#the full article despite digging around. sad.

[leolaroot]

Scorpius Delecti by Rhonda Krafchin. Wayne Pygram adds a taste of evil to the Farscape experience.

Wayne Pygram deliciously etches Farscape's master villain, Scorpius.

Wayne Pygram likes to tell a story from his first day on set of Farscape playing resident baddie Scorpius. After hours in the makeup chair, the Australian actor emerged onto the soundstage decked out in full costume--a slinky, black, reptilian getup, bombardier-style helmet and full facial prosthetics that turned Pygram's face into a grotesque, grimacing, skeletal head with bad dental work and deep-set eyes. The five-minute camera test was the first glimpse anyone had had of the new character.

"The whole set literally stopped," Pygram recalls. "Everyone put down tools and was looking at me: 'What the hell is that?'" Pygram pauses, relishing the memory. "I felt the power. I had walked into a room and everyone stopped. I automatically felt the seduction. Then I walked up to a friend and started talking to her about her son. How was he? How was it going at school? She had no idea it was me. And the look in her eyes, the fear in her eyes, having this skull talking to her in detail about her son. From that day on, I knew I didn't have to do much. All I have to do is stand there and speak, and people are going to listen because the image is so potent. He's spooky."

Though Scorpius was originally intended only for a four-episode story arc on Farscape, the character just proved too

[viviskull]

For the past couple months, they had been planning to do this long road trip to finally get some more answers for the grieving families that had once contacted them out of desperation as well.  Those families wanted to know what had happened to their lost relatives, where they had gone missing since the bygone decades of their disappearances.  Their bodies were never turned up, nor did the police think it proper to dig deeper into the abandoned property when they didn’t have a warrant to search the factory without proper cause or motivation to.  Although the gang would work their damndest to help provide these countless families some type of closure for them after all this time, the lot of their online research could only turn up so many dead ends through so many articles until they had to start stretching their funds into hunting down the few employees that were still alive.  Through the odd sum of websites that contained webforms that collected dusty rumors years before the incidents, reddit threads that felt more like minors were using them for sad pranks or creepypastas, fleeting OSHA violation reports circling injured staff that never went properly investigated, and even the old Playtime Co website that was of little help despite it never being taken down all those ages ago, they did try to track down some of the little workers that existed somewhere with some lackluster results.

From the lower level workers to the ones that just quit the job after a few months working at the factory, almost if not most of the retired staff they attempted to contact didn’t seem all too interested in helping them with their odd investigation.  Emails were easy to ignore, in all likewise, but Vivi wanted to chalk it up to some of these odd accounts being inactive; or to Arthur’s own fears, these folks weren’t allowed to speak of this incident at all.  Yet to their luck however, when Lewis managed to score the gang some contact with a former toy assembly line worker, the person over their exchanged chats was more than forthcoming with trading their contact information.  While Arthur was more than a bit skeptical of this sudden switch with this being another troll trying to waste their time with some thoughtless goose chase, Vivi was more than happy that her ghostly husband found some type of lead that felt more concrete than the last few useless searches online.  It even felt too good to be true when this Angel accepted their invitation to help search the old factory together, or maybe even indulge them for a bit of an interview since she was probably the closest they had to someone who worked so closely to the live toys.

But as soon as they had left their van parked out near the outskirts of the broken fence, even as they had brought their bags full of snacks and supplies to venture deep into the giant plant (since they didn’t know how long they’d be in there for), they had found the parking lot empty of their guest; leave alone only a singular other car that had been left to idle in Angel’s absence.  Had they gone inside without the gang, perhaps to scout the place out a little while they waited for their arrival?  Vivi could understand some of the excitement, yet Arthur couldn’t help the slight jump in his step that something might’ve happened to the poor worker.  Only the spirits knew that they knew murder wasn’t totally off the table for this mysterious case, too.  Lewis was proof that spirits were known to linger and haunt the earth in their wake, and who knows if they had spoken to some other type of ghost over the phone earlier too.

Yet given they had gone this far in the hopes to put this near forgotten mystery to rest?  They weren’t going to allow their dashed hopes to stop them from turning around now.  At best if it’s a ghost, at least some of them knew how to take care of one and live with some if need be.

With her little white dog Mystery already hot on the dame’s heels, and Arthur and Lewis following closely behind at the rear, Vivi leads the gang into the gaping mouth of the factory; pushing the leaning broken door to the side as it let out a horribly long squeeeeaaaaak in the gang’s wake.  Despite how electricity still pooled into the factory (where someone was still paying the dreadful bills to cover it) like it was no one’s business, dimly lit lights blazed inside overhead as they crept into the first, once vibrant room where they could only assume to be the public lounge.  Dust and dirt litter about the plastic tiles where it had looked like they weren’t the first to trespass inside.  The old computer on the front desk looked smashed in, the desk seemed worse for wear as well.  Some old broken toys even sat abandoned strung about on the floor near ripped mascot posters, too.

“Hmm...”  The leader of the gang brushes a pair of fingers over the surface of the desk, drawing up a powder of dust onto the tips of her indexes.  “.. It looks like we weren’t the only ones to break in, fellas.  At least not the first in a long time, it seems.”

“You think Angel might turn up somewhere, you bet, Vivi?”  Lewis hovers over his wife’s shoulder from behind.  He presses a hand to her shoulder.  “They didn’t seem like the type to just disappear over our texts, or even leave us… hanging so last minute.”

“That’s your call, Lew”  She replies.  “Ya were texting them a bunch the other night before we got here.”

“I don’t know about you guys, but I am hoping she isn’t a murderer for all we know.”  Arthur whispers as he looks over his shoulder.  He crosses his arms, holding them tightly to his hunched over chest.  “It isn’t like we haven’t dealt with monsters before that didn’t like us poking our noses where it didn’t belong, too.”

A Trip Down Memory Lane

⚔️ For @viviskull ! ⚔️

The outside of the factory had long since fallen into disrepair. Once bright and bold paint was not faded, chipped, and covered in the sprawling vines of kudzu, ivy, moss, and lichens that had begun to reclaim the building. The chain-link fence surrounding the property had long grown lopsided and been reclaimed by the foliage already- now the main structure was the target. Grass and weeds overtook the walkways and parking spaces. By all accounts, the place looked abandoned at first glance.

But past the leaves, past the vines, past the weeds; the windows still intact shone brightly like eyes in the darkness. The power was still on - somehow. Flickering lights within showed that the place was still operational, even if the towering chimneys of the factory had long stopped blowing smoke.

This was the place then. The old Playtime Co factory had not seen a soul in 10 years- not since the disappearance of its staff in August of '95. The disappearances were all so sudden. That day, hundreds of people went to work and never returned. No explanation. No investigation. The police scoured the area but no signs of anyone were ever found. And considering everyone involved were adults capable of making their own choices, authorities merely shrugged and wrote it off as some sort of mass exodus. The families of those people weren't convinced but no one had any answers. No one had any leads.

Until Angel.

They'd worked at the factory for quite sometime, and like many, they sought answers. So when the Gang reached out to them for information, they were all too happy to provide it. They even agreed to meet up with the gang to investigate the recent rumors of people hearing things coming from the place late at night. But... there was no sign of them. There was no sign of anyone, save for the front door that was slightly ajar and barely holding on by its hinges.

[ckbookish]

BATMAN BINGO MASTER POST 2020

1 "I thought you were dead.": I Still See Your Ghost 

Today was just not Dick's day. First he overslept his alarm and was late to work. Amy had been less than impressed at his tardiness... Then He had bungled what should have been an easy take town... But the straw that broke the camel's back was Tim. Dick had forgotten to call Tim. 

2 Friendly fire: Fratricide 

Jason was pissed. No, Jason was enraged. Yeah, he was enraged at the whole mess his family-- if that’s even what they were to each other anymore-- had gotten him in. It was meant to be a simple night. Break in. Torch the drugs. Maybe shoot a couple of people and go home. But no, Batman heard about his plans and decided that arson was too extreme. “Someone could get hurt.” Well someone had gotten hurt, a lot of someones. 

3 Hypothermia: Weekend Commute 

Dick Grayson makes his way home during the first snow fall of the year, when he finds himself confused and cold, miles from home.

Chapter two Bruce's perspective.

4 Superman: Bringer of the Dawn

The Aftermath of when the Joker shoots Dick.

or

Where do you go when your family tells you to get out?

5 Shot: The Gratitude Trap

Bruce finds himself in the dark, a place he never thought he would be when it came to Clark Kent and Dick Grayson. Yet here he is digging for answers, because he is too scared to pick up the phone and call. 

6 Two-face: The Better Choice 

How do you reconcile the man who was once your friend with the monster he has become? Bruce reflects on how the man he once called his best friend changed. How could the man who helped him foster Dick, hold that baseball bat? 

7 Drowning: Omori’s Law

Deep in the sewer's under Gotham, Batman is trapped. There is no back up, no Robin. He is faced with the single truth that he tried to teach each of his partners... You have to save yourself. 

  8 Found Family: A Restoration from a Resilient Heart

Dick just wants to not be alone with the shadows in the house. Bruce doesn't realize he has lived with them for far to long, and maybe he doesn't have to anymore.

9 Adoption: The Irrefutable Truth

When he reached the reception, he found himself looking around a fairly empty room. There were a few call girls in the corner filling out forms, an older woman holding a dog, a kid that looked about twelve and a middle aged man who looked like he was ready to cry. He knew no one. Dick was about to turn around and head back to his desk when the on duty officer called out to him. Officer O’Conner was one of his fellow rookies, he had a thick accent. Dick thought he might be from Louisiana. “Grayson! Why didn’t you say your brother was coming to see you?” Dick looked at him with his mouth slightly open. There was no way he heard that right. “My what?” 

10 Bruises: Mr. Wayne

Tim is new to this. He's only been Robin for a little over six months. It was going well. But now he was going to be fired. Batman wouldn't want a partner who got caught at school with a black eye. Would he?

11 Bruce is dead: You Have One Saved Message 

Gotham gossip columns spread lies and smear good people's names. But yet Damian can't help but think maybe this mornings article was true.  That despite all his claims of being the true son of Bruce Wayne, he was in fact the only unwanted one.

12 CPR: Vital Signs 

Robin wakes to find him and Batman in an exploded factory. With Batman injured and the building burning around them, Dick struggles to get them both to safety.   

13 Dad:  Storge 

Bruce could have sworn his spirit had left him momentarily.  The sudden hollowness that filled him couldn’t be explained in any other way. 

 “Your dad must have his hands full with you.”  Elizabeth Ribbons leaned forward and patted Dick’s shoulder, as he reached for yet another slice of cheesecake from a passing waiter’s tray.  

Bruce fixed his eyes on the ice sculpture that hid him from view.  It suddenly seemed like the most interesting design in the world.  The soft lines of the ice on the otherwise insignificant over sized swan seemed like a lead shield...  Because Dick would read it easily in his expression. He wanted to be Dick’s dad.  But he wasn’t. 

14 Stealing the Batmobile: T-Minus Six Hours

Some days Tim is sure that he’s gonna be killed. Usually it’s some luck shot or near miss that made his life flash before his eyes. Not today though. Today he was positive Bruce was going to kill him. Yes, today was the day that Timothy Jackson Drake was going to be put down. He’s not sure that even Nightwing could save him. He was going to go down in history as the first sidekick to be murdered by their mentor. Because the Batmobile was definitely not where he’d parked it.

15 Wayne Enterprises: Amidst the Absence of Meaning 

Bruce is worried. He's running on less than three hours of sleep, and way too many cups of coffee. He had messed up. That much was obvious. The question was would Dick forgive him?

A gruesome night on patrol bleeds into Bruce's work day and now all he can wonder is if this is the thing that will push Dick over the edge? Had he finally seen to much pain?

16 Ransom: Sum of My Worth

The ring of the phone seemed to echo through the manor’s still too quiet long, winding halls, and everyone present collectively held their breath. Bruce lunged for the phone.   

17 Secret Injury: Hiding in Pain Sight

“What?” Dick asked sharper than he meant to. He was tired.

“Nothing.” Tim said with a small smirk. “Heavy is the head.”

Dick closed his eyes, glad that Tim couldn’t see them. He was so sick of this. Tim, Jason, Damian and Cass all didn’t think he was good enough, well Cass hadn’t said that, but Dick could read her. They didn’t think he was up to the job. Well they didn’t need to tell him that. He knew it.

18 Superboy: An Interlude in Breathing 

Tim looked out over the water in a daze. Bruce and Dick had gone somewhere below deck and he was alone. Well there were strangers on the ship mingling and talking excitedly--but Tim gave them no notice. Instead he watched the water lap up against the hull and crash down back to meet the dark, cold waters. They were far enough out that he could no longer see the shore. It was just endless expenses of sea and sky. Something tickled his neck and he started, only to realize he had been crying. It was only a tear slipping under his collar.

The days after the battle of Infinite Crisis

19 Betrayed: Smother

She took another drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke roll in her lungs for a long moment before allowing it hiss out between her teeth. The screams from the warehouse weren’t completely muffled by the distance, or the walls. Perhaps she was only imagining them. But then, sounds like that, she didn’t think she could dream up. She jumped after a particularly high pitched yelp. “Get a grip.” She dropped the cigarette and pulled out another. Her hand shook as she lit it. “It’s just some random kid. He’s not--” She bit back a sob. She didn’t deserve to cry. She had no right to tears, not when it was her fault.   

20 Crowbar: Breaklights

The mail fell to the ground and the paper smacked the tiles hard.  The sound in reality couldn’t have been all that loud, but it seemed to echo around the entryway.  Bruce didn’t look at the dropped bills and the invitation to a fundraiser for the new Gotham women’s shelter.  He was too fixated on the small stamp with the queen of England's head on it.  Wolverhampton.  

The large envelope was far heavier then it should have been.  Bruce could feel bile crawling up his throat.  

He had forgotten.

21 Deathstroke: Debts and Dues

There were some things that were never pleasant, getting caught in the snow without socks, losing your keys, and not being able to remember the name of a song. Having a gun pointed at your chest, Dick felt, qualified as extremely unpleasant. He stood stock still. The barrel of the gun was still hot, it burned slightly as it dug into his sternum. Even with his uniform he could still feel the heat left over from previous rounds fired. He didn’t flinch. He couldn’t flinch. “Move.” “You know I can’t.” Dick wondered if Slade had the guts to do it.   

22 Mission Gone Wrong: Murmur in the Quiet Hours

Superman? Clark froze. He knew that voice. But-- he had never heard it sounding so sad. Was that-- no. Clark dove for his phone, still on the counter from when he got home last night. The screen was black. Dead. Clark swore and dropped it. He was in his coat and shoes before it hit the counter top.   

23 Kidnapped:  Chum 

Dick trumped through the leaves, stopping his feet roughly. He relished the sound of the crunch beneath his shoes as he tread on the brown, dead leaves before him. He felt rather justified in his satisfaction. After all the world had taken so much from him, why wouldn’t he do his best to crush it in return. The woods were cool and as he went deeper into them they grew darker. The sun had long set, and the sky was quickly vanishing as the trees grew thicker. Wayne Manor was far behind him. He was never going back. He hated those pristine walls, those old floor boards. He hated the quiet. He hated the stuffy furniture and the rules and the vases and pictures. He hated his new guardian and that… that… Dick couldn’t remember what Alfred was called, but he hated it. The bag on his back felt heavy. It had everything Dick owned in it. Well and a toothbrush that Alfred had given him. But he didn’t think that was really stealing. 

24 Riddler: Seeking Silence on Shortwaves

Normally Dick would be happy to listen to Tim talk. In fact, Dick thought it was one of his favorite sounds in the world. Tim rarely allowed himself to be excited about things. Hearing him speak so freely and openly to Bruce and him about his plans was refreshing. Dick only wished it wouldn’t be at the cost of his life.

Batman hadn't always been so strict about talking unnecessarily over comms. When it was just two of them it hadn't mattered, their walkie talkie system had always worked. But now that Nightwing and Robin were in Gotham, it seems insane that they never realized: if only one person can talk over the radio at a time... how could they call for help?

25 Mr. Freeze: Glimpsing the Sun While Trapped in the Rime

He almost called Bruce between his fourth and fifth class. He pulled his phone out, leaning against his locker, and half dialed his number when a warm hand fell on his shoulder. “Hey.” Dick spun around and blinked back black spots as his body protested the sudden movement. A blaze of red hair filled his vision and Dick felt a small fire build in his chest. His face split into a wide smile.

After a run in with Mr. Freeze Dick finds himself feeling odd at school, but he can't go home, not when Barbara's asked him to drive her to Betty's party after school.

[ggukkiedae]

❝𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕟’𝕥❞

𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜:

⇢ hannah gets two different points of view regarding her dilemma: within the group and out of the group

⇢ set in late march 2018

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜:

⇢ hints at self-esteem issues

𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜:

⇢ conversations written in italics are spoken in english. feedback is highly appreciated!

Hannah took a deep breath as she entered the dark practice room. It had become a habit to leave only one of the corner lights on so it wouldn’t look like there was anyone in there. This way, no one came in before she left in the morning.

She sighed. Having to decline Donghyuck’s offer of a lunch date despite their schedule was upsetting mostly because she knew it made him sad. She tossed her bag to the side and settled next to the door.

“Rough day?”

The unfamiliar voice caught her attention. She looked up and saw someone near the mirrors. She nodded. “Yeah, a little.”

“Sorry, you might not know me,” he walked towards her and hestured to the floor in front of her asking if he could sit, which she obliged, “but we’ve been talking to each other on katalk because of Jaemin.”

Her eyes lit up with realization. “Yangyang!”

“That’s me.”

“Sorry you had to see me all exhausted for the first time we meet in person.” A guilty smile made its way up to her face.

He shook his head at her statement. “No, it’s fine. I get it. Not to mention you’re being overworked, aren’t you? With being in all the promotions?”

“You have no idea.”

A short silence fell between the two, but it wasn’t awkward. It was quite comforting, actually. The last few days basically had her not talking to people comfortably, so it was nice to just sit and not be cautious about throwing off the other members’ dynamics or making them uncomfortable.

“If I’m not overstepping,” the trainee began while scratching the back of his neck, “have you been okay? I’ve seen the articles about you recently, and the other trainees have been talking about how you spend so much time in practice rooms even if you have a full schedule.”

She smiled at him. “Let’s just say I really need to catch up with the 127 members in terms of skill.”

He gave her a confused look at her statement. “You know, you’re just as skilled as them. The higher ups wouldn’t have added you if you weren’t.”

“They would for publicity.”

“Fine, you have a point.” His slightly disappointed grumble made her laugh. “With you, though, it’s because of your talent. They saw your potential for more mature concepts. Not to mention you’re pretty popular among the trainees for being a powerful vocalist and rapper despite having a main dancer position.”

Admittedly, hearing those words were assuring. She scanned his face for a bit as if looking for any signs of lies, yet she found none. A small smile made its way onto her face before disappearing upon remembering her being the cause of her members’ discomfort.

“It’s a little more than that, but thanks.”

Just then, Yangyang’s phone lit up with a notification. The boy checked it quick before looking at Hannah apologetically.

“Well, I’m going to have to leave you here,” he told her. “The others are looking for me.”

“Go on and get some sleep.”

He nodded and stood up before looking at her again. “Just so you know, the other NCT members love having you around. I hear them talk about you fondly a lot around the company. If something’s wrong, I’m sure they’d be willing to help.”

Hannah watched while Yangyang left the room. His words took up her mind. The other members talked about her? They liked having her around? What happened to them having to change the way they act because she was there?

In all honesty, she’s been pretty sad about not really hanging out with the other members the whole week. She felt bad everytime she turned a member down when they offered for her to join them. As introverted as she was, all the noisy meals she’d be part of, her hanging out in the 127 dorms, just everything, she missed it.

She shook her head with a chuckle before speaking out loud. “NCT, look what you’ve done to me. You’ve made me miss human interaction.”

She stood up and dusted herself off. Maybe a few runs of different choreographies would help her clear her mind. After all, it would be productive. Perfect the choreography while avoiding thoughts, right? It’s not like she hasn’t done it before. She’d do it again.

Except, she couldn’t.

The doors to the practice room burst open once again, except this time it was none other than her twin flame followed by her two best friends. She groaned when she saw the determined look on Donghyuck’s face, already knowing he would not leave her until he gets what he wants. And she her suspicions.

“Lee Haeeun,” Donghyuck started packing her things as he scolded her, “You are coming with me to the 127 dorms where we are going to have a big dinner then sleeping in. It’s a practice day tomorrow, anyway. We’re calling in sick.”

Her suspicions were correct.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” The look she received from Jaemin while silently asking for help was one she knew all too well. Jeno slipped off to the side to look for her jacket.

“Listen to him, Hannah,” Jaemin approached her, holding her face in his hands. The way she didn’t push him away made him worry. She usually hates when people do stuff like this to her. “We know you’ve been using my mix of coffee to stay awake. We know you haven’t been going back to the dorms at all. From the looks of it, you’re spending all your time practicing. What did I tell you about overworking yourself?”

“Not to,” she mumbled while looking down.

She felt her coat being draped around her shoulders. Jeno helped her slip her arms through the sleeve before throwing an arm around her. He gave Jaemin a quick glance, leaving the latter to nod before approaching Donghyuck. That left the two other 00s just out of ear’s reach if they spoke lowly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she rolled her eyes while lightly pushing Jeno’s chin to make him face the opposite direction. “I had my reasons.”

He chuckled just the slightest bit. “I know. It would help, though, if you tell us your reasons. Haechan’s been worried sick, and I’m pretty sure Jaemin’s close to having you on house arrest after finding out you haven’t been in your dorm for a while.”

She bit her lip, pondering on what to do. Was it worth it to tell them that she felt out of place in the group after two years of promoting with them? Or would they think it’s stupid? Maybe they’d agree that she wasn’t enough to be grouped with them. What if they judged her for all this and thought she was annoying or dramatic? All these thoughts were eating away at her mind, making her completely unaware of the fact that her nails were digging into the palms of her hands. Her actions went completely unnoticed by her until she felt Jeno lightly pry her hands open and press his handkerchief to one of her hands while he held the other.

“It’s fine,” he reminded her as their two friends approached them. “It’s just me, Hyuck, and Nana.”

“We’d never judge you no matter what, Haeeunie.”

Donghyuck led her over to the couch and sat her down, Jeno crouching right by them and Jaemin sitting behind Hannah to begin braiding her hair. Something he liked to do to make her feel relaxed.

Was she really going to tell these three what was going on? She could just say that she felt like she needed the extra practice. That would get her scolded, though. She could say she’s been sleeping over at Yoonmi’s. Then again, Mark could easily call the younger girl and ask if it’s true. Besides, the internationally popular 01 liner had a lot on her plate already. She could say that she’s been hanging out with Yangyang more. One look at Donghyuck made her think twice. Either he’d immediately tell she was lying because he’d know when she made new friends in real life, or he’d get overprotective and end up leading to another katalk incident type rant.

She took a deep breath. Maybe the truth would be the best?

“I guess I just thought I needed to give you guys a little space.”

Her statement was met with confused looks from the three boys. Why would she need to give the rest of the members space? If anything, the members needed to give her space considering how much coddling she was receiving, especially since she wasn’t used to it and found it uncomfortable.

“Nothing bad, I promise,” she said as she shook her hands at them, “I was just thinking. I have to do a lot to catch up with the 127 members and the U members as well. Not to mention I need to pick up my skill since you guys and the rest of the dreamies are becoming better dancers than I am. I have to be up to par with your level, you know?”

“And who told you this?” Donghyuck’s eyes darkened upon hearing her indirectly put herself down. “Who told you that you weren’t up to par with us?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve read the articles,” Jaemin cooed at her as he finished braiding her hair. He rested his hands on her shoulders and pressed a light kiss to the top of her head.

Jeno, on the other hand, squinted his eyes at her. “You did. You’re overthinking again, Hannah.”

“No, I’m not.” The way her fist clenched tighter around the boy’s handkerchief did not go unnoticed.

“Yes, you are,” Jeno told her. “First things first, you’ve been training for longer than a lot of the hyungs in the company. You even did gymnastics, cheerleading, and some dancing before getting here. Second, you’re a way better dancer than us. You understand your body and the way it moves really well. I don’t know about the hyungs, but we go to you for help with our dance, remember?”

“That’s my Haeeunie,” Donghyuck lightly patted her cheek. “Top notch dancer, can’t be beat. This is why you shouldn’t listen to these airheads if they say you’re not up to par with us.”

A small smile made its way to her face. “Thanks, guys.”

“No,” Jeno inserted, “there’s more. You wouldn’t be avoiding the hyungs in the waiting room and in schedules just because you think you’re not up to par with them. What else is going on?”

She looked at them one by one, Jeno’s knowing look and Jaemin’s worried look burning into her skin. She glanced at Donghyuck and saw the guilt in his eyes.

“You already know, don’t you? I guess I feel out of place. The 127 oppas have been together for so long and have their own dynamics, and suddenly I’m there making them act different. I don’t wanna impose on anything. Not to mention, being in a group with 18 men as a girl can be pretty overwhelming. I’m the odd one out, it’s pretty obvious.”

“No, you aren’t. I was gone for a year. If anything, I’m the odd one out. I missed out on so many things. But I’m not. You’re not, either.”

The hands on her shoulders moved to encircle her waist, pulling her to Jaemin’s chest as he spoke to her. Her hair was getting the slightest bit messed up from him nuzzling it with his cheek. The two boys in front of her, however, exchanged glances.

Jeno looked at her seriously. “Have you talked to Yoonmi about this? She’d be the one to understand that feeling the most, wouldn’t she?”

“She has her own problems right now. I don’t wanna stress the poor kid out even more.”

“You’re not imposing on anything, you know?” Donghyuck asked her. This brought all her attention towards him. “The hyungs love having you around, and they want to hangout with you. They’re just getting used to it since they’re not as used to you as we are. But they really want you to be comfortable with them.”

“Yuta hyung’s upset that you don’t do Japanese lessons with him anymore,” Jaemin added. This made her feel guiltier.

So they didn’t see her as an outcast? They wanted her around? Now, she’s just been selfish by drawing back and avoiding them to protect her own feelings without even considering the fact that she could be upsetting the others.

“Oh.”

That was all that could come out of her mouth.

“Hey,” Jeno began while resting a comforting hand on her knee, “it’s inevitable for some things to change, alright? That doesn’t mean you’re the odd one out. The hyungs just aren’t sure how to treat you, especially after Taeyong hyung set down a few rules. They love you, though, and they want to be close with you.”

“And if the netizens say I’m trying too hard by being close to the others and ruining their dynamics?”

Jeno scoffed at that. “Let them. They don’t know us, and they don’t know you. They don’t know what goes on in the group. Everyone has something bad to say about everything. About Haechan, Jaemin, me, everyone. Even Jisung, and he’s just a kid. What they think doesn’t matter though, as long as we know what really does, right? Our group’s friendship.”

As much as she wanted to disagree with Jeno and say that they needed to take the public’s thoughts into account as idols, she knew he was right. As people, they had to remember to not think too much about what strangers think. It would be hard, but she knew she had to try.

“Right,” she finally agreed after a moment of silence. The smile on Jeno’s face grew, and Jaemin’s hands tightened around her.

“We are having a fun lunch with the hyungs tomorrow,” Donghyuck hopped up out of his seat and pulled her with him, “then having a dreamie dinner for the first time in a while. For now, though, you’re coming home with me to my dorm, not yours.”

“No more avoiding or over-practicing, alright, Hannah?” Jaemin gently brushed some of the stray strands of her hair out of her face then gave her a quick kiss on the cheek after she nodded. She scrunched her face up in disgust, making them laugh. Donghyuck was leading her out the door, Jaemin hot on their tail until she realized she left her stuff. With an abrupt halt, she turned to grab her bag but was met with Jeno’s cheeky smile.

“I already got your stuff, you goldfish,” he laughed at her. “Looks like the lack of sleep has been affecting your memory.”

“Oh, shut up, Jen.”

[narrators-journal]

A hiccup in the process

cw: breaking and entering again, more stalking, that’s not gonna go away for this story lol, I think that’s the big ones to note. enjoy!

Previous part: here

First part: here

Sadly, Illumi couldn't keep an eye on you 24/7, which he found irked him slightly. More-so when Milluki would give him updates while he was on his mission. It wasn't like Milluki himself irked Illumi this easily every day, he was his baby brother, he was allowed to annoy the long haired assassin, that's what family does, but for some reason knowing that the rotund young man was using the spy cameras he'd installed for his own surveillance to check in on you every few days to ensure nothing bad happened ate at Illumi in a whole new fashion.

Despite this, the assassin focused on his work as best he could, not that it really required much focus, a pretty textbook political hit, easy enough. However, when he came back, he was not greeted by an equal amount of ease.

He'd stopped by his home, doing the usual after-job reports for the client, than told his mother that he'd return to keeping an eye on you until his next job, he also stopped by Milluki's room and rather coldly told him he could stop spying on you. Than, he headed over to your place, curious to see what fine details his brother didn't find necessary to relay. However, when he got to your home and peeked inside, careful to ensure no possible neighbors saw him, he found it suspiciously empty. Milluki would've told me of any new people coming around, so (y/n) isn't on a date or anything. It's not a weekend, so (f/n) surely doesn't have her, and (y/n) isn't the type to just up and leave.. he mused, a bit down the street now sitting on an empty bench in the spring air so he didn't seem super suspicious to anyone around by lingering around your home.

He mulled these questions over for a while, most of the day it seemed since the next time he returned from splitting his attention between puzzling out this issue of emotions and closely watching your home it was evening and the temperatures were cooling. What drew his attention completely to your home was the unfamiliar car that pulled into your driveway. A car pulling up wasn't super odd to Illumi, (f/n) occasionally came by after all, but this car didn't belong to them, and it definitely wasn't yours, as you either didn't have one, or it was at your home, so the sight of a new person immediately put Illumi on the defensive. This boiling feeling of out of place anger worsened when you lingered by the strangers car.

On the bright side, the long haired assassin used this opportunity to meander over and eavesdrop to figure out where you may have been,

        "-Thanks for taking me out!" you were saying, leaning a bit towards the drivers window, where a man, or maybe woman, illumi couldn't quite tell from where he was paused to listen, sat, waving your gratitude away nonchalantly,

            "Nah, it's cool. You were pretty fun to hang out with, I'd be happy to take you out again another time if you'd want." the person said, making you giggle, the sweet sound acting as gasoline on his already ill mood.

Sadly, Illumi couldn't linger around any longer, you were noticeably getting tenser and had thrown a few skeptical glances at the assassin while he was paused on his phone, so he didn't catch the remainder of your conversation before your 'friend' left.

Illumi walked around the block to calm down and refrain from any rash decisions that night, returning to his usual hiding place afterwards, watching you as you happily lounged in your home. While the darkness of night crept in around him, Illumi tried to figure out what to do and why he was so annoyed to see you with someone else. Did he want to kill you? Was he mad that you potentially going on a date made that goal harder to achieve cleanly? No, that didn't seem to be correct, the explanation not seeming to cover all of the prickly emotions he felt at the moment, but it was the best explanation he had. He didn't have a lot of experience with the 'softer emotions' as his mother sometimes called them when she had given him a basic course on wooing himself a wife, and he was an assassin, a trained killer, surely he had no need to learn about these things. Though, he had to admit, combing out those pesky barbs of maybe I'm jealous and maybe I'd like to be the one she has a fun time with from his already crowded and busy thoughts was annoying. Every other emotion he could neatly package away, he could temper his lust, curb his anger, and suppress sadness, guilt, shame, and the like. But this situation, you, seemed to have this aggravating power to flip the lid of Pandora's box and pick out the worst of the bunch to bring to the surface.

After some contemplation, the assassin decided that he did, in fact, want to kill someone, but not you. You were still an entertaining little puzzle to burn away the time, at least, even if you did aggravate him. so, instead of killing you, he waited for you to go to bed and than slipped inside once again. This time though, he wasn't there to peek at your sleeping body, Though I bet she's wearing something risque again a dark little voice whispered in his head, but no, he could not indulge in that tonight. He was there on a mission to find information on your friend and the person who took you on a date. Peeking beneath your covers to catch a glimpse of your soft thighs or chest could wait.

He focused on his task, digging through anything he found that could potentially hold information about those you knew, but nothing proved useful. He found a picture with (f/n)'s name on the back, but he already knew their name, he needed their address or full name, or at least their phone number to have Milluki trace it. Sadly though, you didn't make a habit of writing down police-interrogation level notes on your few friends and leaving them in the open, so Illumi had to collect himself and get a good grip on his hormonal reactions before going into your bedroom for your phone.

Your room was as quiet as before, with, at most, a white noise source that the lean assassin made a mental note to ween you off of once if he had you as a wife. It wasn't an impressive room, dotted with a few articles of dirty clothes or other signs of life, but his dark, empty eyes still zeroed in on a pair of your undergarments on the floor in particular. Part of him was repulsed by how slovenly you were to leave a few articles of dirty laundry on the floor, but another part of him knew that he himself wasn't an exact neat freak and he only thought you were messy because he had butlers, you didn't. No, instead that devious side of himself focused more on what was on the floor, and how that might mean you were...less modest than he might have first thought.

He stopped himself, repressing the nasty urge to check and than punish you if you really were so brave as to sleep without panties and just scooped up your phone and left your bedroom to staunch any other distractions. With a deep breath to clear away the lustful thoughts, Illumi easily hacked into your phone, really, your password was so easy, and dug around. He tried to find your friends contact information, and while he didn't find a phone number, address, or anything like that, he did find their online profile, which was enough for Milluki to track them down. However, he didn't stop snooping after that. Instead, he looked around in your photos, other messages or DMs, anything personal or potentially holding lewd info or images, but the most he found was a google search for an adult toy you seemed to be contemplating buying. He swiftly deleted that from your search history and returned your phone to where it had been.

Now he only needed to let his brother do his job and look into (f/n) and than your date. Of course, he'd have Milluki do that after clarifying why the shut-in gaming nerd should've told him you had a date of any sort.

[binniesthighs]

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

a/n: I sincerely apologize for the pain caused with last chapter...so naturally, i had to go and write more pain muahaha. i also apologize for the wait on this one, for some reason i had a weirdly hard time getting this one out of my head, ahhh i think I’m just lil sad about it all ending :( but! we’re almost out of the woods cuties!! thank you so very much reading as always!! <3 this is the second to last chapter and idk how to feel ahhhh 

Part 7 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung 

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst 

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, establishedfwb!jisung, artist!reader, skz side characters, bestfriend!chan, bestfriend!felix, roommate!minho, explicit language, some kissin’ and that good, good makin’ out, soft n’ intimate body touchinggg, mentions of getting drunk in the past, mentions of a toxic familial relationship, gahhh lots of crying and emotions in this one but it’s bc we’re figuring things out :) 

CW: dub-con-ish scene due to conflicting feelings but it gets stopped pretty quick

Word count: 7.6k 

Chapters 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART ? 

Jisung shared his apartment with two equally messy boys. You had forgotten their names despite meeting them and seeing them around on more than one occasion. Lucky for you, they each had distinguishing features so you named them as such: tall one and younger one with white hair. Once upon a time the four of you had hung out and they weren’t unbearable, just a bit cookie-cutter as you had called it. Both of them were in the same music school as Jisung and didn’t have many other interests outside going to music shows and playing PC games while loudly shouting. 

There was never food in that apartment but somehow there was always dirty dishes in the kitchen. Sure, it smelled a bit like dirty socks, but you never paid too much attention to that when you would clambering in the door with your lips locked with Jisung’s. It was strange walking in not doing so. Tall one and younger one with the white hair sat on the couch eating pizza with feet kicked up on their banged up coffee table. They didn’t say anything as they watched you walk in, but merely rolled their eyes and pretended that you weren’t there anymore. 

“We can go to my room.” Jisung raked his hand through his greasy brown strands, then kicked aside approximately ten pairs of sneakers. He held onto your hand tightly--so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

You nearly slipped on that rug that lined the wooden floors of their hallway. It wasn’t the first time. 

Just as the rest of the apartment was, Jisung’s room was strewn with all kinds of random articles such as dirty clothes, tangled up cords and old to-go containers. His bed was unmade; it was those navy sheets that likely hadn’t been washed in several weeks. You could never really pinpoint what they smelled like, just that they smelled like him. You had spent nights there too, but they were nothing memorable. No groggy mornings with coffee or sunlight streaked onto his features for you to admire in the golden sheen. It had been running late to class and the dozens of times that you had left jewelry and hair-ties. 

“Wanna sit down?” Jisung patted the spot next to him, and you did so. 

The two of you sat in silence, the atmosphere became thick with the tangible sense of disaster that hung around the both of you. It was catastrophic.

His trembling hand came reaching for yours, and you let him take it. He sniffled, and it triggered your eyes to fill with the same hot tears. 

For the first time, you wondered, what am I doing here? 

“You want to lay down?” His puffy eyes asked you. 

You nodded, crinkling those bedsheets that were probably full of dust. 

In all your months of knowing him, you had never, never cuddled. This was the first time and you really weren’t even tied together anymore. 

His nose had turned pink, and he rubbed a bit of snot away with his wrist. 

“Thank you for coming here.” Jisung whispered. “But--what are you doing here? I thought that you were with Changbin now?” 

I am. You thought briefly. Am I? 

“I just...so confused right now. I don’t know...there’s just...I don’t know...” 

A tear fell down Jisung’s cheek, and you couldn’t fathom why he would be the one crying when it should’ve been you. You wiped it away. You had never thought of it before, but seeing him cry brought a sting to your chest. 

Jisung leaned forward, and the bed creaked lightly, then he kissed you. It wasn’t really a passionate one, but one that he had used to say more than he could himself. His lips tasted salty running over yours, and your brain froze deciding what to do. Jisung never changed: as broken as it felt, he was still starving, needy, and rough. You tried to find meaning in it, or if it made you feel. 

It didn’t. 

Jisung held your face in his hands, and with a hesitant sigh, he said, “I really, really wanted to do that for so long.” 

As desperate he had seemed for you, you couldn’t find the same desire if you had tried. Maybe, you had to find it? 

“Kiss me again.” You hushed. 

He licked his lips with a gaze softening. “Okay.” 

This time he swung his legs around your hips and straddled you with the kind of pressure that you had craved, once upon a time. He bent down to press even more of his heated desire on your skin. He was a good kisser, and you remembered once again how you really had wanted to have him kiss you like this, once upon a time. His tongue slicked against your bottom lip and you gave him the permission, testing it out just to see. 

You had thought back then that he was unreal. 

Jisung rutted his hips down into your waist, and you had already felt how he had hardened in his sweatpants. 

You knew how it would go...or how it used to.

“Baby, I want you so bad. You have no idea. I-I don’t think that I want anyone else besides you--” He broke to meet your eyes. Your world blurred, and sobbed out from under his gaze. 

What am I doing here? 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Worry flooded over his face. 

“I-I can’t do this, I shouldn’t do this, fuck--what the fuck am I doing?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Please just...get off of me. Please...” 

He did so, but still looked just as shocked. “Did I do something wrong?” 

He too started to tear up again. At last you could finally name what it was that tugged at his soft brown eyes. Fear. 

“Can you please tell me what I did wrong? Y/n, I don’t understand, you’re confusing me so much--” 

“--This isn’t right Jisung!” You nearly yelled with broken sobs. “We aren’t right.” 

Jisung’s face fell, crestfallen. “N-no--” 

“--We destroy each other!! Don’t you see?? Never have we ever been happy together, we’re just...coping! That isn’t love!!” 

“Then why the hell am I in love with you??” Jisung spat out the words, and then it was immediately evident that he had regretted saying them. 

A deadly silence fell over the room, and all that was left was the both of your weak sniffles. 

“What did you just say?” 

Jisung grabbed one the pillows then threw it down on the floor with a poof. 

“Fuck!!!” He literally shouted. His face had turned red, and snot dripped down to his lip. “I have fucking feelings for you okay?? Is that enough for you?” 

“Ji...yo-you can’t--” 

“I can’t what?! Is it a fucking crime? Listen, I’m scared out of my fucking mind saying this to you, alright? I don’t know why the hell I am but--” 

“--We-we can’t, Jisung..” 

“Can’t what?!” He threw his hands up into he air in his exasperation. “Stop fucking confusing me!!” 

“We destroy eachother.” 

Jisung grabbed another pillow to pummel to the ground, but then stopped himself, digging his fingers into the fabric until his nailbeds turned white. 

“We hurt eachother too much. An-and...I don’t think that it’s really our fault either. It’s just...who we are. I can’t give you what you want and you can’t give me what I want.” 

Jisung sobbed out horribly, then buried his face in his hands. 

“But I fell in love with you...?” His voice was terribly cracked. 

You watched as tears dropped into your lap and made little wet dots on your jeans. “I fell in love with Changbin...” 

His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, but still glistened, like the way that oil would slick in rainbows with the snow. 

“Then what are you doing here?” He asked one more time, but now he had appeared to be utterly broken. 

You rose from the bed, looking down at him and drying your face. “I...think I know why.” 

“And?” 

Outside of Jisung’s window, the view was similar to your own: city lights in an array of colors; each of them like stars on the ocean. On the wall adjacent from his bed, you noticed there was a crack. You had never realized that it was there before. 

“I’m admitting something that I should’ve a long time ago.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

You had likely forgotten to close a window in your apartment somewhere because the winter cold had pervaded the whole space. It took you about ten minutes to realize that it was in your bathroom from when you had taken a shower earlier to air let out the steam. 

The second thing that you noticed was the crumpled up blanket resting on the couch from before. For some odd reason, you felt the strong desire to wrap it all around yourself like you could capture some essence of him in it. Sure enough it did smell like that scent of his that you had grown so used to. You let the blanket trail behind you has you made your way to your room to pull on one of his shirts over your head. 

“Who told you that you could look so cute in that?” He had said one time. 

[23:16] Bin

me: can i call you? 

[00:18] Bin 

me: if you’re asleep, can I call you in the morning? if that’s okay? i said things that I didn’t mean...i just didn’t know it then. 

i’m so sorry 

how i treated you...you didn’t deserve that 

i understand if you’re mad at me. you have every right. 

i’m sorry that i couldn’t see that things that you were trying to show me. 

i see them now. 

You had thought that now the snow had finally faded into the edge of the winter that near it’s conclusion. Early March, and you wanting nothing more for spring buds to peep from the snow capped floral beds on street corners and for the white hugging the trees to dissapear forever. The winter had felt as if it had lasted for a year--even though this year you had seen less snow than other years. 

There had been a time when you firmly believed that once the snow melted, it would get better. Snow was a bitter memory, and it was curse that had to happen each and every year. 

The night that you had met Changbin, it had been cold. Cold like the winter that you had tried to hide from. You hadn’t thought of it until now, but he was much like the way that snowflakes melted on your skin. It reminded you of the icy coldness of the world for fleeting moments, then faded just as quickly as it arrived. The little wet mark of him warmed on your skin. 

Outside of the miniscule window to your living room, snowflakes got caught up in the edges of the frame, and sprinkled the surface of the glass in their variety of gorgeous fractals and unique shapes. A full moon was painted into the sky with a brightness that could’ve paralleled the sun on this clear night swimming in deep azure. 

You hugged the fabric of one of his shirts even closer to your frame, pretending for a moment that it was him that had been hugging you and not the cotton. 

“I’m so sorry.” You cried out weakly to the empty room. 

Your phone screen flashed with the time: [00:42]. You wondered, maybe he really had given up like he said that he would’ve. Maybe he walked home in the shivering cold, hands shoved into his pockets and decided that he was done waiting; that you weren’t worth his time and the effort. Maybe he walked in his front door, closed it behind himself, and said the words, This is it. No more. Maybe he walked into his room and cried. Maybe he didn’t. You couldn’t decide if you had wanted him to cry for you or not. Both hurt. 

[01:13.]  

Your eyes dragged with sleep, but your mind moved faster than the pace of your dry eyelids. Dust had settled on the white sheet that you had drawn over the painting in your room. On the underside of the sheet, globs of acrylic had dried and turned into multicolored flecks: a bit like the sheet was a piece of art and and of itself. It was nearly finished, and only had about one more quadrant left that was void of color. 

Your wooden pallet had been resting by the window, so it was cold to the touch--as were the little aluminum bottles of paint resting beside it. You used your shirtsleeve to dry away one tear that had battled its way to your lid, then sat back on your desk chair, facing the easel head on. 

Black first. Then deep blue, then bright yellow, burnt orange and gold. 

Hairs brushed over the canvas, and swept in wide strokes back and forth. With an empty mind, you smeared over the dark colors that faded to the edge of the canvas into the glowing light of the edge of the alleyway painted here. His figure was prominent, even though you couldn’t see his face. He wore black clothes that were simple. Frankly, you didn’t really remember what he had worn that night, but it didn’t matter much. Neon blue and red restaurant signs met on as reflection on his dark black hair. 

It was as if your chest and hand had been weighted down even further, but you fought through it to raise them. While you let the tears fall at first, they dried after long and made the skin of your cheeks tout. The room was silent, and so it was outside with the drifting snow. Soon, the painting would be finished, and you could sleep. You couldn’t sleep until then. 

if your art didn’t mean anything, what even was it? 

The pink lights lining your room provided the only light to the room, however not much else was needed than that. 

You bit your lip, now mixing yellow with red. 

If you couldn’t tell him. You hoped with every fiber that this would. 

[04:51] Bin 

me: if you’re up to it, can we talk? or, i can call you? 

goodnight  

wait its morning 

good morning then. 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Chan was good at keeping his promises. There was not one time in your whole time in knowing him that he hadn’t kept a promise, no matter how absurd it might’ve been. He had promised you to buy you ice cream on the first day of snow, and he had promised to share his lyrics with you, no matter how much they would make him cringe. He promised that if you ever needed someone to watch your guilty pleasure reality shows with, he would be over as soon as he could. Next to Felix, you had figured a long time ago that if there were ever people in your life that you were destined to meet, he was one of them. Admittedly, there had been a time when you had harbored a crush on him, but as usual, you had been best at getting in your own way before anything could’ve happened. This, and you loved him as a friend too much. 

Too many jell-o shots were both of your enemies. Halfway into the driest seven minutes in heaven of your life, and halfway into your confession to him, he had passed out right in your arms. You were lucky that he had forgotten the event entirely. Or, he was keeping his promise that you had hurriedly made asking him to forget that it ever happened when you and Felix carted him out of there. 

While he was good at keeping promises, you more so wished that he had forgotten that one. 

Chan had promised that he would personally use his ID card to get into the soundproof booth in the music department to scream. 

You hadn’t ever taken him up on the offer until today. 

It was nearly midnight and unopened text messages still sat in in empty bubbles on your phone screen. 

Even though you had consistently texted “good morning” and “goodnight” for three days straight, the action of sending them didn’t make you feel any better. 

Chan didn’t ask any questions, but merely let you through the halls which echoed from your squeaking wet shoes. The green light of emergency signs appeared to be the only guiding lights, but Chan knew the way well. 

“Careful. The floor is slippery. They mop after everyone leaves.” He hushed in the silent hallway. 

Your fingers and lips cracked from the cold and felt tingly warming up in the dry heat of the building. The two of you turned two more corners, then Chan carefully wrapped his veiny and red hand over the handle to the door marked with “Studio Five.” He tapped his key to the reader, and it beeped with flashing green and orange lights. 

“Here. This is the entrance to the booth. I’ll enter from that door to get to the other side of the glass. You don’t...want me to go in with you?” 

“Want me to wreck your ears?” You have him a feeble smile. 

He mustered his own kind of strength that he had been keeping up just for you. “Hm. You’re right.” Your friend clicked on the light, and it burned your eyes at first compared to the black hall. “Take...all the time that you need, I’ll just be over there. If you wanna...talk about things, I’m here for that too.” 

The booth was an ugly shade of lime green, and you wondered how anyone could ever be creative in a place such as this. On the other side of the tinted glass, you watched as Chan flicked on the light, then made his way to push the button to the little intercom system. His voice buzzed with a tinny sound. 

“No one can hear you, so....go nuts.” 

The walls were too padded with black foam insulation, and for a moment you considered how strange it was, that you, had entered that place to scream--not make music like the room had been used to. Even though the walls were lime green. It still brought a sense of sadness to your chest. 

The room spun lightly behind your eyes, and you panted out frantically. 

What the hell am I doing in here? 

[23:29] bin 

me: I hope that you sleep well tonight. i’m thinking of you. 

“Is everything okay in here?” Chan’s voice said over the speakers. 

“W-what am I doing here?” You repeated the question, feeling panic rise up your throat. 

“Getting your anger out?” He tiled his head. “I-I don’t know why else because you didn’t tell me. You angry at someone? Something?” 

“N-no? --I mean, yes...I-I don’t know.” You said with uncertainty. Suddenly the foam walls of the room started to close in. “I need to get out of here.” 

“Woah! Woah! Y/n! What’s--” Chan chased you out of the room, back into the empty hallway with the squeaky floors and the green light. 

“Hey, let’s just...take a breather here for a sec.” Your friend reached out to smooth down your arms. “If you wanna talk about it, I can help maybe?” 

You tore from his gasp, then slumped against the wall to slide all the way down and sit on the cold linoleum floors with the heaters pumping steadily above your head. 

“He’s not...messaging me back, and I think that I royally fucked up this time. I think that I finally did it, I finally pushed him too far.” 

“Who? Changbin?” Chan crouched down to sit next to you. “Is that what this is about?” 

Shallow breaths filled up your lungs, “I think...I think I just lost everything that I could’ve had with him, and it’s all my fault...I’m fucking angry at myself, Chan.” 

“A-are you sure?” 

“I basically told him that I didn’t know if I wanted to be his girlfriend...after everything that’s happened, everything that he’s done and how patient he’s been...but...there was Jisung an-and...I realize that I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it, I want to be with him so fucking badly and I was just too caught up to see it and--” 

“--Stop!” Chan barked. “Stop and give yourself a second to breathe! Did you realize that you’re not doing that? 

You hadn’t. Nor had your noticed your shaking hands. However, Chan had seen them, and held them with his. 

“You said that you do want to be with him but you told him that you didn’t?” 

Somewhere in the hallway, one of the emergency floodlights blinked with a harsh white light. 

“Yes.” 

“And did you tell him that you didn’t mean it?” 

“I have but he hasn’t gotten back to me? He would always get back to me, no matter what it was--it makes me worry--” 

Chan cupped your hands then brought them to his chest where he held them earnestly. “Some things are out of our control, Y/n. And, I hate to say it but, now, I think you need to come to accept the possibility that maybe...” His gaze softened. “I’m sorry. I wish I could say something more or better but I’m not him and I can’t know...” 

You scoffed, “Is that supposed to be comforting?” 

Chan tsked, as he often would do with a little sarcastic drag to his voice. “A long time ago I promised you that I would always be honest with you, and you know that I hold to my word.

He rubbed his thumb into your hands. 

“Do you want me to say then to go running after him? Throw it all to the wind? Even if it doesn’t end up going your way?” 

“...Maybe.” You swiped a tear from the corner of your right eye. “Would it be worth it?” 

“Maybe.” He sighed. 

A silence filled the hall and the space between you two, and Chan kept holding your hand. It was a simple touch, but you hadn’t realized that you had craved something as such. 

“Y/n? Can I say something?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Even if it isn’t him that it ends up being, I think that you should know that you still deserve happiness in someone. Even after all that you’ve been through, you still do. It sounds like to me...you’re finally realizing it.” He smiled with a bit of a wrinkle to his lips. “I’m proud of you.” 

You squeezed his hand. “Thank you. Its...been a long time coming.” Your head hit the wall behind you with a slight thud. “I’ve been painting recently. And...it means something to me. I feel like I found something, like I’m seeing something for the first time in a long time and it makes me really... full. Like he does.” 

Your friend let go, then went to play with his shoe-laces. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was the final straw?” 

“He just...loved me different. Better than I ever could myself, and I think that it made me realize that in order for me to love him too, I had to make peace with myself, and just...” You breathed out a laugh, “...Chill the fuck out. But--I know that I can’t let go of it forever. What happened, made me. I can’t give that up, but that doesn’t mean that I should wallow in it forever. I don’t deserve that.” 

Chan leaned to give you a light slap to the arm. “Look at you.” 

“I...saw Jisung too.” 

While anger laced his voice, Chan remained level headed. “...And?” 

“Me and him just dug ourselves into a deeper hole. Even he...he could do better. He needs a “Changbin” too. You know? I can’t be that for him. I never was even close. I feel sorry. I should probably see him one last time...” 

The image of Jisung’s disparaged face burned in your memory in the midst of it all. Somehow you had forgotten that he had gotten feelings tangled it up in it all, and you had just left. Through all that you had been through with him, you couldn’t let it just go so easily. 

“There’s a lot of things that I need to make right.” You sighed out with finality. Next to you, your best friend did the same. 

“Whatever happens, Felix and I will be here for you. Like always.” 

“Mm. Thank you, Chan. Really. Thank you so much. The two of you are the best friends that I could ask for. I don’t know how you put up with me...” 

“Ahhh, don’t mention it.” He shoved his shoulder into yours playfully. “Ya know, if this goes south, we could just date.” 

“What?!” Your head whipped over to him so hard it hurt. 

“As I recall, about a year ago all it took were some jell-o shots...” 

You smacked him upside the head, causing him to burst out laughing in that empty hall. 

“I told you to forget about that!!” 

“I’m just joking!! Jeez! Can you take a joke!?” 

You laughed with him, your goofy and kindhearted best friend. You realized it hadn’t happened in quite some time. 

“Yeah Changbin is alright, but me and Felix are forever. Got it?” He teased, and you slumped your head on his shoulder. 

“I know.” 

In your pants pocket, your phone vibrated and flashed with a white light. 

[01:36] L. Minho 

minho: i fucking hate that i’m in this position 

but 

bin’s in a bad way and i’m fairly certain that he hasn’t told you about it all 

idiot. 

anyway, his parents are being shitty assholes and i think that he really needs you right now, even if he isn’t saying anything about it. actually i know that he does. 

i also wanna ask you to kindly resolve whatever shit that you have going on before you walk in our door. out of kindness for both yourself and him. 

sorry not sorry. i really do love the both of you and it hurts me to see it be like this. 

i suggest that you come over as soon as you can. 

Your heart beat its way into your throat with a million emotions, but out of them all, fear for Changbin ached the most. 

 “Chan, I have to go.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

It was likely Minho who had buzzed you in. 

Luckily, the night had somehow gotten warmer--at least warm enough to where you couldn’t see your breath in front of your face any more. Unfortunately though, you had still worn the shoes that Changbin would scold you for wearing on snow-packed nights. Luckily, the snow had started melted too. 

The door clicked when it unlocked, and you slid inside the glass entrance that was smudged with fingerprints and the wet from dog’s noses pressing on the surface. 

For a reason unknown to you, you decided to take the stairs--even though he had lived on the seventh floor. Partially you had decided that you had done so because it meant that you had more time with your thoughts; more time to decide if you really had resolved all the shit that you needed to leave on the outside of his doorstop. 

You thought back to the painting sitting finished in your room. It waited in all of it’s beauty for the sun to shine on it and the rest of the world to see it. For him to see it. It was for him that you had painted it in the first place. Every ounce of pain and confusion was lathered across the canvas, it was bare for anyone to see after you had kept it concealed for so long. 

He would see it. 

You took each step slow and carefully, and listened to the way that the sound bounced off of the walls and how the carpet matted on each stoop.

Chan had said, “Even after all that you’ve been through, you still do.” 

Minho opened the door after three clicks wearing a bathrobe and slippers. For being so distressed like his message had said, he looked perfectly cozy. You remembered that Minho really was one to keep it all together when shit would get intense. Somehow he had the ability to write whole papers over the course of one day and had passed tests after studying for only four hours. You wished you could manage as well as he could. 

“Fuck. It’s late.” He rubbed his eyes. “Come in. Take off your shoes please.” 

You did so, and rubbed your toes into their carpet. It was almost as if you were waiting further instructions, but you knew full well what you had to do. 

Minho glared at you expectantly. “Well? Shits left outside?” 

“Shits left outside.” You repeated with a nod. 

“l’ll let him explain. It isn’t really my place. Just--listen to him okay? I think that’s what he needs right now.” 

The apartment itself was a bit barren, the only things that were placed in the small space were the things that the inhabitants needed: a dining table, a leather couch, a TV set, a few beanbags and a kitchen kept clean by Minho. It was strange seeing a place so organized and...neat. It was as if this apartment was from an other side of the world compared to what you had grown used to previously. Changbin’s thick and dark black coat hung on one of the dining chairs, the same that he had worn the night that he had last seen you. You wondered if it had been sitting there these past few days. 

“Go on.” Minho flapped his hands to usher you down the hallway to Changbin’s room. At the end of the hallway was the bathroom, and seeing it flooded your skin with the feeling of warm water and defrosting skin, lips on lips with heated desire; tracing fingertips that got caught with the translucent stream of water as they brushed down spines and hips. If you could’ve gone back to then and done it all over...you wondered if you would’ve. 

“Knock first.” Minho mouthed. 

You did, breath hitching when it opened slightly, and you called out his name. “Bin? Its me. Can I...can I come in?” 

His hesitant voice called back to you, “Yes.” 

He was a crumble on his bed, black socks twisted up with his dark bedsheets and his hoodie riding up his back to expose a sliver of skin where he laid facing away from the door. His beautiful dark hair was knotted. 

“B-Bin? A-are you okay?” You advanced forward carefully, reaching out to touch his arm. You had never seen this confident and headstrong man reduced to something so small, it broke your heart into shards to see him as such. You didn’t know what to do with yourself: sit with him? Stand? Crawl in to bed next to him? Unspoken words filled the air, and he sniffed out loudly into it. 

“Thank you for messaging me still.” Was what he had said first. “I saw them a little bit ago. I was...too scared to open them at first...your messages. I was...ashamed to...” 

“--Bin,” You took two steps closer. “You don’t have to explain yourself.” 

He sniffed in with a clogged nose once more. “I’m sorry.” 

Two more steps. “No, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that I didn’t listen to you, and took all of your patience with me for granted. I really don’t deserve it. I tore you up, and that was awful of me. You somehow ended up being collateral damage to me figuring my shit out and I can’t say I’m sorry enough. I understand if you don’t want to keep this going that we--” 

“--Can you get into bed with me?” He suddenly interjected. Changbin twisted his hand back as if he knew that yours was there in some superhuman way, and grabbed at it. “It’s...cold.” 

Your heart paused, uncertain if you had heard him correctly. 

“Please?” Changbin muttered. “Two bodies is warmer than one.” 

Silently, you crossed the room and shimmied off your coat so it fell to the floor. It had been partially absentminded, but you had pulled on one of his shirts that day. It was light grey, and had nearly lost all semblance of his scent on it. You pulled the covers over both of you, peering just enough to see his puffed and red eyes and red wet nose. Seeing him like this, you had to fight every instinct to pull him into your arms, but rather keep a respectful distance. 

From seeing the way that he dominated the stage to how he looked under the soft glow of your pink lights, to how he had looked as thin and as fragile as glass now, it had all finally made sense to you. As brash and forthcoming as he was, it wasn’t all of who he was in the slightest. If anything, it was who he had pretended to be. 

Tears fell over his pink lips. “I didn’t tell you because...I was embarrassed. Fuck,” He laughed a little, “It’s so fucking pathetic. I’m so pathetic for getting so messed up over this all. I-I shouldn’t. That and...it’s not something that you should--”

“--Don’t you dare say that I shouldn’t worry about this Bin. How many times do you need me to say it?” You traced his dark hair over his ear. “What happened to being each other’s problems?” 

He smiled with a weak grin, then wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Minho didn’t tell you?” 

You shook your head. “He said that you should be the one to.” 

Changbin sighed out, then pulled the comforter up to his nose, adjusting himself to meet your eyes with his that were strained with pink. 

“They’re disowning me. For real this time. They asked me to do a legal name change and everything...as if...they’re cutting me out of the family line. Fuck, I mean, they basically are.” 

His chest shook with an inhale, and a thick and burning mucus felt as if it had clung to your throat. It was anger and rage, the kind that was so foreign to you, it even started you to feel such a thing. 

“Bin, I’m so sorry. They’re...they’re fucking less than human is what they are. Treating you their own son like this...like they think that they can reverse time so that you were never even born of them...” Under the sheets your knuckles clenched so hard it bit the skin of your palms. “I-I’m sorry too...that you were going through this by yourself--” 

In one single motion he had spread out his arms to circle them around your upper body and pull it into hm. 

There he was again. Rosemary and cedarwood. 

You were in shock, but feeling the warmth from his body on yours made you shiver--it was the contact that you had craved so intensely now that you had it, it was so all encompassing that your brain scrambled feeling it. 

“Thank you for coming.” He whispered to the top of your head. 

Your hands snaked around his body, and you held him back. 

In that very moment, you had decided that you would spend the rest of your life holding him back if he would let you. If there was someone out there listening to your thoughts, you prayed that they would let you hold him. 

Changbin patted to top of your head with a trembling hand.

“What the fuck do I do?” 

Your fingers tugged at the thick cotton of his hoodie. 

“They said that either I meet with them to sign away my name, or I pack up, and go back with them as if nothing happened. They said that they were willing to “forgive” everything that I had “done” if I chose to come back home with them, so to school, and forget everything that I’ve ever written, performed...” 

“They said that??” 

The young man remained silent, but instead nuzzled further into you. 

“They said that they could arrange for a meeting with their legal team to finalize it in as little as two days if I decide to do it. Those assholes expedited the whole process and called up their lawyers to make it happen as quick as possible...” 

“Bin...” You cooed, and smoothed up and down his back. Being close to him like this you could nearly feel his own heart breaking in his chest against yours. 

“Do I forget everything that I was to chase this...dream? Or do I go back, get their support, live a normal life...” 

“--Stop.” You gently pushed his hand away to look up at him. “This, all of this is your life Changbin. It’s what you’ve worked hard for relentlessly and it’s what makes you happy, isn’t it? Yeah, it’s harder to do, but you’ve gotten so far, people love you! You’ve made a name for yourself, people want to hear your music--” 

“--Yeah, my names gotten itself out there a little too well for my parent’s opinions.” 

You wiped a tear cascading from one of his exhausted eyes. “They should be proud of you, not trying to suppress you.”  

“They...don’t want me to be Changbin any more. Do you know how that feels? I’ve lived my whole life being me and now they just want to take away the very last thing that I have that they didn’t touch?” He stifled a sob. 

“Hey! Just because you change it on paper, doesn’t mean we have to call you that!” You laughed out gently, “If you want to get a driver’s license or something it might be important...but, you’re always going to be Changbin to me, and Minho and everyone else who knows you. A name is just a word. You make up who you really are.” 

Changbin laughed out, then returned his hand to pat at your head. 

“Who told you to say that?” 

You chuckled back at the way that he had turned your words back on you. “No one.” 

“I’m just me, but...” Under the covers, your legs intertwined. “I think that if we compare a life of missed oppurtunties to a life where you leave a couple things behind, its worth leaving.” 

Body heat swirled between the two of you, and it was as calming as a song. Changbin brought his hand down to caress the side of your cheek with as much gentleness one would with those fragile snowflakes. 

Past his shoulder, your eye caught a small piece of paper that had been pasted to the wall above his desk: right in a space where he could see it if he had sat at his desktop. It was crinkled and held several creases and the lead that had been used to draw on it had smudged as if it had rubbed up against itself. 

It was a picture of a bench, some Christmas lights, and the city skyline behind it.

Tears flooded your eyes, and then fell freely onto his his fingers where he held your face. They caught in the corners of your mouth, and heated up your eyes. 

“Woah, hey, what is it?” Changbin rubbed away the wet and pulled you even closer to him. 

“Y-you kept it?” Your voice wavered. 

“Kept what?” 

You pointed a shaking finger to your drawing posted on the wall, and his eyes widened at first like he was embarrassed, then he slowly faded into something much softer. 

He nearly whispered the words, “Of course.” 

“W-why?” 

“It reminded me of you and that night. I think that I realized something then.” 

“What’s that?” He wiped your tears once more, stretching the skin of your face as he did so. 

“I realized that, well...I’m in over my head here.” He laughed out lightly. “Do you need me to say it again? I love you a fuck ton, alright? Getting over things, and healing from things...it’s not easy. You...don’t have to apologize for the mess of things and what it did to you. It’s not your fault.” 

You threw your head into the crook of his neck to sob openly. But I hurt you. I made you wait...I-I don’t wait you to wait any longer.” 

“And I made you wait too. My stupid...my parents fucked me up too, and I couldn’t get over the fact that this fucking mess that they made of me put a wedge between me and you. I didn’t feel like you deserved...I’m a mess too. A fucking nervous, cocky bastard at times and I don’t know how to talk about it. Isn’t that pathetic?” 

“What?? No--” 

“You wanna call it even then?” He grinned out, and it was his sly little smile that you had found yourself thinking of after you had seen it for the first time those months ago. 

“I--” 

“Damn. It does feel kinda good to talk about things.” He joked. 

You cried out his name even harsher, then melted into his whole body. He was boundless in the way that he had understood you, and how he had looked you without condition or pause. 

You don’t have to be scared any more. 

With your face muffled in the fabric of his shirt, you let the words fly of your tongue with reckless abandon, and it felt as if you had finally been rid of the crushing shroud fogging your mind, and chaining your heart. 

“I-I want you to be...my Changbin. An-and I want to be--” 

“--Wait!” Changbin pulled you back by the shoulders with a new and wild smile on his face that only grew wider by the second. A type of excited panic flamed in his chocolate brown eyes. “Willyoubemygirlfriend???” He said at light speed. 

You were confused as to why he had said it as such, but you nodded, finally feeling the sense of respite that you had searched so hard for. “Y-yes?” 

Changbin startled you with his sudden crack of laughter, then squeezed you so tight that it became hard to breathe. Once he let go looser, he bowed in deep to press dozens of kisses on your mouth and around it. Most of them missed the mark, but that didn’t matter to him. He only stopped for a couple moments to mutter the words, “I wanted to say it first.” You would’ve laughed had he not been attacking you incessantly with more and more pecks that you struggled to keep up with. 

“I-I’m sorry again that I made you wait--” 

Changbin rolled his weight over to lean carefully over your body tangled up in the sheets, then kissed away at your lips with “don’t say that’s “ quietly. “Thank you for trusting me.” He said quickly, then returned, pouring out oceans of admiration onto your lips until they felt a little raw. You kissed him back too, and you kissed him like you wanted to spend your whole life holding him back. His blissful little “oh’s” tickled at your lips, and you giggled at the way that they vibrated. 

Once you had properly kissed nearly all of the air out of each other’s lungs, you laid back, gasping, and each still a bit bewildered. 

“Thank you for trusting me too.” You turned your head to look at him where he lay with quickened breaths quaking his chest. 

“When I go through with this name thing, can you...be there?” 

“Yes.” 

“Thank you.” He said, barely loud enough for you to hear. His strong hands fell down his shirt which you wore; down to the small of your back where he snuck up the fabric. His fingers tickled at your tiny hairs there. 

“I have one more loose end to tie myself. One more place that I need to make peace.” 

Changbin nodded. “Mm. We’ll get through it together.” 

To your surprise, Changbin then took to pulling his sweater over his head, revealing his bare chest, then pulled off his pants from his legs a bit awkwardly under the covers. 

“W-what are you doing?” 

He giggled, then pulled at the hem of your shirt for you to do the same. 

“Trust me.” He whispered. 

You held his eyes as you did, and your bare skin too met the crinkling edges of the sheets which were a bit colder than you had expected. Changbin watched as you did so with a prideful little grin. 

“I-I’m confused.” You hugged your arms over your cold torso. 

“You’re so gorgeous.” He merely muttered, uncrossing your arms for him to look at you fully, then pulled you by the under sides of your chin back to his lips. He pulled gently at your bottom lip with his teeth. “Clothes were getting in the way.” He hushed, then set to unhooking your bra behind your back. 

“Getting in the way of what?” 

“Me being as close to you as I possibly can.” 

While he had said the phrase calmly, it still sent heat rising straight to your cheeks. 

“I want to hold my love like this for as long as she’ll let me. Can I?” 

Your two bodies met in the middle, flush, buzzing with a kind of giddy energy that only heightened the more curious that your hands got eating up each other’s presence. 

“As long as you’ll let me do the same.” 

You couldn’t quite tell, but it had almost felt as if Changbin had scribbled little invisible messages into the skin of your back. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He answered. 

You took his wrist to kiss at the line of a scar that lived there. Naturally, Changbin blushed rosy from the action--then promptly pretended that he just hadn’t. 

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @lunarskzzz

[chokememrstark]

There Is A House In New Orleans // Starker

Words: 1896

Warnings: Death, Ghosts, Alternative Universe, Mentions of Violence and Murder

Summary: During a work trip, Tony meets a young boy on his way home by the name of Peter. He quickly finds himself drawn to him and spends his evenings talking to him over the fence of his garden, but something about Peter is weird. Tony only finds out what it is after returning home and it turns everything upside down.

Notes: Special thanks to @darker-soft-starker for giving me feedback on it ;D

Read on AO3!

-----

Tony is on a business trip and on his way back to his hotel after lunch when he walks past a clearly abandoned house. Despite the obvious neglect and decay, which indicates it's been abandoned for many years, he can see a boy of about 17 in the overgrown garden.

He stops for a moment and watches him pick up flowers and then the boy looks up, giving him a smile. There's soft music filling the air, Tony assumes it's coming from inside the house, but after the smile the boy turns away and Tony leaves. It’s a bit weird, but well, he might just enjoy the flowers, right?

The next day, Tony sees him again. And the day after as well. Always outside, always with the same music playing, soft and calm but at the same time... eerie. As if something about the whole scene isn’t how it should be. As if he is watching something he isn’s supposed to see.

After four days, Tony calls out for the boy and talks to him. Much to his surprised, the boy seems eager for conversation and company and soon, Tony finds himself spending hours chatting with him while leaning over the fence.

The boy's name is Peter and he's very sweet and nice and funny, but something about him seems off. Tony can't say what it is, but it doesn’t matter, he enjoys talking to him and comes back to do just that for the following days. He believes things between them go well until he asks Peter to join him for dinner one evening.

The boy gives him a sad smile and tells him he can't go. After some talking, he admits that he can't leave. Confused, Tony asks why but he stays quiet and doesn't want to tell. Maybe his parents won’t allow him to leave with older men? Or maybe there’s a different reason, Tony doesn’t know. Still, he comes back to talk and soon, the invitation seems almost forgotten.

A few days later, Tony has to leave to return home. He's sad leaving Peter and Peter is even more sad that he has to go. Peter has no phone so he can't call him, so Tony promises to write instead. But once he's back home, things start to feel weird.

He does send a letter, but it gets returned with a note on it saying it can't be delivered.

Tony is even more confused and starts to dig and what he finds out is nothing he expected. He just wants to see if he mixed up the address but then he finds the newspaper articles and once the first headline pops up, he's too stunned to stop going further.

Teenage boy brutally murdered while parents are on vacation.

The Parker Mystery - Who killed Peter Parker?

Twenty years later, the killer is still unknown - Mr. and Mrs. Parker cleared of suspicion.

The more Tony reads, the more he starts to understand. And slowly, he's piecing things together. Especially Peter's reaction to Tony inviting him out for dinner.

"I'd love to join you, Tony, but I can't leave, I'm sorry. I have to stay here."

Was it that he couldn't leave because he was dead? That his spirit was bound to the place where he died? Did Tony actually talk to the ghost of a murdered boy or was this all a huge coincidence?

Finally, Tony decides that he needs to know for real and returns to New Orleans. When he comes back to the house, however, Peter is nowhere to be found. Frowning, Tony steps into the garden for the first time, the wooden fence door squeaking when he pushes it open.

"Peter?" Tony asks carefully, but there's no answer. He walks up to the door and pushes it and, without much surprise, he finds it unlocked.

The inside of the house confirms his first impression that it's been abandoned immediately and he feels his heart sink. There's dust and cobwebs everywhere and on the walls, several black cloths are hanging - they cover mirrors, he knows that. It's a tradition when someone died.

Slowly, Tony explores the rooms, still calling out for Peter but never getting an answer. Most rooms are empty, some furniture is knocked over here and there, but every room looks like it's been untouched for years.

And then, he finds a room with something strange. It looks to have been a living room of sorts, but the carpet on the floor looks weathered more than the ones in other rooms and right in the middle is an old Vitrola.

Curious, Tony steps up to it and kneels down, inspecting it. It's not dusty at all and looks very clean, even the record that's on it looks almost flawless. He reaches out to turn the crank and after a moment, the Vitrola springs to life.

Then, Tony hears it again. The beautiful music that he always heard while talking to Peter and it fills his heart with so much sadness he just wants to cry.

"You shouldn't have come back," a soft voice suddenly says and Tony spins around, finding Peter standing in the door. "There is nothing here for you."

"You are here," Tony says quietly and stands up, but he looks hesitant. "It's true, isn't it?"

Peter looks up, smiling sadly. "That I'm dead?" he asks and Tony nods silently. "It is, yes. I don't even know how long it's been, time doesn't really mean much anymore…"

"But… why can I see you? Why can I talk to you?" It makes no sense, he never believed in ghosts and this is just so surreal.

Peter sighs and pushes himself off the doorframe to walk over to Tony. He gently takes one of his hands and smiles.

"I've been here my whole life," he explains, not missing the shudder going through Tony at his touch. He's cold, he knows that. "I was born here and I died here and I never left, not even now…"

"You can touch me," Tony whispers and covers Peter's hands with his own. "I can touch you."

"You can, but only you," Peter nods. "I don't know how it works, my parents… they never saw or heard me. I tried to talk to them for so long and they got so scared they just left one day and never came back. No one else ever noticed me."

"So, you've been all alone for all those years?" Tony asks. Peter doesn't answer, he just looks at him with so much sadness in his eyes it breaks his heart.

"Some men were here a few days ago," Peter eventually says and pulls away from Tony to walk over to the floor length windows that provide a full view of the garden. "They didn't come inside, but I heard them talk."

"What did they do here?" Tony asks confused and Peter sighs.

"They want to buy the house," he says quietly. "They called it a disgrace and an eyesore…"

Tony gulps and in his head he replays all the stories he read as a kid about ghosts. If they destroy the house…

"What will happen if they do it?" he asks, somehow scared of the answer. "What will happen to you?"

"I… I don't know," Peter admits and wraps his arms around himself. "I know it's not pretty but it was once… I can't make it pretty again, I can't do anything…"

"Peter…" Tony feels so sad, this isn't right.

"I'm scared, Tony," Peter whispers and looks up at him, tears in his eyes. "What if they want to destroy the house? What about me? Where will I go then?"

Tony doesn't think, he just walks over and pulls Peter into his arms, hugging him as tight as he can. It's a strange feeling because he knows he shouldn't be able to and yet he can. Peter doesn't feel like anyone else but despite the cold and the unfamiliar feeling, despite knowing he's literally dead, he doesn't feel dead. Not to Tony at least.

"I'm so scared, Tony," Peter sniffs and Tony notices without any doubt that the boy is crying.

"It's okay, Peter," he says gently, rubbing the boy's back. "I'll help you, okay? You won't have to go anywhere."

"But the house, they… they want to buy it."

"I won't let them," Tony promises and he's serious. He can't stand seeing Peter so scared and he wants to help him, no matter how. "I'll fix this, alright? I promise I will."

"Thank you, Tony," Peter sniffs and for a long time they just stay like this, Tony holding him tight as the sun slowly sets outside.

-

It's a week later that Tony managed to sort everything out. He found the owners of the place, Peter's parents sold the property a few years after moving to an old lady on the other side of the town, and he managed to buy it off her easily by doubling the offer the other men made.

After that, all he had to do was take care of his own business. It would be a little inconvenient for him, sure, but he didn't care. He could manage his company from anywhere in the world and once he'd have a phone and internet, everything would work out fine.

When he returns to the house, Peter looks scared once more and pretty much runs into his arms as soon as he steps inside.

"Tony! There were even more people here and they talked about renovating and I don't know what to do!" he sobs, clinging to the man helplessly.

"Shhh, it's all good, those people work for me," Tony tells him with a smile and hugs the boy tight.

"For you?"

"They do, yes," Tony smiles and pulls back. "I promised I'd fix this, didn't I?"

"You did, but… but how?" Peter looks so confused it's adorable.

"I bought the property, now it's mine and I'll make sure it will go back to how it was before," he explains, watching Peter's eyes widen.

"R-Really?" he asks shocked. "It's yours now? I don't have to leave?"

"Even better, come, I'll show you," Tony chuckles and leads Peter outside. He walks over to his car that's parked nearby as Peter watches and takes out two suitcases.

"What's this?" Peter asks, earning another smile.

"I figured why stop with buying the house?" Tony shrugs as he carries his belongings inside. "Unless you mind the company?"

"Wait, you'll stay? Here? With me?"

"That's the plan," Tony confirms with a bright smile. "I'll stay and we can fix this place up together, what do you say?"

"Oh my god, thank you, thank you!" Peter throws himself back into Tony's arms so hard he has no other choice but to drop his suitcases and catch the boy, laughing. "Thank you so much, Tony!"

"Of course, darling," Tony laughs, pressing a kiss to Peter's head before hugging him. Is it weird that he moves in with a ghost? Maybe, but he likes Peter and the poor boy doesn't deserve any if this.

"I'm so happy you'll stay, I promise I'll be good and help you as much as I can," Peter promises and Tony can't help but chuckle again.

"I'm happy too, Peter," he smiles softly. "You won't have to be alone anymore, I promise. I'll stay with you."

[juniorgman187]

The Bones (Reid Series) Part 2

Summary: After doing an even deeper dive on Valerie’s past, Spencer finally meets her, but his invasiveness isn’t the worst part ... the worst part is he might actually like her. 

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier  (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing) Category: Series, Fluff, Soft Angst, Eventual smut and *NSFW content Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC - Valerie Content Warning: invasion of privacy, allusions to Maeve’s death, arrhythmia Word Count: 3.4k

Part 1 |

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

After firmly deciding not to weave Penelope into my tangled web, I was met with the arduous burden of conducting my own research. 

Firstly, I would need a computer - yeah ... a computer. That’s how far I was willing to go for this pursuit. I once vowed never to fall victim to modern technology’s clutches, and yet here I was, doing my research on a public library’s computer. To my credit, I hadn’t gone out and bought one, I was merely using my resources.

With the need for a device out of the way, all that was left was the knowledge of what to look for. But that didn’t pose a problem either.

Funny enough, with as many rules and restrictions as there are regarding patient privacy and confidentiality, all it took was matching dates of news stories with hospital records to complete my research. I was fairly certain I was only scratching the surface of information about Valerie as opposed to the sea of things I could’ve uncovered if I asked for Garcia’s help, but there are only so many lines a person can cross in one week. 

This was my limit.

Call me naive, but I was actually quite surprised with just how expansive the internet is. To an almost relentless degree, I would open an article and it would lead me to ten more about the same topic. It was this never ending rabbit hole that seemed to spiral on forever. I kept digging deeper and deeper until I could no longer dig. 

I’d officially hit rock bottom. 

It took me a grand total of just two hours to unearth all the ‘dirt’ I could on a young Valerie Bishop. 

Local 16-year-old Wins Nevada’s Statewide Art Contest! Published by Henderson Press. 

Valerie, just a sophomore in high school at the time, was donning what any experimental teen girl would’ve worn in the early 2000s - bootcut jeans and a sequin blouse over top of a plain camisole. And if I zoomed in close enough, I could spot the evidence of a sparkly blue shadow coating her eyelids. Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t the first thing I noticed. 

It was that smile. That tooth-achingly sweet smile. 

Though I never got the chance to see Maeve truly smile, that’s what I imagined it would look like. 

The photographer must’ve caught her midway through a laugh, at least that’s what the image of her slightly open-mouthed grin told me. Meanwhile, her two tiny hands were clenching her overbearingly large trophy while her artwork stood behind her as the background.

It didn’t take me long to figure out why her painting won. Simply put, there was no need to see anyone else’s art to know that they couldn’t possibly compete with hers. 

Hers was an abstract rendition of what I believe to be a forest of some sort. The detail is what I was most drawn to. It would’ve been unbelievable on its own but the fact that she was 16 when she painted it? That’s what was unbelievable to me. 

If that’s how talented she was at that age, I could only imagine how much more talented she became with time. However, I lost the chance to investigate the current state of her skill before a related article from The Cleveland Gazette about Valerie succeeded this one. 

From Award-Winning Artist to Henderson’s Hero

Read my interview with 17-year-old Valerie Bishop to find out more about her struggle with arrhythmia and how she turned her pain into a project! 

By Kelli Gallagher from the Cleveland Gazette. 

Gallagher: Thank you so much for letting me interview you, Valerie. 

Bishop: Of course! I’m happy to. 

Gallagher: You’ve become somewhat of a hero in Henderson, Nevada, haven’t you?

Bishop: I wouldn’t call myself a hero ... but if everyone else wants to - I’m fine with that. (laughs)

Gallagher: Don’t be so modest! I mean, what you’ve done is so incredible, and you’re only what? Seventeen?

Bishop: Yes, ma’am. I just turned seventeen this past August. 

Gallagher: Wow, I can’t believe how young you are and yet you’ve already accomplished so much. I saw that you won a statewide art contest last year. Tell me more about that. 

Bishop: That’s a funny story actually. My Grandma Sheila was the one who entered me in that contest. I didn’t even know about it until I won it. She’s always surprising me, though. In fact, she’s the one that surprised me with my first ever art supplies, when I was about eight or so. They were these super expensive oil paints, and I knew she couldn’t afford them, so I told her we should return them and get something cheaper, but she said, “Nonsense. When the bones are good the rest don’t matter. A house don’t fall when the bones are good.” That was kind of her saying. 

A house don’t fall when the bones are good. 

The bones. 

Gallagher: I’m interested to know more about your relationship with your grandma. If I’m remembering correctly, she was also diagnosed with arrhythmia a while back too, right?

Bishop: Yes, she was, but that’s never slowed her down. And as for our relationship, my grandma and I have always been close, but arrhythmia, in a weird way, has brought us even closer. She has always been my biggest supporter and the fact that we’re both on this journey together makes her my biggest supporter even more so. 

Gallagher: Absolutely. Now, I also heard that you’ve started a fundraising program to possibly start a gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. If you don’t mind me asking, why Virginia Beach? Is there any special significance? 

Bishop: Actually, that’s where my grandma met my grandpa, and they got married and started a family there, too. So if Grandma Sheila hadn’t been there to meet him, she wouldn’t have had my mom, and that would mean I wouldn’t have been here either. I like to think Virginia Beach is where it all started. In a way, it’s where my bones are. That solid foundation in Virginia gave me everything I have today.

Gallagher: That is just incredible. I’m so glad to see your fundraising project is thriving, but I can’t imagine any of this has been particularly easy for you. You were diagnosed right around the time your senior year was starting right?

Bishop: Yes ma’am. 

Gallagher: So what brought you from Henderson to Cleveland?

Bishop: Well, actually, I didn’t want to move, especially not before I graduated, but Cleveland has the best cardiovascular hospital in the country and my health is far more important than graduating in the same state I grew up in. So when my parents were willing to move me and my sister out here, I saw it as a privilege rather than something to be sad about. 

Gallagher: I am so inspired by you, Valerie.

Bishop: (laughs) Really, why?

Gallagher: Despite everything that’d been thrown at you, you are still so grateful. I hope you never lose that. 

Bishop: I promise you I won’t.

Gallagher: So one last thing before I go, what is one hope you have for your future self?

Bishop: I hope, future self, that your ‘bones’ are still strong.

Gallagher: Beautiful. Thank you so much again for doing this, Valerie. I sincerely hope you reach your goal and you get to open up that gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. 

At the bottom of the article, there was a footnote from Kelli Gallagher. 

Exactly 10 years later, Bishop was able to move to Virginia Beach and open up her gallery and studio. 

By the end of the article, I felt a genuine sense of pride for Valerie, and I know I had virtually no right to know these things about her, but I could still be proud of her for them right?

I would never fully get my answer to this question before I crossed the final boundary. 

After exhausting all that I could gather from the internet without Penelope’s assistance, the only thing left for me to do was actually meet her in person. However, this would prove to be a bigger obstacle that it seemed. I decided to delay the daunting task until the next day. A decision partially influenced by the phrase, ‘sleep on it.’ I prayed I’d gain clarity on what to do when I woke up the next morning, but even with a night’s rest, I was still undecided as I drove to Virginia Beach once more.

To sit in my car that was conveniently parked right in front of the gallery was a poor choice. Because with every passing second, the temptation to walk in grew, but the fear of regret dampened those impulses. The more I thought about it, the more I psyched myself out. Between my two choices, to freeze or to fight, I should’ve taken the third - to flee. But I was here now and I couldn’t leave empty-handed for a second time. 

After a moment’s indecision, adrenaline coursed through my veins to give me the courage to get out of my car. When I felt an outdoor breeze blow over me, I knew there was no going back now. Right when I walked in, the little bell above the door rang, solidifying that I was officially crossing the threshold, and whether I liked it or not, she was going to see me after hearing me walk in.

“I’ll be right with you!” A small voice called out from somewhere in the back. She was hidden from my immediate sight, and somehow that made it so much worse. It was now I that was waiting for her, instead of her unknowingly waiting for me. 

As though I were prey getting ready to escape a predator, I stayed put by the door. It gave me a full view of the entire place anyway. 

Scoping out my surroundings, I spotted the paintings that were carefully measured and placed on the walls, almost to perfection. I had no time to notice anything more before the person in the back walked out. 

Immediately when I saw her, I knew.

“You’re … not Valerie.” I couldn’t help sounding so disappointed but luckily, the woman that came out took no offense to my observation. 

“No, I’m not,” She laughed. “But I can get her for you-”

“No wait!” I uselessly leapt forward to stop her from saying, “Vee! There’s someone out here to see you!” But that’s precisely what she did anyway. Evidently oblivious of my previous protests, she politely smiled back at me. “She’ll be right out.” 

For the second time that day, I waited with bated breath, anxiously anticipating the arrival of Valerie. And I was almost too focused on subduing the pounding of my heart to realize that she was actually walking out of the back right now. 

“Hi, sorry about that!” A new voice chirped. 

Valerie. 

The moment I laid eyes on her, it became clear to me that the pictures in her files hardly did her justice. Nothing could compare to the real sight of her. I was only able to catch the profile of her face when I saw her in the cafe, but in her entirety, I began to wax nostalgic. Though her face and hair and body had transformed into that of a grown woman’s features, I could still identify the same tooth-achingly sweet smile that a younger Valerie once wore on the front page of the Henderson Press. She was no beast to conquer, she was just a girl, smiling at me in that same gentle way. 

Her expression just as well showed no indication of recognition, not that she would recognize me, considering my letter was anonymous and unless she pulled the same stunt I did, she wouldn’t ever recognize who I was. 

“I’m Val,” She made her greeting to me while untying her dirtied waist apron, and it was merely the action that caused my gaze to fall to her hips, but when she shed the apron, I was still staring. There was something sort of mesmerizing about the way they swayed as she approached. It wasn’t until they stopped swaying completely that I realized they did so because there was no more distance to advance - she was already right there in front of me, patiently watching me stare. 

“Val?” I blinked hard to revert my gaze while also playing into the part that I had no idea who she was. 

“Mhm. Short for Valerie,” She confirmed happily. “Like the Amy Winehouse song.” 

This time, I genuinely didn’t know what she was referring to, and my confused countenance prompted her to clarify, “You don’t know that song?” 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she began to playfully sing, “Well, sometimes I go out by myself and I look across the water ...” 

While she watched my face and waited for the recitation of the song to jog my memory, I was just as much studying her face. I could tell she was only kidding when she sang, evidenced by the laugh that followed her rendition, but it sounded so unironically good that I had to question what other talents she possessed. 

“Um, I was actually thinking more like Valerie, the martyred medieval saint, whose name stood for strength and health.” No sooner than the words spilled from my mouth did I recognize the freudian slip - the simultaneous coincidence and confession. The coincidence was that, now, with Maeve’s heart beating in her chest, she lived up to her name - she was newly strong and healthy. But I worried, she would see the correlation I drew between her name and her successful transplant and would realize that I knew more about her than I let on. Did I just give away too much?

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier. What was it?” Her casual dismissiveness of my previous statement did nothing to ease my worries. Was she beginning to piece everything together?

“Oh, right!” I said dumbly. “S-Spencer. I’m Spencer.” I was such a blubbering bundle of nerves that I actually reached out to shake her hand - a stranger’s hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Spencer,” She softly laughed, which was hopefully not out of the enjoyment of seeing me squirm. “What can I do for you?” 

A loaded question, don’t you think? What can you do for me, Valerie? Well, for one thing, you could’ve answered my letter, but to say something as bold as that would require me to admit the real reason I was here, and how could I do that without mentioning how I found you in the first place?

“Um ...” Whose birthday is the soonest? “My friend Emily’s birthday is coming up and I was wondering if I could possibly buy a painting from you as a birthday present.” 

There was the faintest perceptible skepticism in her expression, but that could’ve just been my paranoia talking because in the next breath, she didn’t suggest a proclivity to my deceit. “Yeah, of course! Do you know what her favorite medium is? Or her favorite artist? Or her favorite style of art?” 

For every addition to the question, I wordlessly shook my head no. Was my lie already unraveling? Could she see right through me?

“No worries. If you want, you can walk around the gallery and tell me if you see anything you think she’d like.” She made her offer to me sweetly, then disappeared into the back room again. I tried to follow her with my eyes for as long as I could, but from where I was standing, I couldn’t see very far into it. I wandered a little further into the center of the gallery to possibly catch a glimpse of what was occupying her time back there, but when I heard the chattering of two voices, Valerie and the other woman, coming from the same general direction, I realized I was completely alone in this part of the studio.

With no one around to bear witness but these portraits, I could’ve easily slipped out and made my escape, and I might’ve even done it had it not been for the unmistakable gravitational pull forcing me to stay here and walk about the room. 

Making my way throughout the gallery, I would pause every now and then when a painting would stand out to me, which was often, considering each picture was impressive. 

But there was one painting in particular that piqued my interest. It made me feel something I’d never felt before. 

It wasn’t special by any means. By rights, I shouldn’t have even noticed it, for it wasn’t the largest painting, nor the smallest one - it wasn’t even the most average painting. But it felt exceptionally ... Valerie. I had no doubt in my mind that she painted this one - in fact, I had a good bet that she painted most of these portraits, if not all of them - but this one. There was just something about it that I couldn’t put my finger on. 

“So,” A draft was created from where Valerie swiftly and unexpectedly joined me at my side. “What do you think?” 

“Um, there’s definitely something,” I struggled to find the word. “appealing about this one.” Almost as soon as the word came out of my mouth, I knew it was only a matter of time before she called out the inadequacy of my answer. 

“Appealing?” She repeated in mockery. “That’s the best you got? Come on, you’ve been standing here for like ten minutes. There must be something about it you like.” 

“I’m not sure.” I honestly admitted with a shrug.

“There’s no wrong answer.” She assured me, but I found that hard to believe. 

“So if I said I see a grizzly bear attacking a UFO, that wouldn’t be wrong?”

“Nope,” She popped the p. “If that’s how you interpret it then that’s how you interpret it. Just because someone else sees it differently, doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” It would’ve sounded like complete bullshit or nauseatingly cheesy coming out of someone else’s mouth, but her delivery felt so genuine. It actually moved me. 

As she said this, she turned her head in my direction to look up at me, causing her shoulder to brush my upper arm, sending a wave of goosebumps all over my body. 

She was so close. 

But I was so unbothered by her proximity that I didn’t even notice exactly how close she really was. If someone else had invaded my personal space like that, I would’ve moved in the opposite direction just on instinct, but I didn’t even think to do that with Valerie. I was so comfortable with her being there. 

But was that just because a part of her was once Maeve’s? Was the entire foundation of my likening to Valerie built upon that single attribute?

Was that my bones?

“Um,” I began fidgeting with my hands to self-soothe. “I like it. I don’t know why. But I like it. How’s that for an answer?”

There was a pause before her response that compelled me to look at her, but when I did so, she was already looking at me. “I’ll take it,” She nodded. “It’s the biggest compliment to me if my art can make you feel something.”

Was it the art that made me feel something ... or you?

“I’ll tell you what,” She walked over to grab something from the front desk. She came back with a small piece of cardstock. “I’m going to an art exhibition next weekend. Why don’t you come with me and see if you can’t find something for Emily there?”

She handed me the paper, which was actually her business card. “You don’t have to have an answer for me today, but call me when you do.” She seemed to think that was the end of the conversation, but I still had more questions. 

“You’re inviting me?” was the first question that came to mind, albeit the dumbest one.

“Yeah, you can be my plus one.”

I gulped to dislodge the lump in my throat. “Like-like your date?” 

She furrowed her brows with mild confusion. “Um ... sure, if that’s what you wanna call it,” which was the last thing she said to me before vanishing within the back room again. 

I peered back down at the card and tapped it gently on the palm on my hand as though to register its presence really being there. 

For all intents and purposes, this card was meaningless. But to me, it was the formal consenting - nay, invitation - to reach out to her again. She was willingly extending this line of contact to me. 

No more public library computers. No more files. No more ‘research.’ Just her number - a way to reach her without veering off my moral compass. 

Despite this, I still had no clue whether or not I was going to accept her offer.

All that I did know was that I wanted to see her again. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

PART 3 COMING SOON!

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[whump-town]

A Cumbersome and Heavy Body

Chapter Four: How to Disappear Completely

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count:  2,670 (not very long but I’m getting back into the swing)

Author’s Note: I know it’s been like freaking two months but this felt nice and I remembered how much I actually enjoy this fic. You can find the first chapter here!

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird) bonus: I’m 19 and a humanities major so obviously I don’t know anything about medicine so I’m doing my best out here

I'm not here I'm not here This isn't happening I'm not here I'm not here

She’s not allowed to go with him to treatments-- radiation treatments, he never said anything about chemo. You’d think she was the ex-lawyer but really she’s just mastered the art of annoying him. “That’s a straight flush, eat it!” She lays the cards out for him to see, grinning as his face falls and he realizes that he’s lost to her, again. “We totally should have played strip-poker.”

He rubs a hand over his face, digging his fingers into his eye socket. “That’s the last thing I need,” he mumbles, leaning back against his chair. He’s exhausted and freezing his ass off despite the long-sleeved t-shirt he’s wearing under his flannel and the blanket Emily’s tucked around him. There’s no point in bringing it up, no point in talking about it. No one can do anything about it. He’s just cold and he can handle the clump of hair that fell in the sink this morning and the fact that all foods, even foods that he’s considered safe for decades, betray his body. This being cold all the time thing though? It’s pissing him off and it makes him feel even more helpless because he can’t control his emotions.

Nevermind, most of his control over everything is gone. He’s stuck in this chair until the toxic whatever they have hanging above his head enters his body. The whole bag and a two-hour, maybe longer, wait. For comfort, he’s got an endless supply of blankets, all as thick as paper, and a popsicle. He likes popsicles but he’s certain he’ll throw up anything he eats right now. So he sticks to lightly sipping his water. At least he gets to control the water most of the time. Occasionally they even get to veto his decisions there.

“I’ll give you a break,” she offers. She can see he’s having a hard time. He knows he’s lucky to have her as his shadow but that doesn’t do much for the temper he’s struggling to control. “I’m going to go call JJ,” she knocks her hand against his knee and he hums his understanding. He’s moved his body up, sitting up enough to tilt to the left, his head in his palm, and his fingers moved to block her view of a pained grimace. Trying and failing to keep her distracted with his silence.

Knowing that crouching down beside him would create far more attention to his discomfort that is such grave importance to him to hide, she just lowers her voice and quietly asks, “do you want me to get some more water?” He shakes his head, just rocking his forehead into his palm. His attention lost to a sea of pain. “Okay,” she mumbles, feeling utterly helpless. A feeling she’s becoming quite familiar with.  

The worst part is knowing there’s nothing she can do physically for him but there are some people that never fail to draw a smile to his face. So she texts Spencer and Penelope, hoping Reid will numb Hotch out with never-ending conversation and Garcia will lighten his sludge. She hesitates to ask Jessica to bring Jack over. After the night they watched the Chronicles of Narnia he’s been a little outwardly disruptive. Acting out and it’s to be expected, this isn’t easy for anyone and it’s impossible for a child who has already lost his mother. But it will be good for Hotch and Jack so she risks it and Jessica seems to agree.

“You’re back early.” What she does not account for is Derek Morgan beating them back. They walk in and hear a racket, and though their training should have them reaching for guns not strapped to their hips, they both just glare at the direction in which it’s coming from. Derek stands up, eyeing them both over, and motioning to something out of their sight. “Was just fixing the sink.” He’s covered in dirt and sweat, it’s evident he was fixing something though the state of his shirt looks more like he breaking something.

Emily is opening her mouth to inquire but Hotch beats her to it. His tone and his mood are not in a good place and if she’d known Morgan was here ahead of time she would have warned him. Morgan has no warning when Hotch’s already firmly placed scowl turns even crueler and he grumbles, “the sink wasn’t broken.”

She’s stuck standing between them, Hotch walking away and Morgan watching his back and looking hopelessly at her to explain what just happened. She’s not sure if she’s allowed to follow Hotch or if she’s better here explaining his behavior. It’s just like old times, she thinks bitterly. To Foyet and his pain and she can’t say she’s surprised, he really held out. She can’t blame him for being in a bad mood, he’s in pain. It’s his cancer, he’s allowed to be pissed about it.

“He okay?”

She is surprised to find that Morgan isn’t angry. That he looks nearly sad standing there, torn between going after him and being reassured by her. “He’s…” she won’t tell him about the drive back. Hotch silent but in so much pain he’d been restless, incapable of sitting still in the car. Or this morning how he’d needed her help just putting on a shirt. The hair she’s noticed falling out but he’s not commenting on it so she certainly won’t breathe a word. That they’re up all night, the sound of Hotch’s pacing making her too worried to rest or barreling through the house to find him curled around the toilet looking miserable. That he’s losing weight rapidly and she doesn’t struggle to help him up anymore-- but she tells herself it’s because she’s getting stronger because she has to.

“He’s Hotch,” she reasons, foolishly. “Of course, he’s okay.”

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

Garcia would lay her own life down in a heartbeat to protect the team if they’d let her. She owes them all so much for the quality that they have given her life over the past few years. They have built a family around her, from the ground up, and accepted her through all her flaws and misadventures. No one as much as her suit-clad, knight in shining armor boss. Hotch has been there for her since before there was even really a team. When no one else would, he gave her so much more than a chance-- he believed in her. When no one else, when no one had even tried since her parent’s death. Even when time and time again she made mistakes, pushed rules, and on his last nerve. He never tore her down.

He commends her strangeness, even if she suspects he doesn’t fully understand it. Smiles good-naturedly when she brings him holiday-themed ties so they can match and allows her silly days out for conventions beyond his own taste. He’s never grasped a full understanding of her but he’s never given up trying. He commends her abilities to do this job and also reminds her how proud he is of her, to have her on his team, and to call her a friend. So, yeah, if Hotch needs a little pick-me-up, she’s his man.

“Are you two fucking?”

Garcia freezes. The key Hotch gave her half-way in its retreat from the lock and the door only slightly opened. She’s technically coming in unannounced but Hotch had given her this key under the same pretenses as the one that gave her access to his and Haley’s house-- in case she needs him. The situations are flipped now, he needs her, but the sentiment is still the same. She’d prepared for the Hotch’s thousand-word frown upon entrance just not the verbal assault of “are you two fucking”.

She hesitantly makes her way into the room, peeking around the corner of the wall that separates the kitchen from the living room. Emily and Morgan are standing there, both looking equally disgusted and annoyed. She watches Emily fluster, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “What?” she barks out in pure surprise. “He’s-- NO!”

Morgan reciprocates his own franticness, waving at Emily’s clothes, “you’re-- you’re... matching!” He’s grabbing at straws for the most part. His own anxieties and fears coming into play to create this monster of a beast he can’t stop thinking about. To distract himself from the panicked thoughts he has about watching his friend die he’s conjured a reality in which it makes sense that Emily and Hotch would be boning. Really, it’s only bothering him because he has no idea what he would do if the two of them were… doing something. It’s just-- just disgusting. Hotch is Hotch, he doesn’t… do that.

Emily rolls her eyes, “Derek, I see him every day. I live with him.” She makes an exasperated throwing motion with her hands, tossing them upwards. “It’s going to happen occasionally, alright? We own similar articles of clothing.” She motions down to her clothes, “we’re ‘matching’ because we look a lot alike and he knows green is his color just like I know it’s mine!”

Of course, that’s what she says now but this morning when she was working the tiny ass buttons of his shirt together she’d given him endless shit about managing to pick out the one shirt the two of them both own. He couldn’t change-- that day’s appointments needed full access to his chest and the easiest way to do that is to wear easily opened and shut clothing. She could change but simply refused-- it was far more entertaining to tell him they looked like those preschoolers whose parents dressed them to match.

He wasn’t amused.

“Besides,” she adds just to a rise out of him, “he’s not supposed to be doing anything strenuous until the rash on his chest clears back up.” She tucks a strand behind her ear, nonchalant. “Even then I would have to be on top.” She smiles as he sputters, satisfied with her own work.

Morgan frowns, “No!” He momentarily covers his ears, shaking his head. “Why do you even-- How do you know that?”

Emily shrugs, “Oh… well, his doctor thought we were… you know.”

Garcia isn’t sure where her allegiance should be. If Hotch and Emily are… she’d prefer not to know the details. Well, she’s interested because it’s Emily but it’s also Hotch. She makes a face, the thought… it-- Hotch needs to lighten up. He needs someone back in his life that can bring some fun but Emily is, well she’s Emily! It f-

“Is she done tormenting Morgan, yet?”

Garcia reels around, caught off guard by a sudden deep but unimpressed voice behind her. When she turns, she finds Hotch. He’s dressed down, out of the attire Morgan and Emily had been talking about. Now, in a simple Hanes t-shirt and black sweatpants. Comfortable-- she likes the way he looks. It may not be his usual attire but it makes him look more… dad-like. More himself.

Garcia looks back over her shoulder and finds herself grinning. Her boss may seem like a boring, hardass but he can have his fun too. No doubt, he either gave Emily the idea to go torment Morgan (never direct but planted the seedling idea) or, at the very least, gave her permission. “I don’t think so,” she answers honestly. “She’s not going to let it go if she knows it bothers him that much.” Which is completely true.

Hotch smiles, softly. A dimple making a guest appearance as he shakes his head. Only Emily Prentiss. He looks Garcia down, lifting a brow at the sight of all the things in her arms. “Can I help you with that?” he offers, motioning to the filled Tupperware clutched to her chest so that they don’t topple over.

She remembers, suddenly, the armful of goodies she has. “Oh yes, sir!” She lets him take a few off the top, telling him what they are as he acquires them. “Those are macadamia nut cookies! This really nice woman--” she follows him as he takes the containers and directs her to the kitchen. “She moved in across the hall from me. She loves to bake and so she’s been giving me all these little recipes.”

He moves right past Emily and Derek, smiling to himself at the panicked raise in Derek’s tone as they catch sight of one another. He directs his attention back to Garcia, making sure she knows he’s listening. Though he doubts his own abilities to dig into the delicacies Garcia has brought, he knows that Jack and Emily will rip them to shreds. Which is the honorable way Garcia’s cooking should go, straight into very gracious mouths.

“I really hadn’t been able to test them out,” she continues. “So, I thought why not try them all right now and bring them to you!” She smiles cheerfully up at him, their height difference more apparent when he looks down realizes she’s not wearing her signature heels. She’s wearing pink converse, perfectly complimenting her pink sweater and pink glasses and jewelry. He thinks she looks positively amazing but knows any compliments will have him smothered in kisses and, well, he’s already been accused of sleeping with one coworker...

Mind still wandering off on the subject of his height and when the last time he saw Garcia in shoes other than heels, he settles a soft smile on her. She keeps talking, showing him each container's contents. It’s the exhaustion that leads him down the path beaten path of dissociation, his mind simply slipping out from beneath him. Someplace warm and fuzzy where his body doesn’t ache.

“Aaron--” He blinks, startling at the sudden touch to his shoulder. He looks down to find Emily and an anxious-looking Garcia. He’s sure Emily and Derek’s conversation about their relationship is now going to seem more damning as her hand slips into his. She squeezes his fingers, “you okay?” Her eyes flick between his, searching for an answer that’s going to be far more honest than the one he produces on his own.

He clears his throat, forcing himself not to blush. “Yeah,” he croaks. “I don’t… I don’t know what that was.” He bashfully averts his eyes to the kitchen floor, very aware of their attention on him now. Too much attention. It’s impossible to hide the way he shivers, the paling, near purpling of his arms. He knows it’s inevitable that they’ll notice but… he’d like to think himself some mastermind. Impervious to the tests of cancer and his treatments. That they don’t affect him. He can hide the central line under layers of clothes. Wear hats to hide the hair. Fake a smile and force his way through the day.

But he’s failing miserably. They see it. The radiation rash now sitting at the base of his neck, red and angry. Peaking out through his shirts. The bulge of the central line under his normal shirts. The nose bleeds that never stops, he’s scarred Reid and Morgan for life with those. The tinnitus that’s recently come back with a vengeance. He’s affected, good and proper, and he hates it. Hates that he has to be so blatantly mortal in front of everyone. Never gets a say in if today is good or bad. If he’ll be too weak to get out of bed or too sick to eat. He hates it.

Garcia is the first person to properly break the tension. She playfully knocks Hotch in the shoulder, more of a tap than anything. It’s careful and his throat tightens with the realization of how weak he must look to make Garcia afraid she could hurt him with a simple tap.  “It’s all good, sir.” She settles a small smile on him, “but you can make it up to me by eating?”

Eating. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, swallowing thickly around the sick twist of his stomach. “Okay,” he answers softly, forcing a smile to match hers when she beams. Thinking she’s won against his unruly stomach. 

Emily glances at him but ignores it. 

He just wants to be normal again. 

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan, @lazyhater (Just lmk if you don’t want to be tagged anymore)

[grim-faux]

2 _ 34 _ The Other Child  

First

 The building was falling apart. The upper floors ravaged by the elements and the fine tooth of time, barely held together. In some rooms the outer walls collapsed, revealing the storms and surrounding landscape of the city spanning forever into the thick mists. No handholds or scaffolding from the under skin of the building side, offered safe methods to reach the lowers floor let alone the ground itself. Somehow through all the down trek they managed, it was too high for the group – let alone one solo – to scale safety.

 This came, after they located what must’ve been an entry out of the building. One. The frame and walls collapsed, maybe from walls crumbled out of the higher stories, or another building. In all the upheavals the city endured, some buildings merged together, and likewise made the outside world tricky to find. Still, it made no difference where the ruble came from or how it happened, this was no way out. Not safely. Not even Mug could crawl through the tight crawlspaces.

 It was decided. There had to be another opening or better yet a window, and they just had to knot up a braid a rope to climb down from. The searching was going nowhere, and they were running out of chances.

 Several times already, the trope inadvertently crossed paths with the monster. And that kid. Close calls that could have ended in disaster. No one really knew what the Broadcaster did to children, but some speek on the walls showed the sad little shadows. Even Rye insisted, in a rare moment of share speek, that he had seen a the hint of a not real child (a memory, a nightmare?), perched high and alone on a road edge. The fragments of the ones cornered, tricked out of existence. The group was lucky, managing to cue in on the foreshadow of the Broadcaster's approach; either by the flashing of faulty bulbs or the steady click of his shoes on the floor. The group kept on high alert, and when even the suggestion of the tall thin man sprang loose, everyone darted for cover – ducking beneath furniture, crowding behind garbage, shoving into any space. At one point Wisp had to be quick and tuck all of himself up into his hoody and lay, like a discarded heap of clothing, in an among other articles of too large laundry.

 The child though. That kid made Lope nervous. He was certain the boy must’ve been aware of them at one point - while he and Mug flattened into the shadows within a bookcase. The kid could’ve overlooked them, but it was hard to believe that they would have that sort luck. Not after so many close calls.

 Once or more, when he was stuck in a position that enabled him to keep an eye on the tall-tall figure striding by, he thought the kid stalled and glanced about. Curious? Suspicious more likely. The Ferrent might be waiting, until they could all be cornered. That had to be the reason. Wait for the best moment. They wouldn’t stand a chance. No hint or warning, just stole. All of them. It could happen at any moment, they couldn't keep away from the monster. It was a matter of time.

 By some good fortune, they tumbled into a room from a crack in a wall. The door might be unlocked and inviting for all they knew, but the kitchen still had some food things left behind. The former occupant had recently perished, and hung by a rope tied to a distressed and tangled ceiling fan; the whole device torn clear out of the plaster, and lay with the body on the floor. Wisp and Mug had a fight over the remote, over who could click the television off. The televisions concealed noises, but the Broadcaster watched from them too. Or, could appear from them. A lot of speek stories showed the Broadcaster, but at times the nightmares confused children. Some forgot what was real and what was not. Televisions were bad, and it was a triumph to shut one off.

 All of them remained on edge, listening keenly as they raided cabinets for anything that survived, stopping every so often to listen for the creaking walls. The former occupant was still fresh, and most of the cabinet stuff was packaged bars and whatever else. Mug and Rye took armfuls of something and went off, probably to check out the other rooms. For the time, he stayed with Wisp, competing with how much they could stuff their faces.

 Lope was distracted by the thought of the child, following the monster everywhere. Chasing. If the monster really did not suspect his pack was around, then they were fortunate to go this long without detection. Someone should already be dead, or worse. One of the benefits of being in a number pack, your chances of survival were highest if you were fastest.

 A few times while he ate, he glanced Wisp’s way. His packmate was something like angry, but more sad. Since showing the story, he’d been like this. He decided the other kid had to be this Ferrent, and for all of them, it was a bad.

 That was why Lope decided to leave. When Rye, Mug, and Wisp found a wall to nest in – not far from the kitchen but supplied plenty of space to shoot out of, if a threat came skulking. Lope waited until his group was settled in, curled up in their preferred positions beside their preferred nest buddy. Once the bundles got quiet and the nudging stopped, he slipped away. Seamless, gliding, vacant of sound or presence. While he scooted out of the crevice, Rye gave him a look, but nothing was done. For all Rye knew, he was going for a bathroom. It wasn’t like Lope to leave in the middle of nest time, though.

 The crevice they first tumbled down from had wear in the wall beneath, from water that gushed through in the past. Water didn't use the opening now, so Lope could climb the boards and reach the space without assistance. It was the exit, in case something large and tall came creeping through the main door. The others would be fine.

 He was curious about that kid. He didn’t really think the Broadcaster needed a kid to Ferrent out other kids, like Wisp implied. The man in the hat was crafty and set traps, always just appearing, could be everywhere. However, there was never mention of a child being a part of the chase. It didn’t make sense. The whole thing was perplexing and... frightening.

 Traveling through the rooms wasn’t much easier on his own. Most the doors he couldn’t reach the handle, but, as he recalled, the doors would be locked anyway. Even the ones that held nothing but quiet. An eerie stillness, as if the world beyond was torn away. He shuddered and kept moving, completely lost in the big corridor. The others would be lost too, when they went out search. Maybe on his own he can find a way out, a safe and fast exit that didn’t require a scary climb.

 Some of the passageways through walls and below dusty floorboards are not new, he and the others trekked this way, searched endlessly and backtracked too often. He still checks though, while being extra cautious when he poked his head out of cracks. At times the lamps above pulse, but nothing drastic or alarming. The storm raged on. He’d rather be soaked and in the rain, than scrambling shadow to shadow in these narrow tunnels with too many dead ends.

 The Broadcaster must know his pack is here, and is only biding his time until he collected them. If the creature sprang its trap while he was away, maybe two will get away. He hoped that the monster wasn’t on its way now, to surprise his pack. He felt bad for thinking those sort of things about Wisp, but there was only a narrow opening to get out of the room – unless there was a second or other gap Rye and Mug found. They wouldn’t stop and wonder where he was, if the Broadcaster appeared.

 While creeping through a space within a wall, he’s spooked badly by the dull rustling and a piercing shriek. He rushed behind the plaster, squeezed between tightly woven planks, narrowly bypassing a crevice torn into the outer layer. Faint radiance peeked through, and with a little digging, he managed to get a space open enough that he could peer through unhindered. It sounded like a television was prowling across the room, the oppressive hum drilled at his skull.

 Dark bars blurred past his hide place, he almost recoiled on reflex, nearly missing… the kid! The crazy kid was right beneath the monster, making noises. That was speek, wasn’t it? The kid did speek at the monster, and darted around its feet! With muscles tense he crouched, waiting to see this nutty kid to turn into a red smear.

 He almost exhaled. Almost. The monster halted its movement and shifted around, until it caught view of the kid… then it bent low and stretched out one long arm. The kid reversed a step and swung away, dashing at full speed. The hand was already coiled around the kid’s body and lifted him up effortlessly, despite how the kid wriggled and pried at the fingers. A stabbing shriek rattled the room, and the child fought harder to no gain. Helpless.

 In the tight cut of light, Lope shuffled over trying for a good view, while the tall man in the hat carried the thrashing child away. Where was it taking him? What did it plan to do? They were wrong, he wasn’t Ferrent. This might not mean anything, maybe the monster was looking for children and this kid wasn’t doing his job. Could be doing that job poorly? No, this kid wouldn't risk his safety for other kids.

 All he could do was keep quiet. The radiance through the room flickered, when the Broadcaster clicked across the floor in its casual stride. Lope was absolutely sure he couldn’t be seen through the tiny slot, let alone reached, but all the same he held his breath and kept motionless.

 In a glitchy pattern, the Broadcaster dissolved beneath the murky cloak. When the light reasserted, the creature had vanished. Completely. Still, he wouldn’t move a muscle or hair, as if expecting those long fingers to reach in through the tight passage behind his back and coil around his own body. The same way it happened to the other kid. Gone.

 That other kid was gone. Took somewhere, and something happened. He was gone.

 No, wait. Wrong. That familiar and small shape darted into the room, the faint steps slowing when the boy passed over the center of the rotten carpet and found the area vacant. The kid glanced around, the hat he wore concealing his face… much like the tall-tall monster. Lope didn’t like that.

 The kid shuffled over to the side of the wall, out of the floors center and edging toward a piece of furniture. Lope couldn’t see exactly what it was, nor did he care. The clothing on this kid fit about as well as Rye’s clothing did. The hat was a little big but not absurd. Lope eased down on his knee—

 The child whipped around, glaring directly at the space and slot where Lope hid. Lope coughed and ducked, but already the faint steps retreated. He went ahead and peered back up, but as suspected the kid is gone.

 A way into the room. The base of the wall was so rotten from water, he could poke right through the plaster like brittle mud. But getting through the boards braced against the backside, that was a different challenge.  At least he was able to creep through the wall, punch holes into the crummy plaster and get a view. No sign of the kid anywhere. The visible passages led to what might be more rooms, or small closets. He wouldn’t know until he got in there.

 A space in the wall base was cracked, and the wood slates splintered outward from Lope. He got on his back and pressed his heels to the board, the timber gave a dull groan and crackled when it buckled outward, against the plaster backing. With his back braced to wall, he set in more force and the wall blasted outward. The new break formed enough space he could squirm through, without nicking himself. It occurred to him as he squeezed through, this might not be the same dwelling. This might very well be a whole other area, a neighboring place.

 Lope kept beside the wall ducking under furniture and creeping through shadows. He paid attention to the lights, but the soft glow remained steady. The ominous clicking of shoes absent. Even so, he kept hype attuned, always keeping a view of the passage and the room where the fracture lay. He hadn’t seen which direction the kid took off in, if he went the way the Broadcaster carried off in, or the corridor Lope now explored. This all looked like the same sort of damaged room, no shortage of discarded clothing left in heaps or boxes. Some suitcases too.

 A spooky calm settled over the rooms as he poked through. In his delicate threading, he saw no flash of movement or picked up on the airless flutter of steps. The other kid must be hide, from him. Odd, but not (all things considered) bizarre. Right now, Lope didn't think he wanted to do anything to the other kid, but that kid wouldn't know his intent. Kids did steal from each other if they could, and that kid had the coolest coat. Probably protected him from the rain.

 After a long and unproductive search, Lope finally found his way into a kitchen space. He examined over the cabinets, debating on the chance the kid might come in here to hide. If he was in a cabinet, then he planned to duck out when—

 One of the doors creaked ever so slightly. Lope dipped toward one side of the kitchen cabinets, peering at the compromised door. Within it was gloomy and deep, nothing shifted or winked. Feeling a little rise in his nerves he crept forward, crouched low and supported on his hands. He steadied himself as he neared the cracked door and reached out slowly.

 But stopped. His hair stood on end, and his muscles buzzed. Every fiber in his being told him ‘flee NOW’, but he ignored it and cautiously rotated on his knee. And abruptly sprang back, hitting the side of the cabinets with an echoing WHUMP! He didn’t cease the retreat, until he reached the doorway of the kitchen. He hovered in the threshold, unsure if he should chance a retreat now or confront this child.

 On the other hand the kid, adorned with a paper bag now – the eye holes seemed to glare, though they were round and expressionless, this kid stood with his arms out at his sides, hands clenched into fists. He was ready for something, but whatever it was… Lope was afraid to dwell.

 The main takeaway, he looked okay. That might not be a good thing. He was okay, all alone in this place, and a monster out roaming – on the hunt. That wasn’t good at all.

 Then the kid did something completely weird. His shoulders slacked and his fists uncoiled. He tipped his paper bag head to the side, as if curious. Then he inched a little closer, still guarded, but approached with one hand raised.

 Lope wasted no time lunging and shoving the kid back by the shoulders. The force threw the kid right off his feet and flat to his back. Lope retreated to a wall beside the cabinets and knelt there, scowling with every ounce of his face. Ready to confront this kid once more.

 The kid leaned up from the harsh assault and sat there, fists curled in his lap. The dorky paper bag turned to him, but the boy did nothing. Only stared. For now.

 And they were like this in the old creaky building, the lights periodically flashing. The occasional flicker drawing concern from Lope. He shouldn’t stay here. It’d been a while; the others would be searching again. For a way out or making a way out.

 Then, his attention was drawn to the other kid. The boy swept up to his feet and hurried over to the cabinets. Lope was on the verge of abandoning this situation entirely, but the kid was digging through the supplies – prying out boxes, hoisting up the paper mask to nibble at things stuffed or wrapped into plastic. Eventually, he pulled up something in a wrapper, and… slowly, shuffled over to Lope.

 He could smell it already. Some sort of protein, sweet meat thing. Reflexive more than anything, he extended his arms to the offering. The kid didn’t hesitate to shove it to him, then, retreated a step to crouch down and observe. With the placid bag face gawking.

 Lope was sure he shoved the thing into his mouth, but it was gone in the next instant. He didn’t eat that… long ago. He didn’t know. Didn’t care. He licked his lips and continued the stare off with the kid. Wary. He had to be faster than the kid. He was the fastest of his group. If it came down to it, he would outrun this kid.

 Again, the kid went to the cabinet and dug out something edible. This time he chewed through something himself, before bringing another lump of food to Lope. The kid was giving him good stuff, not things he didn’t want to eat – not that there wasn’t anything Lope wouldn’t eat. The kid was giving him random stuff that tasted mostly alright and dumped whatever was no good.

  Little by little through this exchange, Lope didn’t miss that the kid was getting increasingly closer to him. Until he was right there, staring ay him. The kid… had the weirdest smell. Like he crawled out of a fire or chimney, it was an unpleasant smoke odor. And it was overwhelming. Through the holes in the paper mask, he could not make out the eyes or nothing, much like everything cast in shadow or shut behind a door. Things ceased to exist. He was a strange kid, full of strange secrets. And sat a little too close for comfort.

 The kid reached out and tugged him by his shoulder. Lope swatted his hand aside and scooted away. That… might’ve upset the kid, but only for a moment. Only. The boy inched back and rose, slowly, gesturing. Beckoning.

 Lope was fast. He can outrun this kid. The way out for him was the same way the kid was moving. This is how he could get away. He just needed to be alert and pick the best moment.

 He stood and followed the kid. When the kid picked up the pace, he hurried after him. The kid didn’t disappear around corners, as Lope suspected he might. Should. He wanted Lope to stay in sight and follow.

 The two traveled down a corridor, passing the room he had broken into. He didn’t give it a look as he followed, into another room.

 Nothing about the room stood out, aside from it being a little dim, the typical decoration of ruin present. The space housed some furniture, a collapsed dresser - clothing strung through the interior. Across the floor sat boxes, a few tipped over spilling out their contents. Food things, bundled in a pillowcase. A few toys, some flat things, and rumpled clothing. He looked over.

 The kid stood there, as if he didn’t know what to do now, how to go about... this. He observed his surroundings, checked the dresser, the furniture, the toys, the boxes, over and over.

 And then just sat down.

 That was weird. Didn’t he have something to show him? He was going to try and trick him, wasn’t he? He was supposed to distract him, and then the Broadcaster shows up. They didn’t come to this room to sit here and just… do nothing. That wouldn’t work. Lope wouldn’t stay.

 He crouched down near the kid, watching him carefully. More and more perplexed and his unease rising. The other kid gripped at his pants, kneading at the fabric and gawking off into open space with that dopey paper bag.

 There was something wrong here, and he didn’t want to be a part of it. This whole place was unnatural

 Very quietly and with every skill of his stealth maxed out, Lope shuffled backwards on his palms and toes. Inching slowly away from the kid that was now lumped in a stupor. There was no telling, the kid might yet snare him and fight to hold him down until the Broadcaster came back. Best to sneak out, and hope he didn’t follow.

 When he reached the doorway, he wedged in close to the frame and peered back at the kid. He hadn’t moved at all, aside from shake. It was… eerie. He didn’t get it. Should he… take this kid with him? That was dumb. It wouldn’t work. The danger was too much.

 Lope pulled himself back and turned away. Where was that kitchen?

 The rooms kept placid and boorish, the lights didn’t flash in that alarming way when the Broadcaster was around. It was safe to find his way back to the kitchen a go through the cabinets a bit more. Everything in the kitchen was as he'd last seen, the discarded foods still on the floor, packages and wrappers everywhere.

 He pulled one of the lowest drawers out from the cabinet and climbed it. Once settled on the countertop and checking again for disturbances, anything, he began working at opening the upper cupboards. He pulled out a box of protein bars and tore into those; they had a chalky taste, not bad. He kept track of how long he was preoccupied, by how many wrappers and boxes he tossed aside. While moving to the next cupboard, movement in the edge of his eye caught his instant focus and he swung around.

 A face peeked around the doorway of the corridor, and he let out a little sniffle. Oh boy, he was in trouble. It was Mug. She made eye contact with him the moment he spied her, and she frowned. Not good. Not good.

 Lope dragged out a box of food biscuits, and the container hit the floor. They both winced at the sound and kept motionless for several seconds, as if reprimanded by an invisible force. It made him feel even worse. He needed to appease her with the food, and hopefully she wouldn’t tell the others.

 Mug made a frail warble and did the gesture.

 Oh.

 He hopped down to the floor and plucked up the large food box. Thinking better on this mess, he dropped the box. The others could come back and get their picks, he was going to look stupid enough anyway. By the time he reached the doorway Mug had appeared in, she was already scarce. Searching for the others, he supposed. He could barely make out the soft call she gave, when seeking.

 A sudden noise from somewhere, down the corridor he thinks. The sound alerted him. Lope raced through the archway, nearly colliding with Mug as she zipped back into the hall at a full tilt. He easily overtook her stride and beat her to the end corridor, and led the way into the connected room.

 The bag wearing kid had recovered from whatever fit he was in, and was at present backed into the hollowed out dresser, hunched over with his fists held at his sides. The paper mask fixed on Rye and Wisp, stationed at the rooms center, both locked on the strange kid. No one glanced his way, not even the weird kid. A standoff.

 He chirped, trying to get their attention. What? He didn’t know what was going on. But Rye and Wisp, by their rigid posture and gnarled fists, they looked mad. It went without a thought that they were ready to do something, but what he didn’t know. Again, he chirped. When Rye snapped around, he regretted uttering the noise.

 “You,” Wisp hissed. The other kid tipped his bag head up, by a fraction. "Mono."

 The other kid shook his head rapidly.

 Rye held Lope with an accusing glare. He chittered. Ferrent is danger. Catch, then do later.

 Lope flashed his hands, trying to convey so much in short. Bad plan. Not safe. He turned to Mug when she caught up, and gave panicked sign to her. She didn’t understand, not him or what was going on here. They couldn’t stay here.

 But Rye was no longer giving him the time. He gave a hiss and darted at the other kid. Fast. Rye was fast.

 Somehow the other kid was faster, or anticipated Rye to go in for the lunge. Despite the clunky mask on his head, the kid managed to evade around Rye and then skid right under Wisp when he flew forward. The kid climbed to his feet and charged right at Lope and Mug, in the doorway.

 Lope sidestepped without trying to bar the kid. On the other hand, Mug took a hard hit to her shoulder when she made to brace her stance. To the floor both weird kid and Mug went, while Lope went to help his friend. The kid recovered fast and charged off into the corridor.

 On the kid's heels shot Rye and Wisp, both looking too angry to bother with Lope at this time. However, once he got Mug on her feet, he shoved her along to join the chase.

 “Ferrent,” he crooned, once her feet caught the pace.

 Mug warbled back. Why?

 Bad, he huffed, and made a vague motion.

 Charging from the corridor into a new room, Lope nearly braked full stop. This is where he saw the kid, with the menacing man in the hat. The monster was gone, had been gone. It might come back, it might not be gone for long. The thought made his legs weak. But Mug tugged his forearm, dragging him after the others into the next room.

 There was no real cover, not for the kid and none for his pack. A sofa seat, some chairs and other furniture, and more of the boxes filled with rubbish. Another room sat to the side, through a doorway. That looked to lead back into the kitchen, if he knew that lighting.

 The kid charged full speed across the room and then plowed into the large door, off to the side of the room. He bounced back, tumbling across the carpet and looked like he was nearly out cold. It wasn’t to be so, the kid was recovered in a moment and retreated form the door with its high handle. Rye and Wisp closed in, cutting through the remaining distance in a few log strides

 Right as they reached the door, the kid shoved over a crumbling crate and jumped onto that, barely snagging the handle from his risky leap. The latch tripped and as the door swung outward, Rye and Wisp lunged high for the kids sweeping legs. The panel swung, and the boy hoisted his lower body up and out of reach. If they had more rest, Rye and Wisp might have had the kid then and there.

 They must not have done rest. Rye saw him go, and must’ve followed. The group wouldn’t have been able to find, otherwise. They followed! That annoyed him, but he had no place to be upset. They didn't trust him, and now thought they had good right not to. He was in more trouble than he could've first thought.

 Along with the other two, he and Mug barreled to the doorway and where the kid was out of options. Dangling like a worm on a hook with no place to go. The kid knew this, and released the handle. He dropped on top of Rye, who collided with Wisp when he tried to barrel in. Lope tried to halt, but Mug crashed into his backside.

 The result was a spinning mess of children flopping out into the center of the rotten corridor. Lope was certain his whole back would be sore after this, but thankfully the ache was fading fast. Blindly, he snagged someone by the leg, and he got a whiff of that harsh smoke smell.

 “Got.”

 The kid dropped down and kneed him in the stomach. Lope didn’t argue, his hands came loose and the faint slap of feet retreated fast. Someone else grunted and crashed to their side, and turning over a bit – still stunned – he saw it was Rye.

 Wisp hissed at them to hurry, and took off. He must not have been punished.

 Once he had recovered some, Lope made it to his feet and took chase of the others. Ahead, he could barely make out the strange kid as he shot around the corner of the hall. It looked like Rye was in the lead – he was fast – with Wisp, and then Mug.

 Everyone was preoccupied with this kid to really think about him taking off. Not that it was bad, but he came here. He went searching. Maybe they thought he was scouting for food, but if they followed, they knew. Nothing was done about it now, but later, when they caught the kid. Something would happen. If they didn't catch that kid, the Ferrent, they would be more angry at him.

 When he turned the corner of the corridor, he found Wisp but no one else. He was worried, the corridor was wide open but the kid, and Rye with Mug, were not in sight. One door to a room was open, so they must have gone into a room; if not that specific room. No breaks or openings in the walls were immediately visible, not from where he stood.

 “Ferrent,” he chittered.

 Wisp turned from examining some bags of garbage and gave a shrug.

 With no other guidance, Lope continued along the wall. Vigilant and leery of the sounds, the muffled chime of a television of two. In truth, he didn’t want to bother with the kid. This wasn’t good. He got that Wisp was hurt about, but this… it could get them into trouble. He was in trouble, otherwise, he wouldn’t try to help. If the others suspected he was okay with a Ferrent, they might reject him. Not only that, the Ferrent did seem dangerous. He didn’t understand why and what gave him that feeling. It wasn’t the monster, either. At least, he didn’t think that was the reason.

 One of the open rooms he passed, he leaned by the doorway and peered in. He didn’t hear Mug at all, but he watched her race by, eyes cast off and focus ever intent on her surroundings. He kept going, though the corridor was featureless. A crack or crevice could be ahead, but all these halls sort of looked the same.

 Doing anything else would be so much better, than hunting out this Ferrent. But if they couldn’t find a way out, and the monster was hunting for them, dealing with the Ferrent now must be the better option. Honest, the kid did creep him out. Even so, he wasn’t up to this. He’d help his friends, but that was about it. Sometimes they were scarier than the monsters that chased them.

Next

[barkadasesh]

"SOMEONE WHO BELIEVES IN YOU"

Jack and Jill were good childhood friends. Their path crosses at the wide woody and wild forests for the very first time. They became friends since then - they treat each other as a family, not by blood but through souls. They had a lot of ups and downs and memories to cherished together yet after some few struggling years, both completed their studies and went apart and take their own paths.

Jack, once called the good boy, achieved his dream profession. It is one of the most diverse and versatile field at engineering - mechanical engineering. And hell yeah! It was really a once in a lifetime career where he designs power-producing machines as well as power using machines. He became one of the most famous mechanical engineers in New York and it provides him strong annual salaries. Despite of being at the highest peak of success, he just continuously frittered away his life and his fortunes taking up an immoral habit of practices such as alcoholic beverages, cigarettes, drugs and he is also a well-known womanizer committing sexual immorality.

At the other side of the globe, jill worked so hard to be able to put forth effort toward a certain goal. And that is to own a vast hectare good for a farm not just for herself but also for the whole community. The planet needs nutritious and affordable food and that requires thoughtful and intelligent people to grow it – and that’s her! She believes that this world needs someone like her. In the fullness of the time, she set specific goals and standards so she can work out her farm. And in just a month of dedicating lingering, it is sufficiently good, enjoyable and successful to repay her effort, trouble and expenses.

Early in the morning, Jack was awake by a loud snooze from his high-pitched alarm clock telling it is already 7 o’clock in the morning. “Argh! Yeah, I know I know!” He scornfully covered his annoyed face by his malleable squared pillow. “Aish! Could you please give me another five more minutes?” He exclaimed resentfully. He slightly crumpled his eyes while yawning stretching his arms wide open before he turned off his blatant clock. He went back lethargically like he is pulling of his king-sized bed. He lie down once again on his crib but as soon as reach the climax of his fantastic dream, a very rambunctious bang from his door makes him stood and jumped out of his cradle. “Now what?” he said ostensible. “Son! I think you should stand on end now.” It is his dad who summons him on the other side of his bedroom’s entryway. “Come on dad, can you please knock?” he responded annoyingly while scratching his head. “Come on son! It is already 7 o’clock early in the morning. Are you just going to take a load off and fucked up the rest of your day today?” “Yeah, whatever dad!” He no longer waited his dad to counter his immature reply then he shut down the door then started fixing his self for another sunrise-to-sunset working day.

Same time of that busy day, Jill woke up early before daybreak to get ready to grind for another productive day at his hustling farm. She ascertained that she will be doing good today in managing all the works in the land for its maximum fertility. So that, when the crop ripen, they can orderly harvest it by hand, combine or mechanical pickers. “Today is the day to lead and guide ‘em in caring the crops!” She exclaimed. “Good morning Miss J!” greeted by Juan, a young maintenance and repair boy who is responsible for upkeeping the farm. “I did tighten the loose fences.” he reported. He is sharp as tack in many kinds of labor that’s why Jill trusted him so much. “Wow! Job well done, Juan!” she complimented. “Day by day, you’re doing better. Keep it up, kiddo!” She smiled at him then proceed at inset.

“WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOU JACK?! YOU’RE NOT GIVIN’ A DAMN TO YOUR WORK ANYMORE!” YOU ARE NOT LIKE THAT BEFORE. YOU WERE ONCE THE MOST SENSIBLE AND WELL ARTISAN BEFORE!” shouted by Jack’s officer-in-charge directly to his frowning face with a sharp glare towards his boss. So obvious that he is suffocated by the scenario. “I apologize but I think you cannot feasible this project anymore. You are fired.” “You can’t do this to me freaking old man.” He rebuttals. “Yeah we can. Why not?” giving him a smirk before walking away from Jack. “Let us see if you will survive that fuckin’ stupid project without me and my power.” he mumbled as he left the company. After he got fired, he recured from life-threatening vices. And that’s how he spent his life. Days, weeks and months had passed and his life is becoming worst until he loathed his continual nonsense practice and decided to have an out of town to take a break to a place with a peaceful ambiance. He immediately packed his things up and started driving.

“How I wish I could be that young good child again.” he bleakly chuckled as he lay down on his bed at vacation house. “Oh well, gonna spend these weeks with a chill.” he sighed and head to nearby coffee shop. “1 Caffè Americano, please. Thank you!” then he handed they payment. “Kindly wait for a moment at this table, sir. Thank you!” and the polite barista guided him to his table. As he sat down while scrolling through his smartphone, he suddenly heard a gleeful voice from the counter. “Good morning, Miss J. I’ve been waiting for my fair-haired customer today!” “HAHAHA, still a facetious young boy. Please give me a Blonde Vanilla Latte.” she replied with an over the moon. “Aye! Aye, Miss!”. Unexpectedly, Jack was surprised to hear the voice, he known it very well. He peeked at the lady waiting at the counter and he is more wonder-stricken to saw who it was. “Jill?!” he exclaimed aloud. “Jack? Its been years! Hey how you doing pal?” giving an expressions of pleasure as she saw and walk towards the directions of Jack. “Oh well hi. You look gorgeous right now. You are no longer that crybaby girl just like the old days.” he responds with an unbelief tone. “Uhm, I am already a mechanical engineer. Didn’t you hear some news and articles about me? I am one of the most popular identity at New York.” he continued. “Ooooh! Cool! Well, here I am. I already owned and managed a farm in this town. Wanna come and take some visit? Guess you’re on a vacay?” said by Jill with a convincing tone. “Farm? What an inferior profession. But, sure! Lemme see your farm.” stating it with full of indignity.

Jack offered a ride on their way to the farm. “So, tell me, what are you doing in a place such as this, your majesty?” he asked while looking directly at the uneven surface of the road. “Oh well, I found my purpose here. I enjoyed here. That’s why I stayed here for good.” respond by Jill without even looking at Jack. “Purpose, eh. What a concept?” “Yeah! Purpose. The reason or feeling of being determined to do or achieve something. If you dig deeper, through that purpose I am capable to make others happy. Spending time as much as possible with them to make this world a better place.” Jill explained with full of hope. “Corny! What we have here in this world is nothing but an unfair system and toxic people around us. You had to trust no one. Because in the end of the day, you only have yourself.” Jack looked at Jill like he knows what’s right. “In the end of the day, it is you who will believe in yourself, in what you have, and in what you can do. Because no one was truly concern about you. It’s you, all by yourself. If I were you, you should take my advice. I’ve been there.” he continued. “Well, I cannot blame you with that. You had a good point anyway. Now tell me, what are you doing in a place like this Mr. Engineer?” A moment of silence enwrapped inside the car between the two. “I’m having a break.” he started. “A break? From what?” inquisition of Jill while sipping on her coffee. “I am on my downfall as of this moment.” obviously averting the dialogue. “Come on, spill it. I can lend an ear, just like the old days back then.” Jack too a deep breath then started to tell the whole story. “It was really a fantasy when I achieved my dream profession, which is to be a mechanical engineer. All my life, I worked hard for it. I spend my whole life for it. Yet, the worst part of here was when I started to lose from track. I used to take vices such as alcoholic beverages, multiple boxes of cigarettes and drugs. I also used to be involved in multiple times of wrong relationship full of immorality. I became a womanizer and a heartbreaker. I no longer find my purpose. It seems that I am living my own selfish ways. Little by little, my life was ruined. And now, I don’t have any idea on how will I started again from the very beginning, on how will I fix everything. And yeah, that’s how my life went.” He narrated hopelessly. “I see. I guess that was really a sad ending. But, you know what, despite of what had happened to you, there’s still hope. I guess you just need to take some time to evaluate yourself and to check something out from those painful experiences. And yeah, you’re right when you told me that at the end of the day, you only have yourself. My tip, take this opportunity to heal, my dear friend. You have to help and lift yourself up. And don’t you worry. I am still here to believe in you. I know you can do that and become the better version of yourself. You just have to be patient and work it out.” Jill recommended believing that she can convinced Jack. “Yeah, I guess so. I’ll try.” “Don’t try, do it.” And again, silence engulf inside the car between them.

Days and weeks had roll down, and Jack follow all the tips and advises of Jill. He started to evaluate his self. Separating right things that gives value to his life and surrendering negative habits that deteriorating his life. He also cut off his connections to those ladies that leads him to sin. Jill helps her to brings out the best in him, finding his purpose and creates a better vision. Then, it started his life to change from nothing to something, from zero to hero, from better to best.

"You know what, dear, sometimes, we don't need to have a luxurious life and luxurious things just to make ourselves happy. I had realized that sometimes, what we really need is someone who will believes in us and respects us. And, thank you for being one, Jill. Because of you, I found my purpose and I had a changed life better than my life before. I know God allowed us to meet again intentionally so that I'll be no longer slave to sin. You are just not a friend, but a family who truly cares. I owe you so much. How can I pay you for this?" Jack asked Jill." Pay it forward, Jack. Just pay it forward. Do to others what I have done to you." and Jill gave her sweetest smile. Few months later after their encounter, Jack went home." Good morning dad! I miss you!" he hugs his dad so tight that seems to be the first time." Dad, I just want to ask for forgiveness for what I have done before. I promise to be better this time. I love you dad!" Then, Mr. Johnson hugged him back, "I am so happy you're back again, son. You're forgiven." After that day, his relationship with his dad was restored and Jack was now back right on track. He spent his life doing the right things, multiplying his self to others. And that's how he made his own legacy.

(Short Story by Claire Montero)

[ajokeformur-ray]

Who wants to live forever? // Lilith x J // soft comfort

Summary: You want to sleep forever. Nothing’s working to make you feel better and everything is just too much and yet somehow is it nothing all at once. Your clown, concerned is he, reaches out to you literally and metaphorically, and he does his best to shed some of his own light into your unfathomable darkness. 

A/N: Written for @jokershyena​. I’m so worried about you and I love you so fucking much, darling. So much. I’m right here with you and so are your F/Os and others and we all love you!💙

TW; suicidal themes and general sadness runs throughout this piece.

Word count: 2, 196.

A) I can hear this GIF and B) he looks so soft when he lifts his eyebrows up, I’m cry 😭🥺

You weren’t okay and you hadn’t been for the longest time.

Everything was just so wrong and you had long since begun to dance with Death. Those frequent flirtations were of little concern to you, so apathetic had you become to the idea of your continued existence. What was the point? You had felt like this for so long and nothing ever made you feel any better. Every person you had ever opened up to about this feeling, about this demon which so plagued you relentlessly, had told you the same things. Different the sentiments were worded but so familiar were they all the same that you could almost predict what someone was going to say before they even said it. 

It was, in short... hopeless.

You had fought the eventual and therefore inevitable death of hope for as long as you could but even still, day after day, did you find a reason to go on, a purpose within what seemed to be, at least to you, meaningless. So low had you been feeling recently that you were at the stage where there seemed to be no reason at all. It was pointless to survive today when you would feel just as bad, if not worse tomorrow. Often did you make jokes about being dead inside but now were you beginning to think that there was even the tiniest of semblance of the truth within the comedy which you sought out even through the tragedy. Oh, but you were so young. So young and so tired were you and from the outside looking in did you seem all right. But to all who knew you, those who did their absolute best to keep your candles light even within the darkness which clung to you like tar, your pain and torments were there for the taking if one only cared enough to look, to just look.

To all those who knew you, you were somehow altogether less than you should have been. You were a shell of yourself and utterly alone as you drowned in your vast sea of lonely. You were broken and on your knees, your shoulders physically bowing under the metaphorical but very heavy weight of your own existence. 

There was nothing anyone could say. There was nothing anyone could do when it came to your simplest but most devastating truth as your flirting with the Grim Reaper turned into temptation. Everyone knew that the best way to avoid temptation was simply to...

... Give in.

But there was one more truth which lurked deep inside your soul. There was one more reason to go on, one more reason to live to face another day with all of its responsibilities and duties. There was one more thing which you could hold onto. Just one. It was something which was wholly... yours. Without you would this truth never have existed in the first place. No one could ever take you away from it, not even Death itself, and no one could ever take it away from you. This truth, this one thing, was written into the very fabric of the universe and planets had collided, stars had lived and died, and from that stardust had your simplest truth risen like a phoenix, much like you had yet to do.

This truth, this one wonderful and bittersweet truth, was love.

And, oh, how in love you were. It got you through your every day.

Much like Death had it followed you for most of your life, so young had you been when first had you stumbled upon the Clown Prince of Crime. You had grown into the predetermined truth and it fit you like a harness; made for the both of you had it been. You and J were nothing less than soulmates. If a dictionary needed a visual aid for the definition of that term, then it would be a picture of the two of you, so radiant were the expressions on your young faces when you gazed at one another.

You laid in bed on your stomach, your arms tightly clutching one of J’s older, dirtier shirts. He always dropped his shirt on your head when he came to bed for the night, though he knew not why you liked to cuddle his clothing when he himself, the real article, was right there beside you, but he wasn’t going to complain or deny you something which brought you joy. So little of it did you experience in your life that J wanted to preserve all of it for you. You wanted to sleep forever, to simply close your eyes while you listened to J’s voice and to never wake up. You wanted to sink into him and to never resurface, to be one with the very man who was your one. 

J stood in the doorway of the bedroom and simply watched you. He saw you and your efforts, he saw how hard it was for you to even get through one hour out of the twenty four, he saw all of the warning signs and he saw, above all else and most importantly, he saw you. J saw you, his brave and beautiful Hyena, and he was so concerned and so scared for you, though of course did he not show these feelings out right. He simply showed his fear and his worry by staying beside you. Just like he always had done, for there was nowhere he would rather be than with his Hyena. 

“Are you gonna stand there staring or are you gonna cuddle me?” Your voice was muffled by the pillow you had your face buried in, but J heard you, he understood you, well enough, and it was with a solemn air that J approached the bed, like a siren were you and powerless was he to deny you anything, especially right now. There was no way that J would crack any jokes or make any witty observations; he wasn’t the type to kick someone when they were down. It wasn’t fun if his prey didn’t fight back, for one, but for another was it more than evident that you were at the end of your tether. You knew not how long you could continue to do this. You knew not who you were outside of this overwhelming low; the worst one you had ever experienced.

“C’mere, babydoll. Daddy’s got’cha, hm?” He knew that the small noises he made to punctuate his sentences were comforting for you and so did he take great care to make such sounds more frequently when he was comforting you. The act of doing so was one which he had had to learn in the very early days of your relationship, but how loud was his love language now that you were proficient in it. Despite his words which summoned you to him, J crossed the room in a few easy strides and he slid easily beneath the warmed sheets. You were immediately drawn to him, almost as if two magnets existed within your hearts, and as naturally as he breathed did J lift up one of his arms so that you were cradled into the side of his body. You got comfortable on your clown and though he stunk of his usual antics did you lack the mental energy to care.

Silence reigned for a few blissful moments, with the heat of J’s body seeping into your own, a radiator was he even in the dead of winter, but then you felt his chest vibrate with the deep rumble of his voice. “I don’t, ah - I don’t know wha’s goin’ on in that beautiful head o’y’rs, doll, but I know it ain’t good. You ain’t good, but’ya tryin’. I can see you tryin’ and it’s killin’ ya’ but you’re doin’ it anyway. Y’re so brave, ain’t’cha? I taught’cha well.” His surprisingly gentle and tender words sunk deep inside your ears and caressed the surface of your brain as he soothed you as best as he could. Even with one arm around you, J managed to move so that he could lay his other hand flat over your chest, his fingers digging into your skin over the space where your heart was wildly pounding out a tattoo against your chest. “This beats for me, don’t it?” J’s arm, the one which had been around you, now moved so that his hand could dip down between your bodies, which were tightly pressed together. You had no time to even register the way that this usually aroused you as his hand grabbed yours and brought it back up to his chest. His fingers interlocked with yours as J pressed your joined hands down hard over his own heart and chocolate met chocolate as J looked deep within your eyes. He was looking straight through you into your very soul, which was still glowing white, though the shade was duller than he knew it could be. He would help you to polish it, though. There was nothing J wouldn’t do for you. 

Nothing.

“So does mine, Lilith.”

The use of your full name made you go stiff as you looked at J with the same intensity at which he was looking at you, and J hummed in approval to himself as he realised that he now had your full and undivided attention. J only ever used your full name when it was important for you to listen to him and this was definitely one such occasion. With his hand on your heart and one of your hands joined with his over J’s heart, it was only too easy for you to slide closer towards J, wanting more of everything that he was, ever had been and ever would be.

“There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you, doll.”

Tears sprung to your eyes unbidden, so highly strung were you emotionally, and J grunted as he wrapped an arm around you once more. He tugged you towards him, his hold on your heart and his slipping so that he could grasp your hips and pull you atop him. J rolled as he did so, coming to lay on his back. It was something which he only ever did for you; it was just another way in which he told you that he loved you without so many words. 

“It’s so hard, J,” You mumbled, your tears falling hot and fast down your face and landing upon the green of J’s waistcoat like rain. J’s fingers were splayed so that he could touch as much of you as he could all at the same time as he stroked his hand up and down your back in fluid and soothing motions. “I just want to sleep forever.”

J was silent for a long time and you thought that he had fallen asleep, so still and so calm was he as he laid there on his back. It was the longest that he had ever been on his back and it was all for you. You, someone who was so kind and so gentle. You, someone who was fiercely protective and so loving and tender hearted. You, someone who was creative and hardworking, someone who suffered with and dealt with more than anyone ever knew, including you. Someone like you had the heart of someone like J and if that wasn’t proof of how special and radiant a soul you are, then J knew not what would.

“Sleep,” J’s hand stilled on your back as he awkwardly ducked his head to press a messy kiss to the crown of your head. You smiled sadly and tilted your head up so that J’s next kiss landed on your forehead, and he hummed in approval, for he loved it when you took what you wanted from him. His full, warm lips lingered on your skin and you closed your eyes as those tears slowed but continued to fall. “I’ll always wake you up, Lilith. You’re a fighter, doll, and a strong one. I know ya’ll be okay... maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not even next week. But ya brave, ain’t’cha? I taught ya’ so well. Ya’ll be okay event-u-ally. Gotta hang on for the ride, sweets.” Hang onto me.

You heard the last sentence in your head, so well did you know J. You heard the sentence in the way his arms tightened around you as once more did he press a kiss to your forehead.

“Sleep, doll. I’ll be here when, ah - when ya wake.”

With one more kiss to your forehead, you felt your two truths settle deep within you as they reached an agreement to coincide within you, though of course some days was one truth louder than the other. But no matter how bad your storms became, no matter how brutal your thoughts were or how much it hurt, no matter how hard it was even to get out of bed, you had J and he had you. He was the Clown Prince of Crime and he had stolen your heart, but you had stolen his, too, and together did you both keep the other alive.

[swanlake1998]

Pointe Magazine Article: My Experience as a Black Ballerina in a World of Implicit Bias

By: Chyrstyn Mariah Fentroy

Date: June 5, 2020

I remember the first year that I competed at the Youth America Grand Prix. I was 17 years old and particularly excited to be participating in a competition that focused on ballet. First up for my age group was classical, where I danced Kitri's Act I variation showing off all of my strengths: personality, speed and the ability to jump and turn. I felt really proud of how it went—imperfect, but not terrible.

The next day I performed my contemporary solo, a dance I choreographed to a jazzy version of The Beatles' "Blackbird." I danced in bare feet with my natural hair out. Halfway through the solo I forgot the steps and improvised my way through the rest. I felt mortified, defeated and heartbroken. Later that day, I was pulled aside by one of the competition's organizers congratulating me (what?) and telling me that they wanted to work to get me a scholarship to The Ailey School. I had already participated in Ailey's intensive the summer prior and had discovered that modern dance was not the language in which I wanted to develop. I wanted to do ballet.

At the time I didn't understand why Ailey kept being pushed on me, but looking back I understand that in this moment, the reason had not much to do with my dancing and more to do with the texture of my hair and the color of my skin.

Well-intended ignorance. The ballet world is full of it. It took me years to see it. Why were the same three places—Dance Theatre of Harlem, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater and Houston Ballet—always mentioned to me when people recommended where to dance? Eventually it dawned on me that while two of these are well-known as historically Black companies, all three organizations had been known to have women of color at the forefront: Virginia Johnson, Judith Jamison, Lauren Anderson.

These suggestions are examples of what I consider well-intended ignorance, also known as implicit bias or micro-aggressions in today's conversations regarding race. These subtle comments are put in place to remind you to stay within the box that society is comfortable with you residing in. Don't look too eccentric, don't get too angry, don't go into this neighborhood, don't, don't, don't… The ballet world, with its Eurocentric history of extreme racial discrimination and elitism, is no exception to this. "You don't have the right body type for ballet, you couldn't possibly dance there because there are no others like you, powder your skin lighter so you blend in, you're so good at contemporary." And also, the whispers behind our backs: "They have to be featured because they're the only Black person." All of this amounts to the realization that no matter what work you put in, your dancing will always be overshadowed by your skin color.

These are the experiences of most dancers of color: your friends, your peers, your teachers. Yet our resilience is clear. We continue to show up because despite the systemic racism that follows us like a shadow every day, we have the right to be here.

I went on to become a principal dancer with Dance Theatre of Harlem for several years, where I found my voice as a Black ballerina. I embody their message proudly, and when I felt the time was right I went on to join Boston Ballet. Here, I am currently the only African American woman on the company's roster, and the first in 10 years. Since joining this company, I have risen to the rank of soloist.

So, with the outrage we are seeing over the murder of George Floyd, which has sparked the kindling of oppression that has plagued people of color for years, you might be asking yourself:

How are my friends of color feeling?

In short: angry, sad, frustrated, exhausted. Personally, I've spent much of this time protesting (on crutches, I might add) and using my words and experiences to help shape the understanding of those around me. It's incredibly taxing—but I think, above all, our entire community is empowered to fight with everything we have until we are seen as equals.

I love my friends of color. How do I tell them that and what can I do to help them?

Start by checking in on them. This is a traumatic time for our entire community, but reaching out to those close to you shows that you support them. While they might not always have the words or energy to express how much it means to them (because quite frankly, we are exhausted), it matters.

In having these conversations, listen to them and really hear what they are saying. As uncomfortable as it might be, try your hardest to pivot your feelings away from yourself. This isn't the appropriate time to show your empathy by inserting your personal experiences because, in a way, it belittles the severity of what we are experiencing right now.

Consider finding ways to donate to the cause. Do your research and find what place you want your money to go (historically black dance institutions, MoBBallet, Black Lives Matter, and the George Floyd Memorial Fund to name a few). If you need to raise money in order to donate, get creative with how to do that and don't be ashamed to tell the world what you're doing it for. If you're crafty you can make items and sell them, if you're good at teaching you can teach classes for the sole purpose of donating your income, the options are endless.

And then what?

Continue to educate yourself about why this is happening. Learn about the history of Black culture and oppression. Writings by authors like Ta-Nehisi Coates, Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou and James Baldwin are a good place to start.

Search for and sign petitions that demand racial equality. One example that is particularly relevant to us as dancers is the Racial Equality in the Ballet World petition found on change.org.

Learn about the history of organizations and steer your support towards brands that don't promote hate or have a racist history or tendencies. The internet is an excellent tool for learning about the history of just about any organization if you take the time to dig in a little.

Keep the conversation going! You have a voice, too, and the world needs to hear what you have to say!

My fight isn't over yet—and neither is the fight of my fellow Black and Brown dancers. We will not stop until this art form becomes a space in which Black and Brown people are welcomed, respected and valued for their merits and not the color of their skin. We will not stop until all people are recognized as equal human beings.

[impala-dreamer]

Not On You

SPN FanFic

~A tragedy after a convention throws Jared into a spiral and makes him question himself.~

Jared, Gen, Jensen, OFC, few others.

4,240 Words

Warnings: Extreme Angst. Suicide. Depression. Panic Attacks. Nightmares. Angst.

My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

He saw her when he walked out. Everyone else was cheering but she stood like a statue at the back of the question line. Cheers rang out, but her face was still, her lips set in a fine line, eyes wide and trained on him. He could feel her stare even as he tried to ignore it, waving and winking to the fans as the band revved up for their jump.

He was a few seconds behind Jensen but no one noticed; he still got some air.

The girl moved closer as the questions dwindled and Jared tried his best not to look directly at her. She was like a dark void on the edge of his vision, a ghostly blur that grew darker and darker as it approached.

Finally, she reached the microphone and Jared had no choice but to look up and smile.

Her eyes began to bleed. Heavy rivers of crimson flowed from each white orb, staining alabaster cheeks like graffiti on freshly painted brick. Jared pulled back, his body on alert and stiffening as the girl opened her mouth and screamed; her high pitched, piercing howl echoing through the auditorium and into Jared. He felt it hit him like a thousand knives in the chest and hot blood began to leak from his eyes as well.

Jensen leaned over and wiped Jared’s cheek with a casual swipe of his thumb.

“Hey, look at that,” Jensen said with an amused smile. “You’re bleeding out.”

Jared stared down at the bloody thumb and lifted a hand to his own face. His fingers slid through the slick red and he pulled them away as he panicked, jumping away from Jensen’s cruel laugh, the crowd’s adoring gaze, the bleeding girl’s scream.

“Jared!”

He woke with a gasp, sitting straight up as his lungs screamed.

Gen was by his side, concern painting her sleepy face, brown eyes laden with worry. “Baby?” She reached for his shoulder and Jared caught her hand, pulling it up to his lips as he squeezed tight.

“It’s OK,” he lied, faking a smile. “Just a dream.” His voice was hoarse, tongue caked with sleep. He took another breath and lay back down, unable to let go of her hand just yet.

“You were screaming,” she told him gently, settling into his side.

“I’m sorry.” He kissed her fingers again and lay her hand on his chest, covering it with his. She was so small, her fingers so fragile, but he felt safe with her there. Her tiny hand on his heart was all he needed to regroup, to push away the blood drenched dream and breathe again.

“Bad one?” she asked on a heavy sigh, already half asleep again.

Jared swallowed back the dregs of panic and found a spot on the ceiling to focus on as Gen drifted back to sleep. “Don’t worry about it,” he whispered. “It was just a dream.”

Morning broke in Austin, waking the family slowly with sunlight kisses on warm cheeks, but Jared was already up.

He sat in his kitchen, coffee cooling in his favorite mug, fingers dancing around the rim. The details were fading, but the feeling of his dream would not leave. It hovered around him like a fog, keeping him from going back to sleep, not letting him relax.

Gen’s hand on his back made him jump.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she soothed with a smile, reaching up to run her hand through his long hair, tucking a chunk behind his ear. “Did you sleep any?”

Jared shook his head gently.

“Try to get a nap in this morning, OK?” She kissed his cheek before slipping away, long dark hair flowing behind her as she crossed the kitchen to start breakfast. “We’re taking the kids to the zoo today,” she reminded him casually. “Shep’s been whining that we haven’t been in a while so Dee set it up.”

Jared took a breath and willed the haze to leave him. He scrubbed his hands down his cheeks and up, threading his hands through his hair and scratching hard behind each ear. “What time?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Gonna leave by one,” Gen answered, head in the freezer. “Didn’t we get those waffles?”

“I don’t remember.”

The coffee was cold but he drank it, swallowing it down in three gulps. The mug hit the sink with a clank that hurt his ears and Gen turned in time to see him flinch.

“Jare, are you sure you’re OK?” She placed a box of frozen waffles down on the granite counter and closed the space between them, reaching a hand to place over his heart.

He nodded, eyes closed for fear of tears. He felt wrong, off; the dream wouldn’t leave and he could still hear her scream, see the flood, feel Jensen swipe away his blood. His arm jerked involuntarily as a wave of panic lit his spine. “I’m fine,” he lied once more. “Just gonna go get a shower, OK?”

Gen nodded but didn’t believe him. “OK.”

Jared bent to kiss her cheek and slipped away, rushing back upstairs to be alone.

The shower didn’t help, he could still see the blood flow from her eyes.

Lying down did nothing good, he felt the scream stabbing his chest again.

He tried to run but could barely lift his feet.

He sat by the pool, toes dangling in the warm water, but he couldn’t make himself go in.

It was just a day, just one bad day out of a hundred good ones, he reminded himself. It would pass.

Gen was on the phone when he found her, whispering into her hand, trying to keep her voice low, her conversation obviously not meant for young ears.

The kids were lined up on stools at the kitchen island, bowls of fruit and yogurt being picked at by tiny hands and silver spoons. Jared gave each of their foreheads a kiss as he walked in, lingering by Odette as he watched Gen sigh and chew her lip.

She looked up at Jared and then quickly turned away, trying to hide the sadness on her face.

Something was wrong.

His stomach flipped.

His jaw clenched.

“OK, yeah…” Gen nodded as she spoke. “We’ll see you guys later. OK.” She took a deep breath before turning around, screwing on a cheap smile that barely lifted her cheeks.

“What’s up?”

Setting down the phone, Gen found her smile. “Nothing.” She kept her eyes on Jared, a silent ‘not here’ in her gaze, and addressed the kids. “We about ready for the zoo?”

Two of the three cheered, Tom popped another grape into his mouth and shrugged.

Jared gnawed at the inside of his cheek, nerves rising as Gen ignored his pleading eye. “Gen.” His growl was impatient and insistent, and she waved him into the adjoining dining room.

Making sure the kids were oblivious, Gen pulled her cell from her back pocket. “There’s a news report,” she began, unlocking her phone to scroll to the article. “I don’t know how legitimate it is, but Jensen said-”

“That was Ackles? On the phone?” Panic was rising in the back of his throat like bile from a night of drinking.

Gen put her hand on his wrist, drawing his attention down to her. “Yes. Relax.”

He took a breath but relaxing was out of the question. When his shoulders dropped an inch, Genevieve went on.

“Apparently, there was an incident after the convention this weekend.”

His heart stopped. “What?”

Gen scrolled to the headline but hesitated, biting her lip as she turned the screen into her chest. “I…”

“What happened!”

Jared grabbed the phone as Gen loosened her hold and his eyes went huge as he scanned the headline.

‘Teen Commits Suicide At Supernatural Fan Convention’

It felt as if someone opened the drain in a full bath. Jared’s stomach dropped and every limb went slack as his frame crumbled. He closed his eyes, words still flashing in the reddish black. He clung to the phone, not ready to read more, but unable to let it go.

“Baby?” Gen’s voice was wrought with worry as Jared pitched forward, his right hand coming up to brace himself against the dining table. She moved close, ready to help him, but Jared shook his head and cleared his throat, pulling away. “I’m so sorry.”

“Take it.” He shoved the phone towards her, shaking his wrist. “Take it!”

“Nothing’s been confirmed,” she told him gently, tears threatening to spill as she watched her husband begin to spin out. “It could just be a prank or-”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, cutting her off. He stood and nodded, pushing a smile towards her and looking away. “Yeah, probably a prank.”

“Jared-”

He was out the door before she could grab him.

He drove a little too fast but he couldn’t help it. His entire body felt encased in lead, why should his foot be light on the gas?

‘It was just a dream...just a weird dream...that wasn't her. It wasn't real.’

He was out of breath with panic when he pulled into Jensen's driveway, fingers slipping off the door handle, unable to get a grip.

‘It was just a dream.’

He saw her face again, fresh and clean, waiting in line in the photo room. The music was blasting, the lights were hot. Hands pushed and pulled at him; lips moved but he heard nothing but the beat from Chris's stereo. There she was: wide brown eyes, stringy pale brown hair, mouth stained with gloss that didn't match her skin.

The cut the engine and sat back in the seat, digging his phone out of his back pocket. He held it tight and swiped, fingers moving despite his screaming mind.

‘Don't look at it.’

His hands refused the command, easily finding the article on Google. He scrolled through details that barely settled in his mind- Seventeen year old… Supernatural… Jared Padalecki’s campaign… Sunday evening found… apparent self induced overdose of sleeping pills…

Tears rolled freely as he sat in his truck, unable to retain much more than the few clips and phrases, but once he got to her photo, he broke. Long fingers framed his screen as he stared, trying to remember if he could remember her. She looked like one of a thousand, the girl from his dream but less remarkable. Shoulder length, mousey brown hair, pale skin, plain brown eyes; she could have been anyone, everyone.

He passed her in the hall as he left the Op Room, heading back stage. He paused to look at the prices on the signs by the ticket tables, shaking his head at the insane price people paid for a photo with him. She was in the corner, hiding in the shadows by the door, just standing, brown eyes locked on him like everyone else in the room. He looked up and gave her a smile and a shrug, trying to stay On despite the rush of people pressing in around him. She pushed off the wall and took a step towards him, her face full of hope, eyes expectant.

Cliff pulled him away; late as usual.

“Jared!”

Jensen’s knuckles hit the window and Jared jumped, nearly tossing the phone onto the dash in his panic. He turned to his friend with tear-streaked cheeks and shook his head.

“Get out of the car, brother.”

“No.”

Jensen took a deep breath, eyes rising to the sky as he readied himself. “Come on, get out.”

Jared stared at the steering wheel, his hands shaking as he tried to start the engine again.

“Hey!” Jensen knocked again. “At least roll down the window. I don’t wanna talk through glass.”

He couldn’t stop the shaking, bones in his hands refusing to be still. “I...I think I remember her. She tried to talk to me.”

Jensen leaned in, tipping his right ear towards the window. “What?” He squinted in the harsh midday light that beat off the glass, hiding Jared’s face from him. “Dude, I can’t hear you.”

Hazel eyes were lost to the void, flitting around, staring at the dust that danced in truck’s cabin, held in streams of sunlight. “Twice, I think. I-I remember seeing her. I could have- shit.”

Filling with worry, Jensen put his hands on the roof of the truck and leaned down, looking into the window, pressing his forehead to the hot glass. “Jared, come on. Get out of the car. Come have a beer with me.”

There was silence. Jared mouthed something and shook his head.

“Come on.” Jensen knocked on the roof twice and reached for the door. “Kids are getting ready for the zoo. JJ’s excited to see you today. Come on.”

The engine started.

“I should have done something.”

Jensen pulled at the handle. “No. Jared, come on. Get out.”

“Thank you! I love you so much!”

Jared winked at the woman with blue hair as she walked away clutching the 8x10 he’d just signed. “Love you too,” he said with a smile.

He grabbed a new sharpie and looked up to see sad brown eyes. He smiled. “Hello.”

The young girl held an envelope tight in her hands, fingers bending the fragile white paper on the edges. She swallowed hard and took a breath, getting ready to speak.

Melissa, one of the volunteers helping the line move, walked up behind her. “I’m sorry, hun, we gotta keep moving.”

The girl’s shoulders fell and Jared looked up expectantly. She held out the envelope, a small ‘To Jared’ scrawled in blue ink on the front. Jared nodded in thanks as he took it and placed it on the table next to his pens.

“Thank you,” he said, already looking towards the next fan.

He started driving, ignoring Jensen’s shout from the driveway, ignoring the hot sun, the stifling heat of the truck.

He drove.

Dear Jared,

My name is Emily and I’m writing you this letter to say goodbye.

Supernatural has been my favorite thing in the whole world since I was little. I remember staying up late to watch it with my older sister and hiding when the monsters attacked. I used to play Wincesters with my friends at school even though they didn’t really know what I was talking about. I was even Sam for Halloween a few times.

Sam’s always been my favorite. I love Dean, but Sam has been my favorite since the first episode I watched. I love him. I love you.

I’ve never been good with words or even being a person really. But I wanted you to know that I tried and I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve failed you, but I can’t keep going like this. I tried to keep fighting, I did, but it’s too hard. I’m sorry.

Emily

Jensen found him eventually. Hours had passed, Dee and Gen had taken the kids to the zoo as planned, but Jensen was out looking for Jared.

He was holed up in the back office at the bar, drinking himself blind in the corner, long legs stretched out on the hard floor, head hung low, shoulders small, heart broken.

Jensen stood in the open door, stream of light casting his shadow over Jared’s crumbled frame.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stepping inside and closing the door softly.

Jared looked up as he took a deep breath. His cheeks were stained, hair matted with sweat and wayward tears. His lips were puffy and bleeding, too many bites to hold in the pain. He took a drink from his glass and hissed as the whiskey stung his lips. “Getting drunk,” he replied grimly, downing the rest of his drink. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Jensen shook his head and crossed his arms. “I don’t know, just spent the last two hours looking for you. Called every number, texted you a dozen times.”

Jared pulled back his right leg and then kicked it forward, sending his cell phone skidding across the floor like a pebble on a lake. It bounced off of Jensen’s boot and he picked it up to see that it was turned off.

“You know Gen’s worried to death, right?”

Jared laughed and reached for the bottle of whiskey next to him. He overshot and knocked it over, amber liquid sloshing out into a puddle on the pale wooden floor. “Shit.” He scooped up the bottle and pressed it to his lips, unable to process much else. “Tell her I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Jensen countered, stepping fully into the room and setting the phone down on the desk. “You wanna talk about it?”

Jared shook his head, lips pulling forward into a pout as he searched for the bottle once more. He drank like it was water; half a mouthful spilling from the corner of his lips. It trickled down his neck and seeped into the dark gray cotton of his shirt, little halos of sorrow beside the echoes of his tears.

“Fine. Don’t talk. But let’s ease up on the bourbon, buddy.” Jensen lunged forward and pulled the bottle from Jared’s hand, little resistance meeting his grab.

Jared dropped his hands and slumped down against the wall, head full of questions and darkness, belly full of burning booze. “Whatever.”

The desk chair squeaked as Jensen sat. He took a sip of the whiskey, cringing with the swallow as he sat back.

“How many?”

Jensen looked down, eyes pulled by Jared’s slurred whisper. “What’s that?”

Jared sat up straighter, pulling his knees to his chin. “How many?”

“How many what?”

Silence hung for a moment before Jared’s question shattered everything.

“How many people... do you think I've killed?”

Jensen choked on his swallow and set the bottle down on the desk. “What! Jared, you- you haven’t killed anyone. What the hell are you talking about?”

Jared pushed his head back against the wall, neck lengthening, shoulders shaking subtly with a heavy breath. His voice was laced with tears but he kept them back, spilling his thoughts as easily as he had the whiskey.

“She tried to talk to me. She-she gave me a letter and I ignored her. Just looked to the next one and the next one. I didn’t even think about it again.” His head lolled to the left, rocking against the wall. “There’s just always so many people, ya know? They come at you left and right, and it’s so loud...always so loud.”

Jensen rubbed at his temples and set his elbows on his knees, leaning forward to get a better look at Jared in the dim room. “Yeah, I know, bud. Conventions suck, but what are you talking about? She gave you a letter? The girl from the news?”

Jared let out a somber laugh and rocked to the left, lifting his hips as he pulled a crushed white envelope from his back pocket. “A letter,” he announced, flicking his wrist and sending the package towards Jensen. It fell at his feet, but he dipped to pick it up and look it over. “She was right there, in front of me all fucking day, ya know? Like, I kept seeing her. Just there. All the time. And...boom! She’s dead!”

“Holy shit,” Jensen mumbled, eyes rushing over the handwritten goodbye. “Jared, we need to get this to the police, I think.”

“She wanted my help and I ignored her. She was right there!” Jared’s hands were flailing as he spoke, pointing to the phantom in his mind. He could see her so clearly; empty, pleading eyes begging for help that wouldn’t come. “If I had taken like two fucking seconds to talk to her maybe she’d be alive. How many times has this fucking happened? How many letters didn’t I get? How many!”

Jensen was speechless. The letter, the news report, everything. He remembered the girl as well, or at least imagined he did. In truth, she was just one face in a crowd of hundreds he’d smiled at that day. It was impossible to know.

“I…” Jensen sighed and dropped the fragile letter onto the desk. “I don’t know, Jare.”

“I should have talked to her.”

“You couldn’t have known. How could you have known?”

“Should have done something. I could have opened the fucking letter and she’d be alive right now!” Jared pushed away from the wall, his tears turning to rage at himself, at the girl, at everyone who’d been there and let her go. He stumbled to stand, falling instead onto his hands and knees. “How many people have I killed!” He beat the floor with an angry fist and clenched his teeth, looking up at Jensen for answers. “How many! Tell me!”

Jensen shook his head and fell forward off of the chair, his knees slamming onto the floor beside Jared’s hand. “No.” His throat was tight but he pushed through it, swallowing down his own pain. He had a job to do. “Look at me,” he said firmly, dropping a hand to Jared’s shoulder. “Look at me.”

“What?” There wasn’t much left in Jared’s eyes but water and disillusionment. “What? Tell me.”

“Zero. Jared, this isn’t your fault.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, shrugging Jensen’s hand away and sitting back again. “You-you know what? You don’t- you don’t understand.”

Jensen’s brows lifted and his jaw dropped. “What don’t I understand? How you’re feeling? I get it, brother. I do.”

“No.” Jared shook his head and looked away, bitterly amused at the loneliness he felt. “You don’t understand. These fans...they look at me like I'm some goddamned savior or something. Like I’m the thing that’s keeping them alive. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? Seen something like that with my name attached to it? My picture? They use me to...I don’t know, man. I- I’m not… I can’t help anyone. I can’t keep anyone alive. I can’t be anything for anyone. I can barely be for myself most days.”

Jensen’s chest tightened but he kept his voice calm. “Not most days, some. And you are not responsible for anyone else. You can’t control what they do with your face or your words, you can’t look at that stuff. You can’t worry about everyone.”

"And what happens when I stop worrying? Stop paying attention?" In a huff, Jared climbed to his feet and picked up the letter, crumbling it in his fist before chucking it in Jensen's direction. "This happens. We changed the rules. Made it so people don't have time to talk to us, so we don't have to listen. It's all my fault. I couldn't just suck it up and listen. Some girl is dead and it's my fault. Someone's kid, their daughter, their sister is dead because the-the great...Jared Padalecki couldn't take five seconds to talk to her." His sarcastic tone melted into a desperate sob as he fell, drunken knees giving out, tear-wrecked body refusing to keep him up any longer. He gagged on the air as Jensen rushed to him, grabbing his arm to keep him from crashing to the floor.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

His horrid whispers repeated endlessly but Jensen wouldn’t let him believe it. He wrapped his arms tight around Jared’s neck and held him close, telling him again and again that he was wrong, that he was good, that there was nothing that anyone could have done.

Jared’s breathing calmed eventually, tears running dry, mind dimming to a dull roar. When Jensen felt him try to pull back, he let him, placing his hands on Jared’s shoulders and forcing him to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You listen to me, OK?”

Jared tried to look away but found it harder to move than he remembered. He stared back blankly, green eyes turned up to his, Jensen’s jaw tight, lips in a firm line.

“You are so good. So fucking good. I wouldn’t be here I didn’t believe that.” Jared tried to pull away, but Jensen held tight. “No, you listen to me. What you do for everyone around you is more than anyone could ever repay or even come close to doing. You’re important and amazing and full of love and that’s why everyone is drawn to you. But you do not have to be responsible for them all. That’s not on you, brother. You hear me? That’s not on you.”

Jared nodded sadly and licked his lips, twitching a bit as his tongue hit the raw, broken flesh. “I’m sorry,” he said meekly, eyes rimmed in red, lips just the same. His cheeks were bright but his skin was pale; exhaustion both physical and emotional was looming over his head, ready to seep into his bones.

Jensen pulled him in for a hug. “Don’t you dare be sorry. Not about this.”

Jared’s arms fit around Jensen’s back, finally giving something in return. “What do we do?” he asked like a child.

“We get some food in you,” Jensen said with a faint laugh, stepping back to give Jared a smile. “Sober your ass up a bit…”

Jared nodded and gave a weak smile. “Yeah.”

“And then...we...figure it out. Together.”

Jared flipped the lights as they walked out, leaving the office as a mess to be dealt with another day.

The letter lay crumpled on the floor, a tear to be shed another day.

They walked out, together.

2019 Forever Tags: @akshi8278​ @amanda-teaches​ @arses21434​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @because-imma-lady-assface​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @colagirl5​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @cosmicfire72​ @courtney-elizabeth-winchester​ @covered-byroses​ @crashdevlin​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @deansenwackles​ @deansgirl215​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​​   @dolphincliffs​ @dubuforeveralone​ @emilyshurley​ @emoryhemsworth​ @ericaprice2008​ @eternal-elir​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @flamencodiva​ @focusonspn​ @gayspacenerd​ @hella-aj-the-trickers-son @herbologystudent252​ @hobby27​ @ilsawasanacrobat​ @justcallmeasmodeus​​ @katymacsupernatural​ @lastactiontricia​ @maddiepants​ @mariekoukie6661​ @meganwinchester1999​ @missjenniferb​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @mysticmaxie​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @our-jensen-ackles-love​ @peridot-rose @risingphoenix761​ @roonyxx​ @roxyspearing​ @sandlee44​ @shadowkat-83​ @spnbaby-67​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​ @spnficgirl​ @supernaturaldean67​ @supernatural-took-me-over​ @thehardcoveraddict​ @tmiships4life​ @wegoddessofhell​ @winchesterprincessbride​ @winterpoohbear​​

[redgillan]

Missed Chances -  Part 8

Steve Rogers x Reader ♀️ [// Bucky Barnes x Reader for now]

Summary: 13 Going on 30!AU - Steve Rogers is crazy about you, but he’s afraid his feelings are only one sided and being one of your best friends, he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship… On his 13th birthday, he makes a wish and wakes up in the body of his 30 year old self. The problem is, you’re no longer a part of his life.

Word Count: 3,225

Warnings: Angst, Reader has a small panic attack

A/N: sO I wasn’t sure I wanted to end this chapter like that but no one replied to my post so I guess we’re doing this. Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter it’s a fluffy one for our boy Steve. Also here’s the song if you’ve never heard of it ;)

7:36 p.m.

Trying to calm yourself down, you took a deep breath. You could feel your anger bubbling up inside you. You had been waiting on your kitchen stool for over thirty minutes, and your patience was running thin.

You picked up your phone and sent a quick message to your father-in-law, telling him you were going to be late. He replied with a thumbs up emoji.

It didn’t surprise you that Bucky was late to his own engagement dinner, but you still wished he had made an effort.

You locked your phone when you heard him coming up the stairs. You watched as he dropped his bag near the coat rack and threw his keys on the kitchen table. They landed close to your phone.

“Sorry, I know I’m late,” Bucky said.

He grabbed the hem of his Henley and yanked it over his head, throwing it on the floor. You stayed quiet and kept your eyes trained on your phone. It annoyed you that this was all he had to say. A simple pathetic apology.

“You remember Sitwell, one of the head chefs? They fired him today, and now they’re looking for a new head chef. Doll, I think I have a real chance here. I mean, your magazine is basically promoting my restaurant for free. My bosses love that!” He toed off his shoes and quickly unbuttoned his jeans. “I’m gonna take a shower. You can order an Uber, I won’t be long.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the shower. You opened the app and ordered the car, fighting back tears. You were tired of coming second.

You arrived at the restaurant thirty minutes late. Bucky’s parents and sister were already seated, a pitcher of margaritas and some appetizers sat on the table. You apologized for being late and took a seat next to Bucky’s mother.

“I thought your parents were joining us,” Winnie said, sipping her drink.

“They’re on holidays,” you replied, shrugging off your jacket.

“Good for them!” she cheered as her husband filled up your empty glass.

You traded your full glass for Bucky’s empty one. “No alcohol for me,” you said, pouring water into your glass. Bucky’s younger sister looked at you with a funny expression. You mentally rolled your eyes. “I’m not pregnant, I just don’t want to drink.”

You were in a sour mood, which unfortunately happened quite frequently these days. Between work, planning the wedding –without Bucky because he always had too much work- and trying not to strangle Natasha who was your unofficial wedding planner, you really needed a goddamn break.

Bucky must have sensed something was wrong because he was suddenly a lot more attentive. He tried to reach across the table to touch you, but you quickly moved your hand away.

You weren’t looking at him, though you could feel his sad puppy dog eyes on you. You purposely focused on what his father was saying. Bucky’s eyes were your weakness, but you weren’t ready to forgive him. He had to realise he had hurt you.

Bucky cleared his throat. “So, um I’m sorry we’re late. It’s my fault.”

“Something happen at work?” Georges asked with furrowed brows.

“No, nothing important,” Bucky quickly replied, trying to meet your eyes. You relented and glanced at him. “Nothing important,” he repeated, his voice soft.

He extended his hand across the table and you barely hesitated before giving him your own. He smiled at you, mouthing the words ‘I love you’.

“How’s the wedding coming along?” Winnie asked with a bright smile. “You know, I read all the articles in your magazine. I really like them, it’s basically a how to plan your own wedding series. I wish it had been a thing when we got engaged.”

“It would have saved us a lot of headaches,” George agreed.

You and Bucky stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. They didn’t seem to notice the growing tension, and you didn’t want to be the one complaining that planning a wedding was hard work no matter who was there to help you.

Millions of people were waiting for your wedding. It was completely nerve-wracking.

Rebecca leaned across the table and grabbed a mozzarella stick. “I love awkward silences,” she said with a cocky smile.

You all laughed, diffusing the tension. “It’s coming along fine,” you answered Winnie’s question. “We’re not allowed to say much, we signed a confidentiality agreement.”

“But we’re the groom’s parents,” Winnie complained, “and the ceremony is happening in our backyard.” George threw her a glance, silently telling her to drop the subject. “Okay fine,” she mouthed, “but that’s not fair.”

Despite the lingering tension, dinner went rather smoothly. No one asked you any prying questions. You told Winnie and Rebecca that you had an appointment to try on the muslin dress Steve had made for you. Rebecca also had to try on her bridesmaid dress. They were both excited to share this moment with you.

You and Bucky were quiet on the drive home. When you finally got home, you undressed quietly and prepared for bed. You felt Bucky’s arms wrap around you from behind. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and breathed in deeply. You let yourself melt against his chest.

“Am I in trouble?” he mumbled against your neck, his lips finding the tender spot behind your ear.

You sighed. “It depends. I’m busting my ass planning this wedding, but it seems like you’re already married to your job.” You turned in his arms to face him. “Who is it going to be? Me or your job?”

“I want what’s best for you,” he said, holding you tight. “I need money to give yo-”

“Answer the question,” you pressed. “Me or your job?”

He looked at you with a pained expression. You wondered what was going on through his mind. Bucky was hard to read sometimes.

“It’s you,” he finally said, “always you.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, the tension slowly draining from your body. Arching against him, you kissed him hard on the lips. “Then prove it,” you whispered against his mouth, “come with me to the party next week. Take a day off.”

Bucky craned his neck toward the ceiling and sighed. He stayed quiet, pondering your words.

If he wanted to be the new head chef, he had to keep working hard. But ironically, the only reason he had been working so hard was so he could give you a better life. It didn’t make sense to keep working himself to death if you weren’t with him anymore.

Unfortunately, Saturdays were the most hectic days at the restaurant.

“I’m not allowed to take my Saturday off,” he told you, smiling sadly when your face fell. “But I’ll ask someone to trade shifts with me. I’ll be there before eleven.” He looked you in the eye, making sure you knew this was not an empty promise. “We’ll dance and laugh and drink. All night long.”

Your face broke into a shy smile. This wasn’t perfect, but it was a fair compromise. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

“It’s going to be the best party ever,” you said.

*

“This party sucks.”

Scott turned and leaned his back against the bar, surveying the deserted dance floor. He hummed in agreement as you blew out a frustrated breath.

People had started gathering at around eight but the music was garbage, and even the open bar wasn’t enough to make the guests stay. It was a Saturday night in New York, they still had time to find another party.

“It's 11 o’clock and I'm at a party.” Steve appeared out of nowhere. “It's so cool.”

“It’s 11 o’clock and people are leaving,” Scott said, cocking a brow. Steve’s enthusiasm was a little odd. He was celebrity after all, this shouldn’t faze him. “It’s a disaster.”

You spotted Nick and Natasha walking across the dance floor with scowls on their faces.

“Here comes trouble,” you mumbled to your friends as your bosses approached your corner.

“Where’s Barnes?” Natasha asked.

“He shouldn’t be long,” you replied after checking your phone. “He had to work tonight.”

Nick looked around the room and slowly shook his head. “It doesn’t really matter anymore. Most of the guests are gone.” He waved the bartender over and ordered a shot. “Is it me? Do I smell? Do I have bad breath?”

You, Scott and Natasha didn’t say anything. You all knew he wasn’t expecting an answer, he just needed to vent. The party must have been incredibly expensive and it was a complete disaster.

To your horror, Steve started leaning toward Nick, sniffing the air around him. Natasha looked at him as if he were crazy.

“No, you smell nice,” Steve said.

“Really,” Nick continued, his jaw ticking, “because people seem to be running for the exit like someone set off a stink bomb.”

“I don’t smell anything.” Steve looked at him with a confused puppy look on his face.

Scott bit back a laugh. “I think he means the party is a stinker. A dud. A flop. A zero on a scale of one to ten.”

“Thanks, Scott,” Natasha said, crossing her arms.

“Maybe if somebody played something else,” Steve said, nodding toward the DJ. “Something with a melody.”

Nick cut him off. “Play whatever you want. All I know is if those people don't start dancing really, really soon...” He promptly raised his shot glass. “Here's to early retirement.”

Nick grimaced as the amber liquid rolled down his throat. Steve cocked his head to one side as he observed the man digging in the record bin behind the turntables. An idea formed in his mind and, with a lopsided grin, he started making his way toward the dance floor.

“Steve,” you called after him. You remembered that smile too well. He was about to do something stupid.

The four of you watched as Steve neared the DJ. They spoke for a brief moment, though you were too far away to hear what they were saying. Then Steve turned around and, as he reached the middle of the dance floor, an upbeat music filled the room.

You frowned. The song was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

Steve addressed the small crowd with a shy wave, but all he got in return were blank stares. He took a deep, calming breath and started moving to the beat.

This is something new, the Casper slide part two Featuring the platinum band, and this time... We’re gonna get funky

Oh, no

Your eyes widened in horror as you recognized the song. The Cha Cha Slide. You hadn’t heard that song in years. It reminded you of your childhood, of the times in middle school when you had been going to slumber parties.

The dance in itself was really simple, you just had to follow the lyrics.

People were snickering as they watched Steve dance. He felt incredibly stupid, alone on the dance floor. He met your eyes and silently pleaded with you to join him.

You shook your head. “No, absolutely not!” you said in a loud whisper.

“Please,” Steve mouthed back.

Turn it out, to the left Take it back now y'all One hop this time

Steve took the lyrics as his cue to hop toward you like a bunny. You tried to hide behind Scott, but that idiot pushed you forward. Steve grabbed your hands and tried to pull you towards him.

“C’mon, please,” he begged.

“I haven't done this in over ten years.”

“It’s the Cha Cha Slide, he literally tells you what to do,” Steve shouted over the music.

He led you to the dance floor, and you found yourself paralysed. Everyone was staring at you. You tried to follow Steve’s lead, but you just felt too ridiculous. He encouraged you to keep dancing and you did your best not to bolt out of the room.

Slide to the left, slide to the right Crisscross, crisscross

In a synchronized movement, you both jumped and crossed your right foot over your left, then did it again. You looked at each other and laughed.

“All right, here we go!” you shouted, smiling brightly.

Despite your embarrassment, you were starting to really enjoy this. More people joined in. You saw Scott take Natasha’s hand and lead her to the dance floor. Natasha playfully rolled her eyes as she begrudgingly agreed to follow him.

The song ended too fast for your liking. You were feeling lighter than you had in a long time. Another song came on, a popular song from the 80s’, and everyone cheered.

“You’re a genius,” you shouted over the music, taking Steve’s hand and letting him twirl you into his arms. “That was so much fun! You have some great moves, Rogers! I didn’t know you could still do the limbo. That was impressive!”

Steve blushed and took a step away from you, running his hand through his hair with a sheepish grin. He looked at something over your shoulder, and grinned. The cheers of the crowd caught your attention.

You turned around and saw Nick doing the moonwalk. You were never going to be able to look him in the eye again.

It was after midnight when you finally stopped dancing and took a break. You ordered a drink and checked the time on your phone.

00:20 a.m.

No new messages.

You frowned, and looked around for Bucky. He should have been here by now. The room was absolutely crowded, and you thought that perhaps he was still looking for you.

You took your drink and moved to a quiet spot near the restroom where you called Bucky. He didn’t pick up. You left him a message, saying that you were at the bar waiting for him. You also sent him a text with the same information.

You waited another thirty minutes, frequently checking your phone, but Bucky hadn’t tried to contact you.

It was now 1 a.m. and you were getting a little worried. You tried not to panic, after all Bucky was always late so it was probably nothing.

You went outside and called the restaurant, thinking that maybe he was still working. The call went straight to voicemail, and you knew it was because the restaurant was closed and the team had left the building.

You remembered that Shuri was working with Bucky tonight, she had even agreed to trade shifts with him. You called her, but all she could tell you was that he had left just before eleven o’clock.

“There you are!” Steve’s voice made you jump. His smile dropped as he met your frightened eyes. “Something wrong?”

“I can’t find Bucky,” you said. “He’s not answering his phone. I don’t know what to do.”

Steve’s expression changed. He looked around, as if doing so would make Bucky appear out of nowhere. The lump in his throat dropped into his stomach like a lead ball.

Steve’s silence made you even more nervous.

“I don’t know where he is,” you cried. “What if something happened to him on the way here?”

Your legs buckled and Steve was at your side in an instant, holding you upright. You were panting, your eyes unfocused. He had had enough panic attacks to recognize the symptoms.

He held your gaze, and drew in a deep breath through his nose before releasing it slowly through his mouth. Calming breaths, you recognised the technique. You breathed in tandem until your heartbeat returned to normal.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, mustering up a half smile. “I’m going to drop you off at home. You’ll stay there in case Bucky comes home, and meanwhile I’ll look for him. Okay?”

You nodded, letting yourself smile a little.

*

You tried calling Bucky one last time while you climbed the stairs to your apartment. He didn’t answer and you left yet another voicemail. You begged him to call you back as soon he got your messages.

You fumbled with the lock, your nerves made your hands shake, and finally got it open. You leaned one hand against the wall for support as you bent down to remove your high heels.

“Did you have fun?”

Bucky’s deep voice startled you. You hurriedly searched for the nearby switch to turn on the lights. He was sitting at the kitchen counter with a half empty bottle of whiskey in front of him.

“You’re home,” you said, releasing a relieved breath. “I tried to call you like ten times.” You noticed that his phone was next to the bottle. “Why didn’t you answer? I was worried.”

Scoffing under his breath, Bucky reached for the bottle of whiskey. “You were worried? When? When Steve was twirling you around or when you were giggling against his chest?”

You frowned at him. Bucky had seen you dance with Steve, he’d seen the two of you laugh and have fun. It could only mean one thing.

“You came to the party,” you concluded out loud.

“Yeah, nice solve, Sherlock.”

“You’re drunk,” you chastised.

“And you’re cheating on me,” Bucky shouted, slamming the bottle on the counter.

You held his accusatory stare for as long as you could stand it, then bent your head and swallowed the lump in your throat. That was a low blow and completely unjustified. Sometimes his insecurities got the best of him. Especially when he was drunk.

It was pointless to argue with him right now. You swallowed your frustration and anger as best you could before you raised your head.

“You’re drunk, I’m not having this conversation tonight,” you said as you crossed the room. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

At least he didn’t protest.

You grabbed the handle of the Murphy bed that leaned against the wall, and pulled it down. You took your phone and typed a quick text to Steve.

I found Bucky. He’s at home, drunk, but safe. Thank you for what you did tonight. You’re a good man.

His answer came a few seconds later. I’m relieved. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Goodnight!

You were getting ready for bed, but your brain was rehearsing the upcoming argument you would soon have with Bucky.

You got even more upset because you couldn’t calm down. Bucky was still sitting at the counter, staring off into space. You didn’t want to be in the same room with him.

Your apartment was a tiny studio, you couldn’t isolate yourself. And even though you hated his guts, you didn’t want to throw Bucky out of the house. He wasn’t sober enough to take a cab or even walk. Besides, Sam would be upset if Bucky showed up drunk at his door in the middle of the night.

You stared at your trainers closely, calculating your next move. You felt as though you were suffocating, stuck between two men and a wedding, and unable to move forward because you wanted to please everyone.

You had to get out of the apartment.

You quickly slipped your feet into her trainers and headed for the front door. Bucky’s tired eyes were focused on you as you took your jacket and keys.

“Where you goin?” he slurred.

“Out,” you said before you closed the door behind you.

[wahbegan]

Desecration (for anon)

All right here it is I ended up getting so many ideas of ways to go with the plot that the dirt under the nails ended up being more of a recurring thing than a focal point but whatever enjoy

Here’s the smell of blood, still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.

-Macbeth, Act V: Scene I

Laßt die todten ruhen.

-Ernst Raupach

Lana was trying to get a promising femur fully unearthed when she heard Dani chime in behind her: “You know, this place is what J.K. Rowling named Harry Potter after. Well, I mean, you know, not THIS place, but just Potter’s Fields in general, I guess.”

“Yeah, that is so totally fucking fascinating, are you gonna come help me with this or what?”

Dani obediently jumped in the grave beside her, though grave was a bit of a loose term. Most of the burial sites around here were above-ground, and for good reason. When the flood waters had come, this place had been torn up and churned into a mass of mud, sink holes, and exposed bones. Which made it perfect.

Who would notice a few missing? It wasn’t like the corpses would feel the absence.

Lana and her sister were grave-robbers by trade, though they would never refer to themselves as such when asked. They were witches in a marketable sort of way, selling morbid curiosities to like-minded spirits and using them to adorn their apartment.

It was spiritual in a sense. It was an active deed of rebellion against the old religions and ways of thought that put these people in the dirt and forgot about them. It was a connection to the Earth and mortality...and it was a bit of fun, besides. Nobody robs graves because bones look cool.

But it helps.

Aesthetic witches, they would call themselves when making a sale. Profaning the sacred for fun and profit. But not the sacred to them. That’s what made it okay. These bones were sacred to a different time, a different religion. An oppressive artifact from dark times past that hated women and gay people.

In short, these were only sacred to the enemy. And besides that, just bones. It was Dani and Lana’s full belief that graveyards exist for the vain conceit of the living. An idiotic practice. Nobody living benefit from the dead staying in the dirt. Digging them up, however...

These particular bones’ rest had already been fairly thoroughly upset by nature, which seemed like a sign if there ever was one. The storm revealed the bones, and the moon herself smiled down and illuminated them, leading them surely and steadily to uncover more of the skeleton the femur belonged to. They’d become desensitized to the ghoulish nature of their work, the almost comical air of Gothic horror that surrounded them. In truth, it was nights like this they deliberately sought out to go gathering materials to turn into geode holders.

“Fucking Hell, that’s part of a spine. Hip bone, femur, spine...this guy’s looking great! Please have an intact skull, please have an intact skull...”

Dani was working farther up, uncovering smashed ribs and bits of sternum. “Nothing yet, Anal.” 

The pet name had always incensed her, mainly because she couldn’t think of a good enough comeback. Dani’s a hard name to make fun of. Dandy? Danny boy? She usually just settled on kid, despite only being 3 years older.

“Then shut your ass up and dig more, kid. Any of those ribs look good? Got a shoulderblade?”

“No, the femur looks like the best part, maybe the hip bone. The rest of him is all smashed to shit. Kinda looks like...”

She paused and frowned a bit, her mind seeming to drift off to do its own thing somewhere else.

Lana crouch-walked over to her and gave her a playful shove to bring her back to herself. “Like he got fucked up, yeah, probably was. Here, I’ll do this end, you just work on getting that hip bone the rest of the way out.”

Dani obeyed quietly and continued to work in silence. Lana was too focused to really notice how strange that was until later.

Right now, she was focused on prying up the thick, sticky Earth where she felt this guy’s skull had to be. It was hard work, grime working its way into the lines of her hand and under her fingernails. She kept prying and pulling at roots, certain it had to be there. 

This is right where it should be if the rest of his skeleton is here, there even seemed to be a bulge or a change in consistency of the Earth like it was packed in, and-

As she had clawed at the latest fistful of dirt, her fingernails had scraped down bone. It was an unpleasant sensation, and her nerves jangled a bit. She had to pull her hand out of the dirt and shake the unpleasant feeling out of it, but the look on her face was triumphant as she turned to look at her sister.

“Guess what I got, biiiitch?”

Dani looked up, still seeming in a bit of a daze. She had wrestled the man’s pelvic girdle out of the ground and was cleaning it off in her lap. “Huh?”

“The skull, dumbass!”

Dani returned to her usual self a bit, sarcastically craning her head to look around Lana and frowning. “I don’t see any skull...”

“Oh, fuck off, I’m working on it.”

It took several more minutes to get the thing out of the ground. It felt unusual: the wrong shape, the wrong texture. It was definitely a skull, but...

When she finally pulled it free, she understood. She held it in both hands, just staring at it in dumbfounded awe for a moment. Whoever this was, or had been, was hideously deformed. One eye socket was intact and full of thick dirt, but on the other side there was no depression at all. One nasal cavity was crooked, looking like it was about to collapse in on itself. 

But the most remarkable thing were the growths. Rough, almost tumorous growths of bone protruded around the back left quarter of the skull, running up to the skullcap and around the left side of the face almost to the missing eye. Overall they seemed to form one irregular mass, giving the head a lopsided, half-sunken appearance. They were coarse, almost jagged to the touch, overlapping and stacking on each other like some kind of plant or fungal bloom. Like coral.

Then she noticed the scoring. Lines on the bone. Not natural ones. Incisions cut into it. Someone had sliced this man’s face to pieces. As she turned it in her hands, she saw the probable cause of death: a hole straight through the back of the cranium, almost perfectly square. A stake hammered through it, most likely.

Lana felt like it was Christmas morning.

She was still staring in silence as Dani turned over the pelvis and mused behind her. “Hmm...think it’s a woman, actually.” Dani had dreams of being a forensic anthropologist that were on the back burner for now. Mainly because it was exactly what she did now, but she’d be celebrated instead of given strange looks and possibly arrested.

“Fuck that. Come look at this.”

“Fuck that?! Well, excuse me for trying to be-woah. Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Holy shit.”

They both stared in measured awe for a moment before grinning at each other as Dani threw her arm around Lana’s shoulders and kissed her cheek.

“This is our Golden Ticket, Dan. I can feel it.”

In the end, they only took the skull home with them. They left the ribs, hips, and leg where they lay in the mud.

Neither of them noticed how dark it had gotten. The moon had gone out on them.

Dani sat cross-legged on their rolling chair, scrolling through articles on her laptop, which a decal helpfully informed all and sundry was located on Elm Street. Lana was still cleaning the skull slowly, meticulously. It was hard work, and she didn’t want to put even one nick on the thing. 

“God damn it, wish we had some of those beetles. You find anything yet?”

“Shhh, shut up Anal, I’m working here.”

Lana rolled her eyes, even as she smiled a bit. She put it down to the fact that she was the younger of the two, but Dani seemed to get a little too into the stuff. She took it seriously in a way Lana just didn’t, couldn’t. She’d outgrown that phase. She knew Dani would too, eventually, wouldn’t pore over articles online so meticulously trying to figure out who it was they dug up, the exact history and superstition behind all their morbid little artifacts. The thought almost made her sad. She really could be a great Forensic Anthropologist if that’s what she wanted.

She put the brush and pick down and looked at her hands absently while she waited for the kid to come back with something interesting. They were almost black, filth-encrusted. Her skin was darkened in general, but it was the lines of her hands and fingerprints that the grave soil really threw into sharp relief. And her fingernails. Under the tips, in her cuticles...she hadn’t thought she’d gotten that much dirt on her hands while she dug.

“God, my hands are fucking filthy.”

Dani didn’t look up. “You know, a very long time ago, people invented this wonderful thing called soap, and if you mix it with water, do you know what happens? It’s really amazing.”

Lana made as if to punch her and then walked to the bathroom sink and started scrubbing.

The water going down the sink was almost black. Must have been the rain. She made a mental note to avoid digging in the mud in the future. The water ran translucent black, but somehow she STILL wasn’t getting it-

“Hey, get in here! I think I got something.”

She ran out of the bathroom so fast that she barely dried her hands, and didn’t see the dark stains left behind on the towels. 

“All right, so,” Dani was thrilled enough with her discovery she didn’t even wait for Lana to say anything or get all the way over to her, she just started dumping. She was like that. “I haven’t got a name, but I was looking at old medical cases involving disfigurement or deformity. Turns out, first of all, I was right. It was a woman. See? I don’t even need no fucking doctorate! Anyway, I think this is our gal.”

The old monochrome photograph showed the side of a tent, presumably that of a travelling freak show. There was a bearded woman, conjoined twins, a little man, a man covered in thick fur-like hair...and on the far right, sitting in a chair, a black woman with one eye, a collapsing nose, and a swollen, lopsided head. 

She had no hair on the deformed side, and the scalp looked rough and uneven in texture. From the photograph, it was clear her arms and the lower half of at least one leg were swollen and malformed as well.

“So THAT is a travelling sideshow that moved throughout the South at the end of the 19th Century. Apparently, her deformity started out relatively minor, but as she grew, her bones kept...” Dani looked away from the screen and nodded at the skull. “Doing that. I think it’s called...ossification? Atypical osseous growth? I’m not exactly sure. Anyway, like I said, her name’s not listed, but she was apparently something of an object of fascination to a white surgeon who lived right around here, one...Robert Ender, who wrote a first-hand account of his research into her affliction, but it’s behind a fucking paywall. Of course. Anyway, in 1893, says he paid the circus owner a lot of money for...her?”

“For her? What do you mean ‘for’ her?”

Dani was squinting at the screen, still reading. “Hold on, I don’t know, to study or something? Aw, what if they got married, wouldn’t that be-”

“What? Kid?”

Dani’s eyes looked different, the excited light had gone out of them. She suddenly seemed much older than she was, looked tired. Tired and a bit sick. She continued reading in a monotone voice. “Ender paid the circus owner an enormous amount of money to study her affliction. Medical experimentation on black women was on the wane since the end of slavery, but since she was a side show performer, and this WAS the deep-ass South...” she trailed off for a moment before continuing.

“He made several surgical incisions into her head and face and vivisected her. She eventually died during a trepanation. There was a minor scandal, but charges were never pressed and Dr. Ender kept his position in society. Her body was buried nameless in the Potter’s Field.” She cast her eyes down. “That’s what I saw...you know, in the ribs. It looked like they had been cut one by one. By shears, you know? Peeled back.”

There was silence between them for a moment before Lana grinned and patted her sister on the back. “Jesus, great job kid! That’s...incredibly fucked up, but look at us! We got a minor celebrity here. We can put her story everywhere. I’m not sure I want to sell her.”

Dani cringed at the words “sell her.” She chewed her lip for a moment in a way Lana had come to know well over the years. It was her designated “i’m going to say something that will upset you and trying to pick my words carefully” face.

“Lana...I don’t think I’m comfortable with this.”

“What are you talking about?!” Lana laughed a bit, still not taking her very seriously. “You’re the one who wants to go pro with grave-robbing, what’s the problem?”

“We shouldn’t keep it.”

“All right, I mean, if you REALLY want we can sell it, it just seems like a was-”

“That’s not what I mean.” She paused again, then looked Lana in the eyes for the first time. “We should put it back.”

“What?! Put it back? What, you think her ghost is coming for us?”

“You’re not listening!” her voice had a force in it that it almost never contained, and Lana was taken aback. “I’m not scared of it. It’s just so...sad.”

“Honey,” Lana put her hand on her sister’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “She’s already dead. There’s nothing we can do. But we can tell her story! We can make something out of her death, right?”

“We don’t even know her name.”

Lana stared at the skull, considering for a moment. “What about...Octavia?”

Dani cocked her eyebrow, but made no response. 

“Yeah, Octavia! That’s a good name, right? Hey, Octavia,” Lana turned towards the skull on the counter with a friendly wave. “You cool if we take some pictures of you and put them on the internet? Not that you know what that IS, but...” she turned back to Dani, expecting a begrudging smile. There wasn’t one.

She just shook her head slowly, then looked over at the hand Lana still had on her shoulder. “Jesus, woman, I thought you washed your hands.”

Lana herself took a good look at them for the first time since she’d come out of the bathroom. If anything, they looked dirtier. She glanced under her nails to see a thick black line of accumulated dirt. “I did! I don’t know why this dirt’s so stubborn. Wait here,” she sighed and returned to the bathroom.

As she scrubbed, watching black dirt flow down the drain, she heard Dani get up and move around. “Hey, I’m going out for cigarettes. You want anything?” 

Lana poked her head around the doorframe. “I thought you were quitting!”

Dani just shrugged and continued out the door.

It made her a bit angry, in all honesty. The kid was overreacting, which wasn’t that unusual for her. They had more than one fight in the past caused by Dani being too sensitive about strange things. But this was different. It was always petty shit, big dramatic blow-outs of the kind that siblings had, but that always blew over when they admitted they were both being assholes.

But Dani had looked at her with real reproach. With something accusatory in her eyes. She thought it was wrong. She thought Lana was a bad person. 

The black kept flowing down the drain, and Lana scrubbed her hands harder. “Fucking thing...”

It wasn’t like none of the bones they’d taken before hadn’t been from people who died badly or had bad lives, was it? They were dead now. That was one thing the two had always agreed on. They were dead, and the dead have no use for their bodies. 

She looked at her hands, which felt raw. Dirty as ever. She grabbed a towel and scrubbed it over her hands and fingers. By the end, it was badly stained, the individual fibers clotting together. 

But her hands were dirty. And there was that black under her fingernails.

“God DAMN it, how...” Lana felt a rush and a drop in her stomach, like she’d just fallen off a cliff. Something was wrong.

She was at the desk now, fumbling through implements, grabbing the pick she’d been cleaning the skull with to take it to her nails. She picked it up and stared.

The skull was dirty again. More than dirty. Its eye was packed with soil, just as it was when she first found it. 

She stared, clutching the pick in her nerveless hands. In a moment the shock would wear off and she would truly panic, but for now, her brain was still trying to make some kind of rational sense of it, trying to parse what it was seeing. In a sort of faraway daze, she noticed a furtive movement under where the skull rested. She was dimly aware she was going to regret turning it over, but that didn’t mean she could stop herself.

A massive Devil’s Coach Horse scuttled out, raising its abdomen in a threat display and opening and closing its jagged mandibles at her. The panic broke forth.

Lana screamed and back-handed the thing, trying to brush it off the desk. It flew directly at her face, buzzing. She flailed and swatted blindly around her head in a panic, only to receive a painful pinching sensation in her forearm. It had sunk its jaws into her flesh and was holding there tightly.

She dropped the skull. She could punch herself in the face for doing it, always treated her bones better than that, would never risk breaking it, but it was a reflex. She dropped it and swatted at the horrible black beetle, only to make contact with her own skin.

The buzzing had stopped. The beetle was gone. So, too, was the dirt. The skull lay innocently on the floor, cleaned off, staring at her.

She stood there for a moment, breathing raggedly, hands shaking. “I’ve lost my fucking mind. I’ve gone...and lost...my fucking mind.”

She looked at her shaking hands intently. She closed her eyes and opened them again. She shook her head, bit her tongue and took deep breaths. But after all, the dirt was still there. The one thing that hadn’t left.

She lifted her pick up again off the floor. She didn’t dare touch the skull. She worked it under the crescent of her fingernails, scraping and tugging at the accumulated filth. It came free easily enough, she noticed. There was plenty of it on the tip of the pick and raining down on the floor. The problem was it kept coming back. She could see it now. As she pulled one line of dirt from beneath her nail, another seemed to seep out and take its place.

Jesus Christ, where was it all coming from?

She turned the sink on high, as hot as it would go, and got her pocket knife. She wasn’t thinking rationally, it was just animal panic and desperation to get the damned dirt out. She worked the blade under her nail until it flared with red hot pain. 

She worked through her other nails, digging and stabbing underneath, biting down to keep from crying out as more and more dirt came out. Black was running down her fingers now, a translucent black like the dirty water going down the drain.

There was a source, there had to be a source.

“Fuck it.” Lana growled and wrenched a nail free, then another. She started screaming again as she saw what was underneath. There was no blood, no exposed bed of nerves. Just more dirt. Black powder. She dug at the miniature dirt beds in her fingertips with the knifepoint, prying more and more loose before giving up, throwing it down on the floor in frustration. 

She wrung her hands under the water, trying to get it out, trying to get anything out at all. It was helpless, the water just kept flowing black, there was nothing but dirt underneath her skin and her nails. The pain was unbearable. She felt light-headed, on the verge of passing out, but she couldn’t stop. Not now.

Dani was only gone for about 15 minutes, but was already too late. There was blood everywhere. Running down the sink to the floor, on the mirror, on the knife. The sink was full of nails, and the water that ran past them down the drain was pink. Lana was slumped across the far wall of the bathroom, barely conscious. There was no skin left on her hands. She had scrubbed it off.

Dani didn’t ask her any questions. Not as she drove her to the hospital, not when she regained her consciousness. Not ever. What she did was take her in, leave her with the doctors, and drive straight back to the Potter’s Field. 

What she did was put the skull back exactly where she found it, and say a tearful apology, and beg for mercy for her sister.

She told Lana later, as she was visiting her in the mental hospital she’d been referred to. She said it unprompted. Worded it gently, like she didn’t suspect damn well what had happened. “Hey, Anal.” She rested her hand on top of the gauze covering her older sister’s. “I, um...look, don’t be mad, but I got rid of that skull while you were recovering. It...I really wasn’t comfortable with it, you know, and I just thought that-”

“Thank you.” Lana’s smile was weak, but real. “I’m sorry.”

It was almost the last time they ever spoke of it. Once, as Lana caught Dani glancing forlornly at the gloves she had taken to wearing, the subject came up again.

“It’s not your fault, kid. You know that.”

“I stormed out on you because I was upset. That was dumb.”

“Yeah, well, if I’d listened to you...you know. I was just...excited. Felt like we found something real, you know?”

Dani let out a bitter laugh. “We did. Lana? Do you ever wish we did tell her story?”

Lana considered it for a moment before slowly shaking her head. “I think, maybe...maybe it wasn’t our story to tell.”