#so aside from the fact the voids hate christmas

[review-anon]

Mikado maybe you can win the dance competition by doing amazing pole dancing with Nikei!

Firstly Mx Anon, I would never partake in this stupid competition based on a false holiday.

And if this wasn't tied to something so ridiculous, then I wouldn't choose Mr. Yomiuri as he is a very unsuitable dance partner.

I would rather have to endure another one of my articles being surpassed by Masa fucking Esumi, then having to dance with you!

After all you dance like a wet sponge and cannot keep up with me.

Funnily enough I was gonna say the same to you.

Also pole dancing with him, what are you a sick psychopath? The only pole Mikado should have is one rammed into his head.

[funnyscienceman]

look s2 was ass and i hate ori in a pod and dictator cait shouldve been explored more and so much and so much theres so much wrong with it, the writers were ass, i fucking hate riot, never trust that company for anything ever, AND ALSO jayvik makes me fucking cry man. i was so deadfaced for most of act 3 (aside from bursting into laughter when it got so absurd i felt like i was losing my sanity) but then they started throwing the fucking flashbacks to s1 at you and there was viktor being himself again, happy and funny and him and jayce nerding out over science magic whateverthefuck, and jayce said "all i want is my partner back," and externally i was like slack-jawed, blinking, shocked. like wait really? we're getting a fucking she-ra ending? this couldve been built up to so much better this is coming from fucking nowhere but really?? jayvik is back it's fucking back it's real??!?!??

and it was so overwhelming. internally i couldve been bursting into fucking tears. im still reeling over it more than a week later, like. is this what it felt like when tfgraves finally got to have their thing in pride 2022? people are saying jayce and viktor died in that explosion and maybe, maybe not, but that didn't feel sad to me. i guess it could be, it's impossible for me to take s2 seriously from a storytelling standpoint, but this isn't about that. like. two guys choosing each other over everything and everyone else. the sheer fucking devotion between them that toed the line of text and subtext since season fucking one. it's right there, on full display, center stage, and this is the actual culmination of the story i guess. wasnt set up at all this cast was way too bloated for its own good, but the fact that it exists. the fact that it's been brought to the forefront, they are FORCING YOU to talk about it. that one showrunner fucking lost his marbles on twitter because it was so hard to ignore, because the love there was just so unabashed and shameless and visible

I'm. I dunno. This is dredging up a lot of old feelings of loneliness being a trans gay man feeling like an outsider looking in to the queer community. It's a lot. And it's like conflicting so much with how ass arcane handled both its queers and poc, like as much as i love jayvik i also haaaate how mel and sky got fucking shafted, like did you have to do it like that??? and idk how much of the jayvik ending itself is queerbaiting or crumbs or whatever — if it is at all, idk, im not a philosopher or analyst in that regard — but. i just dont know if i've ever felt so seen. is that even the word for it??? maybe my feelings are just all over the place because it's so fresh? my feelings could change, i dunno. i still dont feel like rewatching s2 in full, all the way through, because it was such a slog and it disrespected 99% of the characters so hard, viktor included (singed got out mostly unscathed and i still consider that a christmas miracle) the most i can handle are individual clips and thinking about jayce and viktor doing like a reverse Weathering With You in that magic space stuff was… what the fuck man. i'm breaking. i'm falling apart.

(throwback to this one thing i doodled aaages and ages ago hdmdhdndnc)

idk. i dunno if any of this made any sense. im like rambling into the void rn. um. sorry this is a mess 👍

[woozisnoots]

losing you | yoon jeonghan

° pairing: jeonghan x f!reader, jun x f!reader ° genre: soulmate!au, bittersweet angst ° summary: losing me is better than losing you. ° word count: 1.5k ° warnings: implied death but details aren’t explicit! i promise the fic itself isn’t bad >< ° a/n: TEEHEE @vibecheckvernon​​ SURPRISE I’M UR TCT SECRET SANTA !!!! 😌 posted this a little later for prime angst reading times :D I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT CHRISTMAS!!! p.s. pls don’t sue me i love you <3

inspired by: @95boysbe​ ‘s fic, ‘when you love someone’ (tysm for all of you for helping me find this again! 💓 pls go check out their work as well!) + wonho’s song ‘losing you’

masterlist!

jeonghan has no intentions of going to his family’s christmas party. at least not this early. looking into his appearance in the mirror, he wraps the red checkered scarf around his neck so the ends nicely drape over his white long sleeve shirt tucked under his matching sweater vest. a festive look to hide away his disinterest buried in his “enthusiasm”.

“daddy, are you not coming with us?” jeonghan jolts by the sudden tugging of his sweater from his side, looking over, forcing his eyes to meet with his daughter’s watery orbs.

he crouches down to one knee so he’s completely eye level, tucking in the loose strands of hair behind her ear. “not yet sweetheart. daddy’s gotta pick up a few things for the party.” he opens his arms wide for the tiny human to bury herself in a bear-like embrace. 

“stay by mommy’s side at all times, okay?” the little girl steps back to face her father, her hands gripping onto jeonghan’s index finger. “promise?” he continues to persist until she sniffles a series of nods. a small melancholy smile creeps onto jeonghan’s face as he wiggles himself out of her powerful grasp and cups her cheeks, creating small circles on her soft cheekbones with his thumbs. 

“good girl. i’ll be back before you notice i’m gone.” 

the walk there is shorter than jeonghan was expecting and it almost makes him sick to his stomach. he wants the anticipation to subside by the time he gets there, yet at this rate, he would arrive with nothing but the swell of guilt weighing down inside of him. 

the winter chill makes him shiver, hiding his balled fists in his pockets. the farther he walks, this once familiar street slowly turns into the abyss as the fog erases his footsteps along with the glimmery lights surrounding him. but jeonghan is only focused on the dark pathway ahead of him. weeks after hearing the news, and an additional few months of “recovery”, his imagination has conditioned him for far worser environments than some cold weather. 

the field of clean cut grass beside him is now closed off, barred by a wired fence painted white indicating he was getting close. it was a foolish thing really. this entire time, from the moment jeonghan left the house until now, he’s been trying to find the right words to say to you. what he would say to you if you were willing to hear him out. question he desperately wants answered. jeonghan lowers his head, scoffing under his breath knowing you probably would have. even though he knew himself that he didn’t deserve it. and neither did you. 

he comes to a pause at the entrance, reaching out to maneuver the chains that lock the gateway. taking a slow deep breath in, jeonghan looks up before entering the place of the dead, only to see that you already had company. 

the hint of discomfort causes jeonghan’s body to stiffen - the sight of an tall, unfamiliar man here with you triggering his fight or flight response, his instincts urging for the first rather than late. why would he be at a place like this? and on christmas no doubt.  

jeonghan takes his time walking towards you both, eyeing his physique up and down from afar. as he got closer, he examines the man’s notable facial features. the longer he stares, the more confused jeonghan gets causing him to crease his eyebrows. neither of you know him. jeonghan shakes the thought away- no, he doesn’t know him. maybe within the time you were away, the two might have met. jeonghan keeps his mind neutral, accepting all the possibilities. 

the mysterious man dressed down in this cold december, notices jeonghan walking this way before he could stop in his tracks to presenting himself in front of you. chuckling at the grimace look on jeonghan’s face. 

as respectful as he could possibly mutter, jeonghan opens his mouth to speak, “who-”

“so you must be yoon jeonghan,” he’s quick to cut him off, knowing exactly what might be running through his mind right now. he nods his head towards him, acknowledging the new, delighted presence that fills the air. “my name’s jun.” he watches as the imaginary fumes streaming from the top of jeonghan’s head start to dissipate. “a friend of hers back in america,” he lied, not that jeonghan would ever know anyways. “she talked a lot about you. it almost got annoying. 

just like how jeonghan did, jun studies him in his entirety. a smirk forming on his lips finding that he looked exactly how you described. as well as his own description: a good for nothing low life with faltering loyalty. jun scowls at the ring wrapped around jeonghan’s finger. “talk about that red string of fate, huh,” his words protrude the thick musk that wavers around them, finally breaking jeonghan’s walls. “don’t mind me though. i’m just here to pay my respects as a friend,”jun says, his words laced with sarcasm. 

jeonghan freezes in his spot, feeling only a tingling sensation in his fingers and toes as the flood of memories of the two of you replay in the back of his mind. the entirety of your childhood, including your teenage and what was there for your college years. until the dreaded day you decided to leave. “so, you knew?” he whispers more so for his curiosity rather than looking for an actual answer. 

and from the look on jeonghan’s face, jun could tell. “yeah,” he says just enough for jeonghan to hear. “i knew a lot.” he averts his eyes away from the soft hearted gaze that now appears on jeonghan’s face. 

jun may not have known you the same amount of time as jeonghan did. but the way you wore your heart on your sleeve despite being so vulnerable even after the fact, jun can pluck out things even jeonghan probably never noticed. how jeonghan could ever leave his soulmate for someone else, jun will never fathom at the thought. 

but jun knew your side of the story, how you felt watching your soulmate drew you guys apart. no, he wasn’t your friend per say, not in his official title anyway. when you were admitted into the hospital, jun was only there as a volunteer. he had a responsibility to look after all his assigned patients as comfort companions through their clinical care, including you. 

you were the hospital’s one exception. at the point of your critical condition, doctors truly didn’t know when the time would pass. knowing no one else in the states aside from your family, jun soon became your side by side as hospital bed buddies. and hated every moment of it. 

he hated the way you smiled so brightly for him every day despite how sick you were. but stare blankly at your food whenever it came to you and end up not eating. he hated how you easily created friendships with the nurses and other caretakers at hospital, including himself. but refused to take your medication. he hated how fondly you talked about love when you weren’t feeling it. he hated hearing the sniffles that came from your room every morning after he clocked in. he hated it so much that you still smiled saying your soulmate's name even though he was doing the same thing for someone else. in the end, jun was too late to tell you all that.

fate, being the sick bastard that it is, has jun meeting the one person he actually came to hate. and he’ll do one better. just like how jeonghan never got to know about your true feelings and conditions, jun will never tell him how much he truly cared for you. how he was entirely convinced he, a person who wasn’t even destined to have a soulmate, could fill the void that jeonghan had left. 

the longer jun stands there, the small pit of anger quietly begins to boil and that was his cue to leave. he avoids eye contact as he stirs away from the flowers he left you and tries to make his exits, stopping at his tracks when jeonghan speaks once again.

“then can i ask you something? your opinion as her friend. since you know,” he hiccups, the words coming out a beat too late. his voice also shaky, not knowing if it was due to the cold or the rise of his nerves. 

jun leans on one leg, stuffing his hands in the side pockets of his leathered coat. he almost says no. he wants to say no. “shoot,” sounding unbothered. 

“do you think she’d still want to be my soulmate in a different life?” 

jeonghan’s heart churns at his own question, as does jun’s. he could have asked any other question, but out of the hundreds he accumulated in the mile walk here, jeonghan figured this was the one that jun could at least give some thought. 

jun takes a sharp inhale in, his nails forming small crescent moons into his palm. with a heavy sigh, he turns back around and scoffs at the sight of jeonghan tearing up in front of you. and with gritted teeth, he responds.

“of course she would.”

[victoriareyloficlists]

09/01/2021 Additions to Reylo Angst

These fics have been added to the Angst list located here.

Say it With Sugar by fettuccine_alfreylo (AO3 2016  Rated E Complete, 20 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Ben Solo is the owner of his family’s small chocolate shop. Rey Kenobi is a talented chocolate maker he hires. They both share the same passion for chocolate. Unfortunately, they share the same kind of anxiety, too.) Java Empire And The Rebel Café by fairytalesandfolklore (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: A Reylo Coffeeshop AU. Rey works for the Solo's coffeeshop and finds out their son has gone to work for the competing corporate chain. She tries to get him to reconcile with his parents but a misunderstanding makes him push her away.) Your Half by Celia_and (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 4 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Classmates Rey and Kylo get off on the wrong foot. Too bad they’re partners for the whole semester...) Dumpster Dive Into My Heart by commandercrouton (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Inspried by a tweet from Reylo Prompts: My art professor told us a story about how he hated all his art and threw it out at a dumpster by his campus and then a little while later he went to a girls dorm (who is now his wife) and she had it hanging on the wall :) Love Makes Fools Of Us All by Darkcat18 (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 5 Chapters, Victorian AU, Quick Synopsis: Poe Dameron and Armitage Hux take their friend Ben Solo to Madam Natal's high end brothel so that he can be rid of his virginity. Ben, though nearly thirty, has no desire to lose his virginity to a whore. When he sees Rey, laundress and cook, he strikes a deal with Madam Natal to spend the night with her. Rey agrees after he offers her a very large sum of money, to be paid directly to her. What neither realize is that this deal will change the course of their lives.) It Feels Like Christmas by juniorstarcatcher (AO3 2017  Rated G Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Rey discovers she’s not the only one staying alone in her dorm during Christmas break, she tries to share the holiday spirit with the intimidating and solitary Ben Solo.) A Scandalous Match by Musickat18 (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, 18 Chapters, Regency AU, Quick Synopsis: Despite a very poor first impression, Rey has found herself forced to wed the mysterious and intimidating Ben Solo, Duke of Ren. The marriage is deemed highly scandalous by society as Rey is no more than an orphan living on the good graces of Mr. Unkar Plutt. Rey, now Duchess of Ren, finds herself forced into a role for which she has no training, with a husband who does not even seem to like her.) Wash Over Me by Twisted_Mirror (AO3 2021  Rated M Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: This fic was based on a real life inspired prompt where a guy had posted about an experience with his girlfriend of tender intimacy and healing after past unhealthy relationships.) Those We Love by Everren (AO3 2020  Rated E Complete, 6 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey and Ben used to be friends, best friends, until one night and some bad news changed everything. Now, after not speaking for months, Rey is about to make the hardest day of Ben's life take a turn he could never have expected.) Off guard by TheReadingNook (AO3 2019  Rated M Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: The last thing Rey is looking for is love. As a single mom, her plate is as full as she wants it to be, but her son seems to think otherwise. And when he sets out to fill that void, they learn some interesting things about life, love, and the bonds of family and friendship.) A Reylo Christmas by Biekewieke (AO3 2018  Rated E Complete, 8 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: So when Leia Organa asks her Personal Assistant Rey to join her on a family vacation in Mon Torri for the holidays and highlights a big bonus, what is she to do? Only catch... Leia's son is coming along... Ben Solo is the enfant terrible of the family. Broody, sullen and with a huge chip on his shoulder, the young man is notoriously difficult.) A Dinner For Two by Ayearandaday (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, 7 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: When Finn gets caught while hacking for the information about Rey's parents she agrees to spend an hour every day doing whatever Mr. Ren requests to save her friend from prison. But what could her mysterious employer want from her?) In Sickness And In Health by Theyna_Shipper (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 8 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey knows it's not an ideal situation, but it's a situation thousands of people are in. It's not like there's much she can do about it right now, anyways. She can go a little while without health insurance. Until she gets breast cancer. The treatment will be simple if she can get it. But she's worried she can't, until her old co-worker Ben offers a solution: "We could get married.") Convergence by kuresoto (AO3 2018  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Not everyone had an Other, and the only way to find your Other was by saying their name. When that happened, memories of their life, where they grew up and the steps that led them to you, would be condensed into a single flashback that passed in a blink of an eye. The fact that someone had said Rey’s name and didn’t bother approaching her hurt, especially since she had a good idea why. Her parents tossed her aside when she was barely five, so she shouldn’t be surprised that her soulmate had done the same.) Chef's (Uns)Table by TheAlchemistsDaughter (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Kylo Ren is a high-powered chef with an explosive temper. Nevertheless, Rey likes him. To get him to come out of the kitchen, she and her friends try to wind him up. When someone asks for ketchup, it works a little too well.) les amoureux des animaux by reylomami (AO3 2019  Rated T Complete, One-Shot, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Rey leaves her job in a whim after a quarter-life crisis. With too much time suddenly in her hands to rethink her life and her identity, Rey finds money-making respite in a pet-sitting job from Pawshake. A Reylo Pawshake AU with poor time coordination and fluff out of meet-cutes and mournings.) daylight by sparklylulz (sparklyulz) (AO3 2020  Rated T Complete, 4 Chapters, Modern AU, Quick Synopsis: Coffee shop employee Rey has a run in with one of the difficult professors. Thus starts a very turbulent friendship until Ben needs a fake date to go with him to see his parents, the first time he's seen his parents in a while.)

[bunnylouisegrimes]

Unusual Thanksgiving (NOS4A2 Longish-Drabble Fic)

(A/N: As of writing this, it’s the weekend. I’ve noticed at least every weekend for a few weeks now I post some short little Drabble to help let out my emotions. Here’s another one that’s a little bit longer. With Thanksgiving coming up and my ass having little time to think of something and cook it up (pun intended), I thought I’d take the approach of having whatever come to my mind and writing it out. It’s a unique one, as you don’t usually associate horror and angst alongside the family fluffiness of Thanksgiving, but... here we are! I remember a while back I wrote how Rose’s parents would react to her having a relationship with Charlie, and that was one of my inspirations, alongside how rough things are this year. I’d like to wish you all Happy Thanksgiving ahead of time. Stay safe and enjoy a good ass feast. It’s been tough, and it’s had some highlights, but now’s the time we can all put aside our differences and whatever else bullshit and be thankful about what we do have this year; whether it be supplies or each other, we’ll get through this. 🧡🍂🍁🦃)

(Apologize for no Read More, posting this from mobile, and I found the image randomly, so if you want credit, let me know).

November is a beautiful and calming time of the year, but under certain circumstances, it can be oddly scary. This is most likely due to how dead the world is. There’s usually no snow, and what leaves remain are brown, have decayed from the trees, and collapsed to the ground to crumble and rot. I noticed this when I was younger, and part of me thought November was spookier than Halloween in some cases.

Of course, to me, any time of the year could be scary. Horror doesn’t stop and end at one point; it is an infinite occurrence that follows humanity wherever we go.

From the time I was a little kid, I would find horror in the most obscure of places. Scary movies never bothered me, and in fact, I was always excited when I watched them. What should’ve terrified me brought me nothing but adrenaline and fascination. Instead, odd things scared me, things most people would poke fun at if they saw my reaction to them, things most would shrug off. Call me Freudian, but perhaps my fears, just as yours are, are based in our differing subconscious minds, so there is no true definition of “stupid” horror.

The one thing that I know for certain that’s frightened me since I was younger are bees, wasps, yellow jackets, and hornets. Why these little yellow and black bugs terrify me, I will never truly know the answer as to why. Is it because they’re so small, yet they can hurt you so badly? Is it because of their appearance? I don’t want bees to die out, as I know of their importance, and bumbles don’t bother me because they usually leave you alone (and they’re oddly cute), but any other bee or wasp can stay away from me. I’ve never even been stung by one, yet one buzz or sight of one near me makes my body react instantaneously. I get away as much as I can and even scream sometimes. Not wise to scream or move a lot when you’re in their presence, I know. But when your body reacts the way it does, what are you to do?

When I was a little bit older, I would say roughly 8 or 9 years old, a new type of fear spawned its way into my mind: the fear of shadow people.

I don’t know what it is about those things either that scare me so much. When I first discovered I had this fear, I believe I was watching an episode of Ghost Adventures, and I saw them capture a really clear shadow figure on camera. It chilled me to the bone, and from then on, just the thought of one creeped me out. One particular episode where the crew went to an old, abandoned and haunted Tuberculosis sanitarium got to me because shadow figures were prominent there, and they actually captured two on camera going down a long hallway.

Shadow people, from what I’ve seen online, are very mysterious. They could come from another dimension, they could be demonic; some are harmless, others are harmful, and it’s all dependent on what experience you have with them. Zak Bagans and his crew have come across quite a few demonic ones, and their guests have usually described them as tall, thin, 6-7 foot tall entities that are dark both in physicality and energy. They look like an individual spray painted with pitch black aerosol, and darker than a room if it were void of all light. Sometimes they have red or white eyes, and sometimes they can have differing appearances that are just as terrifying as the blank appearances they often have. They can stand there and look over you while you’re sleeping at night, they can stand in a corner and stare at you, maybe rocking a bit, they could dart down a hallway, hiding from you, they can crawl on the floor, they can crawl on the ceiling... whatever it is they do, it’s all bone chilling to me, and I hate it all with a burning passion. I don’t care even if they were harmless: If I were to ever see one in real life, I would have a heart attack.

That is why I am thankful I’ve only seen them either when I’m paranoid for whatever reason before I go to sleep (but they’re not really there, my mind’s just playing tricks on me), or if I have a nightmare and they’re present. This story will focus on the latter.

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

Halloween, Charlie’s birthday on November 1st, the Election... it all came and left sooner than expected, and we needed to plan what we were doing about Thanksgiving. I know, a vampire who’s all about Christmas celebrating other holidays. It seems unreal, but I assure you, he has respect for other holidays as well. Christmas just happens to be his favorite and one that brings him and the kids lots of comfort and joy. They say Christmas is a state of mind and is never truly over, so... I suppose Charlie is just a living embodiment of that saying.

With COVID still in full swing, and cases breaking records everyday, people were stocking up on supplies yet again alongside their Turkey Day feasts. We knew we had to hurry up and order stuff the week before Thanksgiving at most.

Living in Gunbarrel, Colorado, away from everyone except for each other and the kids when we spent quite a few days in Christmasland each week, it was relieving to know we weren’t around tons of people. The virus wouldn’t affect Charlie or the kids, but me being the only human, and one with asthma, it would, so it was calming to not have to worry as much as many other folks about exposure. Not to mention, the town was small, and everybody knew everybody. Whenever we did enter town, which took 10 minutes to get to, we would see everyone keeping their distance and respecting each other. It was nice to see our small and (just about) off-the-grid community helping each other during these times.

The only two local stores were an Acme that everyone went to, and the Gunbarrel General Store, owned by a kindly old man who looked like Santa Clause named Sam. Before everyone rushed to Acme, we decided on doing a curbside pickup order, and picking up anything else that was not available at Sam’s, as he was sure to provide lots of Thanksgiving food.

It was going to certainly be an interesting Thanksgiving without my usual family, and not being back home, but I was going to call them on that fateful Thursday and talk to them for a few hours. Charlie and I would have a small dinner together, and we would spend most of the day in Christmasland with our children, dining on delicious food and laughing together. The thought warmed my heart and made me feel better about this Thanksgiving. We would be okay, and everything would be fine, despite my horrible dreams...

For whatever reason, over these past few weeks, my dreams were plagued with shadow people haunting me. No explanation was given, and no explanation would need to be given for it to still occur and damn near break me. Maybe it was some sort of unresolved issue going through the back of my mind, maybe it was fueled by my stresses of being busy lately, but regardless of whatever the issue was, I was haunted by them. The day after Charlie’s birthday, we watched the original Nosferatu together, and I fell asleep near the end, experiencing the first of these dreams.

I was walking down a dark and cold hallway. I was 8 years old again. I don’t know how I knew this, but it was one of those instances where you know a random piece of information in a dream. I was holding two small plastic My Little Pony figurines I got from Happy Meals at that time, a small Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash. I hadn’t seen those toys in years, yet there they were in my hands. When I looked up, a shadow person was standing near the end of the pathway. It stood tall and authoritative, looming over me as if it wanted to grab me and drag me down the corridor straight into Hell, or wherever it came from.

I took off running, and it crawled on all fours after me. I screamed and kept running until I came across a goofy, tall, and lanky figure: Count Orlock, or the actual Nosferatu himself, was standing there. I hid behind him and begged him to protect me. He smiled his stupid smile and looked down at the shadowy behemoth. It seemed to back down a bit once he snarled at it. It backed up behind a corner, peaking at us once before vanishing.

My relief was short lived for only a few moments because Orlock wandered off into the darkness.

“Where are you going? Come back here!” I tried to call after him, but I was cut off by the shadow figure crawling on the ceiling and grabbing me. I gave a scream and found myself awake on the couch, springing to life and hearing the opening music to Downton Abbey greeting me. Charlie had tuned in after the movie. He looked at me with a confused and concerned look. I explained everything to him and he comforted me, laughing at the thought of the original Nosferatu visiting me.

The dreams afterward were more terrifying than the first. One dream featured a shadow person staring over me as I slept, another featured one standing in the corner of the room twisting and contorting its head violently. The third had a shadow figure hunched over near a window within an abandoned building. I was walking through the woods in another nightmare when a whole group of them were peaking at me through the trees. I ran down another hallway and one was behind me. I was in an unknown house and down the hall near the steps, one was charging towards me. Each time, I would wake up and feel unsettled. Charlie would comfort me, but it was always hard to fall back asleep, for I feared I’d be terrorized by the evil onyx creatures wanting nothing more than to consume me in their shadowy force and make my soul rot.

Despite all of my terror and the tiredness that accompanied my days, the focus for today would have to be Thanksgiving dinner.

“My mom mailed me the recipe to her sweet potatoes last week, and let me tell you, they are actually sweet and delicious,” I told Charlie. “So you can put down all the ingredients for that. We already got turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes written down... Oh! Green bean casserole, put that down... and we need apple and pumpkin pie. We already have whip cream and gravy in the fridge, and cider is in the cabinet. I think that’s everything.”

Charlie nodded and wrote these things down. Once he was done, he looked over the list and showed me.

“Yup, that’s everything! Alright, let’s look up to see what Acme has.”

As I pulled up the site on my phone, he spoke up.

“Rosie, are you bothered by not seeing your family? If so, we can visit them on Thanksgiving Day or I could go the extra mile and bring them here if you’d like.”

I sighed and rubbed my temple. “I’m alright, baby. I know they’ll be alright too. Things seem to be... okay between us, even if we did get into arguments since last we spoke in person.”

He looked down and felt guilty.

“Hey, don’t you feel guilty,” I reassured him. “It’s their fault, not yours. They see you in whatever light they want to, but I know who you really are, and I love you. I don’t care what they say or think about you, hence why I’m sticking by you and left with you to come here.”

He nodded and pulled me close to him, resting his chin on my head. “I admit, my darling, I am constantly bothered by this thought that I have destroyed the relationship you have with your family.”

“Like I said, they’re the ones that can’t accept that you and I truly love each other. I’ve been patient and offered them every chance to accept you. I’ve explained and talked to them, but they don’t want to listen to my reasoning. I don’t know what else to do.”

He kissed me on the cheek and said, “I’m glad that you at least still talk to each other.”

“Me too. At least we have that... but let’s not worry about that. We got food to focus on.”

We ordered everything that we could (the only things not available until the week of Thanksgiving were the two pies, but we knew Sam would have them). When the time came, we loaded into the Wraith and the trunk was packed with our dinner. We stopped by the General Store and Sam happily gave “Father Christmas” (as Charlie was known as) the pies. Since it was still light out, we decided to go for a drive to enjoy the autumn weather. As I mentioned before, November is usually dead and brown, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t peaceful and calm. We observed the soothing and cold weather as Fleetwood Mac and The Doors sang along on the old radio.

While gazing at the brown leaves and bare trees rocking their branches above us, I drifted off to sleep without even thinking about it. Stevie Nicks and Jim Morrison’s voices melted into oblivion as I found myself walking through a tranquil forest of dead trees. Cold, I wrapped my arms around myself until I felt a bit warmer, and I saw a grove of orange trees. It was as if I teleported back in time to October, and the trees were still alive with vibrant color.

I ran over to them, taken aback by their beauty. The leaves that were on the ground were still orange, and I tossed them up into the air with childish carelessness. At last! For once, I was having a good dream!

However, that enjoyment would be cut short when I looked into the distance in between the trees. The world and my joy winded down like a dying record player.

From somewhere beyond the misty horizon, a pair of white eyes were watching me.

Dread hit me and I ran away. The trees began to rot again, and the orange faded into brown. The sunlight morphed into fog, and the warmth dissipated from my body. I fell to the ground, tripping over my own clumsy feet.

Now I was somewhere entirely different. I was in a dark, unfamiliar bedroom. I couldn’t move except for my eyes, like I was suffering from sleep paralysis. I looked up to see the shadow figure that was hiding behind the trees. Its white eyes were dimmer than before, and its solid black body cast lighter shadows behind it. I tried to scream, but I could only choke out vocalizations as it covered my mouth.

It lifted its ice cold hand from my mouth and pointed to the left. My eyes glanced in that direction and a scream broke from my throat.

A pointy eared demon with beady eyes, a close together face, and a sickening smile was on top of my chest. Its body was too dark to make out any notable features, but it was lighter than the shadow next to me. The pressure on top of me crushed the life from my lungs. It continued to smile, as if nothing in the world bothered it at all.

Before my scream ran out of air, it wrapped its cold hands around my neck and tightened to the point it was strangling me. The rest of my scream died out, my eye sight was fading until it was only a pinhole...

Air rushed into my lungs as I jolted into a conscience state once again. My eyes darted rapidly and my body clung to the leather seat of the Wraith. We were no longer driving, and instead parked in the garage. A wave of nausea flooded my head and stomach, and I pressed my hand to my eyes. My mind finally registered Charlie’s soft voice.

“Rose! My sweet Rose! Whatever is the matter?”

“I... Jesus Christ... I... had another nightmare... this was... Good God, how else could I describe it?!”

While we gathered the groceries into the house, I detailed my horrifying dream to him. He was immensely disturbed and decided enough was enough.

“I know you believe in ghosts and demons and the sort,” said he, “and I know such things exist, since I’ve seen spirits and souls before. Because of this, you and I can pray before you go to sleep tonight. Unlike other vampires, holy things do not bother me, unless I were to drink or touch holy salt or holy water, in which case I would feel some discomfort thanks to the darker side of my being. I have an old angel doll that my daughters used to play with and hold whenever they felt uncomfortable or scared. That could help you too. I will hypnotize you and make you have sweet dreams. If any dark entity is going to mess with you, I will protect you. I don’t think you have an attachment, but these dreams are certainly unusual.”

I agreed to all of this. That night, we said a prayer together, I snuggled with the angel doll, and he hypnotized me to sleep. I had a dream I couldn’t remember, but it was certainly the most peaceful I had in a while, and it was even better then the beginning of that nightmare I had that evening.

A sense of purity filled my heart, and I knew nothing dark would ever hurt me or anyone I loved, as whatever God that may be out there as my witness.

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

Thanksgiving arrived at an unbelievably fast rate. No other bad dreams tormented me, and I couldn’t have felt more happy. Charlie and I worked together to prep dinner. When I finished making sure the turkey was good and putting it in the oven, Charlie presented me with a package.

“It’s from your home,” he observed.

I opened it up at the dining room table and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

It was the Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash figurines from my childhood. Underneath them, was a heartfelt letter from my family, detailing how they had recently found these toys and thought of me. They missed me, and they even apologized for all of their harsh words against me and Charlie. They gave it some thought, and they came to the conclusion that as long as I was happy and in love, and as long as Charlie truly loved me and treated me well, then all was perfectly fine. They wished us a very happy Thanksgiving from 2 hours ahead and many miles away.

Tears fell from my cheeks. I was crying of joy for more than the obvious reason being that my family and I were rekindling together.

I realized now why I had such horrible dreams. It was either my worries and fears of my family not being together haunting me, or maybe even some dark force, but Twily and Dashie here weren’t random parts of that first dream at all; they served as symbolism. They represented hope and familial innocence long lost, now brought back to light. Maybe they sent a message out in the universe to my family that Charlie was a good man. That could also be why Orlock was protecting me in that same dream, but him leaving symbolized my family keeping Charlie away from me, therefore causing bad things to happen to me. And perhaps when Charlie helped me and cleansed all darkness (regardless of it being real or not), those ponies knew ahead of time he was going to do that, and reassured my family he was always going to protect me. It sounded bizarre, but it was the best reasoning I could come up with to explain these odd coincidences.

I immediately called my family afterwards and told them everything. They were chilled themselves because my mother had a dream the night before about Charlie bringing forth bouts of light to protect me from a wave of darkness, and she thought it was her brain processing her acceptance of him, but now that my story was told, it made things even clearer.

We concluded talking by coming up with a date to have dinner together and to see each other again back home. We exchanged I love yous and Happy Thanksgivings, and I hung up feeling thankful. As Charlie and I ate a bit of dinner, as we went to Christmasland, and as we ate lots of food with our children, warmth and light abundant, I was grateful that I had the family I did, the boyfriend and children that I did, and the light that still shined in the universe, even on the most darkest of days. This year has been hard, but gratitude for all the good, hope, and love, even when we’re distant figuratively, literally, or both, makes this holiday season a brighter one.

[beaflower77]

An Atmosphere Of Sorrow

“I’ll be back soon. I promise,” he insisted, “I have to investigate the fit and finish issue they stuck me with at the Assembly Plant. These damn build issues are a nuisance.” And he walked out, forgetting behind the black tattered briefcase he always carried. He kissed her lightly. She frowned. She had no choice but to let him go to work, and her back to that house. She sulked. 

Her mood being dark and uneasy, Dove crossed her arms, huddled herself further into her thick blue sweater and began dubiously walking back toward the front door. The harvest air was getting increasingly crisper each day, and her faculties more scattered. As he backed the old ‘72 Pinto down the gravel drive, the muffler backfired. Black smoke puffed behind. She hoped it wouldn’t burst into flames as old cars did, it seemed to be an impressively sturdy old car. For its age. 

“I wish you wouldn’t keep pouring money into that old crapper of a car,” she said against the chilly air. “One day Franklin,” she threatened the wind, “You’re going to find all those parts fallen off that rust bucket and lay scattered on the drive come morning. And no car for us to drive. Or blown up and burnt to a crisp.” Slowly Dove procrastinated walking back, stopping to smell the remaining magnolia on her way. Outside it was crisp, but still pleasant. Outside. 

Furnace had gone off. Again. She was lightly bundled in a tee, another shirt and sweater on top of that. House was still cold. Squinting at the out of date thermostat in the hall, Dove suspiciously tapped several times hoping to make the little red arrow move in a more positive direction toward 72. Today, maybe 82. No such luck. The thermostat still registered 58, and it wasn’t gonna budge. Sighing against nothing and feeling downcast Dove decided to check her luck with the furnace downstairs. It was the third time this week the power had gone out.

Tossing her slippers aside, pulling on last years christmas combat boots which Franklin had gifted her, Dove tromped loudly down, pulling against the chain attached to a bulb for some illumination. “Oh, that’s right. How quickly I forget. There’s nothing,” she said annoyingly. Forgetting the power outage, she fumbled through the dark, fiddling round to locate the flashlight. Her fingers finally found it. Clicking it on, looking around, she saw nothing out of place. However, sensing a shadow from her peripheral vision, Dove froze. She felt a fluttering of tight sensations inside her chest. Her skin prickled. With chest pounding, throat tightening, Dove’s psyche shrank. It was so much colder down here she noticed. Slowly turning her head, staring long into the dim, was a figure. A slim male figure standing against the bricked basement wall and dirt packed floor. Battered old brown hat on his head, waistcoat buttoned nicely, tan suit, hands by his side never moving. But his eyes, his eyes were sharp. And they stared directly back at Dove. Opening her mouth, Dove could taste the staleness of the basement’s air, she also knew she was breathing it in, and just knowing that made her chest constrict more rise and fall in rapid silence. The man continued to stare, she continued to stare. Too frightened to move, Dove almost forgot to breathe, and parts of her reasoning went out the window. 

Coming to terms there was truly something there, or rather someone, Dove’s gut clenched, and trying very hard not to embrace this realistic idea, Dove tried concentrating only on her breathing and forced her legs to move past his image, the scattered boxes, the washer, and look for the correct heating pipes on the ceiling. Making light of a squeamish situation, Dove insisted, “I don’t think you’re there.” And she exhaled just a bit while trying to calm down. Perhaps this was just a trick of the eye to convince herself it was from lack of sleep. A very large lack of sleep. Her breathing didn’t get any better, but her eyes felt so horribly heavy and tired and sore. She rubbed them. It didn’t help. “I really don’t like this house. I hate this house. I hate it here,” Dove grumbled. “Where is the stupid furnace?” She sense the apparition still there watching, “Don’t look at me!”, she forced out, not too convincingly. A headache began. And a frightening, horrid idea came to her mind. What if it were actually real? 

As Dove walked past, she considered was she just visualizing something that really wasn’t there, or was it actually real? Perhaps it was time for her annual eye exam. No, she had one just last year. Truly it was not easy to tell the difference anymore Dove thought, as her stomach lurched and her throat’s saliva dried. Feeling queasy and nauseous she put her hand to her abdomen. The smell was thick and swollen, it was enormous and it lingered. It smelt putrid, like rotted eggs broken and left sitting too long on a stove overnight, or maybe even a year. “Oh, my god,” Dove whined. “It stinks down here.” And lifting her tee, Dove covered her mouth and nose. “I’m going to tell Franklin there are dead rats down here. It’s his family’s house, he can look for their dead bodies. Not me.” 

Next she looked, which Dove had claimed she wouldn’t, the old man was still there. He watched. This time his mouth turned a slight smile. She turned quickly away, “I’m not talking to you,” Dove mumbled lowly, “I’m not looking at you either. You don’t exist. Just don’t be there, go away,” and she refused to look in the spectre’s direct path again. Just thinking this was all too real made Dove sick. Going about her business, finding the furnace, rattling the large overhead pipes into life or heat, nothing happened. Avoiding looking at the back wall, tromping back upstairs, Dove decided on a different tactic. Sleep. That usually solved all the world’s problems. 

Still his eyes followed. Still his smile remained. And Dove’s feelings of the macabre and fear increased and doubled with each creak the basement steps made against her weight. She turned her flashlight off. She wanted to heave. 

Heading back into the kitchen, Dove tossed aside her boots in lieu of warm slippers and checked the electricity again. Instead of flipping the light switch, she stuck the power cord of the toaster into the socket. All she received back was a phfist and a puff of black smoke. “Eww”, Dove said sourly. “Wonderful. Thanks a bunch. All I wanted was a piece of toast. Dumb toaster.” She pulled on the cord and a little blue zip of lightning came from the socket. “Ouch!” as she yanked her fingers back wrapping them protectively with her other hand. She grabbed a bag of chips and a half eaten donut left on the counter instead. Taking out the last of the juice from the warm fridge, Dove could now confirm the electricity was definitely out. Fridge warm, no light inside either. Complaining as she walked towards the bedroom, “Yeah thanks electric company for turning everything off. Again.” Yet for all her whining, Dove felt enormously better up here, than down there. 

Still things continued to plague her senses. But at least, the smell had lessoned. 

That blue electric zip should not have been there without electricity, Dove thought, but she didn’t let this fact invade her brain, for to do so was admitting defeat, admitting something screwy was happening in the house. Or with her sense of normality. This house, for all its newer additions and older rooms, with the old pully windows and creaky floor boards was unsettling, sad and distressful at best. Each time Dove walked into the foyer the sadness, the gloom hit her like a pile of bricks. Each room entertaining its own depth of sorrow, its own magnitude of heartache and woe, made such a dent in her emotional heartache sometimes causing her to tear and cry for no particular reason anymore. 

She sensed shadows of loss, of tears, tossed away dreams of love. And the regret, despair and gloominess enveloped her more each day. “Such a horrific combination. So dismal, so mournful,” Dove caressed the void and a sorrow unlike any she had known enclosed around her. “I feel so, so dreary and miserable, yet there’s nothing truly wrong or empty in my life, I just..” However during the lonely, desolate days she would roam, roam the halls, the half dusted, half empty rooms, feeling abandoned, nostalgic and soppy. “I wondered who lived here before. Or what they did, what words they used. How they lived, how they .. died. It’s just .. creepy here sometimes. It’s too overwhelming and disappointing.” Such despair and anguish was almost completely unbearable for Dove to fathom each day. 

Looking around, wandering each room, touching a doorframe here, stair banister there, looking over the intricate cornucopia of ceiling designs and motifs above, she tried not letting her emotions pool around her as her sweater did. Returning down to the kitchen sink, sticking her burnt fingers again under a cool stream of faucet water, “At least the water is still on.” When looking out the kitchen window, Dove couldn’t see any other house across the gravel drive. Was it just this house, this area? Did any other house have power outages as well, and as often? She decided it was too cold to walk down the drive and look. But then looking twice, Dove thought she saw a flicker. A flicker of something, or someone moved past the kitchen window. Pulling quickly back, eyes wide, a panic intruded her mind. Dove escaped to her upstairs bedroom and decided to isolate herself. Her mind which often played tricks here went with her, and stayed there till late afternoon.

When Franklin returned with a large order of take out, thoughts of a basement man, flickering images and her sad, despondent lingering thoughts had long left. Having her mouth load up on Chinese lobster with rice had not only filled her stomach but her heart as well with a well stocked amount of peace she hadn’t realized she had missed since morning. A steamy conversation took the place of uncomfortable feelings that night. 

But the next day arrived too soon.

By the morning the heat was back. “Hey, furnace is back,” Franklin sang out from a too hot shower. 

Dove was still under the heated mess of covers. “Hmm,” she sighed. She breathed in deeply, stretched, and rolled right back over. Hopefully they could go out tonight, at least that was her anticipated plan. Today she was not going to let any shadows intrude. Dove had work to do, and she had no plans to plunge into that basement again. But as she rolled over, she wondered, could Franklin sense these feelings, these shadows and imaginings, or was it just her? Probably not. Maybe she imagined. No, not. And fearing to ask, Dove would only hear in return, “It’s just your imagination”, or “You’re just tired, You’re working too hard.” “Perhaps it is just too real,” she might say back. Her eyes closed and sleep drew her back for more dreams. 

“I should be back early tonight,” Franklin whispered, kissing her lightly before walking out the door. “We’ll go out tonight, if you’d like,” came his suggestion. Dove smiled. The car backfired. And nothing was what Dove heard, deep in Rem sleep for once. Fragrant, slow steamy coffee with hot toast and jam filled her dreams. All reminders of the ethereal were long forgotten. For now. 

A solo steamy shower over, Dove vigorously rubbed her body, and proceeded with launching her wet hair down in front of her curled body and frisked it back and forth saying to no one in particular, “I’ve got lots to do today. No time for nonsense or nothing. Today we’re going to crack those eggs and get moving!” And a frisky, happy tone toward work began. She hummed along to her playlist. 

Straightening back up, flipping her damp hair over, something stood out from the corner of her eye. She spun! She started! Dove froze! Someone was standing there! Dove saw someone standing right there, in front of her! Right next to her, and she could see it clearly reflecting back in the mirror. “Ahh!,” backing up too suddenly, clinching, grabbing at her towel. Dove’s heart lurched, she felt it double thump loudly and even stop. Her breathe came rapidly, and a tiny dribble of urine escape down her leg. Dove almost fell into the toilet. The vision was gone rapidly.

The electricity had gone out again. The electric clocks blinked on and off. The sky outside cloudy, revealing hardly any sun made the bathroom gray and dismal. This was the third time in a week. And more than enough times to be caught off guard.

As Dove started freaking out, she went about gathering her clothes, flinging them on and called Franklin on her cell. As he stated answering her call, “Davenport here”,  heavy machinery noise collided with delicate cell coverage. He put a finger in his ear. 

“I can’t!” she claimed. “I can’t do this anymore! Franklin! Franklin, please come home! I want to go home! I don’t want to be here anymore!” Dove was emphatically blunt and direct. 

“Do what?!” he questioned, not hearing her clear enough. “Dove? What’s the matter? Where are you? What’s going on?!” As too much noise drowned Dove’s pleas and pain out, “Wait! Let me move out of here. Hang on!” And he walked away from the noise. “Turn off those cylinders! Make sure you leave those plugs on,” Franklin announced as he backed out of the plants’ all too clamorous building. “Ok Dove, what’s the problem?” He sincerely wanted to understand, for he too had noticed eerie things happening. He needed clarity, a definition of understanding, and of course she was there all day alone. 

As she waited for him to move, Dove rammed herself onto their bed and stuffed her body on top of the covers while trying to keep her head together. Her heart raced as she looked around, promising no more frightening shadows were in sight. Or listening to her conversation. “Franklin,” she tried first appealing to his intellect, “I don’t want to be in this house any longer. It’s uncomfortable.” When that approach didn’t get an immediate response, “Franklin,” Dove continued more forcefully, “It’s looking at me. The house is looking at me. It’s watching me,” she pleaded. “There are shadows, things, noises! I can’t stand it! I see them everywhere, I don’t like it, I don’t like it here.” 

“Dove,” was all he could strangle out. 

“No. No Franklin. If I stay another minute in this house, I will go mad.” She let that tidbit sink in. The phone connection was silent. “Franklin? Frank?”

Franklin went silent. “Dove, it’s just a house,” he tried convincing her. But he knew, he knew she also knew. He had sensed something creepy as well, just didn’t think he’d noticed it, maybe didn’t want to acknowledge it, but yeah, something wrong was going on. Something was wrong with that blasted house. He had promised his Uncle they would fix up. That was the plan. Fix it up as a favor, sell it, split the proceeds 80/20 for a better place. That made Dove happy originally knowing then they could afford the little place they had dreamed of last year. That was the plan. It was a good plan. It was.

“No!” Dove repeated firmly. “It’s not just a house! It’s, it’s everything, it’s everywhere! Franklin! This house, it watches me, everywhere! In the basement, in the kitchen! Franklin, in the god damn shower!” That got his attention. That was as close to creepy as it would get for Franklin. As much as Dove was concentrating on the phone, she also scanned the room. “No more. I can’t do this anymore. It’s creepy here, something’s wrong here. This place is not right.  It’s beginning to get like a shi  .“

“I’ll come home. It’s okay,” he cut her off. “Give me a couple hours to sort things out here. I’ll be home. We’ll talk. It’ll be okay.” Promising and calming Dove, getting her to subside a bit, Franklin ended the call, closed his eyes, breathed in heavily, finally admitting the house, that house was indeed a problem. A huge freaking problem. A problem he had to deal with, just like everything else right now he had to deal with. Making more calls, signing off on orders, rearranging and arguing with production managers, Franklin made it clear he was going home for the day. Early. To deal with that house. Maybe not. He would check Dove’s current mood, talk with her, then make a decision. Filled with fear of making a dreadful mistake, Franklin waffled. Still he had to go home, to that blasted mess of a house.

Dealings of that day dealt with, Franklin and Dove settled into a calmer, steadier albeit slightly downcast mood. Franklin took the rest of the week off, and both arranged themselves into a swift routine of mutual breakfasts, restoring and refinishing older sections of the house, and carry out for dinners. Still with menacing and threatening shadows lurking around corners, a much needed quieter unity now settled over the place, and both Dove and Franklin as well. 

It didn’t last long enough. The electricity went out again. Too often it seemed.

“Franklin, turn the heat up! It’s freezing in here!” Dove yelled from the kitchen.

“Heat’s off again!” he yelled back. “Grab a sweater! Get one for me too, would ‘ya!”

Hammering away on loose boards against a tight stairway, Franklin reached behind him for the remaining nails. Should he use the flooring nails, or the cut nails? Instead, he just reached for whatever was behind him, and as he did, so too did the icy hand which reached out to touch his. Feeling the instant frostiness, instinctively knowing it couldn’t be Dove’s, Franklin yanked his hand away, while alarmingly pivoting his head. As he did so, his balance was so severely lost and Franklin spiraled and tumbled down the cracked stairs to land with a thud! The crash was heard five miles away. His hip, elbow and side leg was going to pain him for an entire week or three. And he tried to right himself  while unclenching his jaw. “Oh, what the hell, for crap’s sake was that about?” he groaned. His movements slowed, and his vision spun and blurred.

“Franklin?!” yelled Dove from the kitchen. She ran, spilling the coffee off the counter. And slipped. Or rather was pushed. Gently of course. “Ugh. Son of a ...,” Dove began. Then remembering, “Franklin?!” Slowly she turned, picking herself up and wiped her wet coffee stained palms down her jeans.

“I’m okay,” he guessed dazed, simply too stunned to think of anything else to say, and looked up the stairs. A shadow drifted off. He thought he saw a shadow drift off. Between witnessing himself move off the ground, cradling his hands, and gazing toward the top of the stairs, “I guess I’m ok,” he reiterated. Looking at her soiled, wet pants, “What happened to you?” he asked

“I fell.” 

Franklin could only look on in befuddlement, with a slight dawning of dread.

Looking him over, “Now do you believe me?” Dove asked for confirmation. She wrapped her wet blue sweater closer. “Franklin?” He continued to look up the stairs. “It’s this house Franklin. It’s something here. Here. I feel so, so..” Dove could not continue her strange thought, only to relay to the cool, dispassionate air, “So much sorrow. So much loss and regret. I felt that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow.” Franklin stopped his upward gaze and simply stared at her aghast. An atmosphere of sorrow? He tried fathoming what she was talking about. Dove continued to stand and stare into nothingness. Franklin continued to stare at Dove. 

He felt somewhat, perhaps all was already lost. His thoughts now had turned into a confirmation of sorts. This was not the Dove he knew and loved. His Dove was strong, bold and independent. This Dove was becoming frail, skittish and scared. Her thoughts were turning inward lately, while trying to retain some control over her life, her mind. But her sorrow, yes her sorrow was akin to breathing in an atmosphere of sorrow. Franklin tried rescuing her. 

Making light of the situation, “Yeah, yeah,” Franklin admitted explaining. “Something touched me.” His speaking aloud made Dove to suddenly turn toward him snapping out of her own dismal thoughts. He continued, “It was something icy cold but I knew it wasn’t you. I guess I just freaked and moved too fast, and fell. I, I don’t know.” He rubbed his neck and back of his head for soreness. His leg hurt the most, a lump was forming. But he knew otherwise. It was definitely the house or whatever remained of its’ previously previous owners. Or something to that effect. He couldn’t sort it out. Didn’t want to. A feeling of direness overcame him, and again Franklin changed the subject, grabbing Dove’s hand. “Let’s eat. Indian? Italian? What do you feel like? You like sushi right? Let’s get that. I’ll order your favs, you get changed. It’ll be here in no time.” 

He was too afraid to ask how she fell.

Another day, another night. More shadows, More noises, more of the same upsetting, unsettling feelings passed between them and the house. They both had thought this night or that night would be their last night here. Neither made any attempt to move. Until one particular night late in the evening.

“Franklin?” whispered Dove. They had just settled in bed for an hour or so. “Franklin?” and she gave his arm a little nudge. Nothing. She waited. Dove cuddled down further in bed, squeezing herself closer to the heat of Franklin’s sleeping body. Try at she may, sleep wouldn’t come. Hearing noises, ticks, rattlings and other sounds she couldn’t place, Dove tried in vain to reconcile her restlessness with something other than the obvious. The house was unhappy. Rather quite unhappy. The emotional feeling was solid and freely roaming throughout.

As Dove nervously lay there listening to the unpleasant noise of unhappiness, of sorrow and dread, she twisted her body in such a way to look behind herself. A foreboding darkness surrounded her. And again she pleaded whispering, “Franklin?” while bumping him squarely on the arm. “Franklin.” Slowly his eyes opened. “I feel like there’s a big ball of badness coming.”

Upon seeing Dove awake and in a half crouching position, “What?” Franklin was half asleep and confused, however sensing her direness, her grief, pain and doom. “Dove?” again her asked. Turning, twisting and sitting up to touch her face, her arm, Franklin noticed what she was looking at. “What the..” He had to twist around in bed to look up and behind. 

Franklin always had the witless idea to place the head of any bed nearest the door. It was a dumb idea, a dumb thing to do. They always say never place your back toward the entrance of a door, you can’t see what’s coming. Well, again he had placed the foot of the bed facing the opposite wall and the head toward the door. Brainless. Dorky she would call it. He would admit for a long time the idea was dumb. 

Looking behind and up, Franklin could swear a pitch solid black silhouette of a man stood by the head of the bed. Only about three feet away. And stared down. There were no eyes this time, but they knew a stare even when it couldn’t be seen. Dove stared back parting her mouth just a little, letting her frosty breath come and go of its own volition. In, out, in, out. She dragged the covers closer forward, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the silhouette. 

“Close your eyes,” Franklin ordered. “Dove, close your eyes.” She couldn’t. Franklin felt her emotional dread, heartache and sorrow accost him all at once. He suddenly what it was to breathe an atmosphere of sorrow.

Grabbing Dove by both arms, “Look at me,” Franklin sternly directed. “Only look at me. Dove!” She did. “Don’t look at it,” commanded Franklin. “Keep your eyes on me. Only on me.” And Dove did. She never looked again in front of her. Continuing to stare only at Franklin however, Dove would never let go of the panic, the fright, the pain of the apparition. She also would never see the shadow blink, the unseen eyes glow, fading in and out of the dark, and never would see the shadow emit such loss, such wretchedness and torment of remorse. She never saw when it dissipated and left. But she did see Franklin, she saw his eyes, the bright gray light reflecting back everything which was good, kind and connected to her own. And she stayed that way for a very long time. 

After what seemed like a perpetual eternity, Dove’s eyes closed. And when they opened again, she was cradled against Franklin’s body, wrapped up warm in a multitude of blankets. And Franklin, still awake and alert. 

Smiling up at him, the phantom boogieman of last night long from her mind, Dove had the mindset to get up and make them both fresh coffees. “How about some coffee? I”ll make so .. “

“Pack your things,” Franklin earnestly stated. Dove’s look of surprise began a panic anew which was long forgotten again. Again he reiterated, “We’re leaving. Now. No coffee, no nothing. Pack your things, and whatever you want. We’re going.” Dove’s slow apprehension turned quickly to a fluster.

“But,” she stammered. “Raphael? What about Raphael?”

Flinging back heated covers, “I’ll tell my Uncle we don’t have the funds anymore to fix this place up. It’s no big deal. It’ll be fine.” Franklin leaned forward pressing his palms into the mattress, “Look Dove, I’ve been thinking. I thought all night. There’s something up with this place. Shadows, cold spots, unexplained noises. Actual spectres now? It’s getting to both of us. It’s weird. This place is too weird. I don’t want to say haunted, but. We need to leave.”

So he could tell, he could feel it too, he could. It was a welcome confirmation to Dove. A little elation, a little excitement, both permitting her mood to swing in a more positive direction, her cheeks heated, face and neck seeming to flush. With renewed spark of energy, Dove almost fell off the bed while detangling her feet from the mess of covers. “Ok,” she settled on. Just, “Ok!” And her mood rejoiced. Dove sprang into action.

No noise from downstairs that morning, no shadows popping round corners, no visions of strange basement men in beige suits smiling after her, Dove set about dumping clothing into duffle bags, folding towels and bagging up toiletries. Sifting through unknown drawers. Franklin boxed up books, kitchenware and car paraphernalia. The day jubilantly went by. Dove was even more blithe and enchanted while setting aside little trinkets and jewelry from the house she had found which agreed with her clothing choices and suited her mood. But the day also dragged on ‘till almost dusk.

The car packed full, bottles of water settled in cup holders, Franklin shut the trunk of the Pinto with a slam. Dove being almost elated, had just one last look behind her as Franklin encased himself within his seat belt, shutting the car door and turned over the engine. “Franklin,” she stated. He didn’t want to hear it. He knew what she would say. He himself had felt the pull from the house behind him. The pull and weight of anguish and distress the house sent off. He felt it come hurtling towards him, towards them. He wanted to get away now.

“Franklin,” Dove mentioned merely as a fact, “The house, there’s a something in the window. Franklin? Do you see it? Should we stay?” And as Franklin refused to look back, “Maybe we should stay,” Dove mildly suggested. It wasn’t a question. 

“No.” was the firm statement Dove was handed. “Buckle up. Let’s go. Don’t look back.” She didn’t. But still she was frightened not too. The car’s motor sputtered and sparked then finally thundered to life. It sped off. The road underneath tires crunched and battered noisily.

The driveway wasn’t long, just filled with dust and gravel. Their hearts weren’t breaking, just tired filled with regret, but also the need to escape and break free. The dusk encased them, twilight loomed, the house beckoned. The dusk, twilight and all encompassing night turned into ...

“Franklin look out!” screeched Dove, “Ahh!” as the vision swiftly bolted in front. “Franklin! It’s!, Its! No, Franklin!” as she shrieked over and over and over. She desperately tried to free herself from the strangling belt buckle. By now Dove was lost in her own screams and howls as night, cloud, dust and mist enveloped her. Those beautiful screams mingled and mixed with the beautiful vintage jewelry she carelessly stole and packed away.

Gritting his teeth, Franklin forcefully cranked the wheel to the left, while slamming on the brakes careening the front end into a pile of thickly placed trees. The sound and squash of the hood was solid and deafening. A flash blinded him. Hands grabbed for him. The smell of densely packed dirt and night and sulfur and decay splayed around them.

“Dove!” Franklin shouted, “Dove! Where are you?! Dove!” He was blinded for eons. “No!, No!, Dove!” he screamed over and over till there were no more of his own screams left to hear. 

When calls were left unanswered, when the ringing of the doorbell issued no response, when their car was later found, there were no answers to a multitude of questions. The sturdy little Pinto smashed against trees, woods extensively searched, unfinished house remodeling left abandoned, Franklin’s Uncle had no choice but to give up, and let the two young starlights go. 

No one would ever find the result of their screams. Ever.

[lifesizehysteria]

Deleted Scene: Stef & Lena (from The Night Before Christmas)

A/N: One of a collection of scenes that were deleted or rewritten from various fics during editing that I liked too much to discard. These scenes have not been edited beyond when I originally wrote them, except for one final edit for major grammar/spelling errors. They are not final drafts but instead are snapshots of my writing process. A bit of context will be given at the beginning of each scene in order for it to make sense, including the name of the fic it was originally written for.

[Context: Cut from the flashback in The Night Before Christmas because it wasn’t right for the mood of the story and was just too much for a flashback. I decided to take the main elements and add those into the conversation between Stef and Lena after the flashback but I really enjoyed the broodier mood of this original conversation, as well as Lena’s internal dialogue about the situation. I think it’s very telling about Lena and how she approached adoption.]

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

Another silence fell between them, this time less comfortable. Lena could feel the anxious energy in her partner’s body and she knew what was coming when Stef cleared her throat.

“Have you…” Stef paused to wet her lips. “Have you given anymore thought to adoption?”

The way she tried to make the question nonchalant gave her away in an instant. Lena already knew Stef’s heart was tied to the twins. Not that hers wasn’t. She already loved them in a way she couldn’t describe. But she knew she had to be rational for both of them. If it had been possible, she was sure Stef would have adopted them on the spot that day in the police station. Her partner’s heart was big and although Stef’s capacity to love so fully was one of her greatest qualities, always leading with her heart often had her acting without regard to consequences.

During a too-long pause, Lena decided if she wanted to have this particular conversation. Mariana and Jesús had a mother who they knew and loved, even if right now she wasn’t fit to care for them. Maybe someday she would be. If not, would her own love be able to fill the void left by their mother? Would they ever be able to truly trust her, to feel safe with her? Could she be everything they needed or would she always just be a substitute? These were questions that ran on repeat in the background of her mind lately. So even though her heart ached at the thought of losing them, Lena wanted — needed to be sure that adoption was in the twins’ best interest, not just her own. As of that moment, she still wasn’t sure.

“What if Ana puts up a fight for custody?” she finally asked.

“Then we’ll fight back,” Stef said with conviction.

“It won’t be easy. The system wants to put kids back with their biological parents. They haven’t been with us that long. We won’t have much leverage.”

Stef scoffed. “You mean aside from the fact that their mother is a drug addict who continuously neglected her children so she could get high?”

Lena sighed. “And what if she gets clean?”

Stef snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious, Stef. What if she gets clean and wants the twins back?”

“Love, it’s going to take a lot more than a 30 day token for her to prove she’s fit to be a parent. I mean, come on. Not only did she neglect them when she had them but how many times has she blown off visits since we started fostering them? Every time she does, it sends both of those kids into a tailspin for days. A judge isn’t just going to overlook that stuff.”

“I know.” A little exasperated, Lena sat up and faced her partner. “That’s not what I mean. I know that Ana’s going to have an uphill battle, even with the courts favoring biological parents. But if she gets clean, and can stay clean, don’t you think it’s better for them to go back to their mom?”

Stef looked at Lena, bewildered. “Absolutely not.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because she’s had every chance to try and make up for the choices she’s made and she’s shit on every one of them—”

“Please don’t yell.” Lena cut her off, unwilling to let her partner’s frustrations make it out to the twins’ ears. The last thing they needed was for one or both of them to think they hated their mother.

“I’m not—” Stef stopped and closed her eyes, her jaw flexing as she reeled herself in after realizing that, in fact, she was. Her voice was down to a seething whisper when she started again. “There isn’t anything that can undo the damage she’s already done to those babies but she can’t even be bothered to try. You can’t possibly think the risk of them getting hurt again is worth it when the last good thing that woman did for them was give birth.”

Lena was taken aback by Stef’s harshness, her eyebrows arched high in surprise. “Of course not. I don’t ever want to see them hurt again.” She paused and searched for the right words. “But biology… it means something. It connects us.” When Stef opened her mouth to interrupt, Lena shook her head and powered forward. “I don’t mean emotionally. I mean in a real, physiological way. It’s linked to our survival. It’s powerful and instinctive and I don’t think that’s something we should just ignore because it’s convenient for us.”

Stef’s eyes narrowed. “So what? You think she’s naturally more fit to be their mother because she’s related to them? After everything she has put them through.” Her words were sharp and quiet but beneath the smoldering anger, Lena could see the hurt in her partner’s eyes.

“Honey—”

“Whose side are you even on here, Lena?”

“Ours. But I have to be on theirs, too.”

“Oh so I’m not on the twins’ side? That’s news to me,” Stef snapped, resorting to sarcasm to hide her hurt feelings.

“That’s not what I mean—” Lena closed her eyes and gave her head a little shake. Somehow, every time she tried to climb out of this hole she’d gotten herself into, she just kept digging it deeper. She took a breath to focus her thoughts and push away her frustration. When she spoke again, it was slowly and with intention. “I just don’t want to rush into a decision without considering all possibilities. I want to make sure that whatever decision we make, it’s the right one for them.”

[themsource]

Standards - A Gift

Rating: T Paring: Sans x OC Luna Word Count: 3,162 @rosedarkfire​ Hey! I was your secret Santa ^^; for the @undertalesecretsanta​ event! XD I used some of your personal names for the boys and your OC i hope you like it <3 My first time writing him heh.

Black liked Luna, really liked her.

She was kind, funny, smart, but most of all had a back bone strong enough to rival his own.

He just couldn’t stand the fact he kept messing up with her.

“Hey Sans, what do you think of this for the Christmas tree?” Black loved that she called him by his given name, it was like a reward to hear it in this mashed together universe of duplicates.

Even if she only said it in private.

He eyed the butterfly themed tinsel in her hands.

“I AM SURPRISED YOU WOULD CHOOSE BUTTERFLIES.” No he wasn’t, that was that infuriating murderer’s nickname for her.

“Oh why do you say that?” Luna asked with genuine confusion in her mismatched eyes.

“BECAUSE BUTTERFLIES ARE AN INFERIOR FORM OF INSECT, USING BEAUTY AS A FORM OF DEFENSE IS SUCH A COWARDLY ACT. WHY NOT BEETLES OR SOMETHING? BEETLES DON’T LIVE UNDER A FALSE PRETENSE OF BEAUTY BUT ARE OPEN ENOUGH TO EMBRACE THEIR UNATTRACTIVENESS BY HAVING EVOLUTIONIZED THEIR EXO--”

“Okay. I get it Black.” It was easy to tell when he’d upset her. She’d call him that infuriating amalgam of color nickname. Luna pinned her heterochromic gaze on him.

“And butterflies are amazing; they drink blood like little fluttering vampires.” Black could only blink as she walked away from him.

And so that’s how their relationship usually went.

“Sans, what do you think of strawberry pudding for dessert?”

“WHY STRAWBERRY?”

“...You don’t like strawberry?”

“...IT’S FINE. IF YOU MAKE IT I’LL EAT THAT RIDICULOUS SLOP OF POINTLESS SUGAR.” To his confusion Luna had chosen to simply not make dessert at all that night. Much to the disappointed mumbling of his brother and their alters.

Even receiving gifts from her, which always made him immeasurably happy, was difficult.

“I got you something Sans!”

“WHAT IN ANGEL’S NAME IS THIS?”

“...It’s a jacket?”

“I AM AWARE OF THAT LUNA, WHY IS IT PURPLE?”

“I thought purple would pop with the red you usually wear.” His eyelights drifted slowly down to the purple and poorly dyed jean jacket where they lingered and constricted into fine points before just as slowly rising to look at her again.

He usually bristled whenever a human used the term monster as an insult to describe something, however he could only think of a particularly offensive statement he’d heard once from a favored designer of his. Black was holding a literal fashion monstrosity in his hands.

But Luna looked so excited and eager for his reaction, her eyes sparkling and proud. 

He cleared his throat.

“...FINE, I SUPPOSE I’LL TRY THIS TRAVESTY OF A GIFT.”

“...”

Black had thought he’d been generous with the humble remark; there was so much alternative vocabulary that he could’ve used to describe how horrible that jacket had looked.

Honestly he thought he’d complimented it.

Black had even let it touch his body as he’d tried it on. Somehow he’d still ended up…disappointing her.

Which was admittedly worse than her anger.

He’d spent the whole time in the shower afterwards grumbling as he’d tried to scrub away the memory of that awful thing on him, half practiced phrases and comments that never seemed to work washed away by the pouring water.

The shower drain embarrassingly enough had even seemed to judge him.

To his chagrin he’d reached the point he’d finally decided to ask his brother for advice.

Stars help him.

“LUNA NEVER SEEMS TO APPRECIATE THE LENGTHS I GO TO FOR HER.” He growled.

“you’re not exactly graceful mi’lord when it comes to criticism.” Black had felt insulted.

“NOT GRACEFUL!?” Rus chuckled as his sockets crinkled in veiled humor.

“she’s a human female, they tend to be super sensitive to even the slightest provocation.” That was an annoying concept to learn. Turned out even his tamed honesty was still too harsh for her. Black took his brother’s advice to heart.

It was advice better stated in theory than put into practice he soon learned.

He stared at the dress Luna was wearing.

It wasn’t anywhere close to complimenting her beauty; in fact the makeup of the material rather dimmed the brightness of her soul as well as her eyes. It was a simple conclusion to reach that it was a horrible example of a dress worthy of the human’s appeal.

But she had personally picked it, liked it.

It made him uncomfortable just how awful her fashion tastes were.

Made it so difficult to be genuine with her.

“IT’S…” He gritted his teeth.

What was the proper word to use so as not to insult her? Adequate? No that would insinuate that it was somehow satisfactory. Tolerable? Might be too insulting of a word.

Black hated liars and he refused to be one, but he desperately wanted to show he supported her decisions. The longer he took fishing for the right word the more he could see Luna’s demeanor falling.

“...MANAGEABLE?” Her nose did that adorable habit where it scrunched up as she looked at him thoughtfully.

“Manageable.” She wanted him to elaborate. He could do that. Just no ranting he silently chided himself, ranting would invalidate not only his opinion but could do so with hers as well.

“...IT…” Black’s words died in his nonexistent throat.

Okay he apparently couldn’t elaborate without going into a triad. They both stared at each other silently and as a sweat drop began to run down the side of his skull he made an executive decision.

He couldn’t insult her if he wasn’t near her.

Black missed how Luna’s eyes had widened as he abruptly turned and walked away from her. His hurried steps the only sound before the opening and closing of her door.

Luna...didn’t talk to him for a week.

Each day that passed killed him a little inside whenever he’d see her talking to one of his duplicates, interacting with his own brother with barely a glance in his direction. She’d even gone so far as to walk away from him when he’d simply greeted her, much the same as he had done concerning her dress.

He’d immediately understood why she’d been acting the way she had the moment she did so. 

Black hadn’t realized how painful the action had been to her. 

According to his brother he was moping the whole day after his realization and most of the morning. Hadn’t felt that way but it seemed him yelling more than usual was somehow depressing to his sibling.

That’s how Black ultimately ended up being drug out to go Christmas shopping. Which in itself was a red flag for the shorter skeleton.

Rus dragged him out of the house.

Maybe he had been moping.

“see anything good mi’lord?” Black flickered his eyelights dully over to his brother from where they’d been resting on a jewelry display.

“HARDLY.” Rus hummed as he sauntered up next to him, a bag of purchases already somehow slung over his arm. Black stopped questioning how he managed to suspiciously acquire things some time ago.

“y’know i think she likes galaxy themed clothing.” Black scoffed as he gestured at the entirety of the mall.

“AS IF THIS PATHETIC ATTEMPT OF A STOREFRONT WOULD CARRY ANYTHING WORTHY OF BEING CALLED GARMENTS.” Rus snickered.

“think i know the problem mi’lord.”

“DO YOU?” He asked absently, his eyelights refocusing on the necklaces currently hung up. All plated metals with hardly a solid piece of pure gold in sight. Even those claiming the label had obvious traces of other impurities mixed in.

Humans were such lazy creatures when it came to production.

“your standards are too high.” He let out a frustrated growl. Like his brother had any right to discuss standards. He couldn’t even be bothered to buy new shirts when he needed them, even the cheap off brand ones that Black hated due to their low thread count.

“MY STANDARDS ARE JUST FINE. IT’S NOT ASKING TOO MUCH FOR THE BARE MINIMUM.”

“that’s just it sans.” Black felt his soul give a jolt. He gave his brother a glance that was practically vulnerable; his older brother rarely ever used his given name anymore even when alone together.

Papyrus was serious.

“the bare minimum to you, isn’t the same for luna.” Black didn’t respond at first, his eyelights lowered in concentration before he finally let out a sigh. Of course the mutt would be right. His eyelights lit up as an idea hit him.

“I’LL BE HOME LATE.” Rus didn’t stop him as he vanished into the void.

“guess i should tell everyone you’ll be late for gift opening then.” He muttered as he shifted the bags on his arm. It was a good thing he supposed that he already bought his brother’s gift selections for the others.

Luna was giggling as she opened the little blue and white snow patterned box Classic had given her, a ring tinged grey with lines of silver etched into it greeting her. Her eyes lit up as she looked up at him.

“Is this meteorite?” He hummed his confirmation as he plucked it from the box and slipped it onto her pinky finger.

“figured someone as beautiful as a star deserved something out of this world.” There were groans but Luna could only blush as she embraced him, her arms twining around his shoulders effortlessly.

“Thank you Sans.”

“okay enough lovey dovey crap, open mine next.” Crimson huffed as he carelessly shoved Classic aside to drop his gift in her lap. She tried not to snort at how affronted Classic looked, her eyes panning the gathering of skeletons briefly before smiling at Crimson as she unwrapped his present.

By the time Luna finished going through everyone’s gifts Black still hadn’t returned and she was growing quickly concerned.

Looking over from the pile of gift wrap Valiant and Lolli had buried her in she locked eyes with Rus. Who was currently handing a shopping bag to Edge. Of course Rus hadn’t bothered to wrap any of his presents besides hers.

She didn’t even need to say anything.

“mi’lord said he’d be late, don’t worry princess.” Luna frowned; it wasn’t like him at all to be late for any gathering. Maybe she had been a bit too harsh to him.

It was as everyone was getting ready to eat when Black finally showed back up. The first thing Luna did was stand and go over to him, abandoning her place at the table. He oddly blushed purple.

“Black I--”

“COME WITH ME FOR A MOMENT.” Luna blinked curiously but followed, ignoring the inquisitive looks that the others were giving as she was led upstairs.

Black was nervous.

He wasn’t exactly experienced with showing his emotions let alone talking about them. But still he was resolved when he’d seen how willing Luna was to follow his request. It was obvious his prolonged absence had ignited a spark of guilt in her.

She shouldn’t have felt guilty; if anything her anger was more than deserved.

Once they were both in his room he casually latched the door and wandered over to the glass doors that led to the house balcony, his hands folding behind his back. It had taken an age to procure this room he remembered. Probably wouldn’t even have it if it wasn’t for Luna siding with him against Classic like she had.

How to start this? Black could already feel her eyes burning into his spine.

“I AM A RENOWNED TACTICIAN, AN INSPIRATION WHEN IT COMES TO MY PEERS IN REGARDS TO CHIVALRY AND CLASS.” He took a breath and turned to face her, his eyelights focusing on the adorable freckles dotting her face rather than the windows to her soul. “INFAMOUS EVEN FOR MY SERVICES TO THE CROWN.”

Luna was watching him carefully as he scratched wearily at the back of his skull.

“I HAVE DONE MANY THINGS; SLAUGHTERED COUNTLESS FELLOW MONSTERS AND HUMANS ALIKE, TORTURED IN THE NAME OF MY QUEEN, LAUGHED AT THE POINTLESS DISPLAYS OF MARTYRS WHO FOUND IT FIT TO REBEL AGAINST A LAW THEY SIMPLY DIDN’T AGREE WITH BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T UNDERSTAND IT.” He was ranting again he realized.

Best to make his point known sooner than later.

“WHAT I AM TRYING TO SAY IS I COULD BEST BE DESCRIBED AS CRUEL AND HEARTLESS, INDIFFERENT.” Black’s voice lowered and Luna was shocked at how soft his tone was.

“Even When I Try Not To Be.” Something didn’t sit right in her chest at how vulnerable he sounded, nearly regretful. Luna looked down at her feet torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to let him finish what he had to say. She knew he could be easily upset when others interrupted him.

His hands clenched into fists behind his back.

“I...Have Never Regretted My Actions. Not For A Single Horror I’ve Done Nor Word I’ve Said. But I Do Regret How I’ve Inadvertently Treated You.” Luna whipped her head up and she had to bite her lip to stop the gasp at how soft his eyelights looked.

They were so resigned.

“I Believe It’s Obvious, But Just In The Off Chance It Isn’t I Will Say I Do Care For You Just As Much As Those Ruffians Downstairs Do. IF NOT MORE!” He couldn’t help adding that last part and Luna rewarded the flounder with a chuckle causing another blush to violently flare across his face. It had felt like years since he’d heard her laugh last.

Turning to the side he offered a hand out to her.

Luna felt her heart skip at how the moonlight from the window seemed to highlight his form, making his exposed bones shimmer ethereally and his uniform to stand out with shadows tracing the bends and curves of it.

Black’s soul gave a pleased thrum as she stepped forward and slipped her hand in his. He rarely touched anyone, hardly had ever had contact with her. So it was with no small amount of secret enthusiasm as he rediscovered just how small her hand was to his. Luna had always been charmingly smaller than him and his sibling’s alters, even Valiant the shortest.

He opened the glass doors and led her to the balcony.

The wind was slightly chilled, but Luna marveled all the same at the view of the lake in the distance, the snow gathered in a thin sheet across the ground like a winter wonderland of ice and cold. One of the advantages Black had always provided her since helping him get the room was the freedom he gave her to come and go from the perch.

As Luna let herself drift Black pulled a small velvet box from his pocket.

“Luna.” She turned and Black’s breath caught at how beautiful she looked. He smiled as he held the gift out to her. She quirked a brow.

“Sans?” He almost purred at hearing his name.

“Open It.” She gave a curious smile as her hands gently opened the box, the action making Black’s soul thrum furiously in his chest. Her eyes lit up and he couldn’t resist smiling smugly at the automatic approval he saw in them.

“...Wow, It’s wonderful.”

Black felt his ribs swell with pride as Luna’s eyes widened, her cheeks turning pink as she lifted the choker from the box. He caught a glimpse of the ring Classic had given her but that mattered little to the gift he now presented.

Luna looked up as he gestured for it and it took a great effort to hand it over.

“My Lady.” He prompted as he held it between his phalanges. Her blush turned red in intensity as she caught on he wanted to put it on for her, even more so at the title he used.

His lady. Why did that make her so giddy?

Black was blushing like a fool as she turned her back to him and lifted the soft chestnut locks of her hair, exposing the pale skin of her neck. It didn’t help the warm feeling in his chest at the slight shaking he caught in her shoulders. She was just as nervous and excited as he was.

Carefully, with a slowness that wasn’t necessary just so he could enjoy the sight of her tilted head and the way she ran her thumb into the hair she held back for him he gingerly slipped his arms over her. Enjoyed feeling how his normally despised height dwarfed her as he tenderly latched it.

When she turned to face him Black felt his eyelights morph.

The gem at the center of the silk choker was swirling with purple and red magic against a black backdrop, not as a claiming display exactly but as an acknowledgment of whose protection she was under.

A small galaxy on her delicate throat.

He softly brushed a phalange against it not noticing the enamored way her vision was locked on his heart shaped eyelights.

She had never seen those hardened and unwavering orbs change shape in the whole time she’d known him. Luna had even seen Classic’s and Crimson’s change a time or two but never Blacks. She hadn’t known he was capable of it.

His inverted hearts flickered up to her.

“I’m Sorry My Actions Haven’t Been Pleasant Towards You. I Only Ask Of You To Remember Always...What You Mean To Me.” Luna smiled playfully.

“And what would you mean by that kind sir?” His sockets lidded and the smile he gave nearly rivaled Valiant’s with how dopey it was.

Luna’s world froze at the sight and she wished more than anything she had a camera on her. It felt like a moment that would only ever happen once in a lifetime.

Black’s answer changed in the span of a second. His initial response lacking for just how strongly he felt for her. He didn’t even hesitate as he realized it.

“I Love You. With Every Amount Of Affection And Bit Of My Soul I Can Give.”

Tears sprang to Luna’s eyes as she stared at him before slowly running her arms over his shoulders, giving him time to pull away if he wanted. Instead his arms encircled her waist making her heart pound and stomach flutter as he tilted her head back with his other hand.

His bony lips locked with hers and an array of emotions surged through the both of them; fear, misunderstanding, cautiousness, eagerness, love, and wholeness. Luna and Black broke apart for air and all the human woman could do was stare at the skeleton holding her in a daze.

Kissing her was everything he’d ever imagined it to be.

“Manageable?” She teased. The top of Black’s skull flexed with the impression of a raised eyebrow as he smirked and cupped her chin.

“Glorious.” He pulled her in for another kiss as he whispered against her lips. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” She responded breathlessly.

[murasaki-murasame]

On the one hand, we’re getting Ilia in the next banner as part of a prize showcase that’d be worth summoning on just for the extra rewards alone, but on the OTHER hand, I didn’t manage to get Gala Zena from any of the free summons, and then the worms in my brain went brrr and I think we all know what happened next :)

Also now that I’ve had time to experience the 2.0 update for a week or so, I’ve got a lot of thoughts on that to talk about too

First of all, I got absolutely no 5-stars of any kind from my free summons on the gala banner we got before the Zena banner, so that sucked, lol. I was genuinely tempted to at least go for a pity-break, but I decided against it, since that banner in general was so unappealing to me.

Then for the Zena banner I at least managed to sit back and see how the free summons went, and I got Meene and Midgard Zero off of them, which was nice. But of course that meant that I didn’t get Gala Zena, and I just couldn’t hold myself back from chasing her, lol.

Thankfully I managed to get her after an extra 70-ish summons, so I didn’t have to spend THAT much to get her, but I almost immediately got a dupe Meene from my ticket summons so that kinda hurt, lmao. I also got a dupe Andromeda [who’s now at 3UB], and I think those are the only 5-stars that I’ve gotten from these last two banners. The 5-star dragon ticket from the log-in bonus gave me a dupe Gilgamesh [who’s at 1UB now], though.

In general my summons were a bit more barren than I’d like, but I can’t really complain since most of them were free summons, and I managed to clear out the whole Zena banner, lol.

If I remember right, I had about 270 summons before this, and now I’m at around 200. We’ve still got some anniversary related wyrmite coming in the near future, though, on top of the free summons, so I might still be able to spark on the mid-month gala remix banner if I want to. But I’d probably only do that if Gala Alex is featured and I don’t get her from my free summons. She’s now the only gala unit I’m missing, so she’s a pretty high-priority spark target.

Which is also a big part of why I’m not really that interested in summoning on the Ilia banner, and by extension why I decided to go ahead and chase Zena now. I mean, that was still a dumb decision since if I ended up needing to spark her, that would have drained my entire stash, but still, lol. Ilia’s non-limited, and she seems to be the only new unit on the next banner, so if anything I’d mainly just be summoning for the extra rewards. Also I don’t really have any high-priority dream summon candidates anymore, since I got I-Nefaria and S-Mikoto a little while ago, and I got Meene from this banner, so I could just dream summon Ilia later on anyway.

But mainly I’m just kinda salty about how she’s basically a direct improvement over the new Joe alt, lol. I was hoping she’d at least be flame or wind or something, or even have a different mode type, but she’s literally just Joe but better, which is lame, since I really like Joe, and even if I got Ilia I dunno if I’d want to replace him on my light team. So that on it’s own kinda deflated a lot of the hype I had about Ilia.

Anyway, at this point my main priorities are to be able to get Gala Alex whenever she’s available again, and to hopefully get any new gala dragons when they come out. I’d also really like to go into the New Years banner with a spark saved up, just in case. Even though that’d probably require skipping Christmas. So we’ll just see how that pans out, lol.

All that aside, the 2.0 update has been out for a while now, and boy has that sure changed how the game feels, lmao. I think it’s an almost entirely good update, but there’s a lot of awkward growing pains going on as we have to adjust to all these new and changed systems.

I know that the new wyrmprint system gives us more flexbility than the old one, and that it at least gives a reason to want to use a lot of the 4-star prints, but I really hope they implement some sort of preset option soon, because having to keep setting up 4-5 wyrmprints on every single character is really awful. I’m also not a huge fan of how expensive it is to get extra copies of prints, but I get the logic behind it, and thankfully event prints are extremely cheap to get extra copies of. Which at least means that new players can pretty easily get four copies of Plunder Pals before eventually getting specialized skill damage prints, but I feel kinda bad for anyone who didn’t get all the Megaman event prints, since they cover basically every single important wyrmprint ability, lol. 

Also it’s kinda awkward how the change to having every print just give one ability means that a lot of prints got indirectly nerfed, like Fires of Hate and Resounding Rendition, or Chocolatiers now just being 50% skill prep. Not to mention how so many prints are almost identical, down to the fact that even the affinity bonuses for a lot of similar prints aren’t even different either. So that’s kinda weird. But ultimately I do think this was a good change for the game. I’m also thinking now that one type of new endgame progression they might add eventually is 6-star wyrmprints, since it seems really noteworthy to me that the new wyrmprint UI is a 2x3 grid with only five slots taken up, and the other just being empty space. So they might introduce 6-star wyrmprints to fill in that extra slot later to add even more flexibility to the system.

Then there’s all the changes they made to the weapon system, which I think are gonna take a fair while for me to feel truly familiar with. There’s a whole lot to take in, and even though I think it’s more streamlined and easy to understand at the end of the day, it’s such a huge change from what i was used to that it just feels kinda overwhelming and strange. But I think the only part of it that genuinely feels bad is how it’s now WAY more expensive to fully unbind Agito weapons than it was before, since you have to now buy all of the last four unbind levels, like with HDT weapons, instead of it just being a one-time upgrade cost that gives you an automatically MUB tier 2 weapon if you had a MUB tier 1 weapon. So that really sucks, and I think it really screws over anyone who was holding off on upgrading their flame and shadow Agito weapons until this update hit, since now it’s extremely expensive compared to before. But apparently it’s an intentional design choice and not just an oversight, so I guess we’ll just have to deal with it. I'm also kinda annoyed at myself for dismantling all my 5t3s before this update hit, since now they’re actually worth getting for the weapon bonus system, but that’s not as big of a deal.

And on that note, I know lots of people don’t like how expensive the weapon bonus system is, but I’m just viewing it as a super long-term, end-game grind that intentionally gives relatively minor stat upgrades that nothing in the game is actually balanced around. It’s basically just an extension of the weapon dojo system for people who want to have something to keep grinding for once they hit the end-game.

I do really like how they condensed all the niche void weapons into just one weapon per element/type combo, though, and how their unique weapon abilities are now passively applied to all similar weapons once you unlock them. It gives you a reason to care about getting them, and grinding void battles in general, without forcing you to use super weak weapons if you need their unique ability. I dunno how much I’ll actually grind Void Agni after this, but it feels really nice to just have the scorching air res ability on my Agito/HDT weapons, lol. It’s also really nice that they let you do the same thing with the HDT Bane abilities, since that makes it way easier to grind them, and this update gives us a whole lot of reasons to want to get back into grinding HDTs again.

HDTs are just way easier now than they used to be, which is great. I think Cygames has accepted that they just weren’t very fun or well-designed as endgame co-op raid type content, and that people just want to be able to farm them solo for their drops. And this whole update makes it way easier to do that. On top of the earlier change to nerfing their opening blasts and reducing the damage that AI characters take, it feels like they only slightly raised their stats to compensate for the huge balance patch update, which makes them feel way easier to beat than they used to be. And they also reworked the fights a bit so that they actually have purple indicators for [most] of their attacks, and some mechanics like HBH’s volcanoes now actually work properly in solo, so that’s neat.

The introduction of solo versions of endgame fights is really nice. I think at this point it means that you can go through the entire game’s progression system without touching co-op [outside of events, I guess], which is nice, since I know it’s always been off-putting to a lot of people that co-op is basically mandatory for endgame content.

We also now have PVP [kind of], which is something I never expected, and I ALSO never expected that it’d actually be . . . really fun and well-balanced? It’s genuinely shocking to me that they actually managed to pull off PVP properly in this type of game, lol. This has always felt like the most anti-PVP gacha game out there, if that makes sense, so I never thought PVP would work, but the whole battle royale set-up actually works really well. Mainly because everyone works off of the same blank slate, and your account progress outside of the battle royale mode has absolutely no impact on how strong you are in PVP. It’s more of a skill-based thing, where you’d have an edge over newer players just because you’re more familiar with how to move around in the game and do stuff. There’s also the fact that there’s barely any difference in the points you get between first and last place, so you don’t feel like you’re missing out on much if you keep losing. And most of the stuff you spend points on are just cosmetic skins for the character you play as, but there’s also some genuinely good rewards like sunstones and testaments that you can fairly easily get even if you just grind for it by dying as fast as possible every round. I really hope they keep the rewards the same for each season, since having a fairly consistent supply of 2 sunstones and 4 of each testament every five weeks or so would be really good.

The whole balance patch also happened, and that ended up being a lot more of a big deal than I thought it might be. Even though they only tweaked everyone’s damage mods and not any of their abilities or anything, basically all of the buffs feel like what you’d expect from a mana spiral. A pretty huge amount of characters got their damage mods doubled or even tripled, and then there’s cases like Gala Euden who effectively had both of his skill’s damage mods quadrupled, lol. I was wondering if they might use this as a chance to effectively give mana spirals to old gala units without actually giving them mana spirals, and that’s basically how this went. On top of Gala Euden now being even stronger than before, Gala Mym got basically all of her damage mods doubled, along with a new strength buff on her S1. Gala Sarisse also got her S2 improved so that it always gives a team strength buff instead of alternating effects. And Gala Ranzal got what seems to be a really big improvement to his damage in general, along with his gauges now being easier to fill, so now I think he might at least be on the same level as Leif, if not stronger, which he really deserved.

They even buffed a lot of the weaker shadow units, which I wasn’t expecting, but I’m glad about it. Obviously Norwin was one of the first units whose changes I looked into, and I’m glad that he’s better than he used to be, but it’s kinda awkward to me that he has poison punisher effects on his skills now, when they didn’t change the fact that he has a blind punisher ability, and another ability based around inflicting blind. I think he still needs a proper spiral to fully morph him into actually being about poison, but he’s a lot better than he was before. They also buffed S-Norwin’s S2 for some reason, even though he was really good before this update, lol.

Vice also now has the honor of being the first unit to get straight up nerfed in the game’s history, but even with the nerf, I think he’s still one of the strongest 3-stars in the whole game, and he’s still worth investing in as a low-budget DPS option. I also actually like the fact that he inflicts poison on his S1 now, since it makes him a more consistent source of poison, but it also means he’ll be constantly afflicting poison, which might not always be good. I think it’s a good balance change, though. At the very least I’m able to easily solo eHJP in like one and a half minutes while still using him as my main DPS unit, while also having everyone equipped with gold fafnirs. So he definitely still does his job just fine.

Anyway, we’ve also got the whole second anniversary event going on, and it sure is a doozy. I think I liked Fractured Futures more, but this is still a good event in it’s own way. It’s not as intense or depressing, but I like the focus on lore and world-building, and it’s also just really refreshing to get an entire event where Zethia’s the protagonist for once.

A lot of what the event’s gone over has felt sort of predictable, but it’s still nice to get all this stuff explicitly spelled out, and it also means we get to see Ilia as a socially inept punk biker with a giant rifle, so that alone makes the entire event worth it, lmao. I figured we were gonna get something like this from all the increasing glimpses at how ancient civilization used to be technologically advanced, but seeing it play out like this is still really fun.

It’s also interesting to get the origin story for Morsayati. It’s not quite as interesting as I would have hoped, since it turns out that the Other is just Mordecai’s disembodied hatred, but still. Mordecai’s a surprisingly adorable character, and for a free unit he also feels surprisingly strong, which is nice. Although it does suck that he just straight up outclasses Hanabusa, lol.

One of the more surprising things about this event is that we’re also getting new world-building about the fairy kingdom, which seems to be setting up for how they teased at the main story moving over there soon. It’s pretty clear that sometime after chapter 18 they’re going to release Notte as a playable character [either as a welfare unit or as a gala unit], and I think Meene is kinda like the template for how they’ll handle Notte as a playable character.

We also now know that we’re getting a free character from chapter 16, and like most people I think it’s probably going to be Leonidas as a flame gun unit going by the preview from the digest, but it’s possible that he’ll be the next gala adventurer instead. I also think they might do something with Chelle soon, since I think they teased her showing up in chapter 17, and we also know that she’s apparently the one who introduced manacasters to the world.

The latest This Month post also talked about how we’re getting a new Halloween event for the middle of the month, which is kinda surprising. I think we’re still getting a Halloween event at the end of the month, so I wonder how this upcoming one will go. My current guess is that, since they didn’t say anything about the banner that’ll be run along with it, they’ll just be rerunning the old Halloween banner for it, and the event itself will just be based around the second year Halloween units, since they didn’t get their own event last year. At least that way we’d get two new Halloween events without having to deal with the stress of getting two differently entirely new Halloween banners in one month. I’m also hoping that they make the old Halloween units non-limited like they did with the Valentines ones.

They’re also apparently going another rerun of Accursed Archives [plus the Akasha event], which is kinda surprising, since I thought they’d just add it to the compendium. But at least this means we’ll get an extra set of rewards once they add it to the compendium later, lol.

We didn’t hear anything about a new Halloween event/banner at the end of the month, but we’re probably getting one, and unless Gala Alex gets featured before it, that’ll probably be what I save my next spark for. I’m not sure exactly how they’ll work it now, but I’m hoping that they’ll bundle the new Halloween units into a gala banner that also introduces a new gala dragon, since that’s also something I want to get, so it’d be nice to knock out two birds with one stone.

[09yards]

𝐀𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧

• Supposedly, Halloween is the one day of the year when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is the thinnest. • Or, Kun misses Ten, there’s no doubt about that. Kun’s learnt to live life without him, but there will always be a part of him that can’t quite seem to let go.

• also available on ao3

You make me feel like radio static and the fuzz at the edges of old TV screens. You colour my world in moon haze and light creaking through broken blinds. Every footstep by your side is an adventure.

 Kun misses Ten. There’s no doubt about that, it’s a simple fact. He misses his smile, his laugh, the way he held him, the way he looked at Kun. 

 Their story was simple but Kun thinks it must look sad all the same to others. He didn’t like to think of it that way, after all he knew Ten would die one day, he sat by his side through countless hospital visits, carried him up the stairs when he was too exhausted to walk himself, brushed the hair out of his face when the chemo filled Ten with every ounce of pain it could muster.

 Kun learnt to live life without Ten after being by his side for so long. And he’s okay, really. For a while he wasn’t, even when he said he was. He knew Sicheng saw through every single one of his facades but the younger let him be, he knew he needed time. Time is the greatest healer of them all. 

 It’s been two years now and Kun finally feels like he can breathe again. It took a few weeks, more like a few months, for Kun to truly say goodbye. All the days spent bundled under piles of blankets in bed, clutching at whatever piece of Ten he could find. Their apartment felt empty without Ten, void of joy and life. But Kun kept telling himself that one day he’d be okay, he’d find home again.

 Learning to do things without Ten was the hardest. Waking up in the morning and only making one cup of tea as opposed to two, only putting enough bread in the toaster for one, one toothbrush in the bathroom, one side of the bed untouched, grocery shopping for one. It was the small, mundane, mediocre, everyday things that were the hardest. But Kun got through it. Rather than making meals for one, he’d take leftovers or invite their friends over and all of them would drop what they were doing in a heartbeat to make sure Kun was, to make sure he is okay. He couldn’t have done it without them. All the grumbling when they tried to drag him out of bed or attempts at resisting Lucas’s puppy dog eyes to get him out of the flat or Chenle turning up unannounced to play him a new composition he’d learnt.

 Time passed, Kun learnt new things, he moved forward, took each day as it came. Kun began to breathe again.

 ༓࿇༓

 In all honesty, Kun feels stupid. He may as well of said bippity-boppity-boo and been done with it. But still he sits, curled up in his apartment at 10 pm on a Thursday night with a glass of wine in his hand (his second, he’d downed the first before he’d even managed to get out of the kitchen). It’s the expensive kind, the bottle of red he and Ten used to buy for special occasions– not date nights though (arguably a special occasion to Kun but Ten always countered that with a ‘I’d call all the time we spend together a special occasion, if we did that we’d end up broke by the end of the month’). 

 He wasn’t sure what to wear or how to do his hair, does anyone know you’re supposed to ‘look the part’ when you attempt to summon your dead boyfriend across the veil separating the dead and the living? It’s not exactly something he’s prepared to google. He still couldn’t believe he was doing this.

 Is this even going to work? Is Ten watching him from beyond the grave, laughing at how clueless he is?

  Does Ten even want to see him?

 The weirdest part of all is somehow not the actual trying to communicate with the dead, but that he’s actually listening to Yangyang. Of all people, he’s trusting Yangyang. Maybe that’s the first red flag that Kun has truly lost his marbles, but why not lose a few more while he’s at it, continue on whatever downward spiral you need to be on that you’re trying to contact those beyond the grave. He's really believing Yangyang that people can cross the veil between the living and the dead. 

 According to him, Yangyang had learnt about finding ways to get closer to the dead in his philosophy class (seriously, what were they being taught these days?) and decided to share it with Kun in the hopes it’d help him finally take that next step in moving on with his life. He'd spent hours going on and on about the veil between the worlds of the dead and the living, explaining what simply, sounded like nonsense to Kun, but had sparked his interest when he mentioned being able to see the loved ones you lost again. Kun had moved on, he didn’t shed tears day after day anymore, he hardly ever got two mugs out instead of one. He was doing well. But he couldn’t completely let go.

 He wasn’t sure he ever would, he doesn’t know how to exist in a world where he doesn’t love Ten.

 There’s still pieces of Ten filtering through their (he never calls it just ‘his’) apartment, miscellaneous nick-nacks Ten picked up from market stalls on their travels, unpaired earrings Ten seemed to leave all over the place, paintings hung on the walls with Ten’s small signature in the corner, Ten’s clothes still hung up, left completely untouched in their wardrobe.

  Kun’s really doing this, he’s really about to try and summon a ghost. 

 Before he does anything else, he swallows another large gulp of wine and then another, before lighting the candles. There’s a mix of lavender and a faint spice Kun never learnt the name of, those were always Ten’s favourite and that seems to be one of the things he hasn’t let go of yet, the scent still filling his apartment day by day. A subtle but potent reminder of Ten, of his presence. 

 The candles are lit, the glass of wine placed with wobbly hands on the table next to him. He closed his eyes, thinking that’d make some kind of difference. Kun mutters the words Yangyang had told him to, they’re something foreign, a language Kun doesn’t recognise. He thinks he must be going mad when he’s jolted out of his trance by a knock at his front door. He thinks it couldn’t be any more cliché, not that he’s actually expecting Ten to be there. In fact he’s fairly certain it’s going to be a drunk Xuxi crying about how beautiful Renjun looked in whatever costume he decided on for the party they were throwing tonight. 

 What he doesn’t expect is to be greeted with an all too familiar smile, an all too familiar person leaning against the door frame like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

 “Hello my love, aren’t you going to let me in?” There’s a smirk on his face and  god, Kun missed that smirk, Ten’s eyes sparkle as he lets out a slight laugh with it, Kun missed the way it makes his heart skip a beat. He’s never felt more alive in the last two years than he does right now, staring with his jaw hung low at his lover. His boyfriend, looking so lifelike. Kun thinks his mind must be playing tricks on him, he must’ve had more wine than he thought.

 Kun steps aside, holding the door open, watching intently as Ten walks through, standing in their  living room like he never left. Kun’s head spins a little, he sits down and tries to speak but no words come out.

 There’s a pause, a lul as neither of them knew what to say until Kun seems to be teaching himself how to talk again.

 “Holy shit. I didn’t think this would actually work,” Kun let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, somehow regaining the ability to speak again. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

 Kun feels a warm hand caress the side of his face and he looks into Ten’s eyes as Ten steps closer to where Kun’s seated, the same eyes he fell in love with all those years ago.

 “Oh Kun, my love, I miss you so much. You know I’m always watching over you.”

 “I can feel you touching me and I can touch you and oh my god- this feels so real. I love you, I love you, I love you. I never told you I loved you enough.”

 “Yes you did my love, you told me everyday, you still tell me every day.”

 “I love you, I never want to let go.”

 Ten sat down next to Kun, tangling himself in the pile of blankets, like he always used to. Kun watches him with a smile on his face that can only be described as fond and adoring.  

 “Kun-Kun, I’m sorry, this is going to end, I have to go back.”

 “I know, I know, just- just let me pretend for a little bit? Let me pretend like you never left and that I still get to wake up with you in my arms?” 

 “Okay love, I can do that for you.” Ten leans down, fidgeting a little so his head is resting against Kun’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. The gentle metronome grounding him. Kun’s hands move instinctively, one caressing the patch of exposed skin where Ten’s shirt has lifted slightly with his movement, the other running through Ten’s hair. And  god, it’s like he never went, his hair is still as fluffy as it had always been and there’s the faint scent of whatever spice it is from his shampoo, Kun never remembers the name, only that it’s not cinnamon. Ten always hated cinnamon, he would complain every Christmas about how it spoils gingerbread, begging Kun to make some specially for him, no cinnamon.  

 “You can’t waste all your love on me Kun,” Ten sighs, interrupting the silence they’d been basking in. “You’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you. Move on, fall in love with some pretty young thing and have the family you always wanted. You don’t deserve to be pining after me for years to come, you deserve to be happy. I want you to be happy.”

 Kun’s crying now, just a little, the tears rolling down his cheeks and dampening the collar of his shirt. It’s been a while since he last cried over Ten, it only makes him miss him more, despite the fact he can feel Ten’s weight on his lap.

 “Don’t worry about me anymore, Kun. I get to live the life where we get our happily ever after but for you, in this universe, you’ll end up happy with someone else. I promise you that and I promise you I’ll never stop loving you.”

 “I’ll never stop loving you either.”

 “I know my love, I know. But you can’t let that hold you back from falling in love with someone else. You deserve to be happy.”

 “But you’re the one Ten. I got my soulmate and you died and that’s the end of our story. I had my one chance at the whole ‘great big love story’.”

 “I’m only ‘the one’ until you find the next one. Trust me baby, I know more than you could ever imagine.”

 “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t save you. I was supposed to be by your side, supposed to protect you and I- I couldn’t even keep you alive. I failed, I- I broke my promises.”

 “I’m happy Kun. I’m here, I’m alive in my own way. Here I am, sitting with you like nothing changed. I’m not in pain anymore. How is that failure, my love? You couldn’t change anything, I knew that before I met you.” Ten lent forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek, “I love you, I’ve always loved you. You took care of me even when I was at my worst. You gave me a light in a world I thought would be dark for the rest of my time on this godforsaken Earth.”

 “I’ll always ask for a little more time, I know you can’t give it to me but you know I love you. I will love you until the end of the earth.”

 “I love you too.”

 ༓࿇༓

 Kun wakes up to the harsh light of the morning sun filtering in through the cracks in the blinds. He has to crick his neck from sleeping on the sofa, he knows his back is going to hurt the moment he wakes up but it was worth it. They laughed, smiled and cried while they felt normal for a slither of time. Ten asking questions about Lucas and Renjun or if Chenle’s keeping up with his piano lessons from Kun. Kun wants to ask why Ten wants to know when Ten’s already admitted to watching over him, keeping tabs on their friends. Kun wants to ask why, why Ten came to see him again. He wants to ask how, he tries to resist the temptation. Kun doesn’t ask, he lets himself enjoy Ten’s company, while it lasts.

 He doesn’t know if it was real, he’ll never know if it’s real or just something he dreamed of in a way to cope with missing Ten. Kun will never know the truth but he prefers it that way. He smiles to himself, no matter what– Ten knows Kun loves him, Kun knows Ten loves him, wherever they may be, however far apart they are.

 Kun got to be an inch from heaven and for that he will be eternally grateful.

 Kun doesn't know how to live in a world where he doesn't love Ten, and he never will. 

 When he finds the motivation to get up and trudge into the kitchen there’s a post-it Kun doesn’t remember putting up;

‘I love you. Take care of yourself my love, until next year.”

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @lightwoodbanemlm!

Have a very happy and Malec-y Holidays! Hope you like the gift!

Read on AO3

*****

Can't Live Without You, It Takes Me All The Way, I Want You To Stay

Magnus is pretty sure if he has to listen to Lorenzo explain the spell one more time in his pretentious, snobby, over the top Gaelic accent, he would personally summon his father to kill himself. It is hard enough that he had to leave behind a soft, sleep-rumpled, cuddly, and extremely clingy Alexander behind in the morning, on his boyfriend’s only day off in the next two weeks. The Spiral Labyrinth sent a fire-message this morning asking for his help to figure out a very complicated spell created by a talented Gaelic warlock who died at the hands of the Circle members. He is not the High Warlock anymore, but even Lorenzo Rey knows better than to refuse his extensive knowledge of magic and spells. But the random magic use throughout the day to find the perfect ingredients, and perfecting the spell, especially inside the Spiral Labyrinth, has left Magnus somehow magically exhausted, and having Lorenzo talk down on him, while displaying his massive ego is not helping the situation.

The current High Warlock of Brooklyn, as Lorenzo loves reminding him, repeats a portion of the spell for the fifth time, butchering the meaning, Magnus finally snaps, fed up with the Warlock.

“Lorenzo, you are over 200 years old right?” Magnus puts two fingers on each side of his temple, barely masking the frustration written all over his face.

“I turned 249 this year,” Lorenzo straightens his sleek ponytail for what it seems the hundredth time today. It’s only centuries of Tai Chi, and the thought of Alec’s pouty face this morning keep him from snapping his fingers and burning Lorenzo’s eyebrows off. He’d hate it if he has to stay away from his beloved Alexander simply due to paperwork.

“Well in your long, long life,” Magnus replies, sarcasm dripping from his voice, “Have you never had the desire to actually learn to speak Gaelic? It is, after all, a beautiful language.”

Lorenzo scowls, clearly soured by Magnus’ words. He looks more like a lizard when he's scowling, Magnus thinks, wonder if anyone has ever told him that before.

“Well, Bane ,” Lorenzo spits out his name like a curse, “Not all of us have the luck of living in luxury for years that we would have learnt every language in the world. Not all of us are you.”

Magnus would’ve pointed out exactly how much of pain and struggles there is in being him, but Catarina’s stern gaze makes him close his mouth before he starts to speak.

“Gentlemen, as much as I would love to go on with this lovely banter you both seem to share around each other, I do believe it is quite late, and I would like to go home to my daughter now if you please,” Catarina gives Magnus a pleading look, and Magnus decides to speed things along.

He quickly conjures up his personal stationary to put down the correct translation of the spell, complete with the pronunciation guide, and the necessary ingredients needed for performing it. It’s a long list, and he doesn’t want to keep Cat away from Madzie any longer needed.

“Cat, you go home, I can manage everything here.”

“Magnus, you sure?”

“Yes, of course, I’m sure,” Magnus assures her, kissing her cheek, “Go and get some rest, I know you had a long shift at the hospital today. And do give Sweet Pea my best regards, and an extra scoop of ice cream on my behalf.”

Catarina smiles in return, and starts creating a Portal. “You are spoiling her,” she shakes her head fondly.

“I’m her Godfather! Of course I am,” Magnus waves his hand with a casual flourish, “Besides, she deserves to be spoiled.”

“Please don’t tell her that,” Catarina says before stepping through the Portal, amusement thinly veiled behind her words.

“No promises!” Magnus speaks into the Portal as she steps through, and then turns to attend to the task at hand.

Alright, let’s do this.

Magnus notes the time after handing away the list to the warlocks in the Labyrinth, it’s been almost an hour since he sent Cat home and started working on writing it down. It would’ve been finished much faster if Lorenzo didn’t keep interrupting Magnus with his mostly useless inputs and comments.

But, now it is done, and Magnus is itching to go home and curl up with his boyfriend. The thought of going home to Alec makes Magnus smile. The mere flash of those lovely hazel eyes in his mind makes his heart beat faster.

Well, Magnus is sure that if he looks into it, there is so much of Alec in his heart, it is barely his own anymore. He smiles absently, and decides to pay a visit his wine cellar before going home. He picks up a Châteaux Margaux, the one he has been saving for a special occasion. And well, just the mere fact that Alec Lightwood exists, and more than that, that he loves Magnus, and that Magnus gets to go home to him, needs proper celebration.

Magnus’ Portal materializes in the loft, it’s almost 11pm, he notes as he steps through. He arches his neck, and stretches, trying to work out the sore muscles from sitting down all day. Conjuring up two wine glasses, he glances around to see if Alec has decided to wait for him in the drawing room.

The first time Magnus had been late from a warlock meeting, he found Alec sprawled on the sofa, his arms dangling from the edges, drooling into the material, as he had been trying to wait up for Magnus, but clearly, the day’s exhaustion caught up with him.

Magnus still remembers how his heart ached seeing the beautiful gesture. He had stood there, staring at the sleeping Shadowhunter, trying, in vain, to remember the last time anyone had done that for him.

Of course, no one had. Magnus had really been in a true relationship with two people, and Camille never took their relationship seriously enough to do that, or maybe she just didn’t want to. Then again, Alexander Lightwood is not just anyone.

All the more reason why Magnus goes over to the sofa in front of the TV to check for random dangling Nephilim limbs. But the sofa is empty, so is the armchair.

He checks in the balcony. His Shadowhunter has taken a keen liking to that particular part of the loft, sometimes choosing to spend his evening reading by the witchlight, with Magnus curled up on his chest, unless either of them decides for an impromptu date.

No sign of Alec there either. Magnus decides to check the bedroom next. Maybe he went to sleep , he thinks.

But the satin amethyst sheet is perfectly made, no sign of anyone sleeping in before Magnus came in. Worry coils low in his stomach, it isn’t like Alec to leave without telling Magnus. Even if there is an emergency at the Institute, Alec always remembers to text him dutifully.

Which is exactly what makes Magnus check the loft for Alec’s magical traces. A quick sweep tells him that he hasn’t been home since this afternoon.

Maybe something came up? Maybe he had to leave? Maybe-

If their life wasn’t a big roulette wheel of life and death, Magnus would’ve simply chalked it up to a walk outside. But, his boyfriend is a Shadowhunter , more than that, his boyfriend is the most protective Shadowhunter of his generation, one who would gladly stand in front of the fire, if it meant protecting the ones he loves, which now entails the entire Institute and the Downworld. Magnus loves him for it, for this, for how clear, determined he is, how he would lay down his life without a second thought to save an innocent, but it also means that every mission, every patrol, every battle he goes to, Magnus has to remind himself of his mortality. This also means that sudden unexplained disappearances are causes of extreme worry, which now clouds Magnus’ face like a shroud of death. He tries Alec’s cell, but the number only beeps out.

He puts the wine and glasses down on the nightstand, a calm night-in long forgotten, and decides to call Isabelle. The Lightwood sister has been one of the biggest sources of comfort for Magnus whenever Alec goes on a mission, knowing that his love is fiercely protected by her and his Parabatai almost as much as he protects them.

Isabelle’s number connects, one ring, two, and she doesn’t pick up. Magnus starts pacing the loft, his steps fast and erratic, worry and concern lining his brows. He calls Clary, but her phone doesn’t connect at all. After that, there’s only one person left, and probably the one who can best ascertain whether Alec is safe or not.

Jace picks up after the third ring, and Magnus exhales a little of the long breath he doesn’t even realize he’s holding. The blonde answers, sounding an odd mix of annoyance and concern, and Magnus decides to cut to the chase, and ask him about Alec.

“No, I haven’t seen him all day,” Jace answers, and the stomach in Magnus’ stomach tightens, “Why? Today is his day off, isn’t he supposed to be home? Or wherever you two go for dates?” Jace sounds confused, and Magnus decides not to waste any precious seconds, now that Alec is surely in some kind of disturbance, if not worse. He hangs up, after telling Jace to inform him if he gets any information about Alec, and decides to track Alec using the spare bow hanging from the bowrack beside the door, the newest addition to the loft’s quirky decor, little ways that show how Alec has fit into Magnus’ life like two pieces of a puzzle.

Magnus’ heart tightens at that, but he pushes that feeling aside, right now Alec needs him, he can’t let emotions cloud his judgement. He grabs the bow with both his hands, curling his ring-clad fingers around the middle, and closes his eyes, concentrating, pushing his magic to curl around it, to pick up the traces Alec’s use left on it through the years. Blue sparkles completely cover the bow, and Magnus sees a blue thread visible in the dark of the void, eyes still closed. He grasps at it with all the willpower and love he can muster, and he gets a faint salty and earthy taste in his mouth, just before he feels cold all over, and his skin feels heavy. He gasps out, eyes slam open, and he realizes exactly where Alec is.

Brooklyn River.

A Portal whooshes in just under the bridge, glamoured from Mundane eyes, and Magnus steps through, red battle magic crackling in his palms, ready to strike down anyone who dares to stand between him and Alexander. But Magnus is immediately thrown off by the eerie calm around him. Cars zoom past above him on the bridge, their noise fading as they go further away from where Magnus is standing. Magnus decides to try tracking again, in case he was wrong, but he hears faint muffled noises coming from the river side, and he rushes to find the source.

It only takes twenty steps or so, before he finds himself face to face with a humanoid, dark silhouette against the lights from the Manhattan skyline, jerking their hands around, covered in unrecognizable substances.

The figure mutters something under their breath, and Magnus would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been actively trying to listen.

“By the Angel...”

Magnus catches the words and his eyes widen, he can recognize that voice even in his sleep.

“Alexander?!” Magnus blurts out, half-questioning, half-incredulous, and the figure looks up, registering his presence for the first time.

“Magnus? Is that you?” Alec asks, taking a step forward to him, and Magnus uses his magic to create an orb of light in his palm. Alec’s face is more clearly visible now, though he is still covered from head to toe, by what seems like seaweed, and twigs, and garbage. He is dripping wet, his legs, arms caked with mud, and hair is sticking to his forehead, his face dirty.

“Alec, what happened? Are you okay?” Magnus asks, touching his face, checking him over for injuries, but there’s nothing more than some minor cuts and bruises. Magnus lets out a long breath he has been holding for the last hour, and he hugs Alec, worry bleeding out of him as Alec wraps his hands around him.

The strong stench of garbage hits Magnus, and he scrunches up his nose. “How? What? Why?” he asks Alec, who opens his mouth to answer. The cold December wind blows, and Alec shivers in Magnus’ arms, the wetness increasing the chill down his spine tenfold.

Magnus decides to continue the conversation later when neither of them look like they just got dumped into a wet garbage bin. He reopens the Portal, and drags Alec through it, this time stepping straight into their bathroom. Magnus wastes no time trying to undress Alec by hand, instead snaps his fingers, and Alec’s dirty clothes end up in the hamper kept by the bathroom door for Alec to put his usually ichor-ridden clothes in, after patrols. Alec shivers his sudden nakedness, and Magnus pushes him into the shower, making sure the water is scalding hot, just the way Alec prefers.

He thinks about joining him in the shower, to let the weariness of the day that he feels deep in his bones melt away surrounded by warmth of the water, and his Alexander , but Magnus immediately shakes his head, as if trying to shake the thought off like that.

A warm shower sounds great, yes, but it can wait till tomorrow.  

Conjuring up the coziest one from the Alec’s endless supply of black sweaters, and similar black sweats, he puts them on the bed for Alec to find, and decides to change into something comfortable himself. He chooses one of his sweatpants, and decides against his usual flashy tank tops for one of his boyfriend’s blue henleys. He cannot wrap himself in Alec’s arms in the shower, so this would have to do.

He goes to get the two glasses and the bottle of wine, sure that Alec wouldn’t object to a glass or two after all this. He conjures up takeout from the Ethiopian restaurant nearby, making sure to leave a generous tip for them in turn.

Just then, two strong arms encircle his waist, pulling him backwards until his back rests against a rune marked chest. Soft, damp hair tickle his jaw as Alec burrows his head in the crook of his neck, Magnus sags against the comfortable and familiar warmth now engulfing him.

“Missed you,” Alec mumbles into Magnus’ neck, and pulls him closer. The smoky smell of sandalwood hits Magnus, and he inhales deeper, trying to breathe Alec in. He turns around, and finds Alec, standing with water still dripping from his damp hair, a soft smile on his face that never fails to take Magnus’ breathe away. Before Magnus even realizes, he’s kissing Alec, soft and slow, both of them simply revelling in the embrace of one another. Time melts away, and it’s only Alec’s lips entangled with his own, Alec’s arms holding him, Alec’s damp forehead resting upon his own as they pant for air. Alec Alec Alec. It’s like his entire life he has been waiting for this big bad Shadowhunter with a heart softer than butter to come by and make his heart swoon.

They kiss again, this time it’s softer, sweeter, taking time, finding each other, exploring their whole existence under the other’s gentlest of touches. After a while, when it’s only foreheads resting against each other, Magnus decides to retire to the bedroom for the rest of the ‘activities’. It’s only when he drags Alec by his shirtfront into the bedroom, that he notices the hamper with the dirty clothes.

Well, they do say that curiosity killed the cat, and Magnus can’t believe that he’s about to say this in the middle of this , but oh hell...

“Um.. Alexander... I um.. Damn I can’t believe I’m saying this right now... But,” Magnus swallows thickly, flushed, because yes, Alec Lightwood can make even the great Magnus Bane flush, “What were we doing in the Brooklyn River tonight?”

Alec has such a look on his face that if Magnus wasn’t so damn tuned with his emotions, then he would’ve thought that Alec is insulted by his question. But that look isn’t insult, it’s thinly veiled embarrassment, with a hint of panic.

“You.. don’t need to.. it’s not really important...” Alec starts to stammer, but Magnus’ curiosity only peaks.

“Alec? What is it? You know you can tell me anything, right?” Magnus assures Alec, but the Shadowhunter only looks more panicked.

“It’s stupid, you’re gonna think I’m stupid,” Alec mumbles, trying to hide his face in the crook of Magnus’ neck.

“Oh Alexander,” Magnus coos, holding Alec’s face in his palms, “Do you have the not-so-rare moments of gay panic? Of course. Do you turn the most beautiful shade of red every time I flirt with you? Without a doubt,” Magnus pointedly ignores Alec’s glare at that, “But, I can never think you’re stupid. You are the most brilliant person I’ve ever had the good fortune to meet.”

Alec pouts for a moment, before deciding to concede, and sits back on the edge of the bed, folding his legs. “You remember how you told me that both you and Catarina would be in the Labyrinth all day?” Magnus nods, urging him to continue. “Well, around afternoon, I got bored, but I couldn’t just ask you to abandon work, so I decided to head to Catarina’s, to play with Madzie. I know she was with her sitter the whole day, and I figured maybe she’d like a new face, after all.”

Magnus’ heart soars at how fond Alec has gotten of his goddaughter. Between being a warlock with a mark that most people may find abhorrent and the entire situation with Iris Rouse, Madzie has gotten dealt a bad hand very young in her life. To know that there are people, especially someone as caring as Alec, to take care of her, warms Magnus’ heart.

“So, I got there at about 6, and then we played games. And watched Power Rangers. She loves the Red Ranger, though I really prefer the Blue one. She drew a picture of me by the way! She so talented,” Alec carries on, his eyes gleaming talking about his ‘little sorceress’ , “And after Catarina got in, it was almost a quarter to ten. She told me you’d be home soon, so I said good-bye.”

“Cat asked if I wanted to portal home, but I wanted to walk, because you know how rarely I walk home, without thinking that there’s a demon emergency that needs my attention, so I just wanted to walk without too much worry.” Magnus can relate to that thought, but he doesn’t say anything, letting Alec continue instead.

“So, near the bridge, there’s this flower shop, you know, the one where the florist is the nicest lady, and who always gives me a discount on the yellow roses, you know the ones that remind me of your eyes?” Alec turns red as soon as he realizes what he just said out loud, but Magnus snuggles closer to him, touched by the gesture, and Alec carries on, still red, “So I wanted to get some for you, um..because um.. I thought maybe you’d like them, but it was closed, so- so, I thought maybe I’d go home, but then there he was.” Alec’s face throws Magnus off the loop.

“He? A demon? Alec did you encounter a demon on your way?” Magnus grows concerned, but Alec looks ...wait, is that embarrassment?

“It wasn’t a demon, per say....” Alec waves his hand around, and then mumbles something that doesn’t quite seems clear to Magnus. “Alexander, you’re gonna have to speak up. What was it?”

“Itwasakitten,” Alec says, his ears red, and his voice low. Magnus looks at him incredulously, pretty sure that he misheard, because there’s no way that Alec just said what he thought he just said.

“Wait, did you just say ‘a kitten’?” Magnus says, and Alec turns redder.

“Yeah...” Alec drawls, and if the entire situation wasn’t so hilarious, Magnus would’ve jumped him right then and there with how adorable his pout looks.

“I just saw this black kitten, and I saw that you always miss Chairman so much, so I thought I’d bring him home, but then that devil-spawn decided to give me hell,” there’s absolute outrage written on Alec’s face, and Magnus bites his lip to make sure he doesn’t laugh.

“First I tried to coo and ask him to come to me, you know, like you do with the strays that visit the balcony sometimes,” Alec tries to explain, and Magnus almost melts from the cute puppy eyes Alec seems to be making right now. “And he came to me, but then, that little devil, decided to snatch my phone instead!” Alec whines, and Magnus can truly relate to Elsa, trying to conceal his laughter.

“That little demon!” Magnus agrees to Alec, amusement thinly veiled, but Alec doesn’t seem to notice,.

“So, I tried to follow him, but then he got up to the ledge of the bridge, and I was worried that if he jumped from there, he might hurt himself, so....”

“So?”

“So, I jumped after him. Turns out, he only threw the phone in, and moved away at the last moment. But I ended up in the river.” Alec’s pout intensifies, and Magnus cannot keep his laughter in anymore. His shoulders shake with the effort of trying to keep it in.

“See, I knew you’d think it’s stupid!” Alec stabs an accusatory finger at Magnus’s chest playfully, and Magnus’ laugh gets louder.

“I’m sorry it’s just- it’s just- I can’t believe that you got defeated by a- oh my God- I can’t believe you got defeated by a kitten!” Magnus topples over with laughter.

“It’s not funny, Magnus!” Alec grumbles.

“It’s a little funny,” the waves of laughter subside, but a grin is still plastered on Magnus’ face. There’s still a pout on Alec’s face, and Magnus kisses it off.

“Okay, Grumpy Cat Lightwood, let’s finish the food, I’m starving, and I’m sure so are you,” Magnus summons the food from the kitchen, then smirks, “I mean, battling vicious creatures like kittens must have left you famished.”

Alec glares at him, and Magnus smiles. They finish the dinner in companionable silence, and soon Magnus is yawning, and Alec cleans up, before snuggling close to Magnus on the bed, and kisses him.

“I love you,” Alec mumbles against Magnus’ lips.

“I love you too, Alexander,” Magnus replies, smiling, before adding, “Defeated by a kitten and all.”

“Magnus!” Alec shrieks, before glaring at him, without any actual heat behind it. Magnus giggles, and snuggles closer, and Alec wraps his arms around Magnus’ waist, pulling him towards himself.

It’s so domestic, and sappy, and frankly, overwhelmingly blissful. Magnus can feel himself drift into sleep, the day’s exhaustion finally catching up, but Alec’s face is right there, and it’s smiling, and it’s all for Magnus. Magnus can feel a very strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. It’s happiness, the type that Magnus hasn’t felt in a long, long time. If ever. It feels unfamiliar.

After all these centuries, all this time, all that search, he has finally found it.

Right there, in Alec Lightwood’s arms.

It finally feels like home.

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Dead Ivy | Chapter Three

CHECK IT OUT FROM THE START | AO3 LINK

The house never looked that big before, it was a small two bedroom that was enough for Jason and his wife. He had repainted the gray finish into a pearly white that matched the picket fence. He had replaced the grass and drew little designs on the mailbox to make it look more like home- but now the grass was rotting to a deep brown, and the mailbox’s flag creaked as sticky wind hissed past.

Beca knew she should have grabbed the keys before she got out of her fathers’ truck.

That would have saved her from digging in her messenger bag. There were a lot of papers from the funeral in there, different documents and legal stuff that she would usually pay people to do that for her- which, of course, left a sour taste in her mouth. She hated people like that, but she hated not reading the fine print even more.

They had given her Jason’s things in a plastic bag that reminded her of prison. Beca just remembered staring at the doctor, dry-mouthed and silent against the buzzing fluorescent lights. How could her brother not survive but the set of keys in the ignition were salvaged? It left a thick feeling in her veins.

There was a CD that wasn’t labeled, something they had pulled from the wreckage. A couple of receipts and a picture of his ex-wife that he had, still clipped to the visor. Her father refused to take any of it, so she shoved everything except for the keys into the bottom compartment of her dresser. Of course, now, she couldn’t’ find them.

“Whatever you’re selling, he doesn’t want it.”

The voice startled her into gasping. If she was holding keys, Beca would let them fall to the ground. She had placed the cleaning supplies down by the front door and turned slightly within the bounds of the picket fence. A woman, probably three times her age, was leaning with her garden sheers, way too close to the barrier. She had on a large floppy hat the shaded her ghostly eyes and her pants were coated in grass stains.

“I’m sorry?”

“The young man that lives there, he doesn’t want what you’re selling. We have a strict policy against solicitors, and you can see that there is no car other than yours in the driveway.”

Beca blinked a few times at the woman. She didn’t’ think people like this actually existed. When she was growing up her father would get letters in the mail from the HOA talking about how they needed to trim their hedges or repaint their shutters or else they would get fined for tainting the neighborhood. She never understood people who looked out for that type of thing, but one was standing right in front of her, mouth pressed into a hard line.

“I’m not selling anything.” Beca felt the need to defend herself to this small-town southern belle of the ’50s. “I’m looking for the key.”

She went back to pawing around her back, shoving aside a half-eaten granola bar that was at the bottom. It left crumbs over everything and made it smell like peanut butter, but she supposed there were worse things.

“This place has been vacant for a week now.”

“He’s dead.”

Beca paused in her own movements. She hadn’t said it out loud. She had mulled over it again and again. Her older brother, the kid who used to pick on her about her hair, and her grades, and the fact that she couldn’t pass her driving test on the first try was dead. She had been preoccupied. Busy with arranging his service and keeping up house for the rest of the town. She finally found the key and looked up at the woman, who was quiet for what seemed like the first time in her life.

“He was so young. That’s tragic.”

“It is,” Beca let out a deep sigh and turned the key in the lock. She nodded briskly at the woman before pushing her way into the stifling heat of the house. She was hit with an instant scent of rotted food and stagnant water. The electric had been cut. It left her with the dusty darkness of a bachelor pad.

The house groaned in her presence and she drew in a cloying breath, pressing her back against the door. There were envelopes on the floor, scattered against the hardwood after being shoved through the mail slot. An instant brine of sweat began to adhere her clothes to her skin. Her brother's house looked normal.

Jason’s coat was still hanging on the hook by the front door. There were movies lining the shelves next to a vacant television. A throw moved against the back of the sofa and another picture of his wife was situated by the end table. Beca never understood why he left that there. But then again, she had never been over here to turn the smiling face to the mahogany that it rested on.

She let her boots echo against the flooring as she wondered through everything. There were two bedrooms, one converted into an office, the other had an unmade bed. The dining room was void of a table instead a worn Steinway piano was in its place. She ran her fingers over dusty cover but decided against listening to the notes.

They were both forced to take piano lessons as a kid. Jason wanted to go out for the basketball team instead, and he eventually did. But for three long years in middle school, they both sat with their backs straight and fingers hovering over alternating keys. Beca supposed she did have her father to thank for her affinity in music. Her understanding was owed to Miss Beale.

Beca walked over the fridge and frowned. That same rotted scent of decaying vegetation coated her lungs and she knew she would have to peel open a trash bag and get rid of the food first. It should have been done days ago- all of this had. Instead, she stared at the fridge.

There were letter magnets that were blocky and in primary colors. There didn’t seem to be any combinations that could be read, but they did hold up different poloids. Easter, 07’. Key West, 04’. Honeymoon, ll’. The one that stood out to her was Christmas of 01. Jason was behind Beca, his cheesy smile matching the onesies they both wore in front of a tree too covered in tinsel to ever be considered pine. She leaned into him and they both grinned like they were instructed to.  

Beca jumped when her phone buzzed in her back pocket.

She gulped back the rancid air and blinked away whatever moisture formed in her eyes before frantically fishing her phone out of her back pocket. She didn’t recognize the number, but she welcomed the distraction. “Mitchell.”

“It’s Stacie, I’m so glad I had the right number.” Beca didn’t ask her why, or how, she had gotten it before Stacie spoke again. “Listen, I was serious about getting together. You busy?”

Beca glanced around and brought her fingers up to her collarbone. She instinctively scratched at where a necklace had once been. A nervous habit, she supposed. “No, not at all. What did you have in mind?”

Beca Mitchell ended up at the Snake Eye, the very place she didn’t want to find herself in while staying in the sleepy little town. The music was too loud, and there was an undeniable thickness to the air that culminated in half-rate nachos and open mic nights. High school Beca would have loved this place- hell, college graduate Beca would have loved it too.

“I got you a beer!” Stacie called over the music, shoving a cold amber bottle into Beca’s hand. “I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s perfect, thanks!”

Beca would have taken rubbing alcohol at this point. Anything that would drown out, or at least dull, the sound of the pulsing music. Every seat was taken at the bar, and the few tables that the place had were occupied. Some college girl was mumbling her way through Bohemian Rhapsody, probably on a dare from her friends sitting a few booths down.

Stacie pulled Beca into a vacant corner of the bar. It was oddly quieter on the plush leather seats. She set her beer down on the table and tried to distract herself by reading whatever was on the menu. It was tailgating food and all of it was a greasy mess, yet, Beca found herself craving jalapeno poppers.

“Sorry, this is such short notice. All my residents ended up coming down with the same flu that they were treating last week.” Stacie took a long gulp of her fruity drink. “I feel bad, but I’ve got the night off, and you probably need an escape.”

“I do, yeah, though, I refuse to get up on that stage.”

“What? The singing bug finally left your bones?”

Beca snorted and shook her head. She wasn’t much of a singer, to begin with, sure, she had a voice. Almost everyone from her childhood did. She remembered the after-school jazz band and the concerts that the school would put on.  “I’m more a behind the scenes type of girl.”

“Right, right. Bigshot producer now, I bet a few of your songs are in that book up there.”

Her cheeks heated at that, but she knew the doctor meant well. She was sure there were a few that she had helped produce. Big pop songs that let her top the charts without giving her the fame. Of course, she still found herself pulling her baseball cap down, or looking away from whatever cameras had spotted her. Not here, though. No one knew this place existed.

“That’s pretty cool, Mitchell. Getting out of this place and making a name for yourself.”

“Please, you are literally a doctor. You save lives daily.” Beca took a swig of her own beer, letting the sour liquid sooth her nerves a bit. “That’s dope, dude.”

“Not always. I pull more marbles out of asses than I do bullets.”

Beca frowned at the statement, scrunching up her nose before the two of them burst into laughter. If felt like it used to: she could remember sitting in the refinished garage that Stacie had converted into somewhat of a man cave. There was a fold out couch, and the hum of the dryer would lull them into placid conversation. Stacie stole a beer from her father, and they drank it in there. Two years later she produced a sloppily rolled blunt, and they smoked it there, all while making crass jokes and cracking up. It felt normal.

They both let out an involuntary groan as the first three notes of a Toni Braxton song filled the bar. Beca pressed her forehead against the table and Stacie shifted in the booth to get a good look at whoever had chosen a ballad like Unbreak My Heart.

“No fucking way,” Stacie mumbled, setting her sloshing drink down. “Mitchell, you wouldn’t believe…”

Though, when the first ballad started, Beca did believe. She had heard that voice a million times and had more than enough nights where she fought to forget it. Right now, it was shockingly crushing one of the hardest songs humanly possible to sing- though she had no doubt.

Chloe Beale. Restaurant owner. Single mother- and oh god, wearing really tight jeans.

There weren’t many lights that illuminated the half-baked stage in the karaoke bar. But that didn’t’ seem to matter. A mix of blue and white shaded Chloe while the whole place seemed captivated by the words of a heartfelt breakup song. Ouch.

“She’s crushing it.”

“Mm,” Beca could only hum in agreement as she traced Chloe’s body. Of course, a deep acid still burned against her veins from their curt interaction earlier that morning. She looked so different- so freeing with the mic in her hand and all eyes on her. “I think I need some air.”

Before Stacie could interject Beca pushed herself away from the booth and walked through the crowd that had all turned to face the stage. She didn’t blame them. Her whole body was on fire, like the atoms that made up her God complex were struggling to pull her back. She didn’t know if the hot Georgia air was doing her any favors, but it muted the song.

She let out a dull sigh and pressed her body close to the brick, closing her eyes. She could hear the crickets mix with the low croaks of bullfrogs. She used to find it odd when both were quiet. When she could only hear her breath- but she was used to LA traffic, a different type of loud and never that unsettling silence.

The music picked up again when the door opened and closed. A couple that was sure to move on to their next destination for the night. Stacie coming out to check on her. A bartender coming out for a smoke while they sat on an old plastic carton.

Beca let her eyes shoot open once more when the warmth of another cut through her focus. She steadied herself, hands grasping at her arms. Familiar. “Oh my god, I am so sorry, I-“Chloe Beale wasn’t alone, her breath scarce. She was still riding the high of the stage. “Beca.”

The girl that was with her was tall, towering with those brown doe eyes that could melt the sharpest hearts encased in ice. She wore a floral sundress, loud colors that somehow worked on her lanky frame. A leather coat was against her shoulders to counter the cold of the bar.

“Twice in one day, wow.” She said.

Beca scanned the stranger up and down, not taking her eyes off of her. She was pretty. Very pretty. “It’s a small town- I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Oh, we haven’t.” She said, chipper as ever. “My names Emily. And you’re Beca, Chloe has told me all about you.”

She raised her eyebrows, giving a slight tilt of the head towards Chloe. Her cheeks were red and Beca couldn’t’ tell if that had changed from before this topic of conversation was brought up. She hated the heat that licked at her own throat- she had no right, none whatsoever, to feel that surge of jealousy towards this tall stranger. They had forgotten each other. Forgotten the way they felt against each other. Forgotten how they loved, and how they hated. How they hurt.

“You did very well up there, Chloe.” Beca finally conceded. “Just like old times.”

“Sure,” Chloe’s eyes were hard, that signature blue not shining as it had before. Was it anger? Was it betrayal? Was it both? Beca couldn’t tell before Chloe looped her arm around Emily’s middle and lilted her head. “We have to be going. Have a good night, Beca.”

They walked past and Beca pretended not to get overwhelmed by the vanilla scent that both girls carried. Instead, she simply mumbled dejectedly. “You too, Chloe.”

[shookethbrooketh]

stars

chapter 24

it was almost unjust, in dan’s opinion. it didn’t seem quite fair that the sun kept rising and setting. the stars weren’t allowed to come out at night. who gave the clocks the right to keep ticking? how could the world continue to function when he hadn’t properly functioned in months? how could everything go on as normal when the love of his life could be dead at any moment and he’d never even know?

summary: dan grew up in a normal 1930s london family with his parents and little brother. everything was completely and utterly normal… until the bombs started dropping. When dan was fifteen his father went off to war, and when he was sixteen he and his brother hayden were sent off to a foster family in rural england. he looked up at the stars and couldn’t help but wonder how something that beautiful could exist in such a broken world. just when he thought things would never get better, dan met phil, and he became the shining star of his life. but when phil turned eighteen and went off to war, dan couldn’t help but wonder when, if ever, the stars would twinkle the same way again.

rating: t

genre: angst, fluff, history au, strangers to lovers, teenagers

whole fic warnings: warfare (not descriptive), bombings, fire, panic attacks, ptsd, epilepsy/seizures, homophobia, death, fighting/arguing, general angst chapter warnings: sad thoughts :( 

chapter word count: 1.5k total word count: 35.4k

read it on ao3 read it on wattpad fic masterlist

Dan would have liked to have said that the time passed quickly, but that wasn’t even close to true. Dan hadn’t a clue how long Phil would be gone, but each passing day felt longer and longer.

It started with the wait for an address. Dan spent the first few weeks in which he was forced to be alone simply waiting. Every day he wrote to Phil, but he had no way to send any of the letters, so he was really just writing to a nonexistent entity not even he could fathom. Maybe he was even writing to God. 

Those were the kinds of deep, pointless thoughts that consumed Dan as he sat alone those few weeks. Sure, he spent most of his time with Hayden or even with Margo and Harold, but that didn’t change the fact that he was left to sit around all day in the same house where he had so many memories with his absent lover. It sounded like a cheesy romance movie, but it was really just his life. 

No matter what he did, he always ended up sitting in the tree on the top of the hill as the sun went down. Sometimes he went up there because he needed an escape. Sometimes he missed Phil, so he slipped his star into his pocket and drove up. Sometimes he just felt like it wouldn’t be right if he didn’t go. Regardless of how he got there, he found himself there every day for the few, painful weeks he was left to write to the void, and it would eventually become tradition for him. 

One morning, Margo knocked on his door shortly after he had woken up. “Come in,” he muttered, and she appeared holding an envelope and beaming. “He wrote.” 

Suddenly Dan was wide awake and scrambling to the foot of the bed to take the letter from her. “We got our own; this one’s addressed to you. I assumed I’d probably be better off not reading it.” She grinned and left Dan alone with his letter. Tears of joy filled his eyes as he tore it open and let his eyes sprint down the page. 

Dan,

I know how excited you’ve been to write me; I’m sorry it’s taken this long to get you a letter. I’ve been quite mobile over the last few weeks. I just completed training and am now stationed on the front lines in France. It’s chaos, but the others are helping me get used to it. Unless there’s activity, I should have time to write you every night. The address you can use to post me is on the envelope. 

I know this is scary, but I’m okay. I’ll be back. Remember, we’re under the same stars. 

With love, 

Phil 

Dan fell dramatically against the pillows and sobbed. Thousands of thoughts were running through his brain, from fear for Phil fighting in the war to relief to finally hear from him and everything in between. They were under the same stars, and they were thinking of and writing to each other each day. Suddenly, optimism and pure emotion were breathed back into Dan. 

“Why couldn’t it have been longer, you piece of shit?” he asked, even though he knew Phil couldn’t hear him. He could finally write to Phil, but he was still speaking into nothingness. 

Later that day, Dan addressed a large envelope full of letters and convinced Harold to let him drive to the post office and mail them. Dan was quite liking his ability to drive, even if it was only with Margo or Harold in the car with him. He was incredibly thankful for the home he’d been given after leaving London, but it held too many memories. Each step towards a driver’s license was a step towards somewhere--anywhere else. 

Things got a bit easier for Dan after the first letter came in. It was overwhelmingly comforting to hear from Phil every day, and Phil told him often how comforting it was to hear from him as well. Margo wrote as well, but nowhere near as often as Dan. He found himself spending most of his already limited money on postage. 

Encouraged by Phil, Dan wrote every day, even if he didn’t have much to say. He wrote every mundane detail he could come up with that would fit on one page, simply because he knew it would make Phil happy. Along the way, it made him feel a little bit better too. 

Even with the writing, Dan’s optimism faded as time dragged on. It felt like the war was never going to end. 

It was almost unjust, in Dan’s opinion. It didn’t seem quite fair that the sun kept rising and setting. The stars weren’t allowed to come out at night. Who gave the clocks the right to keep ticking? How could the world continue to function when he hadn’t properly functioned in months? How could everything go on as normal when the love of his life could be dead at any moment and he’d never even know? 

School started back, and coping became even more difficult for Dan. Not only did he have to keep his emotions in check, but he also had to deal with a heavy workload in his final year of school. Somehow, he was more overwhelmed than ever before, and his communication with Phil didn’t help much. 

He tried his best to drive up the hill every night, but sometimes he couldn’t even find the time. He never let more than a day pass without writing, but he felt bad for Phil. Dan hated when Phil didn’t write. Every now and then, he would be on night watch, and he’d become so tired that he’d simply forget, or the post would fall behind and he’d miss one day and then get two letters the next. Understandably, Dan had the fear of God struck into him every day he didn’t get a letter. 

Thankfully, the letters always kept coming. As much as Dan loved them, even they managed to stress him out occasionally; keeping up with the one to two day delay of Phil’s writing took mental energy he often didn’t have. When he was caught up, though, the letters were a promised escape from the Phil-less world around him. 

Time continued to drone on, and the holidays would soon be rolling around. It seemed almost as impossible to Dan that a holiday could exist in the dreary world he lived in as it did that he’d been with the Lesters for almost a year. The family seemed to be excited for Christmas, but Dan was just reminded of the life in London that he had begun to miss again for the first time in months. 

He sat in front of the radio after dinner one evening early in December listening to jazz. It was a fairly peaceful day for him; he’d managed to beat his demons, at least for the time being. Those were his favorite days, the ones where he could put his thoughts aside and remember the times when he’d truly enjoyed living in that house. 

Suddenly, the music cut out. “We interrupt this broadcast with an important bulletin from the United States.” 

Dan’s eyes went wide. “It’s a message from the States!” he shouted, and the entire family gathered around. 

“We have just received word that Pearl Harbor, a United States Naval Base in Hawaii, has been bombed by the Japanese Air Force. It is unclear how many casualties and losses have been suffered, in terms of both men and ships. It is also unclear if the United States will declare war as a result, but this is a new and powerful development in the newborn War in the Pacific. Stay tuned for more on this.” 

Dan assumed the announcement cut off and jazz music continued playing, but by then he’d tuned it out. “Do you know what this means?” he said to the others, all eyes wide. “If the US joins the war, we may be able to end this!” 

“Aha!” Harold laughed, giving Dan a slap on the back as he rose from his chair beaming. 

“Huh?” Hayden asked, having maintained a shred of his naivety throughout the year. 

“With the states on our side, we can surely defeat Germany!” Margo exclaimed, picking the boy up and spinning him around. 

The music came back to Dan’s ears, and he joined in the dance. Before they could even think, all four of them were dancing with uncontrollable joy. Dan moved mindlessly and gleefully, his thoughts occupied by his pen and notebook sitting upstairs in his bedroom. Tonight, his letter to Phil would be a lighthearted one. Then, he could only think of Phil and his infantry receiving the news and dancing just as they were. Even more than before, he couldn’t stop smiling at his last, sticking thought. 

Maybe Phil would be home soon after all. 

[mysmesomespacechips]

Merry Choi-mas! - Day 8

Summary: 12 days of Choi-mas: A collection of fluffy holiday-themed one-shots with the Choi twins. (AO3)

Christmas Baking: Saeyoung x MC

by @spacechip707

There was a time in his life when Saeyoung hated the kitchen. Besides the fact that it reminded him of his horrendous cooking skills, it had been a place that was mostly empty. Empty pantries. Mostly empty fridge. Empty sink, because he couldn’t bother to scrounge up enough of an appetite to actually eat a meal needing of dishes.

Then, she came into his life, and subsequently his kitchen, like a whirlwind.

She banished the room of its hallow atmosphere, stocking it with snacks and ingredients, albeit healthier than he would've like. The sink was almost always brimming with plates, pots, pans, utensils. And when it wasn’t, she was prompting him to eat something—a command he obeyed greedily. For first time in his life, his hunger was a ravenous beast, spurned by happiness and contentment.

It was why he was ambling towards the once desolate room only hours after dinner was consumed.

But, his feet froze a few strides short of the doorway when a sweetness wafted through the air. Normally, MC prepared her nightly jasmine tea around this time, filling most of the bunker with that delicate aroma. But this was hardly jasmine…it was thicker—and warmer.

Saeyoung’s mouth was already watering as his brain recognized the deliciously tantalizing smell of vanilla. He hurried to the entrance and found his suspicions confirmed. “You’re making cookies—mmph!”

MC abruptly slapped a hand over his mouth, her own finger pressed against her lips. “Shh!” She hissed, peering behind him to the hallway. “Do you want to summon Saeran?”

Saeyoung snorted, causing her to retract her hand with a grimace. “You say that like he’s a scary monster.”

“A Cookie Monster,” MC nodded solemnly. “I’ll give him some, but…I kind of want to make them first. You know how he is with cookie dough.”

She shifted to the side to reveal the disaster on the counter. Streaks of flour lined the marble top, chocolate chips and smears of peanut butter painted the normally clean surface. Saeyoung was pretty sure he saw icing splattering the tiles and the cabinets in the far corner.

"How many cookies are you making?” He breathed in awe. Already, three metal bowls filled with uncooked batter stood tall in the midst of the chaos.

“Five kinds, and three batches of each,” she shrugged.

Saeyoung’s stomach grumbled as another wave of vanilla hit his nostrils. Enchanted by the confectionary spell, his finger reached into the nearest bowl and swiped a generous amount of the creamy, raw goodness. He stuck it in his mouth, an unearthly groan squeezing from his throat.

“Hey!” MC gasped. A mix of betrayal and horror spread across her features as her eyes darted between his finger and his mouth. “You’re just as bad!”

“Sorry,” he said, ducking his head before taking another scoop with his thumb and shoving it into his mouth. He recoiled at the sting of the spoon swatted against his hand. “Ouch! That was the last one, I promise!”

She set aside the metal utensil in favor of a spatula and pointed it towards him with a threatening jab into the air. “It better be.”

Saeyoung squeaked and hid behind his fingers. “Oh, so scary,” he said, successfully eliciting a laugh on her part.

While she preoccupied herself with adding to her mess of flour and butter, Saeyoung waltzed over to the counter and sat on one of the island chairs with a flourishing spin.

He had every intention to watch her—and help if she so asked, when a mini mountain of wrinkled papers caught his eye. They lay sloppily scattered across the the only slab of countertop that was free of baking debris. They seemed old too. The parchment was tainted a yellowish-brown, and splatters of unknown substances stained the corners. But the thing that made them appear so ancient was the fact that they were handwritten.

He traced the lettering with his index finger, almost afraid it would smudge with the oil on his skin. “What is this?” He asked, though he could clearly read “Chocolate Chip Cookies Recipe” scribbled across the top.

“An old family recipe,” she replied in between rhythmic beating of a whisk against metal.

Saeyoung wasn’t sure why her answer left a resonating pang in his chest. “Oh,” was all he could manage.

The whisking ceased. He was aware of MC’s gaze shifting towards him, flaying him with the concern that was no doubt pooling in her eyes. But, it wasn’t enough to tear his focus from the tattered document.

Despite having sworn off his past altogether, he sometimes wondered about his own family tradition. His mother was the worst parent to him and his brother, and their father’s benevolence was still ambiguous and would probably remain so. But biologically, he had a family tree. Grandparents…great-grandparents…a whole line of people who had normal families with things like Christmas traditions, funny stories, heirlooms.

How much of that had he lost as casualties of his tragic life?

“Saeyoung?” MC called, startling him out of his trance.

His eyes stung as he blinked for the first time in nearly a minute. He dashed away the smarting tears with his thumb. Clearing his throat, he leaned an elbow onto the counter in attempts to appear casual and forced a smile. “Yeah, sorry. Blanked out.”

Her brows wrinkled in a furrow just as her teeth drew along her bottom lip. Once again, her eyes flickered over his body, inundating him with that worried frown. “You okay? You went paler than this cookie dough.”

Her attempt at levity did little against the sudden weight inside Saeyoung’s chest. Absentmindedly, he dug his thumb into the area above his ribs. His mouth grew dry, and he debated whether he should even say anything. “I was just thinking…” he said finally. “About tradition. And how—well, I’ve never had any Christmas traditions.”

“Not everyone does,” she replied. The bowl hit the marble with a clink, and her hand reached across the counter to cover his. They were a little sticky, but that had no effect on their usual warmth. “But does it bother you?"

“Kind of,” he muttered. He threw his head back, preferring to look at the ceiling instead of the unspoken condolences rolling off of his wife. “It’s something I wanted to do as a kid, you know? Even if it was just with Saeran. The only Christmas tradition we ever had was trying to escape the wrath of our more-than-usual drunk mother.”

A humorless chuckle stole from his throat. He made the mistake of looking back at MC. Her face had grown exceptionally long in the few seconds he had averted his gaze. Her bright irises dimmed, the rosiness on her cheeks fled, and the ever-present smile on her lips was replaced by a dismal frown.

Panicked that he’d ruined her entire evening, he hurriedly grabbed the hand covering his. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “I didn’t mean to make this all depressing. I was just overthinking. Forget it, okay?”

She shook her head, her thumb grazing over his palm. Saeyoung swallowed hard. Had he made her so upset that she couldn’t even speak? Eager to fix it, he extracted himself from her grip and grabbed the metal bowl and whisk. “I’ll make it up to you! I’ll help.”

“Saeyoung…”

“No, it’s fine,” he said, brushing off the grave tone behind her voice. “Should I put some Christmas music on too?”

He was painfully aware of her reticence. Still, he beat the butter and sugar with increasing vigor, hoping the quickening tempo would prompt her to add the next ingredient and leave the entire conversation behind. He should’ve known better.

Her fingers appeared in his line of sight. Their gentle touch was enough to make his tense hands yield and slow to a stop. He let out a huff and released the bowl into her hold before resting his head against her shoulder.

He felt her comb through his hair with her signature kindness dispelling the void in his chest just as she did within the very room they stood.

“Saeyoung,” she repeated softly. “It’s okay that you didn’t have everything. But it’s equally okay to want those things. I know that everything we do now won’t always make up for what happened—or what didn’t happen. But, you know you can ask for them, right? Especially from me.”

“Yeah,” he rasped. He buried his face further into her shoulder, his arms winding their way around her waist. As he pulled her closer, that tang of vanilla drifted from her skin and filled his head, serving as a balm to his nerves. “Can I ask for some more cookie dough then?”

Her chest vibrated underneath him as she laughed. With a barely grudging sigh, she pushed him back into the seat. She grabbed a spoon off the counter and heaped it with a charitable amount of dough before offering it to him. “Only because I love you.”

He replied with a tiny smile, his tongue lapping at the gooey mix. MC watched him for awhile, her own smile gradually matching his. Then all at once, she stiffened. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

She beamed up at him, her hands gripping the side of his chair and spinning it around. “I got it!” She said, making her way to the pantry. It was a miracle she didn’t slip on the stray mixture spotting the floor. “Family recipes are usually just a main recipe with some added things here and there that supposedly make it better, right?”

Saeyoung glanced sideways at the stack of papers again. Baking was not his area of expertise, but he’d humor her. “Uh, I guess,” he drawled.

“So, let’s make our own,” she announced. She produced an extra apron from the pantry and extended the crumpled cloth to him. “A Choi family recipe. How does that sound?”

It sounded wonderful.

She waited for his verbal reply, practically bouncing on her toes. It was almost as if her entire body was trembling with giddiness, and the best part was that it was infecting him too. Saeyoung’s head was buzzing, though he wasn’t sure whether it was from ideas or from sheer elation.

He calmed himself for a brief moment, his instinctual logic giving him a mental kick. “MC…you don’t have to do this just for me.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Who says it’s just for you?” She said, though her softened features betrayed her intent. “I want our children to have something especially from us. We would be pretty boring parents without at least a disaster story, if not a recipe.”

Saeyoung’s face heated at the mention of “their children”, but he managed a few easy laughs. “Okay,” he said, taking the apron from his hands. “Thank you.”

She gave him a shy nod as she fingered through the stack of papers in search of a base recipe.

He expelled a sharp breath as he waited. Even with the new resolution, the solemnity in the air was palpable, and Saeyoung was mentally slapping himself for it. Baking was supposed to be fun—not birthed from stress. This wasn’t an episode off of Grandpa Lamsay’s show, after all. He desperately needed to fix it.

Racking his brain for a way to lighten the mood, he slid the smock over his head. A pleased smirk yanked at the edge of his mouth as he read the print on the cloth. Bingo.

“Hey, MC,” he said, grabbing her attention away from the pile. “Did you do this on purpose?”

He stretched out the cloth so she could better read the “Kiss the Cook.” Judging by the blush blooming across her cheeks, she hadn't. He leaned towards her, his lips puckered and emitting exaggerating smooching sounds.

MC turned her head at the last moment, leaving Saeyoung to nearly plummet through the air. He caught himself against the counter and shot a glare in her direction.

“It says ‘cook’,” she said. “We’re baking.”

Saeyoung opened his mouth to reply, but she had a point. Fine. If she wanted to play that way…

He bumped her aside with his hip, ignoring her cry of protest. He opened the drawer and sorted through the litter of rubber bands, vitamins, and candles until he found a plain black marker. He wedged the top in between his teeth, and it came flying off with a pop. He crossed off the offending word on the apron and replaced it with a sloppily written, “Baker.”

“There!” he cried in triumph, turning to proudly display his deed to his wife who was gaping at him through grin.

She took a few steps forward before cupping his face and bringing it down to place a peck on his lips. “You’re too much.”

He hummed in satisfaction, nudging the tip of his nose into the bridge of hers. “Must’ve picked it up from you.”

A gasp spluttered from her mouth. She flattened her palms against his chest and shoved him in the opposite direction. “Don’t be cheeky,” she scolded with zero conviction. “Let’s just get started.”

If the kitchen was in disarray before Saeyoung arrived, it was a war zone after nearly two hours of his experimenting. MC couldn’t bring herself to mind though. Not when he seemed so….happy. It was the only word to describe the light radiating from his face, even when he wasn’t smiling.

Even now, he wasn’t. His mouth was curled downwards in a concentrated scowl as he carefully lined a batch of cookies with icing. His brows were almost knitted together, and MC had to suppress the beguiled squeak churning in her throat every time his tongue peeked out from the edge of his lips like a little kitten.

She was equally as happy. She had been joking slightly when she mentioned the start of a new tradition to pass down, but actually creating one…it was solidifying them as family.

She dusted the flour off her hands and abandoned her newest batch of cookies in favor of admiring the objects of her husband’s efforts. He had decorated quite a few with his childish caricatures made from sprinkles and icing. Granted, there were only about a dozen little biscuits that had actually survived the baking process. The first batch didn’t rise, and the second turned to coal while Saeyoung and MC had been distracted in a flour fight.

But she was proud of the fruit of their labor. They hadn’t tasted any yet, but they hadn’t veered off much from the basic cookie recipe they had started with.

MC peered over Saeyoung’s shoulder to get a glimpse of his current endeavor, which had taken the most of his time so far. She watched as he piped on red curly hair on two cookies shaped like gingerbread. He had already detailed the face as best he could with golden sprinkles for eyes and more red icing for shirts. “Are you making you and Saeran?” She cooed, noting the similarities.

“Nope,” he replied, never breaking focus. “It’s the first two of our children.”

MC choked on her next breath.

“It’s what?” She wheezed through her coughing fit. Heat flooded her face—no, her entire body—when she caught the smirk unfurling in the corner of his mouth. “You’re teasing me."

He turned on her with wide eyes and flimsy piping bag. “You started it with the whole kids talk. I’m thinking about making some more though. We have another two gingerbread. Do you think four kids is too few, MC?”

She swiped some of icing that had fallen onto the counter and smeared it across his smug face. He recoiled, but still released a few chuckles. “Shut up and taste one of the cookies already,” she whined. She poked at one of his elaborately embellished cookies shaped like a tree.

“Do you think they’ll taste good?” He asked, lifting one to his nose and taking a tentative sniff. “They smell fine.”

She urged him just to take a bite. He sunk his teeth into one end, mulling the piece in his mouth for a little while. His brows rose all the way to his bangs, and he shot her a thumbs up. “Mmmm!” He hummed.

MC grinned and extracted the other half from his hold. She was glad they had turned out well. Maybe this would save them from another experimenting session next year.

She eagerly chomped down on the biscuit, slightly unnerved by its softness. At first, it tasted like nothing, and then it tasted sweet--like sugar and vanilla. She was about to praise their concoction until it hit. A salty, bitter, almost sour flavor attacked her tastebuds, and it took everything within her not to gag.

“You tricked me,” she said through the half-chewed disaster in her mouth.

Saeyoung grimaced and spit his own mush into his hand. “But at what cost?” He shuddered.

Unable to take the acrid flavor anymore, she pulled his hand down and spewed the food into his palm. “Sorry,” she muttered when he tensed.

“You are so lucky I love you,” he muttered. He dumped the reject into the bin before thoroughly washing his hands.

MC deflated into the chair behind her. “Sorry it didn’t come out so well. I was really hoping we had something.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied, rubbing his hand against a towel. He tossed it to the side and glomped onto her side in a hug. His voice lowered into something more solemn as he spoke. “Even if we never find our own recipe, let’s make this a tradition. You, me, and tons and tons of flour every year. Saeran can join in too, if he promises not to eat everything.”

She laughed, slipping her arms around him to return to the embrace. “Sounds good to me.”

Their moment was cut short when a familiar set of footsteps thudded down the hall. Saeran slid into the doorway, a franticness glazing over his green eyes. They darted about the room, only to narrow in on the counter. “I knew I smelled cookies.”

MC opened her mouth to warn him, but her words were muffled into Saeyoung’s hand. His mouth turned upwards in a wide grin, and she knew exactly where this was going. “Yeah, we made some!”

She knew she shouldn’t have.

Not with Saeran being so innocent as he dropped over those cookies. But she couldn’t resist it. Besides, she’d just give him a dozen of the good ones later. She scooped a bunch in her hand and offered them to the younger twin. “They’re all for you actually. Surprise!”

“Thanks,” he muttered, though he had an appropriate amount of skepticism.

Saeyoung and MC stood from their seats, not bothering to watch him eat. By the time they heard the crunch, they were already by the doorway.

“What the heck!”

“And, that’s our cue to run,” Saeyoung said.

They bolted down the hall rushing to the safety of their bedroom lest Saeran bypass the security of every other room in the house. They slammed the door shut behind them, hearts racing and legs wobbling.

“Do you think he’ll be mad long?” MC asked.

A laugh burst from Saeyoung’s mouth. “Either way, it was worth it. Did you see his face?”

MC groaned, already imagining the hundreds of antics that would follow her husbands incorrigible pranks. “I just hope that my chocolate chip cookies will be enough to appease him later. As much as our attempted tradition went bust, I don’t want it to be our first and last attempt.”

Saeyoung softened as he turned to her. “Even if it is,” he said with a kiss to her cheek. “I’m happy to die next to you.”

“Saeyoung!” She cried in the midst of his giggles.

He was impossible, but she still looked forward to many more Christmas nights with him in the future.

[leaves-of-three]

Day Eleven: Part Two || Soon

Connor Murphy x Reader

Word Count: 1713

Summary: A continuation to Day Eleven. Getting ready for a date with a Connor and a slight change of plans.  [This is part of an in progress series. You can follow along here.]

Author’s Note: This is kinda short. I was only gonna have two parts to day eleven. The first half when he asks her on a date and then the date itself. But then the idea of using Connor to get back at a parent you’re pissed at sounded too appealing and it turned into this. And I wanted the actual dinner to be separate piece because I got tired of writing this one lol idk I've just felt like crap lately. One of these days my writing will better maybe xKatie

You wanted to be happy. You wanted to be excited. You were technically going on a date with Connor. Sort of. You don’t just jump into someone’s arms and make out with them, then get asked to dinner by them the next day, if it wasn’t a date. Right? You should be happy. This was what you wanted. This was what you had been waiting for. 

Then how come the second you clicked out of facetime with him, you felt nothing? It was like the moment his face was out of your direct line of sight, you felt empty. Why did your mood change so suddenly? This morning you woke up beaming over Connor. Now you struggled to find the will power to get out of bed. You were laying there waiting for any sort of emotion to hit but nothing was coming. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes to into hours, and before you knew it darkness was creeping over your room. 

You hadn’t moved from your bed once. 

As it inched closer to 7, you finally forced yourself into the bathroom to take a shower. You’d probably feel excited when you started getting ready. You could shower, wash your hair, redo your make up, dry and curl your hair, and pick out an outfit. It should be fun. You used to love this part of getting ready for a date. You’d listen to music and dance around your room. Typically Alyssa would have been over to help. She’d give you advice on what to wear and what to say as long as you promised to fill her in on all the details afterwards. Your evenings would be filled with laughter, excitement, and hope. 

You missed having girlfriends. 

You missed laughing. 

The shower sputtered to life as you stood naked in your bathroom. You held your hand under the stream then quickly pulled it back. It was freezing. The hot water would take a few minutes to warm up. You shivered. Your house always ran cold. You grabbed a fluffy, white towel and wrapped it around yourself while you patiently waited for steam to start filling the tiny room. Opposite you sat the mirror hanging over the bathroom sink. Your eyes were drawn up to the reflection. 

There was nothing looking back. There was no life of a person behind your eyes. They were blank. For some reason you started to feel shameful, like you had done something wrong, like it was your fault that you weren’t able to feel the right emotions. You were supposed to be happy. The fact that you weren’t only caused you to be racked with guilt. Something was wrong with you. You weren’t working properly. 

You stayed staring into the void of your eyes until the mirror began to steam up. Your reflection became distorted and softened as the fog crept along the glass. When you could no longer see any distinguishing features of yourself, you hung your towel back up and stepped into the water. It stung your skin. Blood rose to your cheeks under the heat. You closed your eyes and let the water soak away your sins. 

Five minutes in and you had started crying. You were always crying. There was no in between. You were either crying or you were zoning out for hours. This afternoon had been a rare treat when you could actually function and get something productive done. Those special moments were few and fleeting nowadays. Whatever spark you had found earlier was gone. You would have to cancel on Connor. You couldn’t go out like this. No one wants a dinner date with a crying zombie. 

You rinsed off any remaining shampoo in your hair and turned off your shower. Your sniffling, quiet sobs sounded more prominent without the water to drown them out. Pathetic. You were pathetic. It would be impossible for anyone to ever find you attractive or desirable like this. Why were you even trying to trick yourself? To Connor, you were probably nothing more than a charity case that had been thrust upon him.

With a towel wrapped tightly around you, you pulled your hairdryer out from under the sink cabinet. If you wanted to cancel on him so badly then why were you still getting ready? Maybe you still had a some hope that your excitement would return and everything would go back to normal. It was a losing bet. Normal wasn’t something you were familiar with anymore. 

Hair dry. Curled. Brushed out into soft waves. 

Make up done. Foundation. Highlighter. Lashes. Winged liner. Natural lips. 

Clothes picked out. Skinny jeans. Loose top. Cardigan. Boots. 

Jewelry on. Necklace. Two rings. Painted nails. 

You evaluated your appearance in the mirror. You could make yourself look decent on the outside but you knew the truth. On the inside you were hollow and miserable. It would only be a matter of time before everyone else realized the truth too.

Connor: Today 6:58 pm: be there soon

Y/N: Today 6:58 pm: I’ll be waiting :)

The doorbell ran. You looked down at your phone in confusion. That was fast. He had just texted you. You grabbed your purse, slinging it over your shoulder, and pulled open the front door. 

You took a step back in surprise. Instead of seeing Connor, you came face to face with a woman you’d never see before. “Oh crap...sorry. I thought you were someone else,” you tried to force some sort of polite smile onto your face. “Can I help you?”

The woman smiled back. She was tall and slim. Her hair was dyed a shade of blonde that didn’t quite match her skin tone. The dye job made it look like a bad wig. She looked to be in her mid thirties. “You must be Y/N? It’s so lovely to finally meet you,” she spoke as if you were supposed to know who the hell she was. 

You gave her a look of confusion, “Uh, if you’re selling something, we don’t want it but thanks anyway...”

She laughed. Like her hair color, it was obviously fake, “No, no, sweetie.” You despised being called sweetie. “I’m Holly. Holly Silk?” She picked up that the name didn’t sound familiar so she added, “...Your dad’s girlfriend?”

Your stomach dropped. Since when was your father dating? He had never once mentioned or shown interest in that sort of thing since your mom had passed. It had been ten years. You felt naive to admit it, but you always believed that he would have stayed true to your mother, that the idea of seeing another woman would have been absurd to him. Your mind began to race through a million things at once. You felt sick. This was bound to happen eventually. If you thought about it realistically, of course he’d want to find someone to spend his time with. But why hadn’t he ever mentioned it to you? And why her? Holly Silk? That sounded like a name a porn star would make up. You hated this woman instantly. 

You gave her a snide smile and said in a sickly sweet voice, “I’m sorry, Holly. My father isn’t in at the moment. I’ll be sure to tell him you stopped by.” You went to close the door in her face. 

She put her hand out to stop it, trying not to look as annoyed as she felt, “Actually I was hoping I could come in and wait. I’ve been away on a business trip the past two days. I thought I would surprise Steven when he got home. I was going to cook his favorite meal.” She held up the grocery bags in her hands, “Tacos! I’ve brought all the fixings for them. Enough for all three of us to eat. I thought it would be a good time for us to get to know each other.” 

You scowled, “Actually my dad’s favorite meal is my dead mother’s famous lasagna recipe that we make every Christmas but good try.” 

Holly still did her best to hold up the smile plastered on her face despite her eyes flashing in displeasure, “Well regardless, maybe I come in? I’ve been waiting to get to know you for some time now. It’d be lovely to have dinner with you and your father.” 

That was the last thing on earth you’d ever want to be doing. Your anger for your father started to grow. How could he be seeing someone and not tell you? It was his fault she was showing up at your door. It was his fault some stranger was begging to come inside and cook with you. He was so oblivious to everything going on in your life. While you were out lost in a forest and having your entire life crumble around you, he was out fucking around with Ms. Porn Star Name. You had spent the past week crying yourself to sleep every night and he had no damn clue. Your mother would have known. She would have picked up on your change in behavior. She would have known how to take care of you. She would have been a parent. Your jaw clenched. Everything was your father’s fault, you decided. 

You crossed your arms as a plan formed in your head. An evil grin spread across your face. “Actually Helen-

“Holly,” she corrected.

“My bad. Actually Holly, I’m waiting for a date to show up and take me out to dinner. He should be here any moment. But if you didn’t mind, I could always invite him inside to eat with us. It could be a double date. I’m sure my father would be thrilled.” The idea of Connor, probably still on his high from earlier, with a face bruised and bloodied sitting to eat dinner with you and your dad’s girlfriend sounded like the perfect form of revenge. If your dad could surprise you with a new girlfriend then, surely, he wouldn’t mind if you surprised him Connor. 

Holly sighed in relief. She obviously had no idea what was in store. “That would be wonderful! I hope you don’t mind changing your plans for me?”

You pushed open the door and stepped aside for her. “No, no. It’s perfectly fine. Don’t worry. Please, come in. My date will be thrilled be to meet you...I’m sure of it.” 

[valkyons-obsidian]

Secret Santa Shot for Aeryea

Well I almost feel bad for giving someone angst for Christmas but since it was in your wishlist O^O (I also mixed in some of that NSFW goodness too though, I swear) 

Suggested listening ~ ♫♪ Bodies ♪♫

Our Bodies

The voices spoke softly - as if she were not even there. As if she were but a whisper lost within the expanses of the walls of the HQ. The rise and fall of the distant conversation reflected the grievous nature of the topic but it lacked anything lyrical in the ways the phrases dipped and individuals crescendoed. 

He was missing. 

He didn't go missing. 

But the voices - the terrible, dreadful voices continued to repeat that fact over and over as if they were entirely convinced that it was truth. That it was something not only possible, but most likely, but Aeryea knew it couldn't be. She knew these had to be falsehoods, lies, misunderstandings. 

They could be anything so long as what they were wasn't the truth. 

The young woman sat upon the winding stairs to the Crystal Room. At the moment they were entirely vacant aside from her lone form, stooped over on the top step. Not even Karenn - who generally haunted the area - was anywhere to be seen. It was not particularly information Karenn would have wanted to hear any more about had she already been notified, Aeryea thought. 

Nevra was all Karenn had, that was a feeling Aeryea understood all too well. She may have had her mother, her friends, comrades of the guard, but none of them came nearly as close to being as important to her as he was. He was her everything and now nothing all at once. The man had vanished and left in his wake a path of pained memories. 

Aeryea could remember the feeling of his fingertips, smooth and cold, against her skin. He was ravenous and there was a flame in his eyes unreflected by his body, no matter how heated they became. His cool touches were blissful as they would slowly slip down the planes of her pale body. When his teeth would meet the juncture of her neck she would shudder from the chill and their sharpness. His tongue was the only instrument of warmth he had during his ministrations, entirely aware of the contrast to the temperature of his skin. There was a pleasure and a skill in how he would use both fingertips and tongue in tandem.

Normally thinking back on such moments would cause a rise in Aeryea. Her cheeks would flush and her prideful nature would spite her. Yet in this moment if there was a flushed tinge to her cheeks she could not feel it beneath her tears. She could hardly manage to believe encounters such as these were never to be again. Not just the blissful blurs of nights passed in between his silken sheets, but also the innocent moments he would press a kiss to her nose in passing. The moments he would catch her gaze in meetings before proceeding to make faces at her until she could scarcely hold in her laughter. 

The fact of the matter was that Nevra had been so good to her. He had done everything he could to make her happy, secure, and loved - but now with his sudden ceasing to be - it was an agonizing void. It was a difficult thing to comprehend, try as she might to wrap her brain around it. Nevra was so ingrained into her being that it was impossible now to imagine herself without him. 

Just as the nights they had spent together she found it difficult to sort out where she ended and he began, as if, instead the two of their bodies were the parts to a whole being. They meshed together so well that she felt her own self was knitted into Nevra’s and vice versa he in her’s. With him, vital parts of herself, too, disappeared. Parts she needed to function and to live. 

Since she had found him she never had imagined herself in a position such as this, trying to fathom a life without him. It felt an entirely impossible task. She had gone from once hating following his orders to not being able to imagine living without them. Albeit, as they had grown closer his orders had gained a playful edge he reserved only for her, something she already missed dearly. 

Rising, her feet ghosted down the lengthy stairs. She could no longer bear to overhear the discussion as if they were so sure he’d never come back. Nevra still had to be somewhere, and she would find him. She refused to trust anyone other than herself with the task - for she would not rest until she had found him once again. No one could search the way she would, the way she was determined to. She would gather her things and slip away from the HQ, only to return once she had found him.