#I wrote this all in a moment of hyperactivity at midnight

[mahounostairs]

Countdown to Midnight

Rating: G/T

So I wrote this because I couldn't get the big scene here out of my head. Anyway I fucking love them, they're dumbass gays. I was gonna post this on the eve but ehhhhhhh. I wanted to post it now Happy New Year motherfucks.

[Originally posted December 30, 2019]

I meant to post this on New Year’s this year but uhhh sludge took over enjoy one of my older tm fics

It was that time of the year again. December 31st, the day when every single human on the face of the planet stays up until midnight to welcome the new year and then unceremoniously pass out in God knows where. Normally, Kaoru didn't really celebrate the new year, but a certain blonde prince and hyperactive boy with pink glasses begged him to come to the office's New Year's party. Even when he was still a doctor, he rarely went to parties hosted by his co-workers. Kaoru would admit he found the party fun, yet he found himself on the roof of the office away from it all. The street was lit up by streetlights and windows of various buildings, the occasional person or couple leaving footprints behind them in the snow. It was all therapeutic to watch, in a way.

"Sakuraba?" An all too familiar voice pierced his thoughts, "What are you doing out here? It's freezing!"

Kaoru didn't even need to turn around. "I just needed some air, that's all."

Teru strode over to his side, "You've been getting that air for like, ten minutes now." He put an arm on the railing, "Did your feet freeze in place or something?"

He rolled his eyes at the comment. "Very funny, Tendou." His voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Good! I don't have to break the ice then!" Kaoru gave him a dirty look. "Hey, you gotta admit it was a little funny!"

A smirk perked at Kaoru's lips, "Only a tad."

"Ah-ha!" A triumphant grin crossed his face, "So do you find me funny!"

He sighed, “Only a little bit.”

“So you finally ad--wait huh?” Teru stared at him in dumbfoundment. “Are you serious, like, actually serious?”

“Guess your stupid puns have started to grow on me.”

Teru opened his mouth to reply but- “FIFTEEN SECONDS TO MIDNIGHT Y’ALL!!” an energetic voice came from inside the office, “IT’S GONNA BE MEGA MEGA LIT!!!!”

The two stared at each other for a moment as it only grew noisier inside. “So, should we head back in?” suggested Teru.

Kaoru shook his head, “I’ll stay out here a bit longer.”

A pause, then Teru spoke again, “I think I’ll stay out here with you.”

10!

"Hey, so uh."

"Hmm?" Kaoru hummed, "What is it?"

9!

"I. I wanna tell you something." Teru stammered out.

Kaoru raised an eyebrow, "Really now?"

8!

He gave Kaoru a look, "Yes, really!"

"Then go ahead and say it."

7!

A light flush rose up Teru's cheeks, "I will, I will!"

"If you say so." he rolled his eyes.

6!

"Sakuraba, I." he paused, “I...” His fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the railing.

"Are you going to say it before midnight or what?"

"Would you let me finish?"

5!

"Sakuraba," Teru looked him dead in the eye, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Kaoru stood with his mouth agape, "I..."

4!

“Ah, um. I completely understand if you don’t feel the same way.” Teru’s face was almost as red as his hair, “Even I’m still surprised I feel like this about you. G-go ahead and slap or punch me if you wish!”

"...I feel the same way about you, Tendou."

3!

"Eh? R-r-really?!" Teru’s voice cracked slightly.

With a blush, Kaoru nodded. “I think, I love you too.”

2!

“Th-then!” Teru reached a hand out to touch Kaoru’s cheek, “Is it ok if we, y’know, kiss?”

His blush only deepened, “Y-yeah.”

“Ok then!”

Kaoru's eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in.

1!

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!”

The two of them slowly pulled away from each other. Letting their fingers intertwine as the cold air made their breath visible. “W-wow...” Teru sighed out with wide eyes.

“Th-that was,” Kaoru cursed his newfound tongue-tied-ness, “quite good.”

Teru chuckled lightly, “Yeah, it was.” An awkward silence filled the air. "So, was that your first kiss?"

Embarrassedly, Kaoru nodded, "Was it your's?"

He let out an awkward laugh, "Second, actually. Rather not talk about my first."

“I see." Kaoru looked down away from him for a second. "Do you think,” his blush rose up to his ears, “you’d want to spend the night at my apartment?”

Teru was caught off guard by the offer. “Yes, actually!” he replied with a smile, “But, one last thing.”

“What is it?”

He kissed Kaoru again, “Happy new year, Sakuraba!”

[ahatintimestorybook]

Traumatized

So after an incident at work I decided to write this fanfic hoping as a way to cope with what happened. I’m not going to say what happened as I already told people I’m close to about it, and I kind of want to keep venting away from my stories unless it’s important. Hence why I wrote this.

If you're wondering about me, I’m okay. I’ve healed from the incident thanks to my friends and some needed rest.

Other than that I hope you like this fanfic.

Enjoy!

The kid was finally asleep

Thank goodness

Snatcher sighed as he relaxed in Hat Kid’s pillow pile. After three days of no sleep and bawling into the soul stealing ghost chest. Hat Kid finally got some sleep.

He remembered what happened that day

Snatcher was reading his book and relaxing. Hat Kid told him she was just going to grab a snack with her little mustache friend, which surprised him that the two became friends again after their battle. Suddenly he saw his minions and a dweller telling him to follow them. He didn’t know what they were trying to show him, until he froze to see the kid bruised and had a bloody nose sobbing.

The ghost quickly went over to the little girl and pulled her closer to him. “W-who did this to you?” Snatcher asked. The kid didn’t tell him and just cried into his chest. “Did that Mustache brat do this to you?! I knew she wouldn’t change!” He growled.

“IT WASN’T!” Hat Kid cried.

Snatcher paused. “Then who?” He asked.

Hat Kid pulled away and sniffled a bit. The child was shaking from what happened and tried to say who, but she couldn’t.

The soul stealing ghost looked around his forest to sense if whoever did this to the kid was still out there, but he couldn’t sense anything. Quickly, he grabbed the kid and brought him inside his tree home so she could get treatment.

Even after he bandaged her up, Hat Kid still cried and held on to Snatcher tightly like a lifeline. Never before, during the time the kid was with him did he see the kid act like this before. She was usually her hyperactive, kind hearted self. Even when people were mean to her she showed strength and bravery, never fear. Unless it involved her Time Pieces or Vanessa, but she never cried over them.

Snatcher growled vowing to kill and destroy the soul over the scum who did this to her. He asked the mustached kid and she told him what she saw. Someone heard about Hat Kid and her Time Pieces and begged for her to give him one to help fix his life. When she said no the guy took his anger out on her. Despite the emotional scars, the Mustache girl called for help which scared him off.

However, Snatcher promised that once he finds this horrible bastard his head will be popped, no sliced off.

“N-no. No.” Hat Kid cried in her sleep.

Snatcher snapped out of his flashback and turned to see Hat Kid whimpering, tossing and turning in her bed. He closed his book, and quickly floated over to her. “K-Kid! Kiddo! Wake up!” He yelled, slightly shaking her. This however, was a bad idea.

Hat Kid tried to remove Snatcher off her still screaming and crying. “NO STOP! PLEASE DON’T HURT ME! STOP!” She screamed.

“KIDDO WAKE UP!” Snatcher yelled.

In a flash Hat Kid screamed waking up as tears were falling down her face like waterfalls. She was breathing heavily, looking around her room.

She was just dreaming.

She was okay.

She was safe.

Hat Kid let out a sigh, wiping away the tears from her eyes. “K-Kid.” Snatcher spoke up. Hat Kid turned to see Snatcher looking down at her worriedly. Hat Kid tackled Snatcher into a hug and cried into his chest. The soul stealing ghost sighed and rubbed the kid’s back and soothed the child, but even that didn’t calm her down.

Snatcher looked down at the planet, and his forest. He glanced back at the young girl and sighed. “Hold on kiddo.” He whispered and teleported down to Subcon.

It was nighttime in Subcon and Snatcher teleported down, and once he landed he gently put Hat Kid down.. Hat Kid’s crying slowed down a bit, but tears still fell on her face. “Why are we in Subcon?” She asked, he voice raspy from all that crying.

“When I was your age, and I had nightmares. My parents took me on a midnight walk to clear my head and calm down.” Snatcher explained. Even though Snatcher had the reputation of being cruel, and not caring for the kid he didn’t like seeing her suffer. He didn’t know when he started caring for the brat, and always denied it, but after the incident he truly did care for the kid.

Hat Kid sniffled. “I didn’t know you had nightmares?” She asked.

Snatcher crossed his arms giving a smug smile. “I wasn’t born a ghost kiddo. I was a kid like you at one point.” He confessed.

“I know that!” She snapped back, but in a quiet tone. “I mean you, having nightmares.” She replied.

“Everyone gets nightmares kiddo.” Snatcher revealed. “Even people like Vanessa have had them.”

“Really?”

Snatcher nodded. “Really.” He then held his hand out for Hat Kid to hold it. Slowly, the kid grabbed the shadow ghost’s hand and the ghost took the kid on a small walk around Subcon.

Subcon felt different this time around. It wasn’t spooky or full of adventure like Hat Kid saw it. Subcon at this time was calm and relaxing like the forests in her storybooks. Snatcher was right, a walk at night did help her just a bit.

Snatcher looked down at Hat Kid. She finally calmed down, but tears still glistened in her eyes. The soul stealing ghost looked up ahead and saw they weren’t far off where he wanted to take the kiddo.

The soul stealing ghost stopped seeing he finally made it to the place where he wanted to take Hat Kid. “Why are we here?” Hat Kid asked.

“Where I go when I’m feeling down.” Snatcher said. He then moved the bushes and Hat Kid’s eyes widened. It was an open area where the trees surrounded it, but you're still able to see the sky. Hat Kid’s eyes widened looking around as the stars were over her.

“Snatcher.” Hat Kid started. “This place is beautiful.” She whispered. Snatcher gave a soft chuckle. He knew the kid would’ve loved it. He floated over to a log and sat down and patted over the spot next to him for Hat Kid to sit. The kid went over to her BFF and sat right next to him.

Hat Kid’s eyes sparkled seeing the stars shining up in the sky. “The stars are beautiful tonight.” She commented.

“I see your feeling better.” Snatcher said, seeing the kid giving a small smile.

“A little.” Hat Kid sighed. Snatcher gave a frown seeing the kid wasn’t fully healed from her horrors. “But,” she continued making Snatcher look at her. “I’m glad you're making me feel better.”

Then Snatcher saw something on the kid he hadn’t seen in such a long time:

Hat Kid smiled.

Snatcher’s eyes widened as he smiled too giving one of his signature laughs. Hat Kid was confused till the soul stealing ghost grabbed her and spun around the opening as the two were laughing and having fun. Snatcher pulled Hat Kid close to him and Hat Kid did the same burying her face into his fluffy chest.

The two were like that for a moment before he heard a little yawn coming from Hat Kid. “Getting sleepy?” Snatcher asked. Hat Kid nodded in reply. With a snap of his fingers he teleported back to Hat Kid’s ship and put the kid to bed. “Night kiddo.”

“Night BFF.” Hat Kid tiredly replied before falling asleep with a smile. It melted Snatcher’s heart every time Hat Kid called him her BFF. He floated back to the kid’s pillow pile and took out a book, and read before he went to sleep himself.

[tori-beanie]

PART TWO IS HERE!

You know that soulmark AU? Yeah? Well I made another chapter and I’m proud of it.

Let’s talk about some stuff first. I did not come up with these designs. Nope, that belongs to FanartFunart with this post here! I’ve been given permission to use the idea for fanfics, and I am very grateful for that. Make sure to give them some love!! https://fanartfunart.tumblr.com/post/184661279405/filed-under-aus-i-do-not-plan-on-actually-doing

Please also check out the last part of this I wrote, the first part of the ‘Soulmarked’ Series!

Without further ado, please enjoy,

The first Encounter

~~MORE~~

Logan was ten years old, and he still had four blackened marks on his forearm. Not a single one had gained color yet, and it was starting to drive him insane. He tried to distract himself with as much as possible with extra work and so many books. However they were his soulmates. He knew they would eventually meet. That didn’t make Logan’s life easier though. People accused him of faking the extra marks, and some were disgusted by the amount. Five people all going to be in a relationship? How was it even possible? Luckily Logan read. He read far above his grade level, even able to get his mother to buy him a book about people with multiple soulmates. It was one that he was working to memorize, one of the ten year olds most important things.

At the moment he was at school, bored. He had already finished the homework for his advanced math class. He had skipped a grade easily, so instead of being a fifth grader, he had moved up to sixth and took advanced classes. It was work that was a bit more his level. If he had to take basic fifth grade classes he really would go insane! They would be far too easy for Logan Foley! But even now he had worked ahead and now had nothing else to do. For now he would stare at the marks on his arm, and hope that one of them started changing color. At least then he would have something to focus on…

Patton Foster had been living in shades of white black and grey now for about five years. He honestly had trouble remembering what color things were. Obviously he knew the sky was blue and the grass was green, but what were blue and green? What did their pigments look like? They were both different shades of grey, but that didn’t really help him. All the nine year old could do was stare at a colored pencil or marker and hope he picked out the right one. Did hair come in purple? Who knew anymore. It was going to be purple this time.

In his art class, Patton and the two other colorblind students were given passes on their art. And although he still tried to be accurate, sometimes he’d draw a red skinned person with blue hair and yellow eyes. The teacher told him it was okay, and Patton tried to believe it. He kept a smile on his face. He could be perfectly happy, even without color! He would get them back once he met his soulmate! Yes, Patton was still a bubbly bouncy fourth grader, just as he should be.

Roman… Roman O’Ryan was sick of hearing the same song over and over again. It seemed his soulmate favored playing one song on loop just to drive him crazy! However it was okay. It may be a weird song that he wouldn’t normally listen to, but Ro has memorized all the words. In fact, he memorized most of the songs his soulmate played. Although tastes seemed to shift around a lot. Once or twice he could have sworn that the songs overlapped as if more than one was playing at the same time. It was weird to think about. How could one soulmate listen to so much music!? Oh well. He’d deal with it later when they were able to meet.

It was nearly Romans tenth birthday, and he was really excited. He was a fifth grader at a school near the edge of town, and would be having the best party ever! His mother was bringing them all to a themed arcade for his double digits! Roman had been handing out invitations to anyone who looked like they were friendly, when he saw someone. The boy was covered in black swirls, like a pattern that the boy couldn’t memorize. As he moved forward towards him and held out an invitation, their eyes met. This boy had one green eye, and one that was a yellow tone. However both boys gasped when his left arm began to glow red and yellow through his clothes. Yes, this was interesting…

Declan was minding his own business. Honestly the sixth grader had been sulking about being in another new school. His parents moved frequently, which meant a lot of bouncing around schools. De had been rather annoyed, not looking very inviting when a boy stepped up to him. When he met the boys red eyes though, a warm pleasant heat began to swirl down his arm. De immediately looked at it, seeing a red filling up what had been a blank black flower, and yellows mixing together until there was a proper crown atop its petals. Both boys were utterly speechless.

What should they say first!? De took initiative and held out his hand, voice still a bit shaky from the shock of it all.

“Hey. I’m uh, Declan. Declan Shea.”

“Roman O’Ryan… Are you my soulmate?”

“No, my shoulder just flowed and colored itself in for no reason at all.”

He couldn’t help the sarcasm. De was a habitual liar, something that normally made people annoyed with him and got him in trouble. However Roman… He just laughed and grabbed De’s hand, pulling him up with a bright smile.

“Come with me! My mama is picking me up today! We’ve gotta show her this!”

Honestly Declan didn’t have it in him to object, a small half smile on his face as he was dragged along by a hyperactive boy.

Virgil was quiet. He had grown to be an average student, but he had a few problems. Mostly with anxiety when around other people. Due to that fact, he was homeschooled by his mother and father. Overall he was a happy boy though, learning to read and write at his level. However he excelled in science. More specifically, when it came to the human body. It was always fun to learn about it, and maybe then he would understand ‘Dark Blue.’ He had no names for the soulmates he knew existed, so he just called them after the color their words were written in. The dark blue one was written in long science speak, making it Virgil’s favorite to learn.

He would read all the phrases written on his body every day, smiling as each one was looked at. It was a bit anxiety inducing to think about how he had four soulmates waiting for him, and it was a lot of love to give, but he was still excited. Who wouldn’t be!? Although his favorite at the moment was the yellow one.

‘So you’re the little stormcloud!’

It was written across his neck, and he was happy to read it. In fact, it inspired the boy to learn to sew so he could put a storm cloud patch on his jacket. Maybe it would help his soulmate recognize him. Yes, maybe one day...

General Taglist: @midnight--fox @your-friendly-neighborhood-enby @heathers-dorkness-0923

Soulmarked Taglist: @fanartfunart

[matildainmotion]

Motherhood Guilt and Mary Poppins - What does your guilt look like?

           It follows after the season of goodwill: the season of guilt. It is traditional in January, either because we overindulged at Christmas - spent, drank, ate too much - or because we have already broken our New Year’s resolutions, a mere two weeks since we made them. Apparently, however, it is what most mother-makers feel the whole year round. At every Open Space event that I have hosted under the Mothers Who Makebanner someone has called a session simply entitled, “Guilt” and whenever the word is said out loud there is an audible reaction – laughter, sighs, clicks of the tongue.

           Guilt: as a mother and a maker I get a double dose. It is so normal, so much a part of the fabric of my everyday experience that I take it for granted, as constant as the sky. If I check into my own guilt-list from the last 12 hours alone it contains the following items: failing to get my daughter to eat any fresh foods; looking at the computer when I should have been clearing up the supper; snapping at my son when he was jumping up on the loo and postponing brushing his teeth (actually I was snapping at him because I was already feeling guilty about my mother and how I think I have inadequately supported her around the sale of her house); not managing to get the children into bed before 9.15pm; taking a phone call at 10pm which kept my son awake; not getting myself into bed before midnight; still not having caught up on my emails since before Christmas; still not having managed to re-establish my daily writing practice; still not having got back to writing my novel, which is what I am really supposed to be doing.....and this is by no means the complete list. Nor does it include the long-term list, the kind that make up the formula, “Because I did X (e.g. ate too much sugar in my pregnancy/ breast-fed too long/ too short etc.) my child has turned out Y (hyperactive/ violent/ addictive etc.) - the list that lays everything at the mother’s doorstep and makes me think I should be saving now for my children’s therapy later. 

           If I take a step back it saddens and outrages me. The mothers and makers that I know and with whom I have connected through the growing MWM network are the hardest working people I have met, the most crazily underpaid, attempting to do vital, if unrecognised work – raising the next generation, reflecting on the state of their own. They are trying to do nothing but good in the world. There is a ludicrous mismatch between the amount of guilt they carry and the important and positive work of caring and creating with which they are so deeply engaged. What is going on?!

           My two year old daughter is far more practical than me and currently, when faced with any quandary she heads for the tool box. She knows where the screwdrivers live. I will follow her lead and reach into my creative toolbox now – there are two things in there that might come in handy.

           The first is an understanding I gained about the dynamics of guilt from training in Non-Violent Communication (NVC). Guilt is a form of self-judgement, as differentiated from shame, which focuses on other people’s judgements. Guilt entails an internal critic (though there may be a ton of shame and plenty of external critics hanging about as well!), the kind of self-talk that starts off with phrases like, “You should have…” “You are rubbish because…”. However, dip beneath the judgements and there is a value at stake, a principle that you hold dear, a need that your actions did not manage to fulfil. Look a second time at your actions and you will find that there is another need, equally precious, which you were trying to meet by doing whatever you did. So, for example, when I snapped at my son at tooth-brushing time, I did not act in accordance with my deeply held belief that children deserve respect. I did not speak to him as I would wish him to speak to me. At the same time I had some other, equally dear needs, that I was trying to look after when I snapped – wanting to tend to my son’s health and teeth (which are not in a good way!), wanting him to get into bed in time to get enough rest, longing for some space for myself to be able to process the day, including my care for my mother. This was a moment – 5 seconds – and yet it is all there, and when I recognise and name the needs I was attempting to look after, and the ones I failed to look after, I feel sad rather than guilty. If underneath all guilt there are unmet needs, cares, and strongly held beliefs, seemingly pitted against one another in the moment, it is no wonder that the mothers and makers of the land feel guilt-ridden. Passion and care are part of our job description. There is so much that we are each holding. So many strands. So much potential for guilt. What to do?

           I am going in for the second tool in the creative toolbox. This time it comes from the Process Work that I have done, working with Improbable. Instead of seeing the guilt, the internal critic that holds great power, as a problem, there is an exercise you can do where you find out how it might become your ally, a force to support instead of an energy that drains. I am going to try to do this fast now, in writing. Here goes…..

           My guilt, in the bathroom with my son, besides the toothbrushes, takes on a form in my mind– she is a perfect woman, upright, always kind, smiling, wearing a stripy pinafore, whilst she tells me, in no uncertain terms that I have failed again. I look down at her feet, and they are sharply turned out. She is taking out a tape measure and measuring me – she tells me I measure up as, “Trying hard, but not good at boundary-holding.” She measures herself: “Practically perfect” she says. To my great surprise my guilt-critic has morphed into Mary Poppins. We watched Mary Poppinsat Christmas with the children, and then went to see Mary Poppins Returnsat the cinema on Sunday. My daughter keeps requesting that we sing, “Let’s Go Fly a Kite” together. As I slow down and imagine being Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way, holding her tape measure to prove it, I can also feel a tug inside my chest, like the pull of a kite string. It is at once related to the pain, the pull of guilt, and it is also its exact opposite, because a kite string, on the wind, tugs upwards not down. “With your feet on the ground, You're a bird in flight. With your fist holding tight. To the string of your kite…”

           So here is a kind of answer for me tonight, an image to which I can connect in the next moment that I need it, a way to remember the incredible forces, the longings, strong as the wind, which are out there and in me. I remember how I wrote at the start of this piece that my guilt was as constant as the sky. Now this strikes me as a strangely positive image – a place of flight, where wonders can happen, where practically perfect nannies and carers can appear. What I love about the Poppins’ kite song is how we get to stay on the ground and be in the clouds, how our hands are in fists and yet also in flight. When I next close my hand into a fist to beat myself up, I will try to feel the pull of the kite string inside it, the upward tug of all the things I care about.

Here then are your questions for the month, your homework – don’t feel guilty if you don’t answer them. Or do, feel excessively guilty, and find out what that’s really like and where it is tugging you:

What are the items on your guilt-list? What are the needs and longings underneath them?

What does your guilt look like? Can you imagine it as a figure?

If you slow down, what wisdom might that figure be holding for you? How could it be an ally to you?

[butterflynotes-a]

Once Upon A Time

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Relationships: Saeran Choi x MC AU - Band/Singers Originally Posted: July 7th 2018

The song used was written by me and will be posted, alongside other songs mentioned, soon.

If we could forget the world would we still be living in it with a thousand words inside our minds never making it out.

Who was she?

Saeran didn’t recognise the woman, even if he should have. Brown hair that seemed to sway at the breeze outside and blue eyes that held the sky, almost as if the entire universe was locked away in her soul. She was captivating, in the most simple terms, even if he wished to speak lines of poetry.

She was the kind of person that poetry was created to describe, in his view. When she had approached him, he had barely been able to believe it, his lips curving into the softest of a smile, a slight upturn of the lips - ghostly, yet still there if one looked for it. “You must be Saeran, right?” Her voice was like silk, smooth and rich, and the words were spoken with a tone that bordered on joyful and nervous.

His response was a small nod, her presence almost enough to render her speechless. “You want me to write a song.” He stated, slowly, careful not to miss a single word as he spoke, gazing into her eyes. He could get lost in them if he wasn’t careful - in each speck of grey that created clouds in the skies of blue. “Yes. I’m meant to be collaborating with your band.” She spoke, interrupting his thoughts, his eyes snapping from hers as his cheeks tinged with pink - how embarrassing.

“I’ll write one you’ll love.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, a barely there grin. “Don’t disappoint me then, Choi Saeran. I have high expectations.” Everyone did, she was no exception. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t bothered to point that out at the time, but he supposed he was too lost in tangled feelings to even care. Instead, his reply had been “I wouldn’t dare” and he wishes that he hadn’t messed up the first impression she would have of him.

It was all he had.

I wonder if we stayed here and just forgot it all would anyone look for us or would we be forgotten to the world like we wished.

He wasn’t sure how long he had spent slaving over the song, perfecting the melody and each lyric to be perfectly in tune with his feelings and with her ideals. It would be going on both the album for her solo act and for the band he wrote for - Butterfly Kisses. It had been the name they picked up after their first album.

In the end, they hadn’t known what to name the band, so they chose the first song that Saeran had written for the group. A lot of people had thought it was quite a mushy name, especially implying they’d only be good for romance songs, which had been proven wrong when they released a crushing single about fear rather than love.

Saeran hadn’t been more smug than that night.

“How is the song going?” He recognised her voice almost immediately, looking up at her. “It’s going fine, Myeong-Eun.” He murmured, a fond type of irritation seeping into the quiet voice. Her name actually suited her when it came to her musical career - Stardust, that was the name she went by, and he loved it much more than Butterfly Kisses. They should have chosen a different name, all those years ago.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.” He ended a sentence in the notebook, nudging it to the other side of the desk with his hand. When she sat down and started to read it, he watched her, as if seeking some sort of validation in her reaction. When she smiled, he knew that he’d done something good, for once in his life.

“It’s beautiful.”

Like you. He wishes he had the courage to say that rather than just offer an awkward grin and ignoring the joy that bubbled in his chest, the too fast heartbeat and the way he could have died if she just looked at him for a second longer than she did. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Saeran. I have to go and meet with the others. It’s good publicity to act like we’re friends.”

He could sense her disdain for the idea of pretending to be friends with everyone - and it wasn’t a lie to say it broke his heart - so he placed a hand on her arm as she stood, allowing it to fall back to his side. “They’re not too bad, you know?” He forced out, despite how he wanted the ground to swallow him whole at that moment. She glanced at him, for only a second, and he could see a type of hatred in her eyes - and it hurt, even if it wasn’t aimed at him.

“Don’t lie to me.”

With that, she was gone.

So tell me, if a thousand words could escape us now, what would they be?

As time went on, everything started to change.

Once the song was finished, it was as if he didn’t exist in the eyes of Myeong-Eun. She begun to neglect his existence, their talks coming to a sudden stop, as the woman started spending more time with the other members of Butterfly Kisses. His heart yearned for her presence, aching for just the smallest fragment of her attention - her affection - to be aimed at him.

His wishes simply grew more hopeless the longer time went on, for she was adamant on pretending he didn’t exist. He knew why, of course. No one wanted the songwriter, he was only good for the music, she didn’t care about him. If she just wanted his music, he’d give it to her - all of it.

That evening, he begun to write a new song - one just for him, one she would despise. Maybe then, Myeong-Eun would realise how much she had hurt him. That evening, Saeran Choi begun a song titled ‘Letters’ with the pledge it would become the number one single - he swore to himself, he’d make her notice him.

The real him, not just the lyrics he wrote from the bleeding of his heart and remnants of a shattered soul, lost long ago to a world beyond the one they knew. He wondered if he could ever repair himself, or if he’d always be a lost soul, pining for the affection of a woman he could never have.

He wondered if she’d ever want him.

Once upon a time I held your hand in mine, the knight that couldn’t have you, for you were the princess, all I ever wanted.

Day after day, he sat at the desk, writing down the lyrics and composing the music for the piece that was designed to reach her. Even if she’d never hear it, it was hers. He was hers if she decided she wanted him - as if that would happen, it was simply a hopeless dream.

He wasn’t sure why he’d even allow himself to dream of her lips touching his tentatively and interlocked fingers, ghostly touches to his arm and following her as if she was all he had ever known. The reason he allowed himself to fantasise of gentle embraces, her arms around him as she held him tight, was elusive - a mystery at best, in the end.

A memory from a distant past, buried so many years behind layers and layers of death and trauma. Perhaps in another life, they had been together - she, the princess he had sworn to protect, and he, the knight she had confessed her love to beneath a starry midnight sky. Lovers torn apart all too quick, forever connected and finding their way to each other.

If he wants to, he can almost believe that story, but chooses not to. The phantom of her fingers on his palm lingers and the ghost of a kiss pressed to his forehead as tears fell from the eyes of a wounded child remains, even if she does not. They are simply ghouls from the past which insist on haunting the mind of a writer who cannot put his heart into his work.

They are spectres that should be put to rest yet cannot. They stop at nothing, spirits of those that had been taken so coldly by the cruel world around them, unloved and lost. They are trapped on the Earth, just like he is, as if it is a prison. He wonders if the wandering souls inside him could ever be saved.

He doubts it, for he cannot even save himself from the feelings that bubble within him. There is no trace of the sensations of fingertips and lips, of being held and the whispers of ‘I love you’ had disappeared into nothing more than the sound of the wind outside. He takes a second to compose himself as the door opens, offering a smile of false trust and faked happiness as his eyes convey the opposite of what he wishes to appear as.

She questions why he’s writing so late at night, not bothering to mask her disdain for his working habits. It was easy to think that, for only a moment, she cared for his well being and not the music he could create for her. He laughs after a brief pause, all nervous energy and melancholy passed off as hyperactivity and joy. “I had an idea.” He speaks, the smile never leaving his face.

She stays, watching his face for any signs of lying, before nodding and turning away. “Get some sleep.” She muttered, scowling - he couldn’t see it - and then she leaves, just as quickly as she came. “I can’t.”  The reply comes out weak and quiet. It doesn't matter. He isn’t sure she could hear him anyway.

So we would exchange a thousand words in the form of letters, beginning ‘my beloved’ and pretend for just a moment we could be together.

The words keep on flowing, from heart to pen, from the ink of his blood to the blank pages of the notebook, pristine and ready to be filled. The scratching of the pen on paper eases him, soothes his emotions. The sadness that rages like the ocean at spring tide, relentless and drowning all that dared come into its path. He wishes for the sadness to disappear, but with the longing comes the ghostly touches.

The sadness is better than those, he supposes, for he isn’t sure if he could cope with the idea that she once loved him - even in another life - but that she would never even want him again. The touches are a reminder of a love he yearned for, but did not deserve. Unrequited. That was the word, wasn’t it? He knew it had to be - a love for one who did not return such a sentiment.

That day, he started the next song on their album, ‘Unrequited’. It was a message made for her, much like the other songs were. Perhaps she would realise when she read the lineup for the album, each title for her - every word for her, only her, no one else. Even if she didn’t see it, he would write about her. His love for her, pure adoration, innocent and true. He was completely, irrevocably in love with Myeong-Eun Choe and, for the first time, he isn’t scared to.

There were twelve songs on the latest album for Butterfly Kisses, each with another story behind it. He had worked hard on the songs, ‘Unrequited’ being the final one to write. He sighed, staring down at the page which held the list of the songs on.

Butterfly Kisses - Album 3, Elysian Song line up is as follows:

A Thousand Words

Hiraeth

Letters

Lacuna

Latibule

Annus Mirabilis

Meraki

Endure

Tristful

Torpe

Anagapesis

Unrequited

Twelve songs, all of which were for her. He could only hope she would cherish them more than she had ever cherished him - if his work was in vain, then he was sure his resolve would crumble, just as his heart the moment he came to the conclusion she would never love him. She was a star - the star - and he was simply a lowly songwriter, too scared to come out of the shadow of his twin in fear of his father.

Someone like her would never want someone like him, it was typical. It was human nature to love those who had something to offer a person, and what could he offer? All he had was words, not a way with them, and he was pathetic without the language he so desperately used to convey his feelings, as if it was all he had left to hold onto.

It was.

I remember when we used to be, two people with one soul, but we’re not that anymore, so could we even retrace our steps back to who we used to be?

Hiraeth. A home that never was, that one could never return to. It was fitting, she mentions once in passing, for a person like him who had no home in the first place. He isn’t sure if it was meant to be a compliment or a jab, but either way the burn of despair is surfacing in his heart - he isn’t sure if he’ll ever be good enough.

It was fitting, however, he knew. He had chosen it to define himself and Saeyoung. They never had a home, not a true one, yet they both longed for a past they didn’t recall. Saeran yearned for phantom touches and loving embraces, remembering them like yesterday even though he had never experienced such touch in his life. Saeyoung longed for the stars, to reach them, as if they were second nature to him.

The person he dreamed of, the giver of the ghostly touches, the one who traced their fingertips against his hand so long ago. His comforter, his inspiration, soulmate - the person he wanted to meet, if only so he could spend his life with them. He wondered who she was, because all he saw was a supernova and a glimpse of blue eyes that had seen the pain of a world far more cruel than his own.

He recalls those eyes, vaguely, as if they were no more than a fading glimpse at another world, one he never should have known of in the first place. However, it doesn’t change that they are aged by loss and grief that someone should never have experienced at all. In that world, she touched objects and gravity seemed to disappear.

Then, there was the boy with white and red hair, a burn over his eye and his lips set in a small frown. His eyes are the same, one amber and one mint. He sees the ice around his heart and the flames that lick at his arm. Saeran scours his mind, trying to figure out why the male was familiar, but drawing a blank. He always did.

All he remembers of the boy was the way he cried in the arms of the blue eyed woman, tormented by demons no one his age should ever have to face. He seemed almost like Saeran - sad, lost, all alone in the world. Isolation had worn down the eyes of the male, Saeran recognised that look.

The look of a child who had been ruined by those around him, a victim to the inner workings of society. A boy who had never experienced the love of a family, not truly, and knew he never would. His fingers touch his eyes for a moment and Saeran can almost feel the heat steam and the burn of boiling water against his flesh.

He pretends he never did.

So can we go back to the place it began, sit in the flower garden and wonder what happened to all we used to know?

Would they ever love each other?

The thought comes to mind one day, a week before the album was due to be released and the week before their first concert on the Elysian tour. Tour. Saeran didn’t usually go on them, opting to stay at his apartment in Manchester, England while the others travelled throughout the world. It was better than Seoul, which was pain and hurt, loneliness and despair.

He couldn’t handle Seoul without someone by his side and, when they went on tour, there was none. So he had purchased an apartment in England for when the others left. Manchester was a nice city, anyway. The way people spoke so freely, caring and considerate, to each other. The beautiful architecture and the thriving nightlife.

The flowers and trees around the city and the old courtyards, as aged as his soul, but much more beautiful than it could ever be. There was an odd draw to it for him, but he supposed that was because he was a writer and the curse of a writer was the attention to their surroundings - even if they wished not to see anything at all.

He wondered what his life would have been like if he had been raised in such a city, where people came together during terrible times and offered help when no one else could. A place full of strength, preserved through their hardship. It was truly a wonderful place, both with the history it held and the immortality of unity within. It is silly to imagine what could never have been, but he finds himself doing so anyway.

At least when he thinks of that, he doesn’t think of what could have been between him and Myeong-Eun if he wasn’t so afraid to confess his feelings. He wanted to, truthfully, but the fear of rejection was all too much and he could not bring himself to prepare for the grief caused by the loss of a valued friend - the disappearance of what could have been.

It was silly to even think of alternate futures. However, he can’t help but dream of a small flower shop on the corner of a busy Seoul street with roses in the window and a florist who wanted more of the world than he could ever have. A man who only wanted the heart of the pretty girl who brought tulips and called them friends. He dreams of a future where she loves him and he is the florist, kind and generous.

When he awakes, he laughs.

Once upon a time I held your hand in mine, the knight that couldn’t have you, for you were the princess, all I ever wanted.

When the day comes that the album is released, Saeran is dragged to an interview by his ever so loving big brother. He wasn’t really a fan of interviews - or any type of attention - but it was part of the job, he supposed, seeing as the others viewed him as a member just as much as themselves. He was quite sure they just didn’t trust him alone while they were gone.

He had made sure to dress in the way the public knew him, a long sleeved red top on, a black leather jacket and jeans. His shoes were boots, reaching halfway to his knee and with a slight heel. He had spent a while on make-up, too - mascara and eyeliner with the slightest hint of dark eyeshadow, barely visible but there all the same. The eyeshadow is a lot like him.

When he arrives at the venue for the interview, he heads over to where his friends are to prepare for the questions they would be asked. As usual, the interview goes smoothly - and he doesn’t really care for the article a blogger wrote . It’s really not important to him, in the end, what people say about him - it only matters what he thinks.

He tries to make himself believe that, but there’s the voice in the back of the mind that tortures him with thoughts of what Myeong-Eun thinks. It never stops, but he used to be better at ignoring it before he met her. A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his thoughts as they approached an ice cream parlour.

His brother asked what he wanted and Saeran, for the first time in a while, smiled with genuine happiness. “Cookie dough.” He spoke, quietly, looking at the floor as if afraid of judgement for his choice. It was reflex, mostly, something he had drilled into himself: everyone judged, don’t look while they do. It was silly to think people who had known him for a while would suddenly hate him based on a choice of ice cream.

He isn’t sure this level of fear is healthy.

So we would exchange a thousand words in the form of letters, beginning ‘my beloved’ and pretend for just a moment we could be together.

He isn’t sure she ever really loves him, in the end. Eventually, she came to him, offering words of love and care. However, he is sure - he knows - that they are fake, because he can see the pity in the eyes of everyone when she kisses his cheek or takes his hand, interlocking their fingers.

He isn’t sure he wants to love her anymore.

[masqueradingwriter]

Querencia [ Part 2 ]

🌸 Pairing: Jungkook x reader (Y/N) ※ Yoongi x reader (Y/N)

🌸 Warnings: none

🌸 Author’s Note: I update this every weekend so keep those notifs on if you want to get updated right away. I don’t have a designated time on when I drop it lmao

The silence was an enemy to all when there is a little bit of tension surrounding the area. But the atmosphere was not thick enough that a knife could cut through.

I just didn’t know what to say after he asked me that.

Yoongi oppa continued to stare at me; patiently waiting for an answer. Our food was clearly forgotten on the table.

“...Oppa, what made you ask that?” I finally said in a whisper.

“You know how I’m an observant person, right? Whenever you and I are in the same room, he turns from a hyperactive kid to a quiet one in a split second. He wasn’t like that before. Did he find out?” He asked.

“I don’t think he did; although he was pissed off at me when I left to see you tonight…”

I didn’t want to look at him straight in the eyes after saying that. But judging by my body language and his tired sigh, he knew I was really affected by the way Jungkook has been acting out lately.

“Y/N, why not just tell him the truth? I know you guys had history but don’t you think telling him will clear the air around us?”

“Oppa, you know I’m not ready to tell him...if I do, I might break and I don’t want him to see me like that again. It’s gonna hurt me more than it’s gonna hurt him…” I murmured; burying my face in the blanket.

I felt the couch dip from beside me as he wrapped his arms around me in a hug.

“Sorry...I won’t ask again, alright? I’m sorry…” He softly said.

The silence that used to have tension transformed into a comfortable one with Yoongi oppa just hugging me and my head resting on his chest. His computer was playing the piano version of So Far Away; one of my favorite songs from his mixtape.

These moments I shared with the special people in my life are what I cherish the most. It makes you feel like you are protected from the outside world and nothing will hurt you.

And that’s what Yoongi oppa is like to me.

I glanced at the clock and saw that it was way past midnight now. Time flew by pretty fast once again. Seems like he noticed as well since he slightly pushed me off.

“I think I should bring you home now.” He announced while he started clearing the table.

“Don’t you have to work some more? I can wait for you to finish.”

“It’s fine, I’ve done more than enough for now. I’ll work on it with Namjoon and Hobi later.”

As I waited for him to shut down everything, I checked my phone for any messages or calls that I might have missed.

The lights suddenly shut off; my phone screen blinding me from the brightness. I quickly locked the screen and glared at him.

“Could’ve warned me, I lost my eyesight for a few seconds there.”

“Sorry, let’s go. You must be sleepy already.”

A car ride later and we were finally in front of my apartment. My eyes barely stayed open and a wave of exhaustion hit me halfway along. I barely made it out of the car; insisting that Yoongi oppa should stay inside or risk having to be seen by wandering eyes.

“You’re being paranoid again Y/N, that’s not good for you. I want to bring you up.” He complained.

“I know, I know, I just can’t help it. I appreciate the gesture though. Take care of yourself going home and message me when you get there.” I smiled tiredly at him.

“I really hope you don’t pass out going up.”

“Will it ease the worry if I also message you as soon as I step foot into my room?”

“The message will be gladly accepted.”

I laughed and motioned him to leave already.

“Come on, you guys have a schedule to do later as well. You need all the sleep you can get.”

“Alright, alright. Before I go, I got you something.”

Yoongi oppa reached back inside the car and gave me a box wrapped in silver with a navy blue bow on top. I carefully held it in my hands and shook it a little.

“You didn’t have to…”

“We’ve been through this. I want to, okay? And besides, you forget what day it is today.”

“What?”

“Goodnight Y/N, I’ll see you later.”

He left me with a smirk on his face and a confused look on mine. I quickly went inside the building and went up to my apartment. I dropped my bag and gift on top of my bed as I changed into more comfortable clothes. My Bluetooth speaker started playing some instrumental music; helping me relax from a really eventful day. I opened my phone to see a message from Yoongi oppa.

I yawned and my eyes were filled with tears; blurring my eyesight. I was so close to falling asleep already. I pushed my bag to the floor and took the box he gave me. There was an envelope with his signature stuck on the side that I didn’t notice sooner. I plucked it and right as I was about to read it, my phone rang signaling me that another message was received. I put the envelope down and saw that it was a message from Jungkook.

I ran a hand through my hair; thinking about what to say.  A part of me wanted to say yes but another was telling me to pull back; letting me know that it wasn’t a good idea to be left alone with him on this day.

But he’s my best friend first and foremost. I shouldn’t be overthinking this, it’s been around two years already.

Deciding that I should reply when I wake up with a refreshed mind instead, I put my phone down and turned back to the gift Yoongi oppa gave. I unwrapped the box with curiosity and saw an assortment of things inside. I pulled out a Kumamon plushie, a jar filled with rolled up notes, a rectangular box, and the multiple origami butterflies in the colors of mint, black, and dark blue.

Opening the rectangular box, I gasped softly to see a rose gold necklace with a serotonin molecule as the charm; the endpoints dotted with diamonds.

This was all too much, I couldn’t handle it.

I took the note out of the envelope and almost tore up at what he wrote.

“Today marks the day that I’m happy you’re here. When the world turns black again and the road ahead of you seems daunting to walk on, remember that I’m here and that I’m still willing to walk down that road with you without ever letting go. Happy one year anniversary.”

[ Masterlist ]   [ Part 1 ]  ↭  [ Part 3 ]

[blame-canada]

Midnight Snack - Bunny

Butters couldn’t deny that he enjoyed being spoiled. Kenny may not have been the most well-to-do man in town, but he did his best, and it made every treat tastier, and each act sweeter.

Hello friends! It’s about time I wrote some Bunny, eh? I’ve shipped them forever but never been able to finish something, so I took one of the prompts from this month’s South Park Mini-Bomb - Treat - and came up with this. Find it on AO3 here!

“A’ight baby, get ready for some grade A Kenny McCormick special treatment action, because it’s comin’ your way in approximately ten minutes,” his phone said, and Butters cradled it to his cheek, as though the tenderness in which he held it could transfer through the call and kiss Kenny’s ear for him.

“Aw, Kenny,” he said, his voice melting as much as his body did as he sunk into the pillows on his bed, “you shouldn’t have.”

“Too late!” Kenny exclaimed, loudly into the receiver, so much so that Butters had to pull the speaker from his ear just slightly. In doing so, the screen awoke, and the picture he assigned to Kenny’s contact made his heart even warmer. It was a selfie of the two of them together, but it was held by Kenny’s arm, not his, and that somehow made it much more magical. “I provide only the best, and there’s nothin’ you can do to stop me.”

“Nothing?” he teased, fiddling with the tassels on the ends of one of his throw pillows, and Kenny laughed, nearly as wonderful through the phone as in person. He had such a musical laugh, so full of life.

“Nothin’ at all, darlin’. Unlock the window for me?” Kenny requested almost unnecessarily, and Butters nodded before realizing that Kenny couldn’t see him doing so.

“You bet! See ya soon, mister man,” he murmured coyly, and he knew he threw Kenny for a loop by the slight pause in his response. He cleared his throat and Butters tried not to laugh.

“You got it. See you. Love you,” he said, in that special way he always said it in which he put too much emphasis on the word ‘love,’ and Butters smiled.

“Love you too, Kenny,” he said. He bid him farewell without goodbye- he didn’t like the word goodbye. It was too final, too concrete, and whenever he said it, he had a superstitious feeling that Kenny would vanish before he got the chance to say ‘hello’ again. Maybe because he was afraid to lose him, or because the days he did disappear felt like torture, but either way, Kenny was a doll to never say it again.

When he hung up the phone, he couldn’t help himself- he let out a small giggle that made his ears feel hot and his stomach tingly, and he rolled back and forth with his phone to his chest in the nest of plushy pillows he wrapped around himself. Oh, he loved him. “I love him so much,” he whispered to himself, as if it might help release the energy that was building in his chest that felt like rainbows and tickled like feathers.

Carefully, with pointed toes donning striped socks, he crossed his bedroom floor and crept to the window to unlock it. He reached under the window sill and felt around blindly with his fingertips until he found the rudimentary notch Kenny had chipped into it for him, and, popping off the little cover fashioned from the displaced wood, he flipped a tiny switch. He gripped the sides of the window frame and tested it, pulling it up just a crack, and true to form, the alarms were left untripped.

Kenny had gone practically ballistic when his father installed the high security electronic locks on his window and door.

It was not a pretty sight, that was for sure, and Butters still felt bad to have subjected Kenny to his sadness. He tried not to cry very much, he really did, but that was a hard one. The sound of metal smacking metal rang in his ears while he cowered on his bed that night, as though his father was driving nails into his skull too.

They hadn’t been dating yet, when Butters begged Kenny for help in a moment of weakness. Even though the nails made it impossible to open his window, Kenny still perched himself on the branch of his oak tree the whole night, looking right into his eyes while they sat silent with each other, their cell phones connected so that they could speak if they wanted to, but for the most part did not. Butters thought that might have been the first time he loved Kenny, gazing into his hardened eyes that still looked at him tenderly despite the rage he could see tensing his shoulders and setting his jaw. Kenny had a protective soul, one made of gold and strong as steel, and it radiated sunshine from his immaculate smiles. He was also, luckily, good with technology, and he designed and installed a workaround for his window within the week.

Butters was startled from his memories by tapping on glass, and when he sat up to look at the noise, he saw another of those toothy grins, framed by dimples and freckles and old white scars. His hands were full so Butters hopped from his bed, moving as quickly as he could as quietly as he could, and he inched the window up bit by bit, careful not to let the wood squeak. As soon as he had it pulled up high enough that his arms were above his head, Kenny swooped forward and kissed his nose.

“Evenin’,” he drawled, a proud smirk on his lips at the way Butters tried not to giggle behind his hands, and he ushered him in, carefully moving away obstacles so he wouldn’t make much noise. Kenny was an expert at breaking into windows though, and he maneuvered like a cat off the tree and into his bedroom. In his hand was a cardboard drink tray that held two plastic cups, each filled with ice cream, milk, and flavored syrup, and a cheap fake cherry to top it off.

“Don’t I just feel like a sorta prince, now,” Butters whispered, and Kenny sat down on the floor cross-legged, tugging the strawberry milkshake from the tray and handing it over to Butters’ waiting hand.

“Only the highest of luxuries for you, my dear,” Kenny said with his usual bravado, enthusiasm shining through even in his hushed murmur. Butters sat across from him and took care to unwrap his straw at the very end so he had most of the paper intact. It increased his chance for a wish, after all, if he could get more paper to knot. Kenny watched him patiently; he knew the routine.

Butters loosely tangled the wrapper and paused a moment, closing his eyes, before tearing it apart. When he opened his eyes again, he saw two clean strips, one in each hand, and it appeared McDonald’s had granted him a wish once more. “Aw Ken, I dunno what to wish for anymore,” he said, the smile on his face hurting his cheeks, and Kenny smiled back, the picture of adoration.

“I can think ‘a plenty of things! Here, lemme try it this time,” Kenny said, and he pulled his straw wrapper to end up with a knot on one end, and no wish to speak of. “Damn,” he muttered, and he shoved the bits of paper into his coat pocket. Kenny never got wishes, and it made him a little sad.

“Maybe next time,” Butters chirped, optimistic, and Kenny’s scowl softened to a slight appreciative smile, the heart-melty kind.

“I doubt it baby, but thank you,” he said. He took a long sip of his drink, and they fell into comfortable silence.

It was a growing colder outside, and the combined chill of the milkshake and the breeze that swirled in past his curtains had him reaching for a blanket. He tugged on his favorite one within reach, an extra soft pastel blue throw that was part of the massive conglomerate of snuggly things he slept with each night on his bed. He wrapped part of it around his shoulders, and used his other hand to gesture at Kenny. “You’re gonna catch cold over there, Kenny,” he whispered, and Kenny chuckled breathily, so prettily.

“I got a coat on, I’m good,” Kenny said, and Butters started to protest, but then he scooched forward, crawling over to cuddle up close to his side and lean into his shoulder. “Won’t complain, though.”

Butters hummed and nuzzled his nose into his messy hair, noting that he’d recently showered and it still smelled like his shampoo. He held his cup with both hands, drinking the last of his precious treat until his straw started to slurp. Kenny had his tucked between them, and he took occasional slower sips as they embraced the world exactly how it fell around them.

Kenny was starting to fall heavier against his side, and Butters, knowing the signs, took Kenny’s cup in the nick of time before he became complete deadweight on his shoulder. His breathing had evened out and deepened, each exhale leaving him in a quiet hiss between a slightly unhinged jaw. The angel upon his shoulder had fallen asleep, but Butters was quite familiar with this routine as well.

He didn’t want to move at first, because he knew the slightest stirring would have him up in a flash and hyperactive to compensate. No, Butters didn’t want that; Kenny was clearly exhausted, having come over immediately after finishing a shift at one of this several jobs, and he knew he never got good sleep in his own bed. Instead, he drank the last few sips of Kenny’s milkshake for him, knowing he wouldn’t mind, and let his sighs of sleepy contentment puff against his collarbone.

Butters glanced at his clock- it was nearing midnight. He set the cup down beside his own emptied one, back in its carrier, and used both arms to gingerly adjust Kenny’s sleeping form to lie over his chest. Kenny hummed in his sleep and wrapped his arm lazily across Butters’ torso, slinging it over one shoulder and squeezing once in an awkward hug. He giggled quietly at his unconscious affections, and rubbed one hand up and down his back to comfort him. His body fit so perfectly against his own, for such an unusual angle. He hoped Kenny could hear his heart beating, and maybe its shouting of “You’re wonderful! You’re perfect! Thank you, Thank you!” too.

The condensation on the sides of their cups was starting to drip and seep into the carrier they sat inside. Butters watched beads of water drop and disappear within the brown cardboard, and listened to the ticking of the clock above his closet door. It was off by an hour, but the minute hand was still correct. It was past midnight now.

It was well known, by any person in town, that the McCormicks didn’t have much. This unfortunately fell on Kenny, too, and he worked hard at several jobs to help keep his family afloat. Butters wished he could’ve had more of a childhood, instead of the rapid way he had to grow up to care for his siblings and, occasionally, his mother. As a result, Kenny didn’t know how to relax very well, or talk out his feelings. They were working on that, together.

A cheap milkshake from a fast food restaurant would ordinarily mean nothing, could even be considered subpar, if it was anyone but Kenny or anyone but Butters. Kenny scraped what he could together to get him that drink, he knew it, and that made it more valuable than the fanciest milkshake at the fanciest restaurant Butters could think of.

“How lucky,” he whispered, raising his hand to ruffle it through Kenny’s locks. He stirred from his sleep, chirping like a woken cat as of to ask, ‘What? I’m up.’

“Nothin, darlin’, I love you,” Butters said, pressing a gentle kiss into the very top of his head and tickling his nose with his hair, and Kenny hummed again.

“Love you too, baby,” he mumbled, smiling and nuzzling into his chest a bit more before sitting back up. With a big yawn and a stretch Kenny blinked rapidly, forcing himself up so that he could make the trek back home.

“Text me when you get home?” Butters said, feeling the cold absence of his boyfriend already, and Kenny swiped the empty cups and drink tray from the floor as he stood on woozy legs.

“Always,” he said, and with one last grin and a lazy salute with two fingers that made Butters laugh, he climbed back through the window, and headed off to play protector in his living room. The paper straw wrapper that Butters had torn was still on the ground, a remnant that they both missed, and Butters tied both halves to pull again. He got both wishes, and with one, he wished the other could go to Kenny instead.

[reddieaddict]

You’re Gonna Live Forever In Me (Part 1/4)

bPrequel to Richie’s Eulogy

Official Cast 

A/N: Okay so, in this fic, Richie Is of hispanic and latin descent, speaks spanish fluently, and his full name is Ricardo Alonzo “Richie” Tozier. Why? Because I think the cast needs more cultural diversity and because I wrote this shit so I can do whatever the fuck I want. Haha. I hope you guys enjoy!

Oh and his parents names are Margarita “Maggie” Tozier and Rogelio Alonzo Tozier. OMG this is so extra hahaha.

Summary: It’s senior year and Eddie has began to notice Richie exhibiting strange behavior. He is worried he might be hiding something, but doesn’t know how to confront Richie about it without setting him off and making matters worse. 

 Prologue

         To Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier was like a prism; he would take all his misery and suffering and refract it into a vibrant array of humor and charisma. Even if Richie was incapable of making his pain subside, he was determined to bring joy and laughter to those around him, especially his boyfriend. Eddie saw this as nothing but admirable, if not inspirational; but even so, he knew there was a limit to how much Richie could handle. Maybe if it was behind him, or at least not a constant, unrelenting stream of abuse, he might be able to hold it together better. Longer. Maybe if his parents, at the very least, gave him an opportunity to catch his breath before they launched the next barrage of fists and slurs, Richie wouldn’t emotionally implode and isolate himself as he frequently does.

         To the casual observer, Richie would appear to be genuinely carefree, with an endless well of exuberance only exceeded by his vulgarity, and he preferred it this way. Hardly anyone knew about his home-life, other than Eddie and maybe, to an degree, Beverly Marsh. But, it should be noted, even those relationships have their boundaries. Talking about his emotions was not something Richie enjoyed doing. The raw feeling of exposure that came from being so honest and open was something Richie detested almost as much as the pity people would shower over him if he did decide to vent to them. He would much rather hide behind crass jokes and not-so-subtle innuendos than to let people see just how broken he really was. But Eddie was not just some person or some casual observer. 

        Whether a pleasant summer night, or a numbingly freezing winter midnight, Richie would sneak in through the second story window of Eddie’s bedroom seeking comfort and refuge.  Tears would cascade down his freckle spotted cheeks and bruises would decorate various parts of his body, if not his face, as he stumbled through said window, and Eddie would welcome him with a loving embrace, an attentive ear, and nurturing words, all without the slighting bit of pity. This had become a regular occurrence since their preteen years, way before their relationship had become official and titled. In those night and only those nights, Richie would pour himself over Eddie, flooding him with pent up fears and emotions and Eddie would imbibe him, vowing to protect him. Love him. And love him he did.

      Eddie loved Richie, and Richie loved Eddie. It had been this way since, maybe, the first day they met in sixth grade, at only ten years of age. They shared an unexpected, but deeply profound love that neither of them understood or were willing to accept until recently. Now, at seventeen, they were each other’s constant. These were two people who had never known love, having both come from homes filled with abuse from opposite sides of the spectrum, but found it within one another. Eddie adored Richie’s charismatic bravado and the gentle, endearing fragility that hid behind it; while Richie became enamored with Eddie’s dainty exterior and the fiery strength and unwavering bravery housed within it. A strength that most people didn’t know existed, possibly not even Eddie himself.  

     Even so, with all the love and trust between them, there were times when Richie couldn’t and wouldn’t let Eddie in. Through their fists and degradation, his parents succeeded in what they sought out to do, convincing Richie that he was a pathetic burden that people could only tolerate for for so long before they grew to hate him, just as they had. In those bleak moments, Richie feared letting Eddie in would overwhelm him, or he could possibly grow tired of his incessant dependency, and leave him like everyone else in his life had done before. So, he would push him away. He would push Eddie away right when he needed him the most, believing it would soften the pain that would ensue when Eddie inevitably did leave. He knew this was an illogical belief, but his traumas overpowered any logic or reason within him. Besides, how outside of the realm of possibility could it be, if he had seen it first hand with his parents? 

     Richie didn’t always have a shitty home-life and he didn’t always have fucked up parents. (Or, maybe he did, but were better at hiding it.) At one time, long ago, he was part of a seemingly happy family. His mother would show affection towards him, concern even. She would prepare meals for him, brush his hair, read to him, and adorn him in goodnight kisses. His father would play toy cars with him, take him fishing or to the movies on weekends, and even to a baseball game once. In fact, at one point, his family did all the stereotypical shit families did like picnics and vacations to amusement parks. They were normal. Richie held on to these memories tightly hoping that somewhere deep inside his parents still, in their own way, loved or cared for him. But this was a decade ago, and the days when his mother was sober and his father enjoyed, or even tolerated, his existence were gone, and they were anything but normal.  

     Eventually, Richie came to discover he was an accident (or a mistake, as his father put it); the result of a drunken one night stand. As devout Catholics, he parents saw no other alternative than to attempt to become an actual family and, in the beginning, it seemed they took to their roles rather well. In time, though, their naive optimism aged into resentment, infecting their marriage and then their family as a whole. After the age of seven, they began to direct all their anger onto Richie, both viewing him as the chain that bound them to one another. The raven haired cage that imprisoned them within his existence. 

     Emotional abuse was his mother’s forte, while his father had a particular fondness for a more physical approach, and it only crescendoed with every drink that passed their lips. It only seemed to escalate as time went on, as Richie got older. When his ADHD began to manifest itself in detentions and calls from the principle’s office, after getting caught kissing a 12-year-old Eddie on the cheek, and especially after coming out as bisexual, his father became drastically more brutal and his mother frighteningly more ruthless; and with every new disappointment, they both sank deeper into their bottles.

    Richie tried desperately, at first, to make them happy, make them love him again. His grades never faltered below an A minus. He would put all his effort into reigning in his hyperactivity, especially at home. For a time, he even stopped being affectionate with Eddie, much to the latter’s dismay and confusion, and began to date girls. All his efforts were futile, he soon realized; nothing he did or said could change them. This traumatized and frighted Richie to the deepest depths of his soul. If his parents, the only people who were SUPPOSED to love him could grow to despise him with such conviction, how could he hope for anyone to love him? 

   Eddie suspected Richie felt this way. Richie never told him and never would, but it wasn’t necessary. Eddie could could see it. He caught glimpses of it in the in-between moments, when Richie thought no one was paying attention to him. A dissociative demeanor would wash over him, but as quickly as it appeared it would disappear. No one suspected a thing, or so Richie liked to believe. That is, until eddie tried to confront him.

    Richie would tell Eddie things he would never dare tell anyone one else, but only when he initiated the conversation. He liked to have control over what he shared and how much he disclosed. Richie wasn’t a dick, though. He was always there for Eddie and was sincerely interested in his boyfriend’s thoughts and emotions. It was his own feelings that Richie had a problem with. Whenever Eddie tried to talk about something regarding his parents, Richie would get upset and an argument would ensue, usually ending with Richie storming out aimlessly into the night, leaving Eddie in tears. This left Eddie in difficult position. He wanted to help him, be there for him, but how could he do so if Richie kept him at arm’s length?

Knowing Richie is in pain is like Eddie being in pain himself. He loves Richie with every fiber of his being. Richie has been there for Eddie like no one has ever been, saving his life on numerous occasions. Henry Bowers or Pennywise, Richie would face any opponent head on for his Eddie, knowing full well the odds were against him. It was all irrelevant to Richie in the heat of the moment. All he cared about was keeping his boy safe. Eddie just wanted to do the same for him. He just had to figure out the right way to go about it, before it was too late.

     Recently, Eddie has noticed a change in Richie. Maybe it was the changes that accompanied senior year, or the impending graduation that would scatter the Losers across different part of the country. He isn’t sure, but he knows there is something brewing within Richie and though he can’t decipher what it is, he knows it cannot be anything good. Whatever it is, its only a matter of time before Richie crumbles under it’s pressure and does something reckless or dangerous, as he’s always done in the face of extreme emotional duress. Eddie would walk through fire for Richie without hesitation, and he might very well have to, and (if you asked him) it would be worth it for his Trashmouth. 

@bitchardtozier @bloggingandstruggling

[kaleidopewrites]

Paparazzi Problem

Summary: You’re Sebastian’s newest girlfriend, but what happens when the paparazzi find out? Can you handle the pressure?

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Word Count: 1645

Warnings: bit of swearing, mentions of sexual content

A/N: Thank you, @theimpossibleg1rl, I hope I wrote your idea as you liked :)

“Yes!!” You shout, standing from the table in success, throwing your arms into the air as you grin widely as you look to your boyfriend who sighs in defeat.

“Ha, take that!” You gloat, choosing to dance around the room rather than return to your seat. Sebastian watched you as you did, hips swaying to silent music.

“You damn Australians, always cheating,”

“Excuse me, mate, did you just accuse your girlfriend of cheating?”

“I may have,”

You scoff warningly at him, pausing in your dance as you point a finger at him, making him chuckle.

“Be careful now, I happen to be trained,” You stand in the stereotypical martial arts stance, making him laugh further. “In the art of tickle-jutsu,” He gasps, putting a hand over his chest as if in shock.

“You couldn’t use that on a poor, defenceless man, would you?”

“Ooh, don’t tempt me,” You grin, raising an eyebrow at him slightly. Sebastian holds your stare for a moment before laughing again and shaking his head.

“You’ve been watching way too much Brooklyn Nine-Nine,”

“Shut up, don’t judge me,” He laughs again before rising from the chair, making you tense further, watching him.

“You’re not serious,”

“Oooh, I’m damn serious, baby,” You say in the lowest tone of voice you could muster, trying to act intimidating but failing considerably.

“You haven’t had a drop of alcohol, and you’re acting weird,” Sebastian giggles as he moved past you, heading towards the bed in the hotel room.

“You’re acting weird, you’re the weirdest of us all,” You reply childishly, dropping your guard as he collapsed onto the bed. You could see his tired muscles from film shooting all last week.

“You know it’s almost six, right?” He asked as you slowly make your way to the bed.

“I was feeling kinda hungry. We should get Maccas,”

“What? Translation, please,”

“Ugh, McDonald’s you drongo,”

“I’m going to assume that ‘drongo’ is an insult,”

“And the Romanian learns! It’s just a off-handed one, don’t worry too much,” You collapse down onto the bed, tapping him on his head. Sebastian pulling you into his arms, letting you rest against his chest. You trace lines across his jawline, running a finger through his thickening scrub of a beard.

“I can’t go to Maccas, I’ve gotta start training for Marvel,”

“Just because you can’t doesn’t mean I can’t,”

“You’ll make me tempted,”

“Okay, how about, this is the last piece of junk food you can have until the next Marvel movie is over, yeah?”

“How about I eat you out instead?” He winks and you blush a deep scarlet as you roll your eyes.

“Sebastian, no,”

“Sebastian, yes!” You groan exaggeratedly before letting your head fall to his shoulder, breathing in his rich, delicious smell.

“But I’m actually hungry,” You mumble to him. Sebastian smiles as he finally agrees, making you jump up in glee. Sebastian sits up as you slide a jacket on, running a few fingers through your hair.

“Well, chop chop,” You usher, looking at him just staring at you on the edge of the couch. You pause, spotting that familiar glint of affection in his eyes, the perfect stare to put you under a trance and transform you into a blushing mess.

“How on Earth was I lucky enough to meet you?” He whispered as you slowly walked over to him.

“Honestly, I don’t even know how we met,” You laugh, moving to stand between his legs as his arms wrapped themselves around your waist. You smile softly at him before leaning down, pressing a chaste kiss against his lips.

Sebastian thinks for a moment that maybe you wouldn’t go out, until your stomach grumbles, reminding you of the sustenance it needed.

“Food!”

“Your stomach is the ultimate cockblocker, I officially hate it,”

You’re in the living room at home when you first get wind of the photos. You and Sebastian had been dating for a few months now, but neither of you had plans on coming out to the public. You were both still sketchy of the fanbase, knowing that things can get rough.

So, when the paparazzi leaked photos of the pair of you looking no less than a couple, you were worried.

You’d been talking to family when your younger sister ran down the stairs. She came to a halt before you, a gigantic grin on her face that both confused and unnerved you.

“You’re dating Sebastian Stan?” She called, causing the conversation to still. Your Dad, who was a massive Marvel fan, even spat out his drink.

“What?” You laugh. You’d told your family you’d been seeing someone called Sebastian, but you never mentioned his work in depth.

“You’re dating Sebastian Stan!” She repeated, making all the eyes turn to you.

“That’s—That’s silly, where would I have met Sebastian Stan?”

“I dunno, you tell me, you’re dating him!”

“Will you stop saying that, I am not?”

“(Y/N), honey, are you dating him?” Your mum surprised you with her questioning tone. You glance at your parents, unable to read their expressions.

“It’s all over Tumblr,” Your sister giggles and you snap your head towards her.

“Show me,”

She dragged you up to her room, sliding into her desk chair before pulling up the photos she had saved. You kick close the door to her bedroom as you take up a second seat next to her, looking at the photos.

Sure enough, there were photos of you and Sebastian on the night you both went to Maccas. It was a busy day, you had to admit, but you thought your boyfriend covered up more than that. Instead, he was easily spotted in the photo, his arm hung across a girl’s shoulders.

Your shoulders.

“I am definitely not going blind, that’s you!”

You’re in shock as you sit back in the seat, staring at the photos. There it was, that was it, your cover, your secret, out the window. You weren’t ready, you weren’t prepared for whatever onslaught – good or bad – was coming your way.

“(Y/N)?” You’re shaken out of your state when your phone starts going off. You look down, spotting messages from distance friends, demanding you tell them what was going on. Everyone was beginning to recognise you, and soon enough you’d have knocks on the door.

“I-I can’t believe it’s happening,”

“Are you okay?” Your sister is clearly very worried about you.

“I just… I don’t think I’m ready,” Silence fills the room as your sister watches you carefully. Your ringtone finally cuts through the tense awkwardness and you look down, Sebastian’s name blinking on the screen.

“It’s Seb,”

“Well… are you going to answer?” But you’re already hanging up, the fear and stress pumping through your veins. You can’t talk to him, not yet.

“(Y/N)--”

“Do not reblog that. Whatever you do, do not reblog that,”

You don’t know what to do. You’re stuck on ideas. Can you prepare for something completely unpredictable? Sebastian’s fans can be totally nice and sweet, but they could also be hyperactive and creepy.

How do you prepare for that?

It’s close to midnight, but someone’s knocking at the door. You close your eyes before sinking further into the couch. It’s your Mum that gets up to answer the door, a surprise in her voice.

“Oh, hello,”

“Can I see her?” You know that voice, know it anywhere. Your heart begins to hammer in your chest, breathing shortening and quickening as you try to swallow past the growing lump in your throat. Your Mum steps into view but you give her a small nod.

You can hear the front door close before Sebastian lingers in the front room, probably taking off his shoes. Ever the gentleman.

And then he walks into the living room, clothes slightly dishevelled and hair unbrushed. You hadn’t spoken to him for a few days, having left your phone to die and keeping away from all social media to avoid the questions thrown in your way.

“Hey,” He greeted politely, nervously stepping into the living room.

“Thanks, Mum,” You croak, glancing over his shoulder to your parent. She nods before turning on her heel, leaving the two of you alone. As soon as she’s gone, Sebastian breaks out into a speech.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry. About the photos, the paparazzi, everything, I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t--”

You couldn’t hear much of what he has to say as you break down in tears, holding your arms out to him.

He’s instantly quiet, moving quickly to wrap his arms around you, holding you tightly to him as you hold just as tightly.

“Sebastian,”

“I know, baby, I know and I’m sorry. I didn’t want this to happen, not now, not while you weren’t ready,”

“I’m scared,” You confide, making him pull back just so he could press his hands to your cheeks.

“I know you’re scared, but I deeply and genuinely care for you (Y/N) and accept every need to break up. But I want to stay with you. I want to be with you. (Y/N)… I love you!”

Your mind was in a small shock for a moment, as Sebastian’s confession puts a blush to his cheeks. But, slowly, a smile spread across your tear stained cheeks, making his heart lift.

“I love you, too,” Your own confession draws a sigh of relief from his lips as he rests his forehead against yours for a moment, before drawing you close to him in another tight and comforting hug.

“So, you’ll stick around?”

“For as long as you want me,” You reply, trying to stop hiccupping. A clearing of a throat behind you Surprises the pair of you as you turn, spotting your parents smiling softly from the living room doorway.

You’re instantly standing, dragging a closed palm across your eyes to dry them.

“Mum, Dad, this is Sebastian,”

Tagging: @bucky-in-paradise @lokiandbuckyaremine

[high5nerd]

The Misadventures of Fanty and Pitch Black---Chap. One

Okie doke, here goes the series of chapters I post of The Misadventures of Fanty and Pitch Black I co-wrote with my old fanfic friends back in...2014.

Thank you Mystichawk, Xion5, dragoscilvio, Starskulls and Lil Angel 927 after all these years.

Oof.

THE MISADVENTURES OF FANTY AND PITCH BLACK, CHAPTER ONE

Again, I write nothing like this anymore.

This is the story of how I saved the world. Don't worry, this is gonna be a good story and in fact, I don't save the world at all. This whole story all started with...a booby trap.

My name is Fanty! Nice to meet you. I used to live in the city, but a while ago I moved to Burgess upon the demand of my friends. The town is really friendly! The only problem I see with it is that the kids here are ballistic. Okay, I'll say that a bit nicer….different? All the kids in Burgess talk about these people called the Guardians, and the leader of these kids is some boy named Jamie Bennett. I slightly knew Jamie, because Angel babysits him and his sister, Sophie. Sometimes those little buggers would come over to her apartment for baking and watching movies 24/7. Honestly, Jamie is probably one of the well respected kids I've ever met! His stories really put faith in everyone, and it's something I admire.

Ever since Jamie shared his stories of this dude named Jack Frost and the Guardians to my friends and I, we became determined to see if this was all real. My friends and I all live in the same apartment building, and honestly, I bet the landlord regrets ever going into the apartment business. We're a rowdy bunch! Well, besides Drago. She's a real sweetheart that keeps herself under control, which is something I totally admire. Trust me, I'd love to be like her, but with my energy and the quirks to being Fanty, it isn't possible.

Allow me to introduce my lifestyle. I live in Apartment 4B, right across from Xion, under Mystic and above Star. My apartment isn't really...um "sparkling clean." I mean, it is, its just not….uh. Shut up, I haven't gotten to washing my dishes or cleaning the bathroom yet, okay?! I work at Building Block Day Care...yeah, doesn't sound like a promising job, does it? Don't worry. I'm just waiting for a job to open up somewhere else in Burgess. I wanna go into the graphic design business, but Burgess kind of has a lack of that. But thanks to Angel's knowledge of kids, I'm favorited there! My boss is really nice and always makes sure her employees gets a paid vacation at least once a year, which is awesome. My guess is that she thinks the kids have supernatural powers to watch her 24/7, so she acts all pleasant and talk to us like children just in case. But that's just a crazy thought. I love the kids, I just don't like the little treasures they leave for me as gifts in their diapers.

Being Fanty has its perks and downsides, though. When Xion, Mystic, Drago, Star and Angel come over and we have our biweekly hangouts and someone brings the soda, I go all over the place. Hyperactive energy is my middle name. I'm an artist, and I put that art to good use! I make a little money off of my art, which is very nice.

...Oh, and if you ever hear of Star talking about my "graffiti incident", that never happened…

Gah! I'm getting distracted from the story! This isn't the point I'm trying to make! Sorry, you're dealing with someone who easily gets distracted. You're lucky a moth hasn't flown by, or else I would've gotten onto a high speed rant about moths instead of this story I wanted to tell.

Well! You're probably wondering, 'What's the importance of telling us about Jamie Bennett and the kids and their stories of weird Guardians?' Well, that's exactly why you're here.

One day, Angel brought Jamie and Sophie over to my apartment because her apartment was too cluttered for kids. Luckily, that was the day my boss sent home a bunch of toys from the daycare to be cleaned. Sophie immediately took a liking to the giant set of mushy building blocks, especially squashing them between her hands. Jamie happily sat on my couch and watched Spongebob Squarepants as Angel and I talked in the kitchen about her work and how her week has been going.

"Honestly, it's been a little strange." Angel shook her head, folding her arms over her chest.

"You always say that when you babysit the Bennetts." I said, stuffing another sugar cookie in my mouth. Angel slapped my hand away when I reached for the jar again, and I mewled at the stinging pain.

"I'm serious! Jamie said he saw Pitch Black near his house when he and his mom were coming back from his uncle's birthday party. What do you think of that?"

"Cosplay." I grinned, wiping my lower lip.

"Fanty! I'm serious! Someone's lurking in Burgess, and Jamie's not the only one getting fidgety." Angel sat down and stared at me seriously.

I thought for a moment, trying to recollect whatever could possibly relate to this. Finally, I snapped my fingers and pointed to her. "You know Jamie's friend Pippa, right?"

"Yeah. She came over to play one time while I was babysitting, along with some kid named Monty." Angel broke a cookie in half and took a bite.

"Pippa and her mother came over to the daycare once to drop off some donations, and Pippa told me about this shady guy she saw in her friend's closet when she was over at some sleepover. I think they stayed up watching High School Musical for too long," I shuddered, "Yick...Zac Efron and Sharpay gives me the willies."

"Fanty."

"Don't worry, buddy!" I patted her hand, smiling brightly, "I have an idea to see if this is all true."

I stood up and did a somersault over to Sophie, who squealed and giggled at my silliness. I ended up sitting on my bottom, right in front of her. I grinned, liking Sophie's bountiful happiness. She handed me a blue block, and I gratefully took it and placed it on her head.

"Fanty, no! Tip top!" Sophie giggled, standing up and waddling over to me for a hug.

I smiled as I hugged her, and started to laugh as she put the soft blue block on my head as well. I shook my head like a dog, and then turned to Jamie. He boredly turned the TV off and turned towards me with a shy smile.

"So! Angel told me you saw some fella named Pitch Black." I said, balancing Sophie on my leg in a side hug.

Jamie perked up at that name, and then crawled over to me as if he were to tell a secret to me. I heard Angel come over and sit next to me, taking Sophie's fairy wings near her discarded sneakers and flapping them playfully near her. She giggled and turned her back with her arms out, and Angel slipped the wings on. One of the wings fwapped me on the cheek, and I spluttered at the contact, making Jamie snicker.

"Yeah! He's the Boogeyman. Why do you wanna know about him?" Jamie crossed his legs in an Indian position as he sat on the couch, staring down at us girls.

"I was thinking we'd have a little bit of a joke on him." I grinned at Jamie, whose eyes widened with astonishment at the idea.

"Are you kidding!? Jamie exclaimed, a wild smile growing across his face, "That would be hilarious!" but then his face fell, pondering about something that made me slightly worried. "He may get angry, though."

"So what?! I can take him!" I grinned, and held up my fists in a fighting stance.

Angel rolled her eyes with a grin as I punched at the air, and Sophie made a grab for my hands, trying to stop my quick motion. She got up and ran over to the tower, making sure I wouldn't knock it over. I grinned and put my arms down, glad Jamie got my point.

"Jamie, tell Fanty what he looks like." Angel said, tucking her legs underneath her.

Jamie got on his knees and held up his hands to a good measurable length. "His hands are kind of big, like a man's, but his fingers are skinny and kind of long. His skin is grey, and he wears a black robe thing."

"Wow. What a fashionista." I snickered, already finding this description hilarious.

"He's got black hair that goes up in the air like this," he made a wave like motion up in the air and then continued, "he's got goldish-silver eyes and he's super tall. He runs really fast, and he appears by shadows and such."

"So what time do you expect we take action?" I looked at Angel in case she had any ideas.

"I think midnight would be cool. Like in those stories!" Jamie grinned eagerly.

"Cool beans," I grinned in response, then became serious, "Okay! Here's the plan!"

I whipped out a large piece of paper that looked like a scroll, and a stick of charcoal. Angel gave me a look of confusion and asked, "Where the heck did you get those that quick?"

"I keep stashes of paper and some sort of writing tool around this place in case I come up with ideas if I'm not near the computer or I don't have my sketchbook with me," I said, drawing the layout of my apartment floor plan. I suddenly snapped my fingers, gaining everyone's attention, "That reminds me! I need to restock the paper under the coffee machine and above the microwave. Most of my ideas come from food."

"That I know." Angel laughed, and Jamie and Sophie joined in unison.

"Alright! Listen up, cadets!" I said like an army sarge.

"Cadets! Cadets!" Sophie clapped her hands, liking that word.

I drew a dot right in the room where I slept in, and then outlined a rectangular shape around it. "This is where I sleep, and here," I drew another box on the far left of the room, "Is my closet. Most likely, he'll come out of there. There's too many boxes of art supplies under my bed for him to fit in. What we're gonna do is set up a device-"

"Like a booby trap?" Jamie asked, looking up at me for approval.

"Exactly. The floor will be covered with netting, but only the area around the closet will be triggered. Once he steps into this area," I circled the spot near the closet, and looked up at them, smiling, "he'll be ours!"

"Yay!" Jamie cheered, and Sophie clapped happily.

"I think the best person to set that up for you is Mystic," Angel turned towards me, a grin on her face, "she's got knowledge of snares and traps like Katniss Everdeen herself!"

"Who's Katniss Everdeen?" Jamie asked, tilting his head to the side.

"A character from a book and movie. You're too young to watch or read that stuff." Angel waved her hand, as if to cast that question away.

Jamie stuck out his lower lip, but then leaned forward to get a better look at the battle map I created. "What if that one fails?"

"Mystic taught me how to set up a booby trap of a water bucket on the door, so I'll easily set that up. Angel! Call Mystic. We might as well need her now. Do you have netting?" I turned towards my good friend, who whipped out her phone and started punching in her number.

"No, but she does. She's got half a closet full of them. Trust me, I checked." Angel held up her phone to her ear as it started ringing.

"Good!" I evilly rubbed my hands together, cackling maniacally.

Sophie looked at her own hands, and then mine, and started rubbing them together as if she were washing her hands. She giggled at her intimidation of me, and I smiled down at her attempt to look evil.

"Hey! Don't go teaching my sister that sort of evil stuff!" Jamie demanded, playfully wacking me on the forehead.

"Jamie! No hitting!" Angel snapped.

"WASSAHP LIL GAL!?" Mystic's voice sounded at the end of the phone.

That sent Sophie, Jamie and I into hysterics. Angel tried shushing us, but it did no good.

"Mystic? Yeah, we need your help." Angel said, trying to suppress a smile.

I grabbed the phone from her hand and whispered, "It's Operation Booby Trap!"