#their live has CHANGED the WORLD. MORE THAN ONCE. WAAAAY MORE THAN ONCE.

[iamhereonlytobeanunstableshipper]

Cherik is such a gorgeous love story I often forget it's not canon.

Like, objective proof aside, imagine a love so undying it has persisted after so many fights, betrayals and wars in every universe and will continue to do so even if the earth stops spinning, even when everything is reduced to the ground. The love will persist, because it feels older than the universe itself, and it will do so no matter how much either of them tries to bury it or stop it. Its a love that has changed their lives, the lives of so many, it has changed the world in each and every reality where it's born. It may not actually be what makes the world spin, but it sure is what makes each other spin, because Charles Francis Xavier is not Charles Francis Xavier without Erik Magnus Lehnsherr, and Erik Magnus Lehnsherr is not Erik Magnus Lehnsherr without Charles Francis Xavier.

And this. This. Is NOT canonigally romantic love. WHAT THE FUCK.

Never forget what heterinormativity stole from us

[youhideastar]

out with the wolves deleted scenes

As promised, I come bearing deleted scenes from out with the wolves, the alpha/alpha installment of Wangxian A/B/O Bingo (which is now complete!). Many of these are nsfw text, just fyi. There's another content warning appended to the specific scene that needs it. I hope you enjoy!

I started this story in June 2022, and whoo, it has gone through a lot of structural changes. At first, it was going to be alternating present day and flashbacks, like Fit for Purpose. Then, it was going to unfold in three time periods: “Now,” which would start from the strategy meeting scene, “Then,” which would start from the Yunmeng Courier Station, and “Before,” which would start from WWX’s arrival in CR. When you read the finished fic, you can still see the traces of these structures, but I ultimately decided to go with something less formal, where there are some flashbacks but they don’t alternate every other scene—and the flashbacks are all very short. This is a story that unfolds in the present, and we only go back to the past long enough for LWJ to remember it – not long enough to actually create a separate narrative.

Anyway, this was a version of a CR flashback from that earlier structure.

Lan Wangji was not supposed to want Wei Wuxian: he was a troublemaker, and a drunk, somehow both frivolous and dangerous at once. And he was a beta, and Lan Wangji, like any alpha, was destined for a match with an omega, whose sweet, yielding temperament would naturally call forth in him a complementary tenderness and a fierce urge to protect and provide.

But it was not utterly unorthodox to desire a beta – someone more lively and spirited, someone who might playact at resistance before yielding eagerly.

Lan Wangji had such thoughts. Was cursed with such thoughts, constantly, at inappropriate times, with mortifying results. But those were not his only thoughts about Wei Wuxian. Sometimes…

Sometimes he imagined a resistance greater than mere playacting. He would return to the Jingshi after sparring practice and lose himself in fantasies of a battle that ended in a hotter, filthier collision of bodies. One in which Wei Wuxian fought tooth and nail, and did not simply allow Lan Wangji to take his prize.

They still ended the same way, of course. Wei Wuxian on his knees, on his back, moaning with pleasure as Lan Wangji possessed him.

Nevertheless.

It was not orthodox. It was not right. And no amount of meditation in the Cold Springs or anywhere else could seem to cure him of it.

It’s ridiculous how bad that is compared to what’s in the final version. And you can tell that the final version of LWJ’s character is waaaay more repressed than this.

Another thing that changed about the story’s structure was that I was originally going to follow the timeline of the drama exactly, meaning that LWJ’s conversation with LXC about whether the world is orderly would take place right after the strategy meeting and right before the courtyard fight. Abandoning that fidelity to canon—the “is the world orderly” convo now takes place at a totally different time and actually takes place out in the field rather than in the Unclean Realm—really unlocked this story and was a huge breakthrough for me.

Before that breakthrough, though, I had two scenes in a row that end on LWJ orgasming and then feeling horrified: the “LWJ gets blood on his mouth from his sleeve” bit and the dream scene that ends with LWJ waking and remembering his rut.  I couldn’t have those two scenes adjoining—they were too similar—so I needed another scene to go between them. In the finished fic, that is where the “is the world orderly” scene takes place, which is perfect thematically, perfect for character development, and does a great job of varying the content of the scenes. But originally, I thought I needed to cook up a new scene for that purpose, and I came up with the following. Content warning for attempted rape.

A LAN CULTIVATOR TRIES TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF A PRISONER OF WAR. LAN WANGJI HAPPENS UPON THIS.

“Kneel,” he says.

She is an alpha, as he is – built for dominance. But her strength is as nothing compared to his. Her attempt at struggle is an eyeblink; then, her knees hit the ground.

“Draw your sword,” Lan Wangji commands. She does.

“Place the blade against your left wrist.”

Her eyes are wide with terror as her own hand, unwillingly, places the edge of her sword against her wrist. “Lan-er-gongzi,” she bleats.

His fury has turned to ice. Holding her gaze, he says quietly, “Do you doubt that I could make you strike?”

She shakes her head. Tears are streaming from the corners of her eyes.

“You did not succeed in your aim,” he says. “Thus, you may keep your hand. This time. No second chance.”

“Yes, Lan-er-gongzi,” she whispers. “Thank you, Lan-er-gongzi.”

If she survives the war, he will have her expelled from the sect. But, though the thought tastes bitter at the back of his tongue, they cannot afford to lose any soldiers now. “Go,” he orders, and she stumbles to her feet and leaves.

When she is gone, the Wen prisoner looks up at him. Her eyes are empty. When he steps toward her, she flinches.

“I will not harm you,” he says.

“You challenged for me, and you won,” she replies, voice dull. “I know what happens next.”

“No,” Lan Wangji says. He helps her to her feet.

When he begins to lead her back to the pen where the prisoners are held before transfer, she begins to struggle in her chains. A pitiful wisp of scent, tinged with seduction but mostly redolent of fear, wafts toward him. “You can,” she says, “I won’t fight, I—you’ve never had an alpha, right? It’s—it doesn’t make you a pervert, if you’re the one on top. I’ll let you—”

Lan Wangji stops, and captures her gaze. With the full force of his scent, he demands, “Why?”

She fights the compulsion. Fights it longer than she fought Lan Xihu’s. Whatever she is protecting is worth more to her than her body… but Lan Wangji knew that. After an impressive handful of heartbeats, she sags.

“My mate,” she whispers. The syllables are mangled – she is trying to bite her lips shut. “He’s there.” Her gaze flicks toward the prisoner pen. “Don’t hurt him,” she begs. Her scent is heavy with hopelessness.

I liked this because it hit some worldbuilding notes that touch on unanswered questions (“if it’s so stigmatized for an alpha to be penetrated, what about female alphas, Dea?”) and emphasize some points that the reader might otherwise overlook (the stigma of alpha/alpha pairing, what an alpha’s compulsion looks like outside of a sexy setting and how it would function socially, how a challenge works). But this is too far outside canon, in a way that doesn’t serve the themes or the character development. The very fact that it introduces two OCs was a sign that it wasn’t a good fit.

The “is the world orderly” scene in the final version ends pretty quickly; this was the original ending, starting after LXC gives his answer:

Lan Wangji feels a wash of shock—and then, fleetingly, rage: now, after twenty years of placing the rules at the center of our lives, you dare to say—

But to call it rage is to give the anger false dignity; it is, he realizes, nothing more the temper tantrum of a child denied an expected treat. When he asked the question, he expected a particular answer—one that would be safe, and comfortable—but that does not make it Lan Xichen’s responsibility to give it to him.

When Lan Wangji asked the question, he had expected the answer to be “yes.” That was what he had been taught since his birth—by Lan Xichen first and best. He had thought that Lan Xichen’s words would ground him; instead, he feels as if what little foundation he had left has been ripped away.

But it has the weight of truth. He cannot dismiss it, even as it frightens him.

Lan Xichen steps closer; his gaze is warm with sympathy. “Wangji…”

Lan Wangji realizes that if his brother asks him about Wei Ying again, now, he will tell the truth. He must not, but he will. He stares at his brother in mute desperation, almost lightheaded with dread.

Lan Xichen pauses. Rests his lips together. Then, with a soft puff of almost-scentless air, he sighs. “It is after hai shi,” he says, with undeserved mercy.

“Wangji will leave Xiongzhang to his rest.”

Parts of this remain in the final version—and those are the important parts. The rest was unnecessary.

Okay, then in the soup scene, there was this, which was again meant to establish more how alpha commands work:

She is cut off before she can finish speaking.

“Tell me what happened,” Wei Ying says—no, commands, with the full force of his scent behind it. Lan Wangji stares at him in shock.

The order hits Luo Qingyang with such force that she rocks backward on her feet. Nevertheless, she presses her lips together and sucks in a desperate breath through her nose. It is an impressive effort, but it will not last long.

“Tell him,” Jin Zixuan says, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. Luo Qingyang takes another deep inhale – this one of relief.

But this ground is covered in LWJ’s flashback about compelling WWX to make copies and so forth in CR, and by the scene where LWJ almost compels Jiang Cheng, so it was redundant—and it’s a distraction.

From here on out, everything is cut from the sex scene, which comprises about half the fic.

First, I had been racking my brain figuring out where they were going to get lubricant, and after finally reaching an answer, I had WWX recreate my thought process:

Abruptly, Wei Ying climbs off of him and begins to search the house. “A blacksmith must have—have sword oil, or—cooking oil…” His movements are jerky; frenetic. His hands are shaking.

“We stripped the town of anything of use,” Lan Wangji says, lifting himself up on his elbows to watch in confusion as Wei Ying stalks from wall to wall opening cabinets and boxes. “There will be no sword oil, or oil for cooking or lamps—”

“Lamps.” Wei Ying freezes, then stumbles toward the door. He reaches up, then tosses his prizes to Lan Wangji: candle ends from used-up candles. “Tallow,” he says; clever, clever Wei Ying, even in the grip of instincts that would crush a lesser man.

But why—

“You don’t know, do you?” Wei Ying exasperated. “All your big talk about how you want—”

I felt so fucking clever. I was patting myself on the back, smug af.

Then I realized they have qiankun sleeves. Duhhhhhhh.

This next bit came after LWJ first sees WWX’s scars.

But Wei Ying is not looking at him. He is looking down at himself, as if seeing his own scars for the first time. His hands come up to drape over his shoulders and he looks, for a moment, self-conscious.

Then his face turns hard. “Like what you see?” he asks – a challenge.

But the answer is easy.

“Wei Ying. Breathe.”

Wei Ying inhales, surely catching the scent of Lan Wangji’s arousal. His eyes go wide and flick to Lan Wangji’s face. “You—”

“Touch me,” says Lan Wangji.

I always love me some WWX insecurity, but by this point, having LWJ reassure WWX that he really was wanted was getting repetitive.

And then! One of the last things I did in the fic was cut this next piece. I so liked the idea of WWX coming all over LWJ as a possessive gesture before we segue into the penetration section, and this was one of the first scenes I wrote for the fic, but I could not figure out a satisfying way to get in to it that wasn’t repetitive/redundant of other themes in the sex scene (here, WWX’s possessiveness). Worse, this was contributing to this seesaw thing where LWJ kept getting brought in and out of subspace, in and out, in and out, which is confusing for the reader – I don’t want people thinking, “Wait, is he mentally with-it right now or not?” That should always be clear, and this chunk of the scene was sabotaging that goal:

“I’ve never,” he breathes into Lan Wangji’s temple, face hidden. His hips roll, down, down – the rhythm plays in time with Lan Wangji’s heartbeat. “Have you?” he asks, pushing himself up to watch Lan Wangji’s face.

Lan Wangji swallows. “Never.”

Wei Ying’s answering smile is wolfish. He leans down again, until his lips are pressed against the shell of Lan Wangji’s ear.

“I thought so,” he says, low and satisfied. His breathing is harsh; the rasp of it makes Lan Wangji shiver. “That means you’re—”

He breaks off, bowing his spine and sucking in a deep breath. He bites the join of Lan Wangji’s neck and shoulder, then laps at the mark he’s made. His hips begin to work faster; the drag of his cock against Lan Wangji’s is unbearably good.

“I’ll show you,” Wei Ying murmurs, eyes unfocused and cheeks flushed. His thrusts are becoming frantic. “Let me show you now, I’ll make you see, make you feel it—”

“Please,” Lan Wangji begs. His mind has spun into silk again, lying here beneath Wei Ying, his body Wei Ying’s to use. Whatever Wei Ying wants to give him, Lan Wangji will take. He wants to. He wants that more than anything.

Wei Ying is panting now, face pressed to Lan Wangji’s skin. “You’re so—I never knew, Lan Zhan—ah!”

Hot wetness floods the space between their bodies – one thick spurt, then another, and another, Wei Ying emptying his knot with his teeth buried in Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

For the space of two shuddering breaths, Wei Ying is still.

Then he lifts his head. His eyes are full of fire.

“Up,” he says, and when Lan Wangji is not quick enough to push himself up on his elbows, Wei Ying fists a hand in his hair and drags his head up. “Look,” he demands. “Look.”

Lan Wangji obeys: looks down at what Wei Ying has given him.

Spend is splashed across his body; smeared on his still-hard cock; pooled on his belly; dripping over the edge and down his sides.

Even in his most depraved fantasies, Lan Wangji never imagined this. He lifts a hand, dazed, to trace a curve through the mess. He thinks about licking his fingers; but oh, he wants Wei Ying to feed it to him instead.

“What do you see?” Wei Ying demands.

Speaking is difficult, with his mind so spun-soft. “Yours,” is all Lan Wangji can manage. “Yours.”

Wei Ying makes a pleased hum. “Yes. Mine.”

Against his thigh, Lan Wangji can feel Wei Ying beginning to grow hard again.

I also did a lot of takes of the fingering sequence.

Lan Wangji forces himself to control his breathing – to release the muscles of his hips, so tight they had begun to ache like a clenched fist. The pain is less now that the initial shock is past, he can bear it well—

And then—there is more, suddenly – another finger, it must be, just when the first had begun to feel like something less than an invasion. Lan Wangji closes his eyes, tries to return to his controlled breath.

But his next inhale carries the burnt-hair scent of frustration. “Stop fighting me,” Wei Ying growls

That hurts. “I am not, I am trying—”

Pause.

“Have you ever done this? To yourself?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head.

Wei Ying squeezes his eyes shut. His left hand is bruise-tight on Lan Wangji’s thigh. “You’ve never. You’ve. How.”

“I was. Afraid.”

“Afraid.” Wei Ying bleak, feeling like a monster again.

“Of—of myself. Of liking it. Of what that would mean.”

Bitter laugh. “Well. No need to be afraid of liking it, I guess.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “Wei Ying. I need…”

Intent. “What do you need?”

“Make me,” Lan Wangji whispers.

“Make you.” Gaze sharpens. “Lan Zhan ah, Lan Zhan.” Smile. Alpha pheromones, super jacked-up in rut: “Spread your legs. Good. Now. Let me in.”

I really liked the “Afraid, of what, of liking it, no need to be afraid of liking it I guess” aspect of this, like really really liked it, but it made an already long sex scene so long, and also I decided after this that LWJ would have fingered himself during his last rut, so this didn’t fit the chronology anymore.

Finally, we have the first draft of the final conversation, back when it would have taken place in the blacksmith’s house.

“I can’t go to Gusu with you.”

LWJ FEELING SUPER BETRAYED.

“Not yet,” Wei Ying amends. “They need me, Lan Zhan.”

He means the sects; the allies. The people who look at him with suspicion while they use him.

“Call it arrogance,” says Wei Ying, looking up at the ceiling. “But I know. They can’t win this war without me.”

It is not arrogance. He is correct. Lan Wangji knows this.

“But if you still want to help me…”

Lan Wangji stiffens at the word if – before he can object, Wei Ying continues.

“I’ll… I’ll let you. I promise.”

Lan Wangji inhales slowly. His heart, which raced before, settles into a grateful rhythm.

“Thank you,” he says.

Isn’t it so vague, so general, compared to the final version? That's what stands out to me, anyway. One of my favorite John Hodgman aphorisms is “Specificity is the soul of narrative”—thankfully, I got there in the end!

Thanks for reading!

[simulation-machine]

I love literally every single townie from the Realm of Magic game pack, even if the world was waaaay too small and the builds were trash. The Charm family is no different. I have played and replayed and had these characters pop up as important side characters in so many saves. So in this I’ll talk about what I usually do with them, and what I’m doing differently (if anything). If reading lots of words is not your jam, feel free to skip since it’s allll head-canon from here. Minerva: Look, she’s old af. She’s gonna die. I try to give her at least one grandchild before she officially bites it, and the first girl Emilia and Darrel have gets named after her. She’s still gonna die and the first girl will be named for her, but this time she’s going to be an absolute jerk. She’s going to be strict with both of her children, pushing them to do better, and she’s going to be really unimpressed with poor Emilia, who is new to magic and doesn’t come from an illustrious family. Then she dies and everyone is at first like “WHEW okay thank god” but then quickly devolves into aimless chaos without somebody always yelling at them to do stuff.  Gemma: For some reason, even though Darrel is older she gets listed right after her mom. Anyways, Gemma is gay. Before we got werewolves she got with Darling Walsh. Once we got the wolves, she got with Rory Oaklow every time because Rory is hot. They usually just adopt kids once they hit the Adult life stage, but this time they’ll probably have two science babies to see which occult genes win out. They live in Moonwood Mill because Gemma doesn’t like being in the Charm estate after her mom dies. Darrel: Maxis has done few sims dirtier than they did Darrel. And look, I am totally chill with goofy looking sims, I really am. But I’m supposed to believe that he somehow scored cutie-patootie Emilia and looked like that? I mean I guess Emilia isn’t a shallow girl but come on now. So he got a makeover that still kept some crucial features (lips, jawline, chin, cheeks, purple eyes). He even still got a big nose. He just looks less yikes to me because his eyes got switched up and his nose is less wtf. People can fight me on this, that’s fine. He was inspired by my mental image of High Lord of the Spring Court Tamlin from ACOTAR. ANYWAYS. Before I just decided to change his appearance (which I was opposed to do despite haaaaating his face), he used to die after ensuring at least one normal looking kid, usually from overcharge after dueling with L. Faba. That’s all he did. Now that he’s prettier, he gets to live on. Emilia: Initially, she bugged me. Her only flaw is clumsiness and she’s set up to be this try-hard in a fancy family of magical prowess, influence, and wealth. But then I gave her and Darrel a troubled and passionate relationship. After his mother’s death, he got addicted to dueling as a way to cope and was not paying attention to his magical charge. He and Emilia fought over it a bunch. Finally he promised to stop and does better, they have a kid (or another kid if they already had one), and then he starts sneaking out at night to duel again. He gets killed by L. Faba, and Emilia goes through a deep depression that takes her years to recover from. After that, she and Simeon Silversweater hook up and he becomes a step-dad. She has more kids with him. What will change is that Darrel isn’t going to die, and I might find a way to make Minerva live a bit longer to be more of a thorn in her DiL’s side. Idk.

[sexualrevoluti0n]

So things ended with my partner and I. I thought I'd feel sad, and while yeah obviously there are things I miss, things I'm disappointed and annoyed about, there are so many good things that I had missed - I can eat the foods I love whenever I want! I spent so long only cooking and eating food my ex could manage with his sensory issues, and over the last few months I've decided to eat all of my favourite foods whenever I want to, and its been amazing! I can go abroad again, which I've desperately wanted to for soooo long - I have a family home in another country that I've wanted to go back to and to take my partner to to share parts of me with him, introduce him to people, explore places I knew he'd love, but he was always too scared of being somewhere he didn't speak the language, or of being around people in a busy place like airports, train stations etc, so I never went back. I'm booking to go out by myself in a month so I can do all the things I've been missing for the past 5 years.

I can start looking back into doing training in another country, which I gave up on because my ex couldn't deal with the idea of living more than 30 minutes away from his family, and also wasn't ok with the idea of me being abroad for months at a time since he wouldn't have been able to support himself independently. I remember telling him early on that my plan was to live in one part of the world for 6 months and swap to the other hemisphere for the other 6 to get the most sunlight and help my SAD. And I don't think he took it seriously until I brought it up once I was getting into the language learning and he told me he could never do that. And I just, deflated at realising he hadn't taken my plans seriously and that now I couldn't do them. I also found a masters I wanted to do in Denmark which I was planning for but after he said that I stopped looking, and now Brexit has happened and a lot of the learning abroad opportunities aren't affordable anymore. But I can see what things are still available and affordable now and start making plans again!

I can finally use the name I want to and don't feel held back in my transition and needing to hide myself. When I was changing my name he said he wouldn't call me by a new name so I chickened out and hyphenated things instead of outright changing them on my deed polls, and when I talked about dysphoria from my boobs he said he might not be attracted to me if I got top surgery so I just pushed all that shit waaaay down. And now, I don't have to anymore! I feel free and like I can try things out without worrying if it'll lose me my relationship, cause I only have to care about what's right for me now!

Of course there are a lot of things I miss, it was 5 years and we were planning on getting married, but I'm focusing on the things I can do now which I wasn't able to for so long, and there's so much relief!

[otakween]

Head Start at Birth - Chapters 1-10

This one popped up on MAL suddenly because the JP title begins with a "0." Always excited to read/watch something new for a change, but this looks kinda bottom tier. Not only is it an incredibly generic plot, but its adaptation is a short episodes anime 😬

ALSO, this manga is being sold in the west as chapters and in the Webtoon style? I'm old school and kinda hate this. Why can't I just buy volumes?

Ch. 1

Oof this is so generic. I'm trying to give it a chance but the cliches are too much. The art is...fine but not very memorable. At least it's in color.

The mom got over her 3 year old making land management recommendations waaaay too quickly.

>_> Is that much older looking dude the love interest? I'm gonna throw up.

Lilia was 30 when she got isekai'd so I guess I'm supposed to be the target audience here? I feel like if I was in her position I wouldn't be like "YEAH, LET'S LEVEL UP!" I'd be like "YEAH! A CHANCE TO BE A KID AGAIN AND GOOF OFF!"

I feel like they vaguely implied that the mom is an evil capitalist (monarchist?) since she won't give people tax relief. That could be something interesting to explore...

Ch. 2

Reslar (the dragon) sounds suspiciously close to Rizzler lol

They introduce 3 age appropriate boys and then she immediately falls for the older guy. I get that she has the mind of a 30 year old but it's still weird. They'll probably go the "he waits until she's older" route. Whatever -_-

I was pleased that Lilia's parents stayed on her side as she was slightly rude to the royals. Their loyalties are in the right place at least.

Why does every shoujo isekai gotta be fixated on otome games and villainesses? It's honestly so bizarre how keyword obsessed media is these days...

Ch. 3

Yeah so, this is a romance isekai where the MC is 5 and the love interest is 15 🙄 I get that it's kinda based on the olden days when engagements like that were normal due to political marriages, but still. We don't really need to be romanticizing this stuff nowadays, right? Especially when it's a fantasy world where everything's made up and the points don't matter. Oh well.

This situation reminds me of The Familiar of Zero when Louise had a much older fiancé. Although in that series I think it was kind of portrayed as a little creepy/unsettling. Wow never thought I'd be praising The Familiar of Zero as a more progressive option 😅

I do appreciate that the dad (Guy) is ride or die for his daughter, but the joke about him thinking she'd been raped was a little tasteless.

We have yet to see what the plot of this series is going to be. Is it going to follow the romance angle mainly or is it going to be more about Lilia's personal development?

Ch. 4

Lilia's mom looks a lot like she stepped out of Umineko no Naku Koro ni. It's probably just the cravat lol.

We learn about Elrich's tragic backstory (his parents were executed for treason). Unfortunately, it didn't really make him a more interesting character. I had hoped he'd have at least some sort of reaction to the engagement but he's pretty much just "bland perfect husbando" so far.

The sex fantasy was something I could have lived without. Straight to jail.

Hopefully we can get an Elrich chapter here and there to flesh him out. I don't care how much he looks like Lilia's fave otome game character.

Ch. 5

I was wary of the parents at first, but they seem to actually be really good parents? Also, Lilia's mom is super politically smart too (girl boss lol). I guess the doting dad thing is basically just a stock character, but if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Glad the spirits get to show some actually emotion for once (well, Reslar does anyways).

I do like that Lilia is more focused on her ambitions than Elrich. She just happens to also be really horny for Elrich lol (I'm sorry...that's how it's portrayed).

Ch. 6

Okay, I'm kinda getting into this >_> it's just shoujo isekai brain rot basically but the art is so cute and it's been a long time since I've read a manga in full color

Dressing in your fiancé's color is so romantic ;w; (although I guess people don't always have signature colors irl lol).

The dynamic between mom and Lilia both being badass boss babes gives me Yor/Anya vibes because of the ages haha.

That gothic look with the princess curls was serving (werk)

Ch. 7

Urgh my anime arch nemesis appears...head pats. I don't think they're cute at all, I think they're weird and demeaning. (Even if I was 5 years old I think I'd be like "get your hand off my head" lol). I still don't know if this is a thing Japanese people do IRL or not.

Lillia being instantly OP at everything she tries is pretty boring, this manga could use more conflict right about now.

Ch. 8

I like the princes' names (Isaac, Leonard, and Ferdinand). IDK if it would be better or worse if Lilia went for one of them instead. You can't win with rebirth scenarios lol

Ch. 9

Wtf, the spirits get ikemen versions? I can get on board with that actually. Some of my OCs are fantasy creatures with human versions actually...

"This is like having a sister" (file under: objectively weird things to say about your fiancé)

I can relate to Lilia's inability to relax. Productivity is fun to me 😅

Ch. 10

Still no ikemen Reslar, I'm surprised by the mangaka's restraint lol.

Wait how did people even learn about Lilia's dissertation? I thought they were keeping it on the down low.

The hedgehog spirit was cute. I'm glad they spared it lol

Lilia's spirits are just as OP as her of course -_- -yawn-

Well this was pretty forgettable, but it's a fluffy popcorn kinda read, so I'm not complaining. It's a bit unnerving having no idea how long a series will stretch to in these early stages. Hopefully this isn't a 100+ chapters one...

[alienaiver]

I'm now imagining Shinsou, hearing all those tales about your cat, being more nervous about meeting him than about meeting your parents.

Like he's read more than one book about cats by now, gone through all the forums to find tips and tricks on how to get the cat to love him, fully prepared to be dropped by you the second snøfles decides that he's not worth it.

So when the day comes and he arrives at your doorstep, you can be sure he's sweating bullets, cursing the world that his quirk doesn't work on cats.

The question is, however: will snøfles let him into your life?

JAJSJWJWW PLEASE 😭😭😭 im so sorry to my beloved shinsou but my cat would absolutely hate him 🤡💀💀💀

i think he'd be okay in the beginning. for some reason snøfle has a higher affinity towards people with higher testosterone levels (i have that too, and another friend with pcos does so as well, and he loves them!) especially first time he meets them but usually its down-hill from there 😭

the worst part is that i barely think he'd appreciate the effort shinsou put in because the problem at hand will not be his affections: hes taking me away from him. so im cuddling shinsou now instead of HIM? we cant spoon if theres another! treacherous! what a fiend! how will we watch tv together now! our time is compromised!

also especially if shinsou slept over. snøfle and i share a pillow and if i change which way im facing during the night, you can be sure that snøfle follows me so that we can continue spooning. imagine if a MAN got in between that 💀 (my friend took these when they were sleeping over once)

and thats every night! but i do think theres hope. but its waaaay far ahead 👀 i think if shinsou practically moves in and learns to live with the on-slaught of abuse (luckily snøfle has no canines! 👍🏼) for a while, snøfle will begrudgingly get used to him and may even accept shinsou! but its almost like saying 'we have to be together for many years for this plan to work' and that might feel like im coming on too strong! i hope he wouldnt think that 🙈✨ almost like a twisted marriage proposal! ✨

[nearer-than-the-eye]

xxxHolic Rou as an analogy for chronic illness

rereading Rou and Rei has actually been SUPER interesting bc for a really long time i had....basically labored under the misconception that watanuki stays in the shop SO THAT he can wait for yuuko, when in actuality he stays in the shop AND ALSO waits for yuuko--the two are related but not caused by each other. 

I read xxxholic waaaay before I read tsubasa, and CLAMP’s fucking. stupid ass choices to put yuuko choosing to protect watanuki and not give him to fei wang AND the explanation for why watanuki is confined to the shop and syaoran has to keep traveling EXCULSIVELY IN TSUBASA. instead of. i don’t know. giving us essential xxxholic character/plot information in BOTH series fucked with my understanding of watanuki’s choice to confine himself big time. 

because like. it’s not really a choice! it’s actually a much closer analogy to chronic illness than I had thought--he literally cannot live ‘normally’ in the outside world, he has to confine himself for the sake of the fabric of reality or whatever the fuck. he ALSO chooses to wait for yuuko and take on her mannerisms and become her successor, but he doesn’t choose to confine himself to wait for yuuko. key point.

i think this is an easy mistake to make if you’re just reading xxxholic or aren’t reading it and tsubasa in close succession, HOWEVER. i do think also the doom and gloom of some of my (admittedly) favorite fics about Rou colored my perception a bit too much because it really is SOOOOOOOO fun to have this angst fest where watanuki has made this horrifying decision to literally choose stagnation, never move on from yuuko’s death, and throw his life away and doumeki just has to watch. BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT HAPPENS, RIGHT?  

I think Rou itself is actually quite a nice counterpoint to that doom and gloom reading--once you get past Rou’s admittedly jarring first couple of chapters, it’s clear watanuki enjoys his work and while his relationship with doumeki has matured, it’s not changed that much. watanuki clearly cares deeply for doumeki (allllll those fucking scenes of them eating together exist for a reason lmao) and his resistance to doumeki is, I think, less about being resentful of being cared for and more about being worried about doumeki giving up opportunities in his life to look after watanuki. but when doumeki was 16 he said “fuck this shit I’m in it for the long haul, you are not dying alone” and has chosen to abide by that promise to himself ever since. (thus watanuki’s repeated “you never change, do you?”).

This is not “watanuki is throwing his life away and doumeki has to watch,” but honestly the much more complex “watanuki’s life has taken a very sharp left turn because of his, essentially, chronic illness, but he’s actively working to build a fulfilling and positive life within the confines of his circumstances, and doumeki has actively decided to help him with that, though watanuki’s situation is still painful for him as watanuki’s friend and, essentially, caretaker.” 

NOW, doumeki being like....i’m gonna marry your best friend and we’ll have kids and start a lineage responsible for taking care of you because i’m THAT in love with you....is a whole other kettle of fish, and THAT shit is certainly fucked up. especially for the kids. but that’s another post. 

[huenjin]

2020 year end greetings.

disclaimer: this is going to be very long ( ˶ ❛ ꁞ ❛ ˶ ), but that's how much gratitude i have and so much more of love.

2020. ah, this year was a very emotional journey for me and how i wish i could sing jessi's gucci all throughout. however, that was not the case. tumblr helped me run away from all those irl miseries. these people made me feel at home.

this skz writing blog has been existing from the last few days of september and it came to life when i was losing motivation to write on my main (which i closed down because stray kids made me like writing back again) and it's stayed since then. you guys have stayed since then. grateful, a one hundred times and more.

so, this is rue, getting sappy and so much more thankful for everything i have and recieved with this blog. this is rue, asking you to accompany me for a little more and to listen to the stories i have to share. the is rue with heart full of nothing but love for each one of you.

to each one of my mutuals, for whom i pray to the stars to shower you with nothing but fortune —

@sinisterlyhan ♡ eiko, best thing i ever did was hit you up. how are you always so calm? or at least that's the tone i have in my head when i read your texts. it's so pleasant to talk to you. ily. and let me get started on your writing — you've heard this from me like every day but ma'am, you make magic. you lace stars together to form such a beautiful constellation of a writing and i fall in love a little more. thank you for inspiring me to always do better!

the hyunsung demon!au (whew!) — 01. 02. 03.

this hyunjin bad boy!au

@mochinnie ♡ isa, how i wish you handled yourself with a little more care. you're so fragile and delicate and i just want to protect you ?? so much ??? you're precious and one of the most beautiful people i have met. your characterisation is just perfect and god, i wish i could once write headcanons like you do. thank you for being my friend and for fangirling to me and for loving me. it means the world. psst, ily.

this seungmin fic

querencia | hh

@sparklemin ♡ nara!!!! big brain nara! god i love how your asks make my whole day and how you bring up different minho agendas in my head. you have my whole heart and i'm in love with you bye

girlfriend | bcn

hidden confession | bcn

@bearseungmin ♡ dawnie babie thank you for being such an enthusiast all the time while talking. you're so cheerful and happy and thank you for being this nice <33

beat it to the door | bcn

could listen to you read the dictionary | lfl

@chogiout ♡ yah, kira! sometimes i want to whack the back of your head like i whack my sister's, okay? it's the same kinda sibling love with you. fuck, not ever going to let you leave me. after all, my parents taught me to take responsibility of the stuff i rid innocence of. (lmao, sorry, bitch ily!!)

memoir | jyh

this youth of craziness | csn

@mikoto-ica-fics ♡ mi, bb! thank you for being so supportive. istg, if it weren't for you reblogging that one fic of mine, my fics would have never seen light to this day. it's easy to get lost in the tags hehe. and then i happen to text you and omg, aren't you the nicest ever? i love your story ideas, the way you write, the way you interact with people and thank you for talking to me. you make me want to be better.

entangled | lmh, hjs

power grab | hjs

@toffee-hwa ♡ ana! anaaaa~ you're so enthusiastic and supportive and fuck, i looooove ranting and fangirling to you! and the minute i know you're watching the same kdrama as i am, i just go like wheeeeeee— HAN SEOJUN!!! lmao, but thank you so much for talking to me, for listening and for caring! my romanian queen, you pretty human, you're the best!

yet, pt.i

yet, pt.ii

@chandisiacs ♡ yah, pav! must i drag you back to tumblr from twt? must i? i miss you. i really do and i can't wait to have your arse back here. thank you for being such a lively person to talk and hang out with, eee! and not at how you succeeded nano! inspirational! thank you x

thread of all your legendary aus

starboy | bcn

@unsaidhj ♡ you're so soft. and god i love you? and your aesthetics. it's a thing, ma'am. i existed to see your aesthetics lmao. and then i text you and you're so kind omg. i could never hate you so please, ma'am, stop telling me that in panic? huihui, ily and i hope you stay healthy. place yourself first, bb.

knife under my pillow | hhj

scammer, scammed | bcn

@sleepylixie ♡ yo, neighbor! you reminded me how small the world can actual get! love love talking to you about irl stuff because you can understand how messed up it is! and you're so kind, ah!!

in umbra

passion's abyss | lmh

@dreamyhan ♡ one of the few people i see on my dash and go like — hazeeeeeeeeel! you're just so nice, god. like if cotton candy was a person, it would be you, alright? and then there's your writing ability that skyrocket off the roofs because it is that good. thank you for being so supportive and nice to me! x

next time | bcn

in his arms | hjs

@itsapapisongo ♡ boy, my main man, javi!! your work was once my most favorite thing to listen to. loved how the mall worked and everything. and then there's how supportive you are like omg. if only i could explain the courage you give me. it's infinite. you make me feel infinite. also, #hardhours, right?

george of the jungle

swimming fool

@kabira ♡ typing the url down was even more romantic, manx. don't ever change this. love how strong and bold you are. love your opinions and love your writings even more. you're one of those few people who write like they mean every word from their heartstrings. thank you for providing us with stories to tell for eons. x (psst, ily so much!)

backstreet driving | hhj (that's the first skz fic i read because it was from you and not because it was skz and aren't i glad?)

sic semper tyrannis | lty

@dalknow ♡ the only other person on tumblr that i text religiously on discord. i love talking to you, bb. love getting personal with you. love how i can share absolutely anything. thank you for trusting me. thank you for listening to me. thank you for loving me. can't wait for you to put your stories back up on this acc. you're undefeatable and i know you'll have that known.

to each one of my anons, for whom i pray that you stay safe and healthy and most importantly, happy —

🧸 :: put you on the anon list because in my head you are that anon — my very first one and the one that lit up my whole world. it's kind of a very proud moment when someone wants to talk to you. you made me feel that. you made feel loved. and to see how well your blog is doing now, god, i feel like a proud mother.

🐠 :: my greek princess. the fact that i learnt more about breads from you than from my school makes me laugh hehe. you really did light up my world with every ask you sent me and had me unknowingly hope that you are happy in every minute. and now that i know who you are, i'm even more content because you're a mutual too now!

🍧 :: god, you have a special place in my heart, ice cream anon! maybe because you liked me more than my fic and followed me here even though you were an anon from my bts blog. fuck, if that didn't make my heart flutter, nothing ever will! (hush, your relationship is something i am still rooting for!!)

🦊 |🌹| 🥀 | 🛸 :: the way you guys keep checks if i'm staying hydrated and healthy. i am. and even when i wasn't, your asks made me go drink a cup of water ha! thank you for loving me x

tiktok anon :: ♡♡♡♡♡♡ yes idk what else to say to you but that i would give you a piece of my heart. your tiktok asks make my whole day. it's something i look forward too! thank you for always making my day!

and to my other anons, tagged or untagged :: thank you for sending me an ask. every single one, either telling me to stay happy or hydrated, or that my fic was great or that you're feeling extra horny that day (we've all been there!) i appreciate it and thank you for making me smile! x

to all the mutuals that i admire, look upto and wish we talked waaaay more, let's do it soon please! and to some mutuals that i just miss talking to! —

@nightshade-minho (ily! x nicest bean ever!!) :: @satanssmuts :: @lovebini :: @seraplantery :: @xiaojunssmile :: @chan-skz :: @chanluster :: @decembermoonskz :: @bangtantaegi (queen!!) :: @yunhozone (i miss you!!) :: @inkigayeo :: @vocalyunho

i hope each one of you stay happy, content and loved. my memory is pea sized and so i do pray that i haven't forgotten any! thank you for being my mutuals, for sharing laughter and talks with me for these months i've been here! i’m sorry if i missed anyone, but i seriously do appreciate everyone that i’ve ever talked to on here though! i hope to see you all next year and let's be happy together !!

with much love, x rue!

[crying-over-supersoldiers]

aahhh I have so much to say about this episode but as always I can barely wrap my head around everything that happened but I guess I can highlight these (read more because I went overboard and it got too damn long, also, very messy): 

John Walker talking about Steve being a role model and then daring to say (to mine and Bucky’s faces) that he’s like a brother to him. (Buck’s face will stay with me forever, props to Seb Stan)

Sambucky reunion!!!! bucky being a lil shit and bragging about reading The Hobbit when it was released (probably even had a signed copy)

Bucky being upset about Sam giving the shield

Which leads to explore more of Sam’s reasoning behind giving up the shield, and demonstrating how the very system that he’s trying to save and protect (because of the people that gets in the middle) is also against him.

 The Big Three™ (androids, aliens and wizards)

Bucky suddenly joining Sam’s mission because, imo, he’s doing what he thinks Steve wants him to do, he wants to understand more of Sam’s situation after giving the shield and convince him to steal it back. 

The Banter

Bucky having a one sided beef with Redwing (rip, little guy, hopefully we’ll see you again soon) (also, i love that we all pretend Redwing is a living being)

Both Sam and Bucky trying to don’t punch Walker while they’re on the truck and “Does he always just stare like that?” “You get used to it”.

“Battlestar?” And Bucky NOT having any of that bad hero names shit. 

Sam reminding Bucky that stealing the shield is probably not the best option, name dropping Sharon (SHARON!!!) 

Both visiting Isaiah!!!! (AND ELI!!!!) and revealing yet again another layer of the legacy that the shield carries, GOOOODDDDD, I have so many thoughts about this and how rightfully angry, disappointed, sad, Sam feels. Because this just shows that carrying the shield does not mean you suddenly become a hero, it doesn’t automatically give you respect and it won’t change that the world is fucked. 

I mean, Sam was about to be arrested in the street for daring to rise his voice to a white man. fuck that dude

John Walker trying to buy sambucky by releasing Bucky from prison 

The therapy session and Bucky once again asking about why Sam gave the shield: “If Steve was wrong about you he was wrong about me”. Showing how he’s still trying to put Steve as his moral compass. As this larger figure who believed that people can be more than what they are, and if Steve thought Bucky could be a good person again and that Sam could be Captain America, but it’s not happening; then I think Bucky has this weird equivalence of sorts where he thinks “maybe then I cannot change either”. He just doesn’t want to disappoint Steve, you know?  (Saying this again here, but I do think this is why Bucky is not trying to completely get rid off of his Winter Soldier persona, but instead reclaiming those aspects and abilities To Do Good and earn his redemption.)

BUT THEN AGAIN, Sam explaining how neither of them could understand what really is happening, what the real issue is and how he’d have to face issues that them would never have to experience. Because Sam did what he thought was right, and now he got to experience first hand (through Isaiah) what the world does to black heroes.

 ZEMO!!!! I knew they’d go to him for help, I Knew he’d be on the other side of this flag smashers at least for now. And I’m pretty sure the escenes we’ve seen on the trailer are either of the last episodes where he maybe escapes and re-emerges as a villain. Or maybe he’s also involved in everything from the inside, who knows, I’m very excited to have him back.

This got waaaay too long, thanks for reading up to this point if you’re still here :) 

[wovenstarlight]

YWBK update: chapter 26 + liner notes

yesterday will be kinder has updated! you can read chapter 26 here, or start from the beginning here

as always, commentary below the cut

Yoojin🐉😊

watch this space....

In preparation for it, Han Hyunjae temporarily requisitions Yoojin’s laptop and combs through the internet looking for photos of the Hunters that he thinks his family should know about in advance. He goes down one too many internet rabbit-holes, takes way too many screenshots, transcribes a summary of the notes in his future diary, then painstakingly puts everything together into a neat little presentation for them.

picture HHJ reading his fifth article wondering where the sung family heir has disappeared to and being like 👁️👁️👁️👁️

had a little giggle to myself about “future diary” that phrasing was definitely on purpose. will exclusively be referring to it as this now

“Right,” he starts, clapping his hands together, after Yerim’s been sent off to play with Hohyoung.

LHH is so much of a background figure.... i want to see more of himself but he likes his privacy.... he’s got his girlfriend and his baby sister and yoojin who’s wormed his way into his good graces by way of Living In Same House but that’s kinda it....... he’s always lurking in the background instead of showing up on screen. come here hohyoung oppa i just wanna talk

Even if Yoojin’s right, Han Hyunjae still has to protest. [...] But he can’t keep it up when Jiyeon looks at him like that.

KJY has the world’s best Stern Mom Voice and Disappointed Mom Glare and to her great delight they work even on fellow adult HHJ. she will use this power For Evil

The other S-ranks are Moon Hyuna, leader of Breaker Guild, and Bak Mingyu of Hanshin Guild.

OK FOR THIS PART I STRAIGHT FORGOT ABOUT HANSHIN GUILD AND I WAS COUNTING UP ON MY FINGERS LIKE WAIT... IF YERIM WAS THE EIGHTH KOREAN S-RANK WHO WERE THE SEVEN BEFORE HER.... (for those curious they were 1. sung hyunjae, 2. han yoohyun, 3. moon hyuna, 4. song taewon, 5. bak mingyu of hanshin, 6. choi sukwon of MKC, and 7. yoon kyeongsoo of soodam. but. i forgot about the last three altogether.)

“Oh, blond guy,” Yoojin says, unimpressed. “Yeah, I’ve seen him on the news and stuff.”

Top 10 Funny Yoojin Moments (I JUST THINK IT’D BE REALLY FUNNY IF HAN “HAVE I MENTIONED IN THE LAST 5 MINUTES HOW HANDSOME SUNG HYUNJAE IS” YOOJIN DID NOT GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT HIM IN THIS TIMELINE....)

Han Hyunjae takes a moment to double-check that he really doesn’t have Noise Resistance (L), and looks back in time to see Yoojin rubbing at his eyes and glaring at the screen. 

HEHEHE...... A SECRET TOOL THAT WILL HELP US LATER

“Hyunjae-yah,” Jiyeon says, looking at the photo of Sung Hyunjae on screen, “this man looks—” “LIKE A PIECE OF WHITE BREAD,” Yoojin bellows. [...] “HYUNG THINKS HE LOOKS GOOD? [...] Oh, god, he kinda does, [...] but like, in a trashy romance novel cover way.” [... Jiyeon] gives the computer screen an assessing once-over. “He looks like the models in cologne advertisements.”

this part of the chapter was planned waaaay back in august 2020 and i actually crowdfunded these descriptions from the s-class server dshblksjdfkblsdfb. the original suggestions (thanks to server members for these):

“bland whitie potato with a slap-on seme personality”

“tacky valentine’s day/mom’s cologne advertisement”

“the face of the dude on the cover of all my mom’s trashy romance novels”

and tbh HYJ does think he genuinely looks good but like, disgustingly good, you know... also Hyung Likes Him so [19 gun emojis]

also me handwaving moment of mild homophobia because like. jiyeon doesn’t know yet AND homophobia is a thing in this world BUT i don’t really wanna do, All That (we already did it with HYJ once), so.

“Do S-ranks get rich?” Yerim asks as she enters, because apparently everyone’s coming for his life today. Han Hyunjae closes his eyes and lies down on the bed while Yoohyun calls out an affirmation over his head. “Then I think— oh! He looks nice!” He cracks open an eye just in time to see her nod. “I think ahjussi should marry him for the eye candy and the money.” She beams very wide. Han Hyunjae closes his eyes again and tunes out the loud conversation going on around him. And wishes, not for the first time, that he’d picked literally any other name when he first got here.

yerim says gay rights cuz she’s like 12 rn and she straight up does not really care. but says it in, like, the most frustrating way possible.

sometimes you just need to lie down even as the world keeps throwing shit at you. just lie down and nap for a little bit. especially when the shit in question is the alias regret you had literally back in chapter one of your 25+ chapter story. this is gonna come back to bite you in the ass Very Fucking Soon babe!!!!

You Oh this is like the 17th one I got wrong I swear this course is trying to kill me

me, flicking on that EPSON brand projector,

(i have. been having a Time of it.)

[Yoojin🐉😊 called you (21:35)]

that’s minutes and seconds babey... you can pretty much guess the content of call from context :(

well, uh. most of call. some internal plot and Realizations happening right at the end of those 21 minutes, 35 seconds. namely:

Yoojin🐉❤️

:-)

or i dunno you can be my roommate and we can both leech off my rich and prosperous baby brother!

[extremely sad voice] heehoo... they... care each other....

YMW’s parents are kinda shit ngl. they care about him, but unfortunately, that does not show through in their care for him, ykwim? if they just paid attention to what he was actually talented at and encouraged him in his efforts.................

well, he wouldn’t have met HYJ in canon. but he would also have been a lot happier!! and YMW deserves to be happy!!!!!!!! YMW fucking rights!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You When you came with me to drop off Jihui’s standee. 

they finally remembered her name sjfbklsjdfbl

Yoojin🐉❤️ OH right i was talking to one of my new commissioners about their piece realized they were an old friend of hyung’s

HEEHOO.... HONKS MY LITTLE CLOWN NOSE yoojin forgot to ask about pronouns but that’s okay they’re figuring that stuff out still

Yoojin🐉❤️ it’s getting late the kids are going to bed i have to turn off the lights 

you can take the caregiver out the role of caregiving but he will still think of his baby siblings as his kids

Part of that is changing his behaviour. Hyunjae and Yoojin sit side by side and watch as Suk Simyeong gently coaches Yoohyun on how to interact with others and present a neutral, if not friendly, exterior.

[same voice as ingredience] neurodivergence.....

try and look them in the eye, or at least look somewhere on or near their face, if eye contact is too much

yoohyun, who’s the type to look people in the eye without blinking until they inevitably look away because then they don’t try that eye contact shit again later:

tbh i kinda made up shit for the Training In Formality section i don’t know shit about being Formal and Polite. hope i got it right :pensive:

“He’s not good with touch,” Hyunjae cuts in. [...] “Sorry,” [Yoojin] says apologetically to Suk Simyeong, crossing the room and gently pressing a hand against Yoohyun’s back. The kid slowly stops rocking and leans into the touch as he talks.

he’s not good with touch, Usually..... there are exceptions :-) every time i think about this being canon i go insane. wow. love and trust and faith.

Suk Simyeong nods understandingly, giving the closed door a considering look. “If that’s the case, perhaps he can take over part of the preparations,” he offers.

SSM who’s frothing at the mouth wanting to know more about this dude who apparently did some killer business deal with the head of Dungeon Task Force who all the dungeon people are gossiping about on their phone calls while they cart around unassuming A-rank businessmen: PLEEAAASEE fucking involve him PLEEEEASE make him involve himself in business with me

Still, Yoojin’s work is fairly repetitive and boring, so Hyunjae and the women pull out a pack of UNO cards from somewhere and start playing while he works, not paying much attention to either of the boys.

plugging my Han/Bak family playing UNO art here, please reblog like and subscribe,

He stares down at Yoohyun’s hair. Yoohyun’s wavy hair sits there judgmentally. Yoojin bemoans his budding career as a stylist and admits, “This… isn’t working.”

i’m sorry sweetie... hair isn’t your forte :( you can still do fashion if you try really hard

(fun fact about this whole scene, yoohyun not being able to straighten his hair until he could control flame resistance is Certified Canon!)

“No, shit, don’t get up.” Yoojin flaps his free hand at him distractedly. Hyunjae and his need to do everything himself, jeez. “I mean, like. The iron is not. Straightening.”

“hyunjae and his need to do everything” says the man who a few paragraphs ago wanted to be hair makeup clothing and management all in one

“Okay, but why is it not working, though? Is the iron not turned on?” Wow. Wow! Yoojin wonders suddenly if Yoohyun ever felt as homicidal towards him as Yoojin’s currently feeling towards his big brother. If he ever had, then it’s frankly stunning Yoojin’s survived as long as he did. “Do you think I’m stupid,” he snaps. “It’s plugged in.” “Yeah, but did you turn it on.” “You know what, why don’t you touch it and see?” Yoojin unplugs the straightening iron for a minute so that he can take it over to Hyunjae, presenting it to him with a flourish. The heat will hold on for the few seconds this takes. “Come on, touch it right now. I dare you.”

zmur put this into words better than i can, she described this part as “the feeling when elder siblings doubt your intelligence”--

“What if you used a regular iron. Like for clothes,” Hyunjae says, completely ignoring Yoohyun. Yoojin hums thoughtfully.

--and this part as “THEY ARE RIGHT TO DOUBT IT !”

“Killjoy,” Hyunjae mutters so only he and Yoojin can hear.

(should doubt your elder sibling’s intelligence too, once in a while. keep them on their toes.)

“HAN YOOHYUN YOU TAKE YOUR HAND OFF THAT RIGHT NOW,” Yoojin and Hyunjae and Jiyeon holler in perfect unison.

parental instinct for particular phrasings of commands

“Flame Resistance,” Yoohyun reads out. “S-rank.” It’s not heat resistance, but it’s pretty close, so it probably still applies.

hum hum the flame skill works on heat as well, huh

Yoojin’s watching Hyunjae idly when the flickers start up at the edge of his vision again. He blinks, rubbing his eyes idly, and looks back up in time to see, just for a split second— 

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE VISION PROBLEMS WAS IT? RUBBING HIS EYES WAS IT??

“Eh? It didn’t? I’ll… I’ll try it again, one second.” Nothing, for a second— but no, there is, pale flashes here and there. Yoojin shakes his head and blinks. They die down, then start up again. Fainter, this time. Why? 

gonna say this here because i accidentally set it up as a Thing there’s. there’s no reason. whether the message shows up or not is pretty much random error.

“Ahjussi has an L-rank skill?” Yerim demands. “That’s so cool!” Jiyeon and Yoohyun and Yoojin stare at Hyunjae in silence as he returns Yerim’s eager high-five. He cowers when he notices them.

these three are already so mad and they don’t know that between S and L there’s SS and SSS. they’re gonna be SOOOOO mad. anyway yerim remains the chillest in the room

“So, say you needed to cauterize a wound in an emergency, and you didn’t have access to healing items or Hunters. You could drop the Resistance there, set it on fire, and just… sear it shut.” Yoohyun blinks, an intrigued look coming into his eyes, and looks down at his own forearm. “That’s true, I could probably…” “Yeah, food for thought, I suppose.” “What the hell?!” Yerim yelps. “Though it’s up to you if you want to try it. I still think your hair is fine as is, we don’t have to—” “That’s horrifying,” Yoojin blurts. “No, I should know how. In case something happens like you said. How do I do it?” “Now hold on a second,” Jiyeon says, voice rapidly rising in pitch.

sometimes i think about how dungeon stuff made yoojin significantly more chill with violence and murder and self mutilation in some cases. and how he comments specifically (i think this might be in a slightly later chapter, possibly unreleased) that people like myeongwoo who don’t have those extra years of immersion in the dungeon culture still reject and avoid violence and killing whenever possible. really makes you think

anyway! i saved some extra commentary for those okay with spoilers. continue reading at your own risk. extra large warning in case you’re skilling

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE BELOW CONTENT!!!! IT DRAWS ON INFO FROM UNTRANSLATED CHAPTERS, POST-170S AT LEAST!

“How many of these people did you personally know?” “Not many!” “So one, then,” Yoojin concludes. “You don’t know that!”

HE DIDN’T SAY THAT YOOJIN WAS RIGHT, THOUGH..............

“Why did you pick his name out of everyone’s! I thought you weren’t in touch with S-ranks. I thought you picked a friend’s name!”

:)

they wanted some kind of bedroom decoration for a family member, counting sheep or something, i forget 

a sheep, for a family member of one of han hyunjae’s old acquaintances, is it

[ashley-ghuleh]

Chapter 1: A Friend

(Little note, this is waaaay longer then I thought it would be. But I’m pretty happy with it, here’s to just writing to have fun~<3)

In which a Phoenix befriends a Crow. And the roaring Fire is to meet the Icy Sea.

High school for the rich, some think it would be nicer than a middle class school. Nice kids from prestigious families with good standing reputations. Those people are wrong, rich schools are just as bad if not worse than those of anything lower than them.

Rude kids who were living either spoiled lives with parents who gave them everything they’ve ever wanted.

Or kids coming from homes where they feel smothered by the ‘charitable acts’ their family was known for, or how controlling their parents could be.

And then the kids who didn’t have it so rough who rebelled no matter, just wanting to cause trouble for fun, showing up for school properly dressed and disheveling themselves once in the building without a care if a teacher scolded them, though most teachers have given up on this type of student and their stubborness.

But not all students who acted or dressed this way came from a household that was normal or standard for a rich family. Some who did this came from a place like, The Kohle family.

When it came to higher power in a society of nothing but fake suits and dresses.

The Kohle’

A house made of a mother and father like most were, Elizabeth Grace Kohle Heiress to the original bloodline of Kohle, and James Kohle, formally James McKnight though when he married into the family he had taken the Kohle name in place for his given name as to gain further power from the title. This family on the outside looks picture perfect. Seven kids, six boys and one girl, blessed with many children to continue on the family name. Two loving parents to care for the kids and bring their family to greatness. But under the picture of a ‘perfect’ family portrait lies the full unedited truth. Seven kids, six boys and one girl, six prodigal children and one black sheep. It wasn’t easy being the disappointment, but it was a dirty job and somebody had to do it, and that somebody was Marcus Kohle, born fourth before the twins, his father’s only hated child and his mother’s favorite. 

Being babied and spoiled by his mother and disregarded or shunned by his father and other siblings his father has turned against him, happened to be what shaped this tiny rebel.

Marcus looked like any normal teenager going into school, but these students wouldn’t know this was his fifth transfer for fighting and being an all around troublemaker. 

He walked through the halls remembering the short tour, his school uniform tidy and neat, his hair nicely styled as his mother had done for him before he left that morning, everything in its place. 

Until he stepped through the doors, heading right to the locker rooms. Changing into black beat up combat boots and then ruffling up his hair so it hung perfectly a mess, while undoing the buttons on his uniform dress shirt and loosening his tie to hang lazily around his neck. Walking out he strolled with his bag to his locker ready to cause some chaos.

Those feeling suffocated by the bosom of their parent’s cloaked public affection were like Ashley Carter.

The Carter’

This home was built on a steady arranged marriage of two high school sweethearts, David Carter and Adela Guilani now Adela Guilani-Carter. She kept her maiden name so if things got ugly she could easily drop the hyphenated last name of her husband. Two ‘loving’ parents of course, who were blessed with a single gifted daughter. 

Being born with birth defects that stunned the two parents had been such a reputation concern, that they announced the birth of their daughter without showing her face. The doctor had said Ocular Albinism didn’t run in the family lineage as far as they could find, it just happened to be a rare occurrence.

Rare she was, Ashley Carter was an oddity in a world of normalcy that her parents tried to force upon her. Once she had hit 14 she didn’t care much anymore.

She was the family disappointment, a disgrace to the family name and she would never be what her parents wanted for an heir or a child.

This torn family dynamic wasn’t lost on most other families, some of them were sympathetic, giving the pale eyed girl a safe place to decompress and feel as though nothing or no one could do anything to her, they couldn’t touch her in these safe havens.

Walking into school, she was in her school uniform of course. Hair tied up in high ponytail and her uniform skirt pulled up some to show off her knees as well as her top two blouse buttons undone and her cherry red converse squeaked softly as she trudged to her locker, another day of torture was all she could think.

But she didn’t know that she was about to make the friend that would fight for her till the end.

Some of her friends met up with her to walk to the lockers, chatting softly as she would adjust her sunglasses, the indoor/outdoor lenses for these ones taking a little longer than usual to switch over.

Ashley looked the same as she did the year prior, but with this new year and being a year older, she had changed her looks a bit, having decided she was done hiding she no longer wore her colored contacts to hide her eyes and the most outrageous part of her new look was her new hair color.

Kids from other classes and her own watched her walk by, chest length hair that was now a bold fiery red, Ashley was tired of hiding, wanting to be seen for the girl she could and would be. This new color caused her ‘poor’ mother to faint and her father to demand her to “Wash it out! Now!” Only for the recently rebellious teen to reply with, “ It’s permanent. And no~”

The colors resembled the many hidden within a burning flame, reds, oranges and even some soft pinks, yellowy oranges, all laid out with the best strategies to make her unnatural hair color look.. Well natural. It made her skin seem paler but brought out the color of her freckles, her eyes though always milky crystal seemed to be brighter in a sense.

Closing in on their destination, Ashley and her friends slowed to see a new student being cornered by the lockers, the red haired girl’s happened to be the one this boy’s back was pressed to. “ Hey! I said to say something funny, you're the new foreign kid right? I bet you got a fucking hilarious voice and accent! Go on skinny, say something!” This teasing voice, that was oh so grating on Ashley’s ears made her groan, it belonged to a boy she hasn’t been able to stand since they met at the age of 10, “ Tommy. Fucking. Wilson.” She grumbled now standing before said boy, a born jock through and through. It was like in the dna for that family or something. He would’ve been handsome if he didn’t act so ugly.

“Ashley Carter~ Finally ready to submit to me and become my girlfriend.” The new student against the locker, snorted with a sharp inhale before snickering. “ She’s way out of your league.” His voice was soft, masculine for a 14 year old boy and oddly feminine in an angelic satisfying way. 

The two girls that had been walking with Ashley giggled at the remark and not so much the strange European accent he had and tried to fight around.

Tommy and his two friends looked confused and then shrugged it off. “ I changed my mind, totally thought that you would sound funny but you don’t and honestly..” He narrowed his eyes at the new boy. “ The sound of your voice makes me wanna punch you.” He brought his fist up and Ashley stepped in, smacking Tommy on the back of the head, while he reacted she spoke, glaring down at him. “ If you lay a finger on him, I’ll remind you of what I did when you messed with Cecilia’s lunch and fed her meat. Knowing full well she went vegetarian.” The young jock’s eyes widened at the idea and he straightened himself out and dusted his shirt off. “ Well.. I guess-” “ You're just going to let a girl scare you?” Came the squeaky voice of another boy in Tommy’s little friend group.

Ashley stepped forward putting more heat into her gaze while taking her sunglasses off to show fully the anger in her murky eyes. “ Test your luck punk.” She hissed before the small gaggle of boys and Tommy became legitimately scared and ran off down the hall pushing passed students as they went.

The new boy stood up and sighed, running his hand through his messy hair, “ They didn’t hurt you did they?” Came a sweet soft voice belonging to a beautiful girl only describable as looking like a picture of a blond bombshell girl, the little accessories she wore and her vintage looking makeup were perfect replicas of most early war propaganda posters from the 50s. “ I’m fine thanks..” He said softly trying to not talk too loud, any louder than he was his accent would slip.

“I’m Cecilia, you can call me Cici~” She held out her hand, cocking a brow. He took it and shook it weirdly, clearly uncomfortable.

A tall raven haired girl on Ashley’s other side grinned and gave a tiny two finger wave. “ I’m Lilith. Call me Lili or Li'l.” He nodded at her before looking at Ashley whole nodded at him. “ I’m Ashley. Also the girl who just saved your little tush. What’s your name, new kid?” She asked while getting into her locker and arranging her things and grabbing what she’d need for her class.

He grumbled something under his breath and then sighed through his nose. “ Marcus.. Kohle..” Cecilia jumped and gasped. “ Holy shit! Like the Kohle family from Germany that owns and operates a huge oil rig branch?!?” Groaning the new kid, Marcus, nodded and rubbed his forehead.

“Don’t remind me please.” He sighed, Lilith and Ashley both nudged Cici who shrugged and flailed a bit, “ S-sorry sugar.. Didn’t mean to upset you. So! You guys just moved here right? You're gonna need some friends!” She giggled, smiling brightly. Ashley nodded, “ Yea, and it might as well be us if you're gonna survive in this jungle. Especially if you want to avoid conflict with Tommy.” Marcus grinned and laughed coldly. “ I was doing my best.. Not to hit him.” Lilith nodded.

“Steer clear of him if you can kid, he packs a punch..” Ashley snorted and shut her locker, “ When he can land one. My depth perception is clinically off by birth and can aim a hit better. Tommy couldn’t hit the broad side of a cow with a banjo.” She quipped while looking down slightly at Marcus. “ What class do you have first?” The german boy looked at his curriculum list. “ English li-....” He frowned at the word he was obviously having a hard time with. Cecilia peeked over his shoulder and saw it, “ English literature.. Not to be rude, hun, but I’m guessing your English reading is..” She raised a worried brow and Marcus frowned deeper and flapped his hand back and forth, the three girls looked at each other and nodded. “ It's okay, we’re all in that class with you, so we’ll help you. We’re friends now! So we’re gonna do what friends do best and help each other~” Cecilia giggled, her giggles were infectious and Marcus smiled softly, Ashley looked down at him taking him in for a moment, small and thin as a whip. His hair was messy and was a rich, dark black, it was so dark it had a soft tint of an iridescent shine like crow feathers. His face was sharp, feminine. His skin was almost sickly pale, but his eyes were what stood out to her.

Deep, blue oceanic eyes. They looked tired, obvious by the deep set circles under them, but she found herself feeling like she was falling into a dark blue void, swirling through an angry whirlpool in the temperamental sea. Even with how emotionally exhausted he looked, his eyes held this intense energy to them.

Ripped from her thoughts by her friends, she looked to see if they noticed she had spaced out, Marcus didn’t notice, neither did the girls, Lilith was running her fingers through Marcus’ messy tresses. “ Your hair is so cool.. It reminds me of a crow~” She grinned, the foreign boy nodded his thanks softly. “Oh! Oh! Our little friend group is complete! We’ve got the sassy Italian’s,” She giggled, waving at herself and Lilith, “ I’m Italian too..” Ashley pouted, “ Yes, but now we also have.” She sang that ‘a’ to draw it out while shoving Marcus and Ashley shoulder to shoulder, “ The phoenix and the crow~” The blond bubbled and grinned brightly.

The two looked at each other and then shrugged, “ Works for me. Just don’t be calling me that around others.” He grumbled though wasn’t actually grumpy about it, Ashley nodded, “ I mean I like it but it's a little… Stage name-y? How about something more subtle for general use?”

Marcus looked up at her and immediately spoke before anyone else could. “ Ash.” He stated plainly. “ Phoenix's rise from ashes, reborn into the world. Becoming greater with every rebirth.” He said with a bored tone almost like it was so obvious before adding on, “ Plus it's her name but shortened.. I am foreign but not dumb.”

The girls all laughed and smiled at the boy’s antics, he was going to be a lot of fun to get to know and hang out with. Already each girl held special places in their hearts for this precious kid and wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

“Well gang.. We better get to class before Professor Davidson comes searching for us.” Groaning at the idea they made sure they all had everything including Marcus and went onto class.

Walking down the hallway were four new best friends, and two who would stand up for the other no matter the scenario. Beautiful bonds were made between the Phoenix, and the Crow. 

But the two thought, how would the intense Fire handle meeting the Freezing Sea, that’s been raging for centuries?

That’s something they’ll find out together. As they would do so, with many things to come.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #474

“nothing flashed before my eyes  /  no pretty angels, no bright lights  /  all i saw was the devil’s soul, & it looked a hell a lot like my own”

Who are you most nervous about introducing potential significant others to? My dad. He can be a challenge. He says whatever comes to his mind the moment he thinks it, and it's not always nice. What is the most exciting thing about your life right now? My relationship, honestly. It feels like the one thing that's going right, but I'm concerned if I don't take care of the things that aren't going so well, that they will creep into my relationship and start breaking it down, ex. not having a job. What was the most important non-academic thing you learned in high school? To just keep pushing and not give up on life, and that it is full of phases, be them good, bad, or bland. Have you ever had a job that deeply affected your personal life? How so and do you still work there? No. Do you have a “one who got away”? I don't feel like that anymore. If you were in a supoerhero movie, would you be the hero or the villain? Because I like to help people, I'd like to be the hero, BUT villains are waaaay cooler. If you found a mouse in your house, would you be frightened? Frightened, no. I LOVE mice. I'd of course be startled and concerned about it getting into food, but I'd just calmly find a way to get it outside. Have you ever tried to perform magic tricks? I used to LOVE getting those little magic kits when the Scholastic fair came around! I had I want to say three and was pretty good at a lot of tricks in them. Can you do more with a yo-yo than just "go up and down"? No. What is one form of technology that you wouldn't be able to live without? The Internet for sure. Did you get an allowance, growing up? Why or why not? No. An allowance for three daughters was something my parents couldn't afford. Would you rather go to a water park or an amusement park? Why? An amusement park. They're more exciting to me, and somehow water parks seem dirtier with all the little kids and just alksdjlfa;wjke What is one instrument you wouldn't mind learning how to play? The violin. What's the longest amount of time you've had to wait in line for something? Probably something at Disney World as a kid, idr. What is something that you would like to learn more about? I ALWAYS want to learn more and more about meerkats. What is something that one of your family member collects? Mom collects owl stuff. Have you ever moved to a new school before? If so, how did it feel? No, except obviously when transferring from certain age ranges, like elementary to middle school. Have you ever legitimately forgotten to do homework? Yes, at least once in middle school. I felt SO awful and had to go outside of the classroom to do it while they were reviewing the work. Do you enjoy autumn leaves or spring flowers more? Why? I really, really like both. Each are just very pretty in their own right. Depending on where you live, why might a day of school get canceled? Hurricanes or like the mere chance of a centimeter of snow. At least once, we've even had such a severe heat advisory that school was called off. If you could meet any fictional character from a book, who would it be? Can dragons be real? 'Cuz then I wanna meet Clay from Wings of Fire if we could talk, lol. He's so wise and I'm sure would have great knowledge to share about looking at my life from new perspectives. What are some common places that people tour when they come to your city? Um, people do NOT tour this city. It's trash. What's one food that you did not enjoy as a child, but do as an adult? I'm not sure. How would having no electricity affect your daily routine? Everything would change, given I'm always on the computer. Would you rather have a mermaid tail, a fairy's wings or a unicorn's horn? Fairy wings, for sure. What is an animal that you'd like to have as a pet but it's not allowed? I wish SO badly that opossums were domesticated animals, alsdkjfkaljwe. I say enough that I do want to rescue/foster one, though, but I would obviously need a license for that. I would absolutely never just snag one from the wild. What are some things that you do to make the world a better place? We recycle here, don't dare to litter, and I always try to be a decent person that spreads love and hope to other people. Has the last person you had sex with ever had sex with someone besides you? Yes. What’s your favorite store at your mall? rue21, I suppose. We have a small mall. Have you ever done a workout DVD? Oh my actual god, this is a THROWBACK. When we were really little, my sister had a BARBIE workout DVD that we watched sometimes. Who usually takes out the trash in your family? Usually Mom, but sometimes me. What song are you currently obsessed with? Absolutely "Bath Salts" by Highly Suspect, ahhhhh- When you go fishing, do you make someone else get the fish off the hook? When I used to go fishing, my dad would always unhook the fish. Do you take any prescription meds? A lot. What happens if you don’t take them? I very rarely forget to take my medicine, but when I do, I experience anxiety and my tremors get worse. Who was the last person you dreamt about? I don't remember. Do you prefer your tea sweetened or unsweetened? I hate tea in any way. How often do you honk your horn? I don't really drive, so. I'd be very hesitant to though because I wouldn't wanna piss someone off. Do you have any children? If so, names and ages? That's a hard pass from me, bro. Have your parents ever witnessed you doing something inappropriate? What? No. Did you get babysat a lot as a kid? I don't remember how frequently, but we did have a babysitter. Both my parents had jobs. If you were the principal of a school, what would you do differently? Actually pay fucking attention to bullying and do shit about it. Are you doing anything fun tomorrow? "Fun?" Don't know her. What is something you'd like to receive as a housewarming gift? I dunno. How old were you when you first experienced the effects of puberty? I don't remember. What is your least favorite holiday, and why? St. Patrick's Day because I worry about getting pinched, lol. Pinching even very lightly is surprisingly painful for me. What were some outdoor games you played as a child? Hide-and-seek was my favorite, then my sisters and I made games for on the trampoline and in the pool, etc. Did you accompany your parents on "Take Your Child to Work" Day? I never remember doing that, no. Are cemeteries peaceful to you, or do they freak you out? They're humbling, more than anything. A reminder of how equal we are and that we all end up the same. It's a nudge to cherish life while you have it. Which ancient civilization would you be interested in learning more about? My favorite is Ancient Egyptian. Do you have better long-term memory or short-term memory? Long-term. My short-term memory is absolutely frighteningly horrid. What was the last situation that made you cry? Describe. I was very frustrated with just life in general and how horribly I'm failing at it. Which forest animal would you be most afraid to encounter? A bear, probably. Do you believe in anything supernatural? (ie: spirits, etc) Yeah, like said spirits. Has anyone close to you ever gone to war? No. Have you ever experienced altitude sickness? No. Is there anything, any event, you wish you could remember more clearly? I don't know right now. Have you ever rubbed anyone’s feet? EW you couldn't pay me to. If you had to get advice from someone of the opposite sex, who would you go to? My boyfriend. What was the last new food/drink that you tried? I recently tried jalapeno-stuffed grilled chicken, and a couple days ago I tried this orange/strawberry V8 my mom bought. It was noooot good, which I figured it wouldn't be. That's not a good mix. Have you had a good day today or was yesterday better? Today was fucking awful, and yesterday wasn't exactly peachy either. Have you ever played Sudoku? Yeah, I enjoy it well enough. Do you ever take surveys for money? No; I once signed up for a site like that though because my mom used to do that, but I literally qualified for no surveys with how inexperienced I was and still am with grown-up stuff. Do you like Barbie or Bratz better? I don't have an opinion, and I didn't really as a kid, either. Do you prefer purple or green grapes? I go back and forth, but either way, it has to be a crisp grape or it's just gross. Who was the last person that made you laugh? I was watching a John Wolfe video. Where does your best friend live? Illinois. Who did you last confide in? Girt. Does your car have an alarm? Mom's doesn't. Where was your mom born? New York. What can always make you feel better no matter what? If I'm being completely realistic, nothing. Not every single tactic is fail-proof, especially these days. What is something you’ll never eat again? Why? Crab legs came to mind first. They are SO mushy and just gross. What is currently happening that is scaring you? My life, bro. Have you ever found a stranger’s note somewhere? If so, what did it say? I mean maybe at some point accidentally? I don't remember a specific occurrence.

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: mentions of character death, cursing, haunting, spooky stuff, angst

Word count: 7.1k

Summary: Steve Rogers is a man out of time. He knows more ghosts than people. One of his ghosts has come home. 

A/N: This is waaaay longer than I normally write, but I just wanted to do it justice. This is my submission for @barnesrogersvstheworld​ AYAOTD writing challenge! Sort of an Endgame AU, also features an appearance from a rather obscure Marvel comics character. The prompt I had was “Don’t look behind you.” - it’s highlighted in bold. This is also really sad. I’m sorry for that...but please let me know what you think! 

His tastes have changed.

Most people wouldn’t have known that - wouldn’t have seen anything abnormal about a 100+ year old man reaching for minute oatmeal and Folgers at the grocery store. There had been a few articles, before, in health or men’s interest magazines, about the ‘Super Soldier Diet’. They were much more colorful than this - full of sugary cereals and peanut butter and seasonal frappuccinos. The articles always ended with reminders that a normal human should reach for more nutritious foods.

Steve pulls his oats - plain, made with water, no sweetener - from the microwave, and stirs just a little. Not thick enough; he replaces the bowl and adds another 30 seconds to the microwave timer. On the counter, the Mr. Coffee drips away, slowly filling the pot.

He eats quietly, perched on a stool at the island; he never uses the table anymore. A few news highlights appear in the notifications on his phone, and he scrolls through them, eyes scanning as he spoons his tasteless breakfast into his mouth.

New York Nears Completion of Relocation Program he reads, letting his thumb swipe down to read more of the article.

“Almost three years after the globally devastating event in which Earth’s population was reduced by half, the people of New York City are finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel in their relocation efforts for residents whose homes were damaged or destroyed in the aftermath of the Decimation. The project, one of the last proposals by Tony Stark before his retirement from the Department of Damage Control, is expected to end-”

He closes his phone.

**********

There are three support group meetings that he attends each week - two as a leader, one as a participant.

“You should come, Nat.” He’s a broken record, but he just keeps spinning. Like the planet, like the solar system. If he falls out of orbit- “Just once. You might be surprised…”

“Some of us still have jobs, Steve.” She raises a still perfect eyebrow, now back to its natural red. He finds a little comfort in that.

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Maybe not. But don’t wait up for me.”

The Tuesday meeting is the hardest, though it was the first one he ever lead. It caters to a specific group, a group that looks to him because...well, because he lost what they lost. He wonders if they know, if they realize, that it’s all his fault.

“Jackie was...she was my rock, you know?” The new woman, Elsie, sniffs as she continues. “We went through a lot together, and I remember thinking all that time ‘God, what would I do without her?’ And now I know the answer - spiral and-and become an alcoholic.”

“You can’t blame yourself for all of that.” Steve shakes his head. “There was so much more going on - the world was practically in flames, and you were trying to cope. What matters is that you’re here now, trying to get better.”

Elsie is nodding, accepting a tissue from the man sitting next to her. She gives a shaky little smile and settles back in her chair, done sharing for now. Steve glances around the circle, waiting for someone else to speak up.

It was such an odd reversal for him, especially at first. When he first wandered into one of Sam’s support group meetings, he had felt out of place and alone - and that feeling was exactly why he belonged in a place like that. Sam could see it. It was one of his gifts; he was better at reading people than anyone Steve knew, except maybe Natasha. Even when Bucky came along, and Sam played the tough act, he could see all of that fear and pain, and knew exactly what to do with it. Over the years they were in hiding, Sam would secretly reach out to Bucky - during their visits in Wakanda, Steve found the two of them sitting at the lake behind Bucky’s hut and talking, low and intense.

“You know, sometimes-” It’s a man on the opposite side of the circle, dark-skinned with a greying beard. “I don’t know about all of you, but sometimes...I wonder if they can see us. If they know what we’re doing. Does that make any sense?”

He gets a few nods and murmurs from the group, so he goes on.

“I mean, after my old man died, my mom used to say he was watching over me.” He swallows thickly. “She was on her own, tucking a 9-year-old boy in at night, and telling me that Daddy could see me from heaven, that he was looking out for me. And I just think....well, I wanna know - where are they? Are they in heaven? Is that even possible?”

He turns to Steve, several of the people in the circle do. It’s always like this - whenever the sessions turn to specific questions or musings about what happened, they look to him. Because shouldn’t he know? He had lead them, he failed them, he was there when their lives went up in dust.

“Well, I don’t think I’m qualified to offer religious advice,” he starts with a rueful smile. “And, from everything I’ve seen, I don’t think we even know what’s possible. All I know is, we can’t live in the past...even if they see us, wherever they are, we have to accept that they’re really...gone.” He crossed his arms. “They’re not here with us anymore.”

The group has gone quiet, reflective. Most are staring at their hands rather than him, each lost in their own haze of memory and ashes. He wishes he could offer them more, but he knows grief like this, and Steve Rogers is honest to a fault - he won’t lie, even for the sake of comfort.

“We’re on our own now.”

**********

He goes for runs alone now.

No Bucky to keep up with him, pushing the pace and trying to trip him. No Sam to complain about his hamstrings and insist on coffee afterwards. Not even music on those weird tiny headphones she had gotten him. Just his sneakers and pavement and the sound of his own breath. Sometimes he hated that - how he never got winded anymore, never sounded hurt and tired, the way he would wheeze through his asthma attacks with Bucky holding him up and reminding him how to pull in air. The machine of his body was too efficient for that.

In his apartment, he takes short showers, cold and fast, like in the Army. The soap is blue, with a generic smell that is clean and reminds him of nothing. He turns and tilts his head back under the spray, allowing a few more seconds to rinse and-

He nearly jumps when a burst of heat runs down his back.

The water has suddenly turned hot, a steamy, balmy, sultry hot that turns his soft Irish skin pink. He had never had this problem with his showers before - never run out of cold water certainly. Maybe something was wrong with the…

When he turned around, he saw the hot water knob turning slowly clockwise, centimeter by centimeter, untouched.

He shut off the water and got out.

**********

“I’m gonna have to call a plumber sometime.”

“Oh yeah? I thought all you old guys were handymen.”

“Ha ha.” He watches Nat scoop some spaghetti into bowls for the two of them. “I was the artist type. Not really handy around the house.”

“Guess that means Barnes was wearing the pants?” She’s smirking, and he feels like he’s seeing the real Nat again, so he goes along with the joke.

“How could he not? Who’s gonna let a 90-pound asthmatic wear the pants?”

“So what’s wrong with your plumbing?” Nat peeks over the fridge door as she grabs some parmesan and a bottle of wine. Steve, under strict orders not to help, is watching from the kitchen table.

“It’s my shower, something happened the other day. The water turned hot while I was in the middle of showering, even though I had it turned cold.”

“Hm. Weird.”

Steve comes out here at least once a month, or as often as he can. He sees the way that Natasha would rather slip into her work, lose herself in the business of holding the pieces of the world together, let go of her own life. The pantry, open and visible from where he’s sitting, is stocked with the bare minimum dry goods and canned foods; the fridge isn’t much better. He’s seen her on missions, seen her at home in her mismatched socks; he knows that she’d barely feed herself, surviving on a sandwich a day, if the thought or the hunger struck her. So he comes and threatens to cook and she saves the compound from being burned down by making a meal for the two of them.

It’s a far cry from normal. From pizza nights with Sam and Wanda at the compound, the two of them taking turns introducing Steve to movies he missed - all the “classics” he hadn’t heard of. They were missing their monthly family dinners, too; Tony always made room in his schedule to attend, dragging Pepper along from the office, and Steve sat at the head of their long dining table watching this strange, funny little family he had share and eat and laugh with each other.

Now he sits across from Natasha at a table otherwise occupied by her scattered files and reports, a pair of pointe shoes laying in the chair next to her. He didn’t come often enough to expect her to clean for him. She had enough on her plate.

“You know, I was talking to Carol last week,” Nat says, twirling her pasta around her fork. “And she said she might make it to visit us next month. It’ll depend on that trafficking case she was working in the Pegasus galaxy.” She shrugs a little.

“That’s good.” Steve chews, sips his wine. “It would be nice to see her.”

They don’t talk much throughout their meal; there isn’t much new to share. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall of the compound, Steve watches the early sunset fall over the grounds, shadows reaching and reaching, as quiet as it was empty.

**********

Sometimes, sometimes, when he’s feeling more stupid than usual, he opens the drawer.

That drawer. The lower one in his bedside table. With her box inside.

The box isn’t really anything special - just plain black, with her name written on the top. He got it at the suggestion of the team’s - his - therapist, Dr. Rajan. She recommended that putting some things away, rather than leaving them around his room, might help him move on, realize that his life had changed. He thought about putting the compass in the box, too, but it felt wrong. She wouldn’t want that in there. Somehow it mostly ends up in his pocket, and he stares at it from time to time, at the picture inside, thinking about words like should have and what if.

He’s staring at the drawer now, remembering the night before, when he thought about getting the box after he shuffled in from support group. When he was halfway through his flask of that Asgardian shit he kept under the bed. Steve had shuffled out of his clothes and fallen asleep in his underwear instead, flask still clutched in his hand, just sober enough to turn down the bad idea.

So why was the drawer open?

**********

“Have you thought about getting back out there? Dating again?”

His laugh is humorless.

“Doc, come on. I think we both know I’m not the type.”

“All we know is that you’re a serial monogamist.” She smiles. “And a very eligible one.”

“Sure, but…” Steve pauses, rubbing his palms against his jeans. He looks around the office, trying to find something to focus on. “I feel lucky...really lucky, to have had the kind of love I got. I mean, I never really expected to have it, not after I woke up in this century. And then, with her, it just sort of happened so naturally...well, lightning never strikes twice, as the saying goes.”

“It seems like, for you at least, it did,” Dr. Rajan raises her brows. “Two great loves in one lifetime? More rare than lightning.”

He runs a hand through his hair, still long on the top.

“I-I guess so. But it won’t strike a third time.”

“Because you’re not going to give it a chance?”

“You know me too well, doc.” His smile is apologetic, kind.

**********

At night, he sweats through dreams of her. His legs tangle in sheets where they used to twist and curl around her. The pillows smell only of him, his blue generic soap, but in his mind, locked somewhere far and sweet, her scent fills the air. Fills him up until he tastes it.

He tastes her, too, in dreams; under him, around him, pressed close in that intimate haze only lovers can know. Her lips chase his and smile into his mouth, following the curve of his jaw as he tucks his own face into her neck. It’s in his veins now, her smell and taste, ripe and alive on his tongue and oh, he’s swimming in it. She sighs, blissful, and sinks her teeth into that spot at the base of his throat-

Bedsheets fly off him as he bolts upright in bed, chest heaving, the sweat rolling in little beads down his temple. The smell is fading, drifting away from the room even as he tries to hold on to it; she was here, right here, and it had all felt so real, having her in his arms again. But now he’s wading back to consciousness, unwillingly, the tide of his dream pulling away from the shore and tugging at his ankles, carrying her with it. He wants to drift out to sea on it, drown in it, never resurface in this half-empty world.

Always so dramatic, Rogers.

Something nags at the corner of his eye, and he turns to the bedside table. In the pre-dawn light of the window, he can see the second drawer open. Her box is pulled forward to the front of the drawer with its lid propped up, asking, begging to be seen. He feels himself almost chasing the tide, diving back in as he leans over the side of his bed…

He slams the drawer shut.

Steve blows a harsh breath past his lips and swings his legs out of bed, tugging the sheet from between his thighs. His bare feet brush the cold wood and he arches up on his toes, tight muscles protesting the stretch. Palms scrub at his heavy eyes, brushing away what he can of his sleep. He has no plans to go back to bed, not now. He’ll just get an early start on his run. Maybe put in a few extra miles. He runs a hand through his hair, fingernails scratching absently at his scalp.

Stumbling into the bathroom, he turns the cold water tap in the sink and splashes his face a few times, feeling the two-day stubble on his cheeks. The shave can wait until after his run, he thinks. He stands straighter and reaches for the towel next to the sink, patting his face dry - he leaves his eyes closed, buried in the cotton for a moment before meeting his own gaze in the mirror. Immediately his eyes are drawn down to - what the hell is that?

At the base of his neck, just where it meets his shoulder, is a small red mark. A love bite. He presses it with a finger and hisses at the tenderness of the skin. Unbidden, the wave of his dream crashes over him, rolling him under, and he can almost feel her lips again…

The hair on the back of his neck and arms is standing straight up, his body gone cold all over. He thinks, maybe, he should go back to bed after all. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he hears his own name. What if...what if she’s waiting for me? He almost turns around, almost looks at the rumpled bed, almost expects her to be in it, rolling over in that tangled mess and smiling past the curve of her shoulder…

He yanks on a hoodie and running pants, toeing into his sneakers without socks, and leaves the apartment unlocked. Hardly knowing it, he clocks 50 miles, the sun high overhead before he can force his legs to stop, even his enhanced muscles starting to twitch. His sweat is still cold.

**********

There’s a memorial. Lots of them, actually.

All the major cities have at least one, and New York has built theirs, unsurprisingly, in Memorial Park. It’s huge, a sprawling garden of sculpture installations covered overhead by a soft white canopy. A retaining wall, approximately 3 feet high, lines the garden beds and holds in the dark rubber mulch, its outer white brick etched with the names of the lost. Even Steve could admit that it was beautiful, and so different from the solemn obelisks and walls of names he had expected when the memorial was announced.

The city had commissioned a team of artists, led by the famous Chihuly, to create blown glass sculptures using...well, as much of the collected ashes of decimated people as they could. “Cremation glass” it was called. The concept was morbid; though symbolically beautiful, most hadn’t imagined a stunning art gallery, more suited to the Met than this mass grave of the unknown.

Steve was there when it was dedicated, as was Tony. He was asked to say a few words, and he did; he has no idea, now, what he read from those cards handed to him by the administrative team. A black suit stretched around his shoulders, no shield in sight, his tie more like a noose as he watched the somber faces of the attendees. Loved ones and friends of people he had failed. A living memorial. Tony stood next to him, year-old wedding band still shining as he crossed his hands in front of him and declined to speak.

There are a few locations he has memorized around the park, the Lost Garden, as it has been named. A blooming blue hydrangea bush, sculpted white flowers and leaves pressed between the green, with the name “James B. Barnes” carved a few inches below. Across from it, red and yellow globes hang from a white tree, the round shadows falling over “Samuel Wilson”. Two rows over, an exploding tower of tangled green and blue spirals, surrounded by bushes, guards the name “Wanda Maximoff”.

Hers is carved neatly - block letters, plain font - into the white brick near the entrance of the memorial. Above it, a cherry blossom tree blooms sweetly, the pink flowers joined by purple and pink glass stems sprouting up from the ground around the trunk of the tree. Soft green bushes hem in the sculpture, as though keeping the glass from growing too far. It’s whimsical, charming. Elegant.

He fucking hates it.

He hates how this is meant to honor her - the vibrancy of her memory, the slyness of her smile, the passion of her love, the ferocity of her anger. She was more solid and real and hard than the delicate stems of glass that stood for her now. It wasn’t even her ashes in there anyway - he knows that for certain. He knows because he felt her drift through his hands under a hot Wakandan sun. He had watched the dust float and settle and knew that all the parts of her he kissed and held were under his feet and in his mouth and Jesus God it made him want to scream.

He doesn’t know whose ashes are here, in the glass above her name. But he wants to smash it. Put a fist through it. Hear that tinkling glass shatter on the ground the way she did. It would only be right.

As he stands there, staring at the falling cherry blossoms scattered around the sculpture, he feels the air go cold around him. His whole body breaks out in goosebumps and the little hairs on the back of his neck start prickling. He shudders, looking around, but no one else is nearby. It’s a late spring day, warm and getting warmer, with the sun beaming through scattered clouds. He shouldn’t be shivering.

The wind picks up, light breeze growing stronger, and the long stalks of glass begin to vibrate. A low hum builds as the wind carves its way between the sculptures, a plaintive, lonely noise that he feels low in his belly.

Steve…

He whips his head around, looking up and down the row, but he’s alone - no one else is here. That whisper, his name, it was so close…

Steeeeve

He’s turning a full circle, looking for a microphone or a drone or something tiny like Scott’s suit.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Stevie …

A cloud of cherry blossoms billows into his face, making him jump back. The chill sinks through his skin, slips down his spine bone by bone with each breath. His heart is hammering hard and fast. That name, that voice - it’s been three years. They’re gone. It’s not possible. He closes his eyes as he feels a presence close beside him, right at his shoulder, and he knows, he knows if he turns his head she’ll be-

“Captain Rogers? You alright?”

He jumps again, startled, and looks over to see a policeman watching him, eyes wary and concerned. The officer was young, like all of them now - mass recruiting in public services has been going on for a couple of years, with things nearly falling into chaos after...everything. The military, the police, trying to swell their numbers enough with what was left of the population to keep the world in check. Not like the Avengers were doing a very good job.

“Captain?” The young officer asks again, inching a half-step towards Steve. His hand, unconsciously, twitches towards his radio.

“I’m fine - really,” Steve shakes his head and offers a smile. “Everything’s fine. Just...remembering someone.”

The kid nods; Steve wonders if he himself ever looked so young in a uniform.

“I understand.” He’s tugging at his uniform jacket. “My, uh, parents - they’re over there.” He points at a patch of lilies, not far from Wanda. “And my brother.”

“I’m so sorry.”

That’s all he ever says these days. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Everyone pretends that it’s enough.

He walks the kid - the officer - back to his patrol car, shakes his hand; the boy has to crane his head back to look up at him, and he stares up at Steve like there’s still hope in this world. Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell him.

**********

The chill follows him into the summer. Even with the sun high and New York sweltering with heat, Steve shivers in his apartment, cold biting at him until he aches with it. He cranks the heat on his thermostat, yet still finds a harsh breeze blowing through his apartment somehow. He allows the shower faucet to continue turning hot - blistering hot, the way she liked it - now that this chill won’t let him go.

Despite that, he finds himself staying in more than ever. He was never exactly a social butterfly - Bucky could testify to that. It tumbles him into memory: Bucky, slicked-back hair and spit-shined shoes, a rose tucked into the lapel of his jacket; Bucky, chin thrown back and ready to laugh at the world, an arm around Steve’s shoulders as he drags them on yet another double date. “Ya gotta get out more, Rogers,” he’d say, cigarette tucked behind his ear. “I’m a piss-poor excuse for real company.”

The only people he sees now are Dr. Rajan and the members of his support groups. Occasionally Nat, but she’s been traveling more lately, following the crumbs of Clint’s trail. Their emails are few and far between, containing only the bare bones.

It’s a Friday night - or maybe it’s Saturday, Sunday. He sits on the edge of his bed, turning the little thing over in his hands. The compass stays in his pocket most days. He flips it open, stares at the portrait inside, the one he’s had memorized since ‘43. He could draw it with his eyes closed, probably.

Suddenly, the compass snaps shut, unbidden, in his hand. It shakes, the mechanisms inside rattling violently, and grows hot to the touch. He yelps and it falls from his palm, dropping to the floor between his feet. The skin of his hands is red, scalded, and he flexes his fingers, watching the trinket warily. It lies on the floor, perfectly still.

Behind him, he hears the second drawer of his dresser roll open.

**********

More dreams come to him, sweet ones, and he sinks into them without protest. He falls into his bed at night happily, searching for the smell of her somewhere behind his eyes. She’s always there, always smiling for him, reaching and pulling him further down into their own special hiding place. She’s there in her uniform, in her sweatpants, in his t-shirt, in nothing at all.

“C’mere, Stevie baby,” she nuzzles his nose, and he’s close to tears but he doesn’t know why. Then she’s tugging at his own clothes and he’s not thinking about it at all.

The ache in his throat returns when he wakes empty-handed and alone. Beneath his jaw, a line of hickeys leads down his neck and across his shoulder. His breath puffs in small clouds as he pants and tries not to cry.

**********

“You don’t look so good, Steve.” Nat’s tone is worried, her voice tight. She watches him stare at the wall with a cup of coffee in his massive hands. “Have you been sleeping?”

He nearly chuckles at that.

“A little too much, I think.” He goes quiet then, mouth turning back down, carved sadness in that larger-than-life face.

“I think...God, Nat,” Steve slumps forward, elbows on his knees. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Join the club.” She sits down next to him, sliding a soft hand across his back. Her voice is just above a whisper. “We’re all still struggling. You know that. You’ve seen it. Sometimes it feels...it feels like...you’re just holding on by a thread.”

He’s shaking his head before she finishes.

“Have you - do you dream about them? Ever?”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean…” Steve rubs his eyes. “I mean...do the dreams feel...when you wake up, does it feel like it really happened.”

Nat frowns.

“I’m not following you, Steve.”

He sighs, heavy and resigned.

“No, I know. I’m not making any sense.” He leans into her embrace a little. He likes the contact of it. Hasn’t had that in a long time.

“Listen, Nat. I know S.H.I.E.L.D. used to keep a lot of records of...enhanced individuals…”

“Sure. Everyone that pinged on their radar,” she nods. “So, pretty much anyone with abilities.”

“I need to have a look at them.”

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Yes. But if I told you, you’d have me committed.”

“Yeah, that really makes me want to help you.” She leans her head against his shoulder, fingers squeezing his bicep. Her voice still soft and low. “Tell me what you need.”

**********

They meet in a public place. It’s not hard now, with the world half-dead, to go about their business as though they are two men with nothing to hide. A bright, hot July sun beats on their heads, and Steve adjusts his sunglasses as a bead of sweat slides down his neck. On the street, traffic grumbles along, bikers and street vendors and tourists darting between. The hard metal chair of the café presses into the soft underside of his knees, leaving little dents in his skin.

“It is nice to finally meet you, Captain,” the man across from him smiles. The white symbol on his forehead stands out starkly against his dark skin. “I understand we move in different circles.”

They’re sitting outside a small restaurant in Port-au-Prince, only coffee on the table in front of them. The heat is sweltering, oppressive, different from the New York heat that Steve knows. Part of him wishes they were near the beach, with the wind coming off the ocean. She would have begged him to go to the beach.

“That we do,” Steve raises his eyebrows. “Even with everything that’s happened, aliens, Thanos...things like magic are still...hard to believe.”

“Hm.” Jericho Drumm leans back in his chair, steeples his fingers. “I think you are here because...it’s not so hard anymore, yes?”

He grits his teeth. There are fingernail scratches on his back and they chafe against the sweaty cotton of his shirt.

“You’re a smart man, Jericho,” he sighs. “And I think you might be the only person who can help me.”

Jericho Drumm nods.

“Yes, I think so, too.”

According to the S.H.I.E.L.D. files Steve spent all his free time digging through, there were only a few enhanced individuals with supernatural abilities. And now half of them were gone. Some, like the sorcerer Tony told him about, had managed to stay under the radar for thousands of years. With precious little to go on besides an alias, Steve commandeered a quinjet and packed a bag for Haiti.

“What you are asking me...communication with the spirits…” Jericho shakes his head. “It’s not what you think. Or what it looks like in the movies.”

“Then tell me,” Steve presses, leaning his elbows on the table. His coffee is half full. He can see his reflection in the oily surface of it.

“I’ve served as a houngan for many years; I’ve served as Sorcerer Supreme. In fact, with Stephen Strange gone, they may ask me to serve again. But inviting spirits into this world is a dangerous practice - not white magic.”

“But it can be done?”

Jericho narrows his eyes. The white streak in his hair is bright in the noonday sun.

“When Thanos tore a rift in this world, in this universe,” he speaks slowly, choosing his words with careful consideration. “He tore through the other side as well. The things he’s done affect us all, the living and the dead. It is possible, the things you describe, are caused by this. A ripple effect, if you will. A door not closed.”

“A ripple.”

“Yes. However,” Drumm raises a finger, leaning forward to speak in a low voice. “I will say something else. I may have years of experience with the supernatural, but I studied psychology as well. My time in America was mostly in a university, studying the human mind, how it works…” He pauses for a moment, giving Steve a look that is on the suspicious side of apologetic. “Our minds are powerful. When a person wishes for things, even terrible things, the mind can give them what they seek.”

Steve closes his eyes, jaw tightening.

“Believe me, I know how I sound,” he sighs. “I know. My therapist says the same thing. But if anyone’s going to believe me, it’s you. This is not in my mind.” His fingers are shaking and he curls them into fists. “This is real. She’s...it’s real. It’s her.” Haunting me.

Dr. Drumm nods, sympathetic and quiet. He watches this captain, this legend, the age showing in his young man’s body. With the sunglasses propped up on his head, the dark circles beneath Steve’s puffy eyes are on full display. His shoulders curl in, posture defensive, small. His knee bounces under the table, and his jaw ticks every so often, teeth clicking in his mouth. There is a bruise visible at the base of his neck where the collar of his shirt has shifted to one side.

“Very well, Captain. I will do my best to help you.”

**********

He sits cross-legged on the tile floor of the bathroom, surveying the items in front of him. According to Dr. Drumm, he would need only a few candles, items that belonged to her, a circle of salt to protect himself. Incense, too, burning in the corner, the smell of sage and smoke floating around him. The lights are off, only the flickering candles illuminating the room.

He feels a little silly, setting all of this up. When he was a boy, vampires and werewolves and ghosts were all just stories - hiding under the covers with Bucky and scaring themselves silly. No real monsters hid under his bed. All of that came later.

Under his shirt, the amulet rests against his chest, growing warm with his own body heat.

“If you must do this alone as you insist,” Jericho had said, shaking his head. “Then wear this. Bene gris-gris. It is the best I can do to protect you from dark magic.” His steel grip closed around Steve’s arm. “And this may be a dark thing, Captain. Her coming back to you. It doesn’t feel like white magic.”

Steve had only nodded, his hand closing around the amulet. He was beyond light and dark now, beyond counting costs. He had chased ghosts for so long after he woke up. It’s only right for him to chase her, too.

Here, in the bathroom, toes pressed to cold tile, he digs two more items out of his pockets. Dr. Drumm said to bring something that would ground him to himself, something special. He turns the compass over in his hand, flicks it open, and sets it on the edge of the circle. From the other pocket, he fishes a black velvet box. His fingers twitch, feeling the soft fabric; he doesn’t want to open it. He hasn’t opened it, since he took the ring off their nightstand in Wakanda and put it back in the box. She hadn’t worn it - didn’t like wearing it on missions or in fights. Afraid of scratching it. She had wiggled it off her finger, smiling at him, leaving a kiss on his bearded jaw-

He leaves the box closed for now, and places it in the center next to the other tokens - a photo of her, a necklace with a small silver pendant she used to wear whenever they went on dinner dates, a little jar of seashells from a beach vacation she took in college. All the little things he had packed away in that nightstand drawer. Memories he had put into storage.

Safe inside his little circle, he reaches in his shirt and grabs the amulet tight in his fist. He closes his eyes. Breathes deep the incense and soft curling smoke from his candles.

He says her name softly in the dark.

In his mind, he shifts his awareness down the plane of his body, piece by piece. He learned meditation techniques during his therapy sessions; now he has another use for them. He says her name again.

“I want to speak to you.” He says, voice low, a lover’s intimacy. “I call on your spirit.”

Her name. Her name. Her name.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, curled on the floor, but the chant of her name lulls him into a trance. His eyes are half-open, the candles wavering in front of him, casting long shadows on the walls. He licks his lips, calls her name again.

One by one, the candles snuff out.

He goes quiet. Smoke curls up to his nose, but he can’t see - the only light is coming from underneath the bathroom door. That familiar chill trickles down the back of his neck, raising the hairs. His flesh is covered in goosebumps; his muscles tense up, coiled tight, ready to spring. His tongue lies dry and thick against his teeth.

“Hello?”

Steve?

He sighs her name. “Sweetheart, is that you?”

A cold breeze passes over his face, rumpling his shirt.

“Are you there?”

The compass flies up and smashes against the wall.

Steve…

Her voice is harsher. Sadder.

“Baby, please,” he’s begging now. He can feel how close she is, she’s in the room, he knows it like he knows his own body. Like he knew hers.

For the first 25 years of his life, he lived with asthma - any little trigger could set him aching for air, his lungs betraying their purpose and seizing up on him, his whole body trembling in relief when he managed to pull in oxygen. He feels that ache for her now - acute and sharp as it was the day he first lost her, a physical pain and its cure so close, so close, if she would only let him - let him breathe-

Oh, Steve.

“Honey, I’m here, I’m right here.” He stands in his little circle, spinning around, though he still sees nothing in the darkened bathroom. He feels the tip of his nose go numb in the frigid air, his body shivering slightly.

I’m here, too, Stevie.

“Where, baby? Where are you?” He’s desperate, so desperate. He’s going to cry if she doesn’t-

I’m here. Look.

He feels, thinks he feels, cold fingers brush down his cheek, and he turns. The mirror above the sink is frosted over, he can see it now that his eyes are adjusting to the pale dark, and he stumbles towards it. Pulls a sleeve down over his hand and wipes at the fog, the remains of his body heat melting it away in streaks.

“Oh...oh god.” He grips the edges of the sink.

Hi, baby.

There she is. There she is. Standing right behind him, over his shoulder. His eyes sweep over her face in the mirror, scanning the details he never forgot, not for a moment. Her lips quirk a sad little smile, tilting her head.

You don’t look so good, Rogers.

His laugh comes out as a sob, and he nods. Fingers curl tighter over the edge of the sink because it’s all that’s holding him up right now. In the reflection, he sees her take a step closer to him - feels her presence, her smell is right behind him and if he can just turn and take her in his arms then everything will be alright again…

NO DON’T!

The force of it is loud in his mind, sends him reeling forward against the sink. Her lips are trembling in a soft frown.

Don’t look behind you.

It sounds so soft. So sad. And he knows, knows in the marrow of his bones, that this is it, this is all they can have. This halfway, this inbetween, this ships in the night barely seen as they pass - it’s all he gets. All he has left.

He presses his hand to the cold glass of the mirror, tips of his fingers stroking the image of her face. His chin feels weak, jaw slack, his hip leaning against the sink. She’s crying, too, tears shining against her soft cheeks.

“Where are you? Do you know what’s happening?” He manages to ask. It’s the question, the question everyone would ask of their ghosts. She shakes her head a little.

I...I don’t really know. But I know I’m not with you.

He nods, tries to swallow around the thick lump in his throat.

Wherever I am, I’m not with you. And I miss you, Steve.

“I miss you - God, honey, I miss you so bad-” his breath hitches, and he wonders in the back of his mind if he’s going to have another asthma attack, his first in 70 years. “I-I need you, sweetheart. Jesus Christ, I miss you. I don’t know what I’m doing without you and-and-”

He’s hyperventilating, breaths stuttering in his chest. The hand that’s pressed to the mirror has gone numb with cold but he won’t move it, not if it’s the closest he comes to touching her face. He watches her come closer to him, behind him - her smell fills the room, no smoke, no incense, only her. His teeth are clattering in his mouth even as he tries to grit them together, lungs stuttering and he’s so so cold but he only half feels it; the muscles in his back jump and twitch as he feels her, really feels her, right behind him. And then-

I know, baby. I know.

Her forehead presses between his shaking shoulder blades. Icy hands creep up beneath his shirt, pressing right over his heart. Her arms lock around his ribs and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze - as if she could brand herself there. In the glass, Steve’s lips are blue and his sobbing breaths come out as little frozen clouds. The mirror is starting to frost over again; the goosebumps on his body won’t lie down. His eyes slip closed, tears chilling in their tracks on his cheeks, and he presses his hand over hers at his heart.

I’m right here.

The ache in his chest sharpens, then dulls, slow and familiar. Something he always carries. His breaths are slowing now, the trembling in his muscles calms a little. She traces a frozen circle over his heart.

I’m right here.

He sighs her name before he blacks out.

**********

Natasha watches Steve in his kitchen, her green eyes sharp and narrow. She hasn’t been to his apartment in a long time, but three days of no answered phone calls, texts, or emails and the Black Widow will investigate. He seems...fine. As fine as Steve has been since it all happened, when he went clean-shaven and cropped his hair, like girls do after a break-up. He smiles over his shoulder while stirring the pot in front of him.

“It’s the one thing my ma made sure I knew how to make for myself,” he says. “She knew I’d need this soup every time I got sick.”

“That’s sweet,” she says. And it is, though she’s never heard him mention it before.

They eat on barstools at the island, sharing little bits of conversation, small talk, mission updates. Sound bites of friendship. Still no explanation for his radio silence.

“Can I use your bathroom?” She sighs as he scoots back his stool, scooping up their bowls to take to the sink.

“Of course - you don’t have to ask, Nat.”

She slips down the hall. Doesn’t go to the bathroom - turns right instead.

On the floor of his bedroom, she sees the candles. The circle. The pictures. A little jar of seashells on his nightstand. While they were eating, she had seen something new - a little chain around his neck, the shape of something underneath, suspiciously like a ring.

Natasha leaves without saying a word, maybe hugs him a little tighter at the door.

She won’t begrudge him this.

[evak-elu-nicotino]

Alt er love week is upon us !

Okay, so, I missed the first day yesterday, therefore I’m catching up on it today !

1. favorite remake or season

Ooooooh tough one. 

I loved every remake because they all have something beautiful and special about them.

My favorite season in OG was OBVIOUSLY season three, because I connected with so much with Isak and Even’s story, on so many levels. It’s refreshing to see a love story like this brought to screens, and it doesn’t matter how many times I’ll watch LGBTQ+ love storylines unfold, I’ll always be profoundly moved. That’s just the way it its !

Isak’s story is important, Even’s even more because it finally shines a light on how it is to live with bipolar (and that’s why I’m so sad we’ll never get an Even season...PLEASE JULIE PLEASE COME BACK and make an Even season !)

As far as the remakes go, wow.

First remake I ever watched was SKAM Italia, and I don’t think I need to tell you how much I fell in love with Martino, due to Fede’s brilliant acting. So I just binged season one in its entirety, and then waited for season two with baited breath. I don’t think I knew, at the time, that season 2 was indeed gonna be Martino’s, and not Eleonora’s, because the first episode aired I literally screamed with joy to my computer (who didn’t care very much, haha !)

Then SKAM France, and I didn’t really like the first two seasons, they were kinda meeeh...But then the third season happened ! I never thought I’d like Lucas and Eliott this much though !

I didn’t really connect with SKAM Austin though, but maybe I need to give it another try, I don’t know. I remember watching the first episodes and not being in love with it...

Then I watched SKAM España, and loved the fact that Cris and Joana are Isak and Evak’s versions. It’s brilliant ! Loved the fact that they’re girls where every other remake (except for SKAM Austin) made Isak and Even guys as well. 

Recently, very recently, I might add, during lockdown, I ended up watching (part of) the three remakes I hadn’t seen yet. 

I started with WTfock, aka SKAM Belgium; and season 3 sure is a rollercoaster, but dammit, I think it’s one of my favorite remakes. I loved WTfockdown as well ! Sander and Robbe have an amazing chemistry (I can’t recall how many times I’ve said this, but it’s so true !) I ended up binging season 1 & 2 shortly after having watched Robbe’s season as well as WTfockdown. Also, this remake has THE BEST FUCKING SOUNDTRACK EVER ! And it’s also full of amazing characters. Jana is a really strong Eva, Zoë is out of this world, Senne is the best William in the entire SKAMverse, and don’t even get me started on Milan ! Wow, the love I have for this guy is just ridiculous. Milan is fantastic, probably the best Eskild remake I’ve seen (although I didn’t make it to the second seasons of Austin and NL, but...yeah). On the downside, Moyo is a dickhead. Yeah, I watched the whole remake, every single episode of it, and even at the end of season 3 and in WTfockdown, when he redeems himself, I’m still angry at him for treating Robbe the way he did. He’s an asshole all the way back to season one, where he makes fun of Robbe for being gay, insults him on a regular basis...Yeah, I know he apologized, but to be honest, I think he’s the worst Mahdi remake of all the SKAMverse. I’m sorry for saying so, but he made such a bad impression on me...Wow. 

Then I fell in love with Druck, aka SKAM Germany, which is SO GOOD ! I didn’t expect to like Matteo’s season as much as I did, to be honest. In the first two seasons I wasn’t really intrigued by his character, not as much I was curious to get Martino, Robbe, Lucas (in SKAM France, because we have so many Lucases in the SKAMverse !) or Isak; but Matteo turned out to be a waaaay more interesting character than I initially thought ! And his love story with David is SO GOOD ! Okay, first of all, they changed the bipolar/BPD we found in OG and every other remake who made it to Isak’s season (RIP SKAM Austin & NL...), to make David a transgender character. Can I just say how amazing this change is ? It’s not only a brilliant idea, it brilliantly acted as well ! And once again, because representation matters so much, the fact that Lukas is a transgender actor as well is important. I think they did justice to Isak and Even in OG, Michelangelo and Lukas were nothing short of perfect in season 3 !

The last remake I started to watch is SKAM NL. I’ll start by saying that I’m flabbergasted that the show was cancelled. Honestly, I haven’t even finished season one yet, but the cast is amazing, the characters are BRILLIANT (can we talk about Janna ? Engel ? Liv ? Lucas ?), they’re nothing short of amazing, and it utterly breaks my heart that Lucas won’t get to meet the love of his life (although I know he did through fanfiction, thank you Jens for being a bisexual icon in our heads !)

Truth is, I fell in love with every remake who ever did an Evak season, to be honest. They all have very strong characters, none of them look like an Isak or an Even copy, and that’s really the beauty of it ! 

I’d say, my favorite remake is probably a mix of Druck,  WTfock, and SKAM Italia. I can’t pick just one of the three, but it definitely comes down to these ones !

2. favorite character or ship

Hmmm. 

I’m gonna go with both answers.

Favorite character is Martino in SKAM Italia. I don’t even have to think about it. Ii love a LOT of characters in the SKAMverse, and there are several I love to pieces, see below :

But Martino has my heart. Even though Robbe, Milan, Noora, Sana (in OG), Filippo and Giovanni aren’t that far behind him !

Favorite ship is (once again, what a surprise !) Martino and Niccolò from SKAM Italia. They’re one of my favorite Evak version. They just fit so beautifully together, I love how domestic they are, how at ease they are with each other, and they’re still best friends at the same time. Season 4 was painful to watch, but the ending got me emotional. Exactly the way I wanted that season to end. 

[spacegaywritings]

“All Time Low” - Bad Therapists have a special Place in Hell

Summary: Patton describes depressive episodes and being unable to live life. The therapist tells him it is okay and normal to feel sad and to stop being a wussy when Patton tells him life does not feel worth living at the moment.

Disclaimer: writing based on subjective experiences based on therapy, mental health issues and (LOCAL) stigmas. You might have better/worse/different experiences with your struggles and how they were perceived and treated. Your culture or surroundings might have different bias. This is for venting and does not objectively apply to everyone’s experience of their mental illness or struggles.

Tags: u! emile, bad therapists, mental health issues, depression, invalidating mental illness, suicidal thoughts, feelings of hopelessness/worthlessness, self-deprecation, no perspective, bad memory, worried family, worried doctors, shitty Emile lmao, depression being seen as lazy, drastic weight loss, implied self harm, implied suicide contemplation/plan, mentions of sex, mentions of pretence, repression, bad coping mechanisms, someone revoke the dude’s license lmao.

My KoFi  - Support me ♥ or Commission me

Note: If you miss any tags, have issues with links or any other concerns, please feel free to contact me. Anon is on and my DMs are open.♥

Links broken? Inform me, please!

Overview of this series on tumblr / ao3.

Story under the cut ( Wordcount: ~2,1k)

Dull eyes took in the white walls framing the therapist’s office. Patton took in the sight before him. It felt as boring as life, as uneventful and tasteless.

Looking at these walls made him feel as if his state had gotten much worse. If it had not been for his general practitioner to send him over and for his daily life to become so unbearable to him, he would have stayed at home and just not have gotten up to this appointment. His family was being persistent. He did not think it was that important. He just wanted to sit it out in his bed and not do anything for a little bit longer.

 “Hello there, Patton!”

 A friendly face rushed in. It was just as blank as the walls to him. He tried to smile back at the person who beamed so nicely at him. His lips barely moved. He could taste the bitter bile of guilt taking up the back of his throat.

 “Hello.”

 The therapist narrowed his eyes.

 “Oh, well, I have heard more cheery responses today. This is the first time we meet and you show up like this? A little disappointing~”

 The singsang voice made Patton want to crawl back under his bed’s quilt. It smelled bad but only if he left his bed for long enough to realise the smell again. He had become dull to it like to anything else in life.

Might as well live in a stinky bed and a stinky life.

It was not like these words, as cheery as they sounded, could lift him up. They only pushed him deeper into the darkest corners of his own feelings.

 “I- I’m sorry.”

 Patton’s words were slow and he curled deeper into his big big hoodie. He had parked his greasy hair underneath the actual hoodie part of his clothing and he had messily put on some jogging pants. The pant’s legs were lanky around his own legs, even his thighs. They looked like he had taken his older brother’s pants to be his own and he had yet to “grow into it”.

It was at least comfortable enough for his body to drown in the gown and hide his pathetic existence away.

 Not that this really mattered anyway.

 “Oh, there there. It will be okay. I just made a little joke! You really are not up for the smiley treatment today, huh? Well, I am your therapist - Doctor Emile Picani! The reception said you are all good to go and I checked in your insurance card, too. Now, would you be so free to tell me what brought you here today?”

 The adolescent shrugged his shoulders.

He was not worth the therapist’s time anyway. His thoughts were a soup made of dirt and grass and it revolved only about how he was stupid and selfish for going to the appointment made for him. He should have resisted harder and let someone in need have this session.

 Still, a little bit of fire in him pushed him onto the couch as if to lay down or at least crawl as far away from the sunlight and the big, observant eyes of this world.

 “I, uh.. my family thinks I need help”, he slowly explained. Emile was tempted to yawn. Even a turtle would be faster at walking than Patton was at speaking. This was going to be a long session, a stretching act like pulling at sweet, juicy gum.

“My doctor said I am, uh, losing weight. My family says I don’t have a perspective.”

 His hands found their way to a little piece of crumbled paper in the front pocket of his hoodie. He slowly pulled it out, adjusting his round glasses.

 “They wrote it down. Uh- I lost weight, don’t remember things and lose focus or something.. um, something about not doing anything, being really slow and uh.. they just said weird.”

 Patton shrugged, sniffling a bit.

He tried not to cry at the note but a part of him had become apathetic enough for him to not break into tears. The world was better off without him anyway. He just wanted to go back and sleep or pretend to sleep in his little room.

Not interact with people, not be with anyone and disappoint them with his terribly low performance in life. His existence was enough failure already.

 “Uhu.. they said you are being “weird”? Well, aren’t we all a bit weird sometimes! Are you dieting at the moment, perhaps increased the amount or intensity of exercise you are doing?”

 The younger male shook his head.

 “You did lose a lot of weight, though?”

 A nod, this time.

The therapist hummed in thought, scribbling onto his clipboard.

 “Now, how have you been feeling the last days?”

 The client pulled his thin shoulders up in a shrug, his face slightly distorting into a weird expression. His nose seemed to turn upwards.

 “Uh, I would say... not so .. great?”

 Another shrug fell from his shoulders as he sighed.

 “I just feel.. nothing, I guess. Or bad. Maybe.”

 More shrugs were countered by Emile’s rapid nods.

 “Alright. Have you been doing things these days? Did anything happen in your life? Maybe a breakup, maybe a loss in your family.”

 Patton hugged himself, gently blowing through his heavy hair strands. The grease kept it down. The strands fell into his sight and covered his eyes but moving his hands seemed out of the question. He tried to blow it off again but the strands fell right into his eyes.

Well, he deserved that, probably. Not that fixing his hair was worth the effort.

 His head shook itself.

 “No. Graduated.. um.. “, he trailed off, his voice fading into hums.

 Emile snapped his fingers to gain Patton’s attention.

 “You graduated? Congratulations! Me too.”

 Shoulders rose, barely as much as his chest rose with every breath he took.

 “I guess... You made it to a phD, though. I just hang in my room..”

 His lips twitched for a moment. Patton looked onto the floor. Always has been looking at the floor. He spared Picani the miserable sight of his whole face being exposed to him. Or even his soulless eyes. Oh no, he should spare anyone his own presence.

 “Well, you can work on that! So, you are feeling bad a lot, don’t do anything and this has been ever since your graduation?”

 This time, his shoulders as much as flexed as if to mimic the shrugs he did not have the energy to repeat once more.

 “I don’t really.. no.. I guess graduation was my peak.”

 The therapist nodded with the energy Patton lacked.

He hoped the other would gain something from this session. Maybe money. Yes, the insurance paid money for this.

 “Oh, this looks pretty direct. You have issues with sadness”, he revealed, his emphasis on the sad part reminding Patton of puppets. Oh, he wished he was a child again. Full of life and enjoying simple puppet shows on TV.

“But! Sadness can be helped! You only have to do things again!”

 Emile let his pen drop onto the clipboard and put his hands up, palms stretched out to face Patton.

 “Things..?”

 The therapist nodded, his tone alive, his body rising as he started pacing back and forth like a mad scientist discussing his ultimate invention. It was a great plan, a perfect plan! It had to be revealed because it was! Perfect! Perfect! Perfect! He was such a genius with his phD and his comfortable desk job!

 “Yes!!!”, the doctor practically screamed back at him, “you have to make plans and structure your life and go out there again! Stop being so lazy and boring! You need to go out and stop sulking in the corner like a kicked dog! Nobody wants that!”

 The dull blue eyes filled with water. They looked like wet buttons more than actual human orbs.

 “I... nobody wants me?”

 He felt like a child terribly reprimanded by their parents.

 “Nobody! I promise. You are being a real party pooper but you can just change and be nice again, so people will stop feeling bad for you. You are blowing all of your feelings waaaay out for proportion!”

 Emile’s hands moved to illustrate an invisible line that stretched the more his arms moved apart.

 “Everyone feels a little sad sometimes. It is normal! It is important to recognise your feelings and move on. See the sadness? Call it sadness and move on. Work through it. If you have time to be sad, you have time to literally be doing anything else. Mental illness is a matter of having too much time. It is a luxury and you cannot afford this. Your family has been waiting for you to take flight like a bird! But you are staying at home, neither working or studying nor looking into any other things to do. Do you even do chores?”

 Patton’s eyes were drowning in tears. His throat was tight and suffocating Patton in upcoming cries that were stuck enough for him to choke on his own sadness. His ears were covered by an overwhelming sound of static, muffling the sounds of his environment.

He was always on static.

This time, his heart seemed to stop and the tears burned pain into his face. The streaks they left were like whiplashes to his heart and he could feel himself barely able to breath.

 Emile smiled, nodding.

 “You are doing great, Patty! Really great! Feel the feelings, listen to your heart, listen to your pain and your thoughts - amplify it!”

 He squatted before the crying creature like a motivational coach in gyms. His yelling made Patton cry harder as Emile instructed him to listen to his thoughts dragging him through the mud and sing songs of suicide and happy pills.

 “Now stop.”

 Patton looked up at him, petrified.

The therapist put his fingers close to his thumb as if to squeeze Patton’s will to live between them. Slowly, painfully so, the fingers inched closer until they met.

By then, his tears were gone and dried. The shock and messy anticipation too intense for him to wail further in his miserable feelings and adverse state.

 “I want you to go out and put on some makeup if you want to, if you need to. Go and hook up with someone and feel like a person. Go out with friends, get drunk and take anything you can to make yourself happy. Go out there and make me happy, make yourself happy! You don’t need therapy to get over a little bit of heartbreak over graduating.”

 He approached Patton, turning to make space for him. His movements asked Patton to get up but he felt too wonky and wobbly to even twitch or blink. Breathing was too much.

The therapist helped him up. It was a blur. He was patted on the back and internally, he wanted to cry at how ironic it was that he was Patton and got pats on the back.

 Doctor Picani lead him to the door, spouting more nonsense about “going out more” being the cure to his issues.

 He has never felt worse.

Patton slowly retreated to his family’s car and curled up. When he was asked how it went, he did not know how to respond and bit his tongue.

 “You cried? I hope you got it all out, then. I am sure that helped a lot but I can be in contact with them if you need me to. Anyway, let’s go have some lunch.”

 It was the last things Patton heard.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++++ +++++ +++++ +++++

End Note: This is not how a therapist should treat you. If someone treats you or your issues like that, please make sure you leave immediately and report this. A real therapist will validate your concerns and try to redirect your thoughts. If you have mental health issues, please reach out for help. Depression and sadness can have several different causes. If you are worried about similar issues as the character depicted in the story, please try to keep a journal or a mood tracker to help yourself. It makes sense to contact a GP and work with a therapist and even psychiatrist if needed.

Please take care of yourself and don’t anyone call you lazy for having mental health struggles. Do not listen to depression or anxiety talking you down.

[turtlepated]

Beetlejuice x Reader - Lonely Like Me

Part 2

This one’s waaaay longer than Part 1, and I cranked the angst up to 11 and broke off the knob, so tread lightly. Don’t wanna upset anyone. Thanks for reading!

@imtherain

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

Beetlejuice was invisible for a long, long time before Lydia came along. He hated it, but he got used to it because he had no choice. Now he’s got his own weird little family thing going on and he’s the most content he’s ever been. But then he discovers that someone else can see him, too, and he just has to check it out. 

Your life wasn't much, but you did all right.

You didn't like your job very much, but it wasn't without it's perks. It was certainly a step up from ten years' worth of minimum wage drudgery in one department store after another. It was still far from your dream job, but you could get by. You tried hard to remember that.

Your social circle was... easy to keep track of. Over the course of your life you'd had really good friends from middle school on up through senior year. You'd been close with a couple people in particular, but as you all got older and your lives became more hectic, people spread out and lost touch. You understood that, it was only natural after all. You did think more than once that maybe you ought to reach out some time, just to touch base and catch up.

But then the thought would occur to you that if they really wanted to talk to you, they would do it. It seemed to happen sooner or later with every friendship you made. One day they just... stopped answering your messages and you figured that was that. It bothered you sometimes, but you were used to it. Life went on for everybody. 

But not for you.

Things began changing the day you almost crashed your shopping cart into that strange man at the supermarket. You had never seen another person like him in your life, at least not in living color and outside the glow of the TV screen. He'd been dressed in a black and white striped suit in such a state of distress that it looked as though he'd fallen down a ravine while wearing it. And his hair! Brilliant green locks that stood straight up from his scalp as though electrified.

You'd apologized, of course, offering him a smile and heading on your way. You'd glanced back over your shoulder as you rounded the next aisle, but he wasn't there? No way you would have missed such an outlandishly dressed person, but it was as though he'd disappeared into thin air. Strangely, the black-clad teenage girl he'd presumably been with was still standing right where you'd seen her before, apparently talking to herself. You shrugged it off. After all, you often talked to yourself too.

Ever since that day you've had this feeling like you were being watched. It would be the barest flicker in your peripheral vision, enough to make your pulse speed up a little bit. But there was never anything there. Even your cat would apparently just stare at a random area of empty space. Which was, admittedly, not unusual for a cat.

You did your best to put it out of your mind. You had plenty of other things to concern yourself with than imaginary visitors. Your job was monotonous, it was repetitive. There were days you dreaded going to bed at night because you knew that in the morning you would have to go back there for nine hours with no escape. You tried to make your cubicle into your haven from the mind-numbing tedium. You tacked goofy little drawings and memes and poems all around your walls. You decorated it with seasonal trappings: fake flowers in the spring, pumpkins and leaves in fall, fairy lights and garland at Christmas. Some days it was enough to distract you. And some days it wasn’t.

One week, for no particular reason, it’s bad. You start out every day frustrated for no definable reason, and then you have to go to work where it only gets worse. From Monday to Friday, everything is awful and it sends you spiraling down a dark pit into despair that try as you might, you can’t seem to pull yourself out of. The hours drag by with unbearable slowness, each passing second seeming to cost you more than you knew you had to give. You soldier on as best you can, wanting more than anything to simply go home and collapse into someone’s comforting embrace and just cry. But no matter how fiercely you want it, how desperately you wish for it, no one will be there. You will spend the night as you always have; alone, aching, and drying your own tears.

Finally, blessedly, you leave work for the day and you would have the whole weekend to try and recover from this terrible week before doing it all over again. When you step through your door a short while later you find the house utterly empty save for yourself and your cat. Ordinarily shutting the door behind you after a long day would bring on such a sense of relief. You would pet your cat and change into your pajamas, sit on the couch and relax. But not today.

You kick your shoes off at the door and leave them there, slinging your coat over the back of the couch as you pass by it, dropping your shoulder bag on the floor as you begin shucking off your clothing, stripping right down to your underwear and crawling back into bed, pulling the covers up over your head. It only takes a few seconds before it begins to get stuffy in your cocoon, your face growing hot as your eyeballs burn. At long last tears come, soaking your pillow, coating your cheeks as you curl into as tight a ball as you can, trying to stave off the gnawing ache in the center of your chest.

When it becomes too difficult to breathe you sit up in bed, raking back the hair stuck to your damp face, sniffling, your eyes red and raw. God dammit, you’re being ridiculous. You’re an adult, for crap’s sake, you’re supposed to be stronger than this. Yet here you are, bawling your eyes out, wishing so damn badly just for someone to sit next to you and say everything will be ok.

Your phone rings loudly from its place on your headboard and you jump, your heart leaping into your throat at the unexpected sound. Curious, you raise it up to see who’s calling. The screen reads: “UNKNOWN – 2383543873”. You roll your eyes, clearly a telemarketer or robocall, and silence the phone before setting it back on the headboard. You take a deep breath, filling your lungs til they felt they might burst, and let it all out in a harsh exhale between pursed lips. You actually do feel better, at least, after the crying session, sort of emptied out. Your head jerks round as your phone rings again, “UNKNOWN – 2383543873”. What in the world?

You don’t silence it this time, but you don’t answer it either. You sit there watching the phone, and sure enough a minute later it rings once again: “UNKNOWN – 2383543873”. This time you pick it up, swiping your finger across the screen to accept the call. “Hello?” you say tentatively. Silence is your only response. “Hello?”

After nearly 30 seconds of no answer, you lower the phone to hang up. At the same moment your thumb hits the Call End button, you think you hear a voice on the line: “He-…Hello?” It’s low, raspy and gravelly and it sounds surprised, but before you have time to react you’ve already hung up the phone. Barely a minute later it rings again and you pick it up immediately. “Who is this?” you demand, the beginnings of real fear tightening in your chest. You can hear what sounds like heavy breathing on the other end of the line, and that same gravelly voice in your ear, “Holy crap, is this really working?” “What do you want?” There’s a burst of maniacal laughter that makes you snatch the phone away from your ear. “I can’t believe it, it is working! Hiya, babes!”

You’re completely dumbfounded. What is going on here? Who is this strange man (because by now you’re pretty sure it’s a man’s voice) and why is he calling you? Is he drunk? High? Some combination of the two? “Is there something I can help you with?” you ask him, interrupting his gleeful giggling and babbling, getting frustrated with this whole crazy situation. “First things first, sweet stuff,” he says in a sing-song tone. “I’m gonna need ya to say my name, and then I can help you.” You frown, confused by the request and a little unsettled by the eagerness in his voice. “All right, weirdo, I’m hanging up now,” you say flatly. “Have nice night or whatever.” As you lower the phone you hear him sputtering in alarm. “Wait wait wait wait!” With a sigh you raise the phone back up. “I know this is weird and I didn’t mean to piss you off, but I just wanted to say everything’s gonna be ok.”

He says it all in one breath, like he’s afraid of being cut off before he finishes speaking, so it takes you a minute to fully process the onslaught of words. But when you do you can’t help feeling a little unnerved. “What?” you ask dumbly, thinking maybe you’ve misunderstood him. “I know you’ve been havin a hard time, doll, and I just wanted to letcha know everything’s gonna be ok.”

Your breath catches in your throat. How did he-? “Are you… watching me??” There’s a pause before he answers. “Is there any possible way I can say yes to that question without you getting mad and hanging up on me?” You scoff, angry at the invasion of privacy, afraid of what his motive might be, and hang up at once, scrambling out of bed to put on more clothes. You feel unbelievably vulnerable, what if he’s watching you right now?

You throw on a t shirt and pajama bottoms, peering out through your blinds to see if you can spot anybody watching your house. It’s already dark, but as far as you can see there’s no one around. The phone rings again, the same number, the same Unknown caller. You ignore it and soon enough it stops. But then it rings again, and again. You snatch up your phone and turn it off. It’s not a permanent solution, but maybe it’ll buy you some peace of mind for the night.

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

Sorry for the massive angst-dump, but hopefully Part 3 will make up for it when Reader finally gets to meet the Ghost with the Most! 

PS: there’s a little bit of an Easter Egg slipped into this part. If you figure it out, you get a high five!