#And then you blink and it's no longer March and is now almost June

[some-pers0n]

Executive dysfunction is evil because you'll be like "hey I really wanna do that thing I like and makes me happy :]" and then you Don't Do It and keep not doing it until the sun explodes

[saafhiree]

It's Easier Not to Ask

–unedited, private archive

I unlearned the shape of my own voice.

It wasn't a grand decision, really. Just a quiet retreat, like pulling my hand away before anyone noticed it was ever extended in the first place. I was hiding out, before any soul even sought (like there was any in the first place).

It began in October—perhaps?—when the world turned to rust and the wind carried the scent of partings.

Or maybe it was February. That hollow month, its frostbite masquerading as clarity. The cold didn’t numb, it hovered. My gloves wore thin at the fingertips. I became a thing of edges, all fractures and frost, a silhouette dissolving into the bruise-colored dusk.

Maybe it was March, June, or we were back to October again. Or maybe it was just another day that felt like winter. Y'know, the kind where the air tasted of words halted mid-saying or unsaid things. The sky stayed gray no matter how much light you pretend to carry—or how you pretend not to be.

I drank silence now, steeped like bitter tea—sipping it cold. I carried my wounds like hidden chondrosome, and those burdens even when they bruised my palms. Not because I craved solitude, but because proximity felt like a debt. I didn't want to give too much, lest someone felt the weight of having to return it. I didn't wanna ask because I feared the silence hanging after.

To be known is to be owed. And I refuse to be a ledger, a tally of needs.

When the storms come (and they always did), I let the rain soak my skin damp, relinquishing the shiver. Let lightning fissure the sky. I did not knock on doors. I did not name the tempest. Better to be the shadow that slipped through crevices than the hand that left fingerprints on someone’s pulse.

I did not let avarice stain the cuff of my sleeves.

Because, what if they say yes, and regret it?

What if I say too much, and become too much?

So I stayed just enough. Just light enough to lift myself. Just quiet enough not to echo in their minds when I left.

Then, it was May. The trees were full, the days longer, but I still walked lightly, afraid to leave footprints. I still packed my heart in small containers, sheltered with tight lid—easier to carry that way. Easier to lose without making a mess.

June arrived, lush and loud, all honeyed sunlight and swollen roses, suffocating saccharine-like warmth. But I was April’s ghost, the cruel thaw on winter's wake. I walked through meadows, wellsprings with a mouthful of frozen hearsay; my laughter a moth-eaten fabric, fraying at the seams.

There was a version of me which still knew aches—knees scraped raw from crawling towards warmth, throat burned from swallowing stay, stay, stay.

But I’d buried her deep beneath the roots of a dead oak in winter, down by the ermine's nest, ground swept clean by a ptarmigan's passing. Now, I was but a flicker in your periphery, the reflection that warped in the mirror when you blink.

Because it was easier to disappear gently than to be remembered as a burden.

September then. The earth rot sweetly, apples fermenting in the grass. I let the decay cling to me—a second skin. You might call it armor, I call it myself.

Ask me if I’m afraid (I always am).

But I’d folded my fear into origami cranes, let them migrate south without taking me. I'd made a home of the distance between here and almost.

Dread? I breathed it like oxygen, I metabolized it. Let the wildfire lick my ankles, let the floodwaters rise. I would not hand people my chaos like a grenade. I would not let them mistake my scars for an invitation.

December again. Or was it forever? Time blurred when you live in parentheses. The world celebrated in glitter and gasoline, but I was the static between murmurs, the unlit star amongst the lit ones.

You would search for me in the wrong places—in the warmth of a campfire, in the pulse of a crowded room. Don’t.

I was the shiver you couldn't name. The exit without a sound. A question folded into a paper boat—so small it cut my palms, set adrift on a pitch-black river.

It was easier to vanish than to explain why you were always already gone.

And now, it was May.

I knew I was far from home.

But at least I hadn’t made anyone carry me there.

If you wanted to, come closer. My palms, they were cut and battered. Yet any grimaces would be found absent on my face.

[anywherebuthere]

I had a dream about you last night || j.p.

James Potter x fem!reader

“Even when you’re gone, you are all that haunts my dreams.”

Wordcount: 1969

A/N: Happy (belated) birthday to the only man ever <33 I am illiterate, so I had a mental breakdown writing this <3 please enjoy!! special thanks to @anchoeritic and @gxtitobxby for supporting me via discord and for making fun of the time I got hit by a car :)) @skullsontess07​ I finally posted it pls don’t hurt me <33

Warnings: alcohol, allusions to sex, death, bad writing, especially towards the end. barely proofread because I don’t believe in mistakes <3 /j

Please do not repost this!! I do not consent to this piece of fiction being published on any other site besides tumblr unless it by my doing.

The ticking of the grandfather clock thrummed in James’ ears as he tipped back the empty bottle, the smell of whiskey heavy in the air. He leaned his head against the cold surface of the white plaster wall, scanning the textured ceiling with misty eyes. His home, still half furnished, was riddled with traces of something better forgotten. Even with the weight of alcohol on his breath, his mind is running with memories and daydreams of her. 

He closed his eyes, forcing the imagery away. In the distance, a train chugged on, its lone whistle echoing in the night, and James can’t help but be pulled into an uneasy slumber, memories still flashing through his mind like a broken film. 

-

“Prongs, you git! We’re going to miss the train if you don’t hurry your fat arse.” Remus shouted, frustration seeping into his humoured voice. 

“Relax Moony, we’ll be fine,” he replied, breath heaving slightly from sprinting across Platform 9¾, just narrowly having avoided knocking over an elderly witch. 

As the four boys approached the entrance of the cart, the train’s departing whistle blared. They boarded quickly, though not without receiving a glare from a crew member.

Hurrying down the corridor, the boys glanced through every compartment window, though each appeared to be full of giggling sixth years. That is, with the exception of one.

Near the back end of the Hogwarts Express, was, at last, an empty compartment save for a singular figure slumped against the window. With no other choice of seating, the gaggle of boys slipped in silently, Sirius and Remus snagging the seats opposite to the slumbering girl, their pinkies linked as they whispered conspiratorially amongst themselves. 

Peter, as adverse to the female race as ever, took the seat closest to the door, leaving James to be wedged between the mousy blonde and the stranger, careful not to bump her with his broad shoulders.

The train ride was filled with hushed whispers as the marauders discussed this year's prank for the welcoming feast, a customary tradition they held sacred, as to “start the year right.” 

As they began going over the mechanisms of their plan, they felt the train begin to swerve as it approached a sharp turn. The compartment shook slightly and James suddenly felt a weight on his right side.

He stiffened, glancing over to see that the girl’s head had lulled over from the compartment wall and onto his shoulder. James recognized her as a student in their year. Y/N, who had tutored Regulus the same day that James had helped Sirius prank him as petty revenge for a now long-forgotten argument. 

And well, perhaps James had wanted her to notice him for once. If so, it had been a successful endeavour as he remembered the way her face had contorted in anger, though her attention had remained just as elusive for the remainder of their fifth year. So… perhaps not so successful.

He flushed at the memory. She was now even prettier than the year prior.

“Oh? Is that a blush we see, Moony?” Sirius taunted, nudging Remus with his elbow as he snickered at James’ scowl.

“Bloody hell, piss off, will you? You’ll wake her–” 

He felt her suddenly stir beside him, brows creasing as though on the cusp of consciousness. 

James held his breath.

The moment passed as Y/N nudged her face further into the crook of his neck before settling back into a peaceful slumber.

Perhaps he wouldn’t need the prank to start the year right this time around. 

-

It seemed that sixth year would be a good one for James. 

In the early morning of a mid-March day, an unlikely scene unfolded between the shelves of Hogwarts’ library. There he sat beside a bleary Y/N, voice still drowsy with sleep as she read aloud a passage from the Herbology textbook perched between them.

Initially, James had detested the thought of having to wake up at such an ungodly hour for the sake of a project. No other time had fit, not with his Quidditch practices and her absurd number of tutoring sessions. 

Though now, as the early rays of sunrise filtered through the library’s mullioned windows onto her skin, James thinks that there is nowhere else he would rather be.

He thinks this moment will be ingrained in his mind forever. 

“–once a century, the Flutterby bush produces flowers able to attract the unwary.” she paused to yawn, eyebags evident as she turned to meet James’ gaze. She scrunched her nose and he swore he swooned at the very sight. “Are you even listening to me, Potter?”

“I’m always listening to you,” he replied, tilting his head. She grins in response and he notices just how beautiful it is. 

She shifted her gaze back to the textbook lying in their laps, picking up where she had left off.

“Its scent adapts–”

James leaned forward suddenly, capturing her lips in his. The book fell closed between them.

Immediately, almost though by instinct, Y/N reciprocates, moving her lips gently against his as her hand cups his cheek. James finds himself gripping that hand as his other wraps around her waist, finding the small of her back and pulling her impossibly close against him.

She tasted of cherry chapstick and peppermint bubblegum, and though there was nothing particularly special about those flavours, on her, James swears that he could drown in his intoxication alone. Her perfume wafts through the air, the scent causing him to groan against her mouth. 

When they separated at last, his head was swimming in euphoria, his expression dazed. Y/N blinked up at him, sleep wiped entirely from her expression.

“Its scent adapts itself during these times to attract said unwary.” she finishes, sounding breathless still, voice trailing off as James began to laugh hysterically.

She rolled her eyes, smiling sheepishly. 

When James still couldn’t stop laughing, Y/N gripped his haphazardly tied red and gold tie, using it to pull his soft lips against hers once more and he was sure in his mind that there would no one else for him.

-

Beneath a great oak tree in the courtyard lay two figures. Under the tree’s twisting branches, they hid in its cool shade from the sweltering afternoon sun. Few places aside from the castle offered shelter from June’s blistering heat and as the semester approached its end, they finally allowed themselves to rest in the gentle breeze. 

James was leaning against the thick trunk while Y/N’s head lay in his lap. His elbow was resting on her abdomen as she drew on his hand, doodling intricate flower designs alongside some… less desirable things.

He felt his heart swell with joy as her laughter filled the summer air and before he could catch himself, he blurted out the thought that had been weighing in the back of his mind since they had started dating.

“Do you ever think about your future?" 

He felt the scratch of her muggle pen slow, as though pausing in thought.

"I want to grow old and die surrounded with people I love, knowing I lived a long and fulfilling life. You know, typical boring stuff," she replied after a moment's consideration. Her eyes twinkled with more, though Y/N never indulged in half-thought-out plans. 

"What about you?" she questioned with the tip of her head. James didn’t need time to think about it. He had known his answer since that fateful September morning when she had slept on his shoulder throughout the entirety of the train ride.

"I don't care what my future is as long as you're there" he answers truthfully.

Y/N flushed, her ears heated. She looked away, the corners of her lips turning up in the barest hint of a smile.

James freed his hand from her loose grasp, hooking her chin to look back towards him before leaning in to kiss her.

Even after all these months, he relished in the taste of her lips. He doubts he’ll ever be able to get enough of the feeling.

He doubts he’ll ever be able to get enough of her.

-

The sun was setting in the west on a quiet evening, its golden rays shining on the slick skin of two lovers as they untangled themselves from the sheets, unable to hold in their laughter when one got his foot stuck in the knot of their crochet blanket. 

The air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and endorphins as Y/N laid back, her body still bare, not bothering to cover it.

James propped his elbow beside her head, careful not to press on her spread-out hair, his face filled with ecstasy and pure bliss. 

He will never get used to the sight of her in his bed, giggling as the sun reflected off her silky skin. The image of her underneath him is cemented in his mind, permanently lodged there as solid as concrete. He knows now with absolute certainty that there would be no one else for him. 

James’ smile widened further as he nudged his nose into the crook of her neck, leaning in to place a kiss there when his vision blurred.

It was no longer sunset. Rather, the two of them were now enveloped in the dark of night and James is certain he hears the echo of a familiar spell ring off in the distance.

He pulls away from Y/N’s neck. 

She was no longer shaking with laughter, but rather, writhing in pain. There were lacerations all across her torso and James felt something sticky underneath his hands.

They were laying in a pool of her blood.

Panic clawed at his throat and though he had never been averse to the sight of blood, yours was an exception. The taste of bile clung to his tongue. 

“No... No no no no no,” he whispered in disbelief. Swivelling his head, outside the window, he spots a cloaked figure wearing a mask of silver disapparate. 

“No!” 

Grasping for the wand strapped to his side, he murmurs a healing spell, gasping for breath when the wounds remain open. His head was spiralling as Y/N shook her head almost imperceptibly, grabbing at his wrist with a shaking hand.

Carved into her arm was the word “MUDBLOOD” and James felt his vision turn red, suddenly hyper-aware of the blood pumping through his veins.

“James…” she rasped. He gripped her shaking hand.

“Why isn’t it working? Why?” he cried, tears streaming down his face, struggling to breathe.

“Whatever our souls are made of,” she gasped, blood spurting out of her mouth. Her beautiful mouth, the one that tasted of cherries and peppermint, was covered in thick, crimson blood. “you and I are connected.” 

“No! Stop with this rubbish, you’re not going to die!” he sobbed, gripping her bloodied hand like a vice. She continued as though he hadn’t even spoken.

Perhaps she was too far gone to hear him.

“Wh-whatever is beyond this life,” violent ruby coated her mouth as she coughed, blood splattering onto her smooth skin. “Promise me, y-you’ll find me again.”

“I promise,” he cried, sobs racking through his body. 

But she was already gone.

-

James woke with a start, gasping for breath with the taste of blood and “promise” still coating his tongue. He was alone in a house built for two.

In his fitful sleep, he had knocked over the empty bottle of whiskey beside him.

She had hated whiskey.

Had. 

A fresh wave of misery washed over James, adding to the dull pain that never seemed to go away, throbbing through him as naturally as the blood in his veins. It wasn’t enough that she existed still within every corner of their shared home.

Even in his dreams, he is haunted by her memory.

ㄧ

@catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

[fruitcoops]

Hi, Eve

Rose here from yesterday, thank you very much for the Birthday message, I wasn't expecting you to read it let alone reply but I was looking for Coops kids Birthday fluff specifically. It doesn't matter if you don't have time however as I don't want to be a bother.

Hello Rose, and happy (belated) 20th birthday! Sorry for the wait--I really wanted to get this one right to celebrate such an important number. I hope your day was absolutely fantastic! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Stella is an OC

Combined with asks for Sirius lightly making fun of Remus' accent and Remus yelling at a game show (@nazar4114)

“Medusa!” Stella shouted with all the force in her thirteen-year-old lungs. Remus leaned forward on the couch. “Medusa!”

The front door opened with a creak. “I’m h—”

“Yes!” they cheered in unison as Nicole answered correctly. Remus turned and gave Stella a double high-five, feeling his heart squeeze at the vivid joy on her round face. “Good guess.”

“I knew she was gonna get it,” Stella said with a pump of her fist as she turned back to the show and folded her legs underneath her.

“Gonna,” a familiar deep voice mimicked from the doorway. Paper bags rustled before footsteps stopped behind the couch; Remus tilted his chin up without sparing a glance, and Sirius pressed a laugh-laced kiss to his cheek before dropping one on Stella’s head as well. “You sound too much like your dad.”

“Love you, too,” Remus said wryly.

“I’ll take ‘Myths and Moths’ for 400, please.” Nicole’s voice snapped his attention back to the screen, and Stella narrowed her eyes.

“Daily Double!” the automated voice announced. Stella gasped; Remus bit his lower lip. “This mythical shield was wielded by Athena, and is sometimes said to be made of goat skin.”

“Aegis,” Stella whispered, then raised her voice. “It’s the Aegis, Nicole. You know this.”

“We know you do,” Remus said, scooting forward. “You just guessed whose head is on it.”

Nicole’s buzzer went off with two seconds to spare. “What is the Aegis?”

“Hell yeah!” Stella whooped.

Remus turned to her and raised his eyebrows. “Excuse you.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you two going to do this the whole afternoon?” Sirius asked from the kitchen, obviously amused. “We might need to get the neighbors some noise-cancelling headphones.”

Stella blew a dark lock of hair out of her eyes as she flopped her head back. “It’s almost final Jeopardy, papa. We have, like, ten minutes.”

Sirius blinked at her, then shook his head. “I swear you two share genes.”

“Ope, you caught me,” Remus said over the noise of the commercial break. “When I was 20 and had literally never left Wisconsin, I went and had a secret kid in Maine who looks terribly like you just so that someone would watch Jeopardy reruns with me thirteen years later. Oops.”

“It’s the truth,” Stella said with great gravity. “I remember.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius muttered, though he couldn’t keep a smile down. He had never been able to hide around Stella, not once in the three years since they had adopted her. It was one of the things Remus loved most about him. “By the way, nobody under the age of fourteen is allowed in the kitchen for the next…hour. Ish.”

Stella squirmed around until she could rest her arms on the back of the couch. “What if I get thirsty?”

“I’m sure you can invoke birthday privileges and ask your dad to get something for you.”

“Birthday privileges?” Remus scoffed. “Nobody in this house has a birthday today. Yours was last month, and mine’s in March.”

“It’s my birthday,” Stella said.

“What? No, it’s not.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Your birthday is in June.”

“It’s today.”

“Or maybe July?”

“It’s today, in December, when there’s snow,” she insisted, throwing herself back against the pillows. “Come on, dad, that’s not funny anymore.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Is somebody too old to find their poor old dad amusing now? Can you go back to being twelve so somebody will laugh at my jokes again? I know, I know, we're super lame compared to all your friends’ parents—”

“So lame,” Sirius agreed from the kitchen.

“—but I like to think we get one more year of pre-teen cuteness before the teen angst takes over.”

Stella sat up again with a groan. Looking at her, Remus saw a mix of himself and Sirius that had always baffled him, considering they had adopted her comparatively late in her life; beneath it was something uniquely Stella. Maybe it was her double-jointed elbows, or the board-straightness of her hair next to their curls, but there was no mistaking that she was her own person through and through. He loved that about her. “I’m not going to be a terrible teenager.”

Sirius poked his head around the edge of the kitchen—his nose was adorned with a smudge of flour. “Can I record that for future use?”

“Non.”

“Ooo, using the French,” Remus hissed. “That transformation is already beginning.”

“It’s not like you were bad teenagers, right?” She settled upside-down on the couch with her flamingo-patterned socks high in the air.

“I almost convinced Grandma to let me dye my hair blue, but otherwise I was pretty good.”

“I was terrible,” Sirius laughed. “I didn’t talk to anybody for a solid three years.”

Stella frowned. “How? I think I’d die if I did that.”

“He’s stubborn,” Remus stage-whispered.

“I heard that.”

Stella suppressed her laughter as best she could, but she was about as good at hiding her emotions around them as Sirius was. She didn’t really giggle—the amount her voice had deepened over the past three years always gave Remus whiplash—but her laugh had the same cadence as it did the first day they heard it. While Stella had been quiet at first, it only took love and time to bring her out of her shell. Within a year she settled into their lives like she was always meant to be there.

A thoughtful look crossed her face. “This is my last year before high school.”

“Does it feel different?”

“Not really.” She paused, then shrugged. “And a little. I don’t feel older. It just feels like there’s stuff I won’t get to do anymore.”

“And a lot more you will get to do.” Sirius left his dishtowel on the counter before joining them on Stella’s other side. “You can drive soon, you’ll get a longer curfew, you get more freedom…”

“I guess.”

“What are you going to miss?” Remus asked as she toyed with the hem of her shirt. It was a basic Lions FAN jersey; he was fairly sure she bought it to be ironic. That, and she only wore one of theirs if she was upset with the other, or if one needed a boost at a game.

“I dunno.” A few beats of silence passed. “My classmates. My team. It feels like everything’s going to turn upside down.”

“You can still keep in touch with your friends, and I bet your team won’t be too different,” Sirius said quietly. “Even if it does, that doesn’t mean you have to give all of them up. People change in different ways. They come and go on their own time.”

“There’s going to be a lot of upside-downs over the next couple years, kid.” Remus offered her a smile. “But you’re going to be just fine.”

“You two sound like such dads right now.”

“This might shock you, but that’s because we are.”

The corner of her mouth tugged up and she lolled her head to the side to look at Sirius. “Is the cake done?”

“Fifteen more minutes.”

“Will you watch final Jeopardy with us?”

“What’s the category?”

“US Presidents.”

Sirius exhaled through his nose, but nodded. She grinned and turned herself upright to snuggle against his arm. “You just enjoy watching me lose.”

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

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Sirius called from the kitchen.

“On three,” Remus said, raising his phone camera. “One, two, three!”

“Happy birthday to you,” over a dozen voices sang. They were off-tempo and so out of key the composer was probably spinning in his grave, but Stella’s clear joy didn’t waver for a millisecond even as her cheeks reddened. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Stella, happy birthday to you!”

Finn, of course, dragged out the last note. So did Leo, Logan, Kasey, James, Lily, and Talker in varying degrees of awful harmony attempts. It was terrible, and beautiful. “Make a wish,” Sirius said softly as he set the cake down and stepped back. His eyes were the brightest quicksilver Remus had seen in many moons.

Stella closed her eyes, took a breath, and blew as hard as she could—the entire room erupted into cheers when all the candles went out. She was laughing and blushing at the same time when Remus turned the lights back on, though the humor won out in the end and she helped pass plates of cake to her many aunts and uncles. Like every year prior, Regulus managed to smear a bit of frosting on her chin, only to immediately deny it with great offense when she noticed. It was becoming a bit of a tradition—one that Remus never grew tired of.

I know what I would wish for, Remus thought as he looked around the table at their patchwork family. Celeste, Dumo, and his own parents had no doubt spoiled their first grandchild with ‘cusp of adulthood’ gifts, and Natalie and Lily would certainly steal her away after cake for some girl time. Finn and Logan would remain the fun uncles while Leo and Regulus kept their thrones as the cool uncles; Stella would interrogate Jules on the intricacies of high school for at least an hour before they destroyed everyone in a snowball fight. The world they built together had a place for everyone.

I would wish for this. This, for us, forever. It wasn’t a bad eternity to imagine.

[jamespotterthefirst]

Fake Husband (Ethan x F!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1,800+ Warning: Some adult language Premise: When they run into her ex, Ethan pretends to be married to her to spite him. Author’s Note: A silly fake husband fluff piece because I’m a sucker for that trope.

_____________________

The appreciation dinner that was supposed to include the whole diagnostics team quickly dwindled down to only Ethan and Lilac. Baz had a date and only stayed for the first course, Naveen followed suit minutes after, claiming to be too old to stay up past nine thirty, and June hadn't even replied to the invite. 

Briefly, Ethan wondered if the old doctor had planned it that way. Especially considering the knowing smile he directed at Ethan before his departure. 

Lilac met his eye, a teasing smile of her own at the ready. 

“If you wanted to touch me that badly, you could've just asked,” she said in a low, tempting whisper that made his pulse quicken. 

In a moment of delayed reaction, Ethan forgot his foot had brushed against hers under the dinner table more times than he cared to admit. And of course she was going to call him out on it. 

“If I'd wanted to touch you as badly as you claim, we'd be elsewhere.”

“Where would that be?” she returned without a single moment's hesitation. “Your bedroom or mine?”

God, she was good. 

Typically, Ethan would not allow their banter to get this explicit, but something was different that night. Or perhaps all it took to vanquish his conviction was her coquettish smile, the tantalizing glimmer of her bright eyes, and the almost indecent dress clinging to her. 

They were a long way away from innocent hand holding. 

“Ambitious of you to think we'd make it that far.”

She looked impressed for a split second. Before she could reply, however, her eyes fell on something over his shoulder. Her expression went from incredulity, to recognition, and finally to something on the cusp of panic in seconds. 

“We have to go,” she said when her eyes returned to him. 

Ethan glanced over his shoulder, noting nothing out of the ordinary in the crowded restaurant. Then again, the pretentiously dim lighting made it difficult to see properly. "Why?" 

Lilac didn't respond immediately. She seemed to be considering whether to tell him or not. “There's someone here I'd much rather avoid,” she allowed.

That explanation was too meek to warrant such a reaction. Ethan kept his face impassive. “Who?”

Defeated, she finally admitted, “My ex.” 

A beat. 

Whatever he had been expecting, it was not that. 

“He's sitting by the exit at the bar. The one in the dark turquoise suit,” Lilac explained, absentminded. 

Ethan almost rolled his eyes derisively at the phrase “dark turquoise suit.” Only pompous, self-centered assholes with a lot to prove wore unconventional colors to dinner. 

Before he could help himself, Ethan looked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse. A young man around Lilac's age casually sat at the bar, deep in conversation with a group of his peers, all wearing equally obnoxious suits. Even from a distance, he could see the strong jaw, straight nose, and gleaming smile that might have drawn her in once upon a time. It was somewhat disappointing that he was not hideous, like Ethan had hoped. 

“A doctor?” he asked, retroactively wondering why it mattered. 

“Lawyer,” she replied.

Even worse, he thought. 

“Please, Ethan,” she implored quietly. “I don't want him to see me. Things…” she trailed off and he could see a flicker of pain in her expression. “It did not end well.”

Ethan tried to hide his curiosity to spare her any more embarrassment. He failed spectacularly because she noticed and added, “I dated him for two years while finishing my undergrad. We were really serious until… he cheated.”

His jaw clenched on instinct. “I see.” 

“With my best friend at the time,” she added in a small voice. 

“Jesus,” he said reflexively, aware the single-word reaction was not enough. 

Her gaze dropped to her plate, looking almost ashamed. The sight sent a surge of vindictive anger through him. Ethan wanted nothing more than to march across the restaurant, grab him the lapels of his ostentatious suit, and make him hurt worse than the pain she currently exhibited. 

“Fine,” he consented instead. “Let’s get out of here. He's too busy talking to his lawyer friends. If we go now, he probably won't see you.”

Lilac looked like she could kiss him. After being informed that Naveen had paid the bill, they rose from their seats in a rush and made a beeline toward the exit. 

“Stay close,” Ethan murmured in her ear as they walked, careful to use his body to cover her from his view. 

They were so close to the exit that he could see her visibly relax. 

“Thank goodness you’re so tall,” she teased, a few feet from the exit. Growing more confident, she quickened her step slightly. 

“Lilac—” he started, unable to keep up with her pace. But before he could say more, he was intercepted by someone who had been sitting at the bar. 

“Dr. Ramsey?” An older doctor who used to work at Edenbrook greeted him. 

Ethan halted, his eyes trained on her back as she continued walking, unaware he was no longer behind her. At the same time, Turquoise Suit looked over his shoulder as she passed, recognizing her at once. 

“Lilac?” he asked, getting to his feet. “Lilac Allende is that you?” 

She froze mid stride. 

Meanwhile, the older doctor ranted to Ethan about owning a private practice, blissfully unaware that Ethan neither listened nor cared. 

“How you’ve been?” he heard him ask her, pulling her in for a hug. Lilac, too stunned to react, stood limp in his embrace. It lasted far longer than was necessary, his hands sliding along her sides indulgently. Ethan had the sudden urge to punch him. 

“How's Edenbrook?” Dr. Rosetti asked Ethan after his incessant chatter. “Heard Naveen's the chief.”

“Fine,” Ethan replied absently, eyes trained on Lilac. She was saying something, finally having recovered from her shock. She was far too gracious to give that prick the time of day. 

Turquoise nodded attentively, flashing her a seemingly charming smile. The ambiance of the restaurant combined with Dr. Rosetti's droning voice made it difficult for Ethan to hear them. He caught only snippets of what was said. 

“...a doctor now?” Turquoise was asking her. His hands were still on Lilac, a remnant of his embrace. “I’m really proud of you.”

Ethan’s hands clenched at his sides. 

Lilac took a small but polite step back, freeing herself from his grip. She replied something Ethan couldn’t hear. Even from afar, he could tell her ex was not listening, instead he covertly scanned the plunge of Lilac’s neckline. “You look great,” Ethan heard him say. “Time’s been good to you.”

That was the last straw. 

The nerve of this fucking guy. 

Ears ringing, Ethan marched toward them, not even bothering with a goodbye to poor Dr. Rosetti. Maybe he was acting on the sudden spike of adrenaline coursing through his body, or maybe his judgement was shot the second Turquoise smugly uttered the words “...we should go out for coffee some time”, but Ethan had decided what to say in the seconds it took him to reach them. 

It was reckless, and Lilac might deny it instantly, but the urge to help her while simultaneously wiping the superior smirk off his face clouded his judgement. 

Turquoise looked up as he approached, furrowing his brow quizzically. Lilac turned to meet his eyes and the relief he saw there was further motivation for what he was about to do next. 

Without stopping to think or even breathe lest he lose his nerve, Ethan wrapped an arm around her waist and gently pulled her in to place a tender kiss on her temple.

“Ready to go, love?” Ethan murmured. 

Lilac paused briefly in surprise, looking up to study his face which he hoped conveyed his intentions. It must have because her lips quivered with the effort of fighting back a smile. She relaxed into his touch, sliding her hand up his jacket to rest on his chest.

“Yes, but only if you carry me out,” she replied, fingers toying with his tie. It was entirely too distracting. “I ate way too much bread.”

“You always want me to carry you,” Ethan returned, feeling his ears grow hot. “Is that the only reason you married me?”

Might as well go all out on this Oscar-worthy performance. Her eyes met his at the word "married," her smile so radiant that something tugged at his chest. 

“Among other things,” she replied with a coy smile, raising herself on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Heart hammering against his chest, Ethan marveled at how easy it was for them. It was worth it, however, because Turquoise gaped at them, his expression comically dumbstruck. 

Lilac made a show of remembering he was there. “Oh, right," she said with a small shake of her head. "Ethan, this is Alex Rhodes. We went to UCLA together.” 

Her ex’s eyes darted to Lilac quickly, as if expecting her to add more of their history to the introduction. 

“Alex, this is Doctor Ethan Ramsey," she continued, gesturing towards Ethan. "My husband.”

Alex blinked repeatedly in astonishment. When he recovered, he looked at Ethan with renewed interest. “Ethan Ramsey?” he repeated. Looking at Lilac now, he added, “The author of that book you used to read so much?”

Lilac looked genuinely embarrassed at that. Her cheeks flushed in a way Ethan found too endearing. 

“Long time fan, Rookie?” he teased. 

"She would talk nonstop about you," Alex continued, still looking utterly bewildered. "You're the reason she worked so hard to go to med school." 

Ethan raised his eyebrows at her. She refused to meet his eye, blushing redder than he'd ever seen her. 

“I can't believe you met your idol,” Alex said, almost to himself. 

“Married him, too,” Ethan added. 

“We should really get going, babe,” Lilac interjected, shooting Ethan a pointed glare. 

He almost laughed.

Their mission was undeniably accomplished because by the time Lilac said a hasty goodbye to her ex, he looked unabashedly envious and ready to eat his heart out. 

Once in Ethan’s car, Lilac let out a loud snort of laughter. “That was the best thing that ever happened to me,” she professed, eyes bright with delight.

Ethan briefly glanced at her as he drove, a small smile of his own at his lips. The light from the passing street lamps rendered her face lovelier still. With a small ache, he wished it hadn’t been pretend. 

Lilac noticed his suddenly serious expression, a question already furrowing her brow.

Before she could ask, he forced a smile and taunted, “What did you ever see in that guy?”

It worked. Lilac rolled her eyes. “Shut up,” she said with another laugh. “Thanks for the save, by the way. I owe you.”

“The stupid look on his face was payment enough.”

“Do you think we fooled him?”

Ethan said nothing, keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead. He was convinced their fib has been successful, at least on his part. Much to his embarrassment, there was no concealing the utterly love struck way he felt when he looked at her in the restaurant, her hand resting on his chest as if it were second nature. There was no doubt it had been written all over his face for all of Boston to see.

Instead of incriminating himself, he said, “Lawyer boy looked angry, which means he bought it.” Ethan grimaced. “Again, you sure know how to pick 'em, Rookie.”

Lilac laughed, the sound almost giddy as a result of the adrenaline. Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan could see the way her gaze fixed on him. “My taste in men has gotten much more refined throughout the years, I assure you.”

________

Click Here for Part 2

________

Author’s Note: THANK YOU if you made it this far! Also, thank you for all the love and support on my last fics! 

 Sorry for the lack of originality in the title. I’ve been naming my fics after Billie Eilish or Harry Styles songs. I couldn’t think of one for this one so if you have something, let me know <3

Shout out to the people who helped me out with the pet name Ethan would used for MC, his wife! You guys are the best! 

Masterlist

_________

Tags: @openheart12​ | @ethandaddyramsey​ | @noboundariesplease​ | @silverlitskies​ | @the-soot-sprite | @infinitiestones | @emotionalswift2 | @flyawayboo |  @paulfwesley | @hatescapsicum​| @myusualnerdyself​ | @thatysn​ | @choicesyouplayandmore​ | @chasingrobbie​ | @trappedinfandoms​ |  @togetherwearerapture | @nooruleman​

(If I forgot anyone, please call me out)

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Unus Annus: A Complete Ranked List

well, now that every single video has been released, i’ve compiled them all into a complete ranked list, from best video to worst! this took way longer than it had any right to.  (also, please note this is just my opinion, and in all honesty, this list was really hard because so many of these videos are fantastic. you could tell me that you’d rearrange anything in the 50-250 range and i’d probably agree with you.) 

And if you don’t feel like going through the whole list, here’s Unus Annus ranked by month!

If the video is in: Top 50: 5 points 51 - 100: 4 points 101 - 150: 3 points 151 - 200: 2 points 201 - 250: 1 point 251 - 300: 0 points 300 or below: -1 point (Any ties settled by which month had the highest ranking video overall.)

November: 93 October: 72 December:70 September: 66 February: 66 August: 63 June: 60 January: 59 July: 53 May: 43 March: 37 April: 1

The Truth of Unus Annus (Oct. 31st)

Ethan Finally Becomes a MAN (Jan. 10th)

Phasmophobia in Real Life (Oct. 25th)

Mark and Ethan Attempt an Escape Room (Dec. 6th)

Hunting HeeHoo (Aug. 29th)

DIY Geriatric Simulator (Jan. 18th)

Recreating Every Single Unus Annus Video (Nov. 4th)

Mark Teaches Ethan to Read with Hooked On Phonics (Jun 6th)

Ethan Gives Mark a Viking Funeral (Dec. 9th)

Cooking with Sex Toys (Nov. 15th)

Mark Reviews the Impossible Burger But There’s a Looming Sense of Impending Doom (Dec. 13th)

Helium Therapy (Nov. 29th)

2 Truths and 1 Lie -- Waxing Edition (Nov. 26th)

Ethan Will Be Kicked in the Balls (Nov. 22nd)

Being Brutally Honest With Each Other (Nov. 3rd)

Would Chica Save Us From Drowning? (Jul. 24th)

Mark and Ethan are Now Fathers (Mar. 22)

Ethan Kidnapped Mark (Oct. 30th)

Mark’s Outdoor Escape Room (Aug. 28th)

The Unus Annus Last Supper (Nov. 2nd)

Mark and Ethan Go Casket Shopping (Jan. 11th)

The Sensory Overload Tank (Jan. 7th)

Mark and Ethan Summon a Ghost (Nov. 25th)

Mark Knows What Ethan Did… (Sep. 22nd)

Pee Sauna (Jun 17th)

We Made Nude Paintings of Each Other (Dec. 14th)

All of Our Video Ideas that Never Happened (Nov. 5th)

Mark Teaches Ethan How to March in a Marching Band (Sep. 4th)

Hiding Our Sins From Amy’s Holy Peepers (Jan. 2nd)

Our Perfect (and last) Valentine’s Day (Feb. 14th)

The Barrel - Official Music Video (Mar. 9th)

Edward Pumpkin Hands (Oct. 26th)

This Video Is Completely Unedited (Oct. 17th)

Ethan Teaches Mark How to Swim (Jun. 28th)

The Unus Annus Annual Sleepover (Nov. 12th)

Everything’s Legal if You’re Dead (Nov. 10th)

Harnessing Our Dogs’ Unlimited Energy (Dec. 23rd)

2 Grown Men Attempt the Presidential Fitness Test (Dec. 31st)

Learning to Breathe Underwater (Jan. 13th)

Playing Children’s Games in Total Darkness (Aug. 17th)

The Unus Annus Annual Costume Contest (Oct. 28th)

Saying Goodbye to All Our Guests (Nov. 9th)

We Got Pepper Sprayed (Mar. 10th)

The Cryptid Olympics (Oct. 24th)

Mark and Ethan Get Into a Fight (Mar. 8th)

Mark Punishes Ethan (Jan. 27th)

Ethan Watches as Mark Achieves the Impossible (Sep. 29th)

Drunk College Party Simulator (Feb. 15th)

God’s Fitness Test (Nov. 8th)

3 Big Boys Attempt the King’s Royal Fitness Test (Feb. 18th)

The Beginning of the End (Jul. 26th)

Mark Cooks Blindfolded While Ethan Guides Him Through FaceTime (May 22nd)

Pitching a Tent in the Woods But There’s a Bear 15 Feet Away (Aug. 22nd)

We Forced James Charles to Run a Military Obstacle Course (Mar. 23rd)

We Tried a Labor Pain Simulator (Mar. 20th)

The Bad Kind of Cupping (Nov. 20th)

Ethan Destroys Mark’s Van with a Bat (Dec. 7th)

Duct Tape Crucifixion (Amy, Please Don’t Watch This Video) (Dec. 29th)

A Bear Attacked Us in the Middle of the Night (Aug. 24th)

Mark and Ethan Look at a Puppy for 10 Minutes (Jul 7th)

Building the World’s First IKEA Boat (Jun 27th)

Goat Yoga (Feb. 22nd)

10 Strange Amazon Products Ethan Bought Mark Because He Doesn’t Know How To Spend Money Responsibly (Feb. 16th)

Top 10 Worst Things Your Friend Could Possibly Spend Their Money On (Feb 29th)

Fixing Mark’s Hole with Ramen But Every Time We Add Glue We Get 5% Closer to God (Jan. 14th)

Being Attacked By a Fully Trained Bodyguard Dog (Feb. 19th)

Preserving Ourselves in Wax (Dec. 26th)

Santa’s Mukbang (Drinking 1 Gallon of Eggnog) (Dec. 24th)

The Unus Annus Space Program (Jul 11th)

Ethan Explores Mark’s Haunted Basement (Dec. 17th)

Dummy THICC for Dummies | A Tale of Two Butts | Pushing Our Butts Even Further Beyond (Jul. 4th)

DIY Bungee Jump (please don’t try this) (Jan. 4th)

Unregulated Axe Throwing (Feb. 7th)

Making the Ultimate Unus Annus Burger (Sep. 15th)

How to Rescue a Cat from a Tree (Aug. 23rd)

Beer Sauna: Turning a Portable Sauna Into a Portable Hell (Mar. 16th)

The End of Unus Annus Is Almost Here… (May 15th)

We Accidentally Made an SCP While Amy Was Away (Sep. 13th)

We Play The Newlywed Game While Consuming That Which Will Kill the Other (May 23rd)

Building IKEA’s Hardest Piece of Furniture Without Instructions (Jun 18th)

Recharging Our Phones Using Only Brute Strength (Jul. 30th)

Eating Only Onions for 24 Hours: How Many Onions Does It Take to Kill a Man? (May 8th)

The Candy Bra Challenge (Jul 6th)

We Bought Every Grinch Costume on Ebay (Oct. 13th)

Only UNUS-es/ANNUS-es May Watch This Video (May 28th)

Only Watch From 2:25-6:11 --- DO NOT WATCH ANY OTHER PART OF THIS VIDEO (May 29th)

We Force Mark to Swim in the Ocean (HIS GREATEST FEAR) (Oct. 22nd)

Recreating The Miracle of Childbirth (Mar. 21st)

Making Our Own Sensory Deprivation Tank (Nov. 18th)

Turning Mark into an E-Boy (Feb. 2nd)

The First Annual Unus Annus Roast (Nov. 7th)

Reacting to Your Hilarious Green Screen Memes (Jun 5th)

The Ultimate Trolley Problem (Feb. 21st)

We Looked at Unus Annus Memes (Apr. 30th)

Exploring the Unus Annus Subreddit for Your Delicious Memes (May 16th)

BLACK LIVES MATTER: Resources and How You Can Help In The Description (Jun 2nd)

The Chubby Gummy Challenge (Dec. 4th)

Who Can Teach Their Dog a Trick the Fastest? (Mar. 5th)

Taped and Afraid (Dec. 20th)

We Played Strip Poker (May 20th)

Consuming the World’s Hottest Chip (Sep. 30th)

Mark and Ethan Learn About the Human Body (Jan. 26th)

1 Man 100 Accents (Dec. 1st)

Mark Steals Ethan’s Face (Jan. 15th)

Chickens Teach Us About Life and Death (Feb. 17th)

We Lubed Our Floor for a Sliding Competition (Aug. 3rd)

Mark Conquers His Fear of Night Swimming (Oct. 11th)

The Ultimate Paper Airplane Showdown (Jun 20th)

We Pierced Each Other’s Ears (Sep. 11th)

Crushing Watermelons Betwixt Our Mighty Thighs (Jun 3rd)

7 Minutes in Heaven | 7 Minutes in Hell (Nov. 11th)

Two Men in a Trench Coat Teach You How to Save Money at the Movies (Jun 26th)

Having an Adventure in VRChat Because We Can’t Go Outside (Mar. 27th)

Preparing a 5-Star Meal for Our YouTube Famous Dogs (Jul. 16th)

Mark and Ethan Shave Chica (Aug. 8th)

The Wubble (Aug. 7th)

How to Start a Fire (except don’t…) (Aug. 27th)

Unus Annus (Nov. 15th)

This Is Goodbye (Aug. 5th)

Puberty Simulator (Aug. 13th)

This Video Went Completely Out of Control (Oct. 1st)

This Video Will Never Make Sense (Sep. 23rd)

Blowing Our Souls into Some Hot Glass (Feb. 28th)

We Attempted to Create THICC Water (May 10th)

Brick Soccer (Sep. 19th)

Accepting the Truth (Nov. 1st)

Drinking Real THICC Water...How Bad Does It Taste? (May 19th)

How Far Can We Chuck a 16lbs Rock? (Sep. 10th)

Recreating Ourselves as a Cursed Mannequin (Jan. 8th)

Recreating Childhood Photos (Jun 13th)

Nutball: The Most Dangerous Game (Feb. 10th)

Mark Teaches Ethan How to Play the Trumpet (Aug. 1st)

How to Safely Bury Your Friend (Aug. 25th)

Mark Breaks His Nose on an Aerial Hoop (Oct. 4th)

DIY Bed of Nails: OH GOD, PLEASE DON’T EVER TRY THIS (Jul. 20th)

Pee Soda (Sep. 17th)

We Had to Drink Each Other’s Pee (Dec. 16th)

Creating Mark FISHbach (Jun 21st)

Making Our Own Gravestones to Prepare for Our Inevitable Demise (May 11th)

We Made Fanart for Each Other (Jun 11th)

Bear Trapping 101: An Elegant Knot for an Elegant Beast (Jun 25th)

Pressure Washing Our Sins Away (Oct. 21st)

Literally Finding a Needle in a Haystack (Oct. 8th)

We Ate Dog Treats so You Don’t Have To (Sept. 12th)

Giving Away Our 1,000,000 Subscriber Gold Play Button (Dec. 18th)

2 Idiots Get Crushed By 18-Ft Giant Snakes (Mar. 15th)

We Cryogenically Freeze Ourselves (Jan. 20th)

DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 2080 (May 27th)

Fighting Fish to the Death in the Deep Blue Sea (Oct. 23rd)

DIY Teeth (Jul. 17th)

We Attempt to Make UNHOLY Water (Sep. 24th)

We Attempt to Make Holy Water (Sep. 20th)

DIY Cheese (Jan. 29th)

Making an Indoor Tornado to Flex on Mother Nature (Feb. 9th)

Literally Eating Fire (Feb. 6th)

2 Absolute Beginners Experience the Dancing Glory that is Salsa (Jan. 17th)

Team Building for 2: Trust Fall, Tug-of-War, and More! (Aug. 26th)

The Great Ice Cream Cake Race (Sep. 27th)

The Unus Annus Confessional Booth (May 26th)

Blood Bath (Oct. 27th)

2 Dirty Boys Wash Their Filthy Mouths Out With Soap (Jun. 30th)

Who Can Make Themselves Taller? (Jan. 6th)

Mark and Ethan Share a Drink (Aug. 6th)

2 Adults Take a 4th Grade Math Test  (Sep. 6th)

Bobbing for Literally Anything But Apples (Oct. 16th)

Momiplier Teaches Self Defense (Aug. 15th)

The Human Mop (Jul. 21st)

We Attempt Pottery Without Amy’s Help (Sep. 8th)

Becoming One With the Horse (Jun 19th)

Wikifeet: A Tale of Two Tootsies (Apr. 4th)

We Found Websites That the World Forgot About (Apr. 11th)

1 Gallon of Jello Nearly Broke Us (Aug. 20th)

We Finally Drank Our DIY Wine (Sep. 5th)

We Do It Better Than Icarus Ever Could (Jul. 25th)

We Turned Our Bodies Into Art (Jan. 25th)

You Blink, You Lose (Dec. 30th)

Can You Bake a Cookie from Cookie Dough Ice Cream? (Jul. 13th)

Mark Turns Ethan into a Mummy to Prepare Him for the Great Beyond (Dec. 3rd)

Ethan Turns Mark Into a Werewolf (Oct. 29th)

Making Soda with Literally Anything But Soda (Sep. 16th)

Dunking Oreos in Literally Anything But Milk (Jul. 15th)

Making Snow Cones With Literally Anything But Normal Flavors (Sep. 7th)

How Many Slaps Does it Take to Cook a Chicken? (Sep. 2nd)

Play Doh Thanksgiving (Nov. 28th)

Hot Dog’d to Death (Nov. 17th)

Mark and Ethan Build a Scarecrow (Oct. 20th)

Transforming Mark into the Eighth Wonder of the World (Aug. 16th)

Unus Annus Try Pole Dancing (Jul 8th)

Mark Teaches Ethan to Wrestle (Sep. 28th)

Ethan Teaches Mark Gymnastics (Sep. 26th)

Who’s Cutting Onions in Here? (Nov. 6th)

How to Escape from a Hostage Situation (Jul. 18th)

Are We Already Dead? (Feb. 13th)

Bored? Press This Button (Apr. 27th)

Judging Your Terrible Unus Annus Ideas (Aug. 10th)

This is for FUN and NOT a Fetish (Oct. 10th)

This is What Being Tased Feels Like (Jan. 21st)

Learning the Ancient Art of Chinese Archery (Feb. 20th)

Tearing a Phone Book in Half With Our Huge Manly Hands (May 31st)

Beating Inanimate Objects to Death (Dec. 27th)

Edible Slime was a Mistake. (Feb. 23rd)

We Eat Bugs (Jan. 3rd)

Amy Sent Us a Mystery Box (Sep. 21st)

Hydro Dipping a Baby (Aug. 11th)

The Egg Smashing Game (Jul. 12th)

BEYBLADE NUTBALL (Sep. 14th)

Discussing the Idea of Murdering Each Other But It’s Just a Joke and Definitely Not Serious Haha (Feb. 12th)

Mark is Guilty. Ethan Has the Proof. (Jul 1st)

Learning How to Lockpick (FBI Please Don’t Watch) (Jun 22nd)

Mark Needs to Rub Ethan and Only His Mom Can Help Him (Mar. 14th)

Learning to Use the Force (Sep. 18th)

The Secret Unus Annus No-Touchy-Touchy Hand Shake (Apr. 25th)

We Google Each Other to Find Our Darkest Forgotten Sins (Apr. 6th)

Shooting Archery ON A HORSE (Oct. 6th)

Ethan Redefines Male Beauty (Feb. 3rd)

Ethan Roasts Mark for 15 Minutes Straight (Jun 7th)

Playing Cards: The World’s Deadliest Weapon (Aug. 2nd)

Morphing Our Bodies Into Superhero Poses (Jun 4th)

Becoming a Master of Mime (Feb. 11th)

This is the Most Dangerous Children’s Toy Ever Made (Jul. 23rd)

A Serious Conversation Under the Stars (Jul. 29th)

Is Mark a Masochist? (May 1st)

Literally Laying On Literal Broken Glass (Feb. 8th)

Bad, Bad Beans (Jan. 23rd)

DIY Wine (May 30th)

2 Men 200 Accents (Apr. 18th)

DIY Boob (May 24th)

Mark and Ethan Go On a Drum Date (Feb. 27th)

10 Miracle Products to Give YOU the Thiccest Jaw On Planet Earth (Jun. 29th)

Ultimate Horseshoes (Jul. 28th)

Mark and Ethan Get a Full Body Scan to See What Secrets Lay Hidden Within (and learn their body fat) (Mar. 13th)

Acupuncture is NOT Painful (Dec. 11th)

What the Hell is a Pink Trombone? (May 2nd)

Donating Toys to Charity w/ Jacksepticeye (Dec. 22nd)

Poopsie Sparkly Critters (a slime surprise…) (Nov. 27th)

The Great Meat Mistake (Dec. 10th)

DIY Minesweeper (Oct. 7th)

Popping Popcorn with a High Powered Laser (Aug. 12th)

Bobbing for Apples but the Water Keeps Getting Thiccer (Oct. 3rd)

We Buy a Professional Hypnosis Video and React to It (Dec. 5th)

Long Hair, Do We Dare? (Feb. 25th)

Recreating Mark’s Childhood (Jul. 2nd)

Professional Fire Cupping (Going Even Further Beyond) (Feb. 4th)

An Extremely Sour, Not-at-All Sour Meal (Feb. 5th)

Purging Our Sins with a Neti Pot (Nov. 16th)

Attempting to Build IKEA Furniture Without Instructions (Jun 9th)

The Annual Unus Annus Dunk Contest (Jul. 27th)

Our Fans Try to Scare Us With Their Homemade Creepypasta (Jun 12th)

There’s Something Horribly Wrong With This Picture… (June 8th)

Too Many Pickles (Aug. 21st)

5 Products to Grow Your Patchy Beard (Jul. 31st)

What is the Least Viewed Video on YouTube? (Apr. 10th)

Baby Hands Operation (Nov. 24th)

Mark Builds a Pillow Fort for the Very First Time (Apr. 2nd)

Are Reptilian Humanoids Living Among Us? (May 6th)

Mark and Ethan Bet Everything on a Wikipedia Race (Apr. 15th)

We Will Churn Thy Butter (Sep. 25th)

We Take a Lie Detector Test to Uncover Our Darkest Sins (Jan. 12th)

Drawing on Each Other’s Backs in Total Darkness (Oct. 9th)

Drawing Memes from Memory (Nov. 30th)

We Made Every YouTuber Battle in the Hunger Games (Apr. 5th)

Ultimate YouTuber Boxing Showdown (Mar. 30th)

Tasting Weird Food Combos: Pickles and Chocolate? Ice Cream and Soy Sauce? (Jul 10th)

How to NOT be the Perfect Boyfriend (Apr. 13th)

Help Us Break a YouTube World Record (Apr. 17th)

Momiplier Tells Us True Scary Stories from Korea (Oct. 18th)

DO NOT TRY THIS UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES (Aug. 9th)

The Most Dangerous Shave (Jun 23rd)

We Took the Polar Plunge (Jan. 1st)

2 Complete Amateurs Enter a Body Building Competition (Jun 1st)

Does This Magnetic Skincare Routine Really Work? (Jul. 19th)

Mark and Ethan Milk a Goat (Oct. 5th)

Pumpkin Spice “Challenge” (Oct. 19th)

Doing Each Other’s Makeup in the Dark (Nov. 23rd)

We’re Better Than Dogs (Aug. 18th)

We Have the Best Bellies on YouTube (May 25th)

The Good Kind of Cupping  (Nov. 19th)

Hacking the Very Fabric of the Universe (Jan. 30th)

Where in the World is Unus Annus? (Apr. 1st)

Mark and Ethan Become United States Citizens (Jun 10th)

Mark and Ethan Desperately Attempt to Feel Something (May 4th)

We Took an IQ Test (Jan. 9th)

Mark Teaches Ethan Korean (May 13th)

Lost Omegle Video (Mar. 31st)

Finding the Most Cursed Image on the Internet (Jun 15th)

Amazon Shopping for the Apocalypse (Mar. 28th)

Desperately Trying Not to Touch Our Faces (Mar. 24th)

Going on an Internet Scavenger Hunt (Mar. 26th)

Reading YOUR Scariest True Stories (Apr. 21st)

The Scariest True Stories on the Internet (Apr. 12th)

REAL Ghost Hunting At An Abandoned Zoo (March 2nd)

Bleachus Annus (Jul. 14th)

Pumpkin Taste Tier List (Oct. 14th)

Floating in a Real Sensory Deprivation Tank (Dec. 12th)

Was 2020 a Bad Year for Unus Annus? (Aug. 30th)

Speed Reading 1000+ WPM to Gain a Complete Understanding of All Human Knowledge (Apr. 9th)

We Give Each Other Tattoos Blindfolded (Mar. 11th)

Mark’s 1 Weird Talent Leaves Ethan Absolutely Speechless (Apr. 3rd)

Learning to Jump Higher in 16 Minutes and 16 Seconds (Oct. 15th)

You Breathe You Die (Jan.16th)

Breaking Glasses With Our Screams (Aug. 4th)

The 1000 High-Five Challenge (Oct. 2nd)

Becoming the World’s Greatest DJs (Mar. 4th)

Grip Strength Test: Loser Becomes the Winner’s Butler for a Day (Aug. 14th)

Forcibly Turning Mark into Santa Claus Against His Will (Dec. 25th)

We Smell Every Smell (Sep. 1st)

We Wrote a Hit Pop Song in 30 Minutes (Feb. 26th)

Unus Annus Carves the Roast Beast (Mar. 18th)

The Painful World of Aerial Skills (Oct. 12th)

The Koala Challenge: TikTok’s Intimate Couples Trend (Aug. 19th)

Ethan Traps Mark’s Soul in the Palm of His Hand (Jun 24th)

Will We Break the Boards...Or Will They Break Us? (Jun 14th)

DIY Chiropractor (Mar. 7th)

Mark Gives Ethan a HOT (stone) Massage (Aug. 31st)

We Bought a Camera That Can Look Inside Us (Mar. 3rd)

Can Plants Feel Pain? (Sep. 9th)

This is Hiding on Your Body RIGHT NOW. (Jul 9th)

Strange (and legal) Things You Can Do With Your Body After Death (Jan. 28th)

Like It Or Not...This is What The New Human Looks Like (May 7th)

Looking at Long Lost Memes (Jan. 31st)

We Played Mad Libs and Ran It Through Google Translate (Apr. 7th)

Running Internet Drama Through Google Translate (Apr. 24th)

Mark and Ethan Desperately Try to Name a Single State in the USA (Apr. 8th)

Professional Fetish Scientists Rank the Best/Worst Fetishes of 2020 (May 3rd)

Reddit 50/50: Two Player Edition (Mar. 25th)

Mark and Ethan Find the Lost City of El Dorado (Apr. 14th)

Using Google Maps to Find the Lost City of Atlantis (Apr. 20th)

We Hired a Real Hypnotherapist to Analyze Our Darkest Dreams (Jan. 24th)

2 Boys 2 Poops (Sep. 3rd)

This is How We’ll Die... (Jan. 19th)

Nutball Extreme: Taser Edition (Mar. 1st)

You Made Beautiful Music for The Barrel...But Only One Could Win (Dec. 15th)

Can Sound Therapy Heal All Wounds? (Jul. 22nd)

Middle School Science Experiment Teaches Us About Life and Death (Mar. 6th)

Reverse Engineering a Kite to Steal the Idea of Electricity from Benjamin Franklin (Jul 5th)

Ethan’s Relaxing and Totally Normal Nail Salon (Dec. 19th)

Mark and Ethan Take a Personality Test (Apr. 22nd)

An AI Generates Our Worst Nightmare (May 5th)

Learning to Cry on Command to Increase Our YouTube Views (Jun 16th)

How Big Can a Nuke Get? (May 17th)

Granting Access Into Heaven’s Sweet Gates (Feb. 24th)

We Put an Apple Watch in a Rock Tumbler (Jul. 3rd)

Whom Would Eat Whomst First in a Zombie Apocalypse? (Mar. 29th)

Bigfoot is Real and It Ate My Friend (May 14th)

What is the Most Painful Thing We’ve Ever Endured? (Dec. 21st)

Don’t Go In The Ocean....Ever. (Apr. 28th)

An AI Predicts How We’re Going to Die (Dec. 2nd)

Harnessing Our Yodeling Power to End The World As We Know It (May 21st)

The Creepiest Videos on YouTube (Apr. 16th)

What Does Astrology Say About Our Friendship? (Mar. 12th)

Discovering the Secret to Eternal Life (Feb. 1st)

What Happens When a YouTube Channel Dies? (Jan. 22nd)

5 Weird Apps That Predicted Our Death (Mar. 19th)

Emotional Pain vs. Physical Pain...Which is Worse? (Dec. 28th)

How Tall Can a Human Get?: An Impartial Review By 2 Average Height Men (May 12th)

Will AI Soon Take Over Humanity As We Know It? (Apr. 23rd)

Mark and Ethan Hunt the World’s Most Wanted Criminals (Mar. 17th)

The Illuminati...Do They Really Exist? (Apr. 19th)

We Explore the Most MYSTERIOUS Mysteries of Our Wildly Mysterious Mystery Moon of Mystery (Apr. 29th)

Two Male Men Judge Female Women On Their Beauty (Apr. 26th)

We Have the BEST Thumbnails on YouTube and No One Can Tell Us Otherwise (Jan. 5th)

How Much Caffeine Does It Take to Kill a Man? (May 18th)

There’s Still Hope… (Dec. 8th)

Unus Annus ASMR (May 9th)

The Worst Kind of Cupping (Nov. 21st)

[dadsbongos]

A Notice

Movie/Game/Show: Umbrella Academy Dynamic: Klaus Hargreeves/Reader Warnings: dead Reggie Summary: How did Klaus and his wife get together? ~~~

A note came back with her dog at noon on a fittingly sunny Sunday in late June.

(Y/n) held up the note to her face as she gently pat her plump dog’s side, sending Scratch off to the kitchen where he could pester her mother for lunch scraps. Her brows furrowed at how odd it seemed - words scribbled in a multitude of colorful markers ranging from bright red to murky brown.

“‘Your dog’s pretty fat, I’ll walk him for you if you want! For like two dollars anyway. Oh, this is your neighbor, Klaus, by the way!’”

She turned to the living room, where her little brother and father were watching television together, “Do we have a neighbor named Klaus?”

Her father hummed, squinting at the bright screen, “Those Hargreeves’ kids have wild names. Probably one of them,” he looked to the squirming four-year-old beside him with a wide grin, “Do you know, Owen?”

The small boy shook his head quickly, leaning his head into the man’s chest, eyes still stuck on the television. (Y/n) nodded, walking into the kitchen where her mother was cooking, “Do you know the Hargreeves? The kids’ names, I mean.”

“I believe there’s an Allison in there,” the woman murmured, still facing the stove, “Maybe a Ben… but I know one of them goes by Five. A little weird if you ask me but…” she trailed off.

“Oh,” (Y/n) pressed her lips into a thin line, “I’m gonna go over there and just check it out.”

“Why?”

There was no response, not when the tween was already at the front door shoving her shoes on. The woman shook her head with a light giggle, “Henry, your daughter’s going over to the neighbors!”

“Your daughter too, Miriam!”

That was all (Y/n) heard before she was rushing down the sidewalk towards the biggest house on the block. The biggest house in town, more likely. She pushed the gate open, cringing at how it creaked under her palm before coming up to the door. Clanging the heavy door knocker against the wood, she waited with the note in hand for someone to answer.

After a few seconds, a boy no older than she had answered. He quirked a brow at her before moving to slam the door, “We’re not buying anything.”

“Oh no, I’m not selling,” she instantly blurting, bringing the paper to his attention, “Does anyone named Klaus live here? He left this attached to my dog’s collar.”

He huffed, clearly disinterested in conversation as a whole, however, he gave her a tight-lipped smile and held up his index finger, “Just a moment.”

And promptly slammed the door shut in her face, she flinched at the rude move. (Y/n) blinked up at the manor, taking quick notice to how eerie it seemed from the outside - she wondered how the interior looked as well. A few seconds later, the comically large door opened, a new brunette boy peeking through.

“Hey, you got my note!” he pointed at the paper in her hands, “I’m glad it was you and not some weird old guy.”

“You… you didn’t know who it would be going to?”

Klaus looked to the sky, as if in thought, before shaking his head, “Not really.”

“Wow,” (Y/n) breathed out, placing a hand over her stomach, “I think that just took a few years off my lifespan.”

“Five says I have that effect on people,” he leaned on the wedged-open door, “So, do you need a dog walker or sitter or both?”

A note came back with her little brother at three in the afternoon on a rainy Tuesday in mid-March.

“Sissy?” Owen’s quiet voice called from the hallway, one hand clutching a crinkled piece of paper by his side while the other fiddled with pieces of his hair. 

(Y/n) looked over from her textbooks, no longer as invested in the Russian Empire of the seventeen hundreds as before. She spun around in her desk chair, giving her baby brother a sweet smile as he stepped into her room. Owen held up the paper, placing his rather sticky hands on his sister’s thighs, trying to hoist himself into her lap by himself.

She quietly chuckled before setting the parchment aside and picking the first-grader into her lap, cringing when she felt at his hands, “Oh, you mister, are going to have to wash those mitts.”

He whined, burying his face into the material of her nightshirt in protest to the mere idea of getting up and washing his hands.

“Fine, fine, not now,” she rubbed his small back, picking up the paper.

“‘You should come to our hangout spot, not the shack the other one. The secret one around midnight. This is your friend, Klaus, by the way.’”

Of course, it had to be the rickety old treehouse in the field by their neighborhood - at midnight. Let’s not forget midnight. (Y/n) huffed, pulling herself up by the splintering wooden planks acting as a ladder, though what worried her was the lack of Klaus-like noises. Usually, he would be eager to make his presence known to her whether it be by offering a hand or his loud, shrill giggles at whatever the ghosts were saying now.

Eventually, she managed her way up, finding Klaus sitting oddly still and silent. She reached for his shoulder, finding no pleasure in the way he flinched before whipping around to meet her. However, rather than a pale, cold corpse positioned to look like her friend, she was met with crooked, off-white teeth on full display. 

Klaus turned around, taking the girl’s hands in his, “I know I’m not the guy your parents would dream of you dating but- “

“Woah, woah,” she felt winded, looking to the side briefly, “Are you- are we?”

“(Y/n),” he breathed out, getting onto his knees in a mockery of a proposal, “will you do me the honors of taking you out on a date?”

A tiny giggle escaped from her, she pulled him down into a hug, “Yes, I’d love to.”

A note came back with her father at five in the afternoon on a cloudy Friday in early December.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Owen muttered, leaning against the fridge as his sister whisked eggs.

(Y/n) paused to glare at her little brother, “How does someone whisk eggs wrong?”

He gestured to her hands, “The way you’re doing it.”

The front door to her childhood home opened, the woman sighed, shaking her head, “Dad, I told you to let me know when you’re going out for a run! Scared me half to death when I couldn’t find you this morning.”

“Sorry, little lady,” Henry grinned down at his daughter, ruffling her hair before taking the bowl of raw eggs with one hand, “Your boyfriend asked me to give this to you.”

Another note. She took it with a quiet mumble of her gratitude, not understanding why her boyfriend of almost a decade - starting around fifteen years of age and still going strong into twenty-five - had to use a note rather than his phone to contact her. Though, she supposed the nostalgia was appreciated while they visited their home neighborhood.

“‘You should come by Griddy’s in like half an hour! You know, for old time’s sake. This is your boyfriend, Klaus, just so you know.’”

Klaus was a lot of things, spontaneous only scratching at the surface of that word bank. Of course, it was in the back of her mind that he’d invite his siblings, but she didn’t really expect it to happen. (Y/n) gave the four other Hargreeves a small wave before joining her beau at the smooth beige counter.

“I thought you guys only saw each other for funerals and weddings?” she murmured, tacking on a small laugh when it felt strange not to.

“Well,” Klaus reached into his coat pocket, “I suppose they make an exception for proposals now.”

“For what?” she gasped, watching, completely stunned, as he stood and took her hands in his own.

Klaus thrived off of attention, so it shouldn’t have baffled her that the eyes on them only encouraged his actions. He grinned wildly, not too unlike a maniac, “I always thought you were the foxiest little thing on the street ever since I saw you. Then, you became the sweetest little thing but now…” he let go of her only to open the velvet box and show off the ring inside, “I want you to be my every-little-thing.”

“Oh, sweetie,” (Y/n) cupped his cheeks, nodding, “Of course!”

The peeping adults, and some children who followed their parents’ example, gave over a round of applause. Agnes smiled at the newly engaged couple, making an announcement about a round of free donuts for the patrons. As it died down, Ben gave Klaus a pat on the back - well, the sentiment was appreciated even though his hand just went through the living man’s body.

He giggled, not willing to admit how nervous he truly was, “I didn’t think that’d work as well as it did.”

(Y/n) pulled his head closer to her lips, kissing his forehead before releasing him, “If there’s anyone I’d want to marry, it’d be you.”

Klaus brought up a hand to fiddle with the sleeve of his fiance’s shirt, a bad habit he partook in during occasional nervous fits, “Even if that anyone was an ex-junkie?”

“If I wanted to marry anyone,” she repeated, tone much firmer than before, “it’s you. Ex-junkie and all, babe.”

“That was just adorable,” Klaus snorted, leaving her sleeve in favor of watching Agnes come toward the family with plates of donuts in hand.

A note came back with her husband at eight at night on a rainy Saturday in late March.

(Y/n) was nestled into the couch of her and her husband’s home, with the heater broken there was little to nothing keeping out the creeping cold of March’s spring-winter amalgamation. The front door slammed open, alerting the woman until Klaus ran into the living room. He was holding up a torn-out article from the day’s newspaper, winded from rushing over to the house.

She stood, taking the paper before leading her poor, exhausted husband to the couch. Sitting beside Klaus, (Y/n) looked over the article while rubbing his back, “Oh my God…”

“I know!” Klaus wheezed, though despite the usually horrifying news he was smiling as if he’d just been told something uncontrollably amazing.

As awful as it was to say, (Y/n) didn’t feel bad about her upcoming disregard for her father-in-law’s life, “Do you think he left you anything?”

“‘SIR REGINALD HARGREEVES: DEAD!’”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” the woman murmured, stopping her husband from entering the manor, “I know he was an awful person and I just don’t want you to feel forced to come here.”

“I want to be here,” Klaus whispered, turning to his wife, eyes wide, “Gotta make sure the old man’s really dead!”

She chuckled, pushing the door open, “Wouldn’t you be able to see him?”

“Not sure,” he shook his head, looking around the main hall, “I think hell has delayed seance service, sweetheart.”

Just as (Y/n) went to make her own joke, a voice called out to them from the staircase, “Klaus, (Y/n), what a lovely surprise.”

Diego, of course, the little optimist that he was. (Y/n) gave her brother-in-law a tiny wave, “Good to see you as well, Diego.”

A warning came with her time-traveling brother-in-law.

“What- what- what do you mean?” (Y/n) shook her head, her hand intertwined with her husband’s, “The world can’t just end like that! Shouldn’t there be signs, like all the animals acting weird or extreme weather?”

Five paused, narrowing his eyes at his sister-in-law, “You know, it’s funny. I’m from the future, I can remember the tiniest details of my life before getting stuck, and I’m smarter than all of you combined but still…” he walked towards the woman, “I have no clue who you are or what you’re doing here.”

“Woah,” Klaus intervened, “don’t be so rude to your sister-in-law, little Five. She’s just trying to help.”

Of course, he knew that. Five remembered meeting her. He saw her. In the past, obviously, but in the future as well. He saw her there, in the rubble of the Umbrella Academy with her husband - dead. Eyes peeled open in horror, it was haunting to look at. To look at all of them, really.

Walking corpses stained into the individual wrinkles of his brain.

“Whatever,” Five huffed, turning to leave the room, “I don’t have time for this.”

Klaus came closer to his wife, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone, “I’m sorry about him.”

“Don’t be,” (Y/n) took his hand from her face, intertwining their fingers, “Assuming your brother isn’t coo-coo, he’s under a lot of stress.”

But there was no way he wasn’t crazy. The world couldn’t just end so abruptly, right?

Right? 

[troop-scoop]

Mistakes & Regrets XIV

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

Warnings: Swearing, 

• • •

The car was mostly quiet while you drove, except for the low 80’s hair bands playing over the radio that you didn’t care to change. Whenever you sat in this car you got a bit sad. But it was a kind of bittersweet sadness. SInce you learned to drive here in Hawkins.

Dad always promised that he’d teach you as soon as you turned sixteen, that he’d take you to get your permit, and be your emotional support when you took the driving test. 

Pa always said that he’d help you buy a Volkswagen. A kind of generational thing to him. His dad owned a Beetle as a broke kid in Connecticut, he owned the exact same year and model as you currently did. Except yours was preowned, and you knew with how he was raised, he bought it new. 

“We should have a tape.” 

It caught you off guard a little, being off on your own train of thought to remember the eighth grader who was in the seat next to you.

Turning your head to briefly look at Will, you looked back at the road. “What?” 

“Well I mean, you, Jonathan and me have all been hanging out together a lot when you’re not hanging out with Steve, we should have a cassette we play whenever we’re hanging out together.”

Sometimes it was hard to remember that Will was your dad. They were technically the same person, and yet, they were different. Your dad and you were as close as could be, a lot of people seemed to be closer to their moms growing up. But considering you didn’t have one you attached yourself to your dad. But Will was just a kid, who went through something terrible that was traumatizing, and it was hard to connect the two together. But you did realize that your little brother looked a lot like your dad when he was younger. The only difference being their eyes. With Will having hazel eyes and Danny having dark brown eyes. So, you often found yourself treating Will like you would Daniel. 

Will’s suggestion reminded you of the fact that you and Pa had made a playlist on Spotify for the trip to Hawkins. It had been a good idea, and you got suggestions from both your dad and Daniel, but now, it just made you remorseful. 

“Nevermind, it’s a bad idea-”

“What? No! It’s a good idea!” You rushed, looking back and forth from the road and back at Will. seeing the arcade sign in the distance. “Just make sure you put some Queen on there.” You added with an awkward smile, seeing Will’s face light up a bit. 

Pulling into the parking lot you found a spot by the door, seeing Mike, Dustin and Lucas all walking up to the bike rack right outside, and waving as a greeting to the two of you. 

“Okay, what are the rules?” You asked turning to Will as he reached down to the floorboard and pulled out your bag, handing it to you. 

“If we get separated, don’t walk or bike home, just ask to use the phone and call mom, and if anything happens to find you.”

You nodded, taking the bag from him, taking the keys out of the ignition. “Sweet, let’s go.” Opening the door of the driver’s side you got out of the car. 

Having grown up when places like arcades and movie rental places started going out of business, you never got to go to them. The first time you’d gone to the arcade with the boys, you stuck to Pac-Man, always being able to go on your chromebook at school and play it on the google browser. 

You had the high score on Pac-Man since March of that year, and when they got Tetris in late June, after it came out, you quickly took the high score of that game as well. Having had it on your phone since sixth grade, you knew how to play. Not even Dustin or Lucas could beat your scores. 

Giving the three other boys a smile you went inside, seeing Keith behind the counter, you walked over. “Hey, can you sneak me a drink?” 

Arcades didn’t technically sell food or drinks, they weren’t going to because of the games, and children being irresponsible. But Keith would sometimes hide a few sodas in a minifridge to sell them to the older kids and teens. 

“Two dollars.” He told you, leaning down to grab one from the minifridge while you pulled out a two dollar bill, briefly seeing the portrait of Thomas Jefferson while you exchanged it for the beverage. “Tell Robin that our section leader wants her to change seats-”

“Sorry, I don’t speak ‘band geek,’ bye.” You told him, opening the can of sprite while you made your way over to the Pac-Man machine, placing the can on the slanted control board, letting it lean on your abdomen to prevent it from falling on the ground. 

You played your game for what felt like a good thirty minutes, the map changing every time you beat it until you eventually died one too many times. 

Taking a sip from the aluminum can you sighed a bit hearing Will and his friend clamoring on the other side of the isle, at ‘Dragon’s Lair.’ before their voices fell silent, meaning that whoever had gone up to play it, died. But that was only for a second before you heard the faint cursing of Dustin. 

Smiling to yourself you pulled out a quarter from your back pocket, inserting it into the machine. 

Placing the drink down, you heard the unexpected sound of sliding, which made you panic, because you knew that the drink was about to fall. 

You acted quick, but the boy to your right acted quicker. He caught the can and looked up at you, he looked almost terrified that you seemed to notice his presence. 

He looked oddly familiar, he was a boy, with medium brown hair that was at an odd length, and he seemed disheveled. 

“Heh,” he laughed nervously, holding the can out to you. “Here you go.” He said. Taking the drink from him you saw how quickly he practically ran off. He couldn’t have been much younger than you. Maybe a year or two, if that. 

“Okay. . . that was weird.” You told yourself before the string of “No, no, no, no,” Came from behind you. Turning around you saw Dustin turning to Dig-Dug

“Who’s Madmax?” Dustin demanded of Keith, while you walked the meter or so over to the group. You wanted to say something related to Madmax: Fury Road, but you knew better at this point. 

Over a year spent in a time period where no one understood the references you made, you learned to usually not make the jokes or sarcastic references. 

“Better than you.” Keith responded, with a shrug. Both you and Dustin held up your middle finger to the highschool senior. 

Usually you were the mediator between him and the kids, and often times you wondered if that’s how it felt to be either one of your fathers who tried to stop you and your brother fighting with each other, or how Uncle Jonathan felt trying to get you and your youngest cousin, who was your age, to stop fighting whenever you all got together. 

“Is it you?” Will asked, holding up a hand and pointing at Keith. 

He scoffed and shook his head. “You know I despise Dig Dug.”

“Then who is it?”

You watched them converse with the older male while you held your soda, taking a small sip. 

“Yeah, spill it, Keith!” Dustin told him.

“You want information, then I need something in return.” Keith looked from Dustin to Mike, and you knew what he trying to get. 

“Gross, Keith.” You told him, grimacing.

“No, no, no! No way! You’re not getting a date with her!” 

“Mike, come on. Just get him the date.” Lucas reasoned while you glared at him. 

“Guys, she has a boyfriend.” You reminded them.

Mike nodded and pointed back at you. “That, and I’m not prostituting my sister!” Dustin and Lucas began to bicker with Mike while you and Keith began your own bickering. 

Sure, you were a lot like Will in many ways, but you were also a lot like your Pa in many others. Always being the one to try and prove someone else wrong, or just bickering for the fun of it. 

“You’re friends with Robin, Jonathan, Nancy and Harrington, yet you hang out with toddlers?” He tried to insult, while he took a cheeto from his bag. 

“Different hairstyles exist, Keith, you don’t have to try and copy Steve’s from last year.” You told him with a fake smile.

“Toddlers,” He said again, gesturing to the boys who were still bickering. 

You smiled a bit and pointed to your own two front teeth. “Cheeto dust.” You told him, before pointing at him.

Keith turned his attention back to Mike, Lucas and Dustin while you turned yours to Will upon feeling his shoulder brush against your arm while he moved past you. 

“Will, you okay?” It was a simple question, that would probably have a simple answer, with a complicated background to it. A complicated lie he wouldn’t ever say was one. But you blinked and suddenly everyone but Will was gone. 

“Do you see the-” He turned back around and his eyes landed on you, confused and worried. You looked at the front windows and saw the white particles that at first looked like snow, until a second longer and they reminded you of the Upside Down. 

The lights went out and you looked to the Pac-Man machine to your left, seeing the screen was on, but something big was covering most of it. The lights flickered on the machines, and the sound of electricity struggling to stay on had you stuck in one position. Which was your legs tensed and your hand clutching onto your soda while you stared at the screen, finally placing what it all was. 

There was a loud bang, which made you drop your drink and grab onto Will’s arm, pulling him back only to realize it was just the door that had swung open. 

“You see it too?” 

You nodded before taking small steps towards the door, keeping Will behind you while you walked outside. The sign still turned, but in the distance you could see clouds, which you didn’t remember from being in the Upside Down. It had always been too dark to see any sort of sky. 

The lightning was red and while you stared at the sky, you felt an uneasy feeling come that you hadn’t felt in a long time. The same chills that were sent down your spine the year before having you practically paralyzed in fear. 

You couldn’t quite put it into words, but it felt like all of those stories where you look into a certain spot in the woods that’s so dark you don’t know what’s there, but know there’s something, that you’re not just crazy, and it felt malevolent. Like it wanted to hurt people, but specifically, you. 

You felt someone grab your sleeve, and looking down, everything was normal again, with Mike and WIll right by your side. Will still looked scared, but Mike seemed confused and worried. “Y/n, you okay?”

You nodded a bit “Yeah, I’m fine.” You told him, taking one last look at the sky.

• • •

The woman hummed a gentle tune while writing something down in her notebook, a college textbook in front of her. 

“Y/n, don’t stalk me, just have a conversation.” She told you, turning her head to look up at you, her eyes the same as your own while she gestured to the seat across from her. 

You glanced over to the seat before sighing and walking over, taking a seat on the uncomfortable wooden chair. 

“You came here for a reason, what’s going on?” You shrugged a bit, crossing your arms on the table and leaning down to rest your chin on your forearm. “Sweetheart,” She reached out, a gentle hand on your exposed bicep, your pajamas consisting of a muscle shirt and ballet shorts. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me?”

You knew what you wanted to ask her, but you were nervous. “Did you know? That’d I end up like this? That’d I be like you?” 

Her face softened a bit and she shook her head, eyes downcast while she placed her pen down, giving you all of her attention. 

“No,” She answered. “I didn’t. I only knew when you were born. I felt it. And I’m so sorry, you don’t deserve this.”

Looking at the textbook in front of you both, you examined the picture that was upside down for you, seeing the diagram of the human skeleton.

Getting up from her seat she came over next to you. “You carry a burden, and so many people will try to use you as a weapon, because you have abilities that could destroy entire nations. People want to manipulate you.”

“You’ve told me.” You reminded her. “I saw the Upside Down.”

Her face fell as she kneeled down next to you. “You got back in?” 

“No. One moment I was safe, in the arcade, and the next, I was there. And there was a storm in the distance. The lightning was red, and I was frozen, in fear. It wanted to hurt me, I could feel it, it wanted me dead. Anne, I don’t what to do-”

“Miss L/n!” 

Your eyes snapped open, and you quickly wiped your nose of any blood looking up to see the entire class staring at you, while the principal stood by the door, and Mr. Haul pointed to the book “Before Mr. Olson takes you, can you tell me what the main message of Animal Farm is?” 

You gave a nervous chuckle. “Communism, bad?” It got a few laughs out of the class, while Mr. Haul scowled at you before jerking his head to the side to let you follow the principal out. 

In a rush you shoved your things into your bag and got up, going over to Mr. Olson. This happened once or twice every few months. 

The older man led you out of the class and down the hall, while you struggled to get your walkman out of your bag. Looking up you saw Steve coming out of the restroom, sunglasses on. “Jesus,” You shook your head a bit as you and the principal came closer to crossing paths with Steve. 

“Only blind people and assholes wear sunglasses inside, Steven.” You mumbled when you passed him. 

“Funny,” He mumbled back, hiding a grin from you while he walked back to his class, and you smiled as well when Mr. Olsen opened the front doors, where you saw Hopper waiting by his car. 

“Have a good afternoon, Miss L/n.” He told you  as you left the building, with you returning the sentiments.

When you were in the car, it was mostly quiet between the two of you. The music that came from the foam headphones drowning out the killing silence. You needed it. In the past year, silence always felt like it was trying to kill you. Lately everything felt like a death trap, and you felt like you were going crazy. 

“You gained a pound.” Owens informed when he walked in the room, where you sat, Hopper was to the left of the medical seat, while the stool Owens usually sat at was to your left. “That’s good news.” He added, placing the clipboard on the table.

You hummed a bit. You were slowly but surely getting back to the weight you should be at, from a month of being starved and dehydrated from the Upside Down. It fluctuated for a long time, being so one moment you were on the right track and the next, you were under the original weight you had been at when ending up in Hawkins. 

“How has your medication been working out?” 

“It’s been fine.” You stopped taking them six months ago, and currently had a small box of plastic pill bottles that you used for noise when you forgot batteries for your walkman. 

“That’s good.” Owens commented. “Are you doing anything for Halloween? I know Will is going trick or treating.”

“Probably just gonna be home watching Halloween and handing out candy.” You shrugged a bit, feeling uncomfortable under the eyes of the nurse, Hopper and Owens. 

“No parties?”

“And get ‘sheet faced?’” You quoted the party invitation Nancy had showed you when she tried to convince you and Jonathan to go. “No thanks.” 

Owens chuckled a bit, and Hopper put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Looking up at the Chief, he gave a tight lipped smile, showing he was just as uncomfortable as you were. 

“Okay, let’s talk about this episode you and Will said you had.”

You nodded a bit, knowing that all Owens would do was come up with a stupid excuse as to why you and Will had the same experience that you both nervously talked about on the car ride back to his home. 

“I. . . I took Will to the arcade so he could spend time with his friends, and so I could a game or two. His friends and I got into an argument with someone who worked there, and then I felt Will move past me. . . One second we were in the arcade, and then everyone was gone, then we were. . . back in the Upside Down.” You told him. 

“Okay, what happened next?”

“The door. . . it was flung open, and we walked outside. I kept Will behind me, and when there was a storm brewing. And it was straight out of a comic book, the clouds were dark, and then there was red lightning, I felt. . . I felt. . .” 

“What did you feel?”

“Like I was in danger. Like there was something staring back at me. Something evil, that has no. . . human emotions. It’s like when you’re a kid, you just watched a scary movie like Paranormal Activity or something, and you feel like there’s something in your room when you’re trying to sleep. You feel like something’s there with you. It wanted me dead.”

“The evil?”

You nodded and looked up at him, feeling the parts taped your head shift a little under the tape. “Yeah. It wasn’t like it wanted everyone dead though. It wanted me dead.”

• • •

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[my-oh-my]

silver bullets and red roses: chapter four

hi! here's chapter four and all my love <3

Warnings: PTSD, weaponry, death, murder, dirty straight white men again, framed suicide

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Alex finally returns home and Rose has been bit by the love bug

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masterlist

Night fell hastily upon Cherrywood Lane, the Sun eager to hide whilst the moon watched over the neighbours who began to settle down for the night, tucking their children and then themselves into bed. It was the stars that shone the most that night in June, sparkling and dancing along with each other in celebration and love.

After docking Pegasus, the men marched onto a train bound to Surrey, apart from Alex. Joseph insisted on driving him home with himself and Rose, who also encouraged the exhausted, downcast young man. The drive home was silent, Alex being asleep – his head rested on his shoulder as he breathed steady breaths, at peace. Rose caught a glance of him in the back from the passenger seat and grinned at the sight. It was not until they had made the turn into Cherrywood Lane that Rose had noticed from the corner of her eye Alex had awaken – his eyes blinking rapidly trying to remember what had happened, where he was.

The slow squeak of the breaks indicated that they were indeed home, much to Alex’s astonishment. Rose opened her door, stepping delicately onto the paved foot path before walking over to Alex’s side – who had now shakily got out of the car.

When Rose had returned home, the most daunting thing for her was if she was ever going to be the same again. She wondered if stepping through the doors of home would be the same as coming home after a day at the library or maybe a stay at a friend’s house, or if it would be like walking into a strangers home – of someone she had known lifetimes ago.

“Are you ok?” Rose asked quietly to Alex, looking at him through her long eyelashes. He had dried off now, hair no longer a wet mess of curls, his skin no longer soaked with water, but rather just stained with oil. The stitch was still apparent on his cheekbone, along with the cut – it would be for a few days.

“’m not really sure how to answer that question” he replied, expressionless, staring at his home, where his parents were. “You don’t need to, all you need to do is walk through that door” she encouraged, pointing her pointer finger towards his front door. “Why is this so difficult?” he questioned himself, eyebrows furrowing but his eyes never leaving the white door with the numbers ’34’ plated in gold, nailed to the centre. “Because its what you’ve wanted for so long, and now you have it – it doesn’t feel real” Rose studied his face, noticing all his freckles and slight wrinkles by his eyes. “But it is. Your home is here, your family is too.” she continued, Alex’s gaze averting to her eyes, to gain sense of what she is saying. “All you have to do is walk through that bloody door” she smiled softly, Alex taking a deep breath before turning towards his home and walking up to the door.

Rose laced her fingers together in front of her, watching as he brought the back of his hand up to the door, his knuckles tapping it. Knock, knock, kn-. The third knock was cut off by the door opening abruptly. Alex’s fist was still in the air as it opened, his mother staring at him from the other side of that bloody door. She brought her hands up to her mouth in shock as Alex brought his hand down – unsure of how to comfort his mother who was now crying. Before he could do anything else, Mrs Harrington had wrapped him in a tight hug, not fussed about getting her good dressing gown ruined by the grime on his uniform. “My boy! My boy is home!” she shouted, Alex now hugging her back with just as much strength. Rose watched on with a smile as Mr Harrington came into view, Mrs Harrington standing back as he hugged Alex too – hitting him on the back a few times.

Rose glanced over at the hugging family once more before making her way into her own home, heels clicking on the pavement. “Rose! Rose my dear!” Rose stopped in her tracks looking over at the house next door. Mrs Harrington was running over to her, the slippers on her feet almost falling off on the pavement before engulfing Rose in a kind, grateful hug to which Rose returned almost immediately. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing my boy back. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She spoke into Rose’s ear, her tears dampening Rose’s blouse, “Don’t thank me, Mrs Harrington, thank Alex for surviving” Rose replied, pulling away from the hug with a sympathetic smile. Mrs Harrington placed a hand on Rose’s cheek, smiling greatly, before running back over to her house and engulfing Alex in another hug.

Rose looked on once more, watching as Alex looked up at her whilst still hugging his hysterical mother. She watched as he smiled at her – a real smile. It complimented his face beautifully, dimples pointing into both cheeks and wrinkles gathering slightly by his eyes. Rose smiled back before turning back gracefully to her home, walking up the porch and opening her door, to her home. “Oh Rose, oh dear, I thank the Lord you’re home in one piece, my goodness” It was now Rose’s turn to be suffocated with her mother’s love, Rose wrapping her mum in a tight hug as she smelled the scent of her perfume – home.

Doreen Edwards was the perfect woman. She was independent, yes, but she was also the ideal 1940s housewife. She cooked, she cleaned, she looked after the children, but she was also one of the only female doctors in World War I. There were no two doubts about her, before you could even think of a question she answered it, she had wits – wits which Rose had adopted from her genes. Joseph often said that they had the “same brain, just in different bodies”, the two being so alike.

“Goodness, you’re freezing” Doreen said worriedly, breaking out of the hug and rubbing Rose’s clothed arms to warm her up, “Do you want a cup of tea to warm you up?” Doreen asked, rushing over to the kitchen, placing the kettle under the tap and letting water fill it up. “I’m fine as I am Mum, I’m just going to have a shower and head to sleep.” Rose politely called out, slipping her shoes off her aching feet at the entrance. She walked over to her father, who was sitting at his armchair, drinking a bourbon to wind down after the day’s events. Rose delicately placed a kiss on his cheek – cautious as to whether or not he had recovered from the trauma the day had brought up. “Goodnight Dad” she whispered, pulling away from the arm chair, “Goodnight my girl” he farewelled with a small forced grin, which Rose returned.

She then made her way to the kitchen, where her mother was making herself a cup of tea. “Goodnight Mum” she said, placing a kiss on her cheek as well as Doreen stirred her tea. “Goodnight Rose,” she replied, turning around to face her daughter, “call out to me if you need me, ok?” Doreen grabbed onto Rose’s hand comfortingly, wanting to know that she was here for her and that she knew how today may have affected her psyche. Rose smiled softly and nodded, placing another delicate kiss on her mother’s cheek out of gratitude.

It had almost felt heavenly to have a shower after a long day. Rose was certain that there was nothing better than rinsing out the smell of oil, grime, saltwater and the touch of a man down off and replacing it with the smell of rose and lavender soap which made her skin soft to the touch.

The day’s events she wished to forget seemed to leave with the dirty water and down the drain, though she knew she would be tossing and turning all night in her bed about them.

Though the ones she wished to keep in her mind did so, much like the fragrance of her soap. She replayed the way that Alex’s face had looked in the sun on the lower deck as he stood up for her, how soft his skin felt against her own as she touched his cheek, how peaceful he seemed in his sleep and his heart-warming smile he had given her only moments ago. She wished to remember Alex, though it seemed foolish. She had spent years living next to him, rarely acknowledging his existence, she didn’t understand why she felt this way. She shook her head, turning off the water.

Rose sat in front of her vanity, brushing her clean and dry hair as she looked in the mirror – the way that her hair had looked as she brushed it. It had certainly grown over the past few months, the shiny luscious blonde strands just reaching past her rounded breasts which were covered by her long, pink silk nightgown. Her eyes flickered from her hair to her face. Her pale, clear skin adorned a light blush over her cheeks, she had strong brown eyebrows, an upturned nose and full lips. She knew that she conformed to the ideal woman, so many men had told her, so many women told them how jealous they were of her. But to her beauty wasn’t was what mattered, it was what was hidden within the outer – the soul, the heart and the mind. That didn’t change the views of the rest of the world, beauty becoming her greatest weapon.

Rose strutted slowly, her dress swaying with each step against her legs. She made her way into a large enclosed tent which had been set up as a makeshift office for the commander, Arnold Schober. She knew that he was a key player in the battle of Dunkirk, but not the most important – which was a crucial detail for what she needed to do. He would have the information, yes, but it would not be detrimental for the Nazis if he was gone, she thought to herself, fixing her hair to make her seem more enticing.

“Hallo?” she called out innocently, “Kommandant? (Commander?)” she questioned, walking into the room which was thick with the scent of cigars – the scent choking her nostrils slightly. “Was ist es (What is it?)” Rose stood in front of his desk – her hands intertwined her back – pushing her breasts out slightly. He sat writing on a piece of paper, scribbles which Rose could not read from upside down. She stared at the back of his bald and greying head and sighed slightly.

The commander looked up – opening his eyes a little wider before straightening himself up before clearing his throat slightly. “Was kann ich für dich tun, junge Dame? (What can I do for you, young lady?)” He asked, a slight smirk toying grossly at his lips. Rose began to walk slowly – approaching his desk. “Ich habe einen schrecklichen Tag (I am having a dreadful day)” she spoke – putting a pout on her lips. She placed her hands on his desk – making sure he could see her cleavage to entice him further. “Mein Mann schrieb in einem Brief, dass er mich nicht mehr liebte (my husband wrote in a letter that he does not love me anymore)” she sighed, her fingers running along a groove in the wood.

“Wie konnte ein Mann dich nicht lieben? (How could a man not love you?)” The commander choked out – his fat cheeks turning slightly red. Rose looked up at him with a grin, before walking around his desk slowly and sitting on his side. “Findest du mich schön, Commander? (Do you think I’m beautiful, Commander?)” she asked to which he nodded his head greatly, “Ja, eine der schönsten jungen Frauen, die ich je gesehen habe (Yes, one of the most beautiful young women I have ever seen)” He spoke quickly – desperation in his voice as he leaned back in his chair, placing a dirty hand on Rose’s thigh.

“Kannst du mir zeigen, wie schön ich bin? (Can you show me how beautiful I am?)” Rose whispered innocently, drawing her white dress up her legs slightly. The Commander looked on in lust, his eyes never straying from the tempting skin.

Rose felt her heart thud in her heart, knowing what was going to happen next. She continued to bring up her dress, smiling flirtatiously at the man. He began to trace his finger up her thigh, “ich kann dir zeigen (I can show you)” He agreed, sitting further in his chair. Just as he was about to reach her garter, Rose pulled her revolver out of her garter from the other thigh hastily. He sat back into his chair in shock.

Before Rose could give any second thought, before she could give any mercy, before the Nazis would come in from the alerts given to them by the Commander’s mouth – she loaded the gun and pulled the trigger into the side of the fat German man’s head. The bang from the gun rung in her ears for a while – it was much louder than the gunshots just outside the tent.

Blood began to pour out of the man’s head, dripping onto the grassy floor – his forehead now on the desk. Rose breathed quickly, placing the gun into the man’s limp hand and placing that too on the desk. She had been armed with the pistols which the Nazis had used to cover her tracks as a Brit. Her heart began to speed up – adrenaline coursing through her veins as she gathered all the notes which had been scattered along his desk. She manages to grab an armful of pieces of paper, maps and photographs which she tucked into the secret pocket she had fashioned in the back of her apron.

Rose glanced at the dead Nazi once more, not feeling an ounce of regret – which made her hate herself. She quickly rushed out of the tent – cautiously looking around before running. The S.O.E had told her of a safe house only a kilometre away from the Nazi trenches – where she could sit in fear – feeling anything but safe until they could get her on a boat and send her back to home. Home she thought, her feet still moving quickly against the ground, Oh how I want to be home.

She placed her brush on her vanity surface before standing up, walking over to her window. She shut her casement window, the long white curtains halting their flow with the breeze. Rose looked over at the window opposite her, noticing that a figure was standing behind their own window. Rose tilted her head so she could see clearly through a pane in the window, she needed only to see the eyes dazzle in the moonlight to know that it was Alex.

Alex quickly averted his gaze, noticing that she had caught him looking at her. Rose looked back at him with a small smile perched upon her lips as he glanced back up at her. Alex smiled along with her, as they stared at each other for a moment or two. He had cleaned himself up, his skin completely clean of oil and dirt, his hair once again a beautiful wet mess. My oh my, I don’t think I have ever seen such a handsome man, Rose thought to herself – making herself blush at the thought. “Goodnight Alex” Rose mouthed through the window, smiling a little wider. “Goodnight Rose” he had mouthed back, making Rose’s blush deepen into a darker pink as she stared at his smile. She forced herself to close her curtains, not taking her gaze off him until they were completely shut.

Rose’s smile became a much larger toothy one as she turned around to face her bed, Please Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream of Alex.

[minervahopebeyond]

Blood Daffodils.

Chapter 11: Her. (Part 1/2)

Theodore:

I think that I’m finally dying... Don’t get me wrong, I know She has to wait to take me away, but I saw Her.

It happened at the beach, we were already packed, ten days was our limit for being away from home, and Weasley suggested to go to the beach at night... Of course I said yes.

Everything was good, at first... I just had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that made me kind of nervous. Then, I saw Her.

Her long silky black hair and her dress seemed to shine with the light of the moon reflecting on them. I have to admit that She is a beauty... Her smile isn’t, though, it paralyzed me.

Death just stood in the middle of the sea, the waves were playing with her white transparent dress. It reminded me of the curtains from the veil, like she was carrying the doors to the other side with her... Like she could just walked up to where I was and take me.

I was scare, and Weasley was too. He couldn’t see what was happening but he kept trying to make me come back, apparently I just stared at the water for thirty minutes, just breathing and barely blinking.

We had to stay after that, Bill Weasley is a curse-breaker and Ron was convinced that what I experienced counted as curse-breaker territory. It didn’t, clearly, he was just too worried to care. We agreed to stay for a few more days, to check that it wouldn’t happen again. Yes, we are that naive, Theo; thanks for asking.

For the most part, it didn’t happen... Death presented herself when we were about to leave again, this time she took a few steps forward and I practically run inside of the cottage and had a coughing fit right there. I think she made me have one, does that make sense? I never had one not ‘Potter-related’, it was the first one, and I would very much for it to be the last.

I was kind of a mess so I asked Weasley to stay a little longer. I didn’t want her to follow me back home, not with Mr Potter there... She can’t take it back but I don’t know how a returned soul could react to her presence. I did every bloody ritual of protection that I could, hoping that it would be enough. I don’t think they worked. The feeling in my stomach is there... I think she is near, waiting.

She can’t take me until June, can’t she? Help me, Theo, you always knew the rules of this, way better than me.

Please be safe, I have enough dark and sad in my life as it is, I don’t need for you to die first too.

Draco.

Dear Theodore:

Merry Christmas. I made it through almost two months and she hasn’t taken me so yey! If you are asking wether I’m using jokes and sarcasm as a defense mechanism or not... The answer is yes, obviously.

It was my first Christmas without presents ever, I think it was what made it special, though. We danced and cooked and we forgot about this war for the last two days.

Did you know that the whole ‘complementary Patronus’ is actually a lie? It was invented by the pureblood families to ensure heteronormativity in the marriages. Part of me is shocked that we’ve been lied to and the other is not surprised at all. I’ve found out because Mr. Potter told us the truth. Turns out that finding the person who complements your Patronus is rather rare but not impossible... Potter’s mother had a doe as her Patronus, James’ is a stag.

I didn’t want to ask in front of Sirius, just in case, so I waited and then I asked Mr. Potter about it when we were alone doing the dishes (yes, I do the dishes now, how common). I asked him if Lily was his soulmate then, do you know what he told me?

‘Oh, kid. No. Don’t believe that crap. Women’s patronus tend to be female and men tend to have male ones, that stupid story is just made up to invalidate any same gender relationship.’ The only thing that’s true, is the fact that your Patronus shiftes and changes with love. Harry’s Patronus is a stag too, for example.

Have you ever tried to cast yours? I wonder what shape it would be... Probably something that runs fast, you always loved the feeling of freedom and the adrenaline. I honestly can’t imagine you with something domestic, like a cat or a dog, as your Patronus.

I have to go now, Weasley is forcing me to sleep for a while, at least.

As always, be safe.

Draco

————————-

He felt gentle fingers caressing his cheek, his mind tried to focus on the sensation... Was this a dream?

His eyes fluttered open and he narrowed them, the sparkling green eyes and the smile he loved so much were the first things he saw. The flowers danced happily around his lungs, like they were greeting the gorgeous boy that was kneeling beside his bed.

Draco grabbed his hand and placed a little kiss on Potter’s palm, whispering a soft ‘Hi’, knowing that Weasley would kill them if they woke him up.

“Good morning.” Harry answered with a smile before tugging the blond boy’s hand, guiding him to leave the warm of his bed and follow him. Rubbing his eyes and yawning, Draco complied.

He put on his night robe and went to the bathroom to wash his face and teeth, a lame attempt to try to wake up and look like a person at this ungodly hour. Potter said that he would wait for him in the kitchen so he climbed down the stairs as quietly as he could and slowly made his way towards the room. When he opened the door, Harry was already heating up the water for the tea.

“Do you want me to prepare some eggs? Or pancakes.” The blond boy asked as he closed the door behind him and walked towards the boy. Potter didn’t respond at first, but when Draco was close enough, he took his hand and pulled him near.

“You didn’t even kiss me good morning, Malfoy. Where are your manners?” The blond boy let out a soft chuckle before their mouths connected.

To be fair, it started off being pretty chaste, just their lips touching. They tried to keep any PDA to a minimum, Draco didn’t like the idea of disrespecting Mr. Potter by snogging his son right in front of him. Harry didn’t seem to give a damn, though.

They kept on kissing. With each brush of their lips, the kiss seemed to deepen. It was too early in the morning and his brain wasn’t working quite properly yet to tell him restrain himself. A soft moan escaped Potter’s mouth and the boy pulled him even nearer. The dark-haired boy was now trapped between the kitchen counter and Draco’s hips. Harry separated their mouths for a second to catch some breath but quickly moved to attach his beautiful lips to the blond boy’s neck, mixing his fingers in his hair. He tried not to whimper at the feeling but it was in vain.

“Shit.” The grey-eyed breathed out and Harry chuckled, pleased with himself, and stopped kissing his neck to bit him softly. Draco kind of hated that he was at the other boy’s mercy... Or he loved it immensely, he couldn’t decide. Nonetheless, he grabbed Potter’s waist and lifted him to sit him at the counter with ease. What was he thinking? They never did something like this... Was it too much? His thoughts were interrupted completely by Harry moving to make room for him between his legs and slamming their lips together again.

He couldn’t even begin to explain what he felt inside of him, pure bliss, the flowers were fluttering around him in a haze. The tickles and the warm feeling spread from his lungs, to his heart and the rest of his body... Like an unstoppable sensation that he was growing addictive of.

Potter wrapped his legs around Draco’s waist and, much to the daffodils disdain, he stopped kissing him to speak. Harry groaned in annoyance.

“Don’t you think that this is a bit too much too fast?” He asked, his breath still agitated from before. The green-eyed boy just leaned to connect their lips together again but Draco stopped him. “Words, scarhead.” He heard him groaned again.

“Isn’t it obvious enough? No. Now, fucking kiss me before I hex you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Between the kisses, Harry (being the bloody prat that he was) unbuttoned the blond boy’s shirt, one button at a time. By the time that he had realized it, the green-eyed boy was running his perfect hands slowly from Draco’s neck to his stomach, making him shiver.

That was how James and Sirius found them. Potter’s legs wrapped around him, his shirt undone and snogging on the kitchen counter.

“Excuse you.” Mr. Potter’s voice echoed in the room and Draco automatically removed himself from Harry’s personal space, trying to cover his bare chest. His face must have been red as the bloody Gryffindor flag.

“I’m so so so sorry, Mr Potter. I don’t know what came over me I-“ his stutter was cut short by the other boy’s response.

“It’s not such a big deal, dad.” He said, Draco couldn’t disagree more. He imagined being in James’ place right now... It couldn’t be fun at all to witness that, not fun at all.

“Little cousin, why don’t we leave and let these two talk, huh?”

“Actually, Padfoot, I would appreciate it very much if you didn’t try to escape from having this awkward talk with your godson. Kid, please go to your room.”

All orders, no place for disagreement. He knew better than to respond so he just started to march off the room, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“You can’t just send him away! We are both adults, you know? I can do what I want with my own body-“

“Harry, we are going talk about this. Next time, maybe you will think about it a little more before choosing the place where we all cook to do that.”

That was the last thing that he heard before he closed the door.

[visual-explorxtion]

Murder for One - One Shot

Summary: They found their way back to where the nightmare began. The Oswell E Spencer mansion. But things took a wrong turn. Chris has been murdered. And it’s up to the gang to track down his murderer.

A/N: I wanted to write a short murder mystery but I kept emphasising a lot of things so it turned out a bit longer than I’ve intended. Also been rewatching Twin Peaks so I was kinda inspired by it.

Word count: 2.3K

11:55 pm, June 14th, Oswell E Spencer's mansion.

A moonless night, just like many of the others, is a deadly premonition. BANG! The thunder roared and the split of lightning flashed that lit up the rustic library in a blink of an eye, then shrouded by darkness once more. The only light source is the lone fireplace, located on the far side of the room. The firewood crackled.

Chris is dead.

Nobody came in or out of this mansion. Except for our four little suspects: Leon S Kennedy, an American Agent working under the government; Jill Valentine, former S.T.A.R.S member and current Special Ops Agent in the BSAA; Claire Redfield, a member of TerraSave; Carlos Oliveira, former UBCS and mercenary. The four stood looking down at the corpse, the light behind their eyes extinguished along with the life of their former friend.

2 hours earlier:

Chris was sent out by HQ to investigate further about a new strain of the virus being created in the Spencer's mansion. Of course, this was all tipped by an anonymous caller. HQ should've known better. This mission was a quick data retrieval, but the rest of the group got worried when Chris hasn't returned after an hour has passed. As soon as they've received the news, the four of them came rushing to the scene of the crime. Inside, they found Chris lying cold on the oak wood flooring. Upon further investigation, they can pinpoint that Chris: took a hard blow to the head, visible strangle marks around his neck and several stab wounds in the general area of the torso. All of these could be the fatal cause of Chris's death. There was no sign of intruders or breaking of any locks which means, the killer's only access is the front door.

"Who could've done such a thing?" Claire sniffles.

"I'll contact HQ and see if we could get some back-up and analysis going." Leon tampers with his phone. "Shit, can't get a signal here."

Jill took a quick glance at Claire then focused on Chris's lifeless body, she sighs. "This isn't right. There's no blood around the corpse." she contemplates for a moment. "...which means, the murdering didn't happen in this room. Alright, let spread out and see what we can find." They nod, each set off in different directions. Claire and Carlos scout the ground floor while Leon and Jill tread lightly along the first floor. Strong wind clatter the decade-old windows and echos through the hallway, making a ghastly sound. Jill swallows. Mansions give her the creeps and often unfond memories. The upper hallway split into three separate doorways; one lead to a bathroom, another is a decorated study and lastly is the dust-coated master bedroom.

"I'll go check out the study." Leon declared, she gave an approving nod and both head on to their chosen destination, flashlight in hand. The doorknob is rusted, giving it several twists then it groaned open. The bedroom is grim with a dampened smell, furniture covered in white sheets. If this doesn't scream creepy, Jill ain't sure what else would. The beam of light continues to shine on showing nothing out of the ordinary. Suddenly, torch caught something reflective, just shying away behind the edge of the bed frame. Jill grasp the object for a closer inspection to reveal a candle holder, decaying away with time. Bingo! Bloodstains. The red liquid also seeped along the skirt of the white covers. Is this...the scene of the crime?

"Jill!" Leon cries out in distress.

The murder weapon clanked against the wooden floor. Jill sprinted in full speed towards the study only to find Leon hunched over the rows of bookshelves.

"Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?" she pants.

"Come take a look at this." he reaches out his hand.

Jill frowns. "But this is Chris's knife...Why would it be here?"

"This could be where Chris got murdered. Look, there's blood splatter across here." The crimson fluid trailed its way near the bookcase. "This can't be right...if this is the murder weapon... Wait!" Jill turned on her heels and marched farther along the hallway. She managed to pry open the last door which unveiled the unkempt bathroom, the scene mirrors the other rooms. "As I thought."

"But...this doesn't make any sense." Leon's face scrunched upon looking at its interior. The third murder weapon. A rope loosely hanging from the shower curtain rail, blood tainted the hemp thread. Must be caused by the friction against Chris's skin which broke the outer layer of the tissue.

"Leon! Jill!" Carlos's voice roared halfway across the place.

They both gave a knowing look to one another before heading off to the foyer. Claire and Carlos stood with an unsettling look on their faces.

"I think...we've found what may have killed Chris..." they both pulled out a blood-stained object. A kitchen knife and a porcelain vase. Sadness filled their eyes as they both averted their gaze away from the weapons.

"No...it's impossible. This getting more confusing by the minute." Leon huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What do you mean? These two must be the murder weapon. The bloodstains can't lie." Claire frustrates over Leon's remarks and stood her ground.

"We found more objects like this upstairs, stained with blood, each in different rooms," Leon explains.

Jill sighs, rubbing her temple with her index finger. "Let's just...go back to the library and calmly figure this out."

"Maybe if we reenact it out, we can decode this mystery." an idea struck Carlos. Leon pats his arm before shuffling back to along the route to the library.

The temperature hasn't changed at all since they left, still cold and bitter. Chris, still laying as dead as ever, being kept warm by the fireplace. Something caught Jill's eye, an envelope, seated on top of the mantelpiece with words written in cursive. 'Open me, when the truth is revealed'. She turns the letter over. But, there were no names or any seal marks.

"Hey, was this here before?" her voice sounded quizzical.

Carlos frowns, "I don't think so...Why? What's the matter?"

Jill shakes her head. "No, it doesn't matter. Let's just focus the matter at hand right now."

The grandfather clock chimed and made the group jump. 1 am...it's been 4 hours since Chris's death, but they aren't getting any closer to catching the killer. Jill starts picking at her fingers.

"Something's off...Nobody else knows Chris is here, except us. This was a solo mission. So that means...one of us did it." Jill said, out of speculation. She's never wrong about a hunch, even if that deduction was a bold one.

"Wait, what do you mean one of us? All of us have an alibi. We were with each other for the past few hours." the sound of Leon's voice warns her that she's treading on thin ice.

"Yes, but there's a two-hour window when the murder happened. And neither one of us has proof of our alibi in the time gap."

Tension is rising in the room. Indeed, this is a huge accusation. But Jill can't just stand aside and let the murderer walk free with bloodshed on their hands, let alone with her best friends blood.

"I have an alibi," Claire spoke out. "I was stuck on the highway on my way to Chris's place and I stopped by Krispy Kreme too."

"Well, I shared a ride with Jill this whole time. She'd know if I went missing for even a split second. And before that, I was with a friend. They can prove it." Carlos raised his hand.

"Leon?" Claire asks.

Leon mumbled quietly. None of his words was audible. "You're gonna have to speak up." He let out a huge sigh. "I said, I was at the bar. Just trying to get drunk. There. Ya happy now?"

Something still doesn't feel right. Jill knew that deep down, one of them is lying. "No. This isn't it."

"What do you mean 'this isn't it'? We all have an alibi, so it's not us." Carlos grunts.

"What about you Jill? Where were you before meeting up with Carlos?" Claire's words pressed up against Jill.

"I was working overtime, finishing off some paperwork at the office."

"Was there anyone else at the office with you?"

"No...no there wasn't. Everyone already left for the day and I was the only one." Jill bites her lip.

"Oh, God. D-did you...did you kill my brother? But why? I thought you two went through everything together!" tears start spilling down Claire's cheeks.

"No! It's not me! What reason have I got for me to kill Chris? He's my best friend. What will I gain from that?!" Jill's stomach churns, even she's starting to doubt herself. Wait a minute…

Leon wraps his arms around Claire's shoulders to comfort her emotions, his head trying to get around the words that he just heard, but his feelings are numbed at this moment.

A snicker reverberates the empty library. The lightning stopped about an hour ago, silence fills the air around them. Gradually, the snicker became a period of giggles.

"Y'know, you almost had me fooled. All this time, I thought something doesn't feel quite right. Why all the different murder weapons? And why spread them apart in the mansion? I couldn't figure it out...Even I've started to doubt myself, maybe I had a hand in pushing Chris's death. But I soon realise, all that gibberish was just a smokescreen!" She picks up the envelope and peeks at its content. "As I thought exactly. The truth."

The three of them looked at Jill with a quizzical look painted on their faces.

"Yes, they are all murder weapons. They did play a part in Chris's death, but they were only induced AFTER he got murdered!" she waltzes towards Leon, holding out a hand. "Leon, if you please." His brain whirred for a moment before he knew what Jill was talking about. He placed the object in her hand per her request.

"This is the true murder weapon." Jill presented Chris's combat knife. " The actual weapon that caused the fatal blow. Isn't that right, Claire?"

Claire's eyes widen in horror. "Are you out of your mind?! How could I have killed my own brother? I have an alibi."

Carlos exhaled. "She's right. It couldn't be her."

Jill cackled. "That's what I thought at first. But, something you said made me reconsider. 'The bloodstains can't lie'. Why are you so sure about that? You and Carlos only searched the lower part of the mansion, so why are you so sure that there were bloodstains on EVERY object when we only took the vital one?"

Claire kept her head down, looking at her feet, her shoulders shivering.

"As for the alibi, I have solid proof that you did it." Jill grins. "You said you were stuck on the highway. You weren't wrong. Travelling from your apartment to Chris's will require you to take a long journey, the only way is to drive on the highway. But! From your apartment to the mansion, you do not need to get on the highway. And the mansion to Chris's place is only a short drive so you have enough time to murder Chris, plan all the objects and the bloodstains and you still have time to spare. Of course, if somebody was to kill Chris, he would immediately defeat them without breaking a sweat. But what if that person knows him well and is someone he trusts wholeheartedly? Then, the circumstance would be much different." Jill takes a deep breath. "You've planned everything perfectly but you've missed the most important and intricate detail."

"And what is that?" she asks.

"The bookcase. When Chris was looking through the documents, you killed him there and then, using his own knife. Everything in that room was built with glazed wood so the cleaning up shouldn’t have taken so long. But, you forgot about the bookcase. Specks of blood were left on the hinges." she exhales. "Oh! And there's a new Krispy Kreme that just opened two blocks away from his place. I know because he took me there last week."

Claire's sniffing stopped. Her gaze remained on the ground. A soft hum came out of her mouth, slowly it turned into a giggle and lead to a burst of bellowing laughter.

"Well, colour me impressed. So what if I killed my own brother, hm?" She skipped her way toward his corpse. "The killing was quick. But the cleaning up! That took a whole hour!"

"You're sick. That's your brother."

"And what about it? Maybe he should have done what I told him not to do. Maybe then, he'd still be alive. Who told him to eat the last chicken nugget? It was mine! But he didn't listen to me. HE SHOULD HAVE LISTENED!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" A voice boomed as the door opens.

"Chris???" They said in unison.

Chris stare at them and sigh. The group sitting gathered around the coffee table in Chris's new apartment playing Cluedo at 1 in the morning. Jill and Claire having a go at each other's throats, Carlos sitting comfortably watching as this goes down and Leon's been on his phone for the past 5 minutes.

"But it was just getting good. We've just revealed who murdered you." Claire gave him the sad puppy eyes.

"Why am I the one getting murdered? Can't you use the default characters?" Chris frowns. "Also, do you want me to get kicked out again? This is my housewarming party and I don't want to receive any noise complaint as a housewarming gift. Now, tidy up. The pizzas' getting cold."

The four of them obeyed his command obediently, setting up the table for the awaited pizzas. Claire waltz her way towards the kitchen, just next to the dining table. "Hey! Who ate the last doughnut?"

Chris's face drained to a pale shade of gray. Discreetly, he backed out of the room, tip-toeing stealthily. Fist clenched as Claire raged. "CHRIS!"

[hecallsmehischild]

Recent Media Consumed

Movies

Violet Evergarden: Eternity and the Auto Memory Doll. I was disappointed by the movie. If they had taken this concept and developed a new season around it, it might have had way more emotional impact, but I felt like we either didn’t have enough context to understand the weight of certain decisions or (more likely) we were given situations that were shoe-horned for the emotional drama and conflict they can bring, without any good reason behind them. That being said, it was fun seeing characters doing what characters do, and this show has gorgeous animation that was lovely to watch. Good eye candy, frustrating story.

Books

Basic Economics by Thomas Sowell. This was recommended to me by my housemate. I started reading it March 14th and it took me until June 6 to finish it. The beginning was a lot easier to understand than I thought it would be, but as I struggled through the middle, I realized it was best to take it slow with these concepts. I listened for a short segment, then set it aside and did something completely different, then came back to it days or weeks later to continue. I will likely be doing a re-read of this at some point, but I think I’ve got the gist from this first reading. If the Freakonomics books helped me look at “Where are the incentives pointing?” then this book hammers in the concept of “limited resources that have alternative uses” and all the implications that stem from that. I found it to be worth the time it takes to understand it. My takeaways are that, and the idea that it is impossible to remove the concept of cost from existence, it is only possible to transfer cost, and that this covers much more than just situations that have to do with money.

Intellectuals and Race by Thomas Sowell. This guy reasons things out pretty thoroughly, and no cow is sacred to him. Both are things I admire in people who tackle difficult topics. I want to read a lot more of what he’s written. Apparently this book is a subsection of a book called Intellectuals and Society, though expanded and revised into its own book. I will probably be reading that next. The biggest take-away I have from this book is to beware of people who support an idea that imposes no cost on them (but extreme cost on others) if they are wrong, and that it isn’t wrong to ask for evidence and hard facts, no matter how sacred-seeming the topic you are addressing. Being “on the side of the angels” is less important than the truth, no matter how right an idea may seem.

Games

Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. Holy cow, you guys. Do you understand that I don’t do controller-based games? I can’t. I didn’t grow up playing them, and I dismissed all such games as impossible for me to learn at this stage in my life. How could I ever master the muscle memory necessary for games like Bioshock or Last of Us or Skyrim? It was forever out of my reach. Until. I watched a couple Youtube videos by a guy who had his wife play video games for the first time, a series about Gaming for Non-Gamers, and he covered Breath of the Wild. And I realized that this game actually teaches you, better than most other games, how to use its mechanics. And I also realized, for the first time, that video games have their own language, MUCH LIKE BOOKS AND LITERATURE ACTUALLY HAVE A SEPARATE LANGUAGE AND CONVENTIONS THAT HEAVY READERS AND WRITERS CAN RECOGNIZE. Once I realized there’s a purposeful language, I started looking for it, and recognizing it as I tried Breath of the Wild. Guys. It’s been a month, and I just beat the Divine Beast… I forget the name, but it’s the elephant. And I took almost no damage. Now, all that being said… this game is also hard-core tripping my addiction issues. I lose 7 hours without blinking while playing this game, sometimes longer. And also, I stop caring about other things. Like writing. Like cleaning. Like… contacting people. Those are all symptoms that accompanied my addiction to text based roleplaying. I am also using it to numb some current anxieties, which is ANOTHER addiction signal. So, for now, I’m going to haul back and put strict limitations on my playing. If it’s still a problem, I may need to drop it. But even if I do, the fact that I’m doing as well as I am continues to re-inforce an idea that slowly gains ground in me: many things that I dismiss out of hand as “I can’t do it, I don’t have the skills,” are things I can learn. I don’t think that is true for ALL things, however, it is true for more things than I have ever allowed as possible, and that is incredibly encouraging.

Anime

Log Horizon. This was fun, just lots of fun to watch. I’ve never played a MMORPG, but my recent base of learning the D&D system helped me understand most components of the MMORPG I was watching in this show (and my game-loving husband filled in the rest of the blanks). Unfortunately I found the second season to be confusing. It dropped a large number of new characters and motivations on us with little to no explanation, then didn’t spend time developing our understanding (or even exploring our lack of understanding) with them before throwing our heroes into conflict with them. Felt like they expected us to know where they were going, but I didn’t understand what was going on. In spite of that, the dialogue was spot on the whole time, in ways I found amusing because of how closely they parallel life OUTSIDE the game world. All in all, very enjoyable anime, and I look forward to the…. new season dropping later this year? Heck yes!

[blvckvampyre]

The Cycle

A short story by Ashley Davis.

~5580 words. Inspired by Ganja and Hess (1973), Night of the Living Dead (1968).

“ Esther was left in the dark, waiting for a shifting that never came. Somehow she knew that she was dying. Animals knew when they were dying; in their final moments, they loosed that long, mournful moan as either sickness or some other animal tore them to shreds. Somehow, she had tapped into that long-lost sixth sense, and it was neither comforting nor terrifying. It was a dull reminder throbbing in the back of her misshapen skull. You’re almost done. She was transforming, and when she reached that final stage, she would disappear. Either her body or her mind would fail her. ”

Esther woke to find she had lost two more teeth overnight.

They were molars this time: flat, still bloody at the roots, one chipped from when she bit down on a walnut as a teenager. She opened her eyes to find them right in front of her face, lying in dried flecks of blood; evidently, she’d had the mind to spit them out in her sleep.

She uncurled herself, her spine popping as she moved, and sat up on her mattress, staring at the teeth warily, like they might get up and move if she watched long enough. These two made seven teeth she had lost. In a moment of vanity, she prayed she’d never lose the front two; she didn’t want to look like a six-year-old in her final moments.

There were no windows in the cell. There was a door, one too heavy for Esther to open even if it were ever left unlocked. The floor was hard and cold. She’d slept on it for a week before her captor finally and quite literally tossed the dirtied twin-sized mattress into the room, letting the door slam shut behind it. When she shivered, it added a blanket, and when she complained of neck pain, a stiff square of a pillow. Every other request went unanswered.

She had no idea what to call it, so she settled for “captor” or “beast.” To this day she laughed at her situation, at her own stupidity and skepticism. She remembered hearing about the first sighting in March of last year; a man had taken a shortcut home through the woods and claimed he saw a monster with the eyes of his brother, who had disappeared months earlier. He’d escaped, but weeks later another had disappeared, a woman this time, blonde-haired blue-eyed Ellie Dench, and with her disappearance came vigils, month-long searches, and the support of the entire town. She’d been found eventually, naked, gaunt, and shivering in the woods, unable to explain what had happened to her or who had taken her. Since Ellie Dench, there had been eleven sightings and half as many disappearances, nearly all of whom had shown up months later confused and afraid. All but two of the people kidnapped had turned up. One of them was Esther’s neighbor Lathaniel. The other was her fiancé. Her Marcus.

Esther was not superstitious in the slightest. Months ago, it had all seemed like some elaborate prank or cult activity. When the sightings had first shown up on their television screen, she’d shared a look with Marcus, the look that said, “I know this is frightening and all but do you want to laugh as much as I do?” Then Lathaniel had vanished, and then Marcus a month later. Lathaniel’s disappearance had left Esther scared, but Marcus ... Marcus’s had nearly killed her. She’d spent weeks organizing search parties, putting flyers on every corner in the neighborhood, trying her damn hardest not to break down, and all for nothing. He’d been taken in June; it was November now. If Lathaniel’s lack of return were any indication, Marcus would not be coming home.

Now here she was, likely to suffer the same fate that the love of her life had suffered. She cast a weary look at the door and saw her captor had left a tray out for her, with a bowl and a spoon. Whatever was in the bowl must have been hot hours ago. Her captor kept her fed on little more than bread, cornmeal, and soup, the kind that came out of a can. Not the warm, well seasoned kind Marcus would make for her on her sick days. The food did enough to fill her, when she could keep it down. She’d started feeling ill about a week into her captivity, a variety of symptoms that occasionally left her writhing on her mattress with pain. Her skin hurt constantly—it was an ache she found herself growing accustomed to—and she vomited every day, no matter what she ate or if she even ate at all. Worst of all, her bones needed cracking. She thought it was her muscles at first, but no, it was her bones; they felt like rubber bands that needed to snap back into shape, as if sleeping on this mattress had refashioned her skeleton. Each day she felt it, the shifting of her bones as they tried to twist into shapes they were not meant to form, and then they’d snap back, leaving her winded and sore. Her own body had betrayed her, to the point where she went from moment to moment afraid of her next spell. Each one lasted longer than the last; last time she’d passed out from the pain.

Esther dragged herself onto her knees, ready to cross the room, grab her breakfast, and scarf down whatever bland, room-temperature mush lay in that bowl, when her body racked with pain. She caught herself on her hands and knees, gasping as she felt the shifting again, her bones creaking as they bent and curved and turned in on themselves. She fell onto her side, moaning, grabbing at her ribs, feeling them flare and straighten beneath her skin. She turned over in time to vomit onto the floor and not her mattress, heaving until there was nothing left. And then it was gone. Her spine straightened, her neck unfolded, and her ribs ... Her ribs.

She hurried to her feet, so quickly that she bumped into the wall behind her, nearly slipped in her own vomit as she fought to lift up her shirt with shaking hands and peered down at herself. She was so skinny now that her ribs were clearly visible beneath the skin, she was used to this, but now they moved. They continued to move even after the shifting, opening up and swinging on their hinges, so wide she thought they’d penetrate her skin if she breathed too deeply. She could feel her chest opening up. Was her heart beating louder? She held her breath, and when she saw them, the sharp white buds of ribs blooming bright through the brown of her skin, blood welling where they showed, her head suddenly felt too hot, her eyelids too heavy. She was unconscious before she even hit the floor.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Cancelling the wedding was harder than Esther had anticipated. Of course her and Marcus’s families had understood; they only wanted what was best for Esther, we’ll find him, Esther, we’ll be here for you, Esther. For weeks, they’d left Esther to her own devices, sending her hopeful messages, participating in her search parties, spreading the news of Marcus’s disappearance on social media. When she refused to hold a service for him, to acknowledge that he wasn’t coming back, his mother and sisters had finally stepped in, not-so-gently reminding Esther that it was time she face the reality of the situation, for her own sake. “Denial won’t bring him back,” they’d said. Neither would a candlelight vigil.

She would never get used to sleeping alone again. The cat did little more than stare at her from the edge of the bed, blinking slowly. Overnight it would find its way onto Marcus’s pillow, and Esther would awake to find its striped brown form just inches from her nose, making her sneeze. Marcus loved that cat; that was the only reason Esther kept it around, despite her mild allergies to it. She told herself that she would grow to love it too, just as she would learn to live without him, just until he came back.

The evening that she officially cancelled the wedding, the cat trotted right up to Esther and curled up in her lap on the couch. That odd moment of affection made her tear up, like it was a sign from Marcus somehow. She stroked its back, scratched it behind the ears, and a few minutes later it left her to sit on the arm of the couch, watching her coolly.

She spent most of her nights sitting on her couch in silence, eating little and sleeping often, thinking about it all—about how she’d taken those early sightings for granted, about how Lathaniel and Marcus had to be the ones who hadn’t returned—until one night she got a hold of herself. There was no point in mourning. Tears got nothing done. Whimpering wouldn’t bring him home. The best she could do was look out for herself and ensure that she remain as strong as ever. Marcus was going to return, and he would not return to some skeletal waif of a woman. He would return to his fiancée, his Esther. She had decided long ago that she was not going to allow herself to be told to fear the world. She was going to go on cruises and hike in the mountains and go on evening jogs because she was ready for whatever the world had to throw at her. She took after the women on her mother’s side: tall, stocky, narrow-hipped and wide-shouldered. In fact she and Marcus were the same height. She figured no creep in Oliveview would want to mess with a six-foot-tall Black woman on her evening jog. She figured the fact that she felt comfortable enough to run at such late hours would ward off any predator, man or otherwise. And so she saw no foreseeable issue with going for a run at nine p.m. that night, armed with nothing more than her spare key.

The cat seemed to protest when she left, weaving between her legs and meowing incessantly. She refilled its food bowl, and when it still meowed, she rolled her eyes and left, taking off down the pavement, her form falling in and out of view at each streetlight.

It was a quiet night, warm for November. The only sound Esther could hear was her own breathing, and her shoes striking the pavement. The burn in her muscles made her feel more alive than she had felt in months, and so she sped up, going as fast as her legs would take her. She stopped about a mile in to wipe sweat from her brow with the hem of her pullover, and that was when she heard signs of another’s presence. She looked to her right, to her left, and saw nothing. She went on.

Esther wasn’t superstitious, but she was paranoid, and Marcus’s disappearance had left her even more on-edge than usual. With all the vanishings and the sightings, perhaps she had a reason to fear the world.

She was being followed. Someone else’s feet slapped the pavement behind her, or to her left? Ahead of her, perhaps. The woods were to her right on the other side of the street; it could be a squirrel, or a raccoon if it were hungry enough. She refused to believe that it was anything other than an animal, but she knew she was not alone in the dark, and once she had rounded the corner and was halfway back to her own house she stopped, whipping out her spare key and holding it between her knuckles, ready to slash whatever came her way.

She heard growling behind her, and when she turned, she saw a stray cat loping her way, head low, hackles raised. The cat skirted around her, and Esther followed it with her eyes, chuckling at her own anxiety. When she turned back, her blood went cold.

It crouched not two feet away, impossibly huge, furry, hunched over like a gargoyle. It did not growl; the only sound was its wet, heavy breathing. It was dark, but its eyes shone bright under the streetlight, so small in that broad, beastly face. Brown irises, light enough to see the pupils. Esther’s mouth went dry.

“Marcus?” she breathed. Those were his eyes, she’d know those eyes anywhere, even if they were set deep in that heavy leonine skull and regarding her predatorily.

Esther moved to run, opened her mouth to yell, and it grabbed her, one paw clamped over her mouth and nose, the other pinning her to its side. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. All she could do was flail wildly and kick at the creature. It wasn’t even looking at her. It glared straight ahead, silent. She stared up at it in terror, eyes honing in on the fangs jutting from what must’ve been its upper lip, and her last thought before she passed out was that the cat would have Marcus’s pillow all to itself that night, because Esther was on her way to join him.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Sometimes, when the pain was a little more bearable, Esther would sing to keep herself sane.

In a way, she saw the singing as a sign of her own growing insanity. She was tired of this cell, of the four gray walls, the lack of sunlight, the cold and unforgiving hardness of the floor. After a while she tired of singing, and her voice became a shrill, harsh grating to her own ears. It was getting hoarser by the day; even her throat was turning against her.

The shiftings had doubled in frequency. Since the expansion of her ribs, she’d experienced shiftings every hour or so; the most recent one had left her permanently hunched over. Miraculously, a few teeth grew back, bigger than they were before. And of course, to make room, her jaw had expanded.

The monster had started visiting her. Not to deliver food or supplies, but to just sit in the corner of the room and study her. It sat like some enormous dog that hadn’t realized it had long outgrown its puppy bed, crouching on the balls of its feet. It watched Esther, and at first, its presence disturbed her too much to even look at it. She found that it was more difficult to pretend it wasn’t there than to look at it and learn more about it while it learned more about her.

She’d scream at it sometimes, demanding to know what it wanted with her until her voice gave out on her. Then she’d give up, retire to her mattress, and watch it back.

It was at least eight feet tall, surely more if one included the horns spiraling up and out of its brow. Its face was a cross between a bear and a lion, but certainly catlike. The fur on its neck, face, and chest was thicker, coarser, and darker, like a mane of sorts. It had a tail, long and tufted, sometimes curled neatly over its feet, sometimes twitching back and forth. It had huge paws with claws that glistened and made a terrible clicking sound against the floor when it moved. Muscles rippled beneath its coat, and its nostrils flared with each deep breath. Some mannerisms reminded her of the cat and others of the dog she’d had as a child: the crouching, the sighs, the spasmodic shaking of the pelt. Most of its movements were slow and deliberate, but it could move quickly for its size. It would outrun Esther if she made for the door; she was sure of it.

And it still had Marcus’s eyes.

Esther saw now why those people had fallen prey to this monster. It must have been a shapeshifter, one who could imitate the eyes of a loved one, leave you confused enough to overpower you easily. But how did it know who to imitate, and why? It was certainly strong enough already to knock its victims out with a single blow. And why stop at the eyes? Why not change itself into someone’s lover, friend, or relative entirely?

She hated the staring. Several times she’d sunk into the bathtub for a peaceful soak and opened her eyes to find the cat staring at her from the doorway. She used to find Marcus watching her silently while she did simple tasks like cut vegetables or wash dishes. No matter the viewer, she hated being under someone’s close inspection. The beast looked at her as if it were picking her apart, peeling the skin away to view the musculature, the bones beneath, ensuring that her suffering continued accordingly. She didn’t know how, and she didn’t know why, but she knew it was the cause of the shiftings. It had to be.

Esther could usually hold her tongue when the beast was around, but during shiftings, she lost all control.

“Why?” she hissed through gritted teeth, grabbing at her ribs while her hips curled in on themselves. She screamed and fell onto her side. “You like taking people? Hurting them?”

She threw her head back to look at the creature. It sat apathetically, watching her.

“Why give back everyone else? Why keep Marcus? Where the hell are you keeping him?” Esther’s arm lashed out, her forearm bent at an odd angle. Her fingers dropped, extending from the knuckles, curving like talons. She bit down on her sweatshirt to stifle another shriek. She felt as though her head needed to be unscrewed from her neck.

All the while the beast sat there, unblinking.

“Answer me!” Esther cried, and just as she felt herself about to faint, the shifting ended.

The beast huffed and left the room, leaving Esther to tremble alone on the mattress. She refused to assess the damage for several minutes. Tears slipped down her face as she fought to steady her breathing, closing her eyes and pretending she was elsewhere. She was home. Marcus was there. She’d had a nightmare and Marcus would be there to remind her she was safe.

When she opened her eyes, she found that her hands had turned to claws.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

“What’re you thinking about?”

Esther turned over onto her side. Marcus sat in the armchair by her feet, watching her with a smile on his face. “About how my man keeps staring at me even though I told him long ago that I can’t stand it,” she muttered, sitting up with a groan. She rolled the crick out of her neck and slouched. “What are you thinking about?”

“Look, I only stare at my lady cuz she the most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on,” he retorted, folding his hands over his belly. “I’m thinking about how lucky I am to know you.”

Esther grinned. “You’re full of shit.”

“It’s true! I feel lucky. You feeling lucky?”

“Depends. You making dinner tonight?”

He sucked his teeth. “Is water wet?”

“Mar, we argued about that for hours—”

“I meant yeah, I’ll make dinner tonight.” Marcus stood up, the cat at his heels as he headed for the kitchen. “We got spaghetti, chicken, some of that rice from last night . . .”

“You make me spaghetti and I’ll feel pretty damn lucky.”

Marcus chuckled. “You and that spaghetti. I feel like even on a deserted island you’d be a’ight long as you got that spaghetti.”

“Me and carbs go way back, babe. What are you taking to a deserted island?”

“Shit, you hopefully,” Marcus said over his shoulder, rummaging through the drawers for a pot. “I ain’t suffering alone.”

Esther’s mouth fell open. “You sadistic fuck.”

“What! At least we’d be together.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, frowning at him across the room. “What you should hope is that we wouldn’t get stranded, period.”

“Oh, we won’t.” She heard the click and whoosh of flame as Marcus switched the stove on. “We’re too smart for that.”

“Are we now?” Esther muttered. Marcus started humming, and his humming turned to singing, that same Sam Cooke song they’d had stuck in their heads all weekend. Esther sighed and slouched further into the couch.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

The day Esther found hair growing around her neck was the same day the beast finally spoke to her.

It wouldn’t enter the room, not since Esther’s hands had changed weeks ago. She heard it waiting outside the door, perhaps slumped against the wall, and then words.

“Don’t want ... hurt.”

Esther opened her eyes. The lights were off, but she could see perfectly, her eyes adjusting immediately to the darkness. She was lying on her mattress, hugging herself, nails—no, claws—biting into her arms. “What?” she called out, wondering if she was imagining things. “What did you say?”

It growled a bit, then cleared its throat. Yes, cleared its throat like a person would. “Don’t want you hurt,” it croaked haltingly.

Its voice was deep, grating. Exactly how Esther would imagine a beast to speak. Nevertheless, the rough timbre shocked her. How long had it been able to speak? Why hadn’t it spoken before? Esther laughed. Her own voice sounded so hoarse to her ears that she barely recognized it. “You didn’t want me hurt? You kidnap me, throw me in a cell, watch me change and shift and grow hair on my goddamn neck and you think I care if you wanted me to hurt?” She shivered, feeling that familiar tingle of pain through her back, and whimpered. Like most recent shiftings, it quickly went away. Evidently, her bones were done reforming, leaving her with a hunched back, deep chest, and legs that bent backward like a dog’s.

The beast growled again, frustrated. “Not ... Not me.”

“Who else then? Who put me here?”

It didn’t answer for several seconds. And then, faintly, brokenly: “Had to be you.”

With that, the beast shuffled away, and Esther was left in the dark, waiting for a shifting that never came. Somehow she knew that she was dying. Animals knew when they were dying; in their final moments, they loosed that long, mournful moan as either sickness or some other animal tore it to shreds. Somehow, she had tapped into that long-lost sixth sense, and it was neither comforting nor terrifying. It was a dull reminder throbbing in the back of her misshapen skull. You’re almost done. She was transforming, and when she reached that final stage, she would disappear. Either her body or her mind would fail her.

Part of Esther wished the beast would enter the room, just so she could see Marcus’s eyes one more time.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

“Goodnight, baby.”

Esther felt the soft press of Marcus’s lips to her temple. “Goodnight,” she murmured, keeping her eyes closed.

Only when he was quietly snoring did Esther turn over to look at him. He was lying on his back, chest gently rising and falling. The cat was curled up between the two of them; it stirred when Esther turned, moving closer to Marcus.

He was serene while he slept, face unlined and relaxed. Defenseless. She smiled; he was downright angelic in his sleep.

She’d tried and tried but couldn’t shake off what he’d said earlier that night before dinner, about hoping they’d be stranded together on an island. I ain’t suffering alone. Why would he want her to suffer at all? If she were stranded, she’d hope Marcus was elsewhere. Why wouldn’t he want the same for her?

She shook her head and closed her eyes, willing herself to let it go.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

She needed a mirror.

She wanted to see what she had become. She had fur all over now; it was thickest around her neck, almost silky. It was as deep and lustrous brown as her skin, each tuft glistening with hints of gold and auburn. Her teeth had fallen out, one by one, and grown back bigger, sharper. Her jaws had lengthened and widened to fit them all, but two fangs jutted out from her upper lip no matter how hard she tried to hide them. The tail was the oddest part of it all; it extended from the base of her spine, moved with a mind of its own, keeping her balanced on her new legs and new feet. She could not see herself, no, but with the slender muzzle and tall ears, she imagined she resembled some monstrous jackal. She’d thought the shiftings were the worst pain she’d ever feel again, but the growing, the forced extension of her limbs and expansion of her skull—this was her confirmation that she had truly died. She had died and lived now in a body freed from pain.

As different as she was, Esther felt powerful. She felt a new strength welling within her. Her teeth would tear through any flesh. Her claws would put a bear’s to shame. There was no need for clothes. She tore them off days ago. It was freeing to move without the constriction of spandex and polyester, without the confines of human skin and bones.

Even more than a mirror, she wanted to face the beast. She was strong now. She could take it, she could feel it. It had taken her humanity. Each day she lost parts of herself, and the first to go was the fear. Days after the beast spoke, her voice left her, replaced with guttural growls and huffs. The rage stayed with her, and as the hair grew and her claws sharpened, it swelled into bloodlust. She wanted to punish the beast. She would break open its chest, reveal its beating heart. She would smother it to death, watch the life fade from its eyes, then she would take those too, right out of its head. The eyes that should have belonged to Marcus.

Esther was pacing the room on all fours when the door finally swung open, much more slowly than she’d expected. She whipped around, reared back on her haunches, prepared to spring—

And stopped.

“Esther.”

It was no beast. It was a man.

“Esther, it’s me, baby.”

Her man. This was her man. Her Marcus.

She lunged forward, then stopped, scrabbling backward clumsily. She peered around Marcus, waiting for the beast to follow, but it was just him. Just the two of them.

And this was her Marcus. He was skinnier than she’d ever seen him, almost emaciated. His clothes hung too loosely off of him, and his cheekbones shone too distinctly. His hair was long and scraggly, and his beard had grown, but this was him. Her Marcus.

Esther opened her mouth, formed his name with her lips, but all she could do was bellow unintelligibly. She whined, shrinking away from him, remembering what she’d become. How could he recognize her? How could he possibly know that this was her and not—

The eyes. Those were still her eyes, but they must have looked so small. They must have stayed the same.

“Esther, baby,” Marcus said, stepping toward her. “Can you understand me?”

She nodded but refused to move closer.

He was close enough now that she could see the tears brimming in his eyes. His lips twisted into a grimace. His brown eyes looked too large in his skinny face. “Baby, I’m so, so sorry. I had to, you know I had to.”

She heard what he said but didn’t understand what he meant. She tried to say his name again and failed, shutting her mouth before she could embarrass herself further.

“Lathaniel took me, Essie. He was the last one before me. There’ve been so many cycles, one after another.” He closed his eyes, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “On the last day, he came to me like I’m coming to you right now. This—this woman started it all. She went crazy, cursed her husband to become some monster. And the only way to get rid of it was to pass it along. Like a disease.”

Cycles . . . Esther shivered, gritting her teeth. The beast had had Marcus’s eyes.

“Lathaniel got taken and he had to pass it along to someone, so he chose me. He said I seemed like I was strong enough to take it.” Marcus shook his head. “I hated him for it for so, so long. He said he was leaving cuz he couldn’t bear to face anybody after that. I thought I couldn’t do it, couldn’t put this on someone else. But I realized, Esther—Esther, you my ride or die. You could take it.”

No.

“You could take it and then afterward we’d be together again.”

No.

“Essie, I’m so sorry but I had to, baby. I couldn’t do this to a stranger, it was worse somehow—”

Worse than putting it on me? She wanted to yell, but all she could do was growl, deep in her throat. She refused to look at Marcus, staring instead at the open door.

“—and I knew at the end of it all, we wouldn’t even remember it. You’d come back and we’d both forget all about it. That’s how Ellie Dench turned up. That’s how they all turn up, at the end, with some kinda amnesia. I don’t know how much longer I have before I forget, too.”

The beast had trapped her with its eyes. Esther found herself snarling, then cut herself off with a whimper. Marcus had known the eyes would stun her. He’d known where she jogged, when she would jog. He’d chosen her because she was the easiest to find. He hadn’t even had the gall to look at her while he smothered her that night. And all the while she’d flailed around, and he couldn’t even look at her.

“Essie, you gotta know that I did this because I trust you. I got so much faith in you, baby, I knew you could take it.”

And in a few months she would forget all about it. She would forget how Marcus had hurt her, and he would forget that he’d chosen her. Their families would thank the Lord that they’d been reunited, and then they’d marry. Just like that.

“I know you can’t talk, baby, but I need a sign. Show me you understand. I never meant to hurt you—”

This was their deserted island. And he’d taken her along with him, true to his word.

“Please, Essie, look at me—”

She was on him like fire.

It took one forward bound to reach him, and when she did, she bowled him over, forcing him to the ground, snarling in his face. Marcus screamed, begging for mercy, trying in vain to push her off of him. She pinned him down by the shoulders and hovered over him with slavering jaws, threads of saliva hitting his face. She would kill this man for hurting her. She would not let him forget. He would remember this, this monster who’d been his woman, how he’d made her suffer for his own sake. She wanted blood. She would tear his throat out, rip him limb from limb, make sure he felt the pain he’d caused her.

This crazy woman who’d cursed her husband ... Had she really been crazy, or was “crazy” the husband’s way of placing the blame on her? Of making her responsible for whatever trauma he’d put her through?

“Esther, please, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, you know I’d never hurt you—”

She placed one paw on Marcus’s throat, pressing down enough to choke him. She watched him flail, watched him struggle and beat against her with weakening fists, watched his eyes strain to look at her, those same eyes that he’d used to capture her so long ago.

And she stopped, right when his fists fell and his face went slack. As soon as her paw left his throat, he inhaled deeply, and when she stepped back, he rolled to his side, coughing as air filled his lungs.

She wouldn’t kill him. Not like this.

Marcus turned to look at her over his shoulder, his face racked with fear. “You’re no monster, Esther. This ain’t you.”

This is me, she wanted to tell him. And you’re the monster.

Esther leaped over Marcus and ran for the door, kicking it closed behind her. Without a second thought she latched it shut, leaving Marcus locked inside.

“Esther! Esther, open the door!” His fists pounded the other side.

She looked around the room. She was in a basement of sorts, and there were stairs to her right. Whose house had this been? How many beasts had used it as a hideout? She placed one paw on the first step, then glanced back at the cell door, wondering where she would go, who she would meet. How could she take someone knowing what they would go through? How could Marcus, Lathaniel, and everyone before them have done that to each other?

Esther’s tail lashed to and fro as she mulled it over. She couldn’t do it, and yet, in the back of her mind, Marcus’s own voice reminded her that in the end, she would forget all about it. She would forget about her own suffering and whomever she captured. She would watch them deteriorate, watch them lose their spirit while she found herself again, and then she would forget about it.

Marcus would forget too. He would sit and starve in that cell and wonder how he’d gotten there, why his clothes didn’t fit and why Esther’s jogging clothes lay in a ragged heap by the door.

What would happen if she didn’t find another victim, if she let herself waste away in this beastly form, the curse discontinued? Would they find her in the woods? Would they put her down like some rabid dog?

The pounding of Marcus’s fists against the door matched Esther’s own racing heartbeat. Who else would she bring to this deserted island?

“Baby, please, don’t leave me here!”

This cycle would try to break her. She would break it first.

[quarantingz]

letting my guard down (part 2/2)

Let me tell you a story of how I know God is real and that He indeed works in weird, mysterious, unexpected yet timely ways. Immediately after writing the first part of my epiphany or I’d even call it a predicament, I received a call from my mum while I was on the toilet (TMI but it had to be said!). I was already finishing up (sorry!) so I washed my hands (thoroughly, after putting my phone down) and hit answer. I said my usual cheerful hellos which I was expecting her to return. Instead, I saw mum in all her glory, except she wasn’t feeling glorious, with sadness evident in her eyes. I quickly realised that things weren’t good.

She looked at me as if to say, “So you must’ve read our message about the flight…” so I asked about it. Mum closed her eyes (a mannerism she has shown in almost all of our video calls), she does this whenever she talks about something pressing or whenever God puts a word in her heart that she shares with us with zealousness. I let her speak for a good 5 minutes. I just listened. She opened up about her feelings towards this turbulent situation we’re having and how badly her and dad want to come home, to the point where they were crying out to God last night asking why this is happening. Knowing my mum and how strong her relationship with God is, she’d hardly question anything. Especially God. But I could tell how much stress she was under yet still remain graceful and calm amidst this chaos. From the moment she opened her lips and scrunched her eyebrows together, I was prepared to simply listen. And it’s when we truly listen that we’re able to empathise with someone.

Mum dropped all of the weight she was bearing overnight on me. I’m glad I could offer a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on however this wasn’t enough. I wish I could be in her presence and hug her. She also told me about how Dad handled the news that their flight was yet again cancelled. They were supposed to come back on my mum’s birthday — the 21st of March. Then it became the 2nd of April, then the 15th and now there’s a high chance that they’re going to have to stay in the Philippines until June. Two months away from now. It was all a lot. And apparently Dad, who usually never raises his voice or shows signs of anger, was yelling at the Philippine Airlines call agent over the phone. “Imagine if you were in our shoes, unable to go home to our daughters, what would you do? How would you feel?” says Mum as she recalls Dad’s words which he said to the lady or guy on the other end of the line in English. We made a lighthearted joke about how this was more a result of him wanting to sound like a foreigner and therefore important, but maybe my Dad just tends to put his mother tongue aside when he’s all fired up and that we’ve just learned something new about him. Like I said the man is almost never irritated. From Mum’s retelling of his conversation with the poor employee who was just doing their job, it sounded like he was seething.

I listened to her talk for another 20 minutes or so, picking up on every detail and the shift in the tone of her voice with each recollection of relevant events.  She told me about how our long-term family friend thoroughly enjoys her and Dad’s company, and how this quarantine period has actually been a blessing for them all. Our family friend’s marriage, we’ll give her a pseudonym too — Beatrice, has apparently been on the rocks for quite some time now. Their home hasn’t been a place where love is nurtured but rather one where members of the family tend to quarrel. Lots. Upon hearing this I felt empathy towards Beatrice and her family, too. These are people who were very prominent in my early childhood years and although I haven’t seen them in 6 years I know that as soon as I visit them we’ll just pick up where we left off. Mum carried on with her testimony, highlighting the changes, good ones, that have occurred in the life and relationships of the [insert alias here] family since reuniting with my parents. The quarrelling apparently stopped and one of their kids who’s one of my childhood friends has been cooking them delicious meals since iso. Hearing this made me smile. I wasn’t surprised to hear that my parents have become such blessings to their family as they have always been one, Mum especially, to touch people’s hearts with God’s word. I look up to them both a lot although I know I’ll never be half as good as they are.

Then, not long after her story about the Rodriguez family, I felt this urge to write my thoughts down. It would be a reflection of an event happening in real time. Weird concept but had I went on for any longer without doing so I was scared that the thoughts would leave me entirely. Almost like an itch that won’t go away until I decide to get a pen and paper and let my subconscious take over which I’ve been doing a lot these days. I wrote down the following on the first piece of paper I could find within an arm’s reach, although I was willing to write on the back of this unopened pack of pens I found in the drawer situated in the middle of our lounge. Knowing this would be crazy and I’d run out of space after four sentences, I chose to write on this printed invoice from AA for Cathy’s car service breakdown back in 2016 instead. I jotted down the following words in bulletpoints, which were all I could muster without losing my train of thought:

Storytelling

Empathy

Listening (closely)

“God is not in us but rather in this space between you and me.” A quote from Before Sunrise which just randomly popped into my head but was also relevant to the situation. I don’t fully agree with the first part but I thought it was interesting.

As Mum went on with her gripping storytelling, I proceeded to writing, in full sentences this time, capturing exactly what I wrote on paper I think would be appropriate so I’ll do just that:

(Imagine there was an arrow pointing to the beginning of this paragraph from the bulletpoint ‘Listening (closely) and that’s precisely how I scrawled it all down)

First time in ages that I was able to live and be in the present, listening to my mum’s voice, her stories told as vividly as I aim to write in my blog entries… going into details like the colour of the table Tito (Tagalog word for ‘uncle’) [insert alias here] brought into his wife’s room to put down some mugs, a jug of boiling water and snacks. They were all so eager to talk to someone from Outside. Capitalising the O for emphasis. I was listening to this and seeing it all as if it were happening right in front of me. My mum is a great storyteller. So is my dad. I miss them. But right now I’m happy. (With another arrow drawn pointing to this sentence because I ran out of space after the previous one) I pray that God brings peace to their hearts in spite of these turbulent times.

What happened after this was beyond my imagination and what I’d expected. Mum asked how I’ve been coping with everything lately or my response to all the things she’d just said. Normally this question would’ve caused me to curl up into a ball and feel seen but wanting to be unseen. Embarrassed to even open my mouth and speak up about my feelings. Gross! But instead, what followed were words spoken with confidence I’ve never channeled before when talking to my parents about what’s really going on with me. My first words were, “Funny you ask…” before scanning my eyes down the page I had just clumsily scribbled half-baked musings on, and enunciating what I wrote to them exactly how it is on paper, knowing both my sisters were in the room and listening. Before I even got to the Before Sunrise quote, my voice was already breaking and I had to pause a few times. And then the tears just streamed down my face. Uncontrollably. In that moment I realised I was naked. Vulnerable. No longer able to hide. It felt liberating so I continued. But I reached a point where I came to a full stop and just covered my face and cried. Really cried. No one said anything for a while so I continued again. After I finished, Mum spoke more words of wisdom and I was back to listening and writing down insights I’ve pulled from what she’s saying and related them back to what I’ve gathered from my brief devotion prior to our video call (it was the first time in ages that I picked up a book that actually talks about God and not just a self-help book).

Throughout the rest of our conversation, I rotated the piece of paper so it was sitting horizontal on the table and wrote the following in boxes at the top and bottom (but actually the left and right side of the page originally):

“Take nothing for granted.”

All of these were in the same box, I’ll talk about them in more detail tomorrow when we catchup Alyssa x:

“Leaving the camp -> aka the familiar (in Moses’ terms)”

“Pitching the tent of Meeting”

“Offering yourself as a living sacrifice”

“Sabbath -> Shaun (oops, I mean Gabe): “What’s the Saturday plan?”

“God’s Timing”

And then an arrow pointing from this box to a new line:

“Song: Kahit Maputi Na Ang Buhok Ko” (in English this means ‘even when my hair turns grey’ which is a song about hoping your relationship with someone wouldn’t change throughout the years and that you’ll grow old together. Is that us, pal? 🥺 Okay I’m crying now).

Lastly on this page I wrote:

“I can’t seem to open up about the deepest parts of me, my thoughts and feelings without crying like a baby.”

Flipping over the page I wrote more messy musings (hey look an alliteration!) I even numbered the paragraphs since I wrote them around the imprints of the car service invoice therefore they were initially out of order. 

Okay, remember in the first part of this “epiphany” now turned blah I said I’d explain why I find it easier to write in my journal first before going on my laptop? Well I think it’s because in Notes or Pages, the cursor or Google said it’s called an insertion point, blinks as if to say, “What’s next?” Or “What else?” This takes me back to the late nights back in the uni days where I’d stare at my half-filled page on Word dumbfounded, suffering from the worst case of writer’s block. I get this when I’d try and write or add to my blog entries here on Tumblr too. Whereas writing on pen and paper to me are more forgiving and allows my subconscious to reign more.

Have you seen Greta Gerwig’s Little Women yet? I’m going to end this (and boy does this need to end, I’m sorry for what I’m about to get you to sit through) with a few references to that movie so I hope you have! This thing we started which allowed me to write again made me feel a lot like Saoirse as Jo in this scene where she too gets back into writing. She’s sitting on the floor of her room, hunched over tens and hundreds of pieces of paper riddled with her neat penmanship in ink, fervently writing her next novel. The scene was depicted as a montage, of Jo switching between her left and right hand, the sides of which are stained with black ink and she’s shaking her dominant hand to relieve the pain caused by hours of unbridled writing. This is how I felt like today. Alive. Fiery. Like the Aries I am.

To close, I want to say that it’s always been easier for me to put things in writing instead of vocalising them. This is more of my sister’s forte. This again reminds me of a scene in Little Women where Jo makes her speech about women having different dreams and ambitions but not one of them is more important than the other. We’re all very unique yet similar in that we are women with voices and gifts which we can choose to use in the way we like.

It feels like I’ve been on a rollercoaster this year so far, reaching highs but also plummeting down to my lowest of lows periodically. But I know I’m not alone. So if you’re feeling the same way, reader, I urge you to open up to the person you feel most comfortable with and although easier said than done, let your guard down. Be vulnerable as I believe it is in these times where we show someone else our cracks that light can shine through them and into the person we choose to strip in front of.

- p, with love

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [687]

“I’m going to try the door,” Malika announces, marching forward. “If you dreamed this door or something calling you to it, there’s something here and we need to figure it out.”

“The door isn’t new, Mahanon didn’t dream it,” the seven of them turn, alarmed at the sudden new speaker before relaxing. The Iron Bull comes closer as he slowly walks down the hall towards them. “That door’s been there for a while.”

He comes to stand next to them, apart but close enough.

“Solas must have left it here,” Herah mutters. “Bad enough he has spies everywhere, now he’s leaving magical trap doorways to lure us to our death.”

“Not Solas,” Bull says.

Solas could dream a thousand things out of their worst nightmares and out of their greatest fantasies — but never did. He didn’t know how to dream the things he wanted and wasn’t going to waste time on dreaming littler things with the power he did have access to.

The seven of them could never do something like this with a dream. None of them had ever tried and none of them have ever wanted to. The Anchor, to the seven of them, outside of sealing rifts, was not something to be used at all.

“Before she left,” Bull says — a gentler way of saying died —, “Ellana left me this.”

He pulls out a key. Actually, it’s too generous to call it a key. It is a single metal loop with one slender metal prong. No teeth. No ornamentation.

“She told me to keep this key safe in case something happened to her. That someday someone will need it.” Bull closes his eye and breathes in slow, deep, deeper still. “I have tried this key in every door in this entire castle. I have tried it in every trunk, every box, every chest, every drawer, every cabinet, every single fucking thing you could imagine that would have a lock or vaguely lock-shaped hole. None of them have worked. I’ve even tried it on this door. I don’t think it was meant to open for me.”

Bull holds his hand out, the key small and innocuous in his palm.

Maxwell takes it, and immediately almost drops it when his Anchor flares to life, the key glistening for a quick moment.

“Ellana,” Maxwell breathes, quickly adjusting his hold on the key and moving to the door. They all hold his breath as he inserts the key in the lock and turns.

They hear the click, loud in the silence of their shared head breath, of the lock.

But Maxwell turns the handle. And frowns.

“It won’t open,” he says. “I can feel it turn. But it won’t budge.”

“Let me try, maybe it’s stuck,” Herah suggests as they all start to slowly move towards the door.

Herah tries. Edric tries. Malika tries. Maxwell tries again. Kaaras tries. Evelyn tries.

It does not open.

They turn to Mahanon.

His hand is barely on the knob when the door flies swings inward, a rippling burst of green that makes their bones shake.

And then they are looking onto the other side.

And on the other side, looking back, is Solas.

“You,” Mahanon snarls and Maxwell and Herah barely grab him in time to stop him from lunging across the magical door at the man.

Solas blinks at them, strangely confused looking as he takes a step backwards, into someone else. It is dark on the other side of the door, and as Evelyn steps forward she can see — oddly enough — a mirror image to what’s on their side. A hallway. Lit torches along sconces sending warm light onto the stone.

And eight others.

Arranged around Solas — who the longer Evelyn looks, the more she realizes that this isn’t Solas, even though they look identical, feel identical, it isn’t him — in the same way the seven of them are framing Mahanon.

Mahanon must realize the strangeness, the oddness of this mirror image too, because he concedes to Herah and Maxwell’s hold, letting them envelop him, stepping forward to use their stature to their advantage.

“Mahanon,” Solas, who is not exactly Solas, says, “You are…Ellana’s brother.”

It’s not a question. It’s like he’s tasting the statement, testing it to see how it sounds.

“The door wouldn’t open to anyone who wasn’t hers,” a woman’s voice says. And Evelyn’s eyes bug out of her skull when Flemmeth shoulders Solas out of the way, orange glowing eyes scanning each of them. “Do you know me, too?”

“You’re Morrigan’s mother,” Malika says, “We met you.”

“You met a me,” Flemmeth corrects. “And I have never met one of you. Any of you.”

“So this is the world outside of ours,” a male voice says from behind both Flemmeth and Solas, who are not Flemmeth and Solas. “Budge over, I want to see. I had to quit right in the middle of tempering my latest project for this.”

The two part for a broad shouldered, dark skinned elf with square hands and sweat still gleaming on his skin. He looks them all over and turns over his shoulder, “He looks nothing at all like his sister, vhenan.”

“I’m sure I could judge that accurately for myself, if you all would just move.”

The three elves are parted for another woman to push through, shorter than them, wrapped in a thick wool shawl, hair loose and flowing over her shoulders. Her eyes slide over them and onto Mahanon.

“You’ve got no eyes from staring into the heat of your forge,” she says, a note of teasing in her voice, “He looks very much like his sister. They have the same passion. And this is a lot of talk for two groups standing on opposite sides of a doorway. Are there any chairs about?”

“Before we start talking about anything,” Maxwell says, “Perhaps introductions are in order. Because frankly, I don’t normally speak to strangers who appear to me on the other side of magical doorways.”

“That’s a good head on your shoulders then,” the woman says, “But also very boring. I’m sure you’ll live quite a long life that way.”

Maxwell’s laugh is strangled as he turns to Evelyn, as if to say can you believe this.

“You know Ellana?” Edric asks, “You know — of Mahanon.”

“We know Ellana,” Solas, not-Solas, says, cautiously eyeing them, “And I think we know of you. But not much. When Ellana was with us most of our conversations revolved around topics that were not her friends and family.”

That stings.

“What did you talk about then?”

“How she made us,” Flemmeth, not-Flemmeth, answers.

“I think I need that chair,” Kaaras croaks and Evelyn agrees.

“What do you mean,” the Iron Bull says quietly, startling Evelyn into remembering he’s here, “She made you.”

“Chairs,” the woman in the shawl repeats, “I shall not have this conversation standing in the middle of the servant’s entry in the middle of the night like some uncouth urchin. June, Ghilan’nain, we are getting chairs and refreshments.”

She turns on her heel and marches off, hooking the other man with her and presumably gathering — Ghilan’nain as well.

[nautiscarader]

Ladrien June days 13, 14, 15 (Meeting Gabriel - pictures - dinner)

(this is a continuation of my previous Ladrien June storyline)

(Ao3)

- It's such a pleasure to finally meet you in a more, er, peaceful situation.

"For the second time", Marinette thought to herself, as she shook hands with Gabriel Agreste, the same man, who allowed her to continue her passion as a designer in one of the most prestige companies in France.

- Likewise, Ladybug. - he answered, smiling lightly - Though I have to say, I did expect that my son would choose only the most extraordinary women in all of Paris, or even the World for his partner for life. - Eh, well...

Adrien and Ladybug both blushed, exchanging nervous looks with each other.

- We-We're not engaged yet... - And I didn't choose her, she's not a new tie, father...

Gabriel shot his son a stern look.

- Of course not. She is a diamond in the crown that is our high society. - Well, if you mean "high" as in "high-flying", then I'd say so.

Ladybug giggled, and only the faintest of coughs from Adrien followed her joke, before she realised that her superheroine aspect hasn't changed Gabriel Agreste's opinion on humour.

- Er, father, maybe it's time for a dinner? - Yes. After all, it is a business meeting as well.

He spoke, turned in place and marched towards the spacious dining room, leaving Adrien and Ladybug only a few seconds to meet their eyes in privacy, sending wordless messages they both knew too well. As they walked behind him, Ladybug's hand automatically moved to Adrien's and when her finger brushed his, she heard a tiny gasp from his mouth he evidently wanted to hide from his father. Marinette smiled and winked, before their fingers fully entwined in a tight embrace.

For the first time, Marinette was able to see what really "dinner in Agreste mansion" looks like. Extravagant dining room with marble walls, decorated with golden ornaments and multitude of paintings spoke of the family's riches, though Marinette, if she could, would only look at one of the Agreste's treasures, sitting opposite her.

Gabriel's paralysing presence made the dinner almost silent, prolonging it seemingly to infinity, which gave Marinette and Adrien only a handful of opportunities for them to exchange meaningful looks under his watchful eye. Marinette's memories came back to the previous night, when she was eating sweets from her parents' bakery with Adrien sitting on of the nearby rooftop, joking, talking, laughing and occasionally kissing when she'd pretend she has never tasted that type of delicacies from Dupang-Chengs.

Depraved of any physical contact during the seemingly never-ending dinner, Ladybug moved her leg ever so slightly, and at the same time she nearly made her drop her fork when she felt Adrien's feet brush hers, which sent a stimulating, exhilarating spark through her body (and from the look on his face, his as well).  

Only when they finished main courses and the dessert was served, they heard Gabriel's voice again.

- Once again, I must thank you for your contribution to our annual charity calendar, Ladybug. - No, no, I should be thankful to you. A-And your company for such generosity.

She swallowed the cheesecake bite, tasting that the main ingredient was only processed once, and not twice, which made her slightly proud.

- Though of course that... incident have raised more concerns regarding my son's security. - he added coldly, watching as the smile fades from Ladybug's face. - I... I am aware of that. - she stuttered. - Once again I must question my son's freedom when it comes to going outside. If a supervillain would attack him just to get to you, that would be quite devastating. - I will never allow that. - Ladybug stood up, forgetting the etiquette for a moment. - And I'm sure Chat Noir would be there to help as well. - Adrien added equally quickly - And other superheroes. - Perhaps. - Gabriel drank his tea - But for now, while I am happy for Adrien, I must categorically insist on lack of any dates whatsoever. Fortunately, it seems my son already knows his boundaries...

"Only because Nino disabled the GPS chip in my phone", thought Adrien, sending Ladybug the faintest of winks.

- But still, from now on, all the official dates have to be consulted with me. - O-Official dates? - they both asked. - Naturally. If one wants to have control over this... highly irregular situation, then we must make sure to not leave anything to... luck.

He sent Ladybug a stern gaze.

- I suggest next month, 26th of June, there will be a concert in the park, and my son will be performing, that would be a perfect occasion to- - Oh, actually. - Ladybug interrupted - Speaking of dates, er, no, not that dates, regular, date-y dates, er, wasn't Monsieur Parnasse invited as well?

Adrien blinked when he realised that there was indeed a fourth person missing from the dinner. The artist who recreated the photo of him being saved by Ladybug, which was supposed to appear in the charity calendar, has been missing.

- Pierre Parnasse contacted me earlier and said he had to sadly cancel his visit. Something important, no doubt. - Oh, that's a shame - Marinette spoke - I think his photo was quite amazing. - I agree, it has captured that... exhilarating misadventure quite well.

Gabriel's eyes turned to the printed prototype of the calendar, opened at the June page, showing his son in Ladybug's arms, the two looking at each other with loving affection. And for the first time since the beginning of the dinner, Gabriel Agreste smiled.

- You are late. - Gabriel spoke, when Pierre Parnasse arrived at his mansion an hour later. - L-Late? - the artist stuttered - B-But I thought- - You were supposed to be at 3 PM sharp. - Gabriel spoke, turning away from him - Nevertheless, I have something to tell you regarding your work.

Flabbergasted, Pierre nearly tripped on the flat surface as he tried following Gabriel's quick pace. He arrived at the dining hall that was occupied by Ladybug earlier this day, and waited until Gabriel walked to the stand with the calendar.

- I have consulted your work with miss Ladybug and my son, and we all came to the same conclusion...

Pierre smiled, as Gabriel paused, waiting for his final judgement.

- And we all think it's an outrage that you had audacity to interfere with their privacy!

He yelled and opened the calendar at the June page, showing Ladybug and Adrien... kissing. Cold sweat flooded Pierre's forehead, his eyes widened and he froze in place, as words in his brain tried to put themselves together in the right order.

- B-But- No! No, that's-that's not the right photo! - he wiped his forehead - Tha-That-was-that's the other one, the, the other... one... - Pierre Parnasse, you should be grateful I'm not suing you for breaching my son's and his love's privacy. Needless to say...

Gabriel took the page, and ripped in half, throwing the two pieces of paper to his feet.

- ...you are no longer working on the project. Do you need my bodyguard's help to find the exit?

Pierre took a moment to process the information, until the heavy breathing on his neck revealed the presence of monstrous, ape-like bodyguard behind his back. Pierre grabbed the two parts of the page and ran as quickly as he could, never looking back.

- Was that really necessary? - Nathalie asked, when the door to the dining hall closed - You had her here. Her Miraculous was at an arm's length. - Patience. My son seems to have the same tactical mind as me. If Adrien will be in danger, Ladybug will follow, if she is in danger, Chat Noir will fall into the trap as well, and with a bit of luck, rest of the Miraculi bearers too.

He grabbed his broche, filling the familiar tingling sensation in his head.

- And now, excuse me, I must akumatise a very talented photographer...