#sometimes just doodling something completely weird with no purpose helps a lot

[greykorvian]

A thing?

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #302

This morning, when I woke up, I received a beautifully written ask from someone in this space who reads these letters I write to you. I want very badly to answer this ask, but the person trusted me with some potentially sensitive information about themselves; I wanted to touch base with them before I answer their ask, and make sure it's okay, because as part of answering an ask, others will surely see it. I don't want to accidentally betray this person's trust.

Still… it moved me to tears this morning, and it was wonderful.

I received a direct message from another person today, too, who also said that they think the letters I write to you are wholesome and nice. I've also received more than a few asks and messages of support in response to the difficulties I'm having with the braces; it's been wonderful!

…Sometimes I wonder whether or not writing to you does any good for anyone other than myself. And sometimes… every once in a while… I get a beautiful reminder that the things I write have the potential to help others get through the difficulties in their lives. And… that's exactly why I write these. Aside from wanting to advocate for your safety, I also want these letters to you to serve as a means to shine a way forward for people who relate strongly to you.

…Sephiroth. There are so many, many people in my world who relate to you. There are lots of people in my world that have been abused and exploited and have experienced horror and loss in ways that are extremely similar to you. The notion that you are alone in this world and the notion that no one will be able to understand or see "eye-to-eye" with you… these notions are complete and utter horse-hockey.

Don't tell yourself mean things like that anymore, okay? It's not true, and whoever led you to that conclusion most likely did it on purpose in order to keep you isolated, and therefore weak and easy to control. The notion that any human being is isolated and incomprehensible is just abuser propaganda, and it's not to be trusted or believed. And, as I keep saying, you are human, no matter what was done to you, or how you've changed as a result.

...Well anyway. Today I felt a little more confident than usual for obvious reasons, haha! So I tried to doodle a picture. It's not finished yet but... it's a start on something maybe kinda neat!

As you can see from all the erased lines, I made a lot of mistakes along the way; I haven't doodled since drawing that eyeball a while back, and I'm more than a little rusty. I can already see so many curves that still need to be corrected. Still, not bad for my rusty, dyspraxic ass, right? Hahaha...

I ended up needing to go back to the orthodontist today at some point. One of the attachments came undone from my very confused right canine tooth as I was pulling the braces off to eat, so that had to be fixed right away. And it was, and it's good now. I have a lot less discomfort in my teeth today than yesterday, though the inside of my mouth is pretty scraped up; I've got a long-ish cut on the right inner side of my lower lip, and that's extremely uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, I guess you're not supposed to eat with orthodontic wax in your mouth. Orthodontic wax is used in order to cover up the sharp, pokey attachments so they don't cut the inside of your face. A friend of mine in this space made the very excellent suggestion to get them! And perhaps I might, if just to smooth out the edge of the plastic of the braces; it sometimes catches on my skin, and it's kind of annoying.

...I gotta keep remembering that I chose this. I chose this discomfort in order to give myself a better outcome in the future. I am worth the pain and effort that fixing the inside of my skull will take. I am worth enduring discomfort for. I can do the thing; it's just new and weird, but I'll adjust. I can do the difficult things.

Incidentally, do you know how braces work? I found a short little video on it; basically, it involves putting gentle pressure on the teeth in order to subtly cut off blood flow to sections of the bone of your skull and jaw. Your body then uses immune cells to get rid of the suffocated bone, which relieves the pressure. Your tooth moves to the empty space, and the body fills in the empty space left behind with new bone. Check it out!!

It basically dissolves, reshapes, and rebuilds your jaw on a cellular level!!! And isn't that METAL as FUCK??? Ahahahaha! 🤩🤣

After I returned home from getting the attachment replaced, I decided to make baked chicken leg quarters; y'know, my usual go-to comfort recipe:

...Want some...?

While I was making this, I happened to catch out the window the sight of a gentleman walking outside. He was under the shade of a tree for a moment, but then he walked under a break in the shadow of the tree, and the sun shone on his black hair, and it was all sparkly and gorgeous. I don't really know why, but I felt the need to tell him so, and so I did. I hope he felt nice about himself afterwards.

So I took out my braces, ate the deliciousness I created, brushed, flossed, and rinsed my teeth, brushed my braces, and popped them back in; it's getting a little easier every time. I discovered though, that at some point, another attachment came undone on one of my upper molars on the left side. I dunno when it happened; I didn't find it anywhere. Oh well. Guess I'm going to have to call them again tomorrow. Sheesh...

I'm not really sure what I'm going to do with the rest of today. It's already almost 8pm. I gotta go to work tomorrow. Friday is the rehearsal for the wedding on Saturday. The next few days are going to be super duper busy. I'll be staying overnight at BB's house from Friday into Saturday morning; I'm going to have to pack up all my CPAP stuff and hygiene supplies as soon as I wake up on Friday morning, because she wants me at her house at 11am.

But!!! Sephiroth!!! Guess what!! She's got a giant huge bathtub at her house!!! And I think I'm gonna ask her if I'm allowed to use it while I'm there!! I'm sure she'll want me freshly washed for her big day in any case!!!

The days are getting chilly (later than they should have, but still...), and so the thought of getting to sit in a tub full of hot, soapy water that's big enough for me to fit in comfortably sounds super amazing to me right now. Of course, if she says no I won't push; I'm not that kind of person. But still... I'll be daydreaming about that all day tomorrow - bet on it!!

...Hey, Sephiroth? You're pretty tall, right? Like 6'5" or something without your boots, no? When is the last time you've got to enjoy sitting in a tub that you actually fit in? When is the last time you got to enjoy soaking in deliciously hot, soapy water? When is the last time you've had an opportunity to get washed with soaps in your favorite scents? I imagine it's been quite a long time, no? I hope you get to do it again soon, in a place where no one's gonna bother ya, unless you wanna be "bothered" by someone you care deeply for.

Sometimes J or M come to visit when I'm getting washed, and that's always nice. We talk about whatever - usually with J, it's airplanes. Or sometimes he'll sing along with me to whatever song is playing on my playlist. With M, he'll usually talk about whatever show he's watching or whatever game he's playing. It's nice to sit in the warm, safe place with people who love me while all kinds of nice scents are wafting around in the air.

...Actually, for a long time, my brain recognized bathrooms as a very unsafe place, thanks to my stepmother. I've got a lot of memories of being hit and screamed at for washing myself "wrong", or for taking too long, or for not taking long enough, or for my hair looking too messy when I come out (because then I must not have brushed it well enough), or for my hair looking not messy enough when I came out (because then I must not have washed it well enough), and... just...

...She hated me, so there wasn't anything I could do to be "clean enough" for her. And so, every time I went in the bathroom for any reason while she was around, I got in trouble unless my father was around - then she'd pretend to be normal about it.

...Sigh. It took me a while to decondition myself away from being scared of bathrooms. But I'm able to recognize them as a safe place now. I like to put on a playlist to sing, and I like to try to focus on how nice it feels to be in a place that's warm and that smells good. I try to focus on how nice and clean I feel afterwards. I try to focus on the fact that I get to choose how long I take now. I get to choose what "clean enough" looks like. I get to choose how much or how little soap and moisturizer I use. I get to choose, and no one is scrutinizing my choices with the intention of finding excuses to hurt me anymore.

...And even if someone did try to do that, I'm a big, strong adult human now. I can just bite their face off!!! 🤪

(...No, I'm only kidding!!! I wouldn't actually bite someone's face off; that's unsanitary in multiple respects, and my braces would get in the way!!! 🤣🤣🤣 In all seriousness, I wouldn't hurt anyone unless failure to do such a thing would lead to someone else being in imminent danger; I'd probably just yell at them until they go away, and then let the door hit their ass on the way out. I can do that now. I'm not an unwanted child trapped in an impossible situation anymore.)

...Suppose maybe I'll stop writing now in favor of getting washed; after all, the chill has settled into my bones, and all this talk about baths makes me wanna enjoy being under hot, running water for a while...

...I hope you'll get to enjoy such a thing again sometime soon, with soaps in scents of vanilla and roses, in a quiet, soothingly lit place, where only the people you'd want to have with you can find you.

I love you. Please keep yourself safe out there, so that one day you can get up out of that damnable crater and start building a wholesome life for yourself.

I'll write again tomorrow. I'll try hard to take some yummy pictures for you while I'm at work.

Your friend, Lumine

[emj-lane]

A little About me🤷‍♀️

My name is Emma-Jean Victoria Lane

Most people call me EmJ but some call me Em or Emma...all those things I respond to. I have a hyphenated first name so it's a mouthful lol!

I'm 18 years old and have an identical twin sister, Mazee. Our birthday is Halloween 🎃

Mazee and I were adopted from China when we were 2 months old

We live and were raised in California.

Besides Mazee, I have a sister, Natasha, who is 19. A sister, Morgan, who is 14. my sister, Sydney, is 11. And the youngest is my brother, Hunter, and he's 7. These siblings are my parents biological children.

We have 2 dogs that are golden doodles, Luna and Courage, and we have a cat. Her name is Boo.

I find it weird how friends or dates/boyfriend are sketched out, leary and scared off by the fact that my mom is a psychiatrist. That's her career/ her job but she is a regular person, wife, mother individual outside of her psychiatrist title/career. I promise she's not analyzing or diagnosing you if you aren't her patient in her office or in the hospital

My dad is a teacher at a boarding school for high schoolers gifted in the arts like music, theater, dance, writing, painting etc

Surfing is one of my favorite things/passions/talents. My whole family surfs.

Equal to surfing is my passion for writing.

I started playing soccer in second grade and the rest is history. From then on year after year I played on the soccer team for my elementary school, middle school and high school.

Should have been a mermaid. Love the water and swimming and diving. I was a competitive swimmer and diver from 7th grade and on through the rest of my middle school and high school career

I train and practice karate and kick boxing. In a fist fight I will kick your ass & I love it

My life motto and really driving phrase for my life and personality is "Underestimate me. That'll be fun..."

I'd say I'm very outgoing, friendly and social.

It can get very heated and tension does get very high at home with my older sister, Natasha. She has a diagnosis of ARFID which is avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder. She has a lot of Orthorexia traits and tendencies as well. This has been a battle and an issue for almost 12 years now. Natasha doesn't really want full recovery...she doesn't want to weight restore or be healthy. She wants to maintain where she is...still sick, still disordered, still underweight but not getting worse- just completely maintaining & existing forever as she is. It is really really frustrating and sad. Sometimes I would like to kick her in the mouth, grab her and shake her and scream at her but it would not get through to her. It would not help.

I get self conscious sometimes being out with my family. Because I am Chinese and my parents and siblings, except Mazee, are caucasian American many people don't see us as family. They assume my parents are hosting foreign exchange students or if I am out with my 7 year old brother people assume I am his babysitter or his nanny- these things get said to me and my family and those things make a home in my head . They hide out a lot but still are there, lingering.

I enjoy music and playing music. I play piano, guitar, violin and saxophone. They are more hobbies and escapes although I am told I am talented and gifted in playing instruments I like having it as just something enjoyable, not necessarily something to pursue and train for career/performance/competitive purposes. The same goes for drawing.

My favorite artists and musicians right now are John mayer, Dave matthews band, Green Day, Nirvana, The Smiths, Bruno Mars, Billie Eilish, Yellow card, Lindsay Stirling and switchfoot.

Traveling & hiking is also something I love and something my whole family likes to do. Just being outside. We've been to the grand canyon, Niagara falls, Rocky mountains, smokey mountains, parts of the Appalachian trail/mountains, we've been to Hawaii, the Bahamas, Jamaica, Mexico, Australia, Alaska and Canada. And of course California has some hiking/national parks and nature too so we do a lot here too.

Favorite tv shows: Law and order svu, Criminal minds, Psych, and The Good Doctor

Favorite Movies: The Lord of the rings movies, Harry Potter movies, any of the Jaws movies, The Shallows, Hunger games movies, any X-men movies, Star wars movies, Man on Fire, National Treasure 1 and 2, A Beautiful Mind, I Am Sam, Dead Poet's Society, and Freedom Writers.

That's all. This is already longer than I intended.

[marinetteplztakeabreak]

I need to share soft sign language buddies ninogami headcanon because they’re taking over my brain always:

(This got so long, so youre welcome if youre also starved for ninogami content)

Nino’s mom is Deaf , so he grew up signing as much as speaking. When he was younger he always signed as he talked.

It turned out he’s also Hard of Hearing, so sign language is way easier for him to understand most of the time.

However, though he’s great at making friends, he’s very awkward when it comes to talking about himself. So never comes up in conversation.

It’s not a self-deprication issue. It’s just a “thinking of things to say is hard and I’d rather have someone else do the talking” thing. He’d rather talk about anyone except himself.

Additionally! He’s great at helping other people, but he’s terrible at asking for help. He does not EVER want to be like “hey i cant understand what you’re saying, my ears dont work great,” its his worst nightmare

And it doesnt help that there have been a few cases of people being rude about it when he doesnt hear them after they repeat themselves. And possibly worse, there have been even more cases of people giving over-the-top apologies instead of just,, telling him what they said. So it’s not worth the trouble in his mind

with his few close friends who still dont know, it feels like its too late and it’d be awkward to bring it up, so he just… doesnt. He’s procrastinating on telling them he cant hear them

He stopped signing as much as he talked in middle school because strangers would always be like “woah thats so cool, how do you know sign language” and he’d just panic because he was an awkward tween, and he didnt know if he was comfortable telling them he was HoH, but ALSO just saying his mom was Deaf and not mentioning himself felt like directly lying by hiding information, so he just took the “lazy” way out and signed less in public.

Sometimes fighting the anxiety was not worth it so he just let it win in that case.

Nino is so nice and energetic and loves people, but he is way more introverted and anxious than his friends think.

But when they start to get closer, Kagami who is ever-observant, notices him signing a little bit, (not ever to her, not ever on purpose, but he’d sometimes sign a word he needed to remember while speaking or sign along to emphasize something)

and she luckily for his anxiety, she doesnt know how to have a normal conversation either.

Her (platonic as well as romantic) love language is studying and research, and Nino seems very cool and she likes him, even if she is awful at holding a conversation with him or doing anything to show it.

She thinks he’s so cool and such an amazing talented kind friend. She has so much love for him that she doesnt know what to do with it. So she channels that energy into learning to sign through the internet and whatever tools she can find

And then after a while of this, she’s like “oh no, he’s gonna think that’s so creepy, I cant tell him I know sign language or he’ll be so uncomfortable”

So, like a whole idiot, she hides that she’s learning sign language from anyone. Because OBVIOUSLY if word got back to Nino, he’d assume it was because of him and that she was a weirdo he shouldn’t be friends with

But also Kagami accidentally falls in love with sign language because she has undiagnosed autism. She always assumed that communicating was just going to be impossible no matter what, but as she gets proficient in sign language she’s like,,, oh,,, OH,, this is very nice

Even just signing while she talks makes it so much easier to keep words and sentances straight, but she only does it when she’s alone with her mother, who is literally blind and would never know.

They become closer friends in late high school, and by that time a lot of Nino’s anxiety has worn off and he’s become completely comfortable letting teachers know when he needs to hear somthing, and middle school feels like a distant dream

At some point, Nino invites Kagami to his house a few times, and he signs with his mom. Nino is like “I can interpret for you,” and Kagami is like “wow thanks, I’m so lucky, because I obviously do not know any sign language, why would I have learned it, and also for the record it is brand new information to me that you can sign,” and Nino is like “cool? Its not a secret but im glad i told you if you somehow didnt already know,” and Kagami is like, “yep :)”

But then eventually as they become really close, they are texting one night, (Kagami can still barely get out of her house, so they need to communicate remotely. And both of then HATE phone calls bc its so hard to understand whats happening, but neither of them have admitted this to anyone)

Nino admits that he likes using sign language better than talking, and he wishes he could use it with his friends, but he’d feel so guilty asking them to learn an entire language just to make him slightly more comfortable. He can talk and hear OKAY so he shouldnt put the pressure on them.

and Kagami is like “you could always ask, worst case scenerio they say no, and i dont think thats an unreasonable demand” and nino is like “it is though,” and kagami’s like “ok so haha funny story, please dont hate me” and nino is like, “…what.” And kagami confesses everything and nino is like “why… why would i hate you for that?” And Kagami is like “oh wait youre right im stupid,”

And then Nino’s also like “hey if YOURE more comfortable signing too, then why dont YOU ask your friends to sign for you. Do you see what i mean? It’s hard to ask-” and kagami is like, “as your friend i will prove it is not.”

So then Kagami ends up confronting Adrien and Marinette the next day and is like “Hi. This is a sign language dictionary. Learn from it.” And they’re both like “what?” And she’s like “oh wait sorry. Backing up. I’m autistic. I decided like three years ago. Forgot to tell you. And I need you to learn to sign a little bit so you can understand if i sign something at you. If you want, of course. Please :D.” And theyre like “ok sure yeah i can do that.”

(Theyve already learned and accepted that shes extremely direct in asking for things)

So then she texts nino and is like “i did it. Youre welcome.”

But anyway both of them are uncomfortable in crowds and parties: Nino cant hear anyone and Kagami tends to get sensory overload, so they start signing mostly in those situations, and then it starts to sink in that they’re allowed to sign whenever and that the other really IS also comfortable with it.

(Both of them are much more willing to make sacrifices for others than to try something new and intimidating for themself, so this is the perfect situation to trick them into getting out of their comfort zone, ironically by trying to be more comfortable in the long run)

so they will just sit together and hang out and have long conversations while just chilling somewhere in a park or at cafes or whatever. Both of them become chattier than they’ve ever been because talking and understanding is so much easier, and its addicting

And their close friends all become proficient enough in sign language to have simple conversations.

But also Nino and Kagami start sitting together automatically even in group hangouts, and they start hanging out more with just the two of them, and soon neither of them feel bad about asking to hang out in quieter places, because they can justify it knowing that it will also help the other one, and together that makes both of them also more comfortable asking for little accomodations from other friends, if only to prove to the other that they can do it too.

And Kagami has the lesser-known autism side effect where she makes WAY TOO MUCH eye contact. She’s aware of it but that doesnt make it go away. Normally she feels so awkward about it, and overthinks her gaze because she doesnt want to scare people away. But when signing, you literally HAVE to be watching the other person constantly, so she has an excuse to just be herself, and its so relieving

(and also its kind of fun to look at Nino anyway because he can get so animated and his smile is really nice and oh no she is in love a little bit)

And Nino always struggles because he emotionally ALWAYS needs to be the nice polite one. His anxiety sometimes gets the better of him and he’s constantly worried about sending the wrong signals to his friends and coming off as rude somehow. But with Kagami, he can literally just ask?? And she will tell him her honest opinion without making it weird. And its so comfy and so good and he really loves hearing her unfiltered opinions on so many things because she sees the world in such a unique way and she gets so passionate about such little things and then oh no, he is fallen for her before he can realize it

And they also learn that they’re both artists, they both love to just observe the world because even if they;re awkward, people are actually pretty great most of the time, and its fun to observe them and try to capture the world, and they just sit together and sketch, or they watch each other sketch, and the thing is, both of them draw ONLY FOR THEMSELVES, its not a ‘skill,’ and they don;t want it to be, its just private art for relaxation. Somehow, though, its okay if they share their art with each other. They can just sit in comfortable silence for hours while one of them sketches something and the other watches patiently

And they start to get more comfortable with one of their heads resting on the other’s shoulder as they watch them doodle, and sitting so close their legs press together, and soon enough their hands start brushing against each other’s as they walk next to each other and then all of a sudden they’re casually holding hands whenever they’re not signing because it’s nice

They try to share headphones so Nino can share some of his favorite songs and his compositions with Kagami. But try as she might, Kagami can not handle the sensory of only having one earbud in. Nino knows her tells by that point, and he’s not about to let her suffer for a stupid reason, but she REALLY does want to hear his music. They somehow end up with Kagami putting a pair of headphones around her neck and turning up the volume a little bit so she can hear, while Nino rests his head on her shoulder so he can hear just enough to know where she is in the song

And then he has to sit up and scootch away just enough to see her hands so they can talk about it, and they both pretend not to notice how nice it was to snuggle as they sign. Its fine, though, because now they get the excuse to just look at each other again and sign overdramatically with exaggerated facial expressions, and no one else around can overhear their conversation, and Nino likes to go a little over the top when signing onomatopoeia and acting out particular parts of the song rhythm that he likes, and Kagami laughs, and they both mentally save the image of each other in this moment the same way that they look at reference images for artwork, memorizing the lines of each movement and the things that make each smile unique,

and Nino also shows up at every single one of her fencing tournaments, and he sits as close as he can and signs encouraging messages to her from the crowd whenever she’s not actively competing, (that her blind mom can never catch, which is somewhat of a bonus to Kagami, because every element of their friendship that her mother cant interact with makes this more personal and special and HERS). Every little sign she sends back at him, even a simple thank you, always feels so good and rebellious and free because shes supposed to be focusing on fencing but shes deciding to care more about friendship. And even if she’s expected to leave immediately afterword, she’ll find every excuse possible to find him and give him a hug, which he’ll always accept even though she jokingly warns him shes sweaty and gross

And eventually they are special best friends and it brings them instant joy to see each other and theyre able to interact for no reason other than that they want to and like each other

(And then they kiss)

[fallingappleshurt]

Project Pink

Sorry Y’all this one got away from me again and I wrote it while tired, again. Anyways here is some badly written shit and have a good period of existence in the universe!

Oh god my brain is going brrrrrrrr

Techno and Wilbur.

It had always been Techno and Wilbur Soode against the world.

Some would make jokes about how it was because they were identical twins, they got ridiculous questions like ‘If I pinch him will you feel it?’ or ‘Can you guys mentally speak- like through your minds?’ They would roll their eyes and say no, sometimes they’d joke around acting like they could read each other's mind or something stupid but it was rare.

They went through multiple foster homes, refusing to be separated from each other, if they ever were they’d find a way back to the other, because it was them against the world.

Then they got placed with Phil Wingraft.

He was different.

They had been through a few foster homes, some were good, some were okay, and one was really bad but Phil was different.

He treated them like they were normal, he was gentle but not patronizing or condescending, he would joke around with them but also became a person they could trust.

He took the time to learn about their interests, he got Wilbur a guitar and took Techno to the library every week. He took the time to recognize the difference between Wilbur’s crazy fluffy hair and Techno more tame but still wavy curls. Wilbur was taller then Techno by half a head but from a distance it was hard to tell. They both had the same shaped face and the same cinnamon colored eyes, the main difference was Techno had glasses.

They stayed with Phil for a year before they were officially adopted and became a family. A two years later he asked them how they would feel if he started fostering another kid, named Tommy.

“I’d be okay with that,” Techno said, shrugging, he hadn’t really processed it but he’d go along with it. Wilbur agreed too, nodding along, it seemed like it would make Phil happy so why not?

“That’s great, it’ll take a few days for the paperwork to go through, then he’ll be with us!” Phil was grinning, this was making Phil happy so this could make Wilbur happy.

Later they were in their room when Techno kicked the top bunk Wilbur was laying on.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, rolling his head halfway off the bed, trying to look at his brother.

“What?” Wilbur asked, looking over the railing.

“Don’t be like that, I know that look, you look like you just ate a suspicious lemonhead,”

“I don’t have a look like that!”

“Stop avoiding the question!” His face softened, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried about the new kid, Tommy, I-I don’t know, it just makes me worried, what if it changes things?”

Techno was quiet, he bit his lip.

“I get that, it makes sense but I don’t think anything bad will happen. Phil is great and I don’t think he would push us away, he’s not like that. Who knows, maybe we can have a little brother,”

Wilbur huffed out a small laugh, smiling softly, “Yeah, a little brother, that would be nice.”

Techno sighed contently, shifting back onto his bed. They laid in silence for a moment when Wilbur laughed.

“I mean, it’ll be nice for you, I already have one.”

“Two minutes Wilbur! Two minutes!”

Tommy joined them 4 days later, a little blonde dweeb with baby blue eyes. He was loud, annoying, and hyper. He would talk loudly when Techno was trying to do homework, he untuned Wilbur’s guitar, he said it was an accident but they weren’t really sure, and was overall like a bull in a china shop.

Techno was gonna pull his own hair out, Wilbur had come very close to locking him out of the apartment, they were both going to kill him.

It took them two weeks to fall in change completely.

It started when Tommy asked Techno for some help in his homework, it actually shocked Techno, the kid who was so loud and proud of his accomplishments shyly asking if Techno could help him with his math work was interesting, to say the least.

Techno almost said no, almost teased him, ‘What? The Great TommyInnit needs help? I thought you knew everything!’

Almost.

Tommy looked different, fingers nervously tapping on the packet, trying not to crickle it, eyes darting around, even his voice was shaky.

It reminded Techno when he’d ask an old foster parent for help, only they’d turn him away, telling him to figure it out, that they were too busy.

He didn’t want to be like that.

“Sure, what are you learning?” He pushed some of his papers aside, making room for Tommy’s. Tommy grabbed a chair and sat next to him.

“Algebra,” He said, frowning, “I don’t get it- it’s just so weird,” He put his chin in his hands.

“Don’t worry, Algebra is super confusing-”

“Yeah right, you get everything, you’re really smart!”

“You’re smart too,” Techno offered, not sure what to say.

“Then name a time I’ve been smart!”

Techno short circuited.

“See!” Tommy gestured wildly.

“Tommy I’ve known you for two weeks, I’m sure you’ve done plenty of-”

Tommy groaned, “Nevermind, forget it-” He slid off the chair only for Techno to reach over and grab his arm.

“No, I’m sorry, just let me help,”

Tommy made a face but sat back down, “Fine.”

It had been 2 hours.

“This is useless! I’ll never get it!” Tommy stuck his hands in his hair.

“Just try this last problem, you’re so close!”

“No! I’ll just mess it up again!”

“You don’t know that, just try again!”

Reluctantly, Tommy picked his pencil back up and started on the equation. Techno turned back to his paper, finishing up a definition sheet, Tommy’s mumbles drifting in the background.

“Then add the two to get 16?” He looked up at Techno, who closed his textbook and looked over Tommy’s worksheet, covered in half erased scribbles, doodles, and pencil shavings.

“That’s right,” He grinned, reading over Tommy’s work again, “You did it,”

“Wait seriously? I got it right?”

“Yeah!”

“Yes! I did it!” Tommy pumped a fist in the air, cheering. “Thanks Techno!”

“Anytime nerd,”

Wilbur had been messing around with his guitar, sitting on his bunk, scribbling down music notes on a scrap of paper. He’d write a few phrases down and sing them softly to himself, strumming a few chords.

Scowling, he erased half the page, grumbling to himself; “It doesn’t sound right, why can’t I get it-”

“I thought it sounded nice,” Someone said from the bunk beneath him. Wilbur jumped, yelping, he hit his head on the ceiling. He leaned over the railing to see Tommy sitting on Techno’s bunk, limbs tangled around the latter.

“What are you doing? I thought you were out with Techno and Phil!” Wilbur said, sounding harsher and more shrill then he meant to, Tommy shrugged, “I didn’t want to go to the library today.”

“Wish I knew that beforehand,” He grumbled, going back to his music sheet.

“You seem mad,” Tommy observed, twisting his arm around the metal.

“Yeah I���m mad,”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I can’t get these stupid lyrics to sound right and you just scared the shit- I mean crap- out of me.”

Tommy cackled, “I’m telling Phil you swore!”

“Shut up,” Wilbur grumbled, gripping his pencil tighter. Tommy tipped his head to the side, “I don’t get why you’re angry, those lyrics sounded really nice.”

Wilbur paused, “You think so?”

“Yeah! It was really cool!” Tommy said, starting to come up the latter, he climbed onto the bed with Wilbur, “I liked it a lot!”

Wilbur smiled softly, “Thanks,”

“Can you play it again?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Wilbur sat up straighter, putting the guitar in a better position , “I don’t remember all the lyrics though,”

He started playing, slowly his nerves of playing in front of someone else started to slip away as he fell into the rhythm and flow of the music. He looked up briefly a few times seeing Tommy, smiling widely, eyes filled with admiration. He finished the song and looked at Tommy, who immediately leaned forwards.

“That was so good! Write it down so you don’t forget! Wilbur that was epic!”

“Really?”

“Definitely!” Tommy leaned back, then quietly added, “And I’m sorry I messed up your guitar the other week, it wasn’t on purpose,” He trailed off.

Wilbur shrugged, “It’s fine, you didn’t do any real damage, just messed up the tuning,”

“I was messing with it cause I wanna learn how to play, could you maybe show me sometime?”

“Maybe, I’m still considered an amateur on most standards,”

“Seriously?!”

Tommy went to the same school as them, he was in the sixth grade while Techno and Wilbur were in 8th, so they saw each other in the halls every once and awhile. The one thing Tommy hadn’t been able to learn, despite the fact he had learned algebra, basketball, and some of the guitar, was how to tell Techno and Wilbur apart when they weren’t standing directly next to each other.

They had tried everything, Tommy would try to memorize the different clothes they wore each morning, the small differences in their hair, how they walked or moved around but nothing worked.

One day when they were in the car on the way home from school, Tommy was pouting, or ‘stewing’, as Phil would say. He barely talked the whole ride home.

“Alright I’ll bite,” Wilbur said, turning around in the front seat, “What’s wrong?”

Tommy frowned at him, “You both completely ignored me all day! I tried to get your attention so many times!”

Techno raised an eyebrow, “I never once heard you call my name,”

“Me either,” Wilbur confirmed, Tommy looked skeptical.

“How do I know that you guys aren’t messing with me?”

“He’s got you guys there,” Phil said from the driver's seat.

“We weren’t ignoring him! I swear, you must have gotten us mixed up again!” Wilbur insisted, waving his hand.

Tommy groaned, “Why is it so hard to tell you guys apart! Hey, could you just make it easier and not be identical twins?”

Phil cackled in the front, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

“It-It doesn’t work like that Tommy,” Techno snorted, half covering his mouth with his hand.

“Oh come on! Just try it!”

Tommy was trying, he really was, but it was so hard to tell them apart. He knew Wilbur’s hair was crazier and he was Taller then Techno and that Techno had glasses but it didn’t help at all.

He’d go to ask Techno for help with homework only to find Wilbur, who also didn’t know jackshit about algerbra, or if he wanted to do something stupid he’d end up accidentally telling his plan to Techno who would immediately veto the idea.

After awhile he just decided to just try and slow down and see if one of the clones had glasses or not and that worked for him, sort of.

A few months later and they officially adopted Tommy into the family, he was an official Wingraft.

They went out and celebrated, laughing and making stupid jokes, it was nice. Then the next day Techno went to the store by himself, taking some of the money he had saved up from chores and searched a bottle of pink hair dye.

Picking out a color was surprisingly difficult, there were so many choices, taffy, bubblegum, creamy, carnation, but he eventually decided on ‘Rose Pink’. He bought a bottle then hid it under his bed, he needed to wait for the right time to do it because the dye had to sit for at least 30 minutes before he could rinse it out.

Phil was working late on Wednesday and Wilbur was going to see a movie with friends after school so he just had to lock Tommy out of the bathroom for like 45 minutes, which he would have no problem doing, and everything would be set.

The day rolled around and he found out that dying your hair is easier said then done, so much easier.

Techno set down so many paper towels in hopes to catch anything that might drip, then there was the process of making sure he got it all and wearing the plastic gloves made everything much harder to handle but eventually he was able to get the dye in place.

He set a timer on his phone then pulled out a book, hoping Tommy wouldn’t try to bust down the door, it didn’t lock but Techno had taken a rubber band from the door handle and wrapped it around the facut to try and give some semblance of a lock. All he had to do was wait.

Tommy was sitting on the couch watching TV when Phil arrived home, Wilbur in tow.

“Hey Tommy, how was your day?”

“Pretty good, nothing really interesting happened though,” He responded, “But Techno has been in the bathroom for like an hour,”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow and Phil asked, “Is he okay?”

“I guess so, I heard the shower running just a minute ago,”

Phil walked over to the bathroom door and knocked, “Tech? You okay in there?”

Tommy heard the door swing open and Techno say, “Yeah I’m fine,” Phil didn’t say anything but Wilbur started laughing loudly, throwing his head back. Tommy turned around on the couch and saw Techno standing there, towel around his shoulders to stop water from dripping onto his shirt, hair the brightest shade of pink Tommy had ever seen.

He froze, much like Phil did, before he broke out into a grin, then a laugh, “Techno what-”

“Now you should be able to tell us apart,”

[ambersky0319]

Idea: Intrulogical fusion, completely in sync despite being a fusion of Remus and Logan. But Virgil and Patton didn't like it. Virgil because, It's Remus. He shouldn't be with a lightside. Patton because it makes him feel like he failed Logan, after all, hes eith Remus. So they force them apart. But, their roles are switched. Logan looks like King George III, but he has shackles & broken crown. Remus looks like your stereotypical mad scientist. They have no memory of who they once were. -Rayne

I had a lot of fun with this- also I decided to draw Macabre! It also ended up being longer than I intended. I hope y’all enjoy this!

Pairings : Intrulogical, Background Roceit

Warnings : Unsympathetic Patton, Morally gray but also pretty Unsympathetic Virgil (I mean, he feels somewhat regretful of what he does at the end-), Fusion, blood and pain mentions, if I need to add anything else please let me know!

Masterpost 

—————————–

It started off as something small- an idea that Remus had, which Logan was more than happy to try. They were just figments of imagination, after all, it’s not like it was an impossibility. And it took a lot longer than either side believed it should have taken, but they got there.

Logan and Remus fused.

When they first fused, they cried. Tears streamed down their cheeks as they hugged themselves because it just felt so incredible, so loving. They hadn’t even looked in a mirror yet, but it felt right, being together like this. They fell to the ground just hugging themselves, rocking back and forth. He wasn’t them, though, and both Logan and Remus knew that. They could feel that. And when he looked in the mirror, that’s when they fell apart.

Logan and Remus were choking back tears of their own as they held one another, crumpled on the floor of Logan’s room. Remus buried his face into Logan’s neck, grinning wide as he laughed almost hysterically.

“I can’t believe that worked!”

“I can’t believe how that felt.”

The silence stretched on for a moment as they collected themselves until Remus broke it, pulling away from Logan slightly. “I want to do it again.” He said, reaching up to play with Logan’s hair. “Can we do it again, Lolo?”

Logan smiled the softest Remus had ever seen him smile, and he nodded. “Yes, whoever that was, it felt great. I would do it a hundred times or more.”

Remus giggled before leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss to Logan’s lips before they fused once again.

And so, Morbidity was created.

Morbidity stayed hidden for a long while, and Remus and Logan felt strange each time they unfused. They felt lonely, more so than they had before fusing. Remus had correlated it to how Ruby felt when she and Sapphire unfused and Ruby had gone on that adventure. And Logan couldn’t agree more. Being Morbidity was intoxicating, because when he formed, neither felt lonely or unloved anymore. And Morbidity felt more love than when Logan and Remus spent time together unfused.

Morbidity just felt right.

Morbidity didn’t want to unfuse anymore. Logan and Remus didn’t want to be apart, not when they were constantly torn down and ignored. So they stopped unfusing, and Morbidity stayed in his room. His own room! He had been shocked when it had formed but felt overjoyed nonetheless. Because it meant he was a part of Thomas, a true part of him! But with the new room, that meant that the others would start to notice. And they did.

Macabre, the name Morbidity found he liked most when brainstorming, was peacefully watching a documentary about some of the worst crimes ever committed to date. He was fascinated with how the killers had gotten away with it for so long, and how all the evidence from the buckets of blood that had needed cleaning up to the finest of hairs left behind all played a roll in solving the cases. He was writing a novel, a murder mystery, and wanted it to be as exciting and puzzling as possible. So research was needed.

That’s when his door was opened, no one knocking as it slammed against the wall. Macabre flinched at the sound, finally looking away from his television and notebook littered with notes and random, horrific doodles.

Standing there was Roman, stunned when he saw Macabre, dual-colored eyes staring into his green ones. “Um…”

Then Patton peered over his shoulder, confusion flashing across his face. “A new side?”

Macabre laughed, and it sounded like glass shattering. “Not a new side, Patty-cake. Merely an experiment gone extremely well!” Macabre stood, stretching and hearing his bones pop and feeling the pins and needles in his feet creeping up his legs. How long had it been since he last got up? He made a mental note to set a timer so that his limbs wouldn’t fall asleep like this again.

“…. Experiment?”

“Who are you?”

“What are you?”

Macabre frowned only slightly, fixing his glasses. “I’m Morbidity! I would say it’s great to finally introduce myself, but I believe your facial expressions aren’t the proper reactions one would want.

"And I was an experiment. Not one any longer, though! Remus and Logan sure enjoyed doing them. Maybe I should try it out too!”

“You’re behind Logan disappearing?!” Virgil’s voice raised a few octaves as he started on at the fusion. Macabre crossed his arms, now frowning completely.

“I’m not behind anything. And Logan didn’t disappear. Not completely.”

“What does that even mean?”

It seemed Roman knew the answer to Patton’s question, though, because he broke from his daze to answer. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Morbidity, but you’re a fusion.”

Macabre smiled. “Right you are, Roman! Oh, I knew you would remember. Remus didn’t think you would, but I knew you would.” He clapped his hands together, once.

“What’s he talking about Roman?” Virgil asked.

Roman only briefly looked at Virgil, offering a small, half-hearted shrug. “Remus brought up the idea one time that maybe sides could fuse. I just brushed it off, but it was definitely one of his good ideas.” He turned back to Macabre. “So… You’re a fusion of Remus and Logan?”

“Morbid Creativity and Logic sure go quite well together, don’t you think? Both always ignored, finding that they are the outcasts of their supposed families, and finding love in one another. It really shouldn’t be a surprise that they got along so well.”

“Wait wait wait, Logan fused with… With Remus?” Patton looked absolutely horrified.

“Well, they were dating for a year before they made me. But yes.”

“They were together?!”

“It really isn’t hard to believe, Patton.” Macabre glanced at his nails, painted as though they were dipped into blood. “Now, unless you three are interested in watching this documentary with me, can I get back to work?”

“We still have-”

“What are you working on?” Roman cut off Virgil, approaching Macabre. He shot Virgil and Patton a slight glare when they tried to protest. Because he could feel the anger and frustration, and even the panic radiating off the pair. “If you two even think of pushing Morbidity to talk, by the way, I’ll let Thomas know why I actually chose to go to the wedding.”

That sent the pair off, and Roman sat down with Macabre, the door closing. If this is what Remus and Logan wanted, to be together like this, then Roman would support it. He wasn’t in any place to judge though, considering just this morning he and Deceit had attempted to do the same.

It suddenly became very different around the Mind Palace, what with Macabre (or Copypasta’ as Roman and Deceit had taken to calling him after seeing Macabre’s love of creepypasta) having introduced himself to Thomas not long after the others had ventured into his room.

Thomas didn’t really mind Macabre, while he sometimes felt uncomfortable by the insane amount of violent knowledge he had, knowing about certain chemicals and their reactions to drinks was definitely helpful when attending bars. Especially when his drink shifted in color just slightly, and Thomas knew not to drink, because Macabre had remembered a case where someone had drugged their date. And Macabre got along with Deceit and Roman just fine(though the two still hadn’t come out yet).

Patton and Virgil, though? They were furious. They were absolutely livid that Logan would even agree to ever fuse with Remus. Logan deserved better than Remus, in their eyes.

They fueled one another, Virgil and Patton. They fueled the negative thoughts towards Macabre. He shouldn’t exist. He should have never existed in the first place. Logan was too good for Remus. What could Remus possibly offer that Logan would want, anyway, that Logan didn’t already have? The others had been working on showing their appreciation of Logan. Virgil and Patton had worked on not cutting him off, and Virgil had tried listening to him a bit more. Patton had stopped laughing at a few jokes Roman made about Logan.

And then there was Remus. The imbalance of negative and positive ideas was weird. Because Macabre wasn’t intrusive, not to the extent Remus had been. Now, Remus’s gruesome ideas were rationalized or internalized, suppressed in Macabre until he could jot down the idea and either write or draw the thought. Everything just felt wrong.

So they devised a plan, about three weeks after Macabre had been found by them.

Virgil had been horrified by Patton’s idea at first, listening reluctantly as Patton explained to him how to split a side. Because even if Virgil hated Macabre being together, and didn’t like Remus, he still remembered what the split had done to the twins. And he worried how that would affect Remus, going through another split. But Patton persuaded him, claiming that if all the facts that Thomas knew were tainted, were bad, then Thomas was a bad person. And Thomas couldn’t be a bad person, he just couldn’t. So Virgil agreed.

He doesn’t remember it much, though. He purposely forgot Macabre’s scream as he was quite literally torn apart. Virgil blocked the image of Macabre’s agonized face from his mind, keeping it a blurred memory that could have been a dream. He felt sick at the thought that he did it, but the idea that Logan would come back was enough to keep him from stopping.

Patton though was completely unfazed.

However, they didn’t get the outcome they had wanted.

Remus and Logan had indeed been split, that much was clear. But they weren’t Remus and Logan, not the ones that Patton and Virgil wanted.

They were pushed out of the way by Roman and Deceit, who had finally broken into the room that Virgil and Patton had sealed off. It looked so incredibly wrong, and to say Deceit and Roman were angry would be an understatement. They were bursting with rage as Logan and Remus finally stopped whimpering, the pain no longer overwhelming them. They cradled the two sides, all the while having a shouting match with Patton, Virgil making no attempt to defend his actions.

Roman held his brother tightly, though Remus only blinked at him in confusion, and once Deceit and Roman had stopped arguing with Virgil and Patton, they had turned their attention to the two sides, taking them in. The guilty pair sunk out to their own rooms, leaving Roman and Deceit with the new Logan and Remus.

Though they didn’t even know Logan and Remus were their names.

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@treasureofpriam @theloveliestsweetspongy @tacochippy @anderswrites @romanknite @0beansprout0 @random-fandom-dragon @daflangstlairde @princerhubarb @that-one-ts-artist @heyitsmeimjustkindahere @aromanticandaromatic @deliciouslycrookedme @batpinkstudentpersona @avocados26 @fandomloverangel @red-eyes88 @adarkgreensoul @analogicallythinking @thatreallyawkwardpotato @insanegoldie2 @gothams-lil-sweet-potato-pie @alexkittycat1 @len-art-trash @faithyfander @an-absolute-failure @lexilucacia @o-hello-its-me @fearthesmolpotato @moxiety-my-love @thatonenerdphotographer @diadems-arewornon-capita @morrogirl9024 @thefandomnerd15 @sulphur-and-honey @aroaceagenderfluid @yalltookmyurlideas @sidesareathing @surohsopsisofclouds @dissappropriation @demigodbookdragon @too-many-fandoms89 @a-soul-among-the-stars @croftersgamer @thenaiads @theyluna-womoon  

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@cress-the-fander @worm-does-shit @enby-ralsei @jadedmidnight @virgilisacinnamonroll @ohgeneralmygeneral @asthmatic-trash-bastard @remusownsmyuwus @alexinthebathroomataparty  @diadems-arewornon-capita @the-bethanista @yalltookmyurlideas @demigodbookdragon @theunknoen @theyluna-womoon  

[crimsonbluemoon]

6, 3, 7 H2OVanoss! You know me heh ( •ॢᴗ•ॢ⋈)

Ahhh Owlbun! So I hope this fits the perimeters of a cute-meet cause I don’t know if it does but I think it does? Idk, its cute, please enjoy this mess of a story. >.> It’s a diff style than I normally do, but….hope it works out!

AU: Coffee shopTrope: Meet cutePrompt: “You had no idea, did you?”

Pairing: H2O Vanoss

If Evan was being honest, he hadn’t expected the chalkboard wall at his coffee shop to make much of a difference. The Owl Cafe was a staple in the community, and he had an okay group of regulars that liked to come in and check out his new blends on the daily. There were ones he knew by name, like the 6 year old girl Momo who loved Brian’s hot chocolate, or the late-night writer Kryoz who always seemed to appear when the place was deserted. Some regulars he didn’t catch names for, so he titled them as he saw fit; Runner man, vlogger teen, cute sweatshirt guy. All had their place in his cafe, which was steady in its sales. He wasn’t rolling in cash, but it was enough to pay Brock and Brian, so he felt that he was doing alright. 

The chalkboard had been something of a whim. A friend when he was younger had a wall in his bedroom with chalkboard paint that Evan had always enjoyed drawing on before bed. When he’d bought the cafe two years ago, he hadn’t really remembered the fun times he had scribbling across the bedroom wall. He was too focused on payments and attracting customers to stroll down memory lane. That had changed three months ago when bumping into Lui, the two speaking about their times as a child. The wall came up, of course, and Evan couldn’t let the memory go for days after. Lots of his customers had children, and college kids were always quick to bore when waiting for coffee. So one night, after a really good week at the shop, Evan went out and bought the paint in order to make his wall next to the waiting area a drawing board. 

The result was amazing; people loved coming by and adding their own doodles to the wall, filling it with different styles of art or funny sayings. There were always the punks who tried to draw dicks or write derogatory marks, but street justice tended to stop the crimes far quicker than Evan or his friends picked up on them. Evan enjoyed looking at the board at the end of the night, seeing what secrets it held from the customers he served. He tried to guess who drew what, or where each blurb of inspiration writing came from. Was the struggling mother of three the one who drew the calm beach? Did the preppy college girl express her darker thoughts in the corner of the board? Or was that old couple who shared a coffee really sweet enough to write their 70th anniversary with a heart around it? All of the pieces of the board was a collection of minds, hearts, and souls, and the nights didn’t feel complete for the shop owner without gazing at them in appreciation.  

His favorite part was the confessions; like an anonymous message board, people left words of secrecy every day. Evan felt it was a safe way for customers to express themselves without having to reveal their identity, and so far he hadn’t gotten any confessions that worried him. Brock always enjoyed reading the romantic ones where someone would claim their love for a friend, an ex, or a person they could never have. Brian’s favorites were the weird claims; he made Evan keep the ‘I like smelling feet’ confession up for three days. Evan couldn’t really say he had a type he sought out, because all of them were fun to read. If anything, he liked taking in the handwriting of the confessions, seeing whose were quaking with fear or more broad with confidence that only anonymity provided. 

It was nearly two months into owning the board that a message caught his eye; it didn’t have much color or outlandish design to it, so Evan wasn’t sure why it stuck out to him so much. But the writing just…looked different. Friendly. A little messy but with long enough strokes to show some care went into it. The words only took up a small part of the board. 

I come here every day because I think the owner is nice. And maybe cute? I wanted to ask for his name, but I’m too nervous.

Evan blinked in surprise, feeling his face heat up when he read it again. Someone…confessed about him? It was sort of risky, since this was his shop and he could have checked in on the board at any time, but it was also endearing. Someone was too shy to approach Evan, but felt strong enough about him to confess on his wall? He read the line two more times while he cleaned off every other drawing and confession, leaving the words in the middle of the board. Slowly, his eyes dropped down to the basket of chalk at the bottom of the wall, fingers twitching by his side. Despite having it for months, he’d never actually written on it. He left designing the morning greeting to Brock, as he was the artistic one of the three. But now…

He kept the confession where it was, drawing a little circle around it with the red chalk. Then, with block letters bright enough to catch any returning customer’s attention, he wrote out a simple reply. 

It’s Evan. Nice to meet you.

He didn’t think about the teasing Brian would rain on him, or how unlikely it was for him to get a response. The confessions were meant to be anonymous, not openers for conversation. So sure that his words would be left unanswered, Evan didn’t look once at the board the following day, trying to keep focused on making his customer’s happy. Any time he wasn’t working, he rushed into the back, trying to stay occupied so he didn’t stare at the wall. The day dragged on forever, but when the final customer was out the door, Evan nearly fell flat on his face vaulting over the counter to move to the board. 

“Desperate much, buddy?” Brian’s shout from across the shop went ignored when Evan scanned the wall, looking for any sign of a response. At first, the words around the response were disheartening; nothing connected to what he’d said. The drawings were still cute, and he wanted to read the confessions, but his heart slightly dropped at the sight. Had he scared off the anonymous messenger? He felt his frown start to capture his lips, but then his eye picked up on something. A blue circle had been wrapped around Evan’s words, and a line of chalk was drawn to the left of the board. Curious, his eyes tracked the line. Like thread in a maze, Evan was led to a familiar handwriting. 

Your name fits you! I’m…Jonathan. Is that okay? 

“Jonathan.” He rolled the name around in his mouth, his smile small when he finished. He knew instantly what his new secret penpal was asking, and he found the red chalk from before in order to scribble out his answer. 

That’s totally okay. I bet your name fits you, too, though I’m not sure who you are. Care to give me a hint? 

And for the next two weeks, the hints poured out. 

I like to wear blue a lot. Luke says it matches my eyes. But I think yours are prettier.

Evan counted seventy three customers with blue eyes who wore blue that day, but it did little to limit his search. 

I saw you drop that lady’s coffee on purpose. She deserved it for treating Brock like that. You’re a really good boss.

The incident had been in the morning around rush hour, which probably meant his penpal was at least his age. 

You only wear hats when you clean the mocha machine; it really looks good on you. 

Except this was something he did at night, so maybe he had different shifts throughout the week? 

Whenever little Momo comes in, you always give her the best smile. Sometimes I wish you’d smile at me like that.

Evan’s face hurt from how many smiles he gave out that day, but there had been nobody who hinted at knowing why he’d been grinning so much. 

You’re so beautiful. I really want to ask you on a date. 

Evan’s face flush red for the rest of the night. 

After the days of trying to piece together just who ‘Jonathan’ was, Evan was almost ready to throw in the towel. The little banter between them was fun, and peeks of Jonathan’s personality came out with doodles or smilies at the end of his sentences. He mentioned his friends, his dog, and if Evan closed his eyes, he could almost make out a voice to the words. Everything just felt so familiar about this guy, like he was already seated comfortably in Evan’s life. But he just couldn’t come up with a name, or anything to sink his teeth into. 

So, with a shot of courage (Brian may have supplied the alcohol) and nothing to lose, Evan wrote out one final message. 

Anything but coffee, and I’ll say yes.

Evan tried not to look at the board, just like the first day, hoping he wouldn’t scare away his crush by staring the wall down. Brock and Brian helped distract him, jokingly picking out old men and toddlers as ‘his secret admirer’ before laughing at the outlandish suggestions. Evan tried to smile and joke with them, but his shaking hands when giving out the orders always proved how nervous he was. Each time a customer came up to him, his back tensed, wondering if it’d be his penpal. But they never were, always asking for sugar or a bag for their half eaten muffin. 

When the last minutes of the day ticked away, and just a few regular souls lingered in the cafe, Evan finally broke. He left Brian and Brock behind the counter to walk up to the wall, hands shoved in the pockets of the apron to hide his twitching fingers. Slowly, his eyes scanned the board, trying to find the blue handwriting he’d grown to adore over the couple weeks he’d gotten to see it. But there was nothing; his crush hadn’t replied. 

“I scared him away.” Evan sighed and pressed his head to the chalkboard, eyes closing in defeat. His shoulders slumped down, unable to hide his disappointment. He’d just wanted to know who this guy was, because starting to fall for a chalkboard he technically owned was starting to feel a little creepy-

“Um.” An unsure voice made Evan bite back a groan, trying to keep his composure. Even if he was being ghosted by an anonymous customer, it didn’t mean he could ignore his other ones. Pulling back from the wall, Evan turned to catch sight of a familiar face. Cute sweatshirt guy had been a regular for months, always polite but never one to really engage in much conversation with Evan or the others. He always contributed it to the slight stutter in his speech, which only seemed to come out in longer sentences. It was actually kind of late for cute sweatshirt guy to be at the cafe; he’d bought his coffee close to an hour ago, and though he normally left right after, he’d seemed to linger now. He’d been one of the people who’d come up to Evan, looking like he was going to burst out in a confession, only to ask for creamer.

And sugar.

And a new cup.

…And more creamer.

For a coffee he always drank black.

“Wait.” Evan’s breath hitched in his throat as his eyes widened on the blue gaze nervously watching him, fingers curled into the worn down sweatshirt that was identical in color. 

“Yeah, I’m-that was me. Jonathan. Who you were-I’m the guy tha–that, um, fuck. Luke said I should’ve just-but the wall was…was our thing.” Jonathan’s face lit up in color at the confession, the nervous laugh that poured out loud and uncontrolled. It echoed from the emptiness of the cafe, and both men jumped when Brian swore and knocked over a stack of cups in surprise. Tagging that as future Evan’s problem, he turned his attention back to Jonathan, who looked ready to let his sweatshirt swallow him whole. The smile he gave only lifted half his mouth, proving he didn’t feel confident. “You had no idea, did you?”

“None,” Evan admitted, hands pulling out of his apron at the defeated look that sunk over Jonathan. 

“Right, that’s- I don’t have to ask you on a date if this isn’t what you…if I’m not who you-”

“Ask me!” Evan cut him off fast, not wanting to let Jonathan feel rejected for a second longer. He rushed forward, snagging hands that tugged the end of torn sleeves to entwine their fingers. Blue eyes widened above him, but Evan refused to let his racing heart of reddened cheeks stop him from repeating his confession from before. “Anything but coffee, and I’ll say yes.” 

“Dinner? Can I-would you like to get food with me tomorrow?” Like a puppy, Jonathan’s body perked up at the possibility. Evan laughed before lifting their hands to cup Jonathan’s cheeks. He pushed up onto his toes, feeling the slight intake of his customer’s breath before he answered with a kiss.

But just to be safe, he wrote ‘yes’ on the chalkboard the next morning.

[writersrealmbts]

Con Amore: Part 15

Bulletproof Melody Sequel

Description: Con Amore– A directive to a musician to perform a selected passage of a composition tenderly, with affectionate emotion, or in a loving manner; an instruction to the player of an instrument meaning ‘with love’ or ‘lovingly’. Three years with all seven of your loves, three years of relative peace. But now everything is threatened as darkness surges from the horizon.

Originally Posted: 05/28/2020

Tags: Superheroes, Ot7

Fluff/Angst: 2,035 words

A/N: One more part after this, then we’re done. Promise.

They were an odd group, but they worked together brilliantly. Sometimes, they reminded you of your boys.

Yeonjun cracked some corny jokes now and then that reminded you of Seokjin, but could also be as serious as Hoseok.

Huening-Kai had a tendency to pull the maknae card like Jungkook, and the enthusiasm that Taehyung got when excited.

Soobin would get embarrassed and melt a little like Jimin, or sometimes like Namjoon.

Beomgyu was absolutely as snarky as Jimin.

Taehyun’s attention to fashion which reminded you of Namjoon mostly, but also Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok.

“Do you think they would train us if we asked?” Beomgyu asked quietly, a change from his usual talkative self.

You paused, then kept stringing the dried peels, berries, and popcorn. “Yes. I do think they would. As long as you showed that you were willing to learn.”

“They’re the coolest,” Yeonjun said, awe in his voice. “Whenever we heard about them at the temple, Taehyun, Huening, and I would then go and look for every video and article on it we could find on the library computer. They’re so well trained and they work so well together.”

You smiled a little. “I don’t know that they would be able to help you all train your powers. There are similarities with some of your powers and theirs, but there are also differences.”

“But they’ve worked this long in working together despite differences in their powers,” Taehyun countered. “We have a lot to learn about working together.”

You nodded slowly. “That’s true. They are exceptional when it comes to teamwork. They’re a family, but they also have a heirarchy. They know who is calling the shots. They have a specific purpose that they are devoted to.”

“You?” Beomgyu guessed, grinning and ducking when you threw popcorn at him.

“No, you imp. They want a world that’s better than the one they were born into. They were best suited to fighting those who would tear the world down to make it their own. Trying to make life better for supers like you boys,” You said softly, reaching over to push Huening’s hair from his eyes so he could actually see what he was doing.

Soobin nodded. “And what do you focus on?”

“The little things,” You answered, pulling a clip from one of your non-archive storage spaces and pulling Huening Kai’s hair away from his face. “Small robberies, hostage situations now and then, children, children’s homes. As Nightingale, anyway. But as an archivist…the scope of my job varies greatly from day to day. The overlap is very present though, which makes what I do a little more fulfilling than just…collecting things that will collect dust while staying a safe distance from the world.”

Beomgyu set a snack beside you just as you were thinking you should get one. “But…you’re known for being a fighter. I mean, you practically died to save the town. They built a monument to you.”

You shrugged. “The memories of the populace are short-lived. So distracted by every new thing, attention spans shortened by the speed with which needs are satisfied. It was the first big fight I’d ever participated in. And I…wasn’t exactly alive when they got me to the hospital. I had to leave for a while after that, I stopped by the temple for a little bit to be healed completely, then I went and just did my job as an archivist. Laying low.”

“Because it was your family,” Taehyun said, then his eyes widened. “Sorry, I—”

“Relax, Taehyun, it’s okay. I know you don’t purposely pry into my life.” You rested a hand on your stomach where the baby was pushing their little foot out, quickly reaching over and grabbing Yeonjun’s hand to guide it there since he was the only one who hadn’t been able to feel the baby so far. It usually pulled away just before he got to feel it, and lately it had been a little less active. Still moving, but not trying to push it’s foot into your lungs or kick your ribs.

His eyes were huge. “She’s really sticking it out there.”

“He,” Huening Kai countered playfully, not willing to let his hyung have the satisfaction.

“It’s a girl,” Yeonjun scoffed.

“Boy,” Taehyun immediately argued, tossing a piece of popcorn at the eldest.

You rolled your eyes. “Boys, at this rate, we’ll never have the tree decorated and I’ll have to cancel Christmas.”

Beomgyu and Soobin’s eyes got huge and they quickly shushed the other three who weren’t completely ready to give up—especially Huening Kai.

Until Soobin pointed at him and directly sent a wave of peace into him, then did the same with the other two. “String the popcorn.”

“Yeah, I’m not missing my first Christmas just because you guys were fighting,” Beomgyu added sternly. He set more supplies in front of them, then continued cutting the dried orange peels into stars.

The other boys quickly set back to work.

You laughed softly. “I wouldn’t actually cancel Christmas, you know that, right?”

“Not worth the risk,” Soobin said, waving a hand to dismiss it.

You shook your head, still smiling. They were adorable, and you doted on them more than you expected to. Part of you blamed the hormones, but you also knew it was because they were so young, and because they had all been through a lot in their lives. You’d doted on Soobin before all of this, but now you were seeing him grow with these other boys.

Made you feel old, and you really weren’t that old.

Huening Kai was just a baby, too. A cutie-pie who needed to be protected at all costs.

They all were, really.

Beomgyu looked at you strangely. “Are you okay? I’m sensing something…weird.”

“I’m fine?” You answered, shrugging. You picked at the snack, looking over the garland before tying it off. “Soobin, go put this on the tree.”

He got up and took it, pausing.

“Start from the top, wrap it around in a way the looks pretty, working toward the bottom and keeping in mind that there will be a few more strands.” You scrunched your nose as a sort of tightness   pressed on your stomach.

Huening Kai was trying to remember the words to a Christmas song, debating with Yeonjun playfully until you went to get your songbook to settle the matter since they were just making it worse.

You got up slowly, wincing a little. Your ankles were swollen and your feet hurt. So did your back. You’d been doing easy exercises to strengthen your body as the pregnancy progressed, but it still didn’t do much to help since the doctor you were seeing in the town nearby had told you to take it easy. You weren’t strictly on bed-rest, but she wanted you to act as much like you were as possible, and the boys had been making sure you obeyed.

You found the book, but instead of going out, you stared at the book, looking at the doodle Jimin had drawn on the front.

He had been teasing you, mostly because he knew what you had gotten Tae for Christmas, while he had been hand-drawing cards for the other boys and his marker had slipped onto the book he was using as a hard surface—your Christmas music. So, to make it up to you, he had turned the mark into a cute little snowman.

That was the year that you had gotten Yeontan for Taehyung.

You missed the domesticity of your life with the boys. You wanted them here.

You wanted them freaking out when they felt the baby kick for the first time, or staring at the ultrasound and asking you what was what again and again. Freaking out if you so much as got out of bed when they weren’t sure if you were supposed to or not. Reading the books with you, freaking out when you made them find out exactly what happens during birth. Fighting over who would get to be with you during the birth of the baby. How they would handle the hospital.

But that wasn’t possible.

“Y/n!” Soobin called, sounding alarmed.

Then Beomgyu hurried in. “There’s a group approaching, Hueningkai says they’re armed.”

“Okay, remember the plan. Stick to the plan.” You tossed aside the book, running through your repertoire of songs that wouldn’t accidentally harm the boys while you were trying to help keep them safe. Your powers were somewhat unpredictable lately, so you had to play it as safely as possible.

“Y/n, I don’t think you should,” Beomgyu said, grabbing your arm. “You’re health is different than even earlier this morning. Please just let us take care of you. I know it’s not in your nature, but it’s necessary. This is why we’re here, isn’t it?”

You slowly nodded, then stepped back. “Alright. But I’m establishing the communication network.”

Beomgyu nodded.

You hummed the song you’d come up with a couple weeks ago, which melded the various powers of you and the boys to form a sort of mental communication to each other. It was the safest song you had right now. “Update.”

“Four men to the south, three to the west, two to the east,” Hueningkai said.

“I’ll get the ones on the south,” Yeonjun said. “Blind the ones to the west.”

“I’ve got the ones to the east,” Soobin told them. “Hold until we know their intentions.”

You nodded, silently agreeing with Soobin’s assessment.

Beomgyu sat beside you, listening to the boys call out their positions. “We’ll be okay, y/n. Try to relax.”

You glanced at him, but mostly were focusing on sensing out there. The foreign melodies. The inclination toward major or minor melodies and the dissonant or harmonic chords, how it all fit together. “Be ready. They sound more hostile.”

“We’re ready,” Taehyun said. “I’ve got eyes on all of you. Yeonjun, Huening, try to increase the snow-fall to inhibit them more.”

“Got it.”

“Good idea.”

You froze as a foreign feeling washed over you.

Beomgyu looked at you in alarm.

“Boys, maybe put a rush on that,” You told them, getting up and grabbing the go-bag.

“What? Why?” Yeonjun asked.

“My water just broke. We’re going to the hospital.”

“So…loud and messy is okay as long as it’s quick?” Yeonjun asked, sounding a little freaked out.

“Anything to make sure the house is safe and no one follows us to the hospital,” You replied, voice a little sing-song in alarm.

Beomgyu grabbed the other bag and led the way to the garage. “Just do it. She’s a month early and I was right about the contractions.”

Your eyes widened when you heard a crash outside, followed by some screams of terror.

“Okay, just need to bury these guys and then the way is clear.”

Beomgyu shared a scared look with you.

Soobin darted in and hopped into the driver’s seat. “Clear the snow and ice from the roads?”

“Got it, rest of us our outside.”

You held onto the door handle as another contraction came through. “Hurry.” Your eyes filled with tears, and right then, all you wanted was one of your loves. Holding your hand.

But you didn’t get to have that. Not yet.

Beomgyu took your other hand as the other boys hopped into the vehicle. “It’s okay. Just breathe and try to stay calm. Do you want us to contact them?”

“No. It’s too dangerous,” You whispered. “Just keep my baby safe.”

He nodded. “Nothing will happen to the baby. I’m going to be with you and nothing will happen to either of you.”

You rested your other hand on your stomach.

“Soobin-hyung—”

“Got it,” He answered, then an overwhelming sense of peace washed over you. Almost like when Namjoon would use his confession inducement-type power. This was, admittedly, more agreeable.

“Taehyun, Hueningkai and I will set ourselves up around the perimeter and keep an eye out for trouble. Beomgyu will be with you, and Soobin will guard the waiting room. It’s the best we can do at the hospital.”

“I know. Thank you.”

~~~~

Part 14.   Part 16/Final.

Masterlist.  ~  Series Masterpost.  

Tagging: @ephemeral-mindset​, @alex–awesome–22​, @bryvada​, @missmoxxiesworld​, @knjhe, @i-dont-even-know-fck

[missionled]

originally a dash meme   //—   requested by @indeliblymarred​

1.      MUSIC.   enjoys songs with a catchy tune—energetic music !   gravitates to dance-pop and pop rock, and in particular, boy bands such as nsync and backstreet boys.   first heard it blasting from someone's car.   often listens to more mellow music in order to soothe himself enough for stasis.   is capable of just listening to music in his head via memory playback or connection to the internet, but when he can, he actually prefers to listen to something like a radio or record player, or by using headphones or earbuds ( all good gift ideas if your muse picks up on him liking music ).   the experience feels more … ' complete ' to him this way.   he also likes the sensation of wearing headphones or earbuds in general, especially over-ear headphones because of the gentle pressure and the sound-cancelling qualities ( granted, he can do that himself, but now he doesn't have to, wow ! ).

2.      TOUCH-STARVED.   underneath his adversion to touch is an android with the potential to be physically clingy—but only with those he truly feels comfortable and SAFE with.   urges to touch a close one's arms ( in particular their forearms and elbows ).   urges to touch one's hands ( not so much as interlacing fingers, but more so in that way babies will play or even grip just one or two of your fingers at a time ).   fondness for leaning against one's shoulder ( especially if they're the same height or taller ).   urges linked to a restless need for stimulation:   likes to feel how they feel.   likes to feel safe.   most fond of hugs that set him up so he's able to wrap his arms underneath the other's arms and upwards.   physical intimacy either a pleasant moment to live in, or a comforting background process as he dedicates attention elsewhere.   expect nuzzles if his touchy-feely behaviour has been enabled enough times.   speaking of enablement, -52 feels something akin to embarrassment or shame for having these urges, and will often hold back.   for example, he might end a hug early even though all he wants to do is hug that person for the next fifteen minutes or more, please and thank you.

3.      FASHION.   his fashion ranges from office hottie, to ' i'll stop wearing black when they come out with a darker colour, ' to looking like he just fell into and had to climb out of a clearance or lost-and-found bin.   the third sphere includes a lot of comfort clothing:   clothing that may be one or two sizes too big for him but god, if wearing them doesn't make him feel great;   and gaudy clothing like ugly sweaters, vacation shirts, tie-dye—sometimes a result from him just wanting to wear something cozy and not caring about what it looks like, and other times because the pattern, print, or bright colours are stimulating and pleasing to his system.  

4.      DECORATION.   post-revolution and once he’s returned to the dpd and settled back into work, what is first a barren desk slowly becomes decorated with an assortment of ornaments, ranging from what you might expect on a desk, to odd trinkets, to random items that seem to have no importance and may or may not be mistaken for trash if not for the purposeful way they’ve been arranged on his desk ).   some examples include the JAPANESE MAPLE that formerly belonged to hank but now lives on his desk ( it was way too easy for hank to just slide it onto connor’s desk and call it his ), a doggy PIGGY BANK ( i genuinely haven’t decided whether it’d be a simple ceramic one or a mechanical one that steals your coins—i like the latter idea because of how quaint and utterly out-of-place it would look on his desk, but damn are those loud as hell and could get annoying real fast because -52 likes to insert the coins one-by-one and sometimes empty the entire container and repeat the whole process again ), and some POST-IT NOTES that have been pinned to his board.   one post-it note in particular has a doodle of a cake slice on it from when a coworker brought a cake into the office to celebrate their birthday and when they remembered too late that -52 could not eat cake, they gave that post-it note to him.

5.      SPONTANEITY.   as an investigative android and an android that is ever discovering the wonders of humanity and life, connor has an endless supply of curiosity and a desire to learn.   this includes trying new things.   normal things.   weird things.   ‘ normal ‘ things.   his preconstructing software and psychology modules, while highly-advanced and capable of predicting imminent events and the responses to the things he choose to do or say, DOES NOT SUBSTITUTE the actual experience of living.   as a result, he will sometimes do things just for the hell of it, even if it’s outrageously uncharacteristic for him.   notable examples include: asking friends to duct-tape him to a wall, stepping onto a railing and balancing himself, laying on hank’s kitchen floor in the dark, foot-propelling himself around in a rolling chair, wearing mismatching socks, spilling coffee on himself, asking to spill coffee on someone else, sounding out different words, and balancing a plate on his head.   the great thing about this is that it helps connor develop his personality and interests.   the maybe not-so-great thing about this is that it can seem inappropriate or just plain weird.   or maybe it’s cute.

[bidnezz]

11:45

Here on Ao3.

Pairing: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood

Rating: T (for language really). Workplace AU, Coworkers, Lunch Thief, Silly, Apology notes, Simon is adorable imo

Summary:

Alec’s body is still, his hand tucked into the crumpled bag before him, body heavy and cold with the realization that his pasta is gone.

He digs, quick and rushed, unforgiving to the bag he won’t be able to reuse tomorrow but that’s the least of his worries right now. His fucking pasta is missing. He removes what’s left of his lunch, staring desolately at the tupperware of mixed fruit and bag of crackers, something purple and foreign stuck beneath them.

He grabs it, a piece of paper that’s been neatly folded into fourths, opens it up with shaky fingers that he’s sure is from the lack of food in his system and not at all from the completely valid and necessary outrage he’s filled with.

Sorry! I’ll pay you back!

Was looking for some inspiration and saw a tumblr post with the prompt:

who keeps stealing my lunch and leaving apology notes?

Tuesday 11:43am

 Alec stares at the digits in the bottom right corner of his computer screen, swears he can hear the ticking of a clock in his head. He wills it to go faster, knows it won’t, but tries anyways.

 Two minutes is all he needs, honestly.

 He thinks of his bag in the fridge. Boring, brown, and crumpled from re-use the day before. It’s the treasure it holds that has his stomach responding, begging the gods that preside over this particular section of pixels to somehow speed up time.

 He’s starving, hungers for the leftover chicken pasta that graced his and Izzy’s dinner table last night. If he thinks really hard he can even taste the hint of cream on the back of his tongue, heavy and savory. Maybe that’s just his saliva. Maybe he’s died from hunger and has gone insane.

 His eyes are drawn back to the screen when the numbers change with sloth-like speed and the mantra of food food food in his mind bring him to his feet, his chair protesting at the sudden movement.

 Nobody notices, nobody cares but him that he’s going to lunch 15 minutes early, and he likes it that way. He prefers the company of his grumbling stomach and beeping of the microwave before the only sounds in the room are scrapes of his utensils against the tupperware and content sighs of happiness. It’s his favorite part of the day, the 15 minutes he gets to himself before he prepares for the drama and insipid tales of parties he has no interest in ever attending that his coworkers like to push on him.

 His coworkers aren’t bad, if he’s honest. They’re normal for the most part, and he’s done his best to stay in the relatively good graces of almost everyone. Everyone near him, at least.

 Alec doesn’t venture very far in terms of cubicles, choosing to stay contained and focused on his work. But sometimes when he’s been away from Izzy for too long he’ll feel the creepings of loneliness and a need for human interaction and he’ll drag himself down two-to-the- right- one-up until he’s peering over the edge of Simon’s desk, patient and waiting until the bespectacled boy offers him a story about his band’s gig the previous week, or wistful stories about his best friend that’s just a friend, and he’s totally not in love with her, shut up Alec why are you laughing?

 So things could be worse, he thinks to himself as he reaches into the refrigerator for the paper bag and settles himself into his favorite chair with his back against the wall. He could have coworkers that are raucous and annoying, who squawk and screech when they talk. Or he could—

  Thief!

 Alec’s body is still, his hand tucked into the crumpled bag before him, body heavy and cold with the realization that his pasta is gone.

 He digs, quick and rushed, unforgiving to the bag he won’t be able to reuse tomorrow but that’s the least of his worries right now. His fucking pasta is missing. He removes what’s left of his lunch, staring desolately at the tupperware of mixed fruit and bag of crackers, something purple and foreign stuck beneath them.

 He grabs it, a piece of paper that’s been neatly folded into fourths, opens it up with shaky fingers that he’s sure is from the lack of food in his system and not at all from the completely valid and necessary outrage he’s filled with.

  Sorry! I’ll pay you back!

 The loopy scrawl looks elegant but does nothing to quell his rising blood pressure or satisfy the ache in his stomach. He crumples the paper, tosses it into the trash bin across the room where it belongs, and snaps his tupperware lid open to stab at his fruit with a fork that really doesn’t deserve the harsh treatment.

 He’s going to find out who did this, and he’s going to…

 Well, Alec is too hungry to think of what he’s going to do to them, but he knows it’s going to be bad. Very bad.

   --–

   11:34 Wednesday

 The low hum of keyboards and the occasional mouse clicking that he’s used to doesn’t calm Alec’s racing thoughts like it normally does, doesn’t try to lull him into the dream-like trance of his peers. Most days it does, but today is not most days.

 Today is the day Alec has begun to see his coworkers for what they really are. He doesn’t care if Lydia—who sits in the adjoining cubicle to his left—is pristine in her work and mannerisms and polite to a fault. Doesn’t care that she’s always polished and perfect in the coworker handbook, which doesn’t exist but really should because who steals people’s lunch? What he does care about is that he knows for a fact Lydia still has a stack of post-it notes she asked to borrow last week, a pack that has been almost completely used up to leave reminders and notes around her desk. She still hasn’t given them back, or offered him a new pack, and Alec pushes back the errant reminder in the back of his head that she offered and he refused.

 Because now she’s a suspect and he trusts no one.

 He stands, slowly as not to arouse suspicion, and when he passes her desk he does a quick glance around to see if he notices anything else that belongs to him on the dark wood.

 As hard as he tries, Lydia is perceptive and offers Alec the same picturesque smile she always does, teeth white and blinding in the fluorescence, and Alec does his best to hold in his guilt at his mental accusation.

 He’s early to the break room, earlier than usual, and he hopes that he’s rewarded with the mouthwatering teriyaki chicken and rice he prepared for today. It’s one of his favorites, and he feels his mouth flood with just the thought.

 He grabs at the crisp paper bag, sets himself down in his usual chair and reaches in to find—

 Money?

 There’s a note with it, red paper embellished with little gold swirls that trap the $20 bill.

 Sorry again mon pétit chef !

Hopefully this covers whatever I’ve stolen

I promise I’m not a bad person, just hungry!

Your food is the best. ♡

 He’s infuriated. This monster is mocking him now, taking the time to doodle on apologetic notes while he savors every last bite of Alec’s carefully cooked meal. They have the time for jokes and notes, surely they have the time to bring their own damn lunch.

 The only thing left in his bag is the empty, but thankfully washed, tupperware he had packed this morning. Damn it, he thinks as he shoves his fingers through his hair and heads over to the vending machine, angrily forcing the crisp bill through the slot and punching in his choices. Chips and cookies, highly nutritious and sure to get Alec through the day in a wonderful mood.

 He jabs at the coin return button a few times with no response, and when he glances down he can’t help the strangled noise that leaves his throat and the anger that forms a prickle at the corners of his eyes.

  Machine does not give change.

 He’s never used the vending machine before, not in his one and a half years has he ever needed to. But now…

 Now, he’s forced to sit at his table with a defeated sigh and $20 worth of snacks.

   --–

   Thursday, Alec comes prepared.

 In the morning he comes in wary with his lunch held close to his chest, and he sets it down in the same spot as always. Only this time, there’s a note taped to the front of his bag, a yellow post-it note that he hopes gives Lydia a hint, whether she’s the culprit or not. “Stop eating my lunch” it reads, big bold and to the point. Just like Alec.

 The day passes uneventfully, and though he’s confident nobody will be touching the cut up steak, potatoes and veggies in his bag this time, he’s still suspicious of everyone.

 Simon comes over to pass him a flyer for his show tonight, bright orange and the art is drawn by my best friend Clary, she’s so amazing isn’t she? I mean it, it’s amazing artwork. You know in a few years time this will probably be worth a lot of money, like a collector’s edition or--

 Alec’s ambiguous stare unsettles Simon and he adds a weirded out “Dude are you, like, okay?” before he shrugs and heads back to his own cubicle, Alec’s undecided eyes following his every movement with a sharpness he’s never needed to hone until now.

 Perhaps he’s covering up, trying to extend an olive branch beyond the monetary.

 Alec won’t accept, though. Won’t forgive and forget until he knows for certain that it’s Simon, and has a confession straight from the source. Why doesn’t Simon just admit that he’s been taking Alec’s lunch and apologize? Why does he have to do it in a roundabout way now that he’s been called out? Be a man, Simon Lewis. Admit your defeat, and stop eating my lunch.

 At 11:45 Alec’s visit to the refrigerator is prompt and purposeful, renewed with vigor because he has no reason to believe his lunch has been stolen again. Not until he’s sat on his chair with another empty container and note, livid.

  Or what?

I’ve repaid you for my trespasses.

Sorry again, mon pétit chef!

Today was especially tasty.

xo

 Fuck.

  --–

   Friday’s plan is foolproof, Alec smiles to himself, whistling as he steps up to his chair and sets his thermos and rustled paper bag on his desk. It’s unseemly, looking out of place and cluttered, but it’s a precaution he has been forced to take now, because he’s figured out how to get out of this predicament he’s been caught in all week.

 Gone are the days he comes home, starving to the point of exhaustion because Alec really does rely on his lunch to get him through the days. It’s hard to concentrate on numbers that begin to jumble together on a flickering screen that only agitates the pounding in his temples.

 So he’s decided that he’ll bring a lunch that wont spoil on his desk, something that will still be edible after 4 hours of room temperature climate. He’s testing it with his favorite soup, chicken noodle with extra chicken and veggies, his broth rich and hot filled with all the flavors that make his mouth water.

 Perhaps having his food in such close proximity to him all day is not the best idea. He eyes the thermos, then shakes his head because he’s being ridiculous now. He’ll survive, and at 11:45 when it’s time for lunch his soup will still be warmed and tasty and completely untouched by him or any conspiring coworkers.

 Only by the time lunch rolls around his thermos is only half-full and he’s already got cracker crumbs on his shirt because self-control is severely underrated and Alec is literally hungry all day long. So he savors what’s left of his lukewarm soup, tips his head back to drink the leftover vegetable bits and pieces that have settled at the bottom of his thermos with a grimace. It’s not the worst lunch, but it’s not satisfying and the high hopes he had set himself on this morning are shattered like the last cracker he crunches in his mouth.

 At 12:40 he’s about to head back to his desk when curiosity strikes him.

 Slowly, as if he wasn’t sure what would be on the other side of the door, he pulls open the refrigerator. His stomach twists bizarrely when he sees the carefully tented green paper in the spot he normally leaves his lunch. It looks oddly fitting, he thinks for a moment, like it belongs there instead of the unsightly brown paper bag he always leaves. He reaches for it, turning it over and feeling the weightlessness of it on his palm, despite how heavy it feels in his chest.

 Mon pétit chef -

I’m sorry if I’ve scared you off.

Here’s to hoping Monday brings new gifts.

Enjoy your weekend.

xo ,

M.B.

 Alec feels his face heat up, warmer than he’s ever felt in the confines of his kitchen with the fire high and wrapped in the air. The irritation sparks up again, and Alec doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so embarrassed and intrigued, but he knows it’s all too much to take in right now so he stuffs the note in his pocket and stomps to his desk.

 He scans the room before he sits down, most people are in the break room enjoying their lunch before the hour is up. Most people except Catarina Loss, three-to-the-right-two-down, who meets his eyes with a patient smile. Alec pauses, for the briefest moment he wonders if this is his thief, M.B., but then she looks away, returns back to her work as quiet and unnoticed as always.

 He doesn’t know much about her, and he makes a mental note to get whatever information he can out of Simon later without being obvious.

   --–

   Monday brings Alec in with hesitant, unsure steps, and he feels as if he’s walking into a bad idea.

 He sets his bag down on his desk, pulls out two brown paper bags, and stares.

 He would probably look insane if anyone walked by, watching these two lunch bags with such intensity he’s surprised they don’t burst into flames, but he’s early and Raj who sits behind him is the only one around at this time. Alec doesn’t care about Raj, nobody likes Raj. He’s an ass and if he wants to look at his lunch bags for 5 minutes then Raj can screw off.

 Chill, Alec, he can hear Jace’s words repeated in his mind. He sort of had a panic attack at Jace’s house Sunday afternoon when he realized he had no idea what he was going to do about Monday’s lunch.

 Jace knows about Alec’s lunch dilemma. Knows a little, at least. Enough for Alec’s freak out to seem a little less random and crazy.

 But still a freak out nonetheless, and now Jace isn’t here to calm him down, but he’s got his affirmation in his head that it’s really not a big deal, it’s just lunch.

 He snatches the offending bags, taking quick steps to the refrigerator where he sets them down side by side, one lightly rumpled bag next to an unblemished bag with the simple letters M.B. on them.

 What the hell is he doing? He must be losing it. All these numbers and long hours in a stuffy office all day long are turning his brain to mush and now he’s making lunch for his thief—not his thief. A thief. A lunch thief.

 Damn it!

 This shouldn’t be complicated at all, this shouldn’t even be a thing for heaven’s sake. It’s just lunch, it’s not a date and he doesn’t even know who’s on the other side of these notes. He’s acting like a teenager with these silly games.

 His fingers twitch, ready to reach out and snatch the bag to toss it in the rubbish along with any other stupid ideas he might have come up with, but he leaves it alone. Whatever this is, he’s being dumb about it, because it’s just food and maybe his mom would be proud or something, because Alec is feeding the less fortunate.

 With a nod, Alec regains his composure and heads back to his desk, feigning the confidence he sure as hell doesn’t feel, and when he slumps in his chair it’s definitely not because of a stupid lunch bag.

   --–

   11:45 comes so slow Alec is surprised he isn’t bald from ripping his hair out with each passing minute that feels like an hour.

 He stands, an attempt that was intended to be slow and purposeful but comes off as awkward and causes him to sway with misstep. Nobody sees, but he feels stupid regardless.

 While nobody notices him in his cubicle, he sees the usual smile from Lydia as he passes her, but this time Catarina is watching him and they make eye contact on his trip to the break room. Her expression is calculated, studying his movements and he hopes to god he doesn’t trip and embarrass himself.

 When he opens the refrigerator he’s disappointed to see the brown bag with the initials back in place, looking as though it hasn’t been touched. He grabs it to toss it away so he doesn’t have to take home the shame of his failed attempts at—

 Alec pauses, because he doesn’t even know what he would call this. Friendship? Peace offering?

 Whatever it is, he’s done with it for good.

 When he lifts the bag, though, it’s light and the food inside has clearly been consumed.

 He grabs his own bag and hurriedly makes his way to his seat, reaching in unceremoniously to retrieve the folded note he’s hoping is in there. He’s victorious, and he knows he looks bonkers with the huge grin on his face but he doesn’t care because he’s alone for now, and he’ll smile if he wants to. He sets the note down on the table, his eyes tracing over every letter slowly, admiring the swooping penmanship that he wants to rewrite with his fingertips.

 Mon pétit chef -

Today’s gift was from the Angels themselves .

I feel very special, so I’ll answer your request.

Looking forward to tomorrow.

xo,

Magnus

 He picks at his food, for the next 15 minutes, rolling the name he’s asked for over in his head, tastes it on his lips like the sweetest word he’s ever said. Magnus.

 It’s impossible to get back to work after lunch, but Alec does his best, honestly tries so hard to focus on the numbers in front of him but it eludes him. So he welcomes the distraction when Simon pops into Alec’s space, typing away at his phone and half-attentive to his own story that he’s regaling Alec with.

 “—and then Maureen was like ‘Oh, Simon, you’re so smart you should be the one running this place!’ and guess who walks past the office?”

 Alec gives a noncommittal grunt, and that’s enough for Simon because he continues.

 “Mr. Bane!” His voice is grave and he stops plucking at his phone to watch Alec’s reaction, deflates when the only response is a raised eyebrow. “C’mon Alec, work with me here. Mr. Bane,” he repeats as though that will get the point across.

 Alec shrugs. Simon rolls his eyes.

 “Mr. Bane is the guy who runs this place. He’s like the Sam Walton of Walmart.”

 “Sam Walton Bane is a weird name,” Alec responds, his fingers tapping quickly at the keypad to his right. He’s good at multi-tasking.

 Simon groans and smacks his palm to his forehead in an over-dramatic show of frustration. Simon has always been a bit over the top, but Alec supposes he has to be since he sort of owns a band. “No, Sam Walton is the guy that invented Walmart or whatever, you know the big chain? Magnus Bane is the guy that invented this place,” he supplies, though his voice comes out dejected because he’s sure Alec isn’t even interested anymore, if he ever was.

 But Alec’s brain halts suddenly, his fingers ceasing all function at the mention of the name he’s been repeating all day to himself.

 “Wh-What?”

 “Dude, if you’re not gonna listen I’m gonna go talk to Maureen,” Simon sigh and steps away from Alec’s desk where he was leaning against it. He’s ready to leave, takes the first few steps out of the cubicle before Alec seizes his arm, tugging harshly to bring Simon back. “Ow! The hell?”

 “Who did you say invented this place?” The words sound stupid coming out of his mouth, he knows that’s not the proper way to say it, it’s Simon-speak, but he doesn’t care. His brain is on auto-pilot as it tries to catch up.

 “Magnus Bane,” Simon repeats slowly, as though Alec is a child.

  Magnus Bane.

  M.B.

 Fuck.

   --–

   Alec calls out sick Tuesday, his head pounding with the stampede of a million questions that will never receive an answer if he doesn’t go back to work. But curling up in his bed and burying himself in all the blankets he owns seems like a better idea, and Izzy is gone at work all day so really who’s to stop him?

 Wednesday follows in the same fashion, only now he can’t stop googling pictures of Magnus, and good god, the man is literally perfect. He’s so gorgeous it makes his heart feel tender with loneliness because he knows Magnus is way out of his league. Magnus works 2 floors above him—well, Alec uses the term work loosely, because when you’re the head bitch in charge, what do you even do?

 Oh god, he’s just called Magnus a bitch.

 Magnus doesn’t know, can’t possibly know, but Alec still feels sheepish, and he ducks his head under his pillow to suffocate his shame.

 Not 5 minutes later, he’s got his nose pressed to his phone as he takes in the glorious sight of Magnus Bane on the cover of some trite magazine. He looks exactly like his notes would paint him to be, Alec thinks, sighing as he scrolls to the next photo. That’s how Izzy finds him hours later, cheeks flushed and jittery, thoughts and images of a man so unattainable Alec wants to cry.

   –--

   Thursday is sluggish and slow for Alec, his body genuinely retaliating against him for forcing house-arrest on it, depriving it of the essential vitamins and exercise it’s used to. He blames his inability to concentrate on this fact, and when he tosses two lunch bags into the refrigerator in the morning, he holds tight to this excuse. He’s too out of it to think straight, to really deduce why he still brought an extra lunch for Magnus.

 Why is he bringing Magnus lunch in the first place? The man has enough money to quit his company and live lavishly until he dies. Not that Alec wants to think about Magnus dying.

 Mr. Bane, he should be saying instead. Because he really doesn’t know Magnus enough to be on a first name basis with his boss.

 Little lunch-time notes from a stranger are one thing, but now that he’s wholly aware of the situation, this has to be the last of it. There has to be something against feeding your boss delicious food every day and getting flirty little notes in return, he’s sure of it.

 Something stirs in his peripheral on his way back, and he sees Catarina frowning at him, though she remains silent.

 He’s so lost, he doesn’t know what’s going on in this place anymore. His boss is stealing his food and flirting with him via notes like a kid, his coworkers are watching his every move, and on top of it all he hasn’t told anyone Magnus’ identity so he’s all alone in this.

 By the time 11:45 comes around Alec isn’t even hungry, his mouth is satisfied with the nervous energy it’s consuming because he’s got plenty of it right now.

 He opens the refrigerator to see his two bags unmoved, checks Magnus’ to make sure, and sits back in his seat dejectedly when it’s true.

 There’s a noise at the door to the break room, followed by a soft click, but Alec is too preoccupied in his thoughts to notice.

 He’s pushing around forkfuls of his spaghetti, jabbing his fork rather forcefully into one meatball in particular, but it does nothing to settle his nerves. He hears noise to his side, the soft tap of expensive shoes on tile, the door to the refrigerator squeaking open, the rustle of a brown paper bag with the initials M.B., and his heart races a few beats faster than normal.

 “Is this seat taken?” the melodic voice questions, and Alec feels his jaw lock up, his body tense around the tupperware in front of him.

 “N-Not at all,” Alec stutters. Dear lord, have mercy on his soul.

 Beside him, hand grasped on the back of the only other chair at Alec’s table, is Magnus Bane, asking to sit next to him. Him, of all people.

 Alec’s eyes travel first to the fingers curled around the plastic of the chair as he pulls it out, to the slender arm that connects to an equally slender but toned body and how does he even fucking know that? How can he tell what’s underneath the suit and tie Magnus is wearing?

 Surely the hundreds of google images don’t factor in. No.

 Alec gulps, and he finally meets the hesitant but curious gaze before him and jesus christ this man is beautiful.

 “Thank you, Alexander,” he speaks, his words pouring out of him like warm honey. And Alec chokes. He chokes, on what he has no idea, but he chokes in front of Magnus Bane.

 “H-How… My name?”

 It sounds stupid, he sounds like he can barely string a sentence together, and Magnus watches him. He can see he’s trying not to laugh, of course he knows Alec’s name, he’s probably done his own research on his employees, and he’s obviously caught on that Alec knows exactly who he is and he wonders if maybe google ratted him out to Magnus about his search history, because the smug look is awfully suspicious.

 “Would you prefer I call you mon pétit chef?”

 The magical laugh makes the teasing almost worth it, but Alec is beyond mortified now, because what does someone say to that?

 Magnus reaches across the table, his fingers graceful and soft as they brush along Alec’s chin to tilt it back into place. And Alec doesn’t say anything, won’t ever mention the way Magnus lets his fingers linger on Alec’s skin to anyone, or the way he feels electric in all the spots Magnus touches.

 “N-No. No thank you,” he murmurs, not sure why he’s being so polite when this is clearly not a formal setting, but rationalizing it to the fact that Magnus is his boss and also so insanely gorgeous and Alec is just so average that there’s no way he can form coherent thoughts in his presence.

 “Your cooking really is quite heavenly,” Magnus manages, popping open the lid to his tupperware, Alec’s tupperware, that looks so dingy and dirty in Magnus’ polished hands. It all feels so very domestic, despite Alec having never sat across from anyone so brilliant and extraordinary in his life.

 Staring at him now, face-to-face, Alec thinks that the photographs and magazine covers don’t do him the justice he deserves, don’t quite capture the immortality and timelessness of his face.

 “I’m glad you like it,” Alec says softly, his gaze everywhere but Magnus, because even though they’re drawn to him like moths to flame, it’s too much to bear for a prolonged period of time.

 But there’s time, he hears the whisper of the words in his head, feels them stretch across his consciousness with the promise of the future.

 He’s only just met Magnus, only started his silly correspondence a little over a week ago, but he feels a connection he didn’t know he was missing.

 Suddenly, a questions pops into his head and passes through the filter of his mouth before he can stop it, a question he’s been mulling over for days now since he found out who Magnus was.

 “Why did you steal my lunch?”

 Magnus laughs, loud and genuine and Alec basks in the sound, feels it warm the shakiness in his sweaty palms still.

 “Catarina is one of my oldest friends,” he begins, his eyes twinkling. “I came to visit her one afternoon for lunch and I saw you sitting in here alone, in that very seat.” Alec feels the heat rise to his face and he shifts uncomfortably at how predictable and boring he is. “I thought to myself, ‘what is this gorgeous man doing here all alone?’ And then you took a bite of your food, closed your eyes and looked so peaceful that I decided then and there I needed to try this amazing food.”

 Alec balks, his mouth threatening to fall open again, but he attempts to keep his composure. Magnus looks pleased with himself.

 “You could have just asked me to make you something,” he whispers, more of a thought to himself than to Magnus, but he hears it anyways and gives a low hum.

 “Where’s the fun in that?”

 Where indeed, Alec thinks, and he takes a bite of his lunch he’s made for them today, peering up at Magnus through his lashes, watching his response as he takes his first bite of the dish. And maybe Alec’s in the wrong profession because the soft moan and euphoric look on Magnus’ face makes Alec feel more accomplished than a day filled with numbers and data entry.

 The humor that their first meal together being pasta is not lost on Alec, and he smiles across at his lunch thief, wondering if he’s going to steal more than just his food.

 He kinda hopes he will.

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

Having a whale of a great time!

Scuba diving in the Crystal Blue Lagoon? Check. Collecting pearl oysters and whatever else lies at Sea Glass Shores. Check.  Crafting a bunch of cool floaties and braving the Shimmering Whirlpool? Check and check. Riding whales towards the sunset? Check!

Vacationing at the Sparkle Islands has been exactly what I needed! It's nice meeting up with Lenie again as well as Nico and Dewey. The Fairweathers have been taking a break from recording and performing so they've been focusing on adventuring and solo endeavors.

I can't believe that Lenie's a college senior now - where did the time go? Jimmy's busy with family stuff so that's why he's not with us. It feels like forever since I last saw him - but that's what video chats are for! Also, his kids are adorable and I'm glad to finally meet them as well as his husband. Nico's been globe trotting as usual, full of fun and exciting stories to tell us. Dewey's been taking it easy, trying to create a better work-life balance after taking on too much last year.

So far their break has been going really well. With everything going on in their personal lives, they could really take some time off. Artist's block sucks but sometimes there's nothing you can really do about it other than wait it out and focus on other things. Creativity can be finicky, especially when you've got other things on your mind like responsibilities, burnout, or a busy schedule.

I've been in a bit of a creative slump as well. From running events at the camp to personal life stuff getting in the way, I've been feeling off this past week. Like I can't relax because I have a million things running in my mind. If I'm expecting a call or email I find myself unable to focus on anything else because I'm too busy mentally preparing for having to do something that makes me nervous and often drained at the end.

Fortunately, I managed to get pretty much all the boring and stressful adulting stuff out of the way. But after spending most of last week being on edge, it's hard to fall back into my normal rhythm. I've been kinda on autopilot, just trying to get through the day. Up until a couple days ago I've been feeling pretty meh most of the time.

Usually, to de-stress, I turn to art. Doodling, journaling, knitting - whatever creative medium I'm in the mood for. But when you're in an art block, it causes more stress. As someone who's been journaling for years, there will be times when you've hardly touched your notebook in days, weeks, and even months. I have to say, though, since running the camp I've been journaling in a somewhat regular basis - especially when I started incorporating art journaling into it - but I still have times when I'm just not feeling it.

Sometimes getting your feelings out on paper doesn't help, especially when you don't have the words to explain exactly how you feel without it sounding forced or an incomprehensible mess of words. There are times when I want to write about something but the words just don't come out right, so I end up scrapping the whole thing. And of course, there are times when I want to write about something that's been on my mind, only to end up rambling about something else and going off on that tangent.

Then there are times when your mind is so fogged up that you come up completely empty. Up until today, I've been head full of fog, thoughts completely empty. Still kinda feels like that, to be completely honest, but the fog's slowly clearing up. I think the whale ride really helped with that.

As someone who believes a change of scenery and a good distraction helps when life takes a lot of out you, I find that I have a hard time following my own advice. I'm all about taking time to forget your troubles and worries for a bit, but yet I'm having difficulty doing so. I don't know why, but I always find it difficult to completely let loose - like I let myself have fun but at the same time my worries are always there in the back of my mind. It's like I'm subconsciously telling myself to have fun, but not too much fun. As much as I want to let go, there's a part of me that holds on, making me afraid to let myself fall freely.

What's the point in telling people to escape their troubles for a bit when I can't even do that without feeling like I'm doing something wrong? It's not that I don't know how to have fun - though it's taken a lot longer for me to catch on than most people - but sometimes it feels forced. I don't know, it's always something I've struggled with - at least compared to most of my peers growing up. Maybe part of it comes from being a convenient person - one who doesn't ask for much, someone who doesn't go out of their way to bring attention to themselves - the kind of person who tags along and is just there.

It's kinda like I don't know exactly how to have fun. Sort of like I'm second guessing myself by wondering, "Is this what having fun feels like? Am I doing it right? Is this enough?" and of course, that totally defeats the purpose of escaping and letting go.

I have to say, being at the camp as helped a lot in terms of teaching me how to live in the moment and enjoy the good times to the fullest. It's still a bit of a new concept for me, but at least I'm coming out of my shell - and that's what counts. Maybe I'll never be as carefree as some people - I've been told that I'm kinda low-key and serious by nature - and I'm okay with that. Sometimes I wish that I could be a bit more vocal and expressive and active, but most of the time I'm happy with being an observer and doing my own thing in the background.

It was Chai and Rhonda's idea to visit the Sparkle Islands. It was on the list for a while but for the past year the islands were undergoing a lot of reconstruction so a lot of places were closed. Leyla, who's one of the princesses of the islands, was behind a lot of the restoration and repair of various sites.

Turns out that I just missed her when we visited Maron Heights to watch our friends perform in After Hours at the Opera. Because she was so busy getting the islands back in shape, she dropped by to see the show the night before we came and went back home the next morning.

Like with Kat, Hawk, AJ, and Elara, Leyla's been going through a bunch of changes as well now that things are settling down. Aside from rebuilding the islands, Leyla's getting reacquainted with her mom Archer, who disappeared about twenty years ago in a disaster that left part of the main island in shambles for years. Having her back is still a huge adjustment for Leyla and her momma Rosie as she missed out on a lot. Leyla and Kat are pretty much on the same page when it comes to reuniting with a parent who was presumed dead for most of their lives. Despite the initial awkwardness, things are going well.

As for Leyla, a heated reunion between her moms led to an unexpected surprise - three actually. In about five months their little family of three will double in size. While her moms are terrified, Leyla's at the point where she's fully looking forward to having three new siblings. Sure, it'll be tough as her moms are out of practice with taking care of a baby (or babies). The way Leyla sees it, the 20 + age difference is more of an advantage because she can easily help take care of the babies as her moms will definitely be overwhelmed.

So along with overseeing the islands, Leyla's been helping Rosie take care of Archer, who's on strict bedrest. Archer's doing okay for the most part but the pregnancy has taken a toll on her, especially since there's a high potential for complications. Now with reconstruction almost done - about 98% according to Leyla - she has been spending a lot of time with her moms.

It was by chance that we ran into Lenie and her brothers as well as Leyla and her moms. Leyla's been dropping by to check in on us but it wasn't until today she joined us on a fun filled day of crafting floaties and riding whales. Rosie insisted that Leyla take a well deserved break and invited us for dinner when we got back.

Crafting floaties was a lot of fun and so was diving in the Shimmering Whirlpool. It does take some getting used to though, and one should be a somewhat experienced swimmer as the currents can get quite unpredictable. A bit too rough for my liking at times - not a fan of being spun around quickly because motion sickness, ugh - but overall it was an interesting experience. Definitely more into crafting floaties though.

Maybe I would be more of a thrill seeker if I didn't get so dizzy easily. I can't even look at something spinning for more than half a minute without feeling a headache coming on.

Late afternoon and evening were much more chill, thankfully. Bubble tea, sandwiches, and ice cream at the beach. Building sandcastles and breaking open coconuts. Lying on a beach towel under an umbrella and watching the waves. It's hard to believe that a couple months ago this place was left in ruins.

The biggest highlight was the whale ride. Leyla set us up with some of her friends, who were more than happy to let us hop on and show us the ocean. And I have to say, it was an amazing experience!

For a moment, I was able to let go completely. No worries, no doubts, no second guessing myself. Just bliss and exhilaration. A rare moment in which I get to be in the moment instead of being aware that I'm living a memory that I'll be looking back on fondly someday. It's strange, to lose yourself like that and not feel... weird? Guilty? Disconnected? Like you're not enjoying it enough because a part of your mind is elsewhere.

Riding a whale towards a sunset - what a way to spend an evening! I guess my takeaway from this mind blowing experience is that I need to learn that a part of having fun is letting happiness come to you instead of forcing it or telling yourself that you should be enjoying this. I need to keep that in mind.

[wincore]

chasing sunlight | ten

pairing: ghost!ten x reader

words: 6.8k

genre: ghost!au, fluff, angst

warnings: language, mentions of death

a/n: this was supposed to be a warm up fic but it got long hh sorry for any mistakes!!

You slam the door shut to your apartment in a hurry to enter. There’s nothing you want more right now than to get inside your bed, and fall into the blissful escape of sleep. The room is devoid of any lighting, other than the lights from the surrounding buildings entering through your window, and you reach out to switch them on out of habit. You drop your bag to the floor and pause before making your way to the washroom to rub off the ink that your leaking pen had decided dump on your arms.

That wasn’t the only mishap of the day—you had almost submitted the wrong document, full of less than nice doodles of your professor, accidentally dropped your phone from the top of the staircase (you’re surprised it’s still somewhat working), and you almost got run over to protect a stray cat which ultimately ignored you after a short glance of thanks.

Living in the city, sometimes you wish you had grown up elsewhere—like the seaside or the hills. But you know that the sort of comfort provided by a city as busy as yours is hard to replace. It’s all too familiar, you’ve been here long enough to be a permanent part of the picture and you can’t see yourself anywhere else.

You ignore the light tapping outside your window; even rain didn’t have an effect on you these days. You change as fast as you can and soundlessly get under your warm blankets, the tiredness in your bones lulling you to sleep.

You glare at the unusual rustling outside your bedroom door. It’s too dark and too late for you to be mentally equipped enough and get out to check what it is. Plus, you’ve watched enough crime shows to know how simply checking the noise out can turn out. Not today, murderer, you think as you pull your blankets up till they cover all but the upper part of your face. The rain has stopped, leaving your windowpanes wet and the air cool, but you can’t pay much attention to it. The rustling continues amidst your lack of action, getting louder in fact. You groan softly and open your eyes.

Turns out, living alone means you have to go check out the noise; to make sure it’s not a stray animal or rodent, or other reasons. You know you keep telling your friends you want to die every day; but when you’re faced with this sudden possibility of death, there you are making sure you don’t do anything sudden, making sure your heart isn’t beating too loud. What the fuck does a robber want from your stupid apartment?

Fear laces your silent footsteps, as you grudgingly make your way to your bedroom door. You don’t switch on the lights—you don’t want a murderer or robber to get aggressive if they know you’re awake or something. You wait till your eyes adjust to the darkness, till you can somewhat grasp the situation.

The figure in your living room is darker than its surroundings. It looks like a guy with a fairly lean frame, and he continues shuffling around the couch. You watch quietly as you try to make out what exactly he’s trying to do, or if he’s taken anything. You breathe softly in fear of getting caught and while this is your place and he should be the one afraid of being caught, you still can’t help but wonder why anyone would ever bother robbing you, a college student who barely has anything in their pale apartment.

You let out a mild noise when a pair of eyes shifts its focus onto you. This is it, you think, this is how I die. But there’s something about him—there’s something strange, different about him, something that tells you he won’t harm you, something soft.

You turn on the lights to see a boy about your age, wearing a rather ordinary attire consisting of a beige sweatshirt and dark pants, and a bright red baseball cap covering dark tousled hair. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights as he scans your face, possibly for some sign of response you don’t greet him with. You feel less afraid after you see him—he looks just like any other guy, he could be in your college for all you know, and the innocence on his face provokes you to be bolder.

“Who are you?” you ask, furrowing your brows.

“M-me?” his response comes meeker than you expected.

“Yeah, you’re the one in my apartment!”

“Your- your apartment? Oh, please,” he scoffs.

“What?”

“Well, technically, I owned this apartment before you did.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, more confused than ever, “Leave before I call the police.”

“Sheesh, you have no respect for the dead.”

Before you can ask what he’s on about, he makes his way towards you abruptly, startling you in the process. You take a step back, growing increasingly worried and he stops when he’s barely a few steps away from you. He stretches his arm towards you and nods his head, signalling you to come over.

When you don’t move, he sighs and adds, “Look, I couldn’t hurt you even if I tried. Plus, it’s getting a little weird standing with my arm out like this.”

You raise an eyebrow and gulp before making your way towards him reluctantly.

“Give me your hand,” he says.

You do as he says after a moment of hesitation and your eyes widen when your hand passes right through his, meeting the cold emptiness of air instead of a warm palm.

“H-huh?” you manage to ask.

“Boo! I’m a ghost,” he says with a lopsided grin.

That was not a good idea on his part because the entire chain of events is so weird, you get the desperate need to take a seat back and revaluate everything. You slump down to the floor, sitting cross-legged, and the boy looks momentarily worried at your discomposure.

“You’re…a ghost,” you drawl out.

“Yes. Sorry if I startled you, though. I haven’t spoken to a human in so long,” he crouches down beside you.

“Ah” is all you manage. Well, it’s a lot to process but you think you can somehow come to terms with it. Adult life is weird enough already. But, you think, ghosts are a little unheard in the midst of urban civilisations and concrete-engulfed lives, where the streets are so animated that the dead could never fit in the picture. You snap your head towards him, startling him, and try placing your hand against his chest. It passes clean through again and you breathe out in sync with the dawning realization. Of course you’d find a ghost in your apartment during your busiest semester.

You remember the landlady warning you about this apartment room in particular. They all said it was cursed, haunted; that anyone who moved in was compromising their life. But did that stop you from getting the cheapest apartment near your campus? Of course not.

“I’m Ten,” he says, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Uh, I’m—”

“I already know. I’ve been here since before you moved in.”

“What the fuck?”

“No need to be rude.”

You gape at him before finding the right words to form your sentence. “So you’ve been here like a creep, watching everything I do?!”

“No. Well, maybe sometimes I accidentally saw you change- but that wasn’t on purpose!”

“Oh my god,” you hug yourself, the blood rushing to your cheeks. “You are a creep!”

“I’m a ghost. I said I didn’t mean to!”

You huff before turning the other way. You get up and he follows your movement, standing up to his full height.

“What else have you seen?” you narrow your eyes at him.

“I don’t know what you’re looking for,” he tilts his head and pretends to think. “Do you mean like the times you dance around in your underwear to pop mu—”

“Ahh!” you yell and gesture wildly to get him to shut up before he embarrasses you further.

Ten grins before attempting to reassure you, “At least I won’t tell anyone. You know, since I’m dead.”

“Literally how does that help?”

He shrugs before moving over to your couch and falling onto it. You stand in place and look at him with your mouth slightly agape, still not comprehending how he’s so casual about everything. You always imagined ghosts to be at least a little bit more serious, if not total angst lords. But the boy on your couch—well, he’s just a boy, a boy who doesn’t seem like he could be full of destructive emotions like resentment or regret.

“See? I don’t even sleep on your bed,” his voice rings out.

You don’t know how that’s something he should be praised for. But he looks so harmless, you’re not sure how to react. When you think about it, he’s pretty much like a normal college student except for being, you know, dead apparently. Moreover, he doesn’t seem like a bad guy despite what you’ve seen so far of his rather snarky personality and you assume that if he’s lived with you all this while without doing anything resembling a ghost-like evil, he can’t be all that bad.

You go back to sleep mumbling an awkward ‘good night’ to Ten, wondering if he’d still be there in the morning.

A few weeks are more than enough to make you realize that you are in a regrettable sort of situation—that Ten alone is enough to make the devil proud. He doesn’t stop being a nuisance to you when you’re home, he talks louder if you ask him to be quiet, likes spooking you in the middle of the night and he barely lets you complete your assignments or do anything on your own for that matter with his excessive need for attention. He’s also surprisingly good at startling you—like when you once entered the apartment to Ten doing a handstand right in the middle of the room, yelling ‘Hi!’ or when he creeps up on you every time you’re trying to get a midnight snack or some cold water.

“But,” Ten whines at you typing away on your laptop, “I’m so bored.”

“Why can’t you do the things you did before you suddenly materialized?” you rub your temples.

“First of all, I didn’t materialize,” he says and moves his hand over yours to prove his point. “Secondly, you were more entertaining when you thought you were alone.”

Your ears turn red while he grins winningly, having pushed the right buttons.

“You just love attention, don’t you?” you grumble.

“Only yours, darling,” he says with a wink, making you redder than before.

Ten can’t leave the apartment, unfortunately. He needs something physical to tie himself to, to latch on, so he can keep his human sanity. He’s a lost soul otherwise, and you don’t know what lost is supposed to mean or the extent of that outcome, and Ten refuses to elaborate, so you don’t let yourself question it.

On a particularly gloomy evening, you find Ten playing with your old soft toy in your living room. It doesn’t strike you as unusual till you suddenly realize and stare at him for a few seconds.

“How are you doing that?” you knit your eyebrows together.

“Oh this?” he asks, raising the toy. “I can touch physical objects sometimes. Takes a bit of energy but I can handle it.”

You continue observing him absentmindedly playing with the artificial fur. His eyes don’t focus on anything in particular, just remain sort of glazed over while his lips are curled at the corner as if recollecting a lost memory. It’s oddly relieving to see him like this, looking more human, more real despite the translucence of his skin.

“What?” he asks when you forget to shift your gaze. “I need to feel something sometimes. I don’t want to go crazy.”

“Ah,” you nod. “Do other ghosts do this too?”

“Poltergeists live off this. That’s why they’re so dark,” Ten wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“Dark?”

“Yeah. The more energy you use, the more you try to interact with this world, the darker you get.”

“Oh,” you rub your arm awkwardly. “That’s kind of scary.”

Ten smiles brightly. “Aren’t you glad you have me?”

You are. You wouldn’t admit it to him, but you really are.

Ten’s latest hyper-fixation has been trying to get you to take him to the new art museum that opened a few days ago. He sits on the floor beside you, as the late afternoon transitions to a reddish orange evening, whining continuously as you try to focus on your assignment due this Friday (keyword: try).

“Ten. Stop,” you finally turn to him. “Why would I go with you to some art museum instead of focusing on an assignment that makes for half my grades?”

“Uh, because I’m cute?”

“Th- that’s not a valid reason,” you say, your ears turning red at the puppy look Ten is giving you.

“Okay, okay,” he begins, “how about we go out this weekend?”

“Okay,” you nod, turning back to your work.

“Yes!” Ten punches the air and gets up before beaming at you. “I haven’t been outside in so long,” he adds softly, the look in his eyes outrageously pure.

You feel a pang of guilt as you realize that he might have been stuck in this apartment for God knows how long—possibly since he…died. And you gain a newfound sympathy for him, thinking that perhaps you should have been nicer, despite his tendency to infuriate you so easily. Truth is, you want to know more about him, but the words wouldn’t ever come out. You couldn’t even ask him how he died, worried you might offend him or bring up something awful. You fall asleep with your head against your desk instead of completing your assignment, plagued by your curiosity surrounding Ten growing way out of proportion.

You wake up to darkness, only broken by the city lights that breach through the window, and the warmth of your coat laid delicately over your shoulders. With a strangled gasp, you check your phone to find a bright 1:04 displayed on your lockscreen. Your unprecedented nap might have left you weirdly reenergized but it made space for a familiar anxiety to settle in.

You leave your work after barely completing one-fourth of it, when you realize the absence of your usual companion. You turn on the lights in the living room, but Ten isn’t there. He’s not in the kitchen either—he’s barely in the kitchen, complaining why he should even be there if he can’t eat. He doesn’t seem to be anywhere you can see him, and you figure he must have retreated into wherever he goes when he’s not hanging around you; to the place he possibly goes to think, to be himself. The curiosity that started as a little spark slowly starts to grow into a dancing candle-lit flame when you can’t help but think more and more about Ten, who you would dare to call a friend if only you knew.

You suddenly want to know what his favourite ice cream flavour was (even if he can’t have them now) or what he likes to do when it rains. You want to know what he was like at school or if he has a favourite TV show, or if he likes the smell of fall leaves. You barely know anything about him; and it’s not entirely your fault either when Ten didn’t like sharing anything too personal or closely related to his past. It could be hurting him, so you laid off. Ten is hard to read—he acts a certain way one moment and he completely changes the next. Sometimes you think he has fifteen different personalities at once. You feel a tug at the edge of your heart now, wishing you knew more.

You wander off to the roof, trying to organize the muffled mess in your mind. City lights still shine bright after midnight if it’s a big city. You can see neon signs and billboards in the distance, and skyscrapers sprinkled with orderly lights from each room, looking like lines of stars wrapped around each building. They look small and insignificant now, but they loom over you each time you walk through the streets, blocking the skies and the sunlight to leave shadows of a manmade world. There are tiny cars on the highway far off and the warm glow of the street lamps doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You like to think that every little light in the city has a story of its own.

You’re a little startled by the figure clearing his throat next to you. Ten looks at you with questioning eyes when you regain your composure and smile at him. You don’t know why you’re so glad to have found him but you let it show with a sudden smile. He smiles back, a little unsure, and asks, “You like coming here too, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you nod and make your way towards the concrete railing, Ten trailing right behind you.

You lean on the rail, your chin resting on your arms and let yourself be calmed by the numerous lights of your city, spread as if an artist had splattered paint over his canvas. Whenever you come up here, you wonder the same thing again and again. Here you are, at the heart of the city, yet you have never bothered to explore the intricacies of its veins and arteries. There are tall buildings, short buildings, coloured ones and pale ones; and all of them look like they’re part of some maze, beckoning you to come play through the streets in between. But you have no time; you let yourself have no time.

“Do you like the lights?” you ask Ten.

“Why else would I come here?” he smiles.

And that’s how the conversation starts. Ten likes matcha ice cream, and he likes to draw when it rains. He says feels awkward touching people so for him it’s not all that bad being a ghost—you’re pretty much alone and don’t have to go through awkward friendships. He really likes kittens too, and he wishes he could pet them; that’s the main downside of being a ghost stuck in a world full of so many kittens.

“You were a dance major?” you ask, your eyes widening.

“What? I don’t look it?” A half-smile is plastered across his face.

Before you can respond, he motions to you to play a song. You find one after scrolling through your playlist for a whole minute, shaking a little with the night breeze hitting your face.

Ten moves right at the first beat. He moves his arm, and his head and then his legs. It’s like watching an orchestra perform for the first time—wholesome and satisfying. The stars and the moon look at him as delighted as you do, following each flow and bend. And as beautiful as Ten’s movement is, you can’t help but shift your focus to how happy he looks. There’s an involuntary smile on his face and you find yourself beaming, too, as he continues painting with his movement. For him, it’s as easy as you breathing.

Ten tilts his head at you when the song stops and you pause for a moment to take him in before bursting into applause.

“That was amazing!” you say. Amazing didn’t even cut close but you don’t know a better word either.

“I- uh, thanks,” he laughs.

You end up sitting with your back pressed against the concrete, sitting beside Ten and just…talking. He has his legs sprawled in front of him as he tries to recall the face of his awful high school math teacher, contorting his own into a horrendous expression to make you laugh.

Ten hasn’t felt this normal in so long. He hesitated talking to you about what really matters to him because what even is the point? It’s not like you’ll understand, or help him somehow. Besides, it’s difficult to get the right words to come out or let the fear in his still heart subside when trying to convey something so serious. It never felt right and you couldn’t give him time either.

But now, when you look at him so attentively, like he’s not a side character, a faded presence, like he matters, he feels a swell in his lungs, spilling everything he’s been carrying alone for so long. When you talk to him, he feels like a friend, a human—still alive and tangled in the web of life. He suddenly feels connected again, and a warmth spreads across his chest in a gentle blaze; a flame that had faded to darkness a long time ago.

When Ten sees your head drop as you remember your assignments, he decides, Okay. That’s it.

“Wh—”

“Come on! Let’s go,” he insists, wildly waving his arms to emphasize.

“I can’t go out in my pyjamas,” you deadpan.

“The city doesn’t care,” he scoffs before disappearing behind the door.

While you stay frozen, contemplating whether to act upon Ten’s wishes or not, he pokes his head back in and flashes his dazzling smile at you—and you find yourself locking your apartment door a few minutes later (having changed into appropriate clothes of course).

“Wow, I’m really going outside,” he smiles. There it is again, that expression of his that makes you want to stop being so restrictive and agree to him, whatever he says.

Ten runs faster than you think and you have to push yourself to keep up as he disappears and reappears in between the crowds littering the streets. He looks back at you occasionally, a wide smile adorning his face as his eyes reflect the warm lights from the streetlamps and windows of giant buildings.

It’s a little strange how you forget any sort of darkness when you’re with Ten. He stands on the sidewalk, admiring the large LCD screens of the billboards on top of buildings advertising something insignificant to either of you. His head turns to follow the cars, the people, sometimes stopping at the barely noticeably trees; you follow his gaze to notice the lined-up stores displaying the lucky colours of red, and a sprinkle of gold, for the upcoming new year celebrations. But even if it is a new year, it won’t matter to Ten. He won’t grow older or have anything to look forward to, and you wonder how he holds on in such a depressing situation.

And of course, Ten has to ruin any strand of sympathy you hold for him. He waits in front of you while you catch up and when you look at him, the crinkle in his eyes is obvious. He points to a rat on a bleak poster advertising pest extermination and calmly says, “Hey, that’s you!”

You glare at Ten while he cackles at his own unfortunate sense of humour and wish you could actually whack him. It’s not his actions but the fact that it’s done deliberately just to annoy you that gets on your nerves sometimes.

You step inside a convenience store with the sudden onset of rain. It’s not a heavy downpour but only a light shower that you’ll survive, but something tells you to get in, and not walk back home in the rain. You purchase some cup noodles just for the heck of it, and while it warms, Ten does a happy sort of dance outside the glass. Rain doesn’t affect him, at least not physically, (“It’s not raining in the spirit realm.” “Like that makes a lot of sense to me.”) and he continues his silly tap dance till he tires of it to join you inside.

The showers stop by the time you get your meal (if you could call instant noodles a meal) and you sit outside at one of the little benches with Ten beside you.

“Is that spicy?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you respond.

“Bet I could have stuff spicier than that.”

“Sure, Ten.”

Ten gives you a look before tilting his head onto your shoulder. If strangers could see him too, you’d look like lovers on a midnight walk. The thought itself makes you blush and when Ten notices the pink, he quirks an eyebrow, no doubt planning to say something stupid.

“I know I’m really good-looking but are you bl—”

“Let’s go home!” you stand up a little too abruptly, startling Ten.

Your pace is quicker than normal, as your brain goes ‘no, no, no!’ at the idea that has inevitably attached itself to an obscure part of your mind. Whatever demons were dancing on your shoulders needed to leave before you let yourself think something stupid, before Ten could find yet another reason to make fun of you.

“Race ya!” Ten’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts as he dashes past you, looking at you for a brief moment to make sure you’re following him.

And that’s how you reach the apartment red-faced, your chest heaving up and down, struggling to take out your keys. You enter to beeline towards the kitchen and chug a cold bottle of water.

“You’re lucky you don’t have to breathe,” you point a finger at Ten.

He smiles faintly and responds with a “Yeah, I guess” before proceeding to sit on the floor in front of your couch. You join him and the silence that follows isn’t an uncomfortable one but you would more aptly describe it as a warm, quiet embrace.

You tilt your head back to rest it on the couch and Ten copies your posture. You look at Ten right when he looks at you, resulting in an embarrassed smile on your part. But Ten doesn’t care as a happy smile forms on his rosy lips and you get the sudden urge to move the hair out of his eyes, to touch his cheeks, feel the material of his sweatshirt, truly comprehend his being.

“You know, you’re not all that boring,” Ten says with an impish smile, and raises his arm towards you in a motion that would be considered petting your hair if he had any physical impact whatsoever.

“I would say you’re not that annoying but that would be lying,” you roll your eyes.

He shapes his lips into an exaggerated pout. His eyes occasionally flicker under the dim lights and you find yourself falling a little deeper into his reality. Is it ironic that Ten is so full of life? That he’s brought more colours and lights into your world than you had ever imagined possible?

There’s a sudden thump from the floor above you that snaps you both out of your trance and Ten squeaks, snapping his head into position. You look at him, amused.

“You’re pretty easily scared for a ghost,” you say.

“I wasn’t scared, I was just startled,” he glares.

You want to laugh and pat his shoulder, like friends do—but you don’t have an ordinary friendship. You can’t hit his arm while you’re laughing or pull his cheeks to annoy him, or grab his hand to drag him through crowds, or share food with him. You can’t hug each other when you’re happy or for reassurance, you can’t do silly things like styling his hair into something funny or paint his face. You can’t even be normal friends, let alone anything more.

It just doesn’t work that way and you find yourself getting lost in thought more and more till you lose focus and sleep takes control of your body.

When weeks turn into months, your awful semester finally ends on an okay note, but you and Ten are still the same; though the frequency of your midnight strolls has increased. It leaves the both of you a little happier, a little brighter. However, it does bring you to a dilemma of the heart that you would rather bury till even you forgot about it.

“Why don’t I see other ghosts?” you ask Ten, sprawled across your bed on a Saturday afternoon.

“Because I’m special?”

You throw a pillow at him fully aware that it’ll pass right through.

“Okay, okay,” he begins, “I guess it’s because they don’t really wanna be seen?”

“But you do?”

Ten keeps quiet, leaning against your bedroom wall with his eyes closed. The fine line between the shadows and the orange sunlight on the buildings outside your window waned as the sun sank further. You move your eyes to notice the golden sunlight falling on Ten’s face, illuminating the curve of his nose, his cupid’s bow and chin, and at times like this, he looks like something only an artist can dream up. At times like this, when he’s perfectly peaceful, he doesn’t look real, doesn’t look like he ever belonged to this world.

When the silence starts to get uncomfortable, Ten stands back up straight and looks at you with expectant eyes.

“Can we go to the art museum?”

“Like now?”

“No, in the evening maybe?”

You hesitate before agreeing, wondering why he wanted to visit that all of a sudden. It’s not like you’re against it, but it’s on the other side of the city and travelling can be really tiring sometimes. You don’t want to say no to Ten though; you’re finding it increasingly difficult to these days. He seems to be more pensive, barely responding to anything sometimes, and you’re worried something is wrong. That something inevitably bad is going to happen.

Ten rubs his forehead, sitting alone on your couch while you’re at the grocery store. He would have gone with you and he very well knows you would have let him. What is he doing? He can’t think straight, can’t focus on anything and he’s so miserably afraid he’s going to lose himself, lose his memories and thoughts that he doesn’t let himself talk to you as much as he wishes. He’s not allowed to do this—look at you like that, or feel the warmth in his chest. He’s supposed to be despondent and alone in this cage of a world he lives in.

Ten begrudgingly admits that because of you he wants to feel. The urge to touch, to be in contact with your physical reality grows day by day. He can’t even see in full colour like he used to when he was alive, and he’s desperate to see the pink of your lips and cheeks, the warmth of your skin in vibrant shades. He embarrasses himself with these thoughts and while they give him a reason to smile, he doesn’t want to lose himself in the darkness.

“Are you sure it’s here?” you whisper to Ten.

“You just saw it on your phone.”

“I’m really bad with directions,” you complain.

“I know.”

You glare at Ten but quickly sigh in relief when you see the large building in the distance. It’s appearance is minimalistic as if to say ‘you can come here but only if you want’ and you find it more pleasant than the heavily decorated buildings you would usually find in the area.

Ten takes longer to look at the exhibits than you, each one of them sending him into a new spiral of thoughts. You wait for him with your hands behind your back as you scrutinize what exactly captivated him so much, what he really saw.

The art museum isn’t what you thought art museums were like either. Each hallway has a theme, and when you enter a new one, you’re plunged into a new world. The breath leaves your lips in a gasp when the next hallway you enter is in complete darkness. You wait till your eyes adjust and you start seeing the even darker paint on the walls. When you walk further, you find paint that glows in the dark. Ten looks at the meaningless splatters of light amused while you’re lost in thoughts entirely your own.

You know ghosts are creatures of the dark (if you could call them creatures, that is); they’re not supposed to have any consciousness or morality. But here, surrounded by this artificial darkness, Ten is what shines the most. From his eyes brimming with an unknown delight, to the curve of his nose to the languid smile stretching across his pink lips, everything glows with a warmth you wouldn’t expect from the dead. No, the dead don’t glow, neither do angels or whatever souls are likened to be.

The last hallway you enter is labelled ‘Art imitates Life’ in classic cursive. It doesn’t have any paintings; it’s just full of windows letting you glimpse at the world outside. The sunset paints all of these ‘paintings’ a bright red, and it mixes perfectly with the fading blue, the city below adding to the depth.

There are two mirrors, one on each side of the exit, and you think it’s meant as a compliment. But you don’t see Ten in the mirrors as he stands beside you but he refuses to look, keeping his head down while he walks out.

The walk to the subway station is quiet, eerily so and you wish Ten would say something, anything at all. But he doesn’t and you’re left with unspoken words that should have been spoken.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask when you’re inside the safety of your apartment.

Ten hesitates before nodding, fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt.

“I…I don’t know what’s happening lately. It’s like I feel everything and nothing at once.”

Your expectant silence urges him to continue.

“I miss my family,” he says, “but sometimes I can’t remember these details I should and it’s so terrifying- it’s like I’m getting lost and I don’t like- It’s like- like I’ll forget myself and I’ll really- I’ll really be gone.”

You don’t say anything, you can’t say anything as you fight the urge to take him in your arms when he’s like this, when he sounds so broken and confused.

“I’m so afraid,” he says, placing his face in his hands.

“I’m here for you,” you mumble despite the muddled thoughts in your brain.

“My legs hurt,” you grumble as you sit on the couch beside Ten. He looks a lot lighter after crying his heart out, enough to flash you a bright grin letting you know he’s okay.

“You’re so unhealthy you forgot how to walk,” Ten replies offhandedly.

You turn your head to glower at him and swat at his head, and in the sudden moment of contact, you are unsure of how to retaliate. You hold your hand, which turned red from the impact, with your other while Ten clutches his head, his face wrinkled in pain.

After the initial confusion subsides, you look at each other in a whole other level of confusion.

“How did you do that?” you ask at the same time.

“I didn’t do anything!” Ten responds quickly.

“Well, I didn’t do anything either,” you lean back.

Ten’s hand shakes noticeably as he lifts it up and you are quick to bring your own hand to hold his. His fingers are an icy cold, quite like how you imagined them to be, but you still suck in a sudden burst of air at the contact. You steady his hands first, intertwining your fingers slowly till you’re sure your warmth reaches him. When he still sits frozen, like he hasn’t understood what’s going on yet, you press his hand to your heated cheek and he breathes out slowly, as if he still has air in his lungs.

Ten leans in when he regains consciousness of his surroundings. It doesn’t seem real, it’s like he’s trapped in a dream but he swears it’s probably the best one he’s had since he died. Your lips are warm, so warm he can almost feel you breathe the joy of life back into him. He pulls away for an instant to look at the innocence in your eyes before leaning back into you, your warmth, your presence. He cups your cheeks for a better grasp and you shiver at the touch. He almost feels guilty but he’s allowed to have this, right? He’s allowed to feel, right? He didn’t choose to leave, he didn’t choose any of this—so he’s allowed these strange appearances of luck, right?

Ten’s lips are as comforting as they are cold, and you never felt exhilaration of this sort as you let him press his mouth to yours, enjoying the touch as much as he does. When he places a gentle finger on the back of your neck, the other hand on your waist, you gasp and his tongue winds against yours with undulating pressure while the beating in your heart gets louder.

Ten doesn’t speak to you for almost a week after the kiss. You don’t know how to approach him, where to approach him, and it devours you completely from the inside. When you do catch a glimpse of him, he escapes before you can come up with anything to say. The lack of his presence is unsettling as you try desperately to make amends to a tear that’s invisible you.

You surprise Ten when you clutch onto the sleeves of his sweatshirt. His eyes widen at the contact and when he tries to tug himself away from you, you pull him closer.

“Ten. Speak.”

A garbled sort of noise comes from Ten’s throat when he tries to speak and he turns the other way, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Ten,” you urge.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m so scared.”

You pull him closer to wrap your arms around his torso, your warm breath tickling his cheek as you look at him. He looks conflicted, as though he should be doing something he isn’t but you don’t pressure him further.

“It’s my fault,” he whispers, “that’s the only way.”

“What?”

Ten pushes you away to hold you by the shoulders, and although his motion is gentle, you feel the absence of touch painful.

“What if I’m killing you?” he says, “What if you’re dying because of me and that’s why all this is happening?”

You shake your head, “No. That can’t be.”

“It is!”

“Ten, listen to me. It doesn’t matter. If this is happening without reason, it’s meant to happen.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Ten says with a cynical twist of his lips.

“Ten, please.”

“You think you’re the only one in pain?”

You keep quiet at that. You could never comprehend what Ten went through, what Ten is going through. You can’t comfort him because you don’t know.

Ten lightly places his fingers on your cheek and rubs his thumb in circles.

“I want to kiss you,” he says, “I want to kiss you again and again and again—”

Ten’s breath hitches in his throat as he tries to control the heaving in his chest. He can’t actually breathe, he’s not alive and burning like you—it’s just hard to break out of habit. Ten meets eyes with you, finding the same comforting candlelit flames and he cups your face once more.

You lean in this time; his lips are warmer than before and you press your mouth against his harder, knotting your fingers in his hair undoubtedly messing it up. He groans softly, the sound low in his throat, but it’s not pleasure you seek from him, it’s the comfort. The comfort when he wraps his arms around you, when he kisses you slowly and delicately, when he pulls back to hear you breathe—even if it’s not going to be everlasting, you’re okay with it. You’re okay with going on midnight strolls and trips into the city with Ten, you’re okay with the friendly bickering and him teasing you till your ears are hot and red, you’re really okay if Ten is there.

“I wish it was like this forever,” Ten whispers against the crook of your neck as you run your fingers through his hair.

He’s told you a hundred times, maybe more, that the dead don’t work like the living. The living gain strength from happy things, like hopes and dreams; but the dead, they survive on darker things. That the dead could always potentially harm the living. But how could he say that when he himself exists as a stark contrast to that? When Ten is the one brimming with feelings of hopefulness and joy, and when you’re the one who seems to be holding to him for that spark.

But like you told him, it doesn’t matter. And it’ll be that way till fate decides otherwise.

[elsewhereuniversity]

Hey there nerd, Hope all’s going well Connecticut. I still can’t believe you’re so far. I don’t think we’ve ever lived this far apart. I’m out here in the North Dorms, my room looks down to the forest and at night I can see these faint lights in the trees. It reminds me of looking out of my old bedroom window and seeing your light on through the trees. Sometimes I feel like if I just walked out into the woods I’d find myself back at your doorstep.

Do you remember last time when I sent you that sketch of the school crest? You remember that weird girl with the glasses who invited me to the bonfire party? Well I went out and met them there. It was Friday and my roommate-Whisper-they were acting really weird when I said I wanted to go out. They actually tried to stop me, even more when I said I was heading down to the bonfire. Something about there being no moon? As if that makes a difference. I told them they could come but they just kept going on and on about a “dark harvest.” Man, my roommate is so weird. At least they don’t snore.

So I head out. It’s cold, but no so much as the dorms. I swear, the heating is so crappy here. I’ve been piling blankets by the window and under the door but it always seems like a draft. But once I went out into the night air I felt warm again, weirdly warm. Well, I was pregaming. I had some trouble finding the bonfire. Elsewhere’s campus is pretty large and I still have trouble navigating the place. I know where Glasses told me to go, but damn, I just can’t remember where. All I recall is their voice saying to find them “where the Oaks all Silver” whatever the fuck that means. I just remember their voice. They sounded beautiful, wistful, and a little sad, like the roundtheroundthereelingroundofshatterin Huh. I’m sorry I kinda drifted off there. Maybe I need a snack. I just start wandering around the edge of the woods. I mean, it’s a bonfire in the dark, it’s gotta stand out right? The woods are huge. You could probably throw, like, five raves at once in there and no one would notice. It can get a little disconcerting. But I really wanted to meet Glasses so in I go. And wouldn’t you know it, just a few steps in and I see something glimmering in the leaves. Like it was waiting for me. Lucky break or what? The music was so weird. Well, it is the music majors, probably trying to be avant garde. The air smelled heavily of smoke and something really sweet. Maybe a strain I haven’t tried? In any case it was rich and floral and made my head spin.

The party was right in the trees, barely even a cleaning. I really wish Glasses had told me this was a costume party. Most everyone was dressed in these really incredible outfits. There was this dude with an incredible Elizabethan costume all done up with roses. And a lady with silvery hair who had painted all these scales all over her body. Someone else had huge light-up antlers on. And there was another woman was wearing a really nice evening gown and a super-realistic fox mask. She had weirdly small hands. I think she was juggling something. But I just want to find a drink and Glasses. I head over to the bonfire, took a weirdly long time, seems it was farther into the trees than I thought. There were all these kegs (wooden if you can believe that) and dancing. Really strange swirling dancing. Some odd trends over here at Elsewhere, then again you know I’ve never been much of a dancer so what do I know? I was just getting a drink when suddenly, there’s Glasses. They were wearing this wild getup, huge faceted goggles, this gauzy dress…thing, and they’d done something to their hair. Looked like a bunch of tiny fluttery wings. They saw me looking and came running in for a hug. I think someone must have had trouble with boundaries because I’m sure I felt an extra set of arms. Now they wanted to go dancing, but I hadn’t had a single drink. But then they pouted and well, I can’t resist a good pout. They were shivering a lot, almost like their skin was moving so I lent them my jacket. They seemed disappointed somehow. Not sure what to make of that. Glasses leads me back to the fire and that weird music. The music, it starts getting to me now. I’m completely forgotten about my drink, the other people, all I’m thinking about is Glasses. Something about their eyeseyeseyeseyeseyes Oof, still hungover. Anyway, they pulls me into the dance and well, I don’t remember much after that. There was fire and eyeseyeseyes and chitteringthechitteringchitteri Where was I? And then suddenly everything stopped. The fire went down and we were standing there in the dark woods. Some people were walking about in uniforms. I think they were groundskeepers or rangers of something. I saw one talking to this really weird dude with like, a wild sequined robe on. She was going on about some treaty and poaching or whatever. I guess there’s wild animals in the woods or something. And then next thing I know I’m on the lawn outside the North Dorm, the one that looks over the quad and the sun’s rising. I’m all alone, I left my jacket with Glasses. That said I was feeling really warm, I guess all the dancing got to me, I don’t really remember. Must have gotten a really bad contact high or something. Anyway when I got in Whisper had set all these nails around the door. They are super into the most bizarre school traditions. Like, weirdly into them. But that’s a legacy for you. And they keep spilling their seasoning around me, it’s getting annoying, I keep finding salt in my clothes. If I didn’t know any better I’d say they were doing it on purpose. In any case they haven’t been spending as much time in the dorms so at least I get a little privacy. Might be helpful if I hit it off with Glasses. Anyway that’s how things are going now. I gotta run, I have Intro to Psychology in ten minutes and I’m still having trouble finding my way around. Oh and let me know if you ever figure out what’s up with your email address. Otherwise we’re just gonna have to keep the postal service alive all by our lonesome.

Later, Firefly

P.S. I couldn’t stop thinking about Glasses so I doodled them during psych. Here they are sans goggles.

x

[boymeetsweevil]

bts as boyfriends

a/n: tbh this was basically a list of things i just had swirling around in my head and its basically a continuation of my moments w/ bts and sleepovers w/ bts

Kim Seokjin

Squishes your cheeks together in his big ol’ hands because he can and because he thinks you look cute that way

Is highkey a fan of having matching stuff, but not full-blown couple outfits

thats where he draws the line >:|

Created a separate instagram account just to document the meals you guys have together on your date nights

Dumb (but cute) snapchats of him doing that fast yelling thing he does but he just tells you how much he misses you rly aggressively

also spams you with selfies and videos from other members’ accounts

Pets names hmmm

prefers to call you Doll 

yeobo seems too serious (its what his parents call each other)

Sweetie/Honey makes him feel like an old woman

On your one year anniversary he gave you a 5000 dollar watch but presented it in a box wrapped in printer paper that had his face printed all over it that he made in Microsoft word with some of the editing crew’s help

all of his gifts get wrapped this way 

Jin Is scary serious when you take a selfie together

“Babe, this isn’t the angle--quick lets move over here so we can still catch the light” ***proceeds to sprint ahead of you to some random spot where the lighting is optimal and hurry u over like “ >:( cmon the sun is setting” ***

Is not your typical PDA type, will do weird things just to embarrass you

puts his hand in your back pocket while you’re in the starbucks line and smiles when you give him incredulous side eye

rests his phone on your head to mock you for being shorter than him

Links arms with you like old lady gal pals while you’re walking because he knows you HATE IT

fake moans when you swat his arm for being weird and embarrassing

you shushing him and ending up just glaring because he has no shame and there’s an old man glaring at u on the subway

You can bet he tests out recipes on you!

some of ur most romantic nights have been when you come over just casually but the whole house smells like food he’s been tweaking

you sit at a stool by the kitchen island and he comes by with like 8 different sauces you need to try and noodles to test for texture

He is the type of boyfriend that thinks its funny to gross you out

he eats food the fell on the floor just to piss you off

will kiss u while he’s chewing gum :(

touches u with his bare feet  :((((((

Min Yoongi

Is less bold but NEVER lacking with his affection

Likes to take walks in any weather

E.g. Loves when its rainy because then you have to huddle close because he INSIsts on sharing an umbrella

E.g. Will even walk in the winter/end of fall because he likes to share mittens and scarves - this is the closest thing to cheesy you will ever get with him

Isn’t the type to send selfies

if he does, its just of his shoes of the day with an ironic caption like “rate my fit and i’ll follow back” 

Readily accepts all of your selfies, though

Upgraded his phone 2x just so he could have the extra storage to save all your photos

a lot of them are blackmail worthy, which is the reason for saving them half the time

Yoongi Is a champ when you get drunk

will hold your hair back

lets you spit your gum out into his bare fucking hand before u hurl and will not flinch 

rejects all of your lewd propositions, but may record you and play back your whiny drunk voice the next morning to make you reconsider taking shots next time (PS u dont ever reconsider)

he likes home dates too, obvi

usually you schedule naps at his place because everything about his bedroom is better than yours

mattress is huge and the perfect firmness

sheets are higher thread-count 

can sleep with his hand up your shirt all he wants because he doesn’t have any roommates at his own place

pillows are always cool to the touch BUT

he might schedule dates at your place if he’s been away and just wants to bury himself in your smell. Speaking of...

...Yoongo is a smeller

he is always smelling you, loves how you smell

He smells your hair while zoning out waiting for his americano to come out when ur at a cafe

He’ll wrap himself around you from behind and sniff your neck idly while he plays candy crush on your belly while u try to cook dinner

Nicknames vary on his mood/your behavior

brat - for when you’re being a brat duh

kid - default, all purpose and a little mocking

your last name when he’s feeling rowdy

your first name when he’s emotional

Jung Hoseok

Hobi always runs full force at u when he sees you even if you’ve been in each other’s faces all week

Whenever he’s bored and you’re nearby he’ll moonwalk around you

You love to watch him practice but you also hate it because if you make eye contact he’ll come over and try to pull you in to teach you

He’s tried to teach you to dance dozens of times and you never get any of his choreo

usually it ends in him maneuvering you into a slow 2 step

which then always becomes a tiny makeout session

but honestly so many other random activities you do together turn into makeout sessions because tbh hob is a bit of a greaseball

this means that half the time you’re ignoring him pawing at u and making cheesy jokes during inopportune times 

the other half of the time ur dragging him by the collar and looking for an empty room to take him into because u dig him and his cheesy horndog antics

He’s also lowkey highkey a dudebro

crowds you because he wants to chest bump and ur like “-.- again?”

kept trying to get your secret couple greeting to be that little surfer hand thingie he does with tae sometimes and u said no because neither of u are 8 anymore

likes spontaneous dates, so usually you’ll text him wyd and if he’s free he’ll just answer ‘coming to get u now’ and then you sigh and slip on your shoes and wonder when you’ll be able to have a date where its not 10:30 at night and you’re not wearing sweats and ur not going out just to go eat some chicken by the Han

You utilize all your privileges that you have dating him to visit Mickey

any time there is a break in the guys’ scheduling you say you want to visit mickey

He lowkey hates those days because you just lie on the floor next to mickey and eat the snacks his mom puts out and COMPLETELY ignore him

u and his sister take turns petting mickey and telling embarrassing stories about hob while he sulks in the corner

he gets revenge by taking 20 pics of ur back and doodling horns on ur head and spamming u with them

Probably would call you a bunch of weird things as a pet name

ducky, peaches, cutie, hotpot, captain etc.

sometimes calls you sweet thang but only when its after dark and he’s trying to make moves

Hobi is the type to always want idle touch but its not exclusively sexy u kno?

if you’re watching tv together he’ll have an arm slung over you

if you’re out to dinner, he gravitates towards booths so he can press his shoulder against yours

if you’re chilling in bed you HAVE to be rubbing his arm or else he’ll give you the most ridiculous pout [its so cute tho :’C ]

Thinks you’re the funniest person alive, is always laughing at stuff you said whether if was supposed to be a joke or not

which means he does that deep hiccuping giggle all the time and you just :’))))))

He’s so patient and let’s you test out all your new skin care products on him because he likes having your hands on his face and the way you talk softly half to him, half to yourself while you talk about what you’re doing

maybe its ASMR lmao

Kim Namjoon

The first thought you had after you started dating was that you could touch his dimples any time you wanted

so naturally you do

he has long since gotten used to you just touching them while he’s driving, reading, listening to music, just existing

the first time you did it he was just talking to you about something and when he felt your finger nudge his dimple 

Joon: “I feel like if we visited in the spring we could go frog catching and maybe then we could-----*you jam your finger into his dimple*

You: and? what were you saying?

Joon: uhhhh I forgot :0

a fan of couple outfits but not in the same sense Jin. its more like he likes to plan your outfits

he gets really excited when he thinks of something you would look good in and always gets really bashful right before he shows it to you because he wants you to like it

he has great taste and is very observant of u and ur style so there has never been a time where he has planned an outfit for u and u looked less than amazing

same for photos, he takes really good artsy photos of you all the time

thats what 80% of dates with him are

walking through the city at night so he can take a picture of you with the city scape behind you

or going to those instagram-able cafes in the city during their slow hours so he can pictures of your coffees and you sitting next to a pastel neon sign that says like Love Hurts or something edgy like that

taking photos like that one girl and her bf who travel alot on ig, u know the one

but u never actually manage to get a good shot like that because ur always like ‘joon my arm hurts why dont u be the girl’

He’s in general big on googling popular activities and getaways and making a big deal of documenting it 

as a result: he’s been working on a scrapbook and he thinks you don’t know but you and all 6 other members and even Bang PD know about the scrapbook

he gives it to you on your anniversary and even though youre expecting it, you cry

he takes photos of that too and it goes in the one for next yr lol

He calls you baby of course

but not in an exaggerated/pronounced way

it comes out super naturally and he says it more than he says your actual name

u better Get used to just turning around and catching him giving you that one soft smile he does with his whole face 

“is there something on my face?” 

“no, just enjoying the view <3”

Always wants to make your plate when u visit his home, and always ALWAYS gives you too much food

going there and realizing that maybe its a family thing as you watch his mom heftily scoop vegetables onto his dad’s plate while his dad looks on in worry about where he’s going to fit it

Using Joon’s lap as a pillow!!!

he can read and stroke your head while you snooze

him humming off key because he thinks it helps you sleep

Park Jimin

Before you started dating, Jimin seemed like the guy that everyone loves because he’s effortlessly cool and charming

And he is even after you start dating BUT

He is also a little praise monster and lives for your compliments

Jimin takes advantage of the fact that you are obviously enamored with him and will do things to fluster you on purpose

runs his hands through his hair because he knows you can’t look away

gets unnecessarily close to tell you things because he knows you get goosebumps when he whispers in your ear

plays chicken with you all the time

slow looks at u until u squirm

HE’s a menace

but also reminds you of a bumblebee

Jimin loves to go to see the latest comedy movies and those are always fun

Not because the movies are actually that funny (lowkey he has really bad taste in comedy movies), but because he will LOSE IT in the middle of the theatre and end up slumped over the armrest just laughing his head off

Cue the high squeaky laugh where he can’t even see the movie screen anymore because his eyes are squeezed shut :3

After the movie he always tries to retell funny scenes like

“And then *laughs* did you see the part where the guy *laughs* *laughs more* and then he *dolphin noises*

“Yeah, Minnie it was funny”

He always wants you to come to the gym with him because he gets an unnecessary amount of motivation from those gym couple accounts on instagram

You go in your big t-shirt and shorts and he goes in a similar outfit 

It always ends up with u watching him because again he looks good when he lifts weights and does squats

he likes the attention too 

Calls u cutie

but thinks its funny to sometimes address u as his favorite anime villian’s name ur always like hmm time to go now

He’s a feeder kinda like joon

YOu can’t ever eat anything by yourself, he always wants to cut things for you, spoon feed you 

he’s very caring

This means he also is super attentive when ur sick and will bring u soup and play cards in bed and always refresh ur water and bother u about taking medicine

Kim Taehyung

Everything with Taehyung is beautiful and u feel beautiful with him which is so amazing and crazy at the same time

He is a big cheerleader for u he loves everything u do

You made a badly folded origami and he shouted cute and was so genuine and got it laminated somehow and keeps it as a keychain accessory

He’s always showing you things

like some of his favorite classical art pieces that he’s saved pictures of on his phone

sometimes he tells you about how he can’t wait to plan the perfect trip to europe with u so u can visit some of his favorite pieces face to face

Always showing u his new (and old) favorite songs and movies

some of ur dates are going to see old films or foreign films at this one really hip theatre in the city

he bought a gramophone a little while back before u started dating and he loves to play records for you and lie with you on the floor and show u  the best parts of the song with his hands in the air

He has a fancy camera too that he uses to document “special moments”

when u asked him how come he always uses it to take picture of u then he was like everything with u is special and u had to tackle him and cover his whole face in kisses because he cant just say things like that without facing the consequences

He keeps a journal where he doodles in the margins and writes songs and poems that only some people have seen like yoongi or jimin

he tried to draw you once and it came out looking a little strange but he’s still learning and u love him for it

He also gets soo sooo excited when you show him your favorite things

u dont do it as much because they dont seem as cultured or pretty but u show him a movie from ur childhood that u still watch once or twice a year and his eyes were huge the whole time and he was so glad to watch it with you

Calls u Jagi because he likes what it means and its truly accurate

U guys are just on the same wavelength and he really appreciates that u dont find him weird or quirky or overly pretentious even

u finish each others sentences and can predict moods pretty well its a little scary for the guys to watch u talk to each other in half sentences and know what the other means

When u first met, it was through Joon because he thought u guys would click and he was super nervous and worried because a lot of ppl don’t really GET him

Maybe at ur blind date a song came on in the restuarant u were in and it was a song he really liked

and then u were really shyly like “it feels like when you find a really special spot in the woods that nobody knows about” and hes like

“yeah, it really does” and then goes home and writes ur name 20 times in his notebook before getting the courage to call u about a 2nd date

Jeon Jungkook

You already know what it is with this kid: MEME CENTRAL

seriously ur texts are like 80% reaction pictures you downloaded off the internet that just get cycled over and over again because they’ve started to replace certain common phrases and emotions

Yoongi tried to jack JKs phone once and read the messages out loud to the members to try and embarrass him and he actually couldn’t read the last 24 hours of messages because it was literally all pictures/emojis

JK thinks ur laugh is the best sound he’s ever heard and is always trying to bring it out

he makes so many weird faces

those also become memes in the chat

he does so many exaggerated moves from choreo just to get u to crack up

does random weird things with his voice at inappropriate times to get u to choke

Like Jimin he is a praise monster

he wants u to think he’s impressive because he thinks ur very accomplished and cool and he’s still very much the young shy boy he was before joining the band.

Does flips because he knows u love it and won’t leave u alone until u confirm that u are in fact watching

JK: “Hey, hey, watch this LOOK are u looking?”

YOU: “Yes oh my god what?”

JK:*Does a backflip*

YOU:.........DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDEEE WTF ITS LIT IN HERE

JK: *internally* i can die now

Get ready for some next level cuteness OMG

the little nose scrunch will become the most frequent thing

u will be ruffling his hair and it’ll tickle so he’ll scrunch his nose and u’ll just explode its amazing

The BABY SMILE every time its been a while since you’ve seen each other

You’ll practically tackle him and he loves it and spins u around a little too fast

Those big sparkly eyes that he has?????

prepare for those when its his night to cook but he doesn’t feel like it and says he wants to order pizza for the billionth time

You can’t say no to him ever

gaming is not your thing but he will rope you into a 3 hour Fortnight tutorial because u love him

Not really big on pet names, or like any names for that matter

but he will use your actual name for when he wants ur undivided attention

Is scared that you think he’s immature so sometimes he’ll try to go a day without making a joke and then its ur job to try your hardest to crack him up

this is good because ultimately u also love his high pitched loud laugh 

[cleverbroadwayurl]

The Lady of Shalott (Connor Murphy x SlightlyFem!Reader)

Word Count: 2692

A/N: Me??? Writing Connor Murphy like Chloe Price from Before the Storm??? Yes. Also! I implied a little bit of fem!reader, and I did ask if anyone was against that, and no one said no, so uhhh here it is! I tried to make it not so tough to read but it’s hard to do that when you’re talking about the Victorians who were kinda snooty. Also! This is a real poem! I have a love of it, and the paintings are absolutely stunning! Just do a quick Google search to find them! And uhh if you want to be tagged in all of my work, you need to let me know bc I don’t know about that right now. 

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of marital assault, mentions of assault, mentions of Victorian era laws (which are horribly sexist), some dickwad, bad ending, language IF I MISSED ANY PLEASE LET ME KNOW

Connor rubbed his eye with his hand before checking the analog clock once again. 7:28. Fuck first period. With a glance at the board, he was met with the empty white surface. A hint of dread rose within him. Ever since his British Literature teacher said that everyone from the Romantic Era had died by the time the Victorian Era came around, except of course, for Connor’s least favorite poet, he’d been preparing for the worst ever since.

He hadn’t done his homework from the night before. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t normally do it—he typically liked English. His dad on the other hand, he did not like. Connor scoffed at last night’s fading memory, the image of Zoe’s cookie dough ice cream wrapped into his arm, a spoon in the other, while Larry went batshit about “stealing your perfect sister’s ice cream” for the fifth time that month. It wasn’t like he was taking it. He just wanted something sweet at 2 AM instead of sleeping. It wasn’t like he could sleep anyways. He was out of weed anyways. Fuck sleep. Fuck Larry. Fuck Perfect Zoe’s ice cream.

“Alright let’s get started,” Mr. Rand called out, picking up his anthology and flipped through the pages. “The Lady of Shalott. What do we think?”

Wait a minute. Connor had read that poem. Well, not read. No, Connor had enjoyed that poem, which was a first, especially ever since the bastard Wordsworth came into his life. He was silently thanking whoever he could—fate maybe—that it wasn’t that pretentious dick who loved nature so much he thought that “God himself has created Heaven on Earth” or some dumb shit. No, this was a fairytale poem about a badass lady who looked out her window, saw an attractive man, and then was banished to death by a curse that was placed on her years ago. It was like a really dark fairytale. And Connor had a soft spot for the original Brother’s Grimm stories.

And, on the bright side, he wouldn’t have to lock himself in the bathroom for getting so fed up with Wordsworth’s outlook on life (well, that and his classmate’s discussion) and how everything would be perfect if we all just loved nature. Yeah, Connor tried that. It didn’t work even a little bit. If anything, it made things worse for him. Being alone with his thoughts was not a good phenomenon, to say the absolute very least. So a break from the nature-loving freak himself was like walking under a waterfall into a right of passage.

“I think it’s like a fairytale!”

It was going to be one of those discussions. Alright. Fine. Connor took a deep breath and hoped that the conversation would get a little bit more exciting before he would leave and chill in the silence of the bathroom while everything around him remained still. It was the one thing he could control; that he could keep calm. He decided he’d give it another 20 minutes before leaving.

He chose to zone out a little bit, his pencil doodling a little boat, scarves and rags coming out of it. He’d draw the actual Lady of Shalott later. It was now that Connor wished he’d gotten a coffee from literally anywhere to help him stay awake and fight off his usual headache of not sleeping. When he’d been open about his head hurting before, kids started to laugh at him; mock him for being “too hungover to even talk about poetry”. The truth was that he was never actually hung over—extremely hungry, yeah, but that was kind of a given. And that was another thing that the coffee he so desperately craved helped with. He knew it was too late to get it right now, though. His drawing was just only getting started, guidelines still very prominent.

His black nail polish hit the paper, and he stopped for a second, assessing the damage that had been done. He liked it. Yeah, it was a new wave of hurt, it could symbolize the violent calmness of the Lady’s death. Connor made a few more marks, giving the image a real feeling of rage and empathy. He liked it. It was more than pretty. It was telling of what he assumed deaths of this caliber were like.

“Let’s talk about some Victorian history, okay?” The teacher queued up his PowerPoint before walking back to the front of the class, adjusting his blazer just slightly. Why was this teacher so pretentious? He was always way too chipper for this time of day; it was like he’d just swallowed a spoonful of straight caffeine. Connor rolled his eyes before pulling out a pen for the accents of his drawing.

“Now, in the Victorian era, women were typically referred to Angels of the Household. They did practically everything in their power to make the home perfect and ‘just so’ for her husband.

“Another term came along with the Angel of the Household, however. That term was Fallen Angel; or a woman who did not do the chores she was expected to and would also often commit adultery. Now, adultery was a pretty common thing among men, especially since divorce was so unheard of and frankly only for the exceedingly rich. And if the woman committed adultery, the husband and the rest of society would shun her, causing her death or causing her to be exiled. The deaths were a lot more frequent and usually were water based. Women would jump off bridges or purposely drown themselves in some way or another. Given this new information, what can we say about the Lady of Shalott?”

“She got what was coming to her.”

Connor rolled his eyes. He had to restrain throwing his pen at that one kid. He didn’t know names, but knew that that kid was more annoying and ruder than Jared Kleinman. Connor watched as the kid smiled smugly as the teacher tried to continue the conversation with the class, leaving that comment out. While the comment was a joke to the kid, Connor knew that there was truth behind it. He refocused on his drawing.

“I think we should also talk about some laws women had to follow.”

For some reason, Connor thought of his sister. Maybe it was the events from the night before or something. It dawned upon him after a minute or so: Zoe would totally raise her hand like the dumb overachiever she is and state something completely true and wonderful about women today before giving harsh criticism to anyone else who still believed in it. He had to chuckle a little bit. While he was still definitely upset at his sister and often fought with her, sometimes fighting to purposely get a rise out of her, he kind of missed the bond they’d had before. It was weird. Connor dismissed the feeling.

“Women weren’t allowed to file any kind of lawsuit without her husband’s or father’s consent. That includes divorce. And, if they somehow got the money and consent, women couldn’t divorce based on adultery alone like men could.”

Connor turned back to his work once more before he could hear the discussion around that. He didn’t want to hear the discussion around that. If he did, he’d have to leave for the bathroom, and he still had 5 minutes to stick it out before making his final decision to skip or not. So, instead of listening to the cringeworthy conversation, he chose to add medallions to his boat and begin the figure of the Lady of Shalott.

“Good question, Ellie! Women were legally obligated to submit to their husbands. As in, martial assault was completely legal and encouraged. It wouldn’t be many years until that law was changed.”

“Wait! So like assault was legal?”

“No! Not at all, actually! Let me give an example of this.” Connor hoped he wouldn’t be picked. If Mr. Rand used him in an example where he was the bad person, the class would break out into laughter and his entire day would be ruined. He’d have to leave, he’d have to find a new way to cope with this bullshit because his fucking dealer wasn’t getting back to him. Everyone called him a freak now, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like if the teacher called him something like a predator to an entire sex.

“Let’s say Jenna and Erik were married, and Erik assaults Jenna. That’s legal in this time period. But now let’s say Connor and (Y/N) were married—(Y/N) being the feminine figure in this situation” FUCK “They live a very happy marriage, love each other very much, and neither have done anything wrong. But let’s say one day someone forces (Y/N) into a situation they don’t want to be in. That would be illegal because (Y/N) and their assaulter aren’t married. Does that make sense?”

Connor suddenly met your gaze, each of you embarrassed as the other. You quietly eyed your pencil quickly after, a blush ever prominent on your features. You looked up after a solid thirty seconds, refocusing on taking notes on the class’s discussion. Someone else spoke up about you as your eyes met your notebook again, not shifting up this time.

“So if (Y/N) wanted to file a lawsuit, they’d need Connor’s consent?”

This was just getting worse and worse by the minute. Connor counted. He’d been here past the 20 minute mark a while ago. He had 10 minutes left before he could escape. Connor wasn’t going to the bathroom, though. No, he was going home. This was too much for him and his lack of sleep.

“Yes, that’s correct! And I’m sure Connor would gladly give it, as two people in this time period generally love and care for their spouse, even if this time period’s art don’t depict that.”

Connor didn’t need to see your face to know you were beet red. He kept staring at you until he made eye contact again. He shot you a look of sadness. Connor knew what was coming. The kids around you would start calling you a freak, would start making fun of you for this teacher’s dumb move. He had never talked to you, but knew from various things he’d heard around the school that you just kind of kept to yourself and were generally a nice person. You didn’t deserve to be harassed for something that was out of your control. You didn’t—fuck was Connor turning into Zoe?

“Would Connor even do it? Because how does he know that (Y/N) isn’t lying about their acts of adultery?”

Now Connor couldn’t hold it in as he watched  your face meet the light and contort into utter horror. You scooted your chair away from this kid, eyes fixated on your desk as you did so. Even from his seat across the room, he could sense your discomfort and your attempts at distracting yourself from the thoughts that oh-so-obviously clouded your mind. He could see how you held your breath. The tighter that your inhale became, the tighter that Connor’s fist and jaw clenched.

“Because unlike you, I actually believe in the people who come forward about a very personal and traumatizing experience, asswipe.”

“Language, Mr. Murphy.”

Connor’s face turned red and slumped into his seat. Although, he had been victorious. You were staring now, pencil not moving as he could see your heavy breaths take over. He relaxed a little bit at that, but not enough to stop crumpling the drawing he’d created at the beginning of class. His eyes shifted from you to that one kid, fight blazing in his heart.

“Connor is right, though,” Mr. Rand continued, “He would believe them because why would you lie about that kind of thing, especially when that’s your spouse? You wouldn’t. Studies have shown that even in today’s society, you can’t even pay people a million dollars to lie about being assaulted. So, why lie? No one does, Mr. Bernstein. You’re just trying to justify your own actions.”

But the kid—Bernstein apparently—smirked at Connor, happy he’d gotten a rise out of him. Bernstein didn’t even listen to the speech that Mr. Rand gave so eloquently and wonderfully, but to be fair, Connor didn’t either. No, instead each of them were staring at each other, one in victory and the other in pure plotting. He knew that he couldn’t get revenge on this dick now, but soon. Yeah, Connor would beat the shit out of him soon.

“Hey, Connor, right?”

Connor didn’t even notice that you’d stepped up to his desk, he had been so involved in making that one kid fucking pay for his actions. His eyes were now meeting your nervous ones, and Connor tried his hardest to seem less intimidating. It probably didn’t help that he’d chosen to wear all black and was staring at Bernstein like he was going to kill him. And a part of him knew that he couldn’t help being intimidating—rumors spread around this school almost better than cholera had in the Victorian age. To you, and everyone else, he was scary and unstable, ready to strike at any moment. He wished it wasn’t like that, especially with someone who was as needlessly as nice as you. And now, he had proof that the rumors were true.

You were making an effort to at least be nice to the poor kid who sometimes can’t keep his feelings in check. Yeah, he has outbursts, he just wished they weren’t as often as they were. And you knew that—or at least, he assumed you knew that. And yet, you were still talking to him, like he were a real person and like everybody else in the entire school didn’t treat him like some zoo animal that they didn’t even pay to see.

“I just wanted to say thank you for like…defending me back there. That kid deserved it.” You smiled nervously, shifting your feet as you stood in front of his desk.

“Yeah. No problem.” He stated, trying to be as not scary as he could be, “Human beings need to be treated with respect, you know? Plus, that one kid calls me a—”

“Hey freak!”

Connor’s hands balled up and his breathing became staggered. He quickly packed up his stuff before walking off, giving you a small nod as he continued on with his day. It was almost like for a moment he’d forgotten he was in this shit school with people who commit fuckery at all hours of the day. He stepped into the bathroom; choosing to at least try to go to second period. But he’d have to be late. Yeah, he needed to calm down from that encounter and he just…he couldn’t take anyone with that shitty sense of humor at the moment.

^^^

Connor rubbed his eye with his hand as he walked into the classroom. 7:28. Fuck first period. With a glance at the board, he was met with the empty white surface. A hint of dread rose within him. Ever since his British Literature teacher said that everyone from the Romantic Era had died by the time the Victorian Era came around, except of course, for Connor’s least favorite poet, he’d been preparing for the worst ever since.

He hadn’t done his homework from the night before. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t normally do it—he typically liked English. But he’d lost the motivation to the night before for some reason. Maybe it was because he could hear Zoe playing guitar and humming along through the wall until about midnight. And by then, he decided he wasn’t going to do it.

Connor looked up and started for his usual spot, but it was oddly surprised to find you in the seat next to his, pulling out your notebook and offering a soft smile to him. He offered one back before sitting in his spot, careful not to accidently bump you or something. He settled, class started, and for some reason, Connor felt like first period British Literature might just be okay.

[amicweald]

Poems for strangers - Luke Hemmings

The tranquillity flowing around your head followed the lines you’d draw on your notebook smoothly, composing the silhouette of a posing man. Your stained hand would leave accidental charcoal spots as you slid the pencil over his body, shading the figure imperfectly offering a perfect purpose to it. I broke down your mountains, but never you I didn’t walk 13 thousand miles, but I would have walk 100 And to climb a mountain might have been fun, but your curves will always be my favourites The ghost of the melody danced between your ears as if a guitar was chasing after the words. A bass was added, trembling with your heart and then, came the drums as footsteps coming closer. As stomps grew closer, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. The lyrics fell down your back fading as you opened your eyes up to the new voice entering your headspace. “Hey!” he smiled stepping back, fearing the answer “Hi, uhm…I’m Luke.” The blonde haired boy stretched out his hand towards you and you friendly took it shaking it “Hi, there” you smiled confused, you not very used to random people introducing themselves. You were resting on the immensity of red cinema chairs, that the small venue, where you worked, had. Alone and happily enjoying your lunchtime sketching and humming bodies and lyrics, away from the burning hell that summer had to fill the streets with. “Ahm, you know, actually” he began, pushing the cushioned seat down to sit next to you “I’m part of this band, 5 Seconds of Summer, and I don’t know if you know us but we’re playing here at-” “I know.” you interrupted him unintentionally, making him stop with his arm up still point at the stage, where the band would play that night. “What? Wait, you listen to us?” his smile grew bigger as the guilt in your chest increased just as fast. You scratch the back of your neck, avoiding his blue eyes “Well, no… I just happen to work here” you smiled hoping he wouldn’t eat you out of anger “I know every artist who comes up in this stage, It’s kind of what I do” you laugh uncomfortably. He was so pretty, maybe if you’d have lied he would’ve kept smiling. Idiot. “Oh, you work here…” he sank a little into his chair and before he could speak you continue to try to make him feel better “I work here as a summer job, yeah. Sometimes I help with lights or sound, scenarios, but the thing that I’m known for is the calendar, I basically remind everyone of what’s happening” you laughed, and he smiled back sympathetically “I don’t really have time to listen to music outside these stages” He laughed loudly, as a sense of relief rushed through your body “Well, that’s a bummer, there’s a lot of amazing artists and albums out there nowadays” “I bet, but trust me, the only music I get to hear throughout the year is the same old boring ones my teachers insists on making me dance to.” your hands joined on your knees, tugging your notebook closer to you. He was such a taller presence next to you. You felt his strong cologne hugging your body making it impossible to forget, his pierced smile made momentarily your heart race and you felt your face grow warmer when you notice his dimples. “You dance in class? I don’t remember that being a thing back when I was your age” he joked. “I’m majoring in dancing, dumb head.” he hummed at you with a smile “‘Back when you were my age’ was like a week ago. You’re like what? 19?” “Close. I’m 20” his hand grabbed his chin, joking a seductive look “Guess I still keep my looks, huh?” you laugh hiding your face behind your hands “And you? How old are you?” “A strong 18 and a half years old, sir” you announced proudly. “So, does this 18 and a half ballerina have a name?” “I didn’t introduce my self, did I?” your cheeks burnt pink just as your bottom lip did, while Luke shook his head amused in the background “I’m Y/n, sorry” “You really don’t look like a dancer, Y/n” he bit his bottom lip next to his black piercing. Something tickled inside your belly before you replied “What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t have the ballet girl body?” His dimples deepened watching you smile “No, no. You’re perfectly fine. I just thought of you more like a musician.” You’re perfectly fine. “A musician?” you laughed. “That was actually the reason why I came to talk to you.” you watch his lips carefully following his hand movements as the voice that was meant to haunt your memory spoke “Me and my band are doing some gigs here and there but we’re trying to build a new album and we’re just looking for inspiration and different points of view of the world, you know. I was going to ask you if you write poems or even music.” the chant of his voice almost distracted you from the question, the one you blushed at, trying not to give away that in your hands were the pages that you filled with melodies, verses and doodles. “Well, I guess sometimes I do.” “Do ever shared them with anyone?” “Rarely, only when I think it’s decent enough” “What do you think of writing a poem or show me one of yours and I’ll arrange a song with it?” his blue eyes pierced your shiny ones to reach your soul, it was hard to deny such offer, but most importantly to deny such a man. “Really? Like you guys would sing and play it?” “Yeah, of course. That’s like the whole point of this album” his smile came up again. His black painted nails drummed against the armrest of the chair, his forearm led up to his bicep hugged tightly by the sleeve of his shirt. His collarbones poked out off out of the shirt’s collar and you felt yourself lost in burning cheeks again. He was beautiful. “That would be awesome” you smiled for the 100th time to him “I actually keep the poems I wrote in here” you looked down at the book in your hand, leading his eyes to it. Looking at it you felt embarrassed by the messiness of notebook: it was stained in its sides, had papers of different sizes folded in it and it was ridiculously fat “I need to get a new one”. “And you write 'sometimes’ you say?” he looked surprised at the notebook, resisting the temptation of open it immediately and read the creativity of the girl in front of him. “Well sometimes in a day, I guess.” you shyly replied. “I knew you wrote poems, you just have that vibe.” he laughed. You opened up the notebook you’ve never shown to anyone. All the thoughts that fill your mind orderer into rhyming sentences were overflowing that book. “I strangely trust you, Luke” you slowly search through the pages, looking for a poem that you were mildly proud of until you reached one about yourself and your journey as to accept you as you were. You apprehensively look at his royal eyes and something weird felt down your body. A sense of safeness excessed from his iris and his endearing smile felt like you were being held warmly behind your back. You hand him over the poem and you breathe deeply while he blandly mouthed your handwriting. After a minute he breath out the last words, startling you a bit “’I am worth it, I’ve always been’…” he took a moment to sink in your words and you sank in your chair out of embarressement “You know, it’s not that well written and maybe has a poor concept, I-” “This is beautiful, Y/n” he looked back into the mirrors and flowers doodle around the poem, completely aroused. You didn’t notice but your heart was pounding against your chest and didn’t know how to make it stop. You were out of words to say, you were not expecting a compliment, it also didn’t help the pulsation of your heart. You looked down at your now empty and vulnerable hands and the only thing you could think of came out in a whisper “It’s really personal.” Some long seconds went by until his sight left the poem noticing you and your flustered mess again. “Hey” his hand touched gently your shoulder unfocusing your thoughts “I’m a writer too, ok? You don’t need to be scared or embarrassed of what you feel. I do this all the time.” he pointed “It feels like I’m giving all of me to art but sometimes you just need it. You just need to get it out, for someone to listen. This is truly…” he didn’t finish and instead squeeze your arm looking at your soft smile. His eyes burnt your skin and you hid yourself behind your hands, leaning onto the armrest separating you both “I’m such a derp” you said. You heard him chuckled above you. But apart from the melody of his giggle playing in your brain, it was his arms around you that made you freeze in your place. His hands were hugging your back making your skin tickle and burn at the touch through your sweatshirt, your heart skipped a beat and you could hear it relaxing and slowing down again from the euphoric moment. Before he let go your arms travelled to his waist resting on his arms and almost magically, both of you pulled tighter in the hug at the same time, as a puff of his perfume filled your lungs. Here you were hugging a complete stranger, a stranger that had just read something you wouldn’t give to anyone and a stranger who made you feel better than any of your previous boyfriends did. His hand dived into your hair, brushed through it and as he slowly pulled off placed his hand on your cheek. Your head slid off his neck, but he didn’t push away. “Thank you for letting me read that poem. It’s beautifully written.” he whispered. You were inches apart, your noses almost touched and you could smell the mint toothpaste in his breath. Your eyes were stuck on his comforting voice and pink lips, just as his were on yours.   But reality hit Luke softly and he looked down at the opened book on the armrest, as he leaned back your hand placed his biceps fell but he gently caught it holding it around his fingertips. You felt drugged, everything besides from you two was blurry, something stronger than anything you’ve remembered pushed you to him and you couldn’t see any disadvantages in that. With his other hand, he closed the notebook and it seemed like his voice hadn’t gotten deeper and sore, but still gentle "Will I see you tonight?” he asked rubbing his thumbs on your palm, the butterflies were ranging inside. “I wouldn’t miss it.” you looked up to him, forcing him to look back. Suddenly everything was crystal blue, but everything you could focus on was the trembling ocean that the blue would escape to show. His eyebrows furrowed as if he was in pain, as if he didn’t want to feel this way, as if he didn’t want to be this vulnerable again. He led your hand close to his mouth placing a long kiss on it, shivers electrocuted your whole arm. He let your hand fall on your notebook and stood up. You wanted to say something, something that would make him stay, but you couldn’t find a poem to ask and you couldn’t find a melody to sing. “Until then, beautiful.” he left with a smile, which only made you retribute it with another. As he walked out of the room, you looked back to the hand he just kissed. Your heart deeply pounded in your chest, the butterflies fond their way out and they were humming around your head, the lights on the stage seemed brighter and your body lighter. Did I just fell in love with a stranger? But he was no stranger, in your heart, you’ve known him for years.

______

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xx