#you ghost me directly after one of the worst relapses of my life.

[thorninyourpaw]

muting them isn't enough i need them to get blackout drunk and text me an 8 paragraph apology and wake up the next day as brokenhearted as i have been since october

[delicateunraveling]

Dear Taylor,  

A version of this has been in my drafts since the week Lover came out, and I’ve been alternating between too shy and too overwhelmed to post it, but I wanted to try and say something in honor of your 30th birthday, the astonishing year you’ve had, and the impact you’ve made on my life. (The photo is of things I received in a package from a fellow Swiftie, who sent me the deluxe version of the album - and the extra surprises! - because I couldn’t afford it myself, and that itself was remarkably kind and a testament to you - you’ve inspired so much goodness and generosity in others.)

Even if you’re, understandably, never able to see this, it’s honestly a blessing to think I can send this out into the universe. That's enough. Somehow I never knew that I could reach out on Tumblr until recently, or I likely would have said something to you many years ago (despite that overwhelming shyness). I wish I could be eloquent or imaginative in writing it (if I could be complex, if I could be cool!) instead of...an overemotional mess? I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you, for everything you've given to us in your music, everything you've given of yourself no matter how hard it's been, everything you've represented in your honesty, your displays of compassion and strength.

Music is the deepest passion and love of mine, it's the gossamer thread that's held me together in the worst times, the safe place where I could pour my heart and be myself. I'm a couple of years older than you are, though I generally feel behind these days because I've been chronically ill and mostly housebound since I was 19, and that halted my life and dreams in their tracks. The dream of truly honing my voice and my musical self was the most difficult to put away in the midst of all the others. It's often felt like being trapped in amber while the world keeps spinning, or like being a ghost, ostensibly drifting in the world, but nearly invisible to it, only occasionally peeking out of the windows to see the sun.

Ten years ago, I fell for a boy (still the only person I've ever felt that way about), and everything he was ended up being a lie and devolving into him gaslighting me and threatening my safety directly, along with breaking my heart. It took such a toll that I had to pull myself out of a harmful darkness, and he was a musician himself, so I had some terror that the experience with him had stolen or tainted that dearest part of my being. It hadn't, but the recovery took a while. One of the very first things that got me through it, that woke me up again, was being able to hold close to your first two albums. Those songs quite literally helped keep my heart beating, and then Speak Now helped it to heal. I’ve unfortunately never had the chance to see you live (the concert films are spectacular, though!), but your music became a part of the tapestry of my life from those first moments on. I've loved your work ever since then, but often quietly and tenderly, because it's near to such a delicate part of my spirit. It's vulnerable and personal, it's romantic and devastating, it’s starshine salvation when the world feels cold and clouded, and saying that is strange since those expressed emotions are fundamentally yours, but the way they transform into something both universal and specific is truly magical.

This year has been the worst and the darkest I've felt since that heartbreak ten years ago, though for very different reasons. My health took a serious turn for the worse. My beloved dog, who was my constant companion and my emotional support through every day of my illness for almost 13 years, succumbed to cancer. She was my sweet baby (I'm sure you understand this feeling with your precious kitties), and I still struggle with her absence daily. My mom and I are in the most precarious position we've ever been in financially, and we're looking at losing our condo with nowhere else to go. I've felt like everything is terrifying and tenuous and slipping away from me, including time itself. I apologize for even putting those burdens down in words, but if I don't, the weight of my thanks to you isn't as real. "Me!" came out only a couple of weeks after she passed away, and the pure happiness of it was the first bit of joy I'd even felt since she had relapsed. Then when you released “The Archer,” it moved me to the point that tears were streaming down my face when I first played it, feeling like I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost was transcribed from a cathartic place in my own thoughts. Knowing a new album was coming from you once again gave me something to look forward to, a reason to want to keep going, even when it hurt to breathe from missing her, even on days when my illness has been flaring too severely and painfully for me to get out of bed, I kept thinking...make it through to August, you have to hear Taylor's next album. Making it there felt like a minor miracle, and even though I’m scared and don’t know what’s ahead or what’s going to happen now, I am unbelievably glad that I was here to listen to your music, and then to witness your continued bravery, over the past few months. Laying that out in words on a screen sounds too small, but it's tremendous to me.

There are connections to each of your album releases that I could ramble about (Red would take several chapters of its own in my hypothetical novel, My Melodic Inclinations and Inspirations: An Autobiography), in their meaning to me and how much they represent in the pages of these passing years, but I realize how special Lover is to you specifically, and that's why now, more than ever, I wanted to be able to say how grateful I am for your poetic words, for your sweeping and intimate melodies, for your works of art. Hidden away in my room, I've sung-screamed your songs in delight at the top of my lungs, I've curled up under covers and cried to them, I've twirled around in pajamas with them. This is the first time I won't have my fluffy girl to hold on my lap and sing them to, but somehow that has made having new songs all the more treasured and cathartic. Lover is an absolutely exquisite, sparkling gift of an album. I cherish it as I do each of your albums, each for their own special reasons, and I will forever be thankful for all of your work.

I respect and admire you so much for the way you've stood your ground, the way you've championed what you believe in and spoken for equality and for artists’ rights, the grace with which you've approached everything you've been dealt in such a harsh spotlight. I can't fathom what that's like, but I am constantly proud of how you respond, your ability to both grow and remain authentic in expressing your views and truths. Exceptional artistry is worth celebrating (your Artist of the Decade and every other accolade is earned and deserved!), but being an exceptional person is even more worthwhile, and I believe you're both. When we say we stand with you, when we rally around you, I hope you remember that it’s out of not only that admiration and pride, but also rooted in genuine care and connected humanity. Our society needs bright, bold women, making changes and supporting one another. The world is lucky to have your beautiful songs, and your individual voice.

Thank you for creating such incredible things. Thank you for giving a valuable perspective to such a breadth of emotions. Thank you for giving your dazzling art so wholly. I hope you remember how much it means, how deeply it resonates, to so many people. I hope you remember that so many of us are in your corner with the brightest wishes, for your happiness and your freedom to be yourself, with prayers for you and your family and loved ones. I hope you know that your words have given some of us life rafts in swirling currents that threaten to drag us under, that your music has the ability to break through shadows with powerful light. There is a sacredness which exists in art that knits us together. Wherever I go, I'll carry your songs in my heart and soul.

Happy, happy Birthday!!! 🍰 🎈✨ It truly is the end of the decade, but the start of an age. May 30 be the beginning of brand new creativity and experiences, and even more wonder and daylight, golden on the horizon.

Love always,

Jess 💖💖💖

@taylorswift  @taylornation 😘

[kneesheee]

Little Devil

warnings:  cursing | vague references to child abuse | age regression

|two|

Jason stared down at the girl bowing before him. She was a foot and some inches shorter than him standing at a solid five feet. Her once milk chocolate colored hair was fanning around her face, but he didn’t concentrate on that. No, he paid attention to the white strip curling through her hair. He had no doubt that if she were to look up then her eyes would be glowing green.

“My apologies for declining to answer your messages,” she stated into the night. “I had not known that it was the Born-Again Prince that was attempting to contact me.”

“Mila,” he groaned exasperated. Jamila Al Ghul. Daughter of Nyssa Raatko and Slade Wilson after Ra Al Ghul decided to play mad scientist with his daughter’s genes. Sister to Conner Hawke/Al Ghul/Queen whichever one he was going by these days. The only friend he had made while in Talia’s care. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Did you honestly think that I was going to stop, dear cousin,” she questioned as she stood from her crouch. The two of them stared at each other before folding into a hug. It had been awhile since they had last seen each other. “Are the rumors true? Are you the new Heir to the Demon?”

Jason grimaced, “Yes. And before you ask, so are the rumors about Nyssa attacking Talia.”

Jamila sneered, “I always knew Mother held no honor. Despite my resentment of him, I am thoroughly grateful that Grandfather chose not to reveal my existence to either of my parents.”

Jason sighed and ran a hand across his face, “Despite everything, T is doing well and she’s safe. I need a favor from you though.”

His cousin slouched a little and crossed her arms, “The Big and Bad Red Hood needs a favor from mwah? Oh, whatever shall I be?”

“No need for the snark,” Jason crossed his own arms looking at her. Her own eyes glowed with the power of the pit behind them. He didn’t want to know how she ended up in such a predicament. He knew she could take of herself. He knew she could overcome the effects of the pit. If anything, it just made his skin crawl as recounted his own experience with the magical waters. “What I do need is for someone to be out there getting me intel. I need a link to the League so I can know Shiva’s process on helping T and if she needs any backup. I also need someone with ears on the ground for whatever it is Nyssa might be planning.”

“And pray tell, why you cannot do this yourself?”

“From what I’ve been told, I’m the reason that Nyssa attacked Talia. If I step outside of Gotham, then I’m going to have eyes on me everywhere. I need to keep a low profile.”

Jamila hummed as she looked him over. She ran a hand through her hair. “The wishing well near Ivy’s Garden. Whatever information I managed to get then that’s where I’m going to leave it.”

“Don’t you want to be the Heir instead, Mila?”

“Not a chance in Heaven or Hell,” she scoffed.

Jamila moved towards the edge of the rooftop the two of them were standing on. A slight breeze picked up and blew her hair through the air. She turned to look at him and the fierce expression on her face soften into something gentle, “Jason, do be careful. You may not be my cousin by blood, but you are the cousin of my heart. I will destroy the world thrice over if it meant that you keep some happiness.”

She fell backwards off the edge before he could give promise to her words. But he watched as she appeared a few buildings over and heading away from the streets of Gotham and he wonders if she can hear his silent pleads that she do the same.

--

When Jason made it back to the manor, he slipped in through the window leading to his old room. A quick glance at his bed and he could see Talia still lying there sleeping peacefully. Even in her sleep, she still looked like a warrior princess.

He sighed deeply. He needs to find a way to help her get back to her rightful age asap. But… but a part of him wanted to delay it as long as it was possible. He wanted to give her the childhood she should have had instead of the one she was forced to live.

He removed his boots and armor from his body before walking into the bathroom to slip into more comfortable clothing. He checked to see if Talia was still asleep before carefully moving two of the floorboards and placing the minimum weapons, he had carried on his person back in their place. With one last check on his charge, he reestablishes the rigged security system on the window that he made. Bruce and the others were so sure that the motion detectors would catch anybody sneaking onto the premises, but Jason learned his way around those from the very first moment he put on the pixie boots. At least with his security, whoever might try to break it would lose their fingers and then their life when Jason arrived to catch them.

Talia sacrificed everything for him. It’s only right that he repays the favor.

Jason made his way out the room with one more glance at Talia before softly closing the door. When he turned around, Cass was standing there. He quirked an eyebrow. “Guard duty,” was all she said.

He nodded his head and the two of them continued down the hallway. Making their way to the kitchen where the rest of the family had gathered before Jason left to make contact with Mila. Three days had already passed with Talia being stuck as a toddler and he was no close to figuring out how to help her. They had no knowledge if it was magic, science or even technology that made her this way.

“Ah, Master Jason, welcome back. Have a seat. I’ll bring out something for you,” Alfred greeted, walking off before Jason could protest. He shook his head with a fond smile and made his way to the dining room where the rest of the family was waiting.

“I’m just saying Bruce, we shouldn’t be distributing so many resources to help that-that woman after all she’s done to this family. It’ll be for the best to keep her as she is. At worst with our help, we can keep her from turning into the Talia we know today and at best, we can just ship her off to another family.”

It had been years since Jason had felt any effects from the pits. Maybe it had ignited after seeing the evidence on his cousin or maybe the anger he was feeling at Barbara’s words were strong enough to relight it. Either way, he could feel it nipping at the back of his mind... Staying there. Stagnant. It was more of a tool for him to use instead of a leash to control him.

“Look Gordon, I get you have your issues with Talia. But you don’t know jackshit about her and if you speak another word about her, then I’d happily show you exactly just how you’re not actually all that great.”

The rest of them startled not having noticed him come in, but he only had eyes for Barbara. He looked up to her. Cherished her even. She was his batgirl. But Talia was his mother and he wont stand for any ill will to her.

“Jason, what Babs was trying to say—” Dick began, but Jason rose a hand in the air. “She can speak for herself, Dick, and she made it perfectly clear how she felt. I’m making it known how I feel, and I won’t stand for any slander against her. You can speak about whatever problem you have with her on your own time, but so long as she’s here… so long as I am here, then you will keep your thoughts to yourself or leave her wellbeing to me and go back to playing with your computers.”

The two held a small staring match as she tried to gauge how serious he was, and he expertly conveyed the threat in his eyes to the next person that spoke on Talia negatively. She nodded her head at him before turning away. Jason took a deep breath and mentally pushed the pit away. He had been doing good and he didn’t need a relapse.

He kept on to his seat and thank Alfred as he placed his food in front of him. He said a quick blessing over his food just like Talia had demanded of him before he slowly began to it.

“Um, Jason, what did your contact say,” he heard Timmy ask from his seat. Jason looked up to see him typing furiously on his computer with one hand and reaching for the coffee cup that Cass was carefully keeping out of his hands.

“She didn’t tell me much and I didn’t press for much. What she did say is that the rumors about who the new Heir is and how fast the information surrounding Nyssa’s attack is spreading.”

Everyone’s brow furrowed. To know that there was someone out there that might be getting ready to start the biggest war in the criminal world was frustrating. They didn’t know who they were looking for or what to expect from them.

“Well, did she at least tell you who the Heir was,” Stephanie questioned. All eyes turned to him and he narrowed his eyes at her. He took great care of what he alluded with his body language before he answered. Heaving a deep sigh and taking on a look of exasperation, he set his fork down and ran a hand through his hair.

“I already knew who the Heir was and believe me when I say they want nothing to do with the title.”

Tim went back to typing on his computer, “Still it would be good know who the Heir is just in case they cause trouble later down the line.”

Jason scowled at the brat, and here he thought Timmy was his favorite. He then sent a silent prayer of forgiveness to Jamila and he swore he could her sharpening her knives and cursing at him. Jason sighed as if he was exhausted with the topic and didn’t want to let this particular amount of leverage go. “Her name’s Jamila. You’d probably find better information on her if you looked up Death Demon. It’s her code name, but she’s even more of a ghost in the underground world than the Winter Soldier from your comics, Timmers. But she is real. I met her a couple of times while training with the League. She put a knife to my throat and told me to stop killing all of her teachers before she got finished punishing them.”

“Am I the only one trying to figure out why Jason seems to be on first name basis with assassins,” Dick exclaimed.

Jason snorted, “I was one myself, Dickhead. I worked directly under Talia before she let my leash go and set me out on the world. Hell, in some parts, I’m still considered one. There are many places that are living in fear afraid of the Red Ronin to come back and rain down vengeance.”

“I don’t think that’s something to be proud of,” Duke muttered from his spot at the table.

Small patter of feet caught everyone’s attention and Jason looked over to the doorway to see Talia peeking in. Her features were twisted in a scowl and Jason was sure that only he and Cass could see the fear lurking in her eyes.

He rose up from his seat immediately catching her attention and then she disappeared. When he sat back down, he pushed his chair further from the table to catch the small body that landed in his lap.

“Hello, تاليا,” he muttered as he scooted back near the table. She laid her head on his chest and whispered, “Hello, Jason” in English. Jason nearly cried with joy. In the past three days alone, she had spoken in French, Spanish, German, Greece, Swahili and Chinese. Sometimes she would switch languages mid-sentence. It was nice to know that she could speak English also though he still felt like a scolded kid whenever she rose a brow at him when he stumbled from her dialect switch.

He handed her the fork in his hands and let her eat the fruit off his plate. Another thing everyone learned was that she was a vegetarian. But she had spoken to him in silence and broken words that Ra had already been training such weakness from her and forcing her to eat meat. She hates it but she won’t go against her father.

“Hi, Talia. I’m Stephanie!”

Right, despite that they had been here for three days coming and going because like hell was, he going to spend the night at the manor… Talia successfully managed to avoid everyone in the house. Everyone except Alfred and Tim that is. She had told him that watching them concentrate on their task was soothing and orderly. It reminded her of home.

She looked up at Stephanie with a blank stare before looking back at Jason. “It’s up to you.”

“Bright.”

Jason nodded his head, “Hey, Steph. Tone it down a little.” He looked backed down at Talia who nodded her head. “Hello, Stephanie.” The girl in questioned almost squeal in delight before the rest of them started to introduce themselves.

When Damian introduced himself, Talia blinked before leaning his direction. She turned back to Jason, “He looks like Mother’s brother. Family?”

Jason pretend not to notice the emotions in Damian’s eyes. He knows that the boy knows little of his Grandmother’s family. “He is my brother.”

“Potential,” she stated with a raised brow. “Worthy of Nobutora name.”

Talia smiled lightly at Damian before she disappeared from his lap and the sound of her feet were heard back in the hall as she headed back to the room. Jason turned to look at Damian who was staring after his mother with a shocked look on his face.

“She had never told me that before.”

Jason crouched down beside him, “It doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

He ruffled the kid’s hair and gave thanks to Alfred for the dinner. He walked out of the room with everyone else wondering what Talia told Damian. “Call me if you get a lead or anything,” he called behind him.

He needed to get back to his apartment and give Talia her bath before they settled in for the night. The Bats could handle patrol for one more night.

[lovsy-archive]

Sequence [viii]

sequence masterlist

masterlist

chanyeol x reader genre: angst word count: 5.6k

FINALLY

01.25.17

You were there, again, in his arms, again, after a night of reconciliation, again. The parallels couldn’t help but give you whiplash, couldn’t help but mercilessly remind you of just how backwards your relationship managed to be, just how complicated and painful and messy it was to feel at ease in his lingering presence. Always a back and forth, that’s how it was: always toppling the line of happy and miserable, always pushing the limits until there was no longer an existing limit to be pushed.

Though you accepted it; you had to. Had to accept the way his chin once again nuzzled deep into your collarbones and the way his hands were gripping your waist so tightly it was as if he’d never be able to do it again. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t blame him or his subconscious. You couldn’t blame the way he latched onto you as if you were trying to escape, because somewhere some parts of you were. Your heart could never escape- could never want to escape, but your brain was different. Your brain was desperate, thrashing wildly as the pain ricocheted through it like a blazing hot bullet: your misery the gun.

It wasn’t your fault, you knew it wasn’t your fault, repeated in your head over and over again that it wasn’t your fault, but it didn’t stop you from letting the worst eat you alive. His touch on your stomach burned a hot, agonizing fire as you replayed in your mind the absence of the life inside of you.

Maybe, back in their bed, Baekhyun and Sumi were laying the same way. Sumi was awake, thinking about her life and the boy nuzzled in her arms just as you were.

Only she was unforgivably happy.

And you were cautious.

Maybe she was rubbing circles into her stomach lovingly, smiling down at Baekhyun and the way he cuddled into her protectively, now falling into the routine of shielding two lives behind himself, instead of one. Maybe, probably, she was thinking about the future- their future, about the day her child would be born, baby names, crib brands, nursery colors.

You shook your head lightly, forgetting it, pushing it back at least for the time being. It would be stored in your mind, far hidden for later no doubt, coming back into your subconscious at the time when you felt like you could survive the onslaught the least. Things like that always plagued your mind, always crawled through your thoughts like a grotesque creature whose sole purpose was to make sure you were unhappy and miserable: to make sure your mind put the same picture burning into your brain on replay for weeks on end.

The sun outside shone brightly, mockingly, rays just barely grazing the top of Chanyeol’s head as you stared outside of the window. You could watch the movement of the clouds, their slow, tumultuous journey across the sky with no destination and no purpose. You were those clouds, the large, white tufts, drifting with nowhere to go. Straying from their neighbors as time drifted on, as the wind came and blew them apart.

You were those clouds, Chanyeol the neighboring tufts, and your neverending relapse of pain and dismay the wind yanking you away from him.

Breathing deeply, trying your best to clear your thoughts, Chanyeol’s body shifted beneath you. His movement sent an unavoidable line of splinters into your chest and took the breath directly out of your lungs. Not him, not his presence directly, but his sudden shift in turn collapsing onto your shoulders and triggering every thought to shoot straight into the lining of your stomach. You winced in pain, unable to help the way your muscles tensed beneath him and made your flesh burn indescribably. Unable to stop it, your mind flooded with images of Sumi, like treacherous waves of the way you could see her burned into the backs of your eyelids as she learned into Baekhyun to deliver her news.

I’m pregnant.

But you weren’t. And every second you spent with Chanyeol was a bitter reminder of that. A reminder that the one thing you wanted was something you failed to be able to do. That the most natural, conceivable form of love was out of your reach, slipping through your fingertips as if it were nothing more than a paper receipt you’d dropped to the ground. And it stained, submerged into the filthy water at your feet and smudged all of the ink off of it. Just as you had become: smudged, submerged, drowning, fleeting.

Chanyeol’s voice dragged you from your thoughts, kept the darkness that threatened to fog over every inch of your thoughts at bay and parted the clouds long enough to let the warm sun stream inside of you. In the past that’s what he had done, always becoming the one thing to pull you from the depths of the ocean you’d slipped into, the person who was able to make you feel happy again. As of late he had become the ocean, transformed into the unbalance of your legs and shifted into the wind that blew you over. It was refreshing for him to be back, for you to let him back in, for his voice to once again be the thing that kept you above water.

“Good morning, baby.”

He cooed into your ear, nibbling on the skin only slightly, memories of the night before taking place in your thoughts, masking over the images of Baekhyun and Sumi and leaving you reeling desperately beneath him. You felt hot, his lips burning pleasure into your skin and his hands rubbing tenuous circles into your flesh. His voice was again thick, laced with sleep and gravelly, the morning still fresh and overwhelmingly evident in his syllables.

The nickname melted you, turned you into a puddle beneath him, made you forget anything and everything at the simple touch of his words tickling your brain. You’d wished this was how your life was, always. That you could always wake up and feel this blissful beside him, greet the morning as sweetly as he greeted your neck with his teeth, not a single doubt in your mind. It was a feigning fantasy, one that wouldn’t last any longer than the dew that settled on rose petals outside, but you relished in it anyways. You were selfish in that way, but then again how things tended to be for you in your life, selfishness was the only way to survive.

“Baby,” you purred, your voice unintentionally dropping an octave as he nipped at the skin covering your collarbones, “haven’t heard that nickname in awhile.” You couldn’t help the reaction your body had to him, couldn’t help the way your skin turned aflame and your vocal chords became laced with the honey his lips coated you in. Carding your hands through his thick hair, you pulled him closer, allowing him to slot his legs between yours and bite down onto your shoulder.

“You’re my baby. I missed you.”

You sighed into him, pulling his head up to your face and dusting your thumb across his swollen bottom lip, red and angry from their assault on your neck. “I missed hearing it. I missed you.”

He kissed you. Again. Twelve hours ago he was doing the same thing, loving you the same way, pulling himself into your body with the same veracity, but now it felt like more. Like he was saying things with his lips that he could never manage into words. It felt as if he was closing an air tight seal, setting a layer of finality onto you and promising that he would never neglect you, never leave you again, silently. You welcomed it, with open arms, an open mouth, and open legs.

You welcomed him wholly.

Back into your life, into your heart, and into your soul.

Chanyeol dug his hips into yours pointedly, the way your back arched off of the bed and into his crotch throttling him and leaving his lips to tug into a grin against your neck. You gasped, hating the way he smiled against you, and shook your head. “Chanyeol, I have work you…” You stopped, letting a soft whine omit into the air as he sucked harshly into the flesh of your neck. “You know I have to leave soon, don’t,” you inhaled sharply, “start this.”

He pulled back, using his fingers to ghost lightly over the bruise he left on your skin just below your ear and admired it cockily. He loved seeing you that way, hair wild around your neck and sprawled above your head, mouth parted open and neck marked and abused from his teeth. It had been a long time since he was able to wake up next to you, too long since it had been you the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. For too long it was emptiness, the ceiling, the back of a couch, a pillow without your head snuggled into it. So he relished it, smiling above you as you scowled at the soreness of your neck brought on by his prodding fingertips.

“I just want to love you.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully at large, and put your hands on his chest to push him off. “You could have done that without branding me like a damn cow.”

He pouted, lip jutting out and feigning utmost hurt. You watched his eyes, watched the way they darkened when you lifted your hips into his purposefully. You loved teasing him, loved getting him riled up knowing there was nothing he could do about it. But he bit back, pushing his crotch into you and leaning down to press a feathery kiss over the purple decorating your neck like a painting. “This is my mark of love, for my love.” He was whining, voice a higher octave like a child who was told no to his favorite dessert. “Why don’t you like it?”

“Because, Yeol,” you started, rolling out from under his body and sitting up with your legs hanging off of the bed. His hands, of course, found your waist immediately, pulling himself closer so he could kiss the side of your arm from behind you. “I have to cover it up now.”

He shook his head, his lips brushing your skin and his arm wrapping tightly around your stomach. “Says who?”

“Says me.”

His lips curled upwards, the same lips that bloomed purple into your neck and pleasure into the most sensitive and hidden parts of your body. The same lips that before spewed venom into your veins and now coated your body in a thick layer of honey and sweat to keep you from escaping his grasp.

Only, you had to, and so you stood, the air clapping around your back at the distance between his skin and yours and goosebumps raking across the flesh. He watched you, leisurely, happily, as you got dressed. The morning was slow and warm, the atmosphere swallowing you in the best way possible and making you unregrettably late to locking the door of your apartment behind you.

His hands had been on you for too long, too prodding, and far too teasingly for the clock to have held any mention of importance as you buttoned the sheer blouse half adorning your body. He could’ve watched you for hours, watched the way heat crawled up your neck and made a home of the apples of your cheeks when he let his hands wander to places that you kept secret from the rest of the world.

But when you detached, your soul stayed still, like a statue fixed to the ground, into his hands where he played with it like putty. You could have ripped it away from him, could have tucked it into your shirt pocket for safe keeping and away from his teasing grasp; in your sane mind you should have but in your world where all you knew was him it remained. In his hold and attached to him for as long as he continued to exist.

You marveled at the sky. It was blue, bluer than you’d ever seen it so prominently indulged into winter, just having had relentless storms rained down onto your city days before. It was as if the rain came down and sloshed all of the malice down the drain and left behind a new beginning. A new beginning that it seemed the entire population was desperate for. It had an effect on everyone, on everything: traffic flowed smoothly, your boss greeted you happily even when you arrived fifteen minutes passed your shift, and the combination of your locker clicked open without a second’s hesitation- opposite of the usual.

As if the universe was mocking you, as if it was reminding you that the blue skies were temporary, that the weight lifted off of your shoulders was a facade of the pressure that lingered in your chest, the water scolded directly into your skin as you washed dishes. Despite the yellow rubber gloves you wore in mock protection, despite the way you tried to turn the temperature down, the water streamed out like blazing bullets into your skin and caused your face to wince in pain whenever they had to linger beneath the faucet particularly long.

You felt as if the way your hands were red and angry was symbolic of the way your life was intentionally and teasingly infuriating, like the puppet controlling your destiny had decided your happiness was over, that it was time for you to be brought back down, crashing and tumbling into a reality like you’d gotten into a bloodied wreck speeding down Highway 99.

Every time you closed your eyes you saw it. If they flinched shut at the pain, they burned beneath your eyelids at the image of Baekhyun wrapping his arm around Sumi’s shoulders protectively as she beamed brightly at her news.

I’m pregnant.

Two words you’d been overwhelmingly desperate to say, three syllables that ricocheted around your brain and prodded your tongue as they lingered back, far beneath your teeth and seeped deep into the cherry muscles of your jaw. The pressure became so heavy it branded into your bones, left blackened char across your skin as it dawned on you the realities of your marriage.

The most natural form of love, the one thing you’d been destined to conceive, was merely handed to her, given to her like it was some sort of parting gift, a stage in life she was destined to reach eventually. For you it was different. For you the vile rose in your throat at the idea of them ripping the life from your stomach and putting it in her own. For you the heat that crawled along your neck and into your mouth formed words that would get lodged so deep in your throat it was like you were suffocating.

For you, it was unbearable.

For you, it was pain.

And for a moment, as you let the air hit your raw skin and discarded the gloves into the back, the pain became real. The pain became evident and throbbing, sharp in your stomach as if you were being ripped apart from the inside out. Nearly heaving, you bent over, your head pounding like a drum in your ears and your heartbeat so pulsing you could feel it in your fingertips. It hit you like a semi-truck and left you crumbled beneath it’s eighteen wheels like a paper bag discarded in the wind.

You couldn’t help the way your hands shook, couldn’t stop the vigor that overtook your body in the form of trembles as you told your coworker you were taking an early lunch and nearly tripped your way to the faculty bathroom. From the stain in your underwear, you’d gotten your period. It was spotted red, just barely, from the unknowing visitor and you took a moment to regain your breath and smooth the wrinkles in your blouse. Cramps were the reason you were experiencing a throbbing pain in your lower stomach, fatigue the reason your brain spun out of control and your lungs felt deprived of oxygen. Somewhere, in your brain, you concluded that your period was the reason you’d been so drastically blue it turned even your blood navy, that it was the onslaught of hormones that triggered your emotional instability.

“Chanyeol,” you breathed into the receiver, voice lowering an octave and becoming hushed as if you were hiding a secret from a teacher, “can you stop by? I started my period.”

“Of course.” You were relieved, shifting uncomfortably between legs at the feeling of toilet paper folded into your underwear, a far from ideal way to spend the rest of your hours washing dishes and delivering plates of food to customers. “Why are you whispering?”

“As if the whole diner needs to know I’m bleeding out of my ass.”

He laughed, and it was that laugh that could create choruses in the hearts of angels if he so pleased. The laugh that you’d finally, finally been able to indulge yourself in after so many months of trying to bleed it out of your subconscious. And you could swear you could hear him struggling on the notion of where to put his hands, probably suspended in the air as his nose scrunched up and his mouth was open wide. He was the only person who took your sarcasm so light-heartedly, the only person who was able to read exactly what you meant from the few choice words you’d decided on. He loved every bit of you for it.

“I’m on my way.”

You knew the knock on the stall door was him, could tell in the boots adorning his feet and the way they stayed in stance; the parentheses of his legs burned into your vision despite not being able to see them through the wooden panel. When you opened the door for him, slid the small, flimsy lock across the chamber and let the wood swing into you, he smiled. His signature smile, the one so bright it lit up his entire face and every inch of air space around it, as if the sun was coming straight from it and into the atmosphere.

Only you doubled over again, and swiped your hand over your stomach so quickly you nearly lost your footing on the tile floor. His smile was gone, wiped from his face like he’d watched a child fall in a playground and grasped your shoulder protectively. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You waved him off, outstretching your hand for the box in his arms and shaking your head slightly. “Cramps.”

And then a yell just barely escaped your parted lips, and your knees buckled beneath you. You could swear you saw the galaxies behind your closed eyes, could hear your blood pulsing in your ears as you leaned into his body and gripped onto the fabric of his sweater. It was excruciating, like no pain you’d ever felt before and for a split second you wondered what was wrong with you. Cramps didn’t feel like this, cramps didn’t make your vision go spotty and your insides feel as is if they were getting minced like cloves of garlic.

“You’re not okay,” he said softly, rubbing circles into your back and looking around himself frantically, “we need to take you to the doctor.”

You wanted to say no, the fear bubbling up inside of you of the reasons you could be in turmoil more than enough motivation to just go home and sleep, but the way your fingers clawed at your stomach as tears burned your vision kept your mouth clamped shut as Chanyeol led you to the car without a word to your boss.

The doctor’s office smelt sterile, cold, anywhere you wanted to be but there coming to mind as you sat on the uncomfortable plastic bed, Chanyeol’s hand rubbing circles into your lower back as you picked at the skin around your nails. The pain had subsided now, no longer a double edged sword digging into your abdomen but instead a dull throbbing that radiated across your body. You could hear the sound of children crying around you as their fingers got pricked for blood, the fluorescent lights swaying above your head flickering, as if they were on their last hours of life.

You wanted to go home, wanted to lay in Chanyeol’s arms and let your eyes shut as you drifted off to sleep, to forget the day you had and forget the both physical and mental pain your body sent through you like shockwaves after an earthquake. Still, especially now as you heard babies cooing into their mothers, you replayed Sumi in your head, your stomach throbbing even more at the incident and your head spinning out of control. You wanted nothing more but to breathe easily, to have air reach your lungs as it was destined to instead of getting wedged into your esophagus like molasses.

“You’re gonna draw blood if you keep picking your nails like that.”

His voice was your anchor, drawing you out from the depths of the ocean you’d fallen into and keeping you above water long enough for you to inhale a breath and clear your mind. You looked down at him, reading into his face and the way he tugged his bottom lip into his teeth so many times it became red and raw. Likely, it matched the color of your own lip, of the angry lines streaked under your eyes and the dark grey that made a home of the thin skin.

You hated the look in his eyes, hated the way his eyebrows were so close together it left indents in his forehead deeper than the pain in your chest and the bitterness flowing in your abdomen.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Your head hung in your lap, neck sore from the position but taken well over having to face Chanyeol with the sadness in his eyes if you looked at him again. Weakness radiated across your body and you hated it, despised the way his hands held you like you were going to break and his words got caught on his tongue as if the wrong thing would destroy you.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes you are and you know it. You have that look, you know the one you give me when you think I’m about to crumble in your palms? I don’t like it.”

His hands retracted from your back and held onto yours and you could feel his pulse hammering in his fingertips. “You’re hurting. Of course I’m worried about you.”

He was right. You were hurting. Everywhere. As if you had been lit on fire, but your body refused to go into shock, refused to pass out from the pain and forced you to stay conscious for it. Your stomach still rattled inside of you as if it had been hung upside down, your brain still so throttled against your skull you swore you could hear your lungs functioning for breath and your fingertips so numb you could barely feel the heat of Chanyeol’s hands.

And when the doctor came in the lights above you felt so bright you were nearly squinting at him. Chanyeol’s grip on your hand tightened but you barely noticed, focused on the way the man’s lips were moving but you could hardly hear a sound coming out of them. You heard ringing, not from the pain but from the things you didn’t want to hear him say. Because in every corner of your mind was the evidence that it wasn’t just your period, that your stomach being ripped from your abdomen wasn’t as simple as you bleeding onto your underwear.

Warning signs flashing in your head clouded your vision and zoned you out of the world around you, Chanyeol’s touch on you dissipating into thin air as your tongue blanched dry and your fingers began to shake in anxiety.

“You say she’s been eating fine, sleeping well?”

Chanyeol spoke for you, carried on the conversation in your catatonic state despite the worry that flooded his system at your metaphoric absence. He hated to see you frozen in place, your hands limp against his own as he nodded alongside the doctor as he recommended blood tests and urine samples. It wasn’t until the doctor left to find a nurse did you snap out of it, did Chanyeol grab your chin with his fingers and looked straight into your eyes in concern and worry.

“He’s getting a nurse so he can draw some blood, okay?”

You nodded, lips clamped shut and eyes looking straight into Chanyeol’s but mind focusing on everywhere but him. For some reason you couldn’t, couldn’t see him sitting in front of you, couldn’t feel the warmth of his hand on your cheek or the gentleness of his fingertips as they brushed your hair out of your eyes. You thought of everything else, of the way everything started to add up in your head, of the signs you’d so blatantly ignored that now replayed over and over again in your subconscious.

And so you saw it coming. When the blood results came back you knew the words that would spill from the doctor’s lips, you knew the tension that would be so poignant in the room you could serrate it with a knife if you tried. You knew the way Chanyeol’s hands would freeze, the way his body would tense beside you, out of fear or happiness you couldn’t be sure, and you know the way the doctor would excuse himself to give you two some time.

You didn’t want to say anything. No words you could think of would be enough to explain, nothing you could manage would be enough to cut the silent seeping into the sterilized walls. You could feel him trembling in your hands, only slightly, the warmth of his body rushing onto you like a tidal wave as you pressed both of your hands into the bottom of your stomach. Out of the corner of your eye you could see his hair as it tucked itself into your side, as he pressed his head into the curve of your hip and steadied his breathing.

It scared you; you didn’t know why he was silent. You were silent because you were overwhelmed, because everything you’d been through had all been worth something, because you were able to do the one thing you wanted to do successfully and nobody could take that from you.

“Chanyeol?”

“So it’s true, then? You’re pregnant?”

You played with his hands where they stayed with an iron grip in your lap. You ghosted over his knuckles, used your nails to trace shapes into the veins in his hands and ignored him even when he lifted his head and moved to sit in between your legs in front of you. His hands removed themselves from your own and gripped your hips softly, gently tugging you forward so you could learn your head onto his shoulder.

Everything, all at once, came down upon you. Like a tidal wave crashing into your body, dragging you down under the rolling thunder as if you were nothing more than a grain of sand being swept by the current. Your eyes welled and the walls to the dam behind your eyes flooded, hot sticky tears rushing down your cheeks and into Chanyeol’s clothing. Your hands were frantic as they grasped at his clothes, breaths heaving out of your lungs as your body shook against him. You could feel his chest shaking, feel his hands gripping into your skin so tight you could feel it in your bones.

“I’m pregnant.” Your voice was small and broken, spit bubbling in your mouth as you sucked down air and pulled away from his grasp. His hands cupped your cheeks as he planted soft, wet kisses across every inch of your face as your lips broke into a smile so wide it could part the clouds in the sky if it wanted to.

You could finally say it, the words feeling like sugar on your tongue as you repeated it over and over again, almost making sure it was the truth, that you wouldn’t wake up and have it all be a pathetically desperate dream for sanity. “I’m pregnant. We’re pregnant.”

His lips melted into yours, body pulling towards you so feverishly you nearly forgot you were in a doctor’s office. And you kissed him back as if everything in the world finally settled. As if every drop of blood had rejuvenated in your skin, back into it’s burgundy red color and pumping across your body with vigor and glee. The world around you melted into a puddle at your side and you were left with nothing but Chanyeol and the life living inside of you.

The life living inside of you.

The one you’d thought you would never have. The same one that plagued your thoughts every time that closed your eyes could now become the one thing keeping you happy, the one thing keeping you and Chanyeol tethered like a pole into the cement and your souls from breaking anymore. You were pregnant, and after months of thinking you’d never find happiness, it was growing and thriving and existing right inside of you.

He pulled away, staring into you as if you held every answer to every question you ever asked, and you watched as his lips curved into a smile, and the dimple on his cheek poked out, and you couldn’t help but imagine a smaller version of him adorning the same exact dimple. You began to wonder if it would inherit his almond eyes, if the crescent moon shape of his lips would plaster onto the face of your unborn child, or if the baby, boy or girl, would have the same laugh its father did. In a perfect world, the life inside of you would be a carbon copy of the man sitting between your legs, because in a perfect world, two Chanyeol’s sounded heavenly.

You’d never sat in Chanyeol’s car feeling lighter than you did in that moment. No matter the events that led up to this point, no matter the way you’d cried yourself to sleep Christmas night without him by your side, or the way you baked a cake for him on his birthday even though you knew the chances of hearing from him were low, you would put it behind you.

You would put it behind you because for the sake of the soul existing within you it deserved it. It deserved to be born into a family full of love and compassion, so for its sake that’s what you became, and the entire ride home Chanyeol couldn’t stop talking, his lips refusing to freeze as his cheeks began to burn from smiling so wide. You couldn’t help talking either, couldn’t help blabbering on about the way it all made sense, the way you couldn’t believe you’d missed the warning signs, and the way you were glad you decided not to get shitfaced the Christmas he was away.

Because above all, you were happy. Finally, after so long, after months of misery, after seeing haunting images behind your eyelids every time you fell asleep at night, with our without him, they were gone. Like a distant memory, one that would be buried into the dirt beneath your feet, never to be dug up again.

Although the pain still lingered, and although you could never really forget the way Chanyeol had left you deserted for months, it was something you had to put behind you. Despite the way you would still wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat because you thought you didn’t feel him laying beside you, you would try. You would try to put it behind you because you had to. Because even though you didn’t support yourself, even though Chanyeol was your anchor, the baby inside of you would rely on you to keep it afloat. And, so, that’s what you did. You became the anchor for the life in your womb and you became strong.

“I’m thinking about names.”

“Names? Chanyeol it’s like the size of a string cheese and you’re already thinking about what you’re going to call it?”

He laughed, and as you watched him driving, as you watched the way he gripped the steering wheel tighter and let his eyes turn into slits on his face, you thought of the way he would smile when he held his baby for the first time. You thought about the way salty tears would well in his eyes, how they would drip down his skin, slipping passed the bags of grey that made a home from the hours he had stayed awake by your side to bring his child into the world.

“It’s gonna have your ears.”

He looked over at you as he pulled into the parking garage, turning the ignition off and sitting to face you completely. His hands absentmindedly tugged at the tips of his ears where they were flushed red from the cold, eyes wandering down to your stomach slowly, languidly, unbuckling his seatbelt and pressing his hands flush against the warm skin of your stomach. Lifting up your shirt, he pressed a kiss to your abdomen where it bulged out only slightly, just barely swollen, and rested his forehead in your lap.

“If you come out looking anything like your mommy,” he began, almost whispering, as if the conversation between him and the cheese sized baby was top secret from your ears, “then you’ll be the most beautiful baby in the whole wide world.” He pressed another kiss to your stomach. “Even if you do end up with my stupid ears.”

Your life was like a sequence of events. Like everything that happened was planned, going in a set order: during, before, after, now, ever after, eventually, finally. A path that you had taken that ripped you to shreds, each goodbye at a time, and then glued you back together with every hello. Chanyeol: your muse, your tsunami, your wrecker, your savior, your everything.

He was you, and you were him, and now the life living inside of you was the both of you, all at once.

↫  previous chapter | next chapter ↬

[fountainpenguin]

Jack and Maddie seem to love their children, but they're also clueless when it comes to safety (or not thinking about ghosts long enough to be parents). Is it possible that either Jazz or Danny needed fairy godparents when they were younger? Or what about San, whose parents tried to fit her into a mould and control her life?

If we started getting this picky, we could argue that everyone in the world needs fairy godparents.

Some kids just turn out fine. I did.

“Kids who are miserable” is a loose term. I’ve always thought godkid selection had to do with their avoidance behaviors (If you flee stressful situations, you’ll develop anxiety, and if you don’t then you won’t, etc. We’ll talk more about this with Frayed Knots and Anti-Cosmo, and don’t worry- I already drafted a whole post about the importance of consent > force).

Danny, Jazz, and Sam aren’t the types to close themselves off or avoid stressful situations. But at the age he got his fairies, Timmy was. He shows certain behaviors even now such as fleeing or submitting rather than directly confronting Vicky, withdrawing rather than acting out when his classmates tease him for “talking to inanimate objects”, and frequently going out of his way to avoid causing problems for his parents, or fixing the problems they have.

Remy functions in a similar way. Chloe in some aspects is the embodiment of avoidance and submission. Both have certain things they stand up for (Remy his pride, Chloe her belief in equity), but where his parents are concerned, there’s an obvious line that Remy absolutely refuses to cross. I mean, look at him. He fights so hard to be a good boy for their affection, even if it means doing what they want and staying out of their way now in the hopes that someday they’ll thank him for doing so.

And @kapuchino357 pointed out to me the other day that when she stops stressing constantly over what her hippie exotic veterinarianparents think of her, Chloe actually gives up her vegan values and eats meat, suggesting that she only holds them to make her parents happy.

So basically, I just always assumed godparents go to kids who are walking a maladaptive path when it’s not even their own fault. It’s an avoidable thing, so godparents just set their kids’ feet right again with a safe environment and bond of trust. When everything looks good and they’re confident their charges won’t relapse after they’re gone, they send their godkids on their merry way. Not a lot of kids make it an entire year with fairies; for some, they just need a little nudge.

There are other reasons kids might get fairies, but that’s just kind of how I always saw it, anyway. Just one of the things Amity would look for in a kid. They help the kids they recognize as struggling to help themselves. Tootie may not like her sister Vicky, but she’s a stubborn fighter who still doesn’t let anyone treat her like a doormat! She’s gonna be fine.

Same goes for Chester, who isn’t miserable despite his poor circumstances. Mikey Munroe appears to be physically and emotionally neglected by his parents, so he adapted and is extremely independent and outgoing. Amanda Adams is a soft-spoken child raised by unpleasant parents, but because she’s doing okay for herself, she just got skipped over and no one looked twice.

Jack and Maddie raised a pair of tough cookies. They taught Jazz and Danny to always be curious and have a love to explore- you can just… tell by looking at their teenage selves. When faced with stressful situations as kids, Jazz and Danny pushed through and grew less stressed by them as a result. Sam learned to stand up for herself at a young age too. Fairy godparents aren’t really going to benefit them. Those fairies would be put to better use helping someone else- for example, Timmy Turner.

Vicky is such a villain for Timmy for exactly that reason- she’s tough for Timmy to deal with. Her loud and demanding personality clashes with his kindhearted and tentative one. If Jack and Maddie had left Danny with Vicky as a babysitter, it’s not like Danny would have automatically gotten fairy godparents as a result. He’s too adaptable. Vicky might be scary, surely, but he’d just sigh and never think too much about it. Just an annoyance in his life he has to deal with on occasion. As opposed to Timmy, who sees Vicky as The Worst Thing Ever™.

The rule in my family was always, “Under the age of eight, you go with Mom on errands or whenever she leaves the house. At the age of eight, you’re allowed to stay home by yourself during errands” (for reasonable periods of time, like a grocery store trip). “At the age of twelve, you can babysit younger siblings.”

I don’t agree with all of my mom’s decisions, like our massive spat about my leg hair making me “disgusting” and her absolute insistence that I have it lasered off and how morally wrong it would be for me to cut a deal with my future husband that I’ll shave my leg hair if he shaves his armpit hair because that’s “manipulative” but apparently if he demanded I do it against my will in return for nothing it wouldn’t be, but while I might argue that the situation makes me feel utterly miserable, disrespected, and violated, it’s not like I’m having a life-shattering crisis over it. I just… deal, y’know? 

She and my dad presented us all with an environment that fostered pushing through things. We were all really close with my grandfather until he shattered things a decade ago, and while the resulting emotional abuse has been horrid, I just shrug and keep living life. Avoidance quickly becomes an unhealthy pattern, skilled sailors result from rough waves, etc., etc.

TL;DR a combination of nature and nurture rendered the Fentons and Sam all but ineligible for godparents at a young age. They wouldn’t have been placed on a “Never” list for godparent eligibility, but on a “Very unlikely” list instead.

Jack and Maddie were there to encourage their kids to conquer their fears when they were young. Timmy’s parents were overly affectionate in his youth, videoing everything he did but controlling every aspect of his life. I mean, look at the way they treated Imaginary Gary! Timmy was five when his parents sent him to therapy in the hopes of shaking off his imaginary friend. 

Timmy grew up being pushed around. And unlike Sam, he didn’t push back. He chose to avoid confrontation. This behavior was reinforced because he felt comfortable avoiding his problems, rather than slightly stressed by a problem and then comfortable overcoming it like Danny, Sam, and Jazz. So, it takes a lot of stress to upset them. It only takes a small amount to upset Timmy, because he never learned healthy ways to deal with stress.

That’s why Timmy gets fairies. You don’t get fairies just to snap your fingers and blow away your problems. You get them so you feel comfortable taking it slow until you can take off the training wheels and ride by yourself. There’s no point in giving training wheels to a kid who is already riding without them.

[eyedelater]

post about the rest of the ajin anime (seasons 1 and 2)

(nothing special, just a liveblog post)

ajin episode 6

i see that the animation budget saved by doing CGI was instead spent on the fluttery shifty effects of the black ghosts

so satou's ghost is also anvil-headed

right, nagai doesn't have much empathy... hmm... hmm... that doesn't excuse his being an asshole at times

tosaki sure is eager to jump to conclusions as to why satou didn't bring out his ghost

ohh, ghost-to-ghost head collisions can bump some memories back and forth, interesting, i forgot about that...

huh, what is eriko calling kei "onii-chan" for at a time like this? she called him "nii-san" to his face and i think in front of everyone who talked to her about him, right? was that her way of expressing worry about him...?

episode 7

tosaki's gotta get that dekai kane

right, of course he's motivated by comatose fiance. doesn't excuse any of the shit he's done

episode 8

nakano kou. do we seriously have a kei, a kai, and a kou? sounds like a bit of a natural OT3 tbh

episode 9

there we go, nagai kei finally being an indisputable asshole

oh, right, big pharma makes an appearance as an antagonist

sokabe has a very silly face.

i already forgot what IBM stands for and can only come up with IBM he company or ICBM (intercontinental ballistic missile) without the C

right, ogura's distinguishing feature was not only smoking cigarettes, but being unreasonably dedicated to his brand of smokes in particular. so dumb

episode 10

ogura says a black ghost can only be used once or twice a day, but didn't nagai kei whip em out one after another like it was no thing? is that his special protagonist power that makes him differentiated enough to be the protagonist?

kei's ghost learned how to fell a tree from minecraft

do they really have huge screens up in cities complete with booming audio? the screens are nothing new, but the audio seems unusual to me

episode 11

oh, tosaki finally learned satou's name. from satou's video.

yamanaka-san bought him an oPhone8

"life and money are synonymous" sounds like your typical CEO

omfg satou rode the sinking tower and had a great time

sokabe is still calling satou "hat guy." get with the picture

episode 12

this just in: does satou sometimes substitute a "sh" sound in for an "s" sound?

episode 13

kei demonstrates his shittiness by holding a knife to yamanaka-san's neck after getting sniped. what a dick. oh wait he made it work. well whatever

tosaki says nagai kei is not a fool and as such he probably already scouted out the area, but tosaki immediately also says nagai kei has probably exhausted his black ghost uses for the day, something a fool would do because only a fool doesn't know their own limits and try to use them tactically in such a situation

time for season 2 i guess, episode 2-1

this OP isn't bad i guess

these subs having sokabe say "it's normal for a subordinate to greet his senpai." listen, if you use "senpai," you gotta also use "kohai," and if you use "subordinate," you also gotta use "superior" you can't just pick and choose which words you want to translate

this ending song is horrible

ep 2-2

sakurai emerging from the airplane toilet clearly zipping up his fly out of frame and seeing satou and his eyebrows just turn on a fulcrum and then turn backward like they're pinball flippers

ep 2-3

ah. i was musing over what must be the most popular ship for ajin, thinking maybe kei/kai or kei/kou or tosaki/ogura, but i've had a bit of a realization, and if i know the hearts of the BL community at all, their favorite ship is probably some sinful shit like tosaki/kei. i’ll find out soon enough whether i’m right (haven’t looked at any ajin pixiv tags yet)

ep 2-4

kotobuki, eh. seems like a charming character. oh, this bandanna delinquent is pulling the ol' pee-and-chat

kaito, everyone's favorite punching bag

for the record, i know i've read beyond this point in the manga, but i don't remember shit except that i left off around a chapter where we see shimomura's history.

kotobuki has a small head, maybe he just squeezed through some bars to escape

ah, i just realized the other anime this kinda reminds me of: zankyou no terror. it's got the police/government and the american government trying to intervene aspect to it.

carly meyers doesn't have any kind of american accent... i was kinda hoping she would

neither does doug here. i guess they didn't have voice actors who would have some fun doing a bad accent... or maybe they didn't see it as appropriate

holy FUCK, kaito executed a flying dropkick even though he wasn't on higher ground or anything, what the fuck

kotobuki asks kai what nagai kei is like and i earnestly half-expected him to reply "he's scum" like everyone else does

oh, so kotobuki's got a winged kuro-chan. lucky... 

i forgot to write about this in the episode where it was said, but that iowan ajin whose ghost was driving a tractor is such a perfect image i can't stop thinking about it

ep 2-5

so i guess satou's catchphrase is "sssshate" (bc he kinda does a "sha" instead of a "sa") (meaning "now, then.")

the first OP wasn't skippable but i find myself needing to skip this one

there's lots of "pulling up live television broadcasts via a non-television device" in this anime

kou calling shimomura "izumi-san" pls

i like how whoever is nearest the whiteboard is the one to cross the latest victim off the target list

ok, if tosaki is about to be fired (which, hasn't he been for a while now?), that made me think, why is he concerned about his job when he's doing this conspiring with ogura and nagai etc hidden from his superiors? is he concerned about stopping satou, or is he still only concerned about money for his fiancee...? is he getting hella paid for this even though he's less involved in the torture (the real moneymaking activity) than before?

i don't like this dynamic btwn american guy and carly meyers where he keeps correcting her gruffly and she keeps backing off and looking afraid/ashamed.

they had nakano put on a satou hat to be satou ;w;

did shimomura just plug a flash drive into her phone? what kind of compatibility we got in this time period?

how long do neck-stab sedatives take to kick in in real life?

carly meyers's kuro-chan has a gem-shaped head

why don't all ajins just keep a knife or something on them to cut their own throat whenever they get hurt

ep 2-6

tainaka yoko. yup, this is about where i left off in the manga, i believe

whoa there, tosaki just got tased right in the nib nob. that's dirty, american doug

i can't say i feel bad for tosaki getting tortured.

ep 2-7

shut your ungrateful mouth, tosaki, shimomura was LITERALLY just doing her job, which you TOLD HER WAS HER JOB: PROTECTING YOU

how in the fuck did satou get away with playing dead when the other side KNOWS it's ajins they're fighting

why isn't ogura, a native english speaker, the one writing an email to the defense department

ep 2-8

this new OP is ok

ep 2-10

(i spent all of 2-9 doing origami instead of typing)

tosaki don't relapse on your smoking habit :( that's not gonna do anyone any good.

ep 2-11

kai busts in with his signature move and saves the day and he's started calling kotobuki "senpai"

so kei's signature line to kai is "i really have to pee"

kai's like "you're wrong. he (kei) isn't an idiot." that's right, he's actually trash, ask anyone

i can't emphasize enough how bad this ending theme is

ep 2-12

well okuyama-kun has been kind of lovable so far, so if he and others decide to join tosaki's side, that would probably be good

isn't burying someone alive the worst way to try to contain them? because you can't see them directly. they could escape without you noticing

ep 2-13

no kabedonning shimomura >:(

wait wait is tanaka also wearing a satou hat? oh, it's just a baseball cap.

fuck off tanaka don't impale shimomura in the same way twice

oh, one of nagai's new ghost army said the thing that nagai said at the scene where he first saw a ghost :0 about the sick puppy. i like all these ghosts spouting quotes

oh, he cut off satou's head. well, that's the first head we've seen cut off. is he facing the right direction to meet his new self? he closed his eyes too soon for us to find out :\

helicopters are raining in bullets from above like in ghost in the shell (1995) (unless i’m completely misremembering. there were other things that were raining bullets in various directions in that scene so i’m not sure)

so now satou's in custody for the first time. 

so satou had an exposition dream

honestly i’m no longer sure where i even left off when i read the manga x years ago, i feel like i may have dropped it because i didn’t care for the boring military shit going on for quite a while, but i feel like i even distantly remember satou being beheaded in the manga...? but anyway i’m gonna (re?)read the whole manga now i guess. overall manga verdict: it had a distant, clammy feel to it, but not bad; the voice for nagai’s ghost was real good; they did a good job with the cgi animation, but it definitely lacks something compared to the art in the manga; the only good OP was the first one; and yeah idk my feeling toward this anime is pretty neutral.

[adamprrishcycle]

Part 3 (kind of) regarding the demon au… I say kind of but it definitely follows on from this post. It’s pynch basically but there’s rovinsky undertones. This is just Ronan with a lot of inner turmoil. Sorry in advance. p.s. here’s the other demon au post 

On Friday morning the sun rose like a peach on the horizon, expanding up into the cool blue of the sky until sunlight was everywhere. Ronan was the first person to feel the warmth across his face as he sat up on the porch roof at the Barns and for a moment, everything felt okay.

For a week now, he hadn’t been able to sleep. It wasn’t unusual, but it was deliberate, the way it had been after he found his father’s dead body on the driveway one morning in April six years ago. He was warding off nightmares. The only difference was this time the nightmare wasn’t just in his head.

He checked his watch. He hadn’t slept in 32 hours.

He watched the sunrise until it made his eyes water, and then he climbed down off the roof and went inside.

The house was a mess that he couldn’t face, but he managed to dig out his phone from underneath the couch cushion where he’d left it. He had six messages and a missed call.

The first five messages were from Gansey:

Hey, you still coming on friday?

Get here for 4pm and we can grab dinner before the game. Somewhere nice? Your pick :)

I need to know if you’re coming or not, Ronan

Don’t make me drive all the way down there to get an answer from you

Pick up your phone

The last message was from Declan:

You mad at Gansey or something? He says you’re not answering him. How’s things? Matthew says he saw you last week. We should all get together sometime soon.

Ronan sighed and decided he’d deal with it after he’d showered, he might feel more human then. He shoved the phone back under the cushion and went upstairs.

He averted his eyes from the mirror as he entered the bathroom, even though it was covered by a thick patchwork blanket. He’d covered all the mirrors in the house after dreaming that every time he saw his reflection, Joseph Kavinsky was standing right behind him. What scared him most now was that he had no idea where Kavinsky was. He’d threatened revenge on the whole world, then let Ronan drive away and he hadn’t seen him since. Ronan had doubted his sanity. Ronan hadn’t left the house in a week.

He showered with the curtain open, uncaring when water splashed onto the floor, making the tiles slippery. When he got out, he dried off and got dressed in the same pair of jeans he’d been wearing for a fortnight.

Back in his bedroom, his bed looked inviting, but he quickly pulled a clean shirt on and went back downstairs.

He retrieved his phone and sat down on the couch heavily. He opened his conversation with Gansey and scrolled up and up and up, then back down again. He stared at the blue bubbles filled with Gansey’s words, then he began to tap out a reply. It was a simple question, one that had been on his mind since Saturday.

Is adam still going?

He saw that Gansey started typing back almost instantly. Of course he was up as well.

Yeah he is. Why are you so bothered about this? You have to talk to him sooner or later

I choose later

So you’re not coming?

Ronan didn’t hesitate before replying.

I’ll be there at 4 and we’re eating at that overpriced steakhouse on 5th and you’re paying. Adam can pay for himself though since he’s a stuck up prick

He threw his phone onto the coffee table without waiting for Gansey’s reply and it slid across the surface and fell onto the floor.

He wondered whether Gansey would believe him if he told him about Kavinsky. Probably not. He was beginning to think that he had in fact hallucinated the whole thing. Kavinsky was dead. He couldn’t come back. Ronan knew for a fact that magic was real and that on ley lines, insane amounts of power could make insane things happen. Not enough power to bring someone back from the dead after three years though. Surely no one would want to bring Kavinsky back from the dead. His stomach gave a sharp tug at that. Kavinsky should never have died in the first place.

Ronan woke with a start, his neck aching from being propped up awkwardly against the arm of the couch. He jolted upright, his head still cloudy with sleep. He’d fallen asleep. He lifted his arm to check the time, it had just gone 3pm.

He was going to be late.

He slid off the couch, reaching for his phone under the coffee table and then he grabbed his jacket, his keys and his wallet from by the door before leaving the house.

What remained outside were the leftovers of a mild spring day and when Ronan climbed into the BMW, he threw his jacket onto the passenger seat and rolled the window down as he started the engine.

He considered texting Gansey to let him know he was running late, but then decided that arriving fashionably late without explanation would be more amusing. He needed some sort of amusement.

As he drove, he tried not to think about Kavinsky sitting where he sat, his hands resting on the steering wheel, his face alight despite the shadows beneath them.

He’s dead, he thought suddenly, aggressively. He was losing his mind if he thought he’d actually seen him and spoken to him and sat in the passenger seat while he drove his fucking car. But it had felt so real.

After his father’s death he’d attended some therapy sessions. He skipped most of them, but the ones he did go to left him feeling irritable and angry. He couldn’t give anyone reason to send him there again. Not Gansey, or Adam or Declan.

He circled the campus four times before he found a place to leave his car after deciding quickly that he didn’t want to park in the multistory again. He half jogged to Gansey’s place, but took his time up the path to the house so it wouldn’t look like he was in a rush now that he was half an hour late.

He knocked and mentally prepared himself for one of Gansey’s douche-y friends to open the door, but the reality was much worse.

“Hi,” Adam said without offering a smile, “hit traffic?”

Ronan tried not to stare wide-eyed and open-mouthed and quickly pulled himself together just enough to answer: “yeah, nightmare.”

Adam was wearing dark jeans and a brown leather jacket and his hair was the same as it had always been since Ronan had met him five years ago; a mess.

“Ronan!” Came Gansey’s voice suddenly and Adam stepped aside. His cheeks were pink and he was fastening a watch onto his wrist as he came down the stairs.

“Dick,” Ronan said in acknowledgment, trying to block Adam from his peripheral vision. It didn’t work.

“You’re late,” Gansey said, obviously flustered, “and Adam was early so that makes you even later.”

“Showing me up, Parrish,” Ronan said, glancing at him. He quickly regretted it though because Adam still wasn’t smiling.

Gansey pretended to ignore the awkward atmosphere and shooed them both out of the door before shouting goodbye to someone and locking up behind him.

They walked to the restaurant that Ronan had picked with Gansey in the middle who kept up a constant stream of conversation with Adam, but it took until they arrived and were sat in the window with drinks for it to dawn on Ronan that he’d actually missed hanging out with them like this.

Adam was smiling down at the draught beer Gansey had insisted they all order and Ronan knew he was in trouble. They were both talking to Gansey rather than to each other, but it felt like they were interacting and it felt good. It made a part of Ronan’s overactive and anxious brain go calm for a minute and he knew he’d grow completely attached all over again by the time the evening was over. This was a relapse, no matter what it looked like and Gansey, the self-righteous snake, was probably enjoying every second of it.

“So, how’s Henrietta?” Adam asked suddenly, his eyes turning to Ronan and staying there for the first time. It was strange to be addressed by him directly, even though Ronan had once spent nights under his constant and unwavering attention.

Ronan shrugged now, thinking of ways to lie while telling the truth. “Same as always,” he managed.

“And you?” Adam continued, “how are you?”

Ronan’s mouth was dry from the sudden focus of Adam’s eyes and he quickly took a sip of his drink, giving himself an excuse not to talk as he shrugged again and nodded.

Adam’s eyes skimmed over him and back to Gansey, clearly pissed off and Ronan wanted to apologise, but he didn’t.

“Speaking of Henrietta,” Gansey said with a smile, “this guy in one of my classes just got a new car. Guess what kind it is.”

“Go on,” Adam said.

Gansey glanced at Ronan, then back at Adam. “It’s a Mitsubishi Evolution. Ghost white with an engine that sounds like it’s perpetually fighting for it’s life. Ring any bells?”

“Oh, God,” Adam said with a laugh, shaking his head. “God, it’s been years since I’ve thought about Kavinsky.”

“I know,” Gansey agreed, “when Darren pulled up in it, I genuinely expected him to get out of it.”

Gansey looked at Ronan for his reaction and his smile faltered slightly. “Shit,” he said in a low voice, “sorry, Ronan, I wasn’t thinking.”

“What?” Ronan asked, irritated. “What are you apologising to me for?” He looked at Adam who was staring back at him and he knew they were both thinking about the same conversation they’d had over a year ago. Adam had asked what Ronan’s deal had been with Kavinsky. As always, Ronan got defensive and it quickly escalated into one of the worst arguments they’d ever had.

“Well, he was your friend,” Gansey said, cutting through Ronan’s thoughts in a way that insinuated it was what he felt he had to say, rather than what he wanted to say.

Ronan stared at him long enough to make him sweat a little before saying bluntly, “He wasn’t my friend.”

“Okay, fine,” Gansey said quickly, “that’s fine. I just didn’t want to- hey, it doesn’t matter, let’s talk about something else.”

He and Adam jumped straight into conversation again with ease, but Ronan’s thoughts were left behind, dragging their heels.

Part of him wanted to confide in them, while the other part screamed at him not to and he was much more familiar with fear and shame than sharing his feelings. He finished his beer quickly and went to the bar to get another round.

When the food came, he could barely stomach it. He’d been starving in the car all the way here, but now he didn’t feel like eating anything and Gansey kept giving him this look and he could feel his irritation growing with each passing second. He didn’t know if he could stand a basketball game afterwards. He didn’t even like basketball.

When they were done, Gansey paid for Ronan, and Adam paid for himself and they walked back to Gansey’s place to pick up his car. The pig, Gansey’s orange Camaro, was usually a comforting sight, but tonight all Ronan could think about was the reality of it. It was a dream object after all. He’d smashed the original car to pieces racing it and afterwards, he’d let Kavinsky take him to the Fairground where he’d given him pills to help him dream and taught him to be a thief from the backseat of his Mitsubishi.

The Camaro that stood before them today, the one that Adam and Gansey were climbing into before Ronan’s eyes, was a witness to what had happened that weekend. It knew that Ronan hadn’t been half as fucked up as he pretended to be.

He got in the passenger seat without saying a word and he tried to ignore the way Adam leaned between the seats, his knuckles brushing against his arm every now and then. Despite everything going on in Ronan’s head, he still wanted Adam badly. He knew that however casual the hand bumping against his arm seemed, Adam never did anything if it wasn’t deliberate. Ronan shifted in his seat so that he couldn’t reach him and stayed like that until they reached the indoor stadium just off campus.

The place was packed and they had to stop at least twelve times on the way in for Gansey to say hello to every single person he knew, and he knew everyone.

Once they found their seats, Ronan decided to go and get another drink and before he could disappear back into the stream of people slowly filling the place up, Adam offered to come with him. They fought their way against the tide of people to get back downstairs and Ronan’s stomach sunk when he saw the size of the queue.

“Fuck,” he muttered as they came to a halt at the back of the line.

“Huh?” Adam said, only half paying attention as he peered around over people’s heads.

“I said fuck,” Ronan repeated, louder so Adam couldn’t miss it and he turned to look at him.

“What’s your problem, Ronan?” He asked, frowning as he searched his face. “What did I do?”

“Do we have to do this now?” Ronan said in a low voice but he couldn’t meet Adam’s eye.

“Yeah, we do actually because if we don’t do it now, you’ll disappear again and go back to avoiding me,” Adam replied.

“What do you want me to say?” Ronan asked and they moved as the queue shuffled forwards.

“I just want an explanation. If you don’t wanna be with me, that’s fine. But tell me why.”

He had to look at him then to make sure he was being serious. He couldn’t imagine any universe out there where he didn’t want to be with Adam Parrish and yet here they were in this one where Adam was questioning it.

He knew he was being unfair and he knew he was sending mixed messages, but he tried to focus on why.

“It’s because I care about you,” he said, though it didn’t cover his reasoning by half.

Adam raised his eyebrows. “Disappearing and not returning my calls or my texts doesn’t sound like you care to me.”

“You don’t get it,” Ronan said, shaking his head, “there’s different pieces of your life. There’s your college life and there’s your Henrietta life and your college life is just more important than-”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me,” Adam interrupted and he sounded genuinely hurt, “you of all people.”

“No,” Ronan said quickly, “that’s not what I meant. It’s not- listen, I’m not explaining myself properly and it’s so fucking loud in here-”

Adam grabbed his arm then, cutting him off and led him through the crowd and back outside the way they’d come in. He let him go once they were out of earshot of the people smoking by the door.

“Explain yourself, then,” he demanded.

The wind had picked up now that night had fallen and Ronan wished he hadn’t left his jacket in the car as he stood on the verge of shivering, but the heat of Adam’s stare was just enough to keep him from it.

“I want you to be able to focus on school because I know how much all this means to you,“ he said simply and Adam didn’t speak so he carried on, “I’m too selfish for you. I wanted too much of your time so I decided that it would be better if I just took away the option.”

Adam was frowning again. “So what you’re saying is, you broke up with me for me?”

Ronan shrugged. “I guess kind of.”

Adam’s chin dropped to his chest and it took a moment for Ronan to realise he was laughing. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,”

“I’m glad someone finds it funny,” Ronan replied sarcastically.

“What, you don’t think it sounds stupid now you’ve said it out loud?” Adam asked.

“No, I don’t.”

Adam stopped smiling then. “Well I don’t think you have any right to make decisions like that for me,” he said.

“We argue a lot too,” Ronan added as if he hadn’t spoken.

“We argue about stupid things,” Adam said and his face softened again, “like me telling you to do your homework at Aglionby or like you breaking up with me because you think I need to concentrate more on mine.”

Ronan could feel himself caving fast and Adam took a step closer.

“I want to be with you,” he said, “Yeah, college is important, but it’s not everything and I like you.” He was smirking and it was one of the best things Ronan had ever seen but when he got close enough and leaned in to kiss him, Ronan stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Adam’s face fell. “What is it?”

“I’m just- I don’t think I’m in the right place to do this… at the moment.” He wanted to take it back as soon as it left his tongue.

“Why?” Adam asked and Ronan wondered how to say I see dead people without sounding like he’d lost his mind.

“I’ve been having nightmares again,” he said finally, it wasn’t a lie, “and my insomnia has just been, you know, it’s making me crazy.”

“You don’t need to shut me out when it gets like this,” Adam said, but he took a step back and Ronan was grateful. “I get it though.”

“Thanks,” Ronan said weakly.

Adam took a deep, audible breath. “Shall we go back in, then? Gansey’s probably worrying about us and the game’ll he starting any minute.”

“Yeah,” Ronan agreed, “yeah, you go ahead. I just need five minutes.”

Adam looked at him seriously. “Don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” Ronan assured him and he walked over to a low wall nearby. “I’m just gonna sit here.”

After Adam went back inside, Ronan’s mind buzzed and jolted with a thousand thoughts and feelings that all concluded in his chest, making it ache and he sat down heavily on the cold brick of the wall.

The last smoker went back inside and he watched them disappear and heard the door slam shut behind them. There should have been quiet then, but there was suddenly another sound that made every hair on Ronan’s body stand on end as a prickle of unease crawled up his spine. Someone was approaching down the grass bank behind him and he got to his feet and spun around, already knowing what he’d find.

“You and Parrish are really giving me a hard-on,” Kavinsky said. He sat down where Ronan had just been sitting and he smirked up at him. He still looked satisfyingly awful.

“What are you doing here?” Ronan asked, sounding more confident than he felt.

“Same as you,” Kavinsky said and be motioned towards the stadium, “oh wait, what are you doing here again? I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks to me like Parrish was trying to get in your panties and you shot him down because you’re too busy having wet dreams about me.”

“What the hell do you want?” Ronan demanded, ignoring him. “You tell me you want revenge on the whole world, then you show up here like my own personal poltergeist?”

“I just missed you, I guess,” Kavinsky said and his smile was sharp. There was something so unnervingly off about him that Ronan couldn’t put his finger on. “You told anyone about me?” He added.

“No,” Ronan said bluntly.

“You gonna go inside and watch the game then, or what?”

“Yeah.”

Kavinsky stared at him as he stood there unmoving. “Well?”

But Ronan’s legs wouldn’t allow him to walk away, not yet anyway. He felt glued to the spot as the pressure built up inside him. It was the guilt that had been eating him alive recently, alongside the fear.

“You know, if you need help,” he said, “I can try and find some for you.”

Kavinsky stared at him coldly, then his smirk reappeared. “You want to help me?”

Ronan exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re obviously not supposed to be here. You need to find rest.”

“Find rest? What the fuck, man?” Kavinsky demanded, but it was clear he was finding it amusing. “You think I deserve the all clear? I think you’re forgetting that I almost got your little brother blown up.”

Ronan’s stomach twisted. “Tell me why and how you got here and I’ll forgive you.”

Something flashed across Kavinsky’s face and then it was gone again. “I don’t need forgiveness.”

“I’m not stupid, you know,” Ronan said, “I haven’t just forgotten everything you said to me the night you died and I haven’t forgotten that weekend at the Fairground.”

Kavinsky definitely wasn’t smiling now. “You think I want your forgiveness because you’re some guy I wanted to fuck in high school?”

Ronan suppressed a flinch at the confession, even if it wasn’t all there. “We both know it was more than that, man,” he said, attempting to be delicate.

“You’re really not all that,” Kavinsky said and he got to his feet. “You don’t know anything about me, especially not now. You have no idea who I am and what I’m capable of.”

Ronan refused to be intimidated and held his ground. He could handle Kavinsky, he’d always been able to handle him. His thought processes and logic were often simple and single-minded.

“I’m not scared of you,” Ronan said, it was only partly true. “You’re just here to mess with me.”

A little smile crept over Kavinsky’s face. “And you’re secretly enjoying it. You miss me, Lynch, admit it.”

“I wish you were still alive sometimes,” Ronan said, shocked at his own honesty, “not for me though, for you, because I know things could’ve been different. No ones supposed to die at seventeen.”

“Why didn’t you save me, then?” Kavinsky asked and Ronan frowned and found his eyes on Kavinsky’s hands.

“You couldn’t be saved, because you wouldn’t let anyone in,” Ronan replied with a shrug, “you wanted me, but you didn’t want me close enough that I started to care. There was nothing I could have done.”

“Ronan!” Someone called from far off in the distance. Ronan blinked and turned to see Gansey walking over to him. He turned back to Kavinsky in panic, but Kavinsky was gone.

“What are you doing out here?” Gansey asked, a little out of breath as he reached him.

Ronan stared towards the wall and the grass bank that was covered in shadow feeling oddly shaken and disorientated. “Nothing,” he said, “I just… I think I’m gonna head home. I don’t really like basketball.”

“What’s wrong?” Gansey asked and he glanced warily over at the wall. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just-” he turned back to face him, “the ley lines, are they powerful enough to bring someone back from the dead?“

Ronan realised his mistake as soon as it left his mouth and Gansey cleared his throat and smiled, “obviously.”

“Shit, yeah,” Ronan said, “but I mean… say someone has been dead a long time, can you bring them back?”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking right now,” Gansey said, half amused, “you know I dedicated half my life to waking someone from the dead, right? But I guess it didn’t work exactly as planned, so maybe not, no. Why?”

“I’ve seen someone,” Ronan said.

“Someone who’s dead?” Gansey asked seriously and Ronan nodded.

“Who?”

“You’re gonna think I’ve lost it,” Ronan said and he tried to laugh.

“I won’t,” Gansey assured him.

“It happened first when I left your place last week and then again tonight, just now,” Ronan explained.

“Who was it?” Gansey asked. He sounded worried.

“Kavinsky,” Ronan said finally.

Gansey nodded his head as if that was completely normal but Ronan didn’t appreciate it. “Did you just see him or did you speak to him?”

“I spoke to him, both times,” Ronan answered.

“And what did he say?” Gansey probed.

Ronan shook his head. It felt too much like Gansey was trying to talk him down from some kind of manic episode, like he was trying to keep him talking about what had happened so he could better understand it.

“I don’t need you to believe me,” he snapped.

“I never said I didn’t,” Gansey replied evenly. “Just come and watch the game, it’ll distract you.”

“I’ve just told you I’ve stood here and spoken to Kavinsky who’s been dead for three years, and you want me to sit and watch basketball?” Ronan asked, incredulous.

“I just think it might help,” Gansey said which was enough to confirm that he didn’t believe him at all.

Ronan turned and walked away. Gansey called after him but he kept walking, confident in the fact that he wouldn’t follow him and ditch Adam.

He walked back to the campus and found his car, pulling his jacket on and turning up the heat when he got inside. He felt frozen to the core. He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel but he didn’t think he could face the Barns alone. He wasn’t usually scared of the dark, but he felt so uneasy and every cell in his body was on edge. He checked the backseat in the rearview mirror, then he looked at himself. He needed to shave and his eyes were rimmed in red and purple but he figured that that’s what you got for not looking in the mirror for a week.

He cut the engine again and got out, making his way back to Gansey’s place. He didn’t really want to be alone so he sat on the front step and waited for Gansey and Adam to come back. He didn’t have to wait long.

Gansey took them inside and Ronan sat at the breakfast bar and stared at his hands while they spoke in a low voices in the next room. He was reminded of a feeling he had after his father died when he was fifteen. Everybody wanted to talk about him, but not to him.

“Do you wanna stay here tonight?” Gansey asked and Ronan looked up to find him standing across from him. He hadn’t realised he was there. “Or Adam’s going back to his, you can go with him if you want?”

“Yeah, I’ll go with Parrish,” Ronan said and Gansey looked hurt for a split second, before it was covered by an encouraging smile.

“That okay?” Gansey asked over Ronan’s shoulder and he turned to find Adam in the doorway across the room.

“Yeah, course it is,” Adam answered.

“I don’t need babysitting,” Ronan said as he got to his feet, “I just don’t fancy going home tonight.” He didn’t see Adam and Gansey share a look as he left the room.

Adam had parked a few blocks away and they walked in awkward silence. Ronan couldn’t think of anything to say. He didn’t know how much Gansey had told him.

Adam’s little car was the same car Helen had given him when they were at Aglionby. Ronan used to tell him how embarrassed he was to be seen in it, but he didn’t care now and got in the passenger seat without a word. During the drive Adam asked Ronan if he was okay and Ronan apologised for ruining their evening but Adam assured him that he hadn’t. Ronan couldn’t stand liars.

To his relief, the little house that Adam shared was strangely comforting and no one was around so Ronan was able to get upstairs without having to talk to anyone. He hesitated in the hallway, unsure whether he should enter Adam’s room, but then Adam was behind him on the stairs and it seemed like enough of an invitation.

The room smelt distinctly of aftershave and Adam quickly crossed to the window to let some air in and then he cleared some books and a laptop off the bed.

“You can have my bed, I don’t mind, I usually fall asleep in the chair anyway,” Adam said, “it’s actually comfier than it looks.” He smiled and Ronan noticed that his cheeks were red.

“What are you on about?” Ronan asked, “your bed’s always been big enough for two.”

Adam stared at him. “You want me to- you wanna share the bed?”

Ronan raised his eyebrows as though Adam had been stupid to think otherwise. “Yeah, I do.”

Adam nodded and slipped his jacket off, hanging it on the back of the door and then he took three steps, closing the gap between himself and Ronan and he kissed him.

Ronan pulled away almost instantly, holding onto his arms to keep him still. He considered pushing him away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Fuck it,” he said and then he kissed him again and when he let go of Adam’s arms to instead touch the back of his neck and his hair, Adam’s hands moved and tugged his jacket from his shoulders. Ronan couldn’t get enough of his mouth and his touch and his warmth and he didn’t resist as Adam pushed him down onto the bed.

“Gansey told me,” Adam said between heavy kisses, his hands skating up and down Ronan’s body. “He told me what you saw.”

Ronan wrapped his arms around him, pulling him down on top of him and let his hands wander across the curve of his back and over his ass.

“Kavinsky,” Adam said, “he can’t have you.” He kissed his cheek, then his jaw, then his ear as he said, “he couldn’t back then and he sure as hell can’t now.”

“I don’t want him,” Ronan said breathlessly, turning his head to kiss Adam’s hair, “I never wanted him. But now he’s back and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Adam stopped kissing him then, raising himself up slightly so he could look him in the eye. “I knew something was wrong. There’s this pulse under the ground that seems to get faster and faster when bad things are happening and It’s pounding.”

“So you don’t think I’m just losing my mind?” Ronan asked.

Adam smiled down at him. “No, it’s bigger than that.”

“What do we do?” Ronan asked Adam’s lips, wishing he was kissing them rather than talking to them.

“I don’t know,” Adam said and he kissed Ronan’s bottom lip briefly, “but I know that we don’t have to do anything right now except this.”

Ronan grabbed the front of his shirt then and yanked him downwards, reaching up at the same time to meet his lips.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted and he could feel Adam’s smile. He hadn’t felt this whole in months and for the first night in a week, he let Adam’s heat melt Kavinsky from his mind completely.