of them so weak and ready to fight for him after being in their lives for only just over a month. he wonders if this is what had been missing from their little group; an even littler person.

“jinyoung-hyung,” taehyung says, tapping his hand on the dream weaver’s cheek and looking up at him expectantly. “can we sleep at yugyeom-hyung’s house tonight? I… I want to make a new friend.”

and jinyoung’s weakness towards taehyung and whatever taehyung asks for when he’s like that; a small, shy five-year-old witch who hadn’t known about the possibilities of magic until now, with crumbs around his mouth and a faint hot chocolate outline around his lips, is the only reason why, half an hour later, almost forty minutes, he finds himself sitting on yugyeom’s sofa, having said goodbye to his mother, watching taehyung stare wide-eyed at seokjin’s toys that he insists on bringing into the living room to show the five-year-old and jinyoung.

he blinks and looks over at yugyeom with a blank expression, only to be met by one of the biggest grins he’s seen to date. “if the kid’s going to be in your charge for a long time, he might as well get familiar with those who are going to be family, huh?”

“ah, jinyoung-ssi?”

the dream weaver looks back to the two and spies seokjin standing a few feet away, fingers fidgeting with a stuffed mario plushy in his hands. shaking his head briefly, he smiles and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “yes, seokjin-ah?”

“um, I was wondering if it would be okay if taehyungie could come to my room? I wanna show him all the books I’ve got!”

it might be less that jinyoung is weak for kids when they’re vulnerable and more that he’s just weak for kids in general, because the smile on his face is no longer forced and instead feels like the most subconscious, natural reaction he could ever give. so he just nods.

seokjin grins wide, mouth pushing ever so slightly to the left, and his eyes sparkle as he lets go of mario with one hand, grasping taehyung’s and pulling the younger boy with him to the hall excitedly.

“seokjinnie!” yugyeom calls after them and the six-year-old stumbles to a stop, answering with a “yeah?”. “what do you say?”

“oh!” seokjin steps forward a few steps and bows. “thank you jinyoung-ssi!”

jinyoung just continues to smile when yugyeom says. “how about after you’ve shown taehyung-ah your books, you bring some colouring books down and you can show us why dogs should be allowed to be purple and the grass pink?”

“yeah!”

“okay!”

#mack writes #gotbang fic #got7 fic #bts fic #foster care au #park jinyoung #mark tuan #im jaebum #jackson wang #bambam #kunpimook bhuwakul #kim yugyeom #choi youngjae #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #cbfm #cbfm fic

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blustersquall · 8 years ago

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Only Make Believe // Chapter 2: A Contract

First // ArchiveOfOurOwn // FanFiction.net // Master Post // Previous // Next

Chapter art by @sangosweetz / sangosweetheart on deviantart

16th December

----

Cullen parked outside Nevena's apartment building. He texted to let her know he was there after switching off the engine. He quickly received a response telling him to come up. After pocketing his phone, got out of the car, and crossed the street to her apartment building. The building was not a purpose built block like so many in Denerim. It was once a family home that was converted into apartments when such large houses became unnecessary. Over the previous days Nevena told him she lived in the top most flat, a loft apartment.

They spoke regularly since their meeting at Red Jenny's. There was a lot to discuss and details they needed to rehearse in order for their relationship to seem real. With past clients, Cullen only ever needed the basics – an estimated length of time he and the client had been dating, and where they met often sufficed – with Nevena, given the length of time this façade would be in place, they needed to be thorough and perfect. From what Nevena told him, her sisters would pick up on any discrepancies, and she would be mortified if they discovered their relationship was a sham. Despite being curious, Cullen didn't inquire why. It was none of his business to begin with, and if Nevena wanted to tell him, she could in her own time.

Inside the bag slung over his shoulder, he carried with him the contract he spent the last three days painstakingly typing, adjusting, and rewording. It was, what he considered, perfect down to the last detail, and was a lot shorter than he anticipated. There was no small print, he spoke to Nevena while making the first draft and notified her of any changes. Everything was black and white, above board and they were both aware of the situation.

The arrangement was for a four-week ploy where they would act as a couple. They both agreed to hand holding, mild polite kissing - though Cullen wasn't sure what polite kissing was exactly, he expected Nevena would inform him. Sex was out of the question - as it was for all his clients - and Nevena was under no obligation to pay Cullen for his services if she felt he was unsatisfactory. It was all very clinical but necessary. He did not want to be caught in hot water, and the contracts always made the client feel more relaxed. And Cullen was of the impression that Nevena would need all the help she could get to feel relaxed.

He stopped outside her door, knocked, and waited. From inside he heard an upbeat tune come to an abrupt stop, swiftly followed by low muttering and footsteps.

"Just a second," Nevena called from inside. There were a few sounds of metal on metal, locks being fiddled with and chains being unlatched. Nevena opened the door and stood to one side. "Come on in." She was red cheeked; her hair a tousled mess, fluffier than Cullen remembered it. She was dressed in jeans, a long woolen jumper, and boots up to her knees. "I'm uh--" She quickly grabbed something off the floor as Cullen stepped over the threshold, "I'm just checking I have everything. Give me a minute."

"Take your time." Cullen closed the door behind him. "No rush, right?"

"Ha," her laughter was strained. "Yeah..." She turned quickly on one foot and practically frog marched herself into what he could only assume was her bedroom. He lingered in the open-plan living room, examining her living space.

It was a large space, probably bigger than his own apartment, and old. A lot of the features were clearly original to the house, and added a certain rustic touch to everything. It was painted throughout, mostly white, with the wall opposite the large bay windows painted a warm orange. The windows looked out onto a small balcony and over the city, letting in what cold grey light the December day offered.

There was a small kitchen, divided from the main room only by a folding screen. It was well stocked from what Cullen could see, with pots, pans, and other cooking implements. He wondered if they saw much use. The living area was clearly where Nevena spent most of her time given how lived in it looked with papers and letters strewn across a coffee table. Two white plush sofas were situated near each other, a two-seater and a three-seater. The cushions scattered over them were of a turquoise colour – Cullen noticed that there was a lot of turquoise; small items littered around to contrast the orange wall. There was a coffee table in between the sofas, and the main focus of the living area, a fire place with a beautiful ornamental mantle over it. A television hung above that.

Putting his bag down by the door, Cullen went to the fireplace. Across it were Christmas cards and dozens of photos in frames. Many were of Nevena with a woman with dark brunette hair, sometimes joined by a man with a straight nose and sandy-brown hair. The one photo out of place was almost tucked out of the way and to one side, partly obscured by a Christmas card. Nevena was in it with three other women and three men. The right edge was cut away leaving a mystery arm around Nevena's shoulders.

Cullen picked up the photograph to examine it.

He assumed the women were Nevena's sisters and looked them over closely. The one closest to the photograph taker looked to be the oldest. She had an angular face, a nose that was slightly tilted upwards, and rosy coloured skin. Her eyes, intelligent and shining in the photograph, were of a dark shade of green. Her neatly styled hair was a ruddy brown and looked about shoulder length. Beside her was a man, dark skinned, dark eyes, and black hair. There was stylish scruff across his cheeks, and the hint of a beard growing from his chin.

Next was another sister, her skin the same colour as the first’s. Her face was rounder and did not look quite so severe. She had high cheekbones that brought attention to her most striking feature: startling blue-green eyes. Her hair was a more light brown than the first woman, but still not blonde like Nevena's. With her sat another man, pale and pasty with some kind of bump to his nose, possibly gained from it being broken in the past. His eyes were small, a little on the squinty side, but he had a genuine, if weak, smile. His mousey brown hair was already thinning though he was clearly trying to disguise it.

The third woman looked the closest to Nevena in age. Her face was round and plump, lingering hints of baby fat that refused to shift, her cheeks were a mottled red colour and her skin looked flushed. She had a kinder face than the other two, warm hazel eyes, pretty smile, and thick brown hair all tumbling around her shoulders - it appeared to reach down to her waist. With her was a third man, beaming at the camera with a well practiced smile. A businessman's smile. Around his eyes were wrinkles and there were heavy bags under his eyes. His teeth were a pristine white and perfectly straight - almost gleaming out of the photograph. His hair was cut short and scruffy, almost black in colour, while his eyes were a steel blue.

The last person in the photograph was Nevena. Tucked on to the end of the long couch they were crammed onto, she looked small and uncomfortable. Her smile looked less like a smile and more like a scream for help– even her eyes looked as though they were pleading. She was hunched over, hands hidden in the sleeves of her jumper. Cullen noticed that a hand - that of the person cut from the photograph - was on her thigh and squeezing so hard their fingertips were white.

The image made Cullen frown. He thought back to family photographs of him with his siblings and how they looked nothing like this one. They were often spontaneous, never posed. There was always energy. Here everyone looked stilted, stiff, and uncomfortable. He ran his thumb across the glass, his focus fixed on Nevena's expression of unease.

"Ready t--" Cullen started at Nevena's voice. "Uhm... Mr. Rutherford?" Her footsteps approached and he fumbled with the photograph. "What are you looking at?"

"Sorry." He handed her the picture when she stood at his side. He noticed she had managed to tame her hair, and it was now pulled into a messy bun with tendrils hanging down around her face. "I didn't mean to pry."

"No apology necessary. You didn't do any damage." Nevena smiled up at him and ran her fingers over the glass in the frame. "These are my sisters and their husbands. In case it wasn't obvious." She leaned across him to put the picture back in its place. "That's Ineria and Josef." She pointed to the first couple. "Ineria is... like, twelve years older than me, I think. She and Josef have been married for a looong time. He's a contractor. And then, this is Clotilde and Owen."

"Clotilde is a really ... interesting name." Cullen remarked, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I mean, yours is interesting, but Clotilde is an old name."

"We call her Cleo," Nevena shrugged. The collar of her jumper slipped off her shoulder and she quickly pulled it back into place. "Or Tilly. Rarely Clotilde. I think only Mum and Dad call her Clotilde."

"What does Owen do?"

Nevena snorted, "I have no idea. Last I checked he had quit his day job and was trying to 'find himself.' Some kind of spirituality guru, peddling homeopathy or something. He's never in a job for long."

"So this is Arienne?" Cullen indicated to the last couple, the woman with the kind face and the man with the business smile.

"Yes," Nevena nodded. "She's closest to me in age, but there's still seven years between us. Monty - Montague - is kind of slimy. He's always given me a weird vibe. But he loves Arienne, so that's all that really matters." Another shrug. "And then there's me."

They stood in silence for a few moments both staring at the photograph and not addressing the elephant in the room - the person cut out of the picture. Cullen wrestled with himself and the morbid curiosity welling up inside him. It was obviously someone of importance, someone who once held significance in Nevena's life or the life of her family. And given the body language, the hand on her thigh and the arm around her shoulder, probably someone she was once in a relationship with. One that ended badly. A person didn't cut someone out of a photograph when things ended amicably or it was mutual.

"You--"

"Ready to go?" Nevena cut him off and gasped. "Oh, sorry. What were you going to say?"

Cullen glanced between the photo and her. He brushed his thumb across his lip feeling the pucker of the scar under his thumb. It was a habit, one he did when he was thinking, according to his sister. He tutted and nodded at the photograph. "Who got cut out of it?"

There was an immediate change in Nevena at his question. The comfortable stance became completely still, her shoulders squared and Cullen was almost sure he heard her breath catch. He waited a few moments, his mouth going dry. Clearly his question was a question too far and he was stepping on sensitive ground.

"No one," Nevena replied with a controlled coolness to her tone. She sighed, and in doing so forced her shoulders to relax. "Ready to make a move?"

Cullen watched her cross from the fireplace to where she left her suitcase standing near the door. There was a coat and scarf draped over it and a laptop bag sitting next to the suitcase. She picked up the scarf and wound it around her neck while looking at him expectantly. He let out a long breath he was unaware he was holding and ruffled a hand through his hair turning his back on the fireplace and the photograph.

"Sure." He walked towards her. "Let me just give you this contract first."

"Oh, right." Nevena waited while Cullen removed a printed copy of the contract from his bag and handed it to her. It was four pages and all the main articles were itemized with bullet points. "Do I need to sign it or anything?" asked Nevena, skimming the first page.

"No. This is just for your records and reference." Explained Cullen. "I have one too, and the master copy is at home with the digital signature you provided for me. Everything is as we agreed upon."

Nevena sighed, "I'll keep this safe. I don't want any of my sisters to find it if they go snooping through my stuff."

"Would they?" Cullen queried, lifting a brow. "Go through your stuff, I mean?" The way Nevena looked at him from over the top of the paper gave him all the answer he required. Clearly it was something they would do, else she would not have said so. Hoisting his bag onto his shoulder he heard Nevena stifle a small chuckle. "What?"

"I like how 'no sex' is bold and underlined." The corner of her mouth quirked upwards. "As if it needed to be reiterated."

Cullen gave a noncommittal grunt and shrugged. "No harm in making sure we both know where the boundaries are."

"Of course, I didn't mean--"

"Ready to go?" Interrupted Cullen, picking up her suitcase.

An hour on the road and Nevena found she still couldn't bring herself to relax. The radio was on; she and Cullen had made vague small talk about the traffic, the weather, and what they filled the rest of their week with for the first fifteen minutes before descending into uneasy silence. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and on the gear stick - never quite in time with the music. It was driving her a little crazy.

The traffic was clear for the most part, a few stops and starts on the way out of the city; but now they were on the motorway there were no jams or diversions and they were making good time. Nevena's phone was vibrating every ten to twenty minutes; Ineria was asking where they were and if they knew what they were doing.

Nevena only barely remembered her sister's bed and breakfast, having only stayed there the once several years ago. Back then it was just a large manor house with rooms set aside for guests, last minute holiday bookers, or those on a spur of the moment weekend getaway. According to Ineria's family updates - sent out like clockwork every six months - the bed and breakfast grew popular enough to warrant expansion. Now she and Josef ran Haven together, while their three children went to school in the small town nearby at the bottom of the Frostback Mountains.

Haven itself, according to the website, was a 'sprawling secret hideaway tucked at the bottom of the mountains'. It consisted of around twenty-eight acres of land, with twelve new cabins set in different areas and all connected by various roads and walkways. The manor house was still part of the business - half the house was now a family home and the other half was the business. It seemed to be flourishing, if the reviews and guest testimonials on the website were anything to go by, though Nevena was skeptical. It would not be beyond Ineria to ask her friends to give fake reviews.

Nevena glanced down at her phone as it vibrated again in her lap.

Ineria: Where are you? x

Slouching back in the passenger seat, Nevena ignored the message and tried to focus on other things– the music from the radio, the steady sound of wheels on tarmac, Cullen drumming his damn fingers to the music playing. Drumming them always just out of time...

She jerked forward and reached for the radio switching it off before slumping back in the chair. She didn't look at Cullen - though she could feel him staring at her - and crossed her arms over her chest like a petulant teenager having a tantrum. Her face grew warm and she swore to herself she wasn't blushing for behaving so rudely.

"If you wanted to turn it off, all you had to do was ask," Cullen said after a minute or two of uncomfortable silence.

Maybe the radio and his out-of-time tapping were better.

"Sorry," said Nevena, glancing across at him from the corner of her eye. "I'm a little on edge."

"I noticed." He half-smirked and half-smiled. Nevena had yet to really see him smile. "We've got a good few hours before we get to your sister's place. Do you want to run over things again?"

"Sure," Nevena shrugged. 'Things' were the details they had agreed on over the past few days– little things like where they met, how long they had been dating, who made the first move. Little nit-picky things that Nevena was certain her sisters and parents would pester them about. Cullen was the one who decided everything, working in bits of his life and Nevena's own so they seemed entwined, and their meeting and their relationship would come across as natural, logical progression.

"We met?"

"At Roselyn and Alistair's engagement party, two years ago," Nevena said. "You knew Alistair from school and while you weren't close then, the two of you reconnected when you moved to Denerim and realized he lived there too."

"Okay," Cullen nodded. "And?"

"And we..." Nevena pursed her lips, staring wide-eyed at her distorted reflection in the windscreen. "We bumped into each other at the party, and exchanged numbers because Roselyn insisted we did. Neither of us called or texted for about six months, until we met each other again by accident at the movies. We'd both gone alone because it was one of those streamed-in-from-the-theatre performances."

"What was the play?"

She opened and then closed her mouth. "Oh. Crap. Uhm..."

"Come on, you know this," Cullen said, as he eased the car from one lane into the other.

"I know this," Nevena repeated. The answer was on her phone, but she needed to remember. "It was... I want to say an all male cast of 'Taming of the Shrew'."

"See, you knew," Cullen offered a brief crooked smile. "What happened after that?"

"We decided we had a good time, and started keeping in regular touch." Exhaling deeply, Nevena shifted in her seat. She wriggled her toes inside her boots and stretched her legs out as far as they would go in the foot well. "We've been dating around six months. I didn't say anything to my family because I wasn't sure if this was serious or not."

"Sounds about right." Cullen rubbed a hand over his chin, scratching briefly at his stubble. "Do you think that's enough to keep your family content?"

"I guess." She shrugged. "We'll have to see." They fell into silence again. Nevena's phone continued to vibrate. She shoved it in her satchel after the forth message arrived and vowed not to look at it again until they arrived at Haven.

"Why not turn it off?"

"Force of habit," Nevena huffed. "Can I ask you something?" She turned her head to look at Cullen more directly. It was probably the first time she had done so since getting in the car. He glanced at her from the corner of one eye and lifted an eyebrow, as if that was the sign she could ask her question. She noticed he had a nice, strong profile– she had noticed it in the café too, but closer up, it was clearer to her. Strong brow, strong, straight nose, square jaw, strong chin, attractively shaped lips… "How on Earth are you single?"

Cullen scoffed and almost seemed to choke on his laughter, "That was your question?"

"No!" Nevena squeezed her eyes closed and pushed her face into her hands, mortified at herself for her moment of thoughtlessness. She would never ask him something so personal. "I mean, no. No! I don't want to know. I don't know why I said that!"

"Are you sure?" He was still chuckling.

"Yes, I'm sure!" Raking her fingers through the tendrils of hair loose around her forehead, Nevena growled softly. "I wanted to ask - why are you doing this?" She fought past her embarrassment and the burning sensation in her face. "You said you've done it before for an evening or a day, but this is... this is practically a month. It's a huge commitment. I can't imagine that is something you would take on lightly."

"Maybe I like you," Cullen smirked. Nevena shrank down into her jumper and hid behind her scarf. She wanted the ground to open and swallow her up. Her lack of response seemed enough for Cullen to sober. He took a steadying breath, which helped the atmosphere in the car dissipate somewhat. "Honestly, I guess it's because I know how you feel."

Nevena's brow furrowed. She straightened and looked at him more directly again. "Oh?"

"I know how it feels to be the odd one out in your family." He looked at her for a second before focusing back on the road.

"Sure," she snorted.

"It's true," he protested. "I have two sisters and a brother. They all have lives, and families of their own. And while they are nowhere near as horrendous as your family sound - no offense intended - there are times when they pick at and make fun of my lack of a love life... I guess it's meant to be harmless but..." Cullen sighed. "I sympathize." He offered a genuinely kind look, his eyes warm. "If I can help save you from a month of being the target of your family's jibes and criticism by pretending that we're in a relationship, then I'm happy to do it."

"Oh..." Nevena leaned back in the car seat again. "Well... Thanks then. I guess." She clasped her hands between her thighs and stared out of the window at nothing. The air in the car was tense again, a little heavier than before.

"You're welcome." Cullen reached across and switched the radio back on.

Thank you to my beta readers, @razerathane, @just-another-dalish-elf, and @sakurasakes.

And thank you guys for the amazing reaction and feedback on the first chapter. It's always nerve wracking to upload something entirely brand new, so the reception was amazing. Thank you so much! <3 The update schedule for this will be a bit random - I'd like for every upload to be a surprise. But I'll do my best not to keep everyone waiting /too/ long between uploads.

Thanks again for an amazing response on the first chapter, I cannot tell you how grateful I was for such an amazing reaction! <3 I hope you've enjoyed this second chapter. Please, as always, let me know your thoughts in the comments/tags/reblogs/etc!

Reblogs are always welcome and appreciated! <3

Or, if you’d prefer, you can comment on the chapter itself on AO3 or fanfiction.net

Thanks again for reading! Next chapter soon! ^^

#cullen #cullen rutherford #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #da:i #dai #dragon age au #modern au #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x trevelyan #nevena trevelyan #cullen x nevena #writing #my writing #long fic #fake relationship au #only make believe

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fishmongeringstudies · 4 years ago

Text

thirteen: an ode to my second-floor window

when explaining the structural qualities of my dorm building to friends who had come to visit for the first time in the spring i often likened it to a very large and very disproportionate T-pose or, if one prefers the crude arts to the fine ones, a really interesting dick. it is basically a straight line with a short, squat rectangle extending from its center, like a mushroom with a very large cap. it is like one of those buildings people design when they are asked, abruptly, to draw a building. here are some windows. here is a lounge, but only because you asked for one. and here is the door.

people live in the long flat cap of the mushroom because that is where all the real shit happens in college. the long and flat mushroom cap is so long and so flat that they had to split it in half to make sense of it- north wing (i point in a vague north-east direction), south wing (i point the other way. then i wink, though you miss it). for the spring semester i lived in the south, towards the end of the hallway where a set of swinging double doors leads to the stairwell. my room had a view of the parking lot, half-obscured by trees, and the squat, snow white-styled lodges on the other side of the winding path. it was on the second floor.

on my first day there i found a black sports bra stapled to the notice board outside my room. above the bra was a sign made out of several sheets of paper upon which, in times new roman font size two hundred, the words 'the hall of good driving' were printed. below that was a sign that said 'watch children'. beside that was another sign, printed in cursive: there are so many beautiful reasons to be happy. and someone's driver's license. and a black and white cars screenshot. and a formula one racer, waving at the camera.

one day in february i found someone standing in front of that notice board, looking it up and down with a curious expression on his face.

''sup,' i said. 'what're you doing?'

'appreciating fine art,' he replied.

(i made that up. in truth he said something along the lines of 'i don't get to see this board a lot because i don't live on this floor, you know' which i obviously knew as i lived on this floor and therefore would be expected to know who else did. anyway we don't talk anymore and i might have blocked his number (or was it someone else? one day in may i decided i had had enough of being sent cryptic and ridiculously blunt text messages about topics i no longer cared for) so i suppose it doesn't really matter.)

earlier today i went downstairs to refill my water bottle. on the way up, i stopped on the second floor, on the north end of the building, and stared down the empty hallway. both sets of swinging doors were open at the time so i thought my stare might make it to the other end of the building, past the lounge with the half-functioning a/c. but halfway there, the path curved out of sight. and then the realization: this building is not a straight line. it is a crooked one.

it makes sense, then, that its inhabitants were just as crooked. a straight line looks like a smear of ink from exactly two points on the map. too bad i got held up in the middle. too bad i saw everything in between.

so let's say you're standing outside of hell then, peering in through satan's window. let's say you're standing outside my dorm, phone in hand, fidgeting, waiting, wanting.

the items which can be found outside of the south entrance of this hall are as follows:

a plastic straw. single-use dental floss. a very short knitting needle, yellow, pointed on both ends. a boba bottle (not shattered, half full). an apple core (oxidized). an empty doritos wrapper.

if you head up the short flight of steps in front of the south entrance you will find yourself in a narrow stairwell. there are floor to ceiling windows on your left and there is a carpeted hallway on your right. walk down the hallway and you will reach the lounge situated in the middle of each crooked floor of this crooked building. it contains several armchairs, a three-seater sofa designated at present for one, and two swivel chairs. there is a cubbyhole of a kitchen built into the wall opposite the windows, also floor-to-ceiling, desperately trying to suck up light that stops trickling in in april and will not come again until the coming fall. in it are a fridge, a sink, and some cupboards.

the bathrooms on the first and second floors are gender-inclusive; the ones on the third are not. there are two bathrooms on each floor, one for each hallway, and there are two hallways per floor. each bathroom has five toilet cubicles and five shower stalls.

this dorm is perfectly symmetrical. everything on one side of it is a mirror image of the other. you can spend your whole life not knowing what it's like to touch a doorknob on the right side of a door.

my favorite shower stall was the fourth from the right when you walked into the bathroom on the south end of the second floor. it was my favorite because its shower head was jammed at an angle which meant my hair washed out fast but the plastic shower curtains did not and it had a ledge in the corner that i could leave my soaps and shampoo bottles on. i insisted on showering there for about eight weeks, until the stall started flooding each time i stepped inside because the drain wasn't draining anything and the water was just pooling in that flesh-colored plastic box, the soap suds gathering around my ankles, looking like weird little flowers. so i stopped using that stall and moved to another.

to clarify: not everyone was crooked. when i first crash-landed on mars and i could not breathe for fear that a foreign god would cut my tongue open (a/n: this is a metaphor for anxiety) this building held quiet and conversation apart from each other until they were ready to meet. and when they finally met things got better very fast, and i was ready to be very happy and very hopeful, and then mars cracked open like a big hard-boiled egg and i fell down that rabbit-hole, down, down, down, arms flailing, throat torn out of my throat, heart burnt right out of my heart.

but i met good people there. and i also met bad people. life is nothing without the highs. it is also nothing without the lows.

you want to go up? then acknowledge the dirt at your feet. look rock-bottom in the eye, and tell it you're going to leave.

i don't plan on coming back here when i'm gone. the rooms are big and airy and the view from the back is even more gorgeous than the front, a fact which i am slowly unpacking like an elaborately wrapped gift. but there are no doors on the closets. can you believe that? the closets don't have any fucking doors. they're just these spaces carved into the wall with a rack which indicates that yes, this is a closet and a ledge above the rack which nods its head furiously as if to say yes, this is a closet, and walls on either side which scream at you with bloodshot eyes saying look at this closet, damn right it's a closet, damn right you're going to live here. for four months i lived in the long flat cap of the mushroom.

my residential assistant moved out in the middle of the semester. i was always too intimidated to speak to any of the residential assistants in my dorm even though they were just older students with taller shadows, the one in my hallway included (a/n: this is also a metaphor for anxiety), but in a weird way i missed his presence. he took down the signs on the noticeboard before he left. without them we stopped being the hall of good driving, and started being just us again. just a bunch of kids, playing at being smart, playing at being happy.

sometimes i wonder if he liked the hall he lived in. every few weeks he'd take down the signs on the noticeboard and put up new ones. one time he set up a chair in the hallway and sat there with a pair of scissors and some paper, working late into the night. the next morning there was a t-rex pinned to the notice board, its jaw cracked open as if to scream, or yawn. do your readings, he said. dinosaurs did not read. now they are extinct.

the microwave on the third floor looks like something died in it a long time ago. the student responsible for the ridiculous amount of spiritual damage it sustained graduated three days ago, in the bleak, drizzling cold. we're all that's left now. easy mac, empty takeout containers, empty windows.

next year new blood will move into these sun-washed rooms, afflicted with the same wide-eyed, honest curiosity. next year there will be new children, carrying new mistakes and new ways to stumble helplessly into them. college is nothing without the corpse screaming outside your window, you know? you've got to embrace it. you've got to embrace the crooked fucked-up humor of it all.

so i peel the photographs off the wall, fold my ghosts into the drawer, and get ready to leave in the morning.

06.02.21

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