#dusty is so much worse I could write an ESSAY about it

[maroonangels]

harper mclean they could never make me hate you more than I hate dusty AMEN

[h4knyeon]

temptation | mark lee (nct)

mark lee x reader

genre: smut

word count: 1.9k

summary: mark lee: do you have a boyfriend? you: no. mark lee: *starts dry humping you*

warnings: virgin!mark lee, dry humping, religious/taking innocence theme errr yas

“hm that’s a good annotation y/n,” mark mumbled, jotting down your comments in the margins of the bible verse you two were annotating. pulling out his highlighter, he scribbled and marked up the pages of his bible while you stared, unamused.

you and mark were doing your weekly bible study together at his house. he sat on the dusty couch across from you, while you sunk into the old cushions of his mom’s armchair.

“mark, i know my mom sends me here every week to do bible study with you but i wonder, do you ever get bored?” you ask, placing your bible page-down on the coffee table between you and mark so you wouldn’t lose your place.

mark glanced up at you for a second before looking back down at the pages. “uh, why do you ask?”

“‘cause sometimes i get bored…” you mumbled.

hearing this caused mark to finally look at you fully. he mimicked you in placing his bible on the table. “is it because of me?” he asked coyly.

“oh no! no, i-it’s not you mark,” you stammered. “i think maybe it’s just the content? like, reading bible verses everyday and jotting down your thoughts can get a little repetitive.” 

mark averted his gaze from you. “i mean, i can see where you’re coming from.”

“yeah, and everytime we hang out it’s always about church, and religious matters… we never really get to talk about anything outside of that even though we’ve been doing bible study every week since sophomore year of high school.” 

“no, i totally see where you’re coming from.” mark scooted to the edge of his seat to get a bit closer to you. “maybe we can take a little break from bible study and just talk about things outside of religion.” he shot you a warm smile.

“perfect, thank you for understanding.” you let out a sigh of relief. you weren’t sure if you would be able to handle another minute of bible study. 

an awkward silence broke out between the two of you as you struggled to figure out what to talk about.

mark started off with “how’s life been?”

you chuckled at the simple question. “can’t really say it’s anything juicy but i’m content,” you answered.

“do you still have that boyfriend- uh what was his name?”

“joseph? no, we broke up like 2 months ago.”

“oh, i’m sorry to hear that.”

“it’s fine, i was the one that broke things off.”

mark’s ears perked up at your words. he somehow scooted even closer to the edge of his seat, signalling that he wanted to hear more.

“i mean, i don’t know. he was overwhelmingly square, you know?” you tried to explain. mark looked a bit nervous, and you could tell that he might’ve been thinking that he was too square for you. “by square i mean, he was just so adamant about going to church all the time and he was too much of a prude… we barely kissed or held hands. it felt like he just had me there to have me there.”

mark nodded as he listened to you rant. “sounds awful. if you were my girlfriend-”

you cocked an eyebrow at his words, provoking a nervous stammer from him.

“i mean, like you know- l-like hypothetically,” he stuttered. you nodded, urging him to continue. “i wouldn’t make everything about church and whatnot. i like to have fun sometimes too!”

you giggled.

“hey, i know it doesn’t seem like it but…” he looked around nervously, “i have a dangerous side.” he wiggled his brows at you.

now you were inching closer to the edge of your seat. “oh really?”

“mhm. sometimes i even…” he leaned closer to you, lowering his voice to a whisper “say swear words.”

“oh my! someone come get this criminal!” you teased. 

“oh right, like you can behave any worse than that!” he retorted.

“i can write on essay on the things that i’ve done that are worse,” you stood from your seat. “plus, you whispered your ‘dirty little secret’ as if anyone is around to hear. we’re alone.”

“i don’t know i was just a little embarrassed…” he sheepishly looked at the ground, rubbing his arm. “i can’t really think of anything i’ve done that’s more sinful.”

“really mark?” you raised a brow at him. stepping closer to where he was on the couch, a smirk creeped onto your face. “you’ve never, you know, had a dirty thought?”

mark’s eyes widened at your question. “i-i-”

“you’ve never, i don’t know, touched yourself to the thought of a woman?” you interjected.

mark was turning red fast. he didn’t know how to answer.

“your silence is giving me guilty right now.” you plopped down on the couch next to him.

feeling the cushions sink next to him, mark’s posture straightened up almost immediately. he cleared his throat to speak but could only stammer out words.

“i-i can’t, that’s too sinful,” mark mumbled.

“well, there’s no reason to be stuttering like that unless you’ve done it. have you?” you leaned forward, looking back at him to try and catch his gaze.

“i- i don’t know. i did a few times…” mark confessed, avoiding your eye contact.

“hm, you are more dangerous than i thought.” you leaned back on the couch. “so what kind of porn do you watch?”

“i never said i watch porn!” mark defended.

“oh, i just assumed because most people use porn to get off. wow you must have a powerful imagination,” you chuckled, “do you think about anyone in particular?”

“i mean like- i don’t know that’s a weird question.”

“well, there’s no going back now. we’re both adults mark.”

“well, p-please don’t be creeped out,” mark cried. “whenever i would do it, i was thinking about you,” mark muttered under his breath.

there was the answer you were looking for. you always knew mark had a thing for you, but the trick was getting him to admit it. he was like putty in your hands, admitting all of his darkest secrets.

words started flowing out of marks mouth in speedy combinations. “i’m sorry, i totally understand if you want to leave like i tot-”

“are you,” you interrupted, “hard?”

mark squeezed his eyes shut, probably begging god for this to be just a nightmare. you didn’t think mark could get any more red, but you were wrong. he was beet red, you could nearly feel the heat radiating off of his face.

“um, it must be one of those nervous erections! wow the human body is craz-” mark’s words were caught in his throat when you placed your hand on his groin.

“i’m guessing you’ve never had sex before,” you stated. mark could barely form words as you began moving your palm against his erection.

“i-i mean, i really want to save myself for marriage. b-but i do like you a lot y-y/n,” mark stuttered.

“don’t worry mark, i’m not gonna take your virginity tonight,” you assured him.

mark was torn between relieved and disappointed. “y-you’re not?” he raised his eyebrows at you.

“no, there’s some loopholes around that.” you swung your leg over him and straddled his lap. mark looked petrified, but the whimper that slipped through his lips egged you on. his hands floated around your hips, but he still wasn’t sure where he should place them. suddenly, you took his hands in yours and placed them on the curves of your waist, as if you had read his mind.

mark’s mouth was hung open, probably from the shock he felt. you traced his jaw with your finger, finally leaning in and capturing his lips in a slow kiss. mark whimpered into your lips, and you could feel his hard cock pressing into your pussy through the fabrics. 

mark was clearly touch starved, lurching for your lips whenever he felt like you were slightly moving apart. he held you tight, as his eyelashes fluttered with the pure ecstasy he was feeling just from your lips. you hadn’t even begun to move your hips into his yet and he was already wrapped around your finger. then you decided it was time to get things moving.

the first move of your hips threw mark for a loop. you felt his whole body vibrate with the moan that rumbled in his chest. you started a slow pace, not wanting to kill him with anything too insane. mark on the other hand already felt like he was going to cry from the pleasure. the friction of his jeans moving against his cock with your hips was turning his brain to mush.

pulling away from the kiss, you looked deeply into mark’s orbs. his eyes had a darkness that you’d never seen before. there was barely any innocence left in mark’s eyes; only lust. mark threw his head back as your hips picked up the pace. you admired his expression: his eyebrows furrowed together with his mouth agape, a couple beads of sweat dancing around his hairline, and the cute red flush that made his cheeks glow.

after a few more movements of your hips, you mastered the maneuver that would send waves of pleasure through mark while also getting his bulge to rub against your clit. you were beginning to sweat as well, and mark’s hold on you only grew tighter. 

“oh y/n, it feels so good!” he whined, squeezing his eyes shut. his praise encouraged you to move a tad faster. your eyes rolled back as the pleasure from the friction built up.

“yesss mark, you’re so naughty,” you teased, weaving your fingers through his hair.

“oh f-f-ffffuck!” he swore. “it feels so good, it feels so good,” he whined. he was biting into his lip so hard you were waiting to see blood drip from his skin. 

your eyelids were getting heavy as you felt the pleasure being to build in your core. you definitely were soaked through your pants at this point, and when you glanced down for a second, you saw a tiny damp spot of precum on mark’s jeans. 

you could feel your muscles aching at the constant movement, but you were close, and you knew mark was close as well by the way he face scrunched. mark’s fingers had a vice grip on your waist, you could feel bruises forming under his fingertips.

“y-y/n,” mark started, locking eyes with you. “i’m ready to c- c-.”

“c’mon mark baby, tell me what you want,” you panted, chasing your release and dying to make mark cum in his pants.

“ah you’re gonna make me cum!” mark gasped. his sinful statement was enough to push you over the edge, your hips dissolving into a sloppy fit of movements. with just a few more sways, mark threw his head back and came in his pants, creating a huge mess between the two of you. a pornographic amount of cum drenched the fabric that separated your bodies. mark still had his head thrown back, resting on the back of the couch.

“this is a little embarrassing, but i think i almost cried,” mark sheepishly confessed. you laughed, pulling his head off of the couch and planting a firm kiss on his lips. 

“don’t worry about it, now let’s pray we can get cleaned up before your mom comes home.”

[isnt-it-loverly]

little birdie (5)// five hargreeves

Warnings: very tiny trigger warning for self harm

Summary: When Five lands in the Sparrow Academy, he must convince one of them to help him reset the timeline. 

Word count: 1650ish

Author note: finally done with exams and back to writing! it felt good to write something I wanted to, instead of essays for school. 

part one, part two, part three, part four

Remember when you said The Umbrellas were not that bad, well most of them weren’t. But they were hesitant to welcome you with open arms. Luther stared at you intently, fire and rage seeping from his demeanor. You tried your best to sink into the burlap couch, the fibers itching away at your skin. You had delivered their brother safely, mostly unharmed but at least he was alive.

“Does anyone else think that this is- I don’t know, dangerous? That thing is a killing machine, she could be raiding our minds,” Luther snarled.

“I have to agree with King-Kong, she could be satelliting our location to Dad as we speak,” Diego, you assumed, spoke. 

“That’s not entirely how it works,” you spoke up timidly.

“Oh yeah? Then how come you know everything about Five? Or how about how you tried to kill Klaus? I’m sure you’ve already told your little flock of drones all of our secrets,” Luther yelled. 

“First off,” you started, “I am number five. I’m not the ringmaster, I’m not the leader of the group, and I have the body of a teenager. So let’s assume I hold no power when it comes to my family. I am an object to them. If I was in league with them- believe me, pea brain, you’d be dead.” 

The room fell silent as you raised your voice, and Five gave you an encouraging smirk. He was going to enjoy you putting his egotistical brother in his place. But boy, did his family make your blood boil.

“And another thing, Mr. Age-of-enlightenment, don’t try to use my ability against me. Because I can bet that you will lose every single time. Brain beats brawn, tough guy,” you spat. 

You were in his face now, on your tippy-toes, but still making yourself eye level. You could do it if you wanted to. Take over his mind and make him do unspeakable things, but you decided against it. You needed them to trust you, but more importantly, you needed their help. You took a deep yet shaky breath and backed away from Luther slowly. The anger was suddenly gone and replaced with immense dread. You looked around at your surroundings, they were all staring at you harshly but with fear ever-present on their faces. You knew that all they saw was the beast who stole lives, who knew every secret and thought, the monster who could never be trusted. 

“This was a mistake,” you whispered, tears brimming your eyes. 

“(Y/n), wait,” Five called. You felt him reach out for you but it was too late, you were already out the door. 

You could hear him yelling at his siblings from outside the door. It was strange how much he cared, you’d known him a couple of days- and half of that was fighting with your families. You looked around cautiously, where were you gonna go. You made your way through the old and dusty hallway of the rundown apartment complex. It was a good hiding spot. The other side of town in a secluded and forgotten area, your siblings would never think to look down here. They thought the umbrellas were too egotistical to be smart. The stairwell, you thought, was the only way to rise from rock bottom. You must go up. You run up the stairs as fast as your feet could carry you, hearing the loud boom of your stomps echo off the concrete walls. 

You reached the rooftop in a matter of seconds. The chill of the April air lingered around you. You made your way to the edge, the streets were barren and quiet. There was no one to help you escape from this nightmare you had created. What a mess you had managed to create in less than a week. You peered over the edge trying to find any living being to take over so you could be rid of all these conflicting emotions. 

You were a member of the Sparrow Academy, and yet here you were fraternizing with the enemy. The Umbrellas would never see you as an equal, just as someone who stole their life. Then there was your family, how would you ever come back from this? 

“You really shouldn’t be leaning over the edge like that. You could fall and that would be quite unfortunate for the both of us,” Five’s unempathetic voice pulled you from your thoughts. 

Five carefully grabbed your forearm and pulled you away from the edge. Not that he thought that you’d intentionally hurt yourself, but he was not about to lose someone he cared about. Five thought for a moment, did he care about you? Or were you just an important asset to resetting the timeline? He didn’t have time to sort that out at the moment, he had more important matters to attend to. You looked up at him, the tears made your eyes shine more than they usually did. He didn’t know if it was your power drawing him in or if this was just a moment of weakness. He just couldn’t help himself. He wiped a tear that had managed to escape, though he could tell that you were trying your best to keep them in. 

“They’re a lot, I know, but they’ve been through hell and back. They’re scared. They’ve lost everything, and they see you as Number Five not as (Y/n). A replacement for us. You’re better and far more powerful than any of us,” He explained. 

You liked this version of him. This Five was gentle instead of hostile. You wiped your eyes and nodded, showing him that you understood. 

“I can’t believe I let my temper go, I just- it’s been a hard couple of days. I’ve never disobeyed an order, I’ve always done what my father told me, was always there when Number One needed me. Yet here I am, standing in the presence of my most dreaded enemy,” You explained. 

“I’ve told you, I didn’t ask you to help me,” He remarked coldly. There he was, there was that hardened exterior. There was a silence for a moment before you decided to continue.

“I’ve heard about you my entire life, the boy who could travel between space and time. I used to be afraid of you, how could I possibly compete with someone who could be anywhere they wanted. I used to have nightmares about the day when you and your family would come,” you finished. 

Five cleared his throat with an unreadable expression. You could look into his mind and see what he was thinking, but you did not want to destroy the foundation of trust you had built with him. He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Our father really has a special way of sculpting young minds. When we met him in the sixties, I should’ve been more careful...if I had known that’s why he was taking notes at that dinner- I would’ve watched what we said,” Five said solemnly. 

He blamed himself for all this, how could he not. Not only had he managed to ruin his entire family’s life, but he had managed to drag someone as good as you down with it. He thought for a moment about where you would be in his timeline. Maybe you had learned to control your powers, and you had grown into a young woman. Maybe you had a life, a job, a family, a house mortgage to pay. But yet his stupidity had cost you everything. Now you were just as broken as he was. 

“You’re not stupid,” you spoke up. 

Five gave you a quizzical look, and then it dawned on him. 

“You were in my head,” He responded in a monotone voice.

“I couldn’t help it, you blanked out. I had to make sure I didn’t say anything wrong. More importantly I had to make sure you were okay,” You said reaching for his hand. To your surprise, he didn’t pull away, and for that you were thankful. 

“Why do you care?” He asked sharply. It was meant to hurt you, but you’d faced worse than a moody old man. 

“Because you’re my friend. We are friends, right? I mean, I saved your life...twice. You held me while I bled everywhere,” You said with a small yet hopeful smile. 

Five cautiously looked at your hand holding his. He wouldn’t let anyone else do this, he really shouldn’t let you do it. Something about it felt right, your touch was comforting. It was like a breath of fresh air and if he concentrated really hard it almost brought a sense of normalcy. He could imagine that there was no danger and definitely no world in need of saving. It was you, he concluded, it had to be. Somehow you must have been drawing him in, making him feel this way. He hadn’t felt like this since he first saw Delores. This had to be one of your mind tricks, and yet he didn’t care. The feeling was worth having. 

“Yes, I suppose we are friends,” He confirmed. 

That brought a smile to your face. You both liked the sound of that. Five gave your hand a gentle squeeze and you felt your heart melt. Surely this was not the same Five Hargreeves your father had warned you about. You were sure that there was no way you could ever hate him, you just didn’t have it in you. 

“Come on,” Five spoke up, “We better get inside before my siblings think you murdered me.” 

“You know that I’m not always in your head, or anyone’s for that matter. And I’m not a cell phone tower, I can’t satellite your location,” you explained. 

Five gave you a small chuckle, “I know.” 

With that he lead you back into the warm and safe, yet slightly smelly, hallway. Having Five by your side made you feel safe and you knew with him there- you could face anything. 

[nah-she-didnt]

Jily prompt 12, angst with happy/hopeful ending?

Thank you for the prompt!! Send me more prompts here :) 

This turned into part 2 of my other prompt, Complicated. 

Enjoy!

--

Lily huffed and threw down her quill. That was the third time in five minutes that she’d incorrectly labeled her Astronomy chart. At this rate it would take half the night to finish her assignments. She sat back, cursing her clumsy fingers, and reached for her wand to siphon off the spilled ink. The short break in her homework allowed her mind to wander back to James.

He and his friends had returned from Hogsmeade that afternoon. James, a little cross-eyed and unsteady on his feet, determinedly didn’t glance at her as he made his way to the boy’s dormitory. Lily suspected that the bottles of dusty firewhiskey on display at The Hog’s Head were to blame for James’ demeanor. She didn’t like to think of him drinking out of sadness, especially sadness that she had caused. 

Lily leaned back in her spot on the maroon couch and closed her eyes. Honestly, she thought, massaging her temples in frustration, why does he always insist on making things more difficult? There was no reason James couldn’t flirt with other girls in their year. There were plenty of pureblood and halfblood girls who would have killed for him to wink at them, to ruffle his stupid hair and flash his crooked smile in their direction. Why did he always have to flirt with her instead, even when he knew the liability she would be to him? 

“Bad night?” 

Lily opened her eyes. An upside down Remus grinned at her from above. Lily sat up again in her chair and stretched, then patted the seat next to her. “Come, join the misery.” 

“You make it sound so appealing,” Remus laughed, taking the seat beside her. He pulled out several large textbooks and a roll of parchment. “I’m so behind in Herbology. Sprout’s better than the others, but she’s still making me do the essay I missed last full moon.” 

Lily grimaced. She knew that Remus often had trouble with professors who did not accept his Lycanthropy as an excuse for missing homework assignments. The teachers might have to accept Remus’ condition on Dumbledore’s orders, but they weren’t obligated to cut him any slack. Lily tried to help Remus as much as she could, but he always felt behind his classmates in their assignments. 

“Here,” she smiled, pushing her own finished essay towards him, “take mine. I got it back today in class.”

“Bless you,” Remus said, scanning her neat writing, “this is going to help loads.” 

“No problem,” mumbled Lily, who had gone back to work on her Astronomy chart.

“Funny,” said Lupin easily as he retrieved his quill and ink from his bag, “that you’re so nice to me and so stubborn with James.” 

Her eyes snapped to Remus’. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing!” He looked anxious for a moment, like he hadn’t expected her quick-tempered reaction, “just that he told us you had a row. Something about you not wanting to be seen with him. He was pretty cut up, if you must know.” 

Lily groaned and dropped her head into her hands. Blimey, he had been drinking on her account. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Lily said into her hands, “he wanted to walk down to the village together, and I told him it wasn’t a good idea. He never let me explain that I didn’t want trouble from the Slytherin lot when they saw us together.” 

Remus frowned. “Why would walking with James make you worry about trouble from the Slyterhins? They always try to mess with you, why would he make any difference?” 

Lily did not speak for a moment. How much did she really want to divulge to Remus? She didn’t want to sound dramatic or self-centered. Like her little life could have such a profound impact on James’ that she couldn’t be seen with him.

“It’s...complicated?” she offered weakly.

Remus laughed. “Yeah, he said you’d say that.” 

“He doesn’t get it,” Lily spoke suddenly, feeling the words pour from her like a fawcett, “he doesn’t understand the shit I’m in these days. The shit we’re all in, muggleborns,” Lily looked pleadingly at Remus now, “It’s so dangerous out there. They’ve already threatened my dad once. We’re barely safe in Hogwarts where we have to deal with shit from the Slytherins and, frankly, the other houses too, and all the while we’re worried about our families and the war and everything else!” 

Lily noticed her shoulders shaking and tried to steady her nerves. Remus regarded her gently, as if he was waiting for her to finish before he spoke, so she plowed on. 

“And then Potter, pureblood, practically part of the Sacred 28, starts trying to chat me up in public. And he’s not exactly subtle, is he? He’s always making a spectacle, making everyone look at him, perceive him, and he loves it! He doesn’t understand that knowing me, being close to me, is more dangerous for him than it is for other people. If he gets close to me they’ll consider it the highest betrayal. They’ll target him. I won’t let that happen.” 

When Lily finished she found she needed a moment to catch her breath. She’d said all that very quickly, as if she’d been keeping it in for a long time, and had not paused to censor her words. She felt her chest lighten a bit. It felt good to tell Remus her fears. 

Remus put his hand over hers. “Lily,” he whispered, stroking his thumb along her wrist, “like it or not, we’re all going to still want to know you no matter how bad this war gets. So you better get used to it.” 

She let out a watery laugh, trying to wipe away the tears that formed behind her eyes without him noticing. “Thanks, Remus. But you get it, don’t you? I mean -” she said quickly, not wanting to offend him, “I’m not saying it’s the same, being muggleborn and a...you know,” she whispered, glancing around at the common room for anyone listening to their conversation. “But you understand what it’s like to be afraid to be close to someone.” 

“Yes,” he whispered, gripping her hand tighter, “I do. And that’s why I’m telling you that you have to fight that fear. Pushing people away keeps you isolated, and being isolated makes you vulnerable. For your sake, as well as everyone else’s, you have to try and let people get close to you.” 

She smirked at him. “People like your good pal James?” 

“Well, if not him, then someone else,” Remus laughed, “I’m just saying, James knows what he’s doing. He’s not thick, most of the time. He knows that you’ve got it worse than him and he’s not afraid to stand up and be there for you. He knows what he could lose in this war, the same as the rest of us. And people like that don’t come around every day.” Remus patted her hand once then turned back to his homework. “Just make sure you’re pushing him away because he’s an obnoxious, arrogant git, and not because you’re afraid of hurting him.” 

Lily laughed. “You know me so well.” 

“I know you both well,” Remus chuckled, “believe me, your instincts aren’t entirely wrong. Oh, look, speak of the devil.” 

Lily whipped around in her seat. 

James stood awkwardly in the doorway to the boy’s dormitory, bookbag slung across his shoulder. He looked at her wearily.

“Oh, hi,” he stumbled.

“Glad to see you’re good as new again,” Remus beamed at him. Lily avoided James’ gaze.

“Yeah, you know me. I can always rally. I was just on my way to the library…”

“No,” Lily interjected, surprising both boys and herself, “join us.” She pointed at the empty armchair next to her seat.

James stared at her. “Are you sure? If you’re busy -”

“I insist,” she said, still pointing at the chair. 

James looked unsure, but he took the empty chair. Lily was annoyed to notice that Remus was unable to hide his wide, knowing smile as James sat down. 

“So,” James said, pulling out his Astronomy chart, “have you been able to crack this yet?”

“Nope,” Lily was grateful for the easy homework conversation, “I was just telling Remus I’ll be here half the night finishing.”

“Well...Good. I’ll be here too, with you.” 

She smiled. “Thanks, James.” 

“Always.”

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read Into Me Chapter Two: The Importance of Being Earnest

Steve Harrington x Reader

Catch up on the series HERE

Word Count: 2,030

Warnings: Swearing, death illusion

Author’s Note: This chapter is a bit shorter than I’d like, but I promise that the next one is longer! Also, some of the tags aren’t working for some users, so I’m so sorry if you aren’t getting notifications for this series! If you know how to fix this lemme know!

Tags: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap​  @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej​ @clockworkballerina​ @maddie1504​ @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary​ @banjino-in-the-whole @buckysarge​ @wildcvltre​ @stanleyyelnatsiii​ @t0rment0 @10blurredsmoke10 @unussuallchild10 @n3wtscaseofniffler5​ @alwaysstressedout @peterparxour @linkispink1995​ @asharpknife @a-big-ball-of-idk​ @used-avocado​ @mochminnie​ @sledgy14​ @lilmissperfectlyimperfect​

Steve was so very fucked. He’d been sat at his desk since he got home from school and could not think of a single fucking thing to write. He’d had his notebook open, his typewriter loaded with paper, pen uncapped and waiting to be used, and the most work he’d done was chew on its blue cap. He just couldn’t think.

Writing was not his thing. Reading was not his thing. School was not his thing. He had lines of trophies on his nearly empty shelf-swim meet, track and field, basketball, and baseball for one summer in fifth grade. He could understand how to play a sport. That was competitive, improvisational, and had a core outcome-you won, lost, or tied. The same three outcomes with a million ways to do it, a million variables to get in the way. Math and science were the same, he could swing Cs and Bs in those classes, but English was the opposite. There were too many opinions. Too many options. When he managed to read one of the assigned books for class and not merely the Cliff’s Notes, he found he had nothing to say about it. Everything the author said felt true, even when his teachers were telling him to look for specific things in the narrative. Sure, if someone told him that the conch shell in Lord of the Flies meant something, but if you asked him what he wouldn’t know. And he would believe you if you said that the conch shell didn’t mean anything. His essays were all crap.

He thought about calling Nancy. Nancy would know exactly how to help him, she always did. But Nancy was with Jonathan now and he wasn’t confident that they were still friends at all. If they were ever friends. He didn’t think that they were. They weren’t really friends before they dated. Still, his hand hovered over the egg shell white rotary phone on his desk, a gift from his eleventh birthday. He lifted the phone off its hook, dialling the number off by heart. It took three rings for someone to pick up.

“Eleven?” Mike Wheeler’s frantic voice came through the other end. Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes, the boy was far too attached to that girl, it was honestly concerning.

“Nah dude it’s Steve, your sister around?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“She’s out with Jonathan.” Mike’s voice dropped into one of boredom. “You know, her boyfriend?” he was such a little shit sometimes.

“Yeah, I know dipshit, you wanna tell her I called when she gets back?” Steve huffed back.

“If I remember.” With that, the call went dead. Steve groaned, rolling his eyes as he slammed the receiver back onto the hook. What a fucking waste of time. He’d never hear back now, that kid didn’t like him from the start and would do whatever he could to keep them from being friends.

What was to be done now? He didn’t have anything to say about his spring break! Mr. Lawrence was a bastard for even asking him to write about it. Nothing happened! His parents went to Miami Beach to rekindle their marriage for the hundredth time and left Steve at home alone. He tried to throw a party but almost got busted by the cops with a fake ID at the Pick n’ Save and Tommy’s brother wouldn’t give them any weed to supplement what would’ve been a pretty dry party. He cancelled the party after that and sat at home alone. Nothing much to tell about and definitely wouldn’t fill a page, even if he used the longest words he knew.

Steve stood from his desk, looking through his shelf till he found the heavy yellow pages he’d put on the bottom of his shelf to weigh the sucker down so it wouldn’t fall over as fast. He flipped it open, searching through the numbers till he found what he was looking for, lifting the receiver off its hook again.

Across the street, you were sprawled out on your rose printed bedspread, your head in your hands with Samantha sat on your desk chair, laughing at your pain. “You know it’s not that bad, right? You could’ve gotten stuck with someone way worse.” She said, mindlessly digging through the black jewellery box sat dusty in the corner of your desk. Your mother had sent it from Spain and had filled it with different things she found across Europe. You didn’t care much for the stuff yourself but you kept it on your desk to show that you used it, not that she was ever home to seemed to notice.

Your bedroom was clean and stark white. It used to be pink, to match the rest of your white iron rod and pink padded furniture. You didn’t like the pink that much, and you didn’t adore the white, but you could hide it behind the art you tacked to the wall. Every portrait, still life, and landscape painting you’d been proud of hung proudly in your home gallery. You’d done recreations of your favourite album covers, and splatter art with balloons, and a few charcoal drawings of your grandparents and your father. You’d painted clouds and stars on your ceiling when you were in middle school, and while they had a lot of room for improvement, you left them above your head as a comfort to you. Your father had helped you scrape the popcorn ceiling down flat and helped paint the ceiling sky blue. It was your last project together.

“Oh yeah totally…” you said through your hands, refusing to look at her, focusing instead on the yellow sun spots floating under your eyelids.

“I mean, you could’ve gotten stuck with Tracy Lords again, she’s in that class.” Samantha replied easily, pulling out a green sea glass bangle from the top drawer, running her fingers over the red velvet interior of the box. Tracy Lords was a menace to productivity, at least she was according to Samantha. They had issues, which meant that you did too by association, but she’d done nothing to you except glare and pop her gum at you.

“At least she does her work!” you sat up, letting your feet dangle over your bed. “I don’t think he’s ever done his work on time, he’s always late with stuff!”

“That’s not your problem; as long as you do your work then Lawrence won’t care.” She flashed the bangle in front of your face “You should wear this more it’s nice.”

You shrugged “You can have it if you want.” You didn’t really care about what your mother sent you, it didn’t change the fact that she didn’t care enough about you to be home for more than a month out of the year. Besides, where on earth were you supposed to wear any of it? Your mother loved to spend your father’s riches on random, useless crap and you hated the idea of showing off the money your father died for. It wasn’t anything to brag about.

“Nah, not my style, it won’t match any of my stuff.” She put the bracelet back, closing the box with a metallic thump. “But anyway, you’ll be fine. Steve’s completely harmless.” You weren’t exactly sure if you believed her.

The phone on your desk blared loudly. You begrudgingly jumped off the bed, pulling it off the hook. Your grandmother was still at the hair salon and if you didn’t answer, one of her little friends from the old folk’s home might think that she died again.

“Hello?” you asked, motioning for Samantha to move over a bit, closing your white curtains closed again, your eyes scanning the streets with a bored expression.

“Hey is this Y/N?” Steve asked cautiously. He couldn’t quite remember your voice but he had double checked your last name in the year book and the phone book.

“Yeah, who is this?” dread filled your stomach the second he spoke, you were hoping against hope that it wasn’t Steve. You could see him pacing his window from across the street.

“Hey it’s Steve from English?” Fucking hell. You wanted to slam the damn receiver onto its hook. But if you did that, Samantha would think that you were crazy and you didn’t want to seem like such a baby.

“Oh hey what’s up?” you asked cautiously. Samantha was pulling at your sleeve, mouthing ‘Who is it?’ at you. You pulled your arm away, pushing her chair away from you with your foot.

“Oh nothing much, I was just wondering how your paper’s going?” Steve didn’t really know why he called you, he wasn’t certain that you’d even help him if he asked. He hardly knew you, he couldn’t name two things about you. But you seemed smart, you could be of some help if he had the balls to ask for it.

“Oh um…it’s fine. How’s yours going?” your hand came to the back of your neck, rubbing it awkwardly. You wanted to run away, to utterly disappear into another dimension. You didn’t like strangers, especially the whole small talk part. You didn’t feel like you had anything interesting to say about yourself and you hated silence. Your mind just didn’t come up with questions to ask.

Steve’s face burned. He couldn’t admit that he was stupid now; he was hoping that he wasn’t the only idiot in the class. “Oh um it’s good! I’m almost done.” He said, mentally cursing himself for saying that he was anywhere near finished.

“Oh cool. Do-do you want to switch them off tomorrow?” Now you had no idea what this phone call was even about. In the back of your mind, you assumed that he just had a question about the essay, but now you had nothing to grab onto.

“Yeah sure, that works for me.” He said, looking to his empty paper.  He was so totally screwed now. He couldn’t admit that he was an idiot to you, not when you already had everything so clearly understood. You spoke so confidently, it made him feel small and pointless.

“Okay…I’ll see you in class then.” You said. Steve bid an awkward goodbye and you both hung up unsure what the hell had just happened.

Samantha was on her feet, jumping on your mattress “Did Steve Harrington just call you?!?” she cried, following it was it a giddy scream. You hushed her, rolling your eyes.

“It’s nothing to freak out about, you weirdo!” you countered, turning to face her fully with a sullen expression. Your heart was still pounding hard in your chest, adrenalin pumping through your veins.

Samantha landed on her knees, looking up at you incredulously “What? He’s cool! That’s cool! Boys never call you!”

“Way to rub that one in.” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. Talking to people wasn’t your strong suit, and while for the most part you were okay with not having many friends, you lack of experience with relationships made you very insecure. “You crushed one of your spikes on my ceiling.”

Samantha reached up and touched each individual black spike with the tips of her finger, finding the dented one at the top of her head. “It’s true! God, I’ve got more guys calling me and I’m a lesbian.” She lowered her voice at the mention of her sexuality. You both knew that your grandparents wouldn’t be kind to her if they knew, their homophobia a mark of their small mindedness.

“Yeah, well, the guys at this school are all idiots.” You looked back to your paper, pulling your red pen out from behind your ear and crossing out a word on your essay.

“You didn’t think Jonathan Byers was an idiot.” Samantha replied. You cheeks flashed cherry red. It wasn’t fair of her to even mention him. He was a dickhead and Samantha knew it.

“Yeah, well now I know that he’s just as big of an idiot as everyone else is.” You muttered, pulling your desk chair over and taking a seat once again.  You didn’t have the time for stupid boys, anyways. You had work to do.

[finnofamerica]

Bumblebee - Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: When delivering something to Remus as Sirius’ request, you end up discovering his biggest secret. 

Word Count: 2198

Date: 10.02.2019

Requested by Anonymous

|| Masterlist || 

You ran down the corridors of Hogwarts with a message from Dumbledore, you had no idea why you agreed to take your free period to be his aid. 

“Professor McGonagall?” You huffed, out of breath, “Sorry to interrupt, can I borrow Remus please?” 

“Certainly.” She nodded. You almost blushed at the ammount of eyes that were on you, but your face was already red from running. Remus stood calmly, ignoring James ans Sirius who were bombarding him with whispered questions. 

“Where are we going?” He asked. You gave him a soft smile, patting his shoulder. His sweater was immensely soft underneath your finger tips. 

“Dumbledore just wanted to talk to you, is all.” 

“You ran for that?” 

“Well, Dumbledore makes everything sound like an emergency.” You shrugged, laughing a little, “How’s you’re day?” 

“It’s been good. The usual at least.” 

“That’s good.” 

“You?” 

“You know, still kicking so I can’t complain.” You shrugged. 

You had an odd sort of thing with Remus, it was clear to anybody else that you obviously had a thing for eachother, but you both continued on like you were just friends. It was hard to believe you were “just friends”. Seriously, Remus would drop anything he was doing to help you study, or if you were struggling with something. You were constantly running errands for the proffessors. Getting books from the library for Flitwick, pots for Sprout, tea for Trewlliny and so on. Remus caught you once with books stacked so high he couldn’t see the top of your head, he wondered ho you even knew where you were going. 

It wasn’t like you were never there for Remus, you always found a moment in your busy schedule speak with him. Most times you found him in the library, taking a quiet moment away from his noisey nosey friends, others at the quidditch pitch watching James practice. You knew at times his scars bothered him, and you figured the easiest way of letting him know that you cared, was to ask him about his day. 

“What do you think he wants?” 

“I’m not sure,” You shrugged, “I’ll see you after though.” 

“You probably wont, Bumblebee.” He shook his head, though he said it with humor. You stuck your tongue out at him. 

“Yes, professor?” Remus asked as you let him into Dumbledore’s office. You wished you could’ve stuck around, but you had more errands to run, delivering new ink to teachers. 

-

“And the bumblebee is off again,” Bellatrix snickered as you hurried down the hallways. You were one of her favorite sorces of amusement. Specifically, she loved to trip you when you were in a rush, bonus points if you were carrying ink. 

Bumblebee, a reference to your yellow and black robes. The students who didn’t like you seemed to adopt the nickname, associating it with your house colors and your ever busy “buzzing” behavior. You didn’t care, you actually thought the nickname was cute, no matter how venomous it came off of people’s lips. 

“Woah, Y/n, why such a rush?” Sirius laughed as you almost crashed into him. 

“Nothing much, just delivering these new pots to Professor Sprout and getting some herbs for Madam Pomfrey, urgent matter she says,” You said, lips running almost as fast as the rest of you. 

“You’re still coming to study later right?” He asked as you were already beginning to walk away. 

“Yeah, just a few more things to check off my list.” You steadily accelerated into a run, the words barely drifting over your shoulder to him. He shook his head fondly, slinging his arm over Remus who was watching you depart. 

“Ah, mate, getting her to slow down will be a feat.” 

-

“Sorry I’m late,” You crashed into the table. Not litterally, but the way you plopped down into the chair, certainly resembled crashing. “What are we working on?” 

“Y/n, calm down,” Remus placed his hand on your shoulder, the heat warming you instantly and soothing you, “We just started. The essay for McGonagall.” 

Remus thought he was a busy student, passing all his classes, but you were that times ten. He had no idea how you found the time to do all your homework on top of everything you already did for the Professors. You gave him an easy smile, nudging him with your elbow. 

“So what topic did you choose?” Remus asked, ignoring the way James and Sirius plotted in the corner. 

“Oh,” You tossed bit of loose hair over your shoulder, “Well, I wanted to write about how transfiguration could be used to help poor families.” 

“Oh?” He rose a brow. 

“Yeah, I mean, think of the benefits!” 

James and Sirius looked back and forth between you and Remus as you discussed possible topics for the essay. Comepletely enamored with eachother, everyone else at the table disappeared. 

-

You were finally able to relax on the couch of the Hufflepuff common room, the smell of fresh cookies wafting through. You didn’t want to do anything, so you laid on the couch, eyes closed just listening to the crackling of the fire. 

“Miss Y/l/n?” You heard a voice. You held back a groan as you sat up, back aching dully. 

“Yes?” You turned to the portrait door, only to find Professor Sprout. 

“Minerva had this for you. She said Sirius had it for Remus but couldn’t find him.” She handed you a vile that smelt rather, well, vile. 

“Thank you, Professor, I go find him now.” You swung your legs off the couch, stretching as you stood. “A bumblebee’s work is never done, I guess.” 

You didn’t rush down the corridors, instead, you took your time. Finding Remus meant peaking inside abandoned classrooms and knocking on office doors. He wasn’t even with Madam Pomfrey which you thought odd. He was nowhere else in the castle. You leaned against one of the windows, looking out on the castle grounds. 

You could see a single figure out there. 

“Remus?” You asked yourself, really hoping you were wrong. Whatever that person was doing out there, it didn’t feel good. 

Against your better judgement, you found yourself making your way out to the castle grounds, over looking the quidditch pitch. 

“Remus?!” You called over to the figure, shivering in the cold. 

“Y/n?” He called back. 

“What are you doing out here so late?” 

“Y/n you need to go back inside right now,” He demanded seriously. You could see the concern in his eyes as you stepped closer. 

“No, Rem, are you okay?” 

“Y/n, you need to go inside now.” Remus reitterated, stepping away from you. 

“Professor Sprout g-”

“Now, Y/n!” 

You took a step back. Remus never raised his voice at anyone, certainly not you. 

“Rem?” Your voice broke, eyes watering. 

“It’s too late,” he groaned out in pain. You could see the muscles in his back train against his shirt. 

“Y/n,” James ran up to you. “You need to go now, it’s not safe.” 

“No, what’s wrong with Remus?” You were practically crying to see him in pain like this. 

“I’ll explain later,” He promised, “Sirius, get her inside.” 

“No, I wanna help.” You strained against Sirius’ grip on you. 

“Y/n, listen to me,” Sirius gripped your shoulders, forcring you to look away from Remus and at him. “We will explain tomorrow, but if you don’t go inside now you could be in severe danger.”

“But-” 

“No, buts.” He cut you off, “Look, I know you wanna help. It’s in your silly bumblebee nature, but you can’t help right now. Tomorrow morning I will come get you and we’ll explain everything but right now, I need you to go back inside the castle.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise. Run.” 

A howl pierced the night as you took off back towards the castle. The sound alone chilled you to the bone, but the realization that came along with it had your head spinning so bad that the second you were inside the castle, you collapsed on the floor, struggling for breath. 

You didn’t sleep that night. You waited up all night, holding that precious vile in your hand as you stared out at the full moon. You watched as the moon crept across the sky, slowly dissappearing into the sunrise. 

“Y/n.” A voice hissed at you. “Y/n!” 

You sat bolt upright on the common room couch. 

“I was only resting my eyes for a second.” You insisted, rubbing your bleary eyes. Sirius’ face came into focus in front of you. 

“Come with me,” He held out his hand. “He should be waking soon.” 

You followed Sirius through tunnels that you had no idea were even there. Narrowly avoiding getting hit by the whomping willow, as you snuck through the tunnel at the bottom, barely big enough for you to fit. The room it emerged into was dusty, abandoned. 

“Is this-?” The words died on your lips. 

“The shrieking shack?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You ever wondered why it’s called that?” He asked, but he didn’t need an answer, you already put it together. 

“How is he?” Sirius asked James as he lead you into another room. This one was significantly cleaner than the last, resembling more of a squatter’s spot. 

“Sleeping still. This one was worse, I think.” 

They spoke in hushed tones, in a secretive way as if they didn’t want you to hear. Remus was sound asleep on the dusty bed, his hair tossled and pants hung loose on him. After a second glance you realized they were actually Sirius’ pants, but you had no idea when he’d gotten them. Remus was shivering but despite the thick sweater he was wearing. 

“I’ll watch over him,” You said softly. So softly that Sirius and James almost didn’t hear you. “You guys should rest.” 

“We should explain-” 

“No. He can tell me himself.” You shook your head. “I’d rather he tells me himself.” 

“You’re sure?” James asked. 

“I’m sure.” 

“Okay. Come get us when he wakes.” James gave you a hug. It was strange, James had never hugged you before, but he almost seemed glad you were there, if the circles around his eyes had anything to say about it. Sirius ruffled your already messy hair as he walked out, giving one last look to his sleeping friend. 

You carefully sat on the edge of the bed, pulling your legs up next to you. Remus was still shivering, even as you gingerly wrapped your scarf around his neck. You brushed some hair away from his face. You could almost say he looked peaceful, but you really didn’t want to know what was happening behind those closed eyes. You did think he was beautiful, even with the scars on his arms, and even the ones on his face. Your favorite was the one across his nose, the one that interrupted the path of freckles on his face. You didn’t realize that you were lightly tracing the scar until Remus’ hand shot up, catching yours. 

“Stop,” He mumbled, “tickles.”

“Sorry,” You whispered, “How you feeling?” 

“Y/n?” Remus finally opend his eyes. His eyes were hazy and un focused as they flickered to you. He pushed a bit of hair behind your ear with a sleepy smile, “Bumblebee.” 

He said it with such warmth, you couldn’t help but smile back at him. 

“Oh my -” Remus sat up, pulling you into his arms. He was really awake now, “Why didn’t you go back inside? Are you hurt?” 

“No,” You petted his head, “I’m okay. But I only went inside because I was promised an explaination. But I’m more concerned about you, how are you feeling?” 

“Tired, drained, like I got hit by a car.” He let his head rest into your shoulder, a little muffled by your sweater. “I take it you know then?” 

“I put it together last night.” 

“You still came after all that?” 

“Of course!” 

“You’re crazy.” 

“You’re my friend, and I care for you wether you like it or not.” 

“You should stay away from me, it’s not safe.” 

“I’m not scared of you. Please, look at me.” 

He leaned back, just enough to meet your eyes. You could see tears in his, upset over the fact that he could’ve hurt you. You cupped his cheecks, brushing away any stray tears. 

“You’re my friend, and I care for you. I like you a whole lot too. Shit, I wouldn’t have chased after you last night if I wasn’t willing to bend over backwards into hell for you. The only thing I want, is to help you be okay on the otherside.” 

“I could hurt you.” He whispered.

“I’ve got nothing left to lose. Try me.” You challenged softly. He gently pressed his lips to yours, like he was unsure of his actions. You just kissed him back. 

“You look tired,” He teased as he pulled away. 

“I was up all night worried about you.” 

“Nap with me then, just skip classes with me today. No bumblebee duties.” 

“Maybe just for today,” You laid on the bed next to him. Remus was much warmer with you tucked against his side as the both of you got some much needed rest.

TAGS: @diggorysghost​​ @niffleurs​ @siriuslyimmoony​ @carolinesbookworld@untildawnremus​ @thoseofgreatambition​ @nosebleednougats​​ @moonynprongs​ @marauderobsessed​ @theboywhocriedlupin​ @astertist​ @swellwriting​ @blimey-ron​ @dyngflwrs​ ​ @fortisfiliae​ @essenceoflumos​  @bluemadcnna @theseuscmander

[strikearose]

Over a jazz tune (IchiRuki)

Here’s the translation of a little story written years ago, I hope you guys enjoy it <3 Summary: It was by pure chance that Rukia had found it one day as she was exploring the wonders hidden in the Kurosaki's attic. You can also read it on ff.net (link) and ao3 (link)

It was by pure chance that Rukia had found it as she was exploring the wonders hidden in the Kurosaki's attic. This place was truly a treasure trove and among her greatest finds were a whole bunch of out-dated items of clothing, dusty furniture and hilarious picture books. However, what that was standing before her very eyes was even more extraordinary and intriguing than anything she had ever seen before. The object had a very peculiar shape : a large sort of golden horn was fixed on top of a wooden box while a small, delicate, crank handle was anchored on the side. She felt the fabulous instrument with her fingertip, appreciating the roughness of the woodwork and the delicacy of the bronzed details.

What could be the purpose of this thing? If there was even one, of course, as her sojourns on Earth had taught her how much Humans liked to surrender themselves with objects that were utterly useless!

A smile of wonder came on her lips as she lifted the object of her dreams with her hands, eager to know more about it. Unfortunately, Rukia quickly felt disenchanted as she realized that it weighed a ton. Bringing it to the redhead's room was going to be a real pain, but she could do it on her own - she was a Kuchiki, after all!

**

His eyebrows frowned as he heard the heavy footsteps of the brunette coming in his direction. What the hell was she going to show him, now? Vintage pictures that were from a time than none of his close relatives had lived in? Other eccentric outfits that had belonged to his father long, long ago? Well - at least that was what he hoped because even he had no real interest or whatsoever in fashion, the memory of that awful purple sequined jacket still gave him chills.

Ichigo did not have the time to think of it any longer - the door of his room opened with a bang, revealing Rukia's exhausting face. Not expecting it, he watched her struggling to drag a large cardboard box into his room. It was only after receiving a murderous glare from the shinigami that Ichigo finally decided to give her a hand - hey, it was way more heavy that what he'd thought. What the hell was inside that box?

When the brunette's treasure was finally brought to his bed, Ichigo allowed himself a sigh of relief while Rukia, losing no time, immediately began to unwrap... A phonograph.

The young man squinted his eyes slightly, he had no recollection of ever seeing that thing. It probably belonged to the previous owners.

"Ichigo, what is this marvelous thing?"

His chocolate eyes slowly lowered onto his friend's face - she was literally begging him to answer. He had learned over time to appreciate this side of the goddess of death, far different from her usual professional and distant mask. It was in those precious moments, when she left aside her role of shinigami to appreciate every little thing she was given to discover on Earth, that she seemed the most human to him. Her curiosity was always genuine.

"It's a phonograph, Rukia", he smiled and closed his book for good. "It's like the ancestor of a record player, you know? It's kind of a radio, it makes music."

He wasn't going to give her in a nonsensical explanation of how the machine worked - a demonstration would make much more sense. With a cautious gesture, he lifted the sapphire from the record-deck and, plunging his hand into the box, tried to grab whatever record was supposed to be in there.

...

Nothing.

He frowned - if the phonograph was stored there, everything should be in there too.

"Ichigo?", inquired the brunette after a few moments of silence.

"Something is missing", he sighed. "Sorry Rukia but it won't work."

A veil of disappointment passed over her, quickly swept away by her usual mask of neutrality.

**

"Ichi-nii, are you there?"

Ichigo's eyes opened and he slowly lifted his head, lost. What had happened? He just remembered looking at a particularly tough math problem and then... Nothing. He had fallen asleep on his desk.

"Ichi-nii?", his little sister's sweet voice brought him back to reality:

"Come in Yuzu", said the elder Kurosaki, muffling a new yawn.

The schoolgirl opened the door carefully, smiling, and closed it behind her.

"I wanted to have a look around the garage sale downtown, but Daddy has patients to take care of and..-", he cut her off gently.

"Just give me a few minutes to finish up and then we'll go."

A big smile brighten up the face of the youngest Kurosaki - he knew how much she loved dusting off, sewing, and bringing back to life whatever ancient dolls she could find - Kon being a living proof of it.

With his hands in his pockets, the schoolboy walked through the streets and stalls of the city, keeping a close eye on his precious little sister. Yuzu was on her seventh purchase when they passed along an old vinyl stall - if Ichigo didn't bother to pay it the slightest attention, the young girl grabbed his arm and forced him to approach.

"Weren't you looking for one of those things Ichi-nii?"

His gaze fell mechanically on the discs, but it was only when he met the radiant smile of his sister that he made the connection. The sweet giggle that escaped Yuzu's lips set his cheeks on fire as he used his last savings for an 'ungrateful idiot who wouldn't even understand'.

**

Several days had passed since the yard sale but the shinigami hadn't bother to even show her face. If at first, the brunette's lack of interest had upset Ichigo - 'She brings and unwraps it, lose all interest two seconds later and leaves it in the middle of my fucking room' - he stored his latest acquisition in a empty corner of his desk and eventually forgot about it too.

The red-head was writing the thirty-seventh line of his essay when he heard a few knocks at his window. Any form resentment instantly forgotten, it took him only a tenth of a second to unlock it for her. It wasn't like he was really looking forwards her return.

...

No.

Ichigo simply had good reflexes.

And maybe bad faith, too.

The high school student didn't comment on how tired she looked - the contrite smile she gave him when she entered his room definitely erase any rancor he still felt. She looked as if she hadn't have a proper night of sleep for ages - there was no way he could have kick her out in her state.

"Yo", he cleared his throat, the silence made him feel quite uneasy.

"Good evening Ichigo."

The conversation stopped there but the atmosphere had mellowed down considerably. Rukia, removing Sode-No-Shirayuki from her waist, gently put it in the closet as he went back to his geography.

"Oh, it's still there!", Rukia's calm voice forced him to look up.

Obviously, she was talking about the phonograph which hadn't been moved for almost two weeks, forcing the poor student to hop over it each time he wanted to go to his bed.

"Yeah, it's your mess by the way so you better..-"

A murderous glance stopped him in his track - well, as he had already paid for it, the least he could do was to surrender for once.

"Here, try this one," said Ichigo, handing the shinigami the disc he had brought.

Her big eyes sparkled. At last! She was about to find out how this fabulous machine worked. With a carefully gesture, she accepted the present and placed it on the player-deck. There was a sizzling sound and then, finally, the music began.

Of course, it had to be jazz music - a waltz, more precisely. The room soon felt into a relaxing, peaceful - not to say intimate - atmosphere. And as time went by slowly, Ichigo who wasn't particular fond of the genre, began humming along the song.

They were far from the sound of clashing swords and cries of the hollow. Far from the violence of the wars they had to take part in. Far from the suffering they had to endure.

He closed the geography book, this time for good, and turned his attention to the brunette who hadn't say a word in what felt like hours.

What the ?

Ichigo almost burst out laughing when he saw her dancing - she looked simply ridiculous : wiggling her tiny body to the music, her eyes were closed, her eyebrows furrowed and she was wrinkling her nose in what seemed to be great effort.

"Rukia?"

She didn't even bother to lift her eyelids and continued her strange choreography. More serene than ever. She didn't seem to care one bit that dancing wasn't her strong suit.

"Gosh, you really can't dance..."

As if by magic, the enchantment instantly broke.

The shinigami opened her eyes, her mouth now twisted in an angry frown - she was about to strike the student with a kidō spell when she realized that he was smiling at her.

Genuinely smiling.

Her cheeks turned an almost adorable pink hue as he nonchalantly rose to stand beside her.

**

"You suck at this too."

He didn't retort.

"No, you're even worse than me Ichigo."

"Stop complaining", he glared at her. "And watch your step!"

They both went silent.

Their cheeks were bright red and their gestures clumsy - but none of it mattered at that moment.

"Ichigo?"

He opened one eye to look at her, but said nothing.

"Ichigo!", she insisted.

"What now Rukia?"

For god sake, she couldn't hold her tongue for five minutes! She definitely had a knack for ruining moments.

"Thank you."

She smiled at him, her eyes gleaming, as if all the fatigue accumulated over the last few days had vanished.

"Don't mention it, silly."

**

None of them heard the light footsteps coming up the stairs nor the weak knocks at the door. Yuzu waited a few moments and hesitated before opened it carefully. What she discovered there remained forever engraved in her memory:

Ichigo, with his eyes closed, was in a trance. With his hands placed around what she guessed was supposed to be the waist of a woman, he was moving back and forth, whirling around himself.

The poor girl slowly closed the door and ran away, promising herself never to set foot in his room again.

** (small explanation: Because Rukia wasn't wearing her gigai, Yuzu unfortunately couldn't fully enjoy the show.)

[mothmanhamlet]

A Few Angsty Haikus

Analogical, 2584 words, high school au, fluffffffff, I don’t think there are any warnings to speak of.

Roman gets Virgil to use his services to ask out his crush. Bad poetry ensues.

Roman Prince was many things. He was a jock, a self proclaimed “Matchmaking God”, and the biggest theater nerd Virgil had ever known. Most importantly, Roman would be dead if he didn’t stop begging Virgil in the next 30 seconds.

“Come onnnnnn, please,” Roman begged. They were pinning flyers for Roman’s new “business” idea to the corkboard outside of their math class. Or rather, Roman was pinning flyers, Virgil was just there for moral support. Moral support apparently included attempts at making him Roman’s first customer.

“No,” Virgil said, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall.

“Listen, it benefits both of us! I need my services to get out into the world and you happen to be the perfect candidate!” Roman reasoned, moving his hands a concerning amount for someone who was holding sharp objects.

The services in question were a complicated list of steps Roman called a “confession session”. The idea was that someone filled out the application and Roman would plan out an elaborate display of something that he promised would be spectacularly romantic.  

“No. Absolutely not.” Virgil didn’t even bother looking at Roman, his eyes were too busy scanning around the hallway. School ended not even two minutes ago, so there were still people there. He looked to see who could see him, who could see the poster. Pitifully, Logan was still there, Virgil’s super-genius crush. If Logan saw that poster, his opinion of Virgil would immediately drop. He was too good for that kind of thing.

Roman, sadly, caught Virgil looking just a little too long at Logan and got a brilliant idea. “Well I say you should get a second opinion. Oh Lo-”

Virgil’s hand practically flew to Roman’s mouth, nearly tackling him in the process. Logan, thankfully, didn’t move an inch.

“Do it and you’re dead,” Virgil whispered through gritted teeth. Against his palm, Virgil heard a muffled noise that sounded something like “But can you stop me?”. He looked back at Logan, who was still trying to fit three books and a globe into his already full backpack, and then at Roman, who was looking at Virgil with his eyebrows raised as if to say, “Your move”. At least if he let Roman do this, the embarrassment would be delayed.

“I’ll say yes if you don’t yell when I remove my hand.” Roman nodded and Virgil released his grip on his face, slight red marks where he had pressed rather aggressively. Roman pulled out his phone and started typing.

“I’m emailing you a link to the website. Fill out the form so I can make it spectacular!” Roman said, all too cheery for someone who had to blackmail him into doing it. Virgil just rolled his eyes and started walking down the hallway, trying to shake the small bits of attention that their (rather loud) conversation had gained.

****

Virgil sat down on the purple bean bag chair in his cluttered room and reached for his computer. It was a light grey color and covered in various stickers, his headphones a permanent fixture in its side. He clicked on the link and was immediately redirected to a flashy red and gold website that used hearts like they were commas and used clip art that probably hadn’t seen the light of day since the 90’s. Roman was creative, but sometimes his execution was subpar and unfortunately this was one of those times. Virgil leaned back and read over the questions.  

          1. What is your prospective boyfriend/girlfriend/datemate’s favorite love song?

          2. What type of flower best encapsulates their personality?

          3. Balloons, streamers, confetti, or all?

The rest of the questions followed suit in a similar fashion, and there were a lot. Maybe 30 or so until Virgil got to the end of the application.  

“Who the hell has a favorite kind of sprinkle?” Virgil muttered to himself, trying to work through the questions. Even more surprising than how specific the questions were, was that Virgil actually knew most of the answers. He had never really bought into the whole pining-after-someone-he’d-never-met thing (pretending he even had a choice in the matter), so obviously he had to fall for his lab partner/project partner/person he sat next to in every class. Apparently the teachers thought it was funny to pair up the kid named “Sanders” and the one named “Saunders”. It was that, or just some alphabetization. Either way, it meant they had spent a lot of time together in their first three years of high school. Logan was distant at first, but after a while they opened up to each other. Which was a little weird because Virgil was pretty much the world’s worst lab partner, always assuming so strongly what would happen and planning to mess up, which in turn tended to mess them up. Now they seemed to talk about anything and everything, Virgil’s speaking ability permitted. Logan loved tea and Sherlock and classic literature (Victorianism not Romanticism) and jam and being right and debates and space. He really loved space. Whenever anyone brought up space his eyes lit up and it practically made Virgil’s heart do backflips. He was just glad one of the questions wasn’t “what do you like about them?” because Virgil could have written an essay. What was there, however, was far worse. 

          27. Write 10-20 poems about them.

Now Virgil was an emo nightmare of a person, but he did deviate from the trend in one key factor: He couldn’t write poems. No angsty sonnets for him, no haikus about suffering, no half-baked attempts to write his own songs. Nothing.

Virgil got up from his comfortable chair and started sifting through boxes on the floor, looking for something he’d rather forget. Underneath one particularly dusty pile of biology notes, he found what he’d been looking for, a beat up composition notebook that had served as his 6th grade English notebook. He flipped through the pages, stopping when he finally found the page labeled “poetry rules”. How he remembered this page, he had no idea, but was at least partially thankful for it.  

Haikus: 3 lines. 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables. Doesn’t have to rhyme.  

Well that seemed easy enough.

****

Your eyes look really nice  

Magnified by your glasses  

Blue as the ocean   

Your hair looks fluffy  

I want to touch it sometimes  

So soft and shiny  

****  

Logan anticipated a lot of things. He anticipated his AP World History teacher to say something dull or ignorant during class. He anticipated the way his earl grey would taste every morning, bitter with hints of citrus. He even, on occasion, anticipated the perpetrator in his mystery novels, attempting to figure it out before the detective did. What Logan did not anticipate was two of his friends running towards him before he could enter school for the day.

“Logan, something absolutely delightful happened inside,” Dolos said, dressed in a peculiar combination of a suit and rubber gloves. Remus nodded vigorously next to him, munching on what seemed to be frosting in an empty deodorant bottle.

“There’s something inside your locker Nerdy Wolverine!” Remus said, making an attempt at teasing out his own curiosity while simultaneously applying a neon green fake mustache to his upper lip.

“Remus, if it is rats again, I am really not interested, especially after last time-” Logan began, thinking back to the year they had decided to share a locker.

“Of course. Because we totally put it in there,” Dolos interrupted, rolling his eyes.

“I personally think it’s a jar full of angry hornets that’s set to break when you open your locker, releasing into the school and stinging everyone but Dolos says that’s “unrealistic” because he’s no fun,” Remus said, waving his hands around to simulate a hornet infestation.

“But if you didn’t put anything there, how do you know there is something in there to begin with?” Logan asked.  

“There was a sign on your locker,” Dolos said, gesturing to the door, “But don’t worry, it’s super tasteful.” With that, the two walked off, snickering. Despite the fact that school started in 20 minutes, they walked away from school.

Logan arrived at his locker, not knowing what exactly to prepare for. What he found, was his locker covered in dark blue paper hearts, “There’s a surprise inside” written on them. It was more distinctive    than he would have liked, but it certainly wasn’t the worst thing he could have come across. The hearts managed not to cover his lock, so he could easily open his locker, however what was on the inside proved the hearts correct, for it was definitely a surprise.

His locker was covered along the walls, flowers, candy, and streamers occupying any blank space along the sides. In the back of his locker, there was blue poster paper with words Logan didn’t bother to read. On the small shelf he had in his locker, he found sugar cookies in the pattern of the Microsoft logo, littered with little blue sprinkles.  

The most interesting thing however, was on the side of the door. Around twenty pieces of paper folded into little red paper hearts stuck with string onto the inside of his locker door. What was even more intriguing was the fact that there seemed to be words written on them. Carefully, he plucked one of them and unfolded it.

You smile so bright  

Your laugh makes me want to cry  

But in a good way  

Ok, so it wasn’t a great poem, but nevertheless Logan thought it had a particular quaint authenticity to it. He pulled them off, one by one, careful not to rip them. In every heart, he found a haiku of similar quality and theme. Virgil would probably enjoy them, and for a moment Logan considered giving him something like this. Virgil seemed to have a certain affection for particularly bad poetry, and Logan had an affection for Virgil. Besides, it seemed that some of the poems were just lyrics from some of Virgil’s favorite songs, something about falling boys and chemistry.  

When he had finished reading through the poems, Logan decided to have a better look at the poster in the back of his locker. Looking at the giant words on the paper answered some of his questions, but caused even more. Logan, I like you a lot. Go out with me? - Virgil.

 It made sense, that this whole display was a confession of sorts, however what didn’t make sense was the fact that it wasn’t, well, Virgil. Virgil was a little bit extra sometimes, but from what Logan knew of him, he was far too nervous to do something like this. And if it was Virgil, then where was he? Unless he had run off somewhere-

Virgil had definitely run off somewhere. He looked at his watch. He had fifteen minutes till class started, which was probably enough time to find him.

****

Virgil was, for lack of a better phrase, freaking the hell out. He got to school really early, early enough to intercept Logan, who got to school like half an hour before he really needed to. The night before, he realized he couldn’t go through with the showy confession. Logan would probably hate it and then maybe hate him, which would of course happen after Logan rejected him so then Logan would stop talking to him because Virgil embarrassed him with it and then Roman would hate him because it didn’t work and then his life would fall apart. So instead he decided to get to school early enough to intercept Logan and confess to him before he could see the giant confession, then explain what had happened when he got rejected and got it so Logan was never surprised with whatever Roman planned. He would wait in the empty classroom Logan spent study hall in (he worked out an arrangement with the science teachers) and wait for Logan, who usually came there before his locker. He felt like such a stalker knowing that, when in reality he just asked Logan’s friend Dolos.

Which would have worked out great, except Virgil couldn’t stop freaking out. He was just staring at the clock, anxiously waiting for him to come in, all the while mentally running through every worst case scenario. He had around 13 minutes before school started, which meant Logan had to be there. It would be any minute before-

“Hello?”

Logan was there, dressed formally as always, hair slicked back with a polo shirt and tie. Virgil was there too, but he was sitting on a table, staring at the clock above the door.

“Hi Logan,” Virgil said as calmly as he could, which happened to be not calmly at all. “I have, uh, something for you.”

Virgil reached behind him for the card he had made. He painted a swirly blue sky with Logan’s favorite constellation on it. Hopefully he would like it more than the giant display.

“It’s very nice looking,” Logan commented, looking at the front. “It even has Vega on it, my favorite.”

Logan probably didn’t even know what was going on. Virgil thought he was amazing, but even he had to admit Logan was clinically oblivious. Logan opened up the card, looking a little confused and surprised. But not angry or disappointed. So that was a step in the right direction.

Logan flipped around the card to show him the inside. Logan, would you like to maybe go out with me?  “Yes? Assuming you are asking what it seems you are asking, I would love to go out with you.”

What?

Virgil wasn’t sure if he was happy or confused or surprised, the emotions blending in the pit of his stomach. But he said yes. Logan said yes.  

“Y-yes? Are you sure?”

“Yes Virgil, I’m certain.”

Virgil let out a breath. He was in a calmer place and honestly a little light-headed. Logan sat next to him on the table, looking like he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Ok. In that case, be careful when you visit your locker. There’s something in there that’s a little, uh, extra,” Virgil said, trying to be as vague as possible. Logan’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“If you’re talking about the confession you made, I have already seen it. I apologize if I ruined any surprises.”

“You- But- You saw it? And you don’t hate me now?” Virgil asked, it a bit of a frenzy.

“No, not at all. I particularly liked the poems.”

Virgil was surprised. Flabbergasted. Betrayed. He could no longer tell if he wanted to punch or hug Roman. Maybe both.

“It was actually Roman’s idea, but I’m glad you don’t hate me,” Virgil said, wringing his hands and looking at Logan. “I also don’t have too much planned for the actual, um, date. I kind of assumed you’d say no.”

“You do like jumping to conclusions. Fortunately, I am prepared. There’s a new documentary on one of Jupiter’s moons, Callisto, and it will be playing Friday at seven thirty. Does that sound enjoyable?”

Virgil simply nodded with a smile.

“Perfect, I will pick you up at seven. It is, as they say, a date.” Logan said, surprisingly well prepared for someone who didn’t know he would be asked out. Both of them slid off the table, standing back on the ground. Just as Logan began to leave, Virgil reached out and tentatively caught his hand. Logan’s eyebrows raised for a moment, then turned more relaxed.

Slowly and happily, the two walked out together, hand in hand.

[seventhpage]

”Quizás, Quizás, Quizás” 

— Short story: 03 Some of you may have gone through a similar situation like this, or have met someone who made such a huge impact in your life that whatever past you had long before meeting them felt more like a hazy dream seen through a dusty window than an actual lived experience. Sometimes we wish things could have been different, but our memories are just what they are – photographs of the past that we can only see but never touch.  

She moved into the same women’s dormitory as me on the second week of classes, one reserved for the students in the higher brackets whose parents earn more than a few hundred thousand dollars every month. This was how I met her. We happened to run into each other in the hallway when it was late in the afternoon, and it seemed to me that she was lost and couldn’t speak. She stopped me, blocking my way with her luggage, and typed what she ought to say on her phone. Her sentences came out as broken fragments that made no sense if I hadn’t been patient enough to ask her what she meant. She revised her sentences a number of times, each one coming out grammatically inaccurate. The words were merely rearranged, and it looked like she was genuinely having a hard time articulating her thoughts.  I asked a couple of questions, and it was strange that she did understand what I was trying to say because at times she would nod and her eyes would light up. How did she not know how to construct sentences right? I wondered idly. After some time I finally understood what she was trying to tell me: she couldn’t find her room. She felt relieved, exhaling slowly as if it was the first time that someone cared enough to help her. Her keys indicated that it should be on the fifth floor, but the room numbers seemingly jumped from 507 to 509. Room 508 was missing. That or she didn’t bother to look around one more time to check if it was really there or not, so I accompanied her to the fifth floor.

Coincidentally, my room happened to be in the same floor. She was right, though. Room 508 was indeed missing, but oddly, I noticed that there was a space between 507 and 509 where the room should have been situated. Instead there was nothing but a blank wall before us that gave away no hint that a room or a door had been there in the first place. We both went back to the school’s main office to ask for help about the missing room. Because she could not express her thoughts very well, I stood by her side the whole time, explained the whole situation, and asked for them to reassign her to another room instead. She was given a new room, which happened to be next to mine, and she seemed happy about it. Thank you, she wrote on her phone. “You’re welcome,” I responded quietly. She smiled, went ahead, and locked the door behind her.  

She seemed normal like any other girl you’d meet on your freshman year in college, I thought. There was nothing extraordinary about her at first glance. Strange as our first encounter had been, I felt safe and happy for some reason that it did happen. I often wondered about how she was able to communicate with other people in the past though or if she had always lived like that, but I was never able to work up the courage to ask her. Sometimes the thoughts would be so loud and relentless that I couldn’t sleep. Whenever our eyes meet, I would get the feeling that I knew her for a very long time but just couldn’t seem to remember her at all. She sensed my unease at some point and asked me about it, with her usual broken sentences written on her phone, or on her notebook if she didn’t have her phone with her. I couldn’t find the right words to say so I brushed it off. My head had been foggy for days. Whenever I searched and tried to grasp the right words they would lose shape and fall right through the spaces between my fingers like sand, lost in a nameless void. She never asked me again about that. She might have thought she offended me or something.

She had a strange habit, one that went on for years. At the far end of the hallway in our dormitory was a small balcony, overlooking the courtyard and another dormitory reserved for students belonging to the lower brackets. The building looked inexpensive and dull, which stood in stark contrast to ours. A lone Philippine flag stuck out of a window to the farthest right. Beyond that was the beautiful sight of the sea. Some days I’d find her leaning against the railing of the balcony as she stared at the scenery for a long time until the sun set. One afternoon, after my last class, I asked her why she kept doing that. I wasn’t sure if my words had gotten through. She pulled out her phone and only expressed that she never understood why the students had to be divided according to their socioeconomic status, or why they had to be separated from us. It felt wrong, she wrote right after. She didn’t answer my question but I didn’t press on for answers. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Basked in the mellow afternoon light, she looked beautiful, almost ethereal. Her lips were slightly parted, like she was about to say something, and I felt my heart well up at the thought of hearing her speak for the first time. I had refused to believe that her condition was real; she’d just gotten too good at pretending it was.

“Maybe one day they won’t have to be,” I said after quite some time. For a moment she was lost in thought. That was how I knew that perhaps she’d been thinking about something else. Then, like an afterthought, she stretched her hand out and wrote the word “maybe” in the empty wind. I couldn’t smile. Something about that gesture filled me with so much grief that I, too, felt hopeless. I realized that the word could mean anything, and the uncertainty weighed heavier than anything else in that moment.  

A tear rolled down her cheek. Wordlessly, I took her in my arms and we stayed like that until the night chased away what was left of the late afternoon glow as the sun sank below the horizon.  

— ✼ —

The habit never stopped. She did this two to three times a week for two years. When I wasn’t busy with school activities and had a few hours to spare, I’d bring some snacks with me to share with her as we stared at the same scenery until it got dark. Occasionally, there would be students playing volleyball in the courtyard, but I noticed that she would rather stare at the same old building below us than watch the game. I didn’t mind. She probably had her own reasons. When she was in a bright mood, I’d teach her how to construct sentences properly to help her with some of her classes that required reading and writing essays. Over time her sentences improved and became more coherent. I learned more about her, too. I asked her to write her own autobiography as a form of writing practice. I had long forgotten most of the details that she had written there, but a few resonated with me and stayed at the back of my mind. Her parents had moved to London just days after she graduated from high school. She also mentioned about her plans to move out after college. Money wasn’t a problem, of course. She could have moved to London and studied there long ago, but she chose to stay here for some sort of social responsibility that she wanted to take on.

I wanted to make a difference in here, no matter how little – these were the last words in her written account.  

“What does that mean?” I asked politely, grabbing another apple from the plastic bag between us filled with snacks that I bought from the school cafeteria. She paused for a moment as if collecting her thoughts. I just want things to change, she wrote, that’s all. As young as I was I had not known what she meant by that just yet.

The day after that, we were warned about an incoming storm that forced the school administrators to call off classes for the next few days. After all, some of the students couldn’t afford to stay in the dormitory and had to go home every single day. The news was so sudden that we didn’t have enough time to prepare nor were we able to foresee the consequences. Communication lines were cut off and the electricity had been temporarily shut down.

When the storm came seemingly sweeping up from the depths of the sea nearby, the winds blew so strong and howled along with the sound of heavy rain splashing against the concrete – like nature was in deep anguish and had decided to ravage everything in its path as soon as it set foot on earth. Soon enough, rainwater mixed with seawater flooded the school grounds. Everyone else staying in the first three floors had to clamber up to our floor where it was safest. This wasn’t the same case for the students in the lower brackets as their building was only two floors high. The windows that were probably built with sub-standard materials could no longer hold out against the current of the floodwater, which made everything worse, and the water soon flooded the entire building. We watched in absolute horror from the balcony, unable to do anything. Some were shouting and crying while the others stood there frozen, their expressions hinted that of fear and a mixture of emotions. Maybe this is all just a dream, I insisted to believe, but the longer I stood there, the more it dawned upon me that this was the reality that we had built, and I was gripped with such terrible sadness and hopelessness once again. She however acted on her emotions and ran downstairs to help everyone else stranded in that building whose lives were now in danger.  

I tried to stop her but she shoved me away, tears staining her beautiful, pale, reddening cheeks. I wanted to go and help but some greater force was pulling me back, telling me something terrible awaited all of us, so I watched as she disappeared into the flooded hallways. I didn’t realize I was already crying, begging for her to stay, for the rain to stop, for everyone else separated from us to make it across. Maybe one day they won’t have to be, my own words echoed back to me. One day it wouldn’t be any different; they wouldn’t have to be apart from everyone else.

A few students made it across. The others were unfortunate – and eventually drowned, carried away by the rainwater. The storm finally stopped about five hours later. She never returned, and for some reason her body was never found. 

— ✼ —

The school was filed with serious charges after that disaster that my parents decided that it was best to enroll me to another school. I left for good, and not once did I look back. I transferred to a decent university far from my hometown, moved into an apartment located in a high-rise building by myself, worked a part-time job during my senior year at a pastry shop nearby, and dated a few men and women to try and forget about the past. None of them stayed for long. I understood though and accepted life as it came. It wasn’t like I had any intention of keeping them around. It was too much of a burden. 

One morning, as I was washing the dishes after I had a good bowl of yakisoba and orange juice for breakfast, my phone rang, which to me was unusual. My parents would never call at eight in the morning, and every single one of my friends knew that I dreaded answering phone calls. I put it off for some time, focusing my attention on removing the leftovers and carefully washing the dishes, but the ringing never stopped. I closed the faucet and checked to see who was calling. It was an unknown number. I picked up the call, leaned against the window, and watched the busy road far below me absentmindedly. I intended to let the other person speak first. For a moment, there was silence. I pressed the phone against my ear for some time until I could hear the faint sound of music playing in the background, but I had no way of knowing if it was real or if it was all in my head. Quizás, quizás, quizás.

“I want you to know that I loved you. Maybe if we meet again in another time and another place I will be able to tell you this. But what’s past is past, and I am far, far away from you.” I had never once heard her speak before, but I recognized her voice in an instant and felt my heart sank farther and farther into the bottomless void. Before I could say anything in response, the call was cut off. Parts of me were already slipping away. Feeling nauseous, I sat down and stared at the thick clouds in the horizon.

My train of thoughts made their way back to the day when we first met – where we stood before a blank wall trying to make out the outline of a door in that vacant space or any hint that a room had been there before. I wondered if I looked harder this time I would find her there, suspended in another space, a million light years away from my reach.

Needless to say, I had so many questions, but that was the first and the last time I heard her voice.

— ✼ —

This may sound ridiculous to you, but there is no way that I am making this up. My memories are often vague and foggy, like a distant dream with no definite form, but I can’t seem to forget about her. Even now, five years later, I remember her voice very clearly. I have revisited my memories of her quite often, and each time I do, I feel that a part of me dissipates quietly into the night, never to be seen again.  — Vanessa T.

[qvestchen]

Nemesis // Soonwoo SVT

Summary: It was really laughable. The idea that Jeon Wonwoo had a nemesis. And yet there it was. The clear proof that all his life, like a nagging dull ache, Kwon Soonyoung had stepped all over his plans without ever really acknowledging him.

And maybe it was wrong for Wonwoo to seek him out but all he wanted was answers at first. He had never imagined they would stand opposite each other, fingers on triggers, his death in his nemesis’s hands and vice-versa.

Author: qvestchen

Status: Ongoing

Chapters: Home, Previous, Next.

Nemesis // Soonwoo SVT

Chapter 2:  But he is cursed

Soonyoung was laughing, totally immersed in a joke that his friend, Junhui, was narrating when Jihoon scoffed loudly.

“Have you two even signed up for your electives yet?”

Soonyoung and Jun stopped laughing and threw him a dark look.

“Jihoon, loosen up when you’re at the drama club,” Soonyoung said, whining slightly. “We still have till tomorrow to decide.”

Jun nodded. “A decision made at the last minute is the best.”

Seungcheol who was lazily watching the three of them while going over Jihoon’s new music with Joshua grinned at Joshua and Jihoon. “Should I break it to them?”

Jihoon smiled. “Let me do the honours this time.” He straightened up from his position on the floor and cleared his throat. “Today’s the last date for applying for electives. Good luck getting any because I’m pretty sure all of the courses are filled up by now. The good ones, anyway.”

Soonyoung frowned, still disbelieving, reaching for his phone to check the date. “You’ve probably mixed up your da—oh shit, Jun, we got to rush. It’s today!”

The two of them scrambled up quickly jumping down from the cool stage, looking for their bags.

“Joshua, what happens if two fools don’t choose their electives?” Seungcheol asked, laughing fondly at his friends.

Joshua pretended to think. “Apart from the immediate embarrassment? I would say, failing the semester, seeing everyone else pass and ooh, or worse, expulsion?”

They laughed as Jun flipped them off.

Jihoon got up too. “I’m going to the studio—”

“You mean your dorm room,” Seungcheol corrected.

“What’s in a name?” Jihoon said, gathering his things. “Got to go, folks. Inspiration calls. Wait up, you two. I’m coming up.”

“I’m planning to go to the cafeteria too,” Joshua said. “I’ll grab a sandwich and finish my essay.”

Soonyoung, who was waiting for Jun at the door, said. “I don’t understand how you like the cafeteria food so much. Especially when now we have Jeonghan’s cooking to sample.”

Joshua visibly stiffened. “I’ll see you later.” He left without looking at Soonyoung.

“What’s up with him?” Soonyoung asked Seungcheol as they locked the drama club.

“He doesn’t like the new club member.”

“Jeonghan? He has barely known him for a couple of days. How serious can it be?” He said, looking at Joshua’s retreating figure.

Seungcheol shrugged. “I have no idea. He’s usually very welcoming to the new members.”

Jihoon said, “He’s probably just worried about his essay. He’s been writing it in the cafeteria since the start of semester.”

Jun cut across. “You’re all wrong. It’s the sexual tension.”

“O-kay, that’s our cue to leave,” Soonyoung said, dragging Jun to the Language and Literature block.

There was a huge line of students at the Chinese department so Jun suggested that Soonyoung should go ahead. “Unless you want to take the class with me which would be amazing, to be honest.”

“You’re Chinese. You’re going to ace it but it’s a bit too heavy an elective for me. Intro to Persian is famous for being a light elective. Let me just rush and sign up for it and come back for you.”

Soonyoung walked outside the department room and was immediately hit by the sound of students loudly discussing plans but the noise died out as he left the English and Chinese language departments behind and climbed upstairs to the quiet, dusty corridor which housed the small, air-conditioned room that worked as the reception of the Persian department. He knocked at the glass door and waited before poking his head inside. “May I come in?”

The man at the small reception desk looked up from the computer screen with intense dislike at having been disturbed from his solitary afternoon ruminations. “Since you’re here, you might as well.”

Soonyoung walked inside quietly, smiling a bit awkwardly. “I could come back later if you’re busy.”

Truth be told, the great ‘angel’ of the drama club who was famous for being loud, boisterous and confident, the friendly Soonyoung was, outside his drama club and otherwise small group of friends, a shy, polite person especially in front of people he didn’t know. Right now, he was a stark contrast to his popular image (Jihoon often joked “it is the Gemini in him”) but the fact was that he was all of this together, a complex person, a bit forgetful at times but an easily endearing person, the kind who made people feel at ease.

The man at the desk seemed to consider his words. “How can I help you today?”

Soonyoung smiled warmly. “I came to sign up for the ‘Introduction to Persian Language and Culture’ course. Wait I have my ID copy and registration form somewhere here.” He rummaged in his backpack, apologetically. “Ah, here it is.”

He was handed a sheet. “You’re lucky. We just had one spot left. Fill in your details, name, course, email and so on and sign here.”

“Oh wow,” Soonyoung said, writing down his name, “I am so grate—” His phone rang, a hip-hop number filling the small room. His eyes widened and he apologized, looking at his phone. It was Joshua probably calling to tell him that the cafeteria had some semi-edible delicacy. He silenced his phone, filling in the details and signing with a flourish, before picking up the phone. He nodded to receptionist. “Thank you for everything. I’m looking forward to the classes.” He winced as he heard Joshua nearly screaming out of his phone. “Hello, Joshua. You sound excited. What’s up? Yes, I just finished signing up for the Persian elective. No, no, I don’t want to change. I would love to study English but I would probably fail, see everyone else pass and ooh, or worse, get expelled?” He laughed his characteristic loud, happy laugh, swinging outside the door, not even realising that someone was standing right outside. If he had realized that he had nearly crashed the door into a very annoyed student he would have no doubt stopped and apologized profusely but as it was, he was totally immersed in the call with a frantic Joshua who, unsuccessfully, wanted him to change his elective for some inexplicable reason.

After Joshua mysteriously said a sudden goodbye, Soonyoung reunited with Jun in the Chinese department who was still standing in the queue. “You won’t believe it but I made it just in time.”

Jun said, “I hope I get lucky too. There’s so many people that I’m worried the course will get filled by the time my chance comes.”

As they waited, Soonyoung wondered aloud about Joshua’s strange call and recent behaviour in general. “I hope he’s okay.”

Jun assumed a saint-like expression. “I’m telling you it’s Jeonghan. I think Joshua is experiencing a crush for the first time ever.”

Joshua was, in fact, experiencing something totally different. After having reached the cafeteria and spotting Seokmin and Hansol, he had placed himself within earshot at a table nearby, pretending to work on his essay. He hadn’t expected to hear much but instead he got to know that Wonwoo had decided to take Persian.

He had been unable to stop himself from exclaiming in pure shock. “What!?” No, no, that could not happen. He could not allow that to happen. Soonyoung and Wonwoo could not be allowed to cross paths. As if on cue, the bracelet around his wrist heated up, the runes no doubt signalling impending disaster. He gathered his things into his backpack and between rushing to get up and calling Soonyoung simultaneously, he tripped and fell.

The loud exclamation and following fall alerted Seokmin and Hansol to him and Seokmin even began to reiterate the information but he was already rushing out of the cafeteria, nearly shouting in his phone.

He was crossing the threshold of the cafeteria when something in the corner of his vision seemed to slow down time.

A flash of blonde hair.

Yoon Jeonghan.

Maybe time did slow down because it must have been fraction of a second but Joshua could feel his heart drop as Jeonghan returned his gaze, a taunting smile foretelling his failure to stop things from happening. Still smiling, Jeonghan tilted his head in a greeting and then, time sped up again and turning back, Soonyoung’s voice sounding through his phone, Joshua’s heart dropped as he noticed Jeonghan walking to Seokmin and Hansol’s table.

He had been right. The Warlock was here to stay.

The scene vanished as he tumbled suddenly into a quiet classroom instead of walking out of the cafeteria. “Uh, Soonyoung,” he continued to speak in his phone, “please, don’t take the elective. How about you take English with me? Or, I don’t know, Geography, I’ve heard they still have seats.” But Soonyoung had already cut the line.

He jiggled his bracelet which was warning him of unauthorised magic use but at the same time burning with an urgency that he knew well to read. Soonyoung and Wonwoo were going to cross paths and here, his teleportation magic was shortcircuiting as usual. He groaned aloud. “I’m doing it for them. I’m not using magic for myself.”

He let out a breath, trying to calm himself down. Okay, one more try. He walked to the classroom door and turned the handle, closing his eyes as he walked out.

The air shifted around him and suddenly, he could smell old paper and musty air-conditioning. He sighed in relief on opening his eyes and found himself in the Persian department.

The man at the desk made an irritated noise at seeing him. “The course is closed.”

Joshua walked up to him with a small smile. “You are sleeping right now. I am a figment of your imagination. How about you move on to another dream?” He clenched his fist as his bracelet shuddered with the magic use. He wondered if it would work. Even if it did, it would only work for mere seconds. His magic was limited by the bracelet, taking a physical toll on him to work. Suddenly, a thought of Jeonghan crossed his mind. That one did not have a bracelet. He must be immensely powerful. Immediately, he shook his head. But he is cursed.

His magic seemed to be working for the receptionist eyes glazed slightly, eyelids drooping and his head lolled to the side as slight snores filled the air.

Joshua got to work. He crossed off Soonyoung’s name and details from the list, not even needing to check the list above the last name. Opening the folder beside it, he took out Soonyoung’s ID copy and registration form, stuffing them in his pocket. It took him less than five seconds and the receptionist had already begun to show signs of waking up. He walked to the door, turning one last time to mumble an apology and then, he was walking out.

The air shifted and he was wrinkling his nose, knowing already that his teleportation had messed up again. He was in the washroom beside the cafeteria. Not as offtrack as it could have been though, he reasoned, checking the runes on his bracelet. It was cool again, no warning signs. Disaster had been averted. Soonyoung and Wonwoo had been steered clear of each other.

He noticed that his hands were shaking and pursed his lips before walking out of the cubicle. He caught his reflection in the mirror. His face was ashen. The magic always took a toll, even if he used it for the right purposes. He washed his face and patted it dry with a tissue before walking out confidently.

If anyone had seen him walk out, they wouldn’t have thought him any different from any other student. That gave him comfort and he had even begun to smile a bit, feeling happy with his quick thinking when he walked into the cafeteria. His smile dropped as he found himself under the attention of everyone at the table he had earlier been eavesdropping on. He felt like he was suffocating as he saw Jeonghan sitting alongside Wonwoo.

He knew already that his efforts today were only temporary. Now that Soonyoung and Wonwoo’s lives had a thin common factor—Jeonghan. The warlock seemed to sense his thoughts and raised an eyebrow in challenge.

Jisoo, won’t you come meet my new friends?

His eyes bulged as he recognized the smooth, taunting voice in his head. Jeonghan knew his name. How did he know it? What else did he know?

Get out of my head, Jeonghan. He turned around and walked out of the place, finding himself inadvertently walking into the Chinese department where Soonyoung and Jun were still waiting for Jun’s turn at the registration.

“Joshua? What are you doing here?” Soonyoung asked, brightly.

He looks so happy, he thought, he doesn’t know what I’ve done. He wanted to say sorry for denying his friend his chosen elective. Maybe he could sign him up here. He opened his mouth to suggest it in some subtle way but no sound came out.

Jun clapped. “You’re joining this elective too? What made you change your mind?”

Joshua wanted to say something but his mouth had gone dry and even as he walked to his friends, his body was leaden. He could see their expression drop right before the world spotted and darkened.

The last thing he heard was Jun screaming.

It was, in fact, Soonyoung screaming. Together the two of them managed to haul him to the medic’s room in the building while a teacher rang up the campus hospital.

“Is he okay?” Soonyoung asked the nurse, his face stained with tears, after they had settled Joshua down a bit. It had only been minutes but Jun and him had panicked and called everyone. They were all on the way, including Jeonghan who had called Soonyoung and caught him crying.

The nurse smiled warmly at the two of them. “It’s exhaustion and probably stress but he’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again. He looked at his friend who was now on the hospital bed. He looked tired, slight dark circles beneath his eyes and pale, blotchy skin.

“Maybe we should call his parents?” Jun said, worriedly.

They looked at each other, suddenly realizing they had no idea how to contact Joshua’s parents.

Soonyoung picked up Joshua’s jacket. “It will be on his phone.” He unlocked the phone easily, priding himself at knowing the passcode, but frowned when he looked at the contacts. He just had four numbers saved. Soonyoung, Seungcheol, Jihoon and Junhui.

Jun who was beside him looked surprised too.

“Well?” the nurse asked.

Soonyoung kept the phone back. “You could say we are his family. I’ll stay with him here tonight.”

“Okay, how about you get these medicines from the prescription here and get him and yourself a change of clothes and toiletries?” the nurse said.

Soonyoung was reluctant to leave but Jun nodded.

“Go. I won’t leave. Don’t worry.”

And so he was walking out of the hospital when someone’s heavy backpack knocked into his chest. He lost balance and grabbed at air, eyes widening as he realized that he was heading straight for the open window.

A hand caught his t-shirt and pulled him back.

“Watch where you’re going, will you?” Seungcheol said, steadying him. “If you fell from here, you would probably die.” He pulled shut the window pane, securing it firmly, after glaring in the direction of the person who had collided with Soonyoung. “I’m going to complain to the admin about these windows here.”

“It’s okay,” Soonyoung said, rubbing his chest. “I wasn’t seeing where I was going. You go ahead. I’ll just get these medicines and—”

“Jihoon is getting nightwear and other stuff so don’t worry. Should I get the medicines?” Seungcheol asked.

“Thank God for Jihoon. I’ll get the medicines though. You go ahead.”

When Soonyoung returned, he found his friends waiting outside the room. “What happened?”

“He’s sleeping right now so that’s fine,” Jun said.

Jihoon looked furious. “The nurse kicked us out because we were crowding the place.”

“We aren’t even that many,” Soonyoung said.

“Jeonghan dropped in with a friend. Remember the idiot who nearly killed you near the window here. That’s his friend, Jeon Wonwoo. I nearly told him off. Anyway, I politely thanked them but knowing Joshua wouldn’t be happy to see Jeonghan when he woke up, I somehow managed to get rid of them for now.”

The packet of medicines slipped from Soonyoung’s fingers.

Jeon Wonwoo?

“D-Did you say Jeon Wonwoo?” No, what he wanted to ask was, he is real?

He felt sick. The name was echoing in his head like a ghost haunting his veins. Wonwoo. Wonwoo. Wonwoo. The spectre which followed him only to disappear. Soonyoung had thought he had got over him. He had spent a good part of his high school life chasing after this name. Only to find nothing. He had sworn himself to let go, to forget, convinced himself that there was no such person, that everything that happened, every little incident, every whisper, was nothing, had told himself to stop looking for that glint of spectacles, that soft head of dark hair, that once-heard deep voice, because they were all red herrings.

“Yes, do you know him? He was kind of weird. I mean, he said he saw Joshua at the cafeteria when he was with you guys.”

And yet there it was. The name and the person.

He dialled Jeonghan’s number hurriedly. “Hey, is—is someone…this is going to sound weird but do you know…do you have a friend named Wonwoo?”

hello, hope you enjoyed the new chapter!

lots of things happened, we got to see a bit more about soonwoo's relationship of sorts, more about joshua (and his powers and limits) and jeonghan, and we met soonyoung's friends! what did you think of the chapter? are you ready for soonwoo to meet next chapter?

side note: "Introduction to Persian Language and Culture" is an elective course i took in uni. this is a little bit of a background story for this fic but in our uni this course was immensely popular among the students because it was supposed to be easy to score marks in. and it turned out to be true lol because of the structure of the course (rather than the content or anything else) and the fact that we only did basic language in the course. i actually enjoyed the course and loved learning the language and about the culture. persian is a beautiful language. unfortunately, my classmates and i, did not, even after a year of the course, become fluent. idk i thought this would explain this bit of the fic and some of the references that i'm using. most of the uni scenes in this fic are going to be typical uni student lives but with seventeen.

thank you for supporting <3 love, positive vibes and great friendships!

[i-write-about-anything]

Secrets

Prompt: Follow the reader as her secrets unfold.

Pairings: Theo Raeken x Reader

Warnings: A lot to come.

A/N: Okay, so. Wow, this was one of the books I was working on, the only difference is that I had to change the names so you guys could be more interested in it lol, let me know what you think maybe? Also, they don’t play lacrosse in this story, there’s no supernatural beings, as of yet. i don’t know, i wanted to get some input on this, as i will be continuing to write my other book.

Reader’s POV

High school. There’s not much to say about it other than it’s a complete hell cage. Sure a few times out of the year you get unforgettable moments, the moments you love to tell, like the homecoming or your new boyfriend that you think is your soulmate. Unfortunately not for me, the past year has been nothing but a complete nightmare. See when my best friend passed away people made up stories, stories that changed more than people’s views of me.  

Christy and I had been best friends since we were in diapers, her mom and my mom were both best friends before we were even born, both our moms planned to be pregnant at the same time and although that sounds a bit odd, I’m glad they did it. Christy was more than a friend to me; she was my sister, and something I always wanted. When she passed away I had a hard time letting her go, not even her own mother mourned as much as I did, that itself says a lot. See neither Christy nor I knew our fathers, they both bailed on us when we were both just a fetus. Our mothers put us in same classes through our lives, hoping to carry on the friendship they always had, I thank them for that. But now, now I’m alone. With no friend, no mother nor father, just alone, and that’s what makes thing worse, being alone.  

Walking down the hallways is never silent, there’s always a whisper, and they haven’t stopped since Christy left. Most of the time I don’t let it get to me, they’re stupid kids trying to make my life a living hell and I wasn’t going to let them win. I set myself out to be strong, no tears, no running, just being strong, no matter how low I feel I have to set myself durable, at least in front of all these assholes, not for me, but for Christy. Grades aren’t the easiest, I’m not an all A’s student, my grades sucked before the passing of my best friend and they continued to suck after it. I still managed to get myself to junior year though, I wasn’t going to risk staying here another year.  

Boys. Don’t even get me started on them; they’re so much worse than girls at talking shit and gossiping. Although I’ve never experienced having a boyfriend these boys make sure to tell everyone I felt them up once or twice, maybe even them feeling me up, neither of it true of course but people are naive enough to believe every rumor that gets passed around in high school. The football team had a few good looking guys, I won’t lie, but I keep that to myself. Theo Raeken, the team’s quarterback and also my ex best friend. Before high school, before people started to label everyone, Theo wouldn’t leave me and Christy’s sight. I still remember the day we met him in second grade, none of the boys wanted to play with him because they were afraid they’d break his glasses. He walked up to us and we instantly clicked, the years passed and soon enough we were on our last year of middle school, we promised we wouldn’t forget each other during the summer. Theo went to Florida while Christy went to Alabama and I stayed here, in California. Come high school Theo had changed, he wasn’t the scrawny four eyed best friend I knew. His hair was pulled up into a small fohawk, he now had contacts making his blue eyes more noticeable and he had gained some muscles. Theo never took the chance to talk to neither of us, but I guess that’s how things go, you forget your old friends to fit into a clique.  

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)! (Y/N) wait up!” I heard my favorite teacher call. I turned back and looked at the middle aged male, his name, Mister Bailey. “I read over your paper last night and I wanted to give you some advice.” He patted the chair next to the desk. I looked to the few girls that were giggling as they walked out of the room; it’s never going to change. I sat on the dusty chair not caring whether or not I’d dirty my black skirt. “I know who this is about.” He sighed and placed my well stapled essay in front of me. I stayed silent; I had done it on purpose. I purposely wrote this essay to see if anyone could figure it out, if anyone would care, if anyone would help, but when I read it in front of the class, none of them helped. “Have you talked to anyone (Y/N)?” He sighed running his hand through his black hair. I shook my head and looked down.  

“I don’t need to talk to anyone Mister Bailey. No one cares enough to listen, there’s no point.” I grabbed my paper as I stood up. Before I could walk away I felt a hand on my wrist,  

“(Y/N).” His voice was low. “I know what you’re going through and if you need anyone to talk to I’m here.” He smiled. I returned the smile before he sets my wrist free, a smile that hides more than anyone would ever know. “Have a good day (Y/N).” He nodded at me as I walked out the door only to bump into someone.  

“Shi-“ The person stopped his cursed word from finishing. I looked up to be met by the only blue eyes I’ll ever want to meet with, Theo. When he noticed it was me he stayed quiet, not a single breath of air was released from his mouth. He was sad, he was confused, and he was….sorry. For that brief moment I believed he felt some kind of remorse, maybe not for me but for Christy. His eyes shifted from mine to the floor.  

“Theo, let’s go! Coach is going to kill us!” Jackson yelled and Theo left, without a single word being said. Jackson Whittemore, team’s running back, Theo’s best friend, and school’s biggest flirt. Jackson Whittemore was the guy every girl wanted, every girl but me. Luckily for him he found himself a girlfriend. Lydia Martin, school’s biggest slut, school’s biggest bully, and my biggest enemy. She never liked me, not after Jackson tried to make a move on me which I clearly didn’t want. But she’s hard headed; she only cares of what other people think of her. I walked down the stairs making my way to my art class, a class that is filled with freshmen, but even with them, there are always whispers.  

“I heard she was with Mister Bailey last period after class.” Some girl attempted to whisper. I rolled my eyes not caring what they said.

“(Y/N), you’re needed in the principal’s office.” Mrs. Blake’s voice brought my eyes back to the front of the classroom. I took my black backpack and stepped out of the room making my way down the long halls. I can’t help but to remember when Christy and I would walk down the same hallway. The thought of her being gone still brings me to tears. I need her, I need her to come back and help me through this. I brush the tears out of my eyes with the back of my hands before entering the main office.  

“First door on the left sweetie.” The desk clerk smiled. I complied and moved my way into the big wooden door. I was met by the principal and someone’s back. When I closed the door a face appeared on the mysterious back. Mister Bailey. His eyes shot open, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Miss (y/l/n), please take a seat.” The principal smiled politely pointing to the chair next to Mister Bailey. I gulped not knowing what to think, had Mister Bailey gone to the principal and told him about my troubles? Had he betrayed me? Is he trying to get me help? “It has come to me that you and Mister Bailey shared a moment after class, correct?” I nodded not knowing where this was heading, was it against some policy? “Did Mister Bailey do anything inappropriate?” I laughed, shaking my head. The audacity of some people, to put someone’s job on the line, for what, a simple laugh? “Miss (y/l/n), this isn’t a laughing matter.” I stood up throwing my backpack on the floor.  

“No Principal Jenkins, it isn’t.” I shook my head. “He didn’t do anything to me.” I sighed and looked at Mister Bailey. “I’m sorry for all of this, those students out there; they’ll do anything for a laugh.” He shook his head.  

“Miss (y/l/n), you do know if you’re lying not only will you be expelled but Mister Bailey would go straight to jail.” I nodded.  

“I understand the circumstances Principal Jenkins, but I’m telling you, it isn’t true.” He sighed.  

“I’ll talk to the student who made this false accusation.” I nodded and grabbed my backpack. I knew something like this would happen, I just didn’t think today would be the day. As I walked out of the office I slowly walked back to art, not wanting to go back and be faced with the entire inconsiderate freshman class. I walked to the stairs in the back of the school and sat on them. No one ever comes here; it’s my personal escape from this hell hole. I slipped on my headphones and put on my ‘Wrecked’ playlist. The fray immediately started playing. I took my sketchbook out and started drawing small doodles, small doodles that lead me to draw a broken girl. I didn’t pay much attention to it, I always drew things like this, especially while listening to this playlist. Suddenly I felt a harsh push against my back. I yanked out my headphones and stood at my feet. I turned around expecting some group of freshman skipping to be cool but who I found was the only person who knew the truth. 

“I’m sorry.” He spoke softly, not wanting to say the wrong thing. I shook my head and grabbed my backpack and began to walk away. I wasn’t going to sit around listening to someone give me a fake apology. “(Y/N), listen.” He grabbed my arm which I quickly yanked out of his grasp.  

“Listen to what? You don’t speak to me for three years and you want me to listen?” I laugh, not because it was funny, but because he actually thinks I’m going to listen to anything he has to say. “You’ve had your chance Theo, but you decided to laugh and spread the rumors like everyone else.” I shook my head. “You knew what was going on, you know exactly what happened yet you decided to continue spreading the most disgusting rumors about me, for what? So you could fit in? You’re unbelievable, I can’t believe I actually thought you were a friend.” I shoved him making him fall over the stairs.  

“I know!” His voice higher than I’ve ever heard it. “Christy was my friend too (Y/N)! I cared about her just like you did!” I laughed, he didn’t care, not one bit.  

“If you cared, you would have gone to her funeral Theo, you would have tried to help her, help me! You knew how things were, you knew yet you decided to do nothing about it.” I felt my eyes begin to sting, I’m not used to this, not during the day. “You think it’s easy for me? Do you think that it’s easy for me to come to this place and constantly get whispers and rumors thrown at me? What about my feelings Theo, what about my reputation? I lost my mom because of you and your little posy.” I rubbed off the unwanted tears that had spilt and opened my backpack and pulled out a notebook. I looked at it for a moment, debating whether I should let him read it or not. My hands made up my mind by throwing it straight to his face, I hoped that hurt him.

“What’s this?” He began to open it.  

“It’s everything me and Christy went through without you. Every detail of every bad moment we ever had, without you.” I looked out the small window. “I shouldn’t even give you it but I want you to know the struggle we went through, something you’re not aware of.” I walked away, not looking back. That was it, all my secrets, all the truth, it was time for someone to know, I was tired of keeping it all in. Theo didn’t bother to run after me, probably already reading over the secrets I held onto for years now.  

Before I knew it the last bell rang indicating it was time to leave, leave for fifteen hours before returning back here. I walked out of the school feeling the warm air, I loved being outside, gardening or just being at the park with Christy. But things changed, the outside world scares me more than it ever has, not because Christy’s gone, but because all the bad the world can do. I began to walk home, or the place I’m obligated to call home. When my mother left me she demanded my grandparents took me in. My grandparents were never fond of me, partly because they never really liked the man that fathered me. I’ll admit I do miss my mother, but I can’t understand how she was so much of a coward to leave me the way she did. I guess she thought that for a moment I’d be completely fine with her leaving me with the only people who never liked me, who never wanted me. I walked slowly down the sidewalk, I didn’t want to get home I wanted to leave this place once and for all. I passed through Christy’s house spotting her mother on her normal spot, never moving, never noticing the world pass by. I missed the way she was, but she lost something that meant the world to her, there’s no going back. I didn’t bother to wave, I know how emotional she gets when she sees me, wishing my mother would have the same reaction or any kind of reaction. I soon arrived at my temporary home, one more year and I’d be gone, out of here, out of this town.  

“(Y/N), it’s good that you’re home, I need you to wash the clothes and wash the dishes.” I sighed throwing my backpack on the couch. My grandmother never really liked the idea of cleaning, so when I came into the picture she was more than happy about putting me to work. I decided to put a pile of the dirty clothes in the washer as I started on the dishes. Since I always washed dishes there wasn’t much I needed to wash. I dried them off and put them up before emptying the washer and putting the clothes in the dryer. I didn’t wait for it to finish instead I went outside, I didn’t bother changing, I knew if I stayed inside my grandmother would tell me to clean unnecessary things like the TV cord.  

The warm fall air hitting against my exposed skin did wonders to me. It brought me back to all the good memories I’ve had. Pumpkin carving with Christy, going door to door trying to sell chocolate bars for a ridiculous amount just to get a decent Halloween costume. It’s almost as if she isn’t gone, just thinking about her makes me believe that she’s still here right beside me. But my trip to memory lane is cut short by a ruffling noise. Theo and Jackson drove past me making their truck noisier than ever. I began to walk to the nearest park near my neighborhood, luckily it wasn’t too far and it wasn’t too popular. Once in a while you see a couple kids running back and forth on the basketball court but this park is basically dead. All the technology we have really makes kids stay inside, not caring about the outside world and not caring about other people as long as they themselves are happy.  

I sat on the only swing that wasn’t broken and began to catch some speed. I thought about what would happen if I’d did exactly what Christy did. Would I be with her? Would anybody miss me? Would my mother be as miserable as Christy’s? I shook the thought out of my head as soon as I saw a figure walking towards me. I slowed down wanting to get off and walk back home but it was too late. The figure stopped next to me but I was too afraid to look up at it. “I read it all.” His voice rang through my ears. “I knew you guys weren’t okay but I never knew you guys were that bad.” His voice almost sounding as if he had been crying.  

“I don’t want your pity Theo.” I look up at him. “I just wanted you to know how it actually happened, not how you and your little friends portray it out to be.”  

“I shouldn’t have ever left you guys, I shouldn’t have joined the football team. Maybe then she would still be here.” A small giggle comes out of my mouth before I jump off the swing and step forward to him.  

“You left us because you didn’t want to be seen with us Theo. If you actually felt bad for anything you fucking did you wouldn’t have spread those rumors!” My voice getting higher than usual. “You out of all people are the one that started all this, you’re the one that made everything up! How could you? How could you be so fucking heartless to my emotions when you were once my friends? How could you be such a prick?” My words coming out with disgust and anger.

“I didn’t know what else to fucking do (Y/N)! You didn’t exactly give me a choice, maybe if you wouldn’t have been such a bitch and ran away from me I wouldn’t have said anything like that! Christy was my friend to. And even though I don’t know what the fuck happened that night I still cared about her. I tried so many times to talk to you guys but somehow I couldn’t. You know how high school is (Y/N), if you’re not popular you’re not anything, and I need that football team, it’s what’s getting me a scholarship.” I laugh and raise my hand before slapping his left cheek.  

“She was never your friend.” He tensed up and looked at me as he wanted to murder me, and for once I thought that wasn’t such a bad idea. “I don’t even know why I wasted my time and gave you the benefit of the doubt. Nothing is going to change. Tomorrow we’ll be at school and you’ll walk past me as if all of this never happened. And you know what the worst part is?” I stayed silent waiting for him to say a word but it never came. “You don’t care. That’s the worst part. How could you turn into something like this Theo? Christy and I gave you the only friendship you had when no one else wanted to befriend you.” I shook my head and took a step backwards. “I guess this is the thanks we deserve.” I begin to walk away as another figure comes to the unwanted park. And to my despite, it was Jackson.  

“What the hell are you doing here Jackson?” He chuckled and looked at Theo.  

“I came to see why you ditched me at the last minute.” He looked at me and smiled. “I see you’re with the school’s joke.” I rolled my eyes and began to walk again but his arm stopped me. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” I looked at him as he began to grip my arm with his hand.  

“Jackson, let her go.” I look at Theo and laughed.  

“I don’t need your fucking help douchebag.” I look back at Jackson and smile. “Why don’t you let me go before I hurt you?” His laugh seemed dark, evil almost.  

“As if you could do anything to me. You’ll regret it. I’ll make your life a living hell.” I laugh and before I know it, my knee went straight to his balls.

“You already do.” I look back at Theo who couldn’t help but chuckle before I ran home hearing the loud cries he makes and calling me a bitch, I can take care of myself, after what happened I had no choice. I don’t need anyone’s pity, especially not Theo’s.

[katherinehorn]

The Old Harbour

I contemplated just posting this essay without context, but it just didn't feel right. I wrote this two weeks ago and although it was a creative writing assignment for my English Literature course, it meant a lot more to me than that. The task was to write roughly 2000 words on a specific place or hour of the day or night. We were instructed to create a story by showing the reader our world rather than simply telling them about it. I think I really needed to write about how I was feeling in constructive way and this assignment definitely gave me the space to do that. But anyway, here it is:

The Old Harbour

I hate Gordon's Bay, I always have. Yes, the harbour may have a stunning view of the sea and it may lead to one of the most beautiful coastal drives in the world. But the town itself has very little aesthetic appeal. The houses are all built with strange, flat iron roofs to withstand the perpetual winds and the architecture looks as though it were designed by an unimaginative twelve year old boy. Most of the shopping centres are run down and have an appearance similar to that of a kitchen floor that had never been scrubbed clean. Even the roads take on a kind of dustiness that only just misses the notion of a charming dirt road.

The civilians here are no beauties either. The town's eclectic mix of people might seem quirky to someone else, but I have found no love for the conservative, bored or sheltered people that roam through the area. For starters, there always seemed to be too much drama over nothing. I frequently heard stories of people having children too young, or teenagers trying to run away from home, or people getting into toxic and violent relationships. Being in Gordon’s Bay was like being in a cliché soapie such as7de Laan. The adults I have met here are the kind of people who read everything in Huis Genoot, obtained all their political views from Facebook posts and lived for Saturday braais and impractical manicures. The teenagers, on the other hand, either have a nauseating resemblance to their parents or a rebellious boredom that usually lead to an interest in hard drugs that I could never quite relate to. I will admit I do not live here and I am sure there are many people who do not fall into these stereotypes. But you see, I have only ever met five people from Gordon's Bay that I actively like.

My dislike for the town, I suppose, stems from the fact that I have never met anyone who lives there, who isn’t unhappy.

However, at the same time I am deeply fascinated by this town. I love hearing stories about the group of kids who used to climb underneath the restaurants in Harbour Island to break into the hotel and about how on one occasion they were caught in the swimming pool and chased all the way to the closest suburb. Or about the woman who lived near the old harbour who used to burn herbs and perform tarot card readings. Or even the sad stories about the woman who had been beaten by her husband and left bleeding on the side of the main road where she was ignored by all passersby with the exception of two teenage boys.

The saving grace of Gordon's Bay is its beachfront. When walking along it I felt like a child, excited by each new thing and constantly finding a fresh thrill whenever I stepped inside Aladdin’s Cave or climbed down Bikini Beach wall to reach the tidal pool. The coastline was an adventure of warm water bottles, crisps and wind that smothers your face like a blind person feeling out the shape of your nose. It was a freedom that skipped over the rock pools until the coastline faded into raging waters beneath Faure Marine Drive. It was kissing a curly haired boy with a mouth dried from the sun and the salt. I spent many summer days jumping from those rocks and winding through crowds of every type of person.

Now, looking back, I wonder if I loved those days so much because of the great love I had for that curly haired boy.

My most treasured memory of the town, however, took place long after the warmth of  December had dwindled away. It was the 16th of June and it had been a lazy day of unwinding at the end of the semester in front of a TV screen while my miniature schnauzer lay stretched out beside me. I was restless. I needed company and had driven for half an hour to obtain it.

My best friend lived in a glass house that lay in the very centre of Gordon's Bay. He was my only connection to the town, without him I would never have been there in June. In fact I would only have visited the town once, when I slept over at friend in 2016.

When the lights went off  that day I had been sitting on his bed fiddling with his hair and trying desperately to convince him that he'd done enough studying for the day. And although I had not yet convinced him, it seemed I had convinced the universe. The power outage was a gift that nudged us to return to our coastline that I longed for so earnestly.

We decided to join our friends at the pub on Beach Road and so, with a rustle of keys and scarves, we jumped into his old Hyundai Getz and it wheezed us down the mountainside. As we turned into the usually bustling Sir Lowry Lane, a cold darkness greeted us. Much like the rest of the town, it was a street I never normally felt comfortable in. But the new darkness of the town comforted me. The sharp architecture retreated into the gloom and the noises that so often overwhelmed me scurried back to their homes. I felt my worries cease their bubbling and nestle themselves at the bottom of my stomach as I nestled into the car chair.

We stared at the pub for at least fifteen minutes when we arrived, neither one of us talking. The sign that usually flashed the words "The Dock" hung damply and barely noticeable above the small glass panes that hid the interior. We could see the dim lights of candles and cellphones dancing across the glass and hear the laughter that trickled out onto the street. With the usual blare of karaoke night missing, an eeriness trapped us inside the parking lot. It was as though we were seeing the town for the first time, as though the darkness were unveiling all the complexities that every day life glossed over. We had no wish to explore it.

Thankfully the coastline had not lost its familiarity and thus we chose to wonder down to the sand and leave the tired pub behind us. We skirted around the sea, playing between the lines the tide created as it swept in and out. But still the distractions of the world seemed too close to us and we slid back into the car and meandered further up beach road.

We parked outside the navy base and skipped down to the old harbour. Despite its strange comfort I still felt scared in the dark, there were too many shadows lurking behind empty cars and fences. So I clung to my guide, for he knew the area like the back of his hand. I trusted him wholeheartedly, for better or for worse.

He lead me round the back of the yacht club and hid me in his shadow when we noticed how it stood open. There were voices inside, Afrikaans ones, and they echoed out indistinguishably to my ears. I heard someone flipping switches irritably. We pressed on.

On the other side of the building we reached a large iron gate  that was chained loosely shut. I'd never seen it before and was so irritated with its sudden appearance that I stepped out from my hiding place. They had fenced off the pier for the construction of the new desalination plant. I thought about how I had crawled through one of the construction pipes in January and about how peculiar the world had seemed inside there. The wind had funnelled so strangely through the pipe that I had thought I was going to cry at the other-worldly sound it created. It was what I'd imagined it would be like to be trapped in a void and I was terrified.

I shook the memory off and looked to my guide for a plan of action. He chuckled quietly and slid the gate open wide enough for us to sneak through. It was like the uncovering of Narnia in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

We giggled as we raced the wind across the concrete, leaping over pipes and twirling around abandoned equipment. For a while we explored the narrow landscape, crawling in between the nesting dolosse and investigating the way that the moonlight glittered over the yachts. I don't remember us talking during this time, although I'm sure we did. We always do. But that night I felt particularly connected to him in our near silence. It felt good to have someone I could be quiet around; someone with whom I could share the world but still experience it separately. I was suddenly glad for the gate; it had kept the rest of the world out.

Eventually we reached the lighthouse at the tip of the pier. It was darkest and windiest here. Not even the brightest car light could reach us. I stood silently at the edge of it, my feet slipping across the damp moss in slow motion. I watched the way the sea tumbled and rolled against the harbour and traced the path that the moon illuminated across it. I marvelled at the black and silver liquid and thought about how never-ending it was. I felt rooted to the earth in a way that I had never felt before. It was as though the slime had grown through my feet and torn out my soul so that it could be buried beneath the bellowing of the tide. Not even the winds could move me.

Even in remembering that moment it feels as though I am still staring at that water, as though I had never stopped and would never be able surrender that feeling of empty peace. But the truth is I did stop staring, I had turned around in search of the boy I love. But as I did I realised how a part of the landscape he was, he sunk into it, tumbled beneath the waves and burst into air like the chill that flew through my hair. His own wild curls echoed the endless movement of the coastline, the dryness of its summer and the uncertainty of its adventures. He could never be separated from that place; it would follow him wherever he went.

As we walked back to the car, the lights switched on and the humming of the world began again. I knew that I was slowly losing a dream that I would never be able to return to. But still, I climbed back into the car and drove towards the inevitable future. That choice will always be a mistake, for now Gordon's Bay will remain an impossible past that I will never reach and never fail to love.

✬✮✭

[maruwrites]

The Revolution Pt. I

Hoooo boy! Okay, this is an attempt at a Harrington x Henderson!Reader fic, bc I’ve watched Stranger Things 2 recently and my mind hasn’t been able to focus on anything else but this goddamn show. Geez. I don’t know how to write summaries, but oh well. Let me know what you think so far. Working on part 2 as I type this :}

Summary: Dustin thinks he’s finally gonna have a quiet, normal childhood after the events with the Demodogs and Dart, until a new threat shows up at his house in the form of a 17-year old girl.

Word count: It’s gonna be a series, maybe a slowburn? As much as I love slowburns, I am way too impatient to actually write them, so we’ll see. Anyways, this chapter: 770.

Part II :: Part III :: Part IV

There was a soft knock on the door of the Henderson household.

While Claudia was fixing them something to eat in the kitchen, Dusty had been doing his homework in the kitchen counter, or rather trying to. The new kitten, affectionately named Paws by his mother, was playing around with the pencil the kid was using to write a book essay.

“Mom, I give up. The best course of action here is to not turn in my assignment,” he said, looking over to the door and getting up from the chair. His mother let out a soft laugh and shaked her head.

“Just answer the door, honey. I’ll get her out of your way as soon as I’m done here.”

Dustin walked over to the door and opened it, not in the least recognizing the person standing on the other side. The girl in front of him, who had been nibbling on her bottom lip, opened her mouth to speak but seemed to have lost her voice. She stared at him dumbfounded.

“Uh, can I help you with something?”, he asked, noticing the stranger who appeared in front of him. An unruly-haired girl, she was wearing black Vans, dark jeans and a Prince t-shirt. Dustin thought she may have been 16 or 17 years old. A large duffle bag hung on her back.

“Yes,” she said, finally. “Is this the house of Claudia Henderson? I’m looking for her.”

She was looking for her. Never had a sentence been so true in her life. She was looking for Claudia. She had been looking for Claudia for months now. Months.

“Yeah, hold up,” he said softly, then turned around and screamed: “Mom! There’s someone here for you!” He took a step back and let her in, giving an exaggerated courtesy that almost made the girl laugh, if she had been in the mood for laughing.

“Dusty, honey,” They both could her distant voice getting nearer as she left the kitchen. “What have I told you about screaming inside the hou-”

Claudia let out a yelp. That’s how the girl knew she knew.

The wide-eyed middle-aged woman in front of her stopped dead in her tracks, taking shallow breaths. Dustin looked from one to the other, suddenly feeling cold. He looked at the door and realized he had not closed it, though he didn’t dare move now.

The girl cleared her throat. “Um, you’re Claudia Henderson, right…? I’m-”

“I know who you are,” she hastily said, stealing a quick glance at Dustin, who just looked confused. And that’s how the girl knew he didn’t know. “I… How did you…”

The question hung in the air. How did she, what? How did she know? How did she get there? How did she find out? How did she find her?

But neither of them spoke, and the kid couldn’t take it anymore. Here comes this person, this strange-looking girl, who out of nowhere shows up at his house and causes such a reaction on his mother. After everything that happened in the past year, Dustin knew now how to recognize a threat. Not that he wasn’t curious, but the last time he had been curious, he had befriended the very definition of a threat, a cat-eating definition of a threat. Standing in front of him, in his living room there was another threat.

“Mom, what’s going on?,” he asked, approaching her and giving her a side hug, pressing her arm ever so slightly. He gave the girl a threatening look. “Who is this girl? Do you want her to leave? I can kick her out.” He then let go of Claudia and made his way to the girl. “Ok, I don’t know who you are but you have to go right now. I may not look intimidating, but I have fought things much worse than you, so I think I should be-”

“Kid,” the young girl interrupted him lifting her hand, trying to look at him softly. She could understand where he was coming from. “It’s fine. I’ll leave.” She looked at Claudia, who was still seemingly frozen, her feet pratically glued to the end of the orange carpet. The girl opened her mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out, so she just sighed and turned around. When she reached the door and placed her hand on the knob, thinking she would shut it behind her, she heard this plea, barely above a whisper.

“Wait.” Claudia had said. The young girl witnessed the woman take a deep breath and face her son. “Dustin, honey” she paused, closing her eyes. “She is your sister.”

[flowisk]

@necromin Thanks for the asks still Flowey

Why I like them

Oh... Asriel is a character who was practically written for me. I remember I fell in love with him from the very first demo of the game. He’s just this... person who looks like ‘there is no way to save him’ in a game that operates off the premise off ‘not having to kill anyone’. He is a codependent traumatized kid stuck in a loop, and I think his... desperation, especially in No Mercy, and how much... love he is brimming full of is... It’s funny because even when he ‘lacks’ love, you can see how much he cared/cares about Chara and his desperate loyalty and his willingness to go along with anyone and dependency. I felt the reveal of who he was, was just... so satisfying because with every layer unraveled around him I just grew to love him more and more. He’s kind of my dream come true... this dissociative little kid who’s presented so ‘maliciously’ and who is a ‘fake smiler’ and feels empty inside but who is truly this person worth being saved, who is... brutally sad in nature. Just... this incredible painful narrative of loss from someone who... desperately had one person to rely on. Also like... I just love this Bad Kid. Like... these two kids? Two little kids saying to each other ‘Creatures like us are so rotten, we wouldn’t hesitate to kill or betray each other’ and yet despite him saying this, you can tell Flowey has the utmost loyalty to Chara. Even though he SAYS this, the one loyalty he still has... is to Chara. Even the mere belief they could be around, regardless of any killing they do, overturns his grown apathy. His goal is never quite the same as theirs, but he would go along with any goal that makes them happy as long as he is by their side and they still think well of him. It’s this amazing... contrast that... says so much about Flowey as a character, and how he must have gotten to this point. As soon as Chara is there, you can see chips of the facade break away. This was built up to impress Chara, because he felt he was wrong and they were right and ironically when he is with them he can’t help but be a bit softer in contrast.

Why I don’t

Ugh, sometimes I’m frustrated by the soulless explanation. He just seems ND to me. Lately I’ve seen something that treated ‘soullessness’ as a sort of neurodivergence in itself, and that was compelling to me. But really I’m not fan of the ‘doesn’t have a soul’ bit because so many fans use it to be lazy and separate Flowey and Asriel as characters completely.

Favorite episode (scene if movie)

Oh... The end of the fight with Omega Flowey. And... his hallway talk with Chara in the No Mercy run, right before the protag gets to Asgore.

Favorite season/movie

Not applicable.

Favorite line

“It doesn’t matter now. I’m so tired of this, Chara. I’m tired of all these places. I’m tired of all these people. I’m tired of being a flower. Chara. There’s just one thing left I want to do. Let’s finish what we started. Let’s free everyone. Then let them see what the world is REALLY LIKE. That despite it all, this world is still ‘kill or be killed’. Then....? Well. I had been... entertaining a few ways to use that power. Hee hee hee... .... But seeing you here changed my mind. Chara... I think if you’re around... Just living in the surface world doesn’t seem so bad.” ^ This whole speech is what destroys me and no one does anything with this speech no one ever draws any lines from it except maybe ‘kill or be killed’ in variations I’m just. This speech DECIMATES me. “Why am I telling you all this? ...Chara I’ve said it before. Even after all this time, you’re the only one who understands me.” “I didn’t want to live in a world without love. In a world without you.” “I'm not ready for this to end. I'm not ready for you to leave. I'm not ready to say goodbye to someone like you again... So, please... Stop doing this... AND JUST LET ME WIN!!! STOP IT! STOP IT NOW!!! Chara... I'm so alone, Chara... I'm so afraid, Chara... Chara... I... I...” “Why are you being... so nice to me?”

Favorite outfit

I like that time he dressed up as a goat boy with a yellow and green sweater.

OTP

Chariskriel, Chariel, Friskriel

Brotp

Flowey+Papyrus

Head Canon

Oh hey it’s BPD boy. I could actually write a meta about this. I could write an essay about all the ways he demonstrates characteristics of BPD, down to Chara being his FP, his abandonment issues, his chronic emptiness, etc etc, and his rapidly circulating impulsive emotions Mains Reaper in Overwatch. I like to headcanon him as honestly... suffering through PTSD/dissociation or the monster equivalent thereof once he gets into his little flower body. Just his chronic feelings of emptiness, loaded with the fact he... literally can’t die. I mean, he CAN but suicide is a hard enough option when even flinching or having a last second doubt will cause you to still live. Chose his gender identity, in a way that actually physically effects his magic dusty body, because monsters are magic. Mama’s boy. Think this because he has that line, after visiting Asgore about how ‘not even SHE (toriel) could fix what was wrong with me’.  A lot of people suggest that the first person he killed was someone close to him. But I’m willing to bet it was someone he didn’t know that well, and that he reset right after. I think it took a long time for Asriel to feel ‘liberated’ or ‘capable’ or ‘like there were no permanent consequences’ to killing, and then it just wore away until there were 0. I am sure he wishes he could reset to before him and Chara’s plan like, every day, and that though pops up in his mind every day too. (We already know he spends a lot of time calling for Chara.... “Did you hear me calling you?”)

Unpopular opinion

He’s just Asriel in a flower body. ...And I will admit, I do think he shows symptoms of abuse. I don’t think Chara intended to hurt their best friend or was intentionally manipulative but I do think they coerced him into a few things and forced his hand. Also a lot of the things Asriel says like... definitely imply those two were bad kids or occasionally did very bad things. I don’t think Asriel himself was 100% sweetness and goodness even before all the trauma. I just think you’re seeing him at a really vulnerable point where he wants to be sweet and good and leave a nice final impression. A sad breakdown where someone makes a few realizations is not the same as day to day life, and I think Asriel’s characteristics as Flowey are better for determining his character than his final speech at the end. A loquacious, mischievous brat who I love. Also like, ‘hellflower Flower’ and ‘sweet good innocent goat child’ are the two most bland and most common ways to write his character. Also honestly? I feel a lot of people pin Flowey as the ultimate evil of the game (and often drop that he’s Asriel when thinking of him in this way but...) what Flowey does is ‘what a gamer’ does. His actions are not that bad because he knows there are no consequences to them, much the same way someone playing a game knows. And I don’t just mean in a ‘no repercussions for him’ way. He also knows, that if he goes back, the dead won’t stay dead. Also people need to let Asriel have his ‘Chara wasn’t the greatest person speech’. Everyone’s always trying to act like Asriel is a dick for it, but that speech in itself does imply Asriel had a hard time looking at Chara’s flaws. Unfortunately the audience is even worse than Asriel about this, so Asriel can’t even have his two minute speech where he is able to admit to himself Chara wasn’t always right and he wasn’t always treated well.

A wish

I used to wish all the time that there would be a DLC where you could actually save Flowey but that dream is dead. Sometimes I still hope the next game Toby is working on will touch on him in some way but I kinda doubt it

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen

The worst possible has happened to him. Guess it could be worse but it’s still pretty sad. No Mercy route is my ‘oh god please dont ever happen’

5 words to best describe them

Mischievous, codependent, troubled, empty, tragic

My nickname for them

Asriel. Az, Azzy

x

Toriel

Why I like them

Interesting? I feel like she’s this caregiver who loves children and is given some complexity beyond that. Like Lisa’s Terry, they take a ‘tutorial’ character and make them an emotional centre of the game. It’s like... this character who is normally set up to impede you in some way in both games. And while embodying the handholding of a tutorial, Toriel is someone who you don’t want to speed by or treat callously even though she is set up to be what is ‘frustrating’ in a game. Many people who first play have a hard time leaving her behind, it’s this interesting? Not sure if subversion is the word, but it’s definitely an interesting way to play with the concept of the tutorial and have it be an active and emotional part of the story.

Why I don’t

I wish we’d been able to have a bit more of an ongoing dialogue with her or check up on her at some points. I really wish that we’d been able to dig into her a bit more deeply or see her thoughts on a few things... 

Favorite episode (scene if movie)

Her final confrontation with Frisk is my favourite part, right before they leave the ruins. After that it’s her running into Sans and being able to have a nice meeting with someone she’s known for a long time but never met proper. It’s nice to see them both get a chance to be a little goofy and happy.

Favorite season/movie

Not applicable.

Favorite line

“It would not be right for you to grow up in a place like this. My expectations... My loneliness... My fear... For you, my child... I will put them aside.” “Pathetic, is it not? I can’t even save the life of a single child.”

Favorite outfit

The purple one.

OTP

I like Soriel. I honestly just felt they had something? (also the game... literally implies such) They’re both these lonely people, and idk... part of the reason I do like romantic soriel is because I dislike a lot of the vibe of.... ‘Toriel’s divorced and had a family break apart, so she must always stay a divorced sad mother who is untouched from all other relationships’ I’m good with their relationship in all capacities, but the way people act about the kind of flirty dialogue at the end being this big TABOO just strikes me as off.

Brotp

On that thread, soriel. I totally dig interpretations where they are throwing wine parties with each other. In a few neutral ends the two end up living together which is interesting to me, I feel like that’s a mostly unexplored topic. Though I guess that topic is a bit bittersweet. I feel exploring them as platonic or close in different ways is interesting too

Head Canon

- It was a long time before she was able to make snail pies, butterscotch pies, after her children died and she left Asgore. For awhile she lived on the Underground’s fast food equivalent because she couldn’t find the energy to cook anymore. It had been zapped out of her. - When the first child fell down it ignited this chamber inside of her and it was the first time she’d been able to cook in awhile.  - She’s better at being active when there’s people to do things FOR, and struggles with doing things for herself - Since she’s a little monster made of dust, there was probably a lot of her childhood where she maybe wasn’t quite sure what to settle as gender wise and she really got into the concept of femininity in her teens and became very confident using she/her then

Unpopular opinion

The framing of a lot of arguments against Toriel dating bother me. If she wants to date, let her. Also I feel like Toriel can’t EVER win! People are either like... she didn’t do enough to prevent children from leaving the ruins or ‘she’s kidnapping children and restricting their freedom!’ (despite the fact we know she was never able to keep ANY of them for very long) I even literally saw a post recently that suggested part of the reason Chara was upset in the underground was because Toriel prevented them from leaving the ruins which is like? No? It’s made super obvious that’s a reaction Toriel has to kids dying in the underground. Also. It’s great to have nuanced views on Asgore, but any argument that goes ‘Toriel hiding away from the responsibility of keeping Asgore from killing kids is just as bad as , idk, killing kids’ has a rotten argument. Both of them made mistakes. Maybe part of it is a bias on my end that if Tori, with her sharp personality, had been a child murderer and Asgore had retained his soft nature and had been too sad and lonely to stop her, I just don’t feel the same criticisms would be being made. But who knows!

A wish

That she’s happy forever after and is a great teacher and adopts other kids and has good things happen to her and restores her relationship with her son (Flowey)

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen

Idk, bad things have already happened to her. I’m not fond of her and Asgore getting back together (I think it’s for the best they split ways and heal on their own for a bit) but I’m not like Oh God No or anything.

5 words to best describe them

Dutiful, caregiver, grieving, punny, lonely

My nickname for them

Tori

[marzipan-moon]

written at 5am because i know i won’t be able to do this when it’s closer to the time you took your life, and the moon looks so beautiful and so bright, and i can’t stop thinking of you tonight.   Matthew, I’m sorry. 

I still remember when you made my heart flutter, us in school socks and gym shorts in your dusty, cluttered room. Playing video games, laughing about everyone. You were so beautiful, then. And when you kissed me, I thought I was going to be happy forever.  And I still remember when you told me, that slight smile on your face, that you wished you could cut out the part of your brain that made you love me. I’m sorry, I know that’s not a flattering thing to remember - as unflattering as you sucking my toes at that flat party, as unflattering as you walking in on my girlfriend and I having sex - the laughter spilling out of you so loudly that it woke our friends next door.  But honestly, you saying that was a complete dick move - but we were also both fourteen. And I was not the person I am now. I was not the person I am now because of you.  Because when you died, you made me realise how blindly I had stumbled through life. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I think the me today would have seen the signs. I think the me today might have stopped, and knocked on your door, and asked if you wanted to come with us on that Easter break trip. I wish I had held you a little more. I wish I had told you I loved you a little more. I wish I had said goodbye.  I remember when you held me and wept and said that I had been through ‘the worst of all of us’. Even though your mother was dying of lung cancer, and your father had never been there for you, and that you had to scrape and scrimp for every single thing you ever owned - and even then, your family would take it and pawn it and spend the money on alcohol to drown in their own misery.  Even so, you never talked about that.  And I remember your mother at your funeral, bitter and full of anger. I told her you really loved her, you know. She said you never showed it. And your father - who’d never really been there for you, he was there. He sat with us and we ate, and he looked so, so sad. But what struck me most was, I think he understood. Your mother was still whirling in disbelief, but he knew why. He had such sad eyes.  And I remember you with her, weeping as you told me that cannabis was the only thing that gave her dying mother relief. As you lit the roll-up in your mouth, your fingers trembling.  And I remember when I brushed your hair, your head on my lap, and you said ‘I’m sorry’ and I laughed and said ‘it’s okay’. But it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t, was it?    I know that death creeped up on you like a blanket of snow. Just a little bit at a time, another snowflake drifting down every time you realised the world was cruel. I wish I had been brighter, I wish I could have been brighter. I wish I could have melted it all away, bit by bit. But you froze over.  I remember how much you used to make me laugh. How easy it was for you. I remember how much you used to talk about chemistry, about compounds and reactions, hexagons and chains. We talked about travelling the world. We talked about road tripping America, we promised that we’d all go on holidays together - and I remember you in the bright sunshine of you & my girlfriend’s living room with the south facing window, sipping rum and coke, talking about how this was the happiest you had ever been.  I remember you, high and staring at the TV - eyes like saucers as you told me that Disney’s Hercules was a spiritual experience for you. I laughed, I laughed so much I wept - and you told me that’s where you found god.  I remember you scrolling through the suicide tag, I remember you laughing at all the young girls who scarred their bodies crying out for love. I should have known. I should have known.  And I know you did not believe in an afterlife, and I know you did not believe in ghosts (and that if you did come back, you’d haunt me and slam my kitchen cupboards - Big Dirty Jock grunting expletives), and I know you would hate this saccharine, sad crap. But god, Matthew, I hope you’re somewhere warm. I hope you’re somewhere bright. I hope you’re roadtripping through America, I hope you’re floating over Tokyo, I hope you’re as high as you want - I hope you’ve escaped somewhere softer, kinder, more brilliant than here. And I know that’s not true, but fuck. Fuck.   I know you didn’t die because you were brave, and I know you didn’t die because you were a coward. I know you didn’t even want to die that night, how you spun on that decision, over and over. You’d just finished that essay that you’d slaved over for weeks the night before. How you laughed and hugged me on my birthday. How you told me you couldn’t wait to see us when we got back from the Easter break.  I know death creeped on you like a thick blanket of snow, and I know how cold it must have felt when you disappeared under it. You were so kind, Matthew. You could be so stupidly cruel but your heart was so selflessly kind. You attracted sad people, you made us feel bright.   And thank you, thank you so much for texting and telling us that you’d killed yourself, thank you for asking him to call the ambulance, for the paramedics to find your body instead of us. Thank you for thinking of us in your last moments, as you sent yourself skyhigh and disappeared forever. Thank you for leaving your memories with me. Thank you for teaching me to be kind.  And if you’re reading this and you want to die, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry it aches like this in you. I’m so sorry that you just want all that pain to stop, that you can’t face it anymore. I’m so sorry and I wish I could hold you, and stroke your hair, and tell you that it’s okay, it’s all going to be okay for just this moment - because I... I can’t do anything else. There’s nothing else we can do except wait, and be kind, and be patient, and hope. But Matthew taught me to be those things. He never told me he wanted to die, but he showed me all the signs and. He taught me to be kinder. He taught me to stop. To think. To see. Because we’re all struggling to cope with pain that bleeds out from every single individual, we all spiralling and trying to escape something and please, please, please please. Let’s be softer, let’s be kinder, let’s think about one another and how amazingly multifaceted we all are. You had so many faces, Matthew - and I can only remember so much, I can never remember the you that made you whole.  I’m sorry, there isn’t a point to this. This is just a small treasure box of memories, and I wish I could write something better for you - Matthew. I wish I could make this a proper tribute, but whenever I think about it my fingers stiffen and nothing flows right. But god, I know you must have been in so much pain. And I hate you for leaving. I’m so angry at you for lying to me with promises of the future. But I know why you said those things, and I know that you meant them in the moment, and I know it only takes a moment - a series of moments, a long blizzard and a cold hard night and then you just think ‘fuck it’ and that’s it.  I miss you. I’ll always miss you.  I’ll always love you.  I know you’d hold my hand. I know you’d squeeze it. I know you’d tell me a shitey joke and a worse pun. I know you’d just make the biggest fucking laugh out of all of this.  And thanks for that. 

[drowninginthecloudsofhopes]

DUALITY OF LOVE

Hi! I would like to share my essay that I won 3rd placing in my entire faculty. Glad to share this with whoever you are :)

The rambunctious blaring of the small alarm clock across her room has succeeded to wake her up from the peaceful sleep. She knows it is early when there is no light struggling to get past the grimes on the blinds. The sun is still resolutely below the horizon and the neighbourhood is as dark as the old-school black and white movie. After 10 minutes of gaining all of her consciousness, she finally gets up from the bed. She goes for a shower to refresh herself before she begins the day. When she gets ready and comfortable in her favourite oversized lilac sweater, she enters the reading room. The reading room is where she can find comfort and peace in this challenging era. The room is well decorated with the ornate built-in floor to ceiling bookshelves, the dusty pink velvet couch and raw timber coffee table in the middle of the room. She heads to the bookshelves and reaches for the rosy brown gift box. She holds the box with so much care and goes back to sit on the couch. In the box, there are a lot of handwritten letters, postcards, and an old grainy photograph. She looks at the picture and her mind reminiscing the past memory. The memory which taught her the greatest lesson in her life.

It was a gloomy Sunday evening. There was no bright and lively sky, only a rough woollen blanket of mottled grey to block out the sun. Sarah walked down the alley while holding the black umbrella on her right hand. On her left hand, there was a basket filled with mixed fruits of oranges, apples, a bunch of grapes, and a hand of bananas. As the rain started to pour, she opened her umbrella. She quickened her pace across the slippery path as the raindrops became intense. Sarah thought of finding a temporary shelter before she continued her journey home because the heavy downpour had wet her clothes and skin. While searching for the perfect place to drop by, she turned her attention to the small vintage second-hand bookshop next to a café. The combination of earthy and vanilla scents of the old and new books greeted her. The bookstore was small and packed but the books were well arranged on the honey-coloured wood soft curving bookshelves. The dimly orange light produced a soothing labyrinthine environment dedicated to the books. The owner was able to create a new paradise for the booklovers. There were only four customers in the bookstore, including her.

Sarah enjoyed her moment in a sanctuary away from the insanity of the rest of the world that she thought to live there. She moved from shelf to shelf searching for the books that attracted her attention. After deciding which books she wanted to purchase, she decided to buy a fictional novel by Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises. She went to the cashier to pay the novel. It was an old lady waiting there with a bright smile. The old lady praised Sarah for her choice of the book as many young people did not really like the old author's writings. Sarah was pleased to hear her compliment and told the cashier that Ernest Hemingway was her favourite author. It was surprising to the old lady that they both share the same interest. The straightforward style of Hemingway, which relies heavily on presenting the facts clearly captured their attention than most of the complex and flowery writing styles. The sharing session that happened in such a short amount of time was the first step of their bonding. Sarah went back home with joy in her heart. The old lady, Cathleen was so nice to ask her to come again so that they could share more about the books.

When Sarah got home, her mother was waiting for her in front of the door. Her tense face was relaxed when she saw Sarah walked through the neighbourhood with full hands. She was worried that Sarah would usually return home before dawn, but today she was late. However, Sarah ignored her welcome. The annoyance on Sarah’s face with her mother’s presence was clearly shown. She preferred her mother to go to work and return home late, so the amount of interaction that happened between them decreased. Despite Sarah’s salty reaction towards her mother, the warm smile of the lovely middle- aged woman was still there. It was not an easy process for Sarah to erase the dreadful memory that happened one year ago. The incident which caused her to put blame on her mother’s fault over the death of her sister. If only her mother would not let her sister drive the car, despite her driving incompetence, Sarah would still have her sister now. She refused to hear her mother’s explanation and, worse, she decided to burn the bridge with her mother. The pain of reality was not easy for them to cope.

A week had passed since her visit to the bookshop. She decided to visit Cathleen while searching for a new reading material to add to her book collection. Cathleen was so elated to meet Sarah again. This young girl reminded her of her late grandchild. Cathleen was grateful for small blessings as, the presence of Sarah cured her miss a little towards her grandchild. It was the day when Sarah felt alive as she laughed a lot over Cathleen’s stories. Cathleen also showed Sarah the picture of her granddaughter. The girl with wavy brunette hair, had a charming smile that would definitely capture the attention of everyone. She stated that Sarah and Rosie, her granddaughter enjoyed reading so much. She realised that it was quite a long time ago, she was on cloud nine to talk with someone. The following day during lunch, Cathleen invited Sarah to come over her house for a meal. Sarah hesitated to go at first, because she knew her mother would be worried if she went out for too long. However, the sincerity of Cathleen’s invitation made she changed her mind. After all, Sarah was over the moon to go to Cathleen’s house as she anticipated of how her house would look.

Cathleen’s house was no exception. It stood on a slight rise just on the edge of the cottage. The house was beautifully symmetrical, positioned across the stream of water that ran over the sandy bed which can be viewed from the parlour window. It was so calm and picturesque. Cathleen excused herself to prepare the meal at the kitchen while Sarah was given the freedom to look around the house. However, Sarah refused her allegations politely as she wanted to cook together with Cathleen. Cathleen was so touched by Sarah’s intention and thus they prepared the meal together. While they were preparing the meal, Cathleen gave some tips on cooking, and, Sarah who loved cooking, listened earnestly to all the tips. Deep inside Sarah’s heart, she frankly missed to cook with her mother again. She missed the moments of them laughing over the bland floury cookies they made for the first time and undercooked pasta due to the usage of small boiling pot. Her heart truly wanted to experience the moment again. Cathleen saw Sarah’s facial expression changing, but was quick denied by Sarah as she just felt tired.

Cathleen sent Sarah home after dinner. While on the ride, Sarah thanked Cathleen for the house visit and the meal. She had so much fun, so do Cathleen. At home, Sarah’s mother was a bundle of nerves waiting for her return. All the phone calls she made was unreachable, no sign of her at the usual place, and she already made a police report over her child’s missing. She was hoping that nothing bad happened to her only precious gem. She just lost one daughter and now Sarah went missing. She could not imagine how her life would be without Sarah by her side. On the other hand, while Sarah and Cathleen was on their way to the neighbourhood, both of them were surprised by a loud burst sound. Cathleen and Sarah went out from the car to check out the car’s condition. They were surprised that the sound was actually the tyre burst. Fortunately, Cathleen calmly faced the problem of her stranded car by the dark roadside with the only source of light from the street lights and no vehicles passed by. Her calmness reduced Sarah panic.

While both of them were sorting ways to call for help, Sarah went to the car bonnet searching for her phone in the backpack. She was surprised by the 30 incoming calls and text messages from her mother. The guilt of making her mother worried over Sarah absence built in her chest and mind. She put down her ego, and called her mother, wanted to inform she of her current whereabouts. When she was about to utter the word “Hello” as her mother picked up the call, out of the blue, she fell down to the ground. A strong hit of wood on her back caused her to scream in pain. Her mother was shocked to hear her child’s scream and repeatedly called Sarah’s name, unfortunately someone took her phone away. When Sarah was gaining her strength to stand up, she nearly jumped out of her skin to see Cathleen holding a thick wooden stick while staring at her with a creepy smile. Cathleen was satisfied towards the fear shown on Sarah’s face and she laughed hysterically. Sarah pushed herself to run away and saved herself. She prayed someone would help her as her back pain slowed down her movement. Her feelings were mixed. She was puzzled over Cathleen’s action and miserable about what would happen to her. At the moment, she wished her mother could save her.

The scream of her daughter haunted the mind of Sarah’s mother. She was ready to risk it all in order to save her child. After reporting to the police about her child’s latest update, Sarah’s mother went out of the house and followed the track on her child’s phone GPS. The place shown was about 15 minutes from the house. Along the way, she paid 100% attention in case she could find her daughter. She also hoped the police would act quickly because her daughter was in need. While Sarah was trying her best to run away from Cathleen, she could sense Cathleen was following her. Despite her old age, Sarah admitted that Cathleen was still fit as a fiddle. Cathleen was eerily calling out Sarah’s name, it gave chills to her bone. Sarah’s felt so weak and slipped into the mud puddle. Cathleen hurriedly came to Sarah and grabbed her slim arms tightly. She pleaded Sarah not to leave her like what her grandchild did. Sarah tried to fight her, but her energy was at the lowest point.  

In the state of hope, Sarah’s mother was driving the car while looking outside to search for her daughter. Unexpectedly, she saw two human beings on the verge of the road. She quickly parked her car on the edge and went out to check whether one of them was her daughter. It was so dark that she had to move closer for better vision. While she was heading towards them, she could hear Sarah’s voice asking to let her go. She knew it was Sarah, the voice she had been hearing for almost 20 years. She noticed that the other person had not sense her presence, she carefully took the steps towards both of them. She remember that she had put a foldable knife in her pocket before went out. She gripped the knife strongly and was ready to attack the criminal. Suddenly, Cathleen turned behind and saw her, thus tried to hit her. Sarah’s mother was fast enough to prevent from being hit. She used the knife to protect herself, but Cathleen was able to drop it down. Sarah’s was scared if her mother injured while trying to protect her. She asked her mother to run away and leave her, as her mother’s safety was her priority.

There was a fight between Sarah’s mother and Cathleen. Sarah stood up and ran towards her mother, to protect her despite her frail state. She did not want anything bad happened to her. In the chaotic situation, finally, the police siren had been heard. Cathleen was panicked and tried to run away, but Sarah’s mother managed to block her from escaping. The policemen handcuffed Cathleen’s wrists together and brought her to the police station. Sarah was brought to the hospital for emergency treatment with an ambulance. Her mother accompanied her for the whole time, praying that her daughter would save. Sarah could see from her mother’s eyes that she loved her so much. Sarah realised that her mistakes toward her mother were uncountable, her inner voice was asking her mother to forgive her. Without realising, the silent tears rolling down her cheek. Her child’s condition made Sarah mother’s tears burst like water from a dam. The walls that hold her up which made her strong just collapsed. There was a rawness to the tears, like the pain was still an open wound. She was afraid of losing her only child, had no strength to endure the challenges if the source of her strength, Sarah was gone.

On the following day, Sarah was fully aware. She was brimming with gratitude as her first vision of the day was her mother. She was waiting for her to wake up, not leaving her for a moment. Sarah hugged her mother, stronger than anything, in that embrace she was cocooned well than any butterfly-to-be. In her mother’s arms, she was safe and her worries disappeared like a passing gleam. Sarah’s mother had longed for so long to hug her since last year. Sarah apologized for her bad attitudes to her mother, it was the most sincere sorry she ever asked in her entire life. Their session of apologizing was witnessed by the hospital room, the room that succeeded in uniting the most wonderful relationship of a mother and her child. After a while, a police officer came to meet Sarah and her mother, updating them about Cathleen. She was jailed and under a very strict supervision. They were blown by the fact that Cathleen was a wanted dangerous criminal as she kidnapped and murdered a young lady two years ago. The young lady was reported missing by her husband a week after their marriage. Ever since then, there have been no news and information about her.

When the police officer showed them the picture of the lady, Sarah did a double take of the lady’s face. She had seen her face somewhere before and when Sarah remembered, she covered her mouth with both her hands. The photograph that Cathleen gave her of a smiling young girl, her granddaughter, it was her. Cathleen killed her own granddaughter. Cathleen raised Rosie since her parents left her, she gave the entire universe to her. Never beaten nor mad at her, as the love she had towards her was beyond infinity. One day, Rosie found her perfect prince to live together for the rest of her life. Day by day, Rosie was building the gap between her and Cathleen, as she never agreed with Rosie got married. For Cathleen, only she deserved Rosie’s love, but not anyone. She kidnapped Rosie when her husband went out, brought her to an unreachable place. Rosie was never found by the police, forensics, and everyone as Cathleen kept her safe and sound in a secret place. Cathleen had preserved Rosie’s dead body with the embalming fluid. The police had found Rosie at Cathleen’s bedroom behind the wooden wall. She was in a nice long black dress with lace. Sarah was grateful she could escape from Cathleen, and the fact that Cathleen was caught by the police before more girls fall into her trap. She promised to be extra careful so that the same mistake would not repeat again.

Her mother’s voice brings Sarah back to consciousness. She saw her mother stands in front of the reading room, asking her to accompany for the grocery shopping. Sarah smiles towards her mother and agrees to join, while her heart is thanking God for giving her the chance to live happily with her mother. The grainy old photograph of Rosie is kept back inside the rosy brown gift box. It has been 10 years since the black incident happened yet Sarah still keeps the photograph with her, as a reminder to always be prepared for unexpected situations as they may appear on a happy day. Who knows? The black memory has taught her that the reality of love has not been always portrayed like the fairy tales which stars shine so bright, birds chirping in a peaceful woods, and glitters of happiness all along your journey in this life. Love is supposed to view from two different perspectives. The good side and the bad side. The good side is the love of Sarah and her mother, where they are always together through thick and thin. Love that gives them the freedom of choice to live their life and still be grateful of each other’s presence. On the contrary, the bad side is when love takes control over your mind and heart. The excessive amount of unhealthy love causes Cathleen to not let her grandchild to love anyone else except her. For Sarah, there must be a reason why love is invisible, so it can only be felt by your inner self. Mankind has succeeded in almost every area but they cannot weaponize your inner self. It shows how magical, love does to you. Indeed, love is the greatest blessing from God to us.