#it says “you listened to haunting and dark on sunday nights”

[rottenmelon1117]

𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚝 ( 𝚈𝚞𝚗𝚑𝚘 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 )

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: priest! jeong yunho (switch) x reader (with a vagina)(switch)

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔: smut, religion, blasphemy, oral (receiving and giving), edging, choking, fingering, obsession, masturbation, confession booth sex

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: you find yourself longing for a priest you haven't even seen before, touching yourself every night to his husky voice. before you know it, your lips are greeting his with a want and a desire.

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: i wrote this with concert halazia yunho in mind. who doesn't love a little blasphemy?

༺ ⊱───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰──⋅⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅⋅───⊱༻

There must be something wrong with me, his deep voice echoes and fills my head. Nothing but his tone consumes my whole being creating an illusion as if he was right here beside me whispering my voice in a sweet low melody. I pray every night to my false prophet and his name is Jeong Yunho.

I was never religious, nor the thought of going to church ever crossed my mind. My feet leading me to the entrance of a well lit cathedral, my initial response was to back away and head home. Before I could even turn around a figure pulls the door open exposing the warm dim lighting surrounding a large room full of pews and an immense glowing cross. A shiver was sent down my spine at the imagery of Jesus on the cross staring directly at me. A woman's hand reaches out and takes hold of mine, gently she says " Have you gone to confession lately? " Confused by her words I shake my head gesturing that I haven't. She wraps my wrist in her hand and guides me to a wooden booth motioning me to go inside. Maybe this will allow me to release all that's been pent up.

I let out a hushed sigh in hopes of not offending the person on the other side of the screen. Taking a deep breath I kneel down on the pew " I'm sorry... I've never done this before and I've never thought of doing this. Do I just start telling you my life story or what's on my mind? " The sudden clatter of the tiny door sliding open, revealing the dark silhouette of a man. " Why don't you start off by saying, sorry lord for I have sinned... it's been *insert this much days or months* since my last confession. " He says in low husky voice that haunted my mind. Taken back by his shallowed youthful expression I find myself flustered. " Sorry lord for I have sinned, it's been *insert years of age* since my last confession. " I say back with a direct tone. " That's a good start. Now you can tell me everything."

Every Sunday I find myself coming back to hear that whispered voice, I needed to hear it, it became an obsession, a need, a desire. My fingers keep wandering and discovering new intense feelings as I trace every crevice of my heat while I think about what the man on the other side could possibly look like. Will he have eyes that are seemingly pure just like his profession? Or will it be dark and sinful like his voice. Maybe today I'll tell him about the thoughts I've been having about him, but not directly about him. The sound of my heart thumping as I approach the confession booth. The air still and silent that you could hear my restricted breathing. His inky silhouette appears before me making me quiver. I start to relay the thoughts that I've gone over and over in my head thousands of times. As I go into detail about my carnal desires choosing my words carefully, making sure he doesn't recognize that I was actually describing him, I lower my hands down permitting my fingers to stroke and graze my core gently, letting my mind wander to lustful wants.

My knees stinging from the hour long session of me kneeling and filling in Father Yunho of my dark prurient notions. I flinch at the sound of whimpers happening from the other side of the screen, I discover his form tilting his head back. Is he... getting off on what I'm telling him? I pause for a second listening to his stifled moans. The thought of him stroking himself and being aroused by my words made me want to continue telling him more just so I could keep listening to his soft whines.

Bringing myself to the end of the confession I calm myself down. "Father Yunho? I think I'm going to get going..." I break off my sentence allowing him to fill in the gap. Silence. He brings himself closer to the other side of the screen whispering " The way you describe your most intimate thoughts- " He pauses for a second

" I can't stop thinking about your vulgar expressions. It fills me up with the most immoral scenarios and I won't be able to bring myself to step foot into this cathedral." Withdrawing myself from the booth, I don't know how to respond. My eyes scanning the room looking for the exit, in the corner of my peripheral I see the door of the confession booth open. A tall man comes into view, his build slender and delicate as he fixes his disarrayed outfit while brushing his tousled black hair in an attempt of making himself look neat. The realization that the figure before me is Father Yunho. We make immediate eye contact that burns holes into one another. I've never seen someone so incredibly beautiful before, especially not in person, it was as if I had actually perceived a god. He starts to walk slowly and carefully over in hopes of not startling me. " Y/N I'm sorry for what I said, that was not appropriate. I really don't know what had came over me, I've never felt this. You've awaken a new side of me I've never experienced before. " Father Yunho gently apologizes to me. My eyes show a sincerity that he catches on to " N-no, don't be sorry. I just didn't know how to respond or react. " He inches closer to me trying to close the gap between us

" Seeing you this close... I don't know how much longer I can hold myself back... so I'll leave you alone." I extend my hand and quickly grab hold of his cuff retorting

" Please don't go... I don't think I can hold back anymore either. "

We exchange looks of longing as we bring our waists closer, leaving no room for escape. He grabs my face gently but firmly and lowers his to mine, letting the tip of his nose brush against my cheek. My lips pleading for his to impact mine as our bodies are now intertwined. I can feel his eyes study my every curve, detail, paying attention to my every movement. Brushing his plush lips over mine, his tongue drifting, looking for permission to enter. My tongue invites his into mine, beginning to dance and shift, making languid motions. Soft passionate moans release from both of our lips as his hand travels up my shirt, caressing my breast. His fingertips trail over my sensitive skin showing me that the noises leaving my mouth are awakening him to continue further down. "F-father Yun-ho..." My voice trails off as he hurriedly leads me into the confession booth. Us both stumbling in and nearly hitting my head on the wall, we find ourselves now cramped into this small space. " Y/N do you know how much of a heathen you're making me feel? " Onyx hair displaying strands messily on his forehead as he continues to burn wet kisses onto my mouth. Reaching to grasp the back of my neck, now aware of how rough he's being I let out a small whimper " Ngh... hurts F-father Yun- " Before I could finish my sloppy sentence he pushes his lengthy slender finger onto my lips and tongues the inside of my mouth once more, leaning by my ear he softly says " No... don't refer to me as Father Yunho anymore... what were doing is far too sinful. Just. Yunho. " leaving me with another hot careless kiss. My eyes shot up at his conviction, begging for him to touch me somewhere new. I start tugging at my belt hoping he'd catch onto what I was eluding to. Yunho tugs at my trousers letting it fall to my ankles alongside my panties. He roughly grabs onto my thighs hoisting me up further along the wall leaving kisses down my inner thigh. His warm breath hovering close to my uncovered heat making me squirm beneath his fingers. " Yunho- " I softly gasp. The mans pitch black eyes look into my soul as if I were his prey that he was getting ready to devour. He flashes a smirk only feeding into my erotic delusions, wanting him to swallow me whole. My leg resting on the top of his right shoulder, shuddering at his tongue gently playing with my folds and my emotions. Working on making my moans louder he fastens his pace with each taste. Yunho pauses and slowly inserts his fingers into me as his tongue is still finding all my most sensitive spots. " Y/N I've never tasted anything this satisfying and sticky before. " He says to me with his face covered in his own saliva and my nectar. I shake at his words as his fingers curl up and penetrates more aggressively making my voice quiver with eagerness. " Fuck- " My mind goes blank at the ecstasy I was experiencing, Yunhos hand covers half of my face not allowing me to breath or speak. As I'm reaching my peak Yunho abruptly stops and lets out a devilish giggle. " Oh- you thought I was going to let you finish just by my fingers? " He brings his face to my neck, softly kissing me while he slowly removes his hand from my mouth, now exposing my swollen damp lips. Yunho raised his head to be level with mine, revealing his dark glossy eyes begging me to fuck him.

" Ever since I've felt the inside of your mouth, I needed to know what you felt like inhaling my cock. " He signals me with his eyes darting down to his crotch

" Let me just feel it. Just this once. Please. " Yunho pleads in a desperate tone. Still on his knees, I slump down and roughly push him against the booth door. Now on my knees, feeling the carpet underneath me I find the courage to lean into and undress him. I hastily unbutton his trousers, dipping down to gently brush his tip and glide down to his shaft with my palm, I bring my lips closer to his cock teasing him with my tongue in circular motions while he lets out low hums and groans, showing me he can't hold still anymore. Losing breath with each movement, nosediving onto his cock, I slide my hand up his torso finding the bumpy sensation of each bead on his rosary. He agilely holds mine and his hand closer to his rosary as if he were holding onto it in hopes of asking for, forgiveness from his god. Those vigorous eyes of his rolling toward the back of his skull as I continue to swallow him with force. " Holy- fuck Y/N... I want to feel the inside of you. No- I need to feel the inside of you. " I feel his hands snatch my face, his thumb and middle finger digging into my cheeks halting me from pleasuring him further. He pulls me in closer, our bodies now suctioned and covered in sweat. As I'm leaned onto his chest his fingers dig deep into my core watching me intently to see if I reach my climax. Saving myself, I try my best to hold out until I can feel him fully inside me. He draws his cock closer to my heat allowing the tip to gently brush against the opening, teasing me with small shoves. Clutching my hand over my mouth holding in suffocated whines and moans, he quickly thrusts into me with exceptional force, breaking my hand away from my lips. " Fuck- Yunho! Mmm. " His eyes widen from excitement leading him to shove further into me creating rapid forbearing movements. My bottom ricochets on his thighs as we build a sweltering heat and our scents interlace with one another. Yunho's veiny hands tightly holding onto my waist nearly breaking skin as I bounce harmoniously with his motions. " Y/N your face is so fucked out it's making me want to consume the entirety of your feverish hole. " Turned on by his statement I start to ride him tightly and lean my head into his neck, letting him know how badly I want his cock further inside me " Yunho. " Knowing just saying his name will send him in a spiral. " I want your cock buried so deep inside me... that I forget you're even a priest. " Hearing the word

" priest " made him flinch, failing to remember that he is indeed one. Those words flicked a switch making him drive deeper, his shaft disappearing inside my core. Moans escaping both of our lips as we both ride in unison, his fingers wrapped around my neck blocking my airway. I let out soft restricted gasps as his hands are still around my neck. Gazing into his eyes I find them pleading for me to take control. " How badly do you want me to dominate you Yunho? " He lets out a breathy choke. " I want to worship you... and you to guide me to my worship. I so badly want want you to be my god Y/N. " Hearing those words made me shiver with anticipation and excitement so I pick up my pace riding him more vigorously, finding my fingers now wrapped around his neck. Not allowing him to say a single word as I keep bouncing on him, hearing nothing but muted moans and his eyes nearly turning white as they fall back from pleasure. I release my hands permitting him to breath properly, hoping I hear him whimper out my name. " Mmm... mmm.... Y/N, who said you should stop? " Taken back by how bold his statement was I tightened my grip around his neck once more. " Is this how you like it? " I whisper in his ear. Yunho grabs my ass, pushing me down to ride him harder and faster. " This is how I like it. " He says to me with a soft whine. As we are about to reach our peak Yunho slides his fingers down to my clit, rubbing circular patterns and causing me to jerk and tear up. " Does this make you forget that I'm a man of god? " I didn't know how to speak at that moment so all I could muster was " Mhmmm. F-fuck. Yunho. " Wanting to return the same energy I reach my free hand down and massage his sensitive area making him buck up farther inside me. Our voices becoming a harmony as we both let out light moans and whimpers finally allowing ourselves to climax. "Ahh. Yunho. F-fuck." I start to spasm as I'm enfolded him, reaching euphoria and letting my mouth fall open. " Fuck. Y/N. " He quickly pulls out of me to cum onto his own fingers as I help stroke him softly to his finish.

We both look at each other with a hazy and blurred vision, our hair and clothes both turned upside-down. " So... did I feel like a god? " I giggle knowing that he's probably slightly embarrassed at his bold words. Yunho's cheeks turn feverish as he responds with a soft and kind " You really did... I forgot where we were. " Turned on by what he had just admitted I lean into his lips and tenderly kiss him, pulling away slowly I say " I want you to worship me every Sunday. Can you do that? " His eyes widen and he grasps tightly around my waist tugging me to close our proximity. " I'll worship you not only on Sundays... but everyday if you will allow me to. " Leaving wet sweet kisses on each others faces, we look to each other knowing this would permanent. " I'll allow it, but only because your whimpers sounded so cute. "

We gather our clothing and brush through our hair with our fingers, trying to make ourselves presentable. As we make our way out of the confession booth Yunho grabs hold of my wrist. " I think I've found my purpose and thats you Y/N. " He says to me with a sincere smile. Hearing those words leave his mouth cause tears to form in the corner of my eyes, no one has ever said something so kind to me before. Yunho reaches down to cup my cheeks, wiping away the tear droplets running down my face " I'll never stop adoring you. " He says in low raspy tone. Maybe there was a reason for me to end up here, and maybe that reason is Jeong Yunho.

FIN. 

[blindbatalex]

bruins hrpf recs from the server #4

Happy Sunday :3 Our theme this week was non-hockey aus (loosely defined) - below are the recs the server shared!

between garage bays by pastrnaks_sainz || lindholm/pasta || 74,131 words || reccer's notes: the f1 x bruins crossover i didn’t know i needed

Dark Horse by bookhousegirl || Austin Czarnik/Frank Vatrano || 4,584 words || reccer's notes: Providence mob au, set in the same verse as New Habits, also recc’ed on this list. I’m not sure if this one counts considering neither character (indeed none of the listed characters) plays for the Bruins anymore, but the grimy, seedy, small town sense of desperation and the concrete slice-of-life observations are so wonderfully evoked, you feel Springfield Massachusetts like fungus growing under your fingernails. I recommend listening to “Coattails” by Broods as a soundtrack while reading this.

down by the river by @thebluejayawe || tuukka/pasta || 5,916 words || reccer's notes: How grumpy Tuukka is in this is simply perfect; I also love the snowy wintery vibes and the developing relationship.

from ashes to beginnings by @007waffles007 || marcheron || 24,894 words

I’ll be home for Christmas by pastrnaks_sainz || marcheron || 6,553 words || reccer's notes:  Marcheron WW2 au. This is very much a comfort read for me, the savage hand-to-hand combat and scorching sex notwithstanding. I love the way the letter is quoted in its entirety twice within the space of the story, giving it space to breathe and resonate.

like stars in a perfect night sky by blindbatalex || marcheron || 2,051 words || reccer's notes: All I’m saying is that if _Supernatural_ were about this crimefighting duo I would be so obsessed with the show lol. I almost didn’t rec this bc I’m still mad Alex didn’t write a sequel to it, but leaving us with that beautiful haunting last imagery (that final paragraph!) is a choice I have to begrudgingly respect

New Habits by bookhousegirl || Gregory Campbell/Daniel Paille || 5,927 words || reccer's notes: MOB AU!!!! The throughline of aching to return to Boston guts me, it's the perfect theme to use in an AU because it's such a central part of the 'being traded away from a team that you considered home' experience, so it really carries over perfectly.

Penicillin by Aaron_The_8th_Demon || marcheron || 6,180 words || reccer's notes: Post-apocalyptic marcheron au featuring the Bruins as a group of firefighters trying to survive the plague. (Think of a Fallout 4 mission where you’re running around Boston frantically trying to save your infected colleague from dying before you can tell him you love him.) The climactic resolution is handled so tenderly and naturally, so in-character and with so little fuss, it fills me with utter joy every time.

the secrets we keep by blindbatalex || willypasta || 3,751 words || reccer's notes: I loved exploring the outside perspective on willypasta in this fic, with a healthy side serving of forbidden love and what it means to know or trust somebody, not to mention of course, some delightful h/c.

shake it off (darkest before the dawn) by Anonymous || bruins ensemble || 5,892 words || reccer's notes:  (Bill Haters Stephano voice) This fic has everything, it's got kidnapping, it's got spies, it's got whump, it's got enemy spies, it's got JD, idk what else to say I really liked it. It was one of the first fics I read getting into hrpf and had me like :0

Southern Light by bookhousegirl || marcheron || 8,949 words || reccer's notes: Antarctic research station AU. Marcheron. Gorgeous atmospheric writing that is working within a tight-knight insular situation. The author has a very evocative writing style, and the characterizations are wonderful.

[randombush3]

Sunday Morning

florence pugh x footballer!reader

summary: based off the Maroon 5 song ‘Sunday Morning’

words: 1470

warnings: gets a little bit angsty

notes: just a little in-between-er while i work on the lengthier, juicier stuff. And absolutely NOT proofread x

This is rare.

Waking up to a bed with both of you in it. Not needing to attack the day ahead. Being allowed to listen to the rain falling, softly beating against the windows of your bedroom.

Sunday mornings like this are so special.

You yawn as you slowly open your eyes, skin prickling. Expecting it but feeling betrayed nonetheless, you glance at where the covers should be, knowing they’re bundled around your girlfriend because she gets so cold during the night ever since you developed that habit of rolling over in your sleep. You steal what’s yours back, not waking her but not minding if she stirs. She makes a quiet noise as your cooler skin slots beside her furnace, but this is the only sign of life.

Clouds shroud the light that briefly illuminated the bedroom, and you drift off once again, this time, with your girlfriend twisting to fit the mould you are in, burying her face between the pillows and your arm.

You struggle to remember the last time you woke up like this. You don’t live here half the time, having to find ways to split time between football and actually having a life. Things just get so crazy, and living the life you have built with Flo gets hard to do. She knows you try, and is also to blame when it comes to the lack of occupation your shared apartment has at times.

Every plane ticket you buy to lengthen the distance is bought because you will gladly hit the road, get up and go, if it means that someday you will be led back to her. You can leave easily because you know you will be coming back, and you know that when you head on a flight bound for wherever she is, you are returning home.

Thinking back to the week you’ve had — the tears you’ve shed, the stress, the pain — this may have been all you needed. To hold her again. To love her and to touch her. After all, in the darkness, she is all you see. The light at the end of a tunnel, the encapsulating warmth that draws patterns over your skin and marks you as hers and only hers forever. The happy ending to a horrific seven days.

Your musings must have woken her. Maybe you were thinking too loud.

She murmurs something unintelligible, eyes half-open but indefinitely looking at you. Then, louder, she brushes her hand over your hip, touch feather-light and careful, saying your name wistfully. You are quickly reminded that this day-off has come about due to a fractured ankle, a pang of grief stabbing into your heart like a blunt knife, forced through. You’ve been allowed three days to process and make sure you’re in the correct mental state to even begin recovery. She held you last night while you cried, and asks you again how you are feeling.It is a question commonly used in your relationship, but packs more meaning right now. There are a lot of feelings, obviously.

“I want to do something today,” you reply quietly, not needing to raise your voice barely above a whisper. Such is the tranquillity of two women alone in bed together. (Unless you happen to be doing something else — then forget that statement.) “So I don’t become a lump on the sofa.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Rest your bones with me right now,” she whispers, amusement not hidden at all. “And then why don’t we go for brunch later on?”

“Yeah, okay,” you mumble, disappointed once more by the restrictions in place. You don’t bring your crutches into the bedroom for fear they’ll haunt you while you dream. “I can drive us to that place in Greenwich. I’ll go slowly.” It’s a desperate attempt.

Her reply is instantaneous. “Absolutely not.” The attempt fails like it inevitably would. “Can we watch TV? I’ll grab your crutches.” And with that, you start hobbling away to the kitchen to prove you can move on your own, and get tricked into making her coffee. You never want to leave.

Three weeks later, she visits you in Barcelona. Your apartment here is your own, empty of things that smell like her. She changes that quickly, taking over every surface with things she somehow managed to fit in her suitcase, spreading out her shit until you can barely find your toothbrush. You know that brands send her their products to try, but don’t hesitate to remind her she doesn’t have to actually use them. You’re sure your bathroom cabinet might fall off the wall with how full it is.

It’s Sunday again, the fourth day of her trip, but the first day of doing nothing. There's quite a bit to do and see in the city, and she’s forced you to show her around. You get a lie in today because the girls have a game later. You can’t play for another four weeks at the very least, but have promised to watch and support them. Even if the thought of playing still makes your fists clench and your breath hitch. How are you supposed to not do what you were born to do? It’s your destiny, your fate, and a stupid ankle shouldn’t have gotten in the way of that. (But it did.)

“Morning,” she says, blinking in order to adjust her eyes to the light pouring through the blinds. “What time is it?”

You shrug, unable to check because your girlfriend is on top of you and your phone is too far away. “I know that you said you didn’t want to—”

“I recall you agreeing,” she interrupts indignantly.

“Right.” You smile. “I’m really feeling much better; my ankle doesn’t even hurt. So… we can—you know?”

“Feeling frisky?” she teases, sitting up, straddling you. Your fingers trace her every outline, feeling like artwork. Irreplaceable. You would definitely hang her up in a museum. (If she were a painted picture, not a person. No — that would be unethical.)

Flo leans down and brushes her lips against yours, half expecting you to have teeth waiting there for her. You take it slowly at first, however, aware of how big a lie your update on your ankle is.

You’re interrupted by the buzz of the bell at the entrance. Lucy and Keira are asking to be let up, considering they don’t have to start preparing for another two hours. They know Flo’s round, which typically means to leave you the fuck alone, but Lucy says she brought coffees and wants to talk to her favourite person. It makes you and Keira both feel amazing when the person she means is Flo. Really amazing.

With a sigh, you let them up, and enjoy the rest of the day in the shadow of your girlfriend.

Then, when Flo flies back to England and you’re left alone, you suddenly feel out of place and unwanted. It seems the one good thing about you — football — has been snuffed out with a small breath, and there is a crushing weight on your chest all the time. Maybe it has been there all along. Maybe Flo helps you not to notice.

With her gone, all you can do is notice. It consumes you to the point where you stop charging your phone and leaving your flat and attending your recovery sessions. It’s flagged up immediately by the club, who can fix the work-related problems, but you don’t tell anyone about the radio-silence Flo is on the other end of. The poor woman has to reach out to your friends to make sure you’re alive.

After a week, you send her a text; a brief hello. She responds quickly, and you reply hours later. She doesn’t text back for a day. And then you sway back and forth like branches in a storm, stable and unsteady. The weather changes, and you’re still together when the storm ends.

The arguments happen while you are in separate countries, and end within two weeks. The next time you see her, you’ve been on good terms, though some wounds are still fresh. Flo knows that you are going through a time where living is becoming increasingly harder to do, especially since your recovery period has been extended due to your blip in attendance.

Currently, you’re waiting for your plane to taxi onto the runway. It’s raining in Barcelona and you’re not supposed to have any time off, but as you stare out through the glass oval of a window, you swear you catch a glimpse of Flo in the reflection. It’s Sunday morning, and the sun hasn’t risen yet, and you’re hoping your heartbeat emits a signal for Flo. Something that sings ‘I’m coming back to you’. You will always find a way to bring yourself back to her.

tags: @pewpughpew @ridleypugh @jeyramarie @flosbelova @kassies-take @delfiore @yelenabelovasbxtch @xsophiesx @slut4milfs69 @sunshadesnrainbowz @wandasbb @karsonromanoff

[desos-records]

Chapter 13: They Help Keep You Sane

First | Prev / Next

Ghost possession doesn't happen often, but fatality rates are high. Even if an agent does survive, there are the aftereffects to worry about.

After surviving a possession, Lucy Carlyle struggles with recovery, delving ever deeper into the memories of Visitors and, in the process, stumbling into the world of blackmarket Sources.

Meanwhile, George Karim races to learn the truth behind ghost possession in order to protect Lucy and save future agents.

And Anthony Lockwood must face his own past with the London underworld if he wants to save his friends and himself.

-

In George's professional opinion, they were going to die in this house. Not that Lockwood would listen to him, paying little heed to his research or the simple facts of the matter—like the dozens of confirmed deaths and potential hauntings waiting for them inside Combe Carey. And those were just the ones they knew about. Clients asking for discretion, in his experience, had a nasty habit of practicing that discretion on unsuspecting agents.

A fact that particularly worried him since they now suspected John Fairfax was connected to the death of Annabel Ward.

"Even if he knew Annabel," Lockwood had said the night before, pacing the length of the kitchen. "And we don't know for sure that he did. What reason would he have to kill her?"

"The man who killed her was jealous," Lucy said. She stared down at George's research spread about the table, her tea growing cold. "Everyone thought she was involved with Hugo Blake, maybe that did it."

"That doesn't prove it was him."

George picked up the cufflink. "These initials say J.W.F. As in John William Fairfax. And think of the timing. We were investigating Annabel, very publically—"

Lockwood winced.

"And suddenly one of the richest men in London wants us to clear a mansion haunted six ways from Sunday? Come on, Lockwood. This is a death trap."

He stopped pacing and grabbed a ginger beer from the fridge instead. He stared at the floor as he cracked it open, took a swig, and sighed. Then he looked up, expression dark and determined, ready for a fight.

"What are we going to do about it then?" he said evenly. "This isn't enough evidence for DEPRAC to arrest him. And if we suddenly back out from this job, he'll be suspicious. He'll just come after us another way."

Lucy shrugged. "Then we take the job, gather more evidence, and then go to DEPRAC."

George tugged his glasses off and cleaned them roughly on the edge of his shirt. "You are both mad," he said.

And now, the next day, standing in front of Combe Carey Hall, cold wind nudging him forward, he knew he was mad too for going along with them.

He worried the most about Lucy. She was clearly still connected to Annabel, and as helpful as that connection had been for their investigation, who could say how far the ghost's influence reached. She seemed distant and nervous as they went inside, pausing in the doorway as no agent in their right mind ever would. She said nothing of it, but he couldn't shake the sense that something was wrong.

And a good agent trusted their senses.

"Doesn't look very red."

Every nerve ending vibrated under George's skin as they entered the Red Room, only worsening when he touched one of the walls. Sometimes he hated that his strength mainly lied in Touch, making it easy to identify Sources and the emotions trapped inside them, but little else. He often felt useless in comparison to Lucy and Lockwood's Talents—how he lacked all the gory details of death. Instead, George felt needles digging into his skin, chills at the back of his neck, and the overwhelming sense that something stood just behind him, out of sight. 

A lot of people had died gruesomely in this room, he didn't need to See or Hear anything to know that. Still, he couldn't help feeling annoyed that his Sense provided no more specifics beyond the horror threatening to choke him.

He was grateful, just then, for Lockwood's brash confidence and near-unfailing ability to pull them all together, away from fear. He kept them focused, grounded, the chief of their little triumvirate. They laid chains and took measurements and waited, steeling their nerves.

Then, any doubt that Fairfax had no ulterior motive died when the door slammed shut and locked behind them. Fear tried to turn him to rock, but George hadn't once worked at Fittes for nothing—he pushed through the sharp panic and malaise and set about searching for a way out, all the while keeping one eye on the temperature.

"Stop that tapping."

It soon became very clear how the Red Room got its name as thick waves of blood slid down the walls, dripping from the chandelier—its crystals now glowing red—pooling onto the floor and creeping towards them. He suddenly felt like he was drowning, blood filling his lungs. It could not truly be blood. It had to be plasm.

But Lucy was right, the cloying metallic smell of fresh blood nearly suffocated him.

Then suddenly, they broke through the wall into the older, built-over layer of the house and slammed the iron door shut behind them, heaving air in and out of their lungs as they tried to get their bearings.

"Believe me… about Fairfax… now?" George huffed.

Lockwood stood bent over, hands on his knees. "Yes, yes, you were right," he said, sounding far more put together than he looked, as covered in gypsum dust as he was. He looked up, flashed a grin. "Happy now?"

"No," George said. "Not until we get out of here and I've had a doughnut and at least three cups of tea."

"Lucy?"

She stood, leaning against the stone wall of the little tunnel they found themselves in, eyes glazed over.

"I can't… breathe," she said faintly. He half expected her ribs to crack for the force of her breathing.

"It's alright, Luce. We're going to find a way out of here," Lockwood said and reached to lay a hand on her shoulder.

She flinched away from him, staring wide and unfocused, hand going to her neck. Lockwood looked hurt and surprised, like she'd slapped him.

"Lucy," George managed, coughing a little. "Can you tell me where you are?"

Her head snapped around to find him. "I…" She faltered, then seemed to rally something inside herself. "Combe Carey… Combe Carey Hall."

"And who are you with? What are our names?"

"George…" She took an even breath, less frantic than before. "George Karim. Anthony Lockwood."

"Do you know who you are?"

Then her eyes cleared, light returning to her. She met his gaze steadily.

"I'm Lucy Carlyle."

"Too right." George took his glasses off and did what he could to clear the dust from the lenses.

A corner of her mouth lifted in the theory of a smile and she nodded to him, which he took as thanks, then she pushed off the wall and led the way through the spiderwebs, down the tunnel.

As they followed her, Lockwood bent his head towards George and quietly asked, "How'd you know to do that?"

"In the interviews with possession survivors, they all talked about how their teammates pulled them out of the Visitor's grip. For every case, they had strong bonds with their teams, agents who'd worked together for years, siblings, or partners. See, it wasn't chance or Talent that saved them from the dead." He leveled a firm look at Lockwood, glasses glinting in the dim light of their torches. "It was their connection to the living."

"And those questions…"

George shrugged. "She's a Listener, isn't she? She needs something real to listen to."

Lockwood didn't exactly scowl, but his face drew itself in close as he looked at something George couldn't see, something inside himself.

"Right. Of course. Something real," he muttered.

[askinkiskarma]

i love sending asks for ask games but SOME QUESTIONS ARE WAY TOO FUNNY IN THIS ONE AHAHAHA

i choose 9 and 15 and 35 ✨

9. my best first date?

i'm gonna say w my current bf, we didn't even really plan for it, but we went for lunch, and it kinda turned into a first date, and it was amazing, we went for pasta at this place he had been before and loved, and we laughed so hard, and we haven't stopped laughing since pretty much

15. favourite quote

you know, if i knew anyone would ask me that, i knew it would be you and it's the question i most wanted hahaahha that's why you're mi amor. i honestly love quotes, i live for quotes, whenever i find a new good quote it's like my life becomes a bit richer, and i have like 600 quotes saved on my phone, but i'll give you one of my favourite ones that i think about all the time.

"everything i've ever let go of has claw marks on it." - i think that's basically how i live my life. i've never let go of something without first clinging on to it for dear life and trying my absolute hardest to make it work. i'll actually also share a poem with you that i remembered about recently that i love so so much, that i relate to too much sometimes, that i think you'll love x (under the cut)

35. favourite holiday

i love american autumn holidays that we don't even celebrate over here but it gives me an excuse to celebrate something in autumn, which is my favourite season, so probably halloween and thanksgiving. me and my bf always make cakepops and cinnamon rolls and watch haunting of hill house or gilmore girls cuddled in a blanket, and it's just a good time :(( i love autumn sm

"5am

again,

drunk on someone else’s love,

or couch,

and I’ve never felt more at home. 

I fled myself,

from the life I’ve built

because I’ve been inhabiting routines I don’t want to stand for. Inhabiting skin I’d rather shed

but still took on

like a soldier serving his country,

for that’s what they told me to do.

But I was not

strong

or wise,

but young and foolish,

for what is this thing? Trading passions for a tiny bit of acceptance, and I am not a Sunday morning inside four walls

with clean blood

and organised drawers.

I am the hurricane setting fire to the forests

at night when no one else is alive,

or awake,

however you choose to see it,

and I live in my own flames.

Sometimes burning too bright and too wild

to make things last 

or handle

myself or anyone else

and so I run.

Run run run,

far and wide

until my bones ache and lungs split

and it feels good.

Hear that, people? It feels good,

because I am the slave and ruler of my own body

and I wish to do with it exactly as I please,

and living in this skin is hard and painful, most of the times, because I never volunteered to take this on. The daily sacrifice of heart over mind,

the forever on going task of explaining this and that,

and why I don’t want to look like this and

be like that

but still here I am and if this is the body I’ve been given I’m sure as hell gonna make it work.

If this is the place I’ve been given, I’m sure as hell gonna make this work.

So I fled the me that was never really me and I’m on my way. To newer lands and uncleaned streets

for I’ve had enough of childish safety in comfort.

Enough of all telling me to look and do, like this and that, and I never meant to please anyone but myself

and you can call me selfish,

throw words like knives in the dark but I will not listen,

for not listening to sharp words brought me to where I am today

and I believe in the path I’ve been given. If my only task in this life is to walk it,

I surely will walk it

prouder than anyone else.

If this is the path I’ve been given, I will walk it

prouder than anyone else,

for no one else can."

Charlotte Erikson

hope you enjoyed xoxo

[saranghae-hoe]

[SatoSugu Fanfic] 行かないで

Rating: SFW / PG

Pairing: Gojou x Geto (SatoSugu)

Note: 行かないで=ikanai de= don't go

AO3 Link

Despite the brisk chill in the air, he chose to sit outside of the café that used to be his favorite so many years ago. It was too late for the café to be open, but he sat in the once familiar chairs with their permanently chipped paint anyway, remembering how things used to be. A small smirk playing at the corner of his lips, he took a long drag from his cigarette, enjoying that slow burning feeling crawling down his throat and spreading into his lungs.

           “I thought you quit.” A long lost voice peppered with bitterness called across the plaza.

           Gojou turned to face the man he had once loved so passionately, so deeply, so…naively. It was a frightening romance where neither could get enough of the other. Seeing Geto's face in person again after so many years of only imagining it, thousands of memories flooded into his mind. Their happiness, their sadness, their anger; all of it washed over him in an instant. His lungs felt heavy as if he really were drowning.  “Sorry,” he mustered, squashing the mini flame against the table.

           Unimpressed, Geto sat in the chair opposite him. He looked at Gojou, held his gaze for a moment, and opened his mouth to say something. Nothing came out. Perhaps he was caught up in his own memories as well. Breaking eye contact, Geto moved his gaze to the remains of smoke trailing from the cigarette. Gojou watched him, watched him watching things. His heart pounded as if remembering what Geto being so close had done to him in the past. His fingers twitched, a reflex urging him to grab the hand that used to fit so perfectly with his. He remembered all the things he had loved–still loved–about Geto. His sharp, dark eyes and his even sharper wit; a partner in battle, in love. 

           “How long will you be in the area?” Geto asked suddenly, unable to take the silence any longer. There had been a time when the silence between them had been comfortable, enjoyable even. Just two souls sharing their space and their time. Any sense of ease between them had dissipated. They were strangers now. Worse than strangers, actually. They were just people they used to know.

           Gojou looked away from him, staring down the desolate alleyway ahead of him. Was this the only thing Geto wanted to ask him, after all their time apart? “Just until Sunday,” he answered, reaching for another cigarette without thinking, subconsciously missing the feeling of something between his fingers. He stopped himself.

           “One day?” Geto frowned. “You haven’t shown me your face in how many years…”

           “I have to get back. You’ve created a lot of trouble for us, after all,” Gojou said wryly, giving in and sliding a cigarette out of his pack. “Sorry,” he mumbled around the white stick, holding his lighter to his mouth.

           “Why did you ask to meet?” Geto said, finally asking the million dollar question.

           Gojou had been waiting for this question ever since he had called Geto earlier in the day. He still wasn’t sure what his answer was. A lull in the fighting had him wandering to old haunts, his mind filled with thoughts of his old lover as places they used to visit appeared before him. They spent the day together there, a night together here…every storefront seemed to drive another nail into his chest. Before he fully realized what he was doing, his phone was in his hand and he was entering a number he somehow still had memorized. He wondered briefly, as he listened to the dial tone, if the number would even work. After all, why would Geto leave himself so easily contacted? A tremble of excitement tore through when the line connected, a nostalgic voice greeting him brightly, unaware of who was waiting on the other side. 

           Noticing that Geto was still waiting for him to answer, Gojou shrugged, taking a deep, soothing drag. “Not sure,” he said. 

           Geto frowned, either from the smoke or Gojou’s answer. “Not sure?” he questioned. “Aren’t we a little past this game?”

           Gojou grinned around his cigarette. He didn’t think he’d get this far. He didn’t have any sort of plan. He had never needed one with Geto before. What did he actually want? To apologize or to get an apology in return, for all the things they had said to each other? To ask him to explain himself and his actions? It was unlikely that he’d get anything that he was truly looking for. “To see your face again,” he finally answered. It wasn’t a total lie.  

           He wasn’t sure what he expected Geto’s response to be. Gojou watched out of the corner of his eye as the man he had once shared everything with gave an incredulous sigh. Then, Geto reached out and grabbed the cigarette from his lips. He watched with interest as Geto brought the small flame to his own mouth and inhaled, his eyes closing with the sensation. “Shoko?” he asked, letting the smoke out of his lungs slowly, not giving the cigarette back.

           “She’s good,” Gojou said, reaching for another cigarette, but found his pack empty. “Busy, as you might have guessed.”

           Geto laughed dryly. “I’m sure she’s pissed.” Noticing Gojou's shortage, he handed the cigarette back. “You really should quit.”  

           “I won’t call you like this again,” Gojou blurted.

           Anger and pain and betrayal flashed wildly through Geto’s dark eyes. “Satoru,” he purred, his tone heavy with disappointment. Gojou tried to ignore the way hearing his name come from those lips made him feel. Calling him out had been a mistake. “I asked you to join me, and you turned me down,” 

            No, no, no…he didn’t want to hear this.

            “You said we could still see each other.” 

            Gojou didn’t want to hear how betrayed Geto felt when he was still nursing his own wounds. Geto asked him to follow. Gojou asked him to stay. Neither one had the power to go against their own convictions. It didn’t matter how much they loved each other. At that time, it wasn’t a lesson they were prepared to accept. The years had not made their separation any easier to comprehend. 

            “I waited for you to contact me so many times.” 

            Stupidity. Naivety. If he didn’t have such a vivid recollection of that day, he would hardly believe he had agreed to something like that. Had he really thought they could act like nothing had changed? Knowing how much death had stacked up on their side, how much pain Geto’s actions had caused, Gojou couldn’t maintain his sanity and face both sides at the same time. He wasn’t strong enough for that.

            “And then you call me after how many years, ask me to meet…just to say you only wanted to see my face.” Geto leaned back into his chair, raising his head to look at the murky skies above. “Well, have you had your fill yet?” He turned his neck so Gojou could see the small smile he was wearing. 

            This had truly been a mistake. If he spent any longer sitting beside him, what stupid thing would come out of his mouth next? He couldn’t let this momentary weakness continue. “I’ll go grab us some coffee,” Gojou said abruptly, flicking his cigarette to the ground. He stood and intended to start walking. Geto made a sound and it made his breath halt. 

            If he asked me not to go right now, what would I say? 

            If he asked me to stay, how should I answer him? 

            He wasn’t sure how many heartbeats he stood there for, but still Geto said nothing. That was his answer. Gojou finally started walking, heading in the direction of a convenience store, but didn’t have any intention of going inside. 

            Either the wind or his mind was playing tricks on him, but he swore the sound of a softly whispered 行かないで touched his ears. Foolish as it was, Gojou turned around. The only thing that remained in that spot was a trail of smoke from his still smoldering cigarette. 

            “Aren’t you the one who left first?”

[kpophubb]

Hi lovely ☀ I'm so happy to hear from you, this week I was literally checking your Tumblr five times per day with my tags. I miss you so much and this week I also needed you so much, but it's okay💛 I'm so sad that you are sick😿😿 I thought you recovered but you mentioned that you don't feel good and I'm just so sad about this(((

Honestly this week I have my period, and I have to take 💊 every single day because it's just so painful 😔so I think we could have some sick party together😹

I had an exam last week which I failed, but I was so confident but I failed and my manager was so stressful and is pressuring me so much😮‍💨🤕🥴

How were your weekends? Today is Sunday and I just don't feel anything ...tomorrow I have to start work again and it's not tomorrow even it's like in 6 hours(((

Today I talked to my grandma and the second time during this 10 months and she's not doing good and mental health is bad she's pretty messed up 😣😭I'm watching this one movie now and it just reminds me of some Horrors that have been through and how lucky I am to actually Escape. ironically the movie is called No Escape. The movie is so well done tho 😭😭💔😢🥺

I Never thought these things would ever happen to me.. or would ever happen in my reality 😔😔I am just so shocked that this happened and they're still consequences and I just don't want to be a part of this you know❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹💔 I wish all of this was just a nightmare and I wake up tomorrow and everything is like before

I actually wanted to send you a short message just wish you could have happy Monday and better week 😭😢🥺🥺🥺💛💛

Stay strong baby I am just so thankful that you exist thank you for all the love you give me💛

Thank you for hyunnies gifs and quotes 🤗💗 I miss you so badly

You probably have no idea and will never understand the way you helped me during this sickness period of my life😔❤️‍🩹💗 thank you so much for saving your hyunnie lixie. Please get well soon

🐁

Hi hi hi my love 🥺🤍 tumblr has been mean to me with my other asks since they crash when I make em too long (?) and can’t be edited later so here we go!😭 keeping it short but ilysm 💗 and value every little bit u say ~

First of all don’t worry about me, I’m doing better now altho I skipped my medication yesterday bc I thought I got better but apparently it made my sickness worse and took away my good night’s sleep 💔 but anyway I’m mentally active now..how are you feeling baby?:( is your period pain GONE?? I’m so sorry for being ia I’m here now promise ☀️💛🫂

The movie seems so strong..and really pain invoking and lesson learning is it on Netflix? If so, I’d love to watch while trying to understand you..

Aah it’s getting hectic for you I can say :( no sleep and so much work 😭 but I really hope smh u get a break soon and can rest as much as you need anonie. <3

I can understand about the whole nightmare part. Altho I have not been in such an intense situation like you (that’s why I give it to u always that you’re super strong bc you are my love) but I have had super dark times too and I can relate to that part where I’d be terrified and cry myself to sleep everyday and beg whatever deity was listening to make it better tomorrow and make it all vanish..but everyday I woke up and nothing changed and that made me feel devastated and made me feel like I was better off gone 💔

but I sincerely hope like me a time comes in your life where everyday would feel as good as a dream where you keep wishing you never wake up from the happiness..💖 the things of the past will never really leave u and even tho the shackles are gone someday and you’re free to walk forward, the scary marks will still be there to your feet. But look baby, slowly you’re healing even if it’s at a micro pace, getting a job, connecting w your family member (grandma) and slowly getting up even tho the suffocating feeling still haunts u, it’s slowly leading to a betterment. Like this, I’m sure you will walk towards light, love and happiness soon. Just faith it till u make it okay??

exams Are shitty..and it’s so disappointing to fail after giving your best it’s like realising your best never amounted to anything but hey love remember what I told u? “Human beings are filled w crazy potential even if you feel like u gave your best today you could still wake up tomorrow and try harder.” So keep your chin high, take a deep breath and try hard again. 💘 every success comes with ten failures, remember that.

and lastly I’ll always be here to save u and pull you up just like lixie does for hyunjin. It’s a promise, not a fancy statement. And I keep my words always. I love you sm and I couldn’t add the last quote bc that post isn’t working anymore but it was..

“The world doesn’t matter. YOU matter. 💛☀️..”♡♡

[kikkieabby]

The Saints: As We Rise from the Ashes, Part 2

“Honey…you okay?” Lenard ask his wife, but the Boss ignores his voice as she searches for the keys to their vehicle. After last night, Lenard was on high alert when it came to his wife, however, he did not realize that he should let go now rather than later.

“Leave me the absolute fuck alone.” She growled at him as she continues to search for the keys.

“Your not going to find the keys.” He spoke, causing her to stop in her tracks and look at him.

“Give them to me.” She growled, but the man stood up tall to her. Walking over he stared her down before saying:

“Listening, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. Nor do I know when you started taking kick-boxing class. But, stop! Don’t mess with the Morning Star.” Lenard begged, but the Boss did not budge.

“Muther-fucka, I will fuck with who ever I want to fuck with. You limp dick noodle! Now give me the keys, I gotta go find my gang.” The boss demanded, her words just caused more confusion to the man.

“Gang!?” He shouted. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Yea, that’s about to change.” She chuckle. “Oh, whats my name again?”

“Grace?” He spoke, causing the boss to nod her head.

“I am grace, roger that!” The boss growled at her name. Her actually name was Scarlet where she had  come from, but for her own sake she decided to take the name Grace for own well being, well until she figured out what was going on.

“What ever, see ya Lenard.” She tells the large gutted man before walking over towards the front door of her house. Only to be stopped when the door swung open to reveal two familiar Faces, faces she never thought she would EVER SEE!

“Mom? Dad?” She asked as her parents proceeded into her home. Her father was dressed in his Sunday best while her mother seemed to still be wearing her uniform from a restaurant. It was a haunting view for her, especially since her father was kind of a religious jerk.

“Grace.” He spoke, causing the dark skin woman to look over her shoulder for a second before looking back at him.

“Sup.” She spoke.

“Honey, what has gotten into you?” He spoke as he walks over to her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he pushes her towards her dinning table where she takes a seat. Her mother sits next to her while her husband sat across from her.

“Lenard told us what happened last night,” Her mother started. “My sweet, are you okay?”

“Uh…” Grace moaned as she looked to the side yet again to avoid eye contact, especially with her mother.

A little history about our Boss. She was born and raised in a very heavy church life, that only got worse when her mother had passed away. See, like this time line, her father was a priest in Grace original world. And he was an awful father, thank god she had her mother to mellow him out a bit. However, her mother would pass away due to cancer when Grace was 13, leaving her to become the woman of the house while also leading by the churches example. Long story short, it did not last for her, she eventually would run away and then found her way to the Saints. So by the view of the world, it would seem that this is the route she would have taken in life, if her mother was still around, as well as no zombie apocalypse.

“You seem lost.” Her father spoke. “Are you on drugs.”

“I wish.” Grace chuckled. “A bowl would be great right about now…with lemon shots, and dick on the side.”

“Oh my god!” Her mother shouted in shock, she had never heard that type of language come out of her daughter. Just the vulgar word of a males genitallia made her mother clench her pearls. Grace on the other hand did not care, for she didn’t know these people. Her mother had died years ago, and her father had made a new family and forgotten about her. So to her, these people were nothing.

“Grace!” Her father shouted, however Grace was done with this entire talk. Standing up, she heads straight for the door again, ignoring her father and husbands protest for her to stay. However, she didn’t care! Walking out of the house, she begins to walk down the street and think of a way to find her gang. Now in this new world, there was tons of opportunity for the Saints to rise again, the problem, she didn’t know where to start. Even when she was thrown into a situation like this after waking up from her coma, the Saints were still known and popular enough for people to want to join. But now, they were a distant memory, and she needed to fix that immediately. And she knew just how to do it too!

Running into the street to stop a man straight in his tracks, she hijacked his car! After throwing him out of it of course, and then drove straight to the local news station. If she was going to find her friends, this was the only way she was gonna do it. Marching straight into the studio, she smiles ear to ear to see that they were live and talking on the television. Running up to the camera, she looks at the lens, causing everyone around her to panic since they didn’t even notice her enter the room.

“Hey, yea! Hi! Listen, I am only humiliating myself once in the hopes that ONE OF YOU FINDS ME!” The boss started as she stares into the camera lens. “Listen, go to kinzie’s warehouse! And there were gonna regroup. And don’t fuck with me! Drop everything and go there right fucking now! Bye!”

The boss shouted before leaving the studio with a smile on her face. Heading down stairs, she gets into her car and drives to Kinzie’s warehouse, and to her surprise, the place was unoccupied! So she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But no one came.  

No one came to the warehouse, leaving Grace in a rut. It was starting to dawn on her that perhaps the saints might truly be gone forever. This was her new life now, and what she had before was gone. Her heart started to sink a bit, she had done things that no man has ever done before, and now she was a normal person. The sheer thought of it made her sick to her stomach, but it was feeling she felt that she would have to get use too..until…

“Scarlet?” A voice spoke, causing her to look to the side to see a tall, dark-haired male standing by the doorway. He wore a black suit with a neon blue tie, but she knew his voice immediately.

“Matt?” She spoke. In shock at the sight before him, it looked like Matt but older with no makeup. However, it did not matter, her surprise was enough to run over to him and plant kisses on his lips. He wraps his arms around her waist and begins to kiss her back while also enjoying her warmth.

“You look different.” He chuckles, this causes her to stick out her tongue at him. “I think its cute.”

“Yea, well don’t get use to it. I need to change my look soon.” She says. “So, you saw my message.”

“Yea, of your beating the crap of the two morning star guards.” He says, much to her dismay.

“Shit…” She muttered under her breathe. Walking around the empty warehouse, she begins to feel that sinking feeling of doubt as she looks around.

“I thought you be happy to see me?” Matt spoke, this makes her snap out of her bad mood for the moment.

“No, I am glad that you are here. Its just…the saints are gone.” She tells him. “My friends…”

“Our friends.” Matt corrected her, causing her to nod her head.

“Yea.” She said before looking back at him. “Wait a minute, what’s your name here?”

“Charlie Watson.” Matt chuckled at the ridiculous of his new name, but one he didn’t seem to mind. “Unlike the original me, I was sent to a different orphanage that catered to my hacking abilities. Ironically, I still ended up working with Philip, the Deckers don’t exist though. They're called the Idols in this world (yes, those guys from the reboot), and personally, they are the worst!”

“Why are you older?” She asked, causing him to shrug his shoulders.

“I don’t know honestly, but being 23 is nice.” He tells her with a chuckle. “And I got to say, you have a very nice body in this world.”

“Awww, the same could be said for you buddy.” She chuckles as her cheeks begin to turn a deep red. “My King.”

“My queen.” Matt chuckled before leaning down to give her another kiss, only for a piece of plastic to be thrown over his head. Bouncing off the skin to land right next to his feet. Looking behind him, the two gasp when they saw a familiar red haired woman entering the building.

“KINZIE!!” The boss shouted, running over to hug her. Only for the red-haired woman to raise her hand to her and growl.

“The amount of work I am about to do, does not even come close to the bullshit you put on TV!” Kinzie yelled at her. “We were coming to get you, why the fuck did you go on TV!?”

“We?” The boss questioned.

“Oh, yes, Kinzie works with me.” Matt explained. “In this timeline, she works for the Dwynter sisters as their head accountant.”

“So you both work with one another!?” The boss shouted. “How the fuck was I suppose to know?!”

“You weren’t, which is why I said we should find her immediately before she does something stupid, right Kinzieton?” Matt said, causing the redhead to let out a gag sound before saying:

“You wanted to fuck her Matt, you were not searching for her out of fear!” She growled. “Plus, incase you forgotten, there is a large wrestle that is always keeping an eye on us! Its not easy to move around.”

“Oh definitely not. I swear, Kilbane got bigger in this timeline.” Matt muttered. “ I think even Philip is scared of him.”

“Really?” The boss asked.

“It doesn’t matter now. Once’s he’s dead we’ll deal with Philip later.” Kinzie explained as she takes a seat on the edge of the loading dock. She then pulls out her laptop and begins to type away at her computer. Matt was about to say something, but the boss had cut him off when she pressed her lips to his once again. Only this time, her tongue slithered into his mouth. Causing him to moan a bit before they separated.

“Oh shit, I’m married in this timeline.” The boss spoke, causing Matt to stare at her in shock.

“Married!” He shouted.

“Right, I married a fucking bus driver?” She growled. “Ugh, and we live in a small house that’s dirty and shit and I am nurse! It sucks! Ugh, I need the saints!”

“That’s not all you seem to need.” Kinzie chuckled as she points to Grace’s fat thighs.

“Listen, when we get the gang together and start making money. All of this will be fixed in no time.” Grace says before looking over to Matt. “You however can stay just how you are.”

“Oh, you naughty Vixen, you!” Matt chuckled before laying a kiss on her lips. Causing Grace to moan but Kinzie to gag.

[sdipsomaniau]

The Waffle House on Haunted Hill

A sudden blip of light and yellow differentiated the Waffle House from the rest of the dark road. It was surrounded on all sides by farmland, save for the two lane road which hit the parking lot in a glancing blow. Beyond it were black acres of black corn and black mountains, silhouetting a black horizon. Three cars were parked in the otherwise empty parking lot, the black asphalt illuminated by half broken, yellowing lamps. 

“Who brings a kid out this late?” Diane wiped the counter. 

“They do. Every Sunday night.” The cook didn’t look up.

The family sat in the corner. They were quiet, vaguely solemn, though they seemed used to that. Their clothes were old.

“One in the morning though?” Diane said quietly, glancing at them.

The cook said nothing. His shoulders twitched, suggesting a shrug he didn’t have the energy for. He tossed a pile of hash browns on the stove, and listened to it scream.

Diane waited for any further word, and exhaled when none came. There was a spot on the counter she couldn’t wipe out, and she guessed it may stay there. She kept wiping at it.

Wrinkles etched themselves haphazardly across Diane's sunburnt face, only partially covered by frizzing hair that had started to grey only decades ago. Altogether, her appearance amounted to something strange, lively, dated.  

Quiet sat in the Waffle House, oppressive. She could feel it pressing in on her oppressively, her breathing hard. Her thoughts curled inward, drowning out her senses. It felt like something was swallowing her, stomach lining crushing, binding.

Only one more year, she thought. She could retire then, she could move on with her life. Only one more year.

Silence evaporated as Randy walked back in from the dumpsters.

“Eyyo Diane, you catch the Batman movie?”

Diane forgot what she was thinking about.

“Nope! Been meaning to though.”

Randy hopped over the counter, knocking over a bottle of syrup. It shattered.

“Ah, shit, my bad.”

Diane snickered to herself, and grabbed some paper towels.

"Try breaking a salt shaker next time, it'll leave less of a mess." She said, picking up the larger pieces of glass from the puddle of syrup. Meanwhile, Randy grabbed a mop. The cook ignored them both.

"Ey, wait, Diane," Randy leaned in close. She could smell weed on his breath. "You wanna know somethin' weird?" 

She gave him a vaguely concerned look.

"Uh, sure?"

Randy grinned excitedly.

"They don't have a car."

"What?"

Randy flicked his eyes in the direction of the family.

"I was tossing garbage and shit, doing Randy shit, and I notice, there's just our cars there. Those people have no car."

Diane looked at the family again. They hadn't spoken a word since they had ordered. A mother, a father, and a daughter: the father had ordered for them; she couldn't remember his voice. They looked like farmers.

"Maybe they're Amish? They’ll keep weird hours," she suggested, throwing broken glass in the trash.

Randy shook his head.

"Nah, nah. I didn't see horses or any shit."

"Amish folk take Ubers sometimes:, my neighbor Trish says she's driven a lot of Amish folk around."

Outside, a flickering lamp lit where the road met the parking lot. Randy stared at it.

"Have you seen any cars in the last hour?"

Diane thought for a moment. Absolutely no one had driven into the parking lot; not one car had even driven by. She turned to Randy.

"How do you think they got here?"

Randy plopped the mop down.

"I think those fuckers walked like a couple freakazoids. Some real local weirdos or something." He said, sliding the mop through the viscous brown puddle.

That'd make a little bit of sense, Diane thought.

"I guess they're from one of the nearby farms?" She asked.

Three plates of food were pushed across the worktop. Eggs sat blankly on plates. Diane looked at the cook, who shifted his head slightly.

“Go and ask them yourself,” he said, and turned back to the stove.

They were Diane’s table; some deep, animal part of her shook, and she didn’t know why. 

“I will,” Diane replied, and began the process of picking up the food.

One burning hot plate rested on her arm, while the other two only lightly singed her fingertips. She carried the order out from behind the bar area, walking slowly, carefully. There was something odd about them all, the family. The way they sat there, speechless, tired: almost crumpled looking. The daughter was only five or six, but she looked like she’d worked a full day. Her dress looked like something pulled from an attic, like paper in a book that had gone untouched for years: she looked old.

Three hashbrown bowls descended carefully to their table, scrutinized by uncaring eyes.

Diane summoned her voice, “Everything looks alright for you folks?

Yes, they said. It was the father’s mouth that moved. The incongruency of these facts shifted past Diane, who smiled politely. 

“So, you all local?

Yes, they said. There was the sound of forks, and less food. The family looked at Diane, mouths unmoving. 

“Ah, happen to be one of our neighbors?”

Yes, they responded. Diane decided they weren’t a very talkative sort.

“Well, if you need anything else, just let us know.” Someone said thank you, and Diane turned away, satisfied that there was nothing truly wrong about them. Randy, she decided, can get carried away with things.

As Diane began to walk back, the door to the Waffle House swung open. A gaggle of twenty-somethings, one clearly in the back end of a particularly vivid acid trip, several others thoroughly stoned, meandered in through the doorway, and turned in the general direction of Randy. They opened to a general chorus of Randy’s name, before returning to a din of chatter.

Randy turned to Diane, “Hey, they good to sit over there-”

He went still. Diane followed his gaze, and turned around. 

The plastic backing and faux red leather of the booth seating was exposed, unoccupied. The plates were empty, as if there had never been food there to begin with. The only thing left was a small stacked pile of bills, which Diane would find later to exactly cover the cost of the meal, tip presumably forgotten.

Randy was motionless. The mop slipped from his hands and banged against the ground, bouncing briefly before settling into a puddle of watered down syrup. Randy turned to his friends.

“Eyyo guys, you gotta sit at the ghost table!”

[zablife]

Funeral

Tommy x Shelby sister reader

Summary: After Tommy returns home from the war, he finds his youngest sister changed, the stress of the war years wearing on her. When he recognizes the symptoms of her loneliness and depression he tries to assure her everything will be alright.

Author’s Note: Feeling angsty listening to “Funeral” by Phoebe Bridgers. Takes place before S1. Shelby sister is younger than Ada and older than Finn.

Warnings: mentions of death, drinking, depression

You couldn’t sleep. The same torturous dream played over and over in your mind. You were screaming underwater, pushing all the air out of your lungs. It didn’t matter because no one could hear you. The rush of the current kept you pinned beneath the surface, desperately seeking escape. Your arms and legs flailed uselessly. When your head breached the surface you saw your friends standing on the shore. They were waving to you, oblivious to your distress. No one was coming to save you. As you plunged beneath the water once more, you felt weakness overtake your tired body. You couldn’t stay afloat any longer. Just as you resolved yourself to your fate, you would wake. Covered in sweat and gasping for air, too frightened to rest afterwards. You would sit with a cup of tea, never drinking it, just holding it for the warmth.

You didn’t need anyone to tell you the meaning of your nightmare. You didn’t believe in prayers or curses to alleviate them either. Although you attended church with Polly every Sunday, you couldn’t believe anymore. With every year the war dragged on, you felt yourself slipping away. You heard the soldiers horrific stories from the front and you were a witness to the awful sacrifices the women around you had to make. How could God exist during a time like that?

“What are you doing awake, eh? It’s 4am,” Tommy asked you stumbling into the kitchen. He looked as though he hadn’t been to bed yet. When he came into the light you could see the dark circles under his eyes. He was clearly worried about you, forever protective of his youngest sister. You knew he was afraid with the new coppers in town putting pressure on the whole family, but you always assured him you would be fine. You were much like Tommy in that way, burying your feelings until they came to haunt your dreams.

“I’m doin’ nothing,” you lied, looking down at your tea, too afraid to confide your fear in him. He had already been through so much. Your rooms shared a wall and you knew he had nightmares as well. You were keenly aware that was the reason he didn’t try to sleep anymore.

“What will you do today?” Tommy asked about your plans, wishing to scrutinize them like a mother hen to be sure you would be safe. You couldn’t help feeling nostalgic about that. He had tried so hard to care for you after your parents had gone, raising you like his own child despite being a child himself.

“I’m going to a funeral,” you said quietly, picking at the blanket you had draped over your legs.

“Yeah?” He asked and you wondered if he was even listening. Then he looked you in the eyes and you knew he was trying to take an interest. “Who was it who died?” He asked softly.

“He was a kid a year older than me. Survived the war and all. Then after he came back, he died of the flu. It doesn’t make sense,” you mused. “I was talking to his dad the other day and I felt so sad. I realized that all the boys my age are…gone.” You took a shaky breath remembering your friend and how broken his father looked when he told you the news.

“When I think too much about it, I can’t breathe,” you told him truthfully.

“Y/n…” Tommy started, but couldn’t finish a sentence, wondering what he could possibly say. There was death all around you. You’d seen far too much for someone your age and he couldn’t protect you from it.

“John said you blacked out the other night at the Garrison. He’s the one who brought you home, put ya to bed. You want to tell me what happened?” He asked with concern in his voice.

“It was stupid…” you said feeling foolish talking about this with your brother who had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Before you could think, the words came pouring out of you. “I just wanted to pretend for a little while…I was wishin’ I was someone else, you know? “

Tommy studied you, trying to understand. You looked away, feeling as though your emotions might consume you. “We used to be a family, Tommy, but now everything’s so different. Arthur’s always spoiling for a fight and John’s at the Garrison avoiding his kids. You and Polly are locked away in the office, won’t tell us shit.” You looked back at him, but he had dropped his head into his hands unable to meet your gaze.

“Feeling sorry for myself I suppose. Then I felt ashamed because I remembered someone’s kid is dead,” you tried to explain all the pain you held inside your chest. “Jesus Christ, Tommy, I’m so blue all the time,” you admitted, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill over to your cheeks. “And I have no right to say that to you after you’ve only just returned from France. I know.” You began weeping openly unable to hold it in any longer.

Tommy hushed you softly. “Come on, come on.” He opened his arms to you. Then he took you into his strong embrace, whispering to you. “Listen to me. It doesn’t matter what I’ve had to do. It doesn’t mean you didn’t go through something at home as well, eh? I know it wasn’t easy.” You nodded against his chest, feeling the wet warmth of your tears soaking through his shirt front.

“Have you really shut the door on it?” You asked knowing your brother was hiding his own pain.

Tommy hooked a finger under your chin to lift your eyes to his. “I don’t want you worrying about me, eh?” Tommy pleaded.

“Is this the way it will always be?” you cried. You wished he would let you in just once so you could comfort him too. As head of the family, he would never allow it though.

“No, I’m going to make something of meself and the whole family will benefit,” Tommy replied confidently. “And all this hurt will go away in time. It’ll be alright,” Tommy rocked you back and forth like he had done with you as a baby. “We’ll be alright…” he promised.

[daechwitatamic]

Chapter 5: Childish || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: What Was Hidden (Masterpost)

Rating: explicit, minors DNI pls

Genre: college!au, angst, eventual smut, strangers -> friends -> lovers -> idiots -> lovers

Pairings: Taehyung x female reader, MYG x OC

Summary:  This is how it all starts: Taehyung is flunking Western Lit. You’re assigned to tutor him. His paper on Strindberg’s The Ghost Sonata could pass or fail him for the semester. As you and Taehyung slowly become friends, then more, you learn that there’s a lot more to him than you originally assumed. Together, you navigate your own experiences with the play’s themes: one’s “true self” versus one’s “shown self”, darkness behind the facade, and how people can be quite literally haunted - and it has nothing to do with ghosts.

//

In which you and Taehyung address what happened at movie night.

Chapter Warnings: language, kissing, bad rap lyrics… listen i tried my best ok

Word Count: 3.8k

Note: This is a duplicate of Chapter 5. Apologies if you already interacted with the first version - it wasn't showing up in searched tags. The Ghost Post for Chapter 5 is here.

I saw the sun and thought I saw what was hidden The Ghost Sonata | Scene III August Strindberg

Chapter 5: Childish

Sunday, November 18th

In the morning, Kiko’s bed is empty, so you text her, “Good morning???”

Instead of answering you with words, she sends you a Soundcloud link titled, Sirens [DEMO]  - MYG ft K!k0.

[9:02 AM] Kiko✌️: sry for bailing on the movie but we finished this

You scramble for your earpods, eagerly starting the track. The beat starts, fast and angry, and then Yoongi’s rapping starts.

All these months at sea have got me seeing shit I close my eyes and take an even bigger hit Your siren call has got my fucking guard up These last six months I’ve been so fucking hard up Snared by your beauty as you pass by Your siren song is just another goddamn lie I have heard you singing, each to each You’ve always been just outside my reach Part of me wants to let you drag me down Til human voices wake us and we fucking drown I’m powerless to fight it, I refuse to try Your siren song is just another goddamn lie

The chorus starts, and you hear Kiko for the first time. Her voice comes in sweet and steady, definitely her, haunting as it traverses the minor key.

“Holy shit,” you say out loud, pulling out your earpods and scrambling up the ladder to Bridget’s top bunk. She whines in complaint as you scoot in next to her, poking her arm.

“Wake up, you have to hear this,” you tell her. “Look at our baby go!”

[9:10 AM] You: omg omg omg that’s so good i literally woke b up to listen to it too

[9:11 AM] You: she hates me but she loves the track

[9:12 AM] You: your VOICE iasnfoiajefjef 

[9:14 AM] Kiko✌️: thaaaanks 🥺🥺🥺

[9:16 AM] You: if he gets famous w that hes gonna get a cease and desist letter from Eliot’s people lmaooo

[9:19 AM] Kiko✌️: ????

[9:20 AM] You: ts eliot? the poem?

[9:22 AM] You: ‘i have heard them singing, each to each’

[9:23 AM] You: ‘til human voices wake us and we drown’

[9:24 AM] You: they’re from that longass ts eliot poem idr the name of it

[9:25 AM] You: hold on im looking it up

You send her the link to The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and click your screen off. 

“You think he wrote that about her?” Bridget muses, eyes still closed.

“No way,” you say. “You’d have to have some serious audacity to ask a girl to feature vocals on a track you wrote about trying to resist her charms…”

“Maybe he has a lot of audacity,” she murmurs. 

You kick your way under her blankets - your feet are freezing - and put your earpods back in, turning your screen back on to listen to it again.

Monday, November 19th

Monday brings sunshine, even if it is freezing cold. You’re leaving your final class, your laptop bag heavy on your shoulder, when a phone call comes in from Bianca.

“Hey, Y/N,” she says when you pick up. “I figured this would be easier than emailing back and forth five times. I’m trying to reschedule your session with Taehyung. Are you feeling better?”

“Oh,” you say, stomach dropping. Good, now that you and Taehyung aren’t speaking you can spend an extra hour alone with him! “Yeah, I’m all better. Thanks.”

“Great,” she says. “Can you do tomorrow morning? I know it’s kind of late notice,” she says apologetically.

“I’d have to be done by ten for class,” you tell her. 

Bianca schedules you for nine the next morning, and tells you she’ll email you both to confirm. 

You’re at dinner with Bridget that night when Taehyung texts you about it.

[7:55 PM] Taehyung: hi. Would you be okay with doing tutoring at the coffee shop tmrw instead of the library

[7:56 PM] Taehyung: i have class at 10 and its closer to the academic buildings

You wave your foot around in discomfort. You hate knowing you hurt his feelings. He’s obviously upset, or this would’ve been a facetime call. 

[7:59 PM] You: yep. See you at 9.

He doesn’t answer.

Tuesday, November 20th

When you reach the cafe in the morning, Taehyung’s already in a booth, books open on the table. You pause at the edge of the table, and he looks up at you, but doesn’t say anything.

“Morning,” you said uneasily. “I’m gonna get in line and order my coffee, and then we can start?”

“Sure,” he says, and goes right back to highlighting the Strindberg text. 

You frown, crossing your arms. “Is this how it’s going to be for the whole hour? Are you even going to speak to me?”

“If I need help with the work,” he allows, eyes still on the text.

“Taehyung,” you say, frustrated, “don’t be childish -.”

“I’m being childish?” he echoes, eyebrows raising indignantly. “You started the cold shoulder shit just because I dared hang out with a friend when we -.”

When we… aren’t anything in the first place. You know that’s the end of the sentence. You know that’s the truth. There was nothing between you two but potential, but that had spoiled now. You don’t wait for the end of the sentence. You turn on your heel to leave.

“Wait,” he says quickly, and reaches for your hand, holding your fingers tightly. “I’m sorry. Don’t leave.”

You stand there, his fingers still clutching yours, frozen. His hand is warm on yours, his eyes intense, and you feel like he could just tug you right down there next to him with very little effort. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “Let’s just… I’ll work on the paper. Let’s just… work.”

You don’t really have a choice. You’re contracted for an hour. Pursing your lips, you set your bag on the empty bench. 

“I’m going to order my coffee,” you tell him quietly, and he nods, finally dropping your hand. When you return, you settle in and get your laptop running. 

“Okay,” you say, eager to put the arguing behind you and get to work. “What step of the paper are you on? Isn’t it due this week?”

“Yeah, by Friday at midnight,” he tells you. “I’m just done taking my notes for the disillusionment theme and then I can start typing it up.”

“How can I help today?” you ask.

He frowns, sliding the Strindberg text between you. “I was looking at his last little bit here,” he says, pointing with his capped highlighter. “I saw the sun and thought I saw what was hidden - I was going to write about the word thought - like, he thought he knew what was there, he thought he was seeing something hidden that was beautiful and good. Like, he saw the darkness behind the facade, but then the sun shone on this spot and he thought that behind the darkness there was still something good… but he was wrong.”

“Tae,” you say, quietly. 

He gives you a warning look. “Don’t,” he says. “Focus on the paper. Am I onto something worth putting in the paper?”

“Yeah,” you say, begrudgingly. “It’s good.”

He nods and writes something down in the notebook he has open next to the text. When he’s done, he opens his laptop and gets typing away. You drop your eyes, focus on your coffee. 

He types for about fifteen minutes and you don’t talk as he works. When you hear the sound of clicking keys stop, you glance up to see if he needs to be reminded to focus, as he asked.

But instead of looking distracted - out the window, or at his phone - he’s looking at you. He’s pouting, lips protruding, and it’s so fucking cute that it makes you feel angry.

“What?” you snap, but you’re fighting a smile. 

“I can’t stand that you’re mad at me,” he admits. “I should have told you I had a girl at the house, that it was a friend. I’m sorry. I know that we aren’t… y’know… but if I’d run into you with a guy like that I think I’d…” He trails off, half-formed thoughts tripping him up. “It would have felt bad. And I did not mean to make you feel bad.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine,” you tell him. “You can do whatever you want. You owe me nothing. I shouldn’t have gotten upset. I was trying to be chill about it and just… failing miserably.”

“You don’t send someone homemade soup and then show up with another girl,” he says, shaking his head. “I screwed up.”

“You didn’t,” you tell him gently. “It’s fine. I’d like it if we just… moved on.”

–

By the time your hour is up, Taehyung has finished typing most of the paper. You make him promise to finish it and send it to you to look over before your normal Wednesday morning session tomorrow.

You gather up your things and wait as Taehyung does the same. Once you’re both ready, you turn and walk towards the door; you both have class right after, and you’re in a bit of a hurry to make it on time. 

The line of students trying to grab a coffee before the ten o’clock classes start is quite long, reaching almost to the door. And at the end of it stands Davis.

You drop your eyes quickly, as if seeing him would make him more likely to see you. You scrunch down into your sweater, hiking your bag higher on your shoulder, and pick up your pace. 

Taehyung is suddenly beside you instead of behind you, his arm around your shoulders, pulling you tightly up against him as you walk side by side. He’s warm and solid against you, and you feel the tight fist that had been wrapping itself around your lungs release a little bit. It just feels instantly… safer. You keep your eyes down, but you feel Taehyung turn to look at Davis as you pass by. He reaches forward to open the door, and you step through together.

“Thanks,” you mutter, still watching the very fascinating pavement. 

“You have to stop running from him,” he tells you seriously. “He’s garbage, and you’re…”

You’re what?

He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t let him get to you like that,” he amends. 

You scuff your sneaker along the path. “Which way are you going?” you ask him. 

“Pastorino Building,” he tells you, pointing.

“Me too.”

When he holds out his hand for you, you take it. 

--

[11:44 AM] Taehyung: you finally took me off of read, huh?

[11:52 AM] You: ???

[11:54 AM] Taehyung: insta

[11:56 AM] You: lol oh

[11:57 AM] You: yeah u earned it i guess

[12:00 PM] Taehyung: “i guess” o ok then 🙄

--

[12:11 PM] Nina💕: y is ur new man messing with Davis????

[12:14 PM] You: 100% honesty, i have nooooo idea what ur talking abt

[12:16 PM] Nina💕: walking around campus giving him dirty looks nd shit, real mature

[12:19 PM] You: omfg. i need everyone to grow the fuck up pls. 

[12:20 PM] You: knowing davis and knowing taehyung, i’d guess they saw each other ONCE and if tae didn’t smile then davis went and cried like a fucking baby 

It’s almost twelve hours later, after you’re in bed working on getting sleepy, that you realize that Nina had said “your new man” and you’d done nothing to refute this.

Fuck.

Wednesday, November 21st

You’re - stupidly - excited for your tutoring hour on Wednesday morning. You don’t know what is starting with you and Taehyung, but something is. But when you arrive at eleven on the dot, he’s not there. He’s still not there five minutes later, and you shoot him a quick text - “we on for tutoring?” 

Two minutes later, he comes up behind you, practically panting, a paper travel mug in each hand.

“Sorry,” he says, “I was already running a minute or two late because the line was so long, and then I got here and I couldn’t open the door -.”

You crack up, reaching to take the cups from his hands and place them on the table. 

“Did you bring me coffee?” you ask accusingly, a smile creeping across your face.

“I’m still trying to make up for Saturday,” he says with a laugh, pulling out a chair on the other side of the table.

“You have already, and then some,” you tell him seriously.

“I hope I ordered it how you like it,” he says sheepishly.

“I’m not picky,” you assure him. “So, what are we working on today?”

“All business, huh? Even when I bring you coffee?” he teases, eyes crinkling. 

“I’m all business when I’m on the clock,” you agree. “Talk to me in fifty-three minutes and I can be more fun.”

“You’re fun anyway,” he says, eyeing you sideways as he takes out his laptop. “Anyway, I finished the paper last night. Can I send it to you now? Then I can start my Chekhov reading while you look it over?”

“That sounds perfect,” you tell him. “Chekhov, huh? Three Sisters?”

"Cherry Orchard," he corrects you.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” you tell him. “I’m excited to see what you think. I do like Three Sisters better, though, if I had to choose.”

“I don’t get to choose,” he says lightly. “I just sent you the paper, did you get it?”

“I’m surprised you even know how to use the school email,” you murmur without thinking, eyes on your screen, and you’re surprised when he laughs, one hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“Sorry,” you laugh. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“Oh, but it’s fine if you think it?” he challenges, raising one eyebrow. Something stirs in your stomach. 

“Shut up and do your reading,” you say, laughing, doing your best to ignore the flutter of attraction. 

When your hour is up, you walk together towards the cafeteria as you have on other Wednesday mornings. But instead of splitting up, Taehyung raises that eyebrow at you again, as if issuing a dare. 

“Want to sit together?” he asks.

You grin. “Yeah,” you say. “But you might have to deal with my roommates when they figure out I ditched them.”

Thursday, November 22nd

Thursday is cold, but the sun shines brightly, so you decide to walk at your trail between your morning class and your afternoon class. It’s too cold to sit on your bench for long, but at least the walk will give you some exercise, and some good thinking time. Your mind is disgustingly full of Taehyung - the easy back and forth you have, how shockingly different he is from your expectations, the fucking cute way he pouts as he eats, the sexy way he rolls his tshirt sleeves, the way his smile will start so tentatively and then blast full-wattage out of nowhere.  You walk quickly, the cold hitting you sharply, like a slap in the face, and you need it. It knocks some sense into you. You’re a fucking mess, and you feel a little out of control with it. 

You head back to your room to take a quick shower before your 2:30 class, opting to skip lunch. You haven’t eaten since breakfast, and you know you won’t be able to eat until tutoring ends at 7. You wonder if you’d be able to talk Taehyung into doing tutoring from the cafeteria.

You somehow manage to make it on time for Becky at 5:00, barely, but you’re starving by the time Taehyung plops down in the seat across from you.

You tell him hello absently, already digging in your bag for your wallet, ready to ask him if he’d mind doing tutoring somewhere with food.

“Oh, goddamn,” you murmur, shifting your laptop out of the way and scraping around the bottom of your bag.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung asks, peering at you.

“I can’t find my wallet,” you tell him, starting to take things out of the bag one by one. Then suddenly you freeze, your wide eyes meeting his across the table. “Oh shit,” you utter. “I think I dropped it at the trail.”

“The trail?” he echoes.

“The walking trails over at the nature preserve,” you clarify, still horrified. “I went walking there before class and I had my wallet with me then, and now that I’m thinking about it, I didn’t have it when I packed my bag for class.”

Taehyung looks at you, calculating. Then he nods and says, “Okay, so let’s go get it.”

“What?” you say, sure you misheard him. “Now? It’s dark. And freezing.”

He shrugs. “We’ll bundle up. It’ll be fun, like a little adventure.”

“Trespassing on closed trails in the dark - in snow temperatures - does not sound like an adventure,” you tell him. 

“Come on,” he goads. “What else are you going to do? You’re in classes until it’s dark tomorrow, you won’t be able to go look.”

You frown at him. “How do you know my class schedule?”

“I pay attention,” he says, waving a hand at you, like this is insignificant. “So? We’ll use our phones and follow where you walked. It could still be there.” 

You stop to consider it. You could just consider it a loss - freeze your credit card, replace your drivers license. Or you could wait and see if anyone turned it into the police or campus security. Surely, this isn’t so pressing that you need to go now.

But.

But, going for a nighttime walk with Taehyung - even if it is fucking cold out - does sound kind of exciting. 

“What about tutoring?” you ask, resolve crumbling.

“We’ll talk about Ibsen the whole time,” he says, already starting to pack up his bag. “Come on, there’s a parking lot at the trailhead, I’ll drive us over.”

There are no other cars in the lot when you park - probably because the whole nature preserve closes at sundown, which was about three hours ago. Taehyung turns off the car and you both get out, turning the flashlights on your phones on. You guide him to the trail you took, and walk in silence for a few minutes, beams crisscrossing the trail as you go.

“I turned my paper in yesterday,” he tells you. You’re shivering a little, searching the edge of the path. “Two days early. Do I get extra points for being early?”

“No,” you tell him flatly. “But yours will be one of the first she grades. I’m excited to see her feedback.”

“She’ll probably think I cheated,” Taehyung laughs. 

“No,” you disagree. “It definitely still sounded like you wrote it. Your voice came through.”

He looks at you across the path, only a silhouette from your phones illuminating patches on the ground. In the dark, you can’t make out his face at all, can’t read his eyes or his expression. 

“You did a good job,” you reassure him again. “It was well written.”

“Thanks,” he says finally. 

You walk in silence a little longer. You can’t see anything except the small circle on the ground from your phone, and it’s eerie. You’re glad Taehyung is with you, but you’re half tempted to step closer to him, to walk in his wake instead of on your own. You shiver again, your face aching from the cold, your fingers going numb. 

This was probably a dumb idea. 

You reach your bench and you hurry over, sure that if your wallet fell out of your pocket it would have been while you were seated. Sure enough, you find it under the bench, in a small tuft of dead grass. It occurs to you that Taehyung is here in your most sacred thinking spot, but you’d never brought Davis here even though you’d been dating for almost two whole school years as students here.

“Got it!” you cheer, turning to find Taehyung by the location of his phone’s light.

He comes up next to you, putting his hands on your upper arms. You’re still shivering slightly.

“You cold?” he murmurs, and you’ve never heard that tone of voice on him before. It’s low, almost guttural, and your body responds to it immediately, the blood rushing away from your head. 

“Mhm,” you say, not trusting yourself to try and form words. 

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in, and you lean in, soaking in his warmth. This is fine - this is nice - but then he moves a hand to gently tip your chin up and leans in to kiss you. His lips are soft against yours, but his kiss isn’t. As soon as he can feel you kissing him back, he reaches both arms around you again, tugging you tight against him as your lips crash together. 

You manage to sneak a hand out of his tight embrace and curl your fingers through the wavy hair at the nape of his neck; you tug just a little and his mouth opens for yours, a tiny groan escaping him as if against his will as his tongue touches yours for the first time.

Everything about the kiss is slow but purposeful, intense in its lack of frantic energy. He kisses you like he’s got his whole life to keep it up, like there’s no reason to rush when he can take it this slow and feel everything, notice everything, love everything that you do.

You bring one freezing hand up to touch his jaw, your thumb rubbing a gentle line along the bone, and he shivers under your touch. He moves to tangle one hand in your hair, and suddenly it’s an entirely different kiss, all the energy and aggression that he seemed to be holding back earlier now bursting forth.

You appreciate the variety.

You release his hand and clutch the front of his zippered winter coat, pulling him closer, though it doesn’t seem possible. You want him closer. You want him to kiss you for a hundred more hours. 

He nips your bottom lip and you whimper without meaning to; he groans again in response to this, moving to kiss a line down your jaw and down to your neck. The air is instantly freezing in the wake of his hot mouth, and you shudder in his hands. 

When he finally pulls away, leaning back to look at your flushed face, he asks, “How about now?”

You laugh, once, and whack him in the chest. “A little better,” you admit. 

He presses his forehead to yours and inhales deeply. “I would like to do that again without the puffy winter coats on,” he tells you.

You laugh again, stepping back a little bit. “Okay,” you tell him. “I think that can be arranged.” 

Next

Thank you so much for being here! I appreciate every single like, reblog, dm, ask, or reply!

As always, a million thanks to @kookstempo for being an expert turkey-wrangler and also for beta-ing!

[appleflavoredkitkats]

Dream SMP Characters as Lyrics from Dave Malloy Musicals

(note: only got lyrics from tgc, ghost quartet, octet, preludes, and moby dick. not all characters are here, though i think i got majority! also, some characters have two quotes because i couldn’t pick lol)

Eret:

All of my life I spent searching the words Of poets and saints and prophets and kings And now at the end all I know that I’ve learned Is that all that I know is I don’t know a thing

- Dust and Ashes, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812

Fundy:

They say you can see your future In the long row of candles Stretching back and back and back Into the depths of the mirror In the dim confused last square You’ll see a coffin or a man Everyone sees a man

- Sunday Morning, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812

I don’t know if this is me at all Or just some ghost of me That I dreamed up Just to sing myself to sleep Or someone that I used to be Or someone that I will be Or someone that I am right now

- I Don’t Know, Ghost Quartet

Niki:

And I’m haunted by that memory Of who I used to be So gleeful So blank So ready I was empty then And I’m empty now But it’s not the same at all

- Tango Dancer, Ghost Quartet

Phil:

What if you just missed something? What if you let something go? Just for the night Would that be alright? Oh, I swear it’ll be the same They are all motes of dust We are all motes of dust

- Glow, Octet

(20+ more under the cut!)

Karl:

I’ve got a thousand one stories Every single one of them’s a lie Let me read you a story Let me read you a romance I will read, you will listen And this terrible night will pass

- I Don’t Know, Ghost Quartet

Staring at the mirror ‘Til everything's fuzz My memory is a trap I’m not what once was Infinity is mine It whirls and it swoops And I am but a child I am on a loop I am on a loop I am on a loop I am on a loop I am on a loop (x10)

- Loop, Preludes

Sapnap:

A pencil scratch on an empty page You lift the latch and open a window pane And all I hear is the sound Of your life singing in my ears And all of the peace that I had for so many years Now that’s all gone, all gone All of my life is entwined with my love Every whisper, snore, and heartbeat Every rhapsody of What’s yours is mine

- Not Alone, Preludes

Purpled:

But I will transcend And vomit this loser out of me I will become the next big thing I will light myself on fire It’s time to get out of bed And be the Starchild I can be

- Starchild, Ghost Quartet

Ghostbur:

And you You were there too You drove that train Right through my heart But I guess it’s time To put that to bed I guess it’s time To let the dead be dead

- Hero, Ghost Quartet

Schlatt:

Drink with me, my love For there’s fire in the sky And there’s ice on the ground Either way, my soul will die

- The Duel, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812

Puffy:

I am not a hero I am not a movie star I am not a genius, I know I am not a monk I’m not special I’m the same as anybody else

- Hero, Ghost Quartet

Foolish:

I suspect deep down I don't care if I die How else could I Be wasting so much time On this sweet fluorescent smiling brainrot? Stupid and dry eye poison?

- Candy, Octet

Techno:

First they poisoned the water Then they poisoned the sky And now it’s our minds And you gotta stay vigilant Everyone thinks they’re so top tier No one sees the fragmentation in themselves

- Actually, Octet

My soul is grooved to run on iron nails I will rush through hearts of mountains Over gorges, under raging riverbeds Now, see if you can swerve me

- Sunset, Moby Dick

Quackity:

For years you study the monster Practicing your irony and outrage On a scraping violin 10,000 hours of shrieking malnutrition Your practice makes you master of the monster Your brain is chemically changed Your mind goes dark and strange And you fall apart Like a naked mannequin Clattering to the floor

- Monster, Octet

This crown I wear made of iron not gold, is so heavy Its jagged edge, it beats against my brain But the men I lead, their souls are sold, they’re ready Too burn and bleed and hunt until you’re slain

- Sunset, Moby Dick

Hannah:

The forest was beautiful My head was clean and clear Alone without fear The forest was safe I danced like a beautiful fool One time some time The twilight moon Smiling and winking Mist across my cheeks Murmuring magic Whispering soft Soothing green

- Hymn: The Forest, Octet

Tubbo:

I have a lot of memories And I have a lot of sadness But the two don’t line up The two don’t line up

- Tango Dancer, Ghost Quartet

Dream:

And I feel the moonlight whispering through my hair And let my thoughts uncoil and go somewhere else Where I can just not care

- Loop, Preludes

But now The woods are dark and cold Clogged with nettles and roots There is a monster And I am a monster

- Hymn: The Forest, Octet

Punz:

You and I We were always a mess Drinking our bourbon Screaming in the streets When I saw you coming Ice and rage in your eyes I put on my armor and my shield And raised up my sword

-  Hero, Ghost Quartet

Ranboo:

Now I don’t know But I’ve been told And that’s true of everything I think I know Everything I think That I don’t know But I’ve been told Yes I’ve been told

- I Don’t Know, Ghost Quartet

I dissociate all the time Like I’m not completely here right now I feel very far away from myself right now And I don’t trust myself anymore And I don’t love— Fuck it

- Actually, Octet

Sam:

And here Anatole With the stubborn attachment small-minded people have For conclusions they’ve worked out for themselves Repeated his argument to me for the hundredth time

- Preparations, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812

Ponk:

Pierre sniffed as he looked at her, but he didn’t speak ‘Til then he had reproached her, and tried to despise her But now he felt such pity for her That there was no room in his soul for reproach

- Pierre & Natasha, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812

Michael:

Isolation, anxiety Inability to assimilate with society And the fear that the monster will find me Infect me and blind me Butcher my heart and distort my soul It’s starting to get to me It’s starting to get to me

- Hymn: The Forest, Octet

I am not a fucking luddite Or a cracked illuminati Or a stubborn crazy codger I am sane And I am telling you, the monster is real

- Monster, Octet

The Egg:

Come hither, broken hearted Here is another life Here are wonders supernatural Here is the face of God without dying

- Loomings, Moby Dick

Skeppy:

There’s a forest burning somewhere And the moon is red as blood But then I look in your eye and the fairies come And I’m squishing my toes in the mud I’m dancing on the stones of the oracle I’m kissing in the waterfall I’m under your spell, in a wishing well I’m lost and I don’t care at all

- Four Friends, Ghost Quartet

Bad:

I am a joyful person An optimistic person But sometimes I get scared You’ve been drowning so long in your ocean What if my boundless joy has a limit after all? And I’m not the rock you need to save you? You are in a hole And so I jump into the hole But I can’t get you out You are in a hole And so I jump into the hole But I can’t get you out

- Natalya, Preludes

Jack:

Well, what if I’m not big enough? To take in so much pain It beats on my brain I am going insane

- Glow, Octet

Someone in this room is trying to feel something Someone in this room is trying to have a beautiful moment Why won���t you let them? Why the fuck are you talking to me? You have no right To inflict your mind on mine

- The First Symphony, Preludes

Tommy:

I will stand in the dark for you I will hold you back by force I will stand here right outside your door I won’t see you disgraced I will protect your name and your heart Because I miss my friend

- Sonya Alone, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812

I was okay once I can be okay again I’ve not gone crazy just yet I know what helps And I know what hurts

- Hymn: The Forest, Octet

Wilbur:

I watch myself reborn as an icon For awfulness and hate

- Refresh, Octet

Beneath us lurk the many monsters of the sea The horrors in the murk wait for me And I thought I could just dip my toes in Didn’t think I would lose my soul in this silver asylum But I let myself disappear I let myself disappear No one grew into anything new We just became the worst of what we were

- The Pacific, Moby Dick

Kristin:

Beyond right and wrong There is a field I will meet you there We will lie down in the grass Let the morning hours pass ‘Til the words you and I fall away And there’s nothing left to say

- The Field, Octet

[gisachi]

Hi ^^ I know that your requests are now closed but I was thinking that, given you have written jealous Shinichi, I would very much enjoy some jealous Ran! Maybe you can mix it with one of the prompts? Just throwing the idea out there, no pressure. Delete this if you don't feel like it, it's okay really. Thank you for writing these amazing fics, the shinran fandom is in your debt. ❤️

So this is the last (!!!) and longest (!!!) of the kiss prompts, and I dedicate it to multiple-requests Anon and to this Anon. I hope both of you still see this. It took me a while. ^^;;

P.S. Special thanks to @artycreaty for keeping this in check. You are awesome. 🥰

41. Kisses shared under an umbrella. 46. A lingering kiss before a long trip apart. (6,489 words)

.

.

.

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She has hundreds of reasons not to. They’re merely childhood best friends. Life would be much easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven. Shinichi absolutely doesn’t look at her that way. And so forth.

She wonders why they’re even friends in the first place. If their parents hadn’t enrolled them in the same kindergarten, she was certain they wouldn’t even be on speaking terms. He lives in a world of grisly books and crimes, she in a world of martial and visual arts. Their hobbies don’t overlap. They excel in different fields. They enter the same university with completely unrelated majors. The only bond they have in common is their shared history. Literally bonded since they were four, until now at nineteen.

So when she sees him all jolly around his newfound circle who hold the same interest in Holmes or detective work, it shouldn’t surprise her as much. It’s part of university life, it’s normal, they expand their horizons, and Ran understands that it hits much differently when they bond with people who like the same stuff they do. Something she’s aware they cannot share a hundred percent.

She’s proud of him, and she absolutely has no right to feel jealous, especially when she sees him around taller, prettier, more interesting women from his course block. There is no reason for her to look away with a heavy weight in her chest everytime the women get giggly and touchy while he’s absorbed in narrating his stories.

Everytime she does, she reminds herself of how he didn’t seem to mind when she was casted as the protagonist of their high school play and the leading man was the handsome Araide-sensei. Or how he simply shrugged when she fawned over the brother of a classmate because he looked so much like the karate senpai she was crushing on. Or when she secretly caught Sonoko dragging the detective behind gym after P.E. to confront him about his opinion regarding an upperclassman courting Ran and his only response was, ‘She can like whoever she likes, Sonoko. I’m not her boyfriend.’

He never showed her any sign of jealousy, therefore he must not be into her. Simple as that. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him differently. Getting snarky just because he received sixteen new fan mails again, more now that they’re in uni, and two even coming from the popular criminology seniors he is often teased to? Or ignoring him unprecedentedly just because his eyes followed the back of a woman with long chestnut hair and voluptuous curves? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s bound to be attracted to someone else. This is a pill she ought to learn to swallow eventually.

Eventually.

“Shinichi-kun, you never told us about your scariest case yet, tell us about it?”

Kaori closes her notes and so do the other two girls across her, and Shinichi’s eyes twinkle. He truly seems to enjoy study sessions with the little group they made consisting of some of his and Ran’s coursemates because they love listening to his stories.

“At the top of my head is this murderer disguised as a bandaged man, and he targeted us one by one…” and so the detective drones. Ran pauses typing and reminisces quietly. Ah, that one from summer three years ago. I was almost injured by that crazy man during my sleep but Shinichi woke me up in time.

“Ran-san,” Shun, her friend and coursemate, mutters beside her, also stopping his typing to listen to the detective’s story. “It’s ridiculous how popular Kudou-kun is with the girls. He’s full of wild adventures.”

“Yes, he is,” Ran says, smiling. “He’s been a girl magnet ever since high school.”

She watches as Kaori inches closer to Shinichi, listening attentively, chin on her palm and flirtatious smile on her lips as the detective rants on and on.

For the third time that afternoon, Ran looks away.

.

.

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She does, everyday, but it’s hard when he smiles at her, cares for her, holds her in a way she’s never seen him do for anyone else. It gives her hope every time the girls cling to him but he never touches them back, whereas he automatically slings his arm over her shoulder because she’s afraid or cold or he simply feels like it.

Then again, maybe she’s giving herself too much credit. Perhaps it’s a free pass for being around him for too long. She even gets to spend time with him during weekends and holidays. It isn’t special because it’s normal.

And that’s all she’ll ever be, a normal girl in his eyes.

“Ran? She’s pretty special.”

Ran reacts to the mention of her name and catches Shinichi looking at her. “She appears quiet but she can kick anyone’s ass without breaking a sweat. It’s bad if you cross her,” Shinichi gloats with a grin.

“Oh my god, really? We can bring her with us then!” Kaori claps her hands in excitement.

“Ah... But she won’t like that,” he follows up, wary. Ran has missed the topic they were talking about and now she’s curious.

“But ghosts aren’t real and Mouri-san can give them a good beating!”

“Gh-Ghosts?” The color in her cheeks drains, eyes freezing at Shinichi who has probably already expected that reaction, for he sports that same look of concern as those times he had expressed whenever she joined him in his way-past-bedtime elementary school adventures.

“We’ll investigate an abandoned house I always pass by walking home,” Kaori explains. “Last night I saw a faint cigarette light at the second floor window. It might be a fugitive or a homeless person or a ghost, who knows?”

“You don’t need to come if you don’t want to, Ran,” Shinichi assures.

Gulping, Ran contemplates whether going with them will do her any good. It’s a nice change, it’s been a while since she last tagged with Shinichi in his cases. But she isn’t exactly proud of shrieking like a little kid in front of serious criminology majors who may feel like she’ll drag their covert investigation down if she joins.

“...I’ll pass,” she answers meekly, and his coursemates sulk except Shinichi, who offers her a smile of understanding.

“Man, I thought we’ll be able to see Mouri-san in action!”

“That’s ok, maybe next time. We still have Shinichi-kun!”

“Shinichi-kun will protect us, ne?”

“Hah. Right. Invite Hakuba too, use him.”

“Oh c’mooon, Shinichi-kun!”

Ran closes her eyes, struggling to zone their voices out.

In her silence, Ran ponders if she has made a wrong choice.

.

.

Ran has no right to be jealous. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him this way.

The following weekend, Shinichi narrates what happened in their late-night investigation. Hakuba wasn’t there so Shinichi was the only available guy as usual. Ran refuses to hear any more details, both of the haunted house and secretly of the girls chancing onto him during the investigation. Shinichi is puzzled.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Nah, just swamped with work.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to assist?”

“No.”

Her replies are curt from the couch of his house, not looking at Shinichi on the other end as she mindlessly cleans up her digital sketches. She hates how snappy she sounds but her brain is too absorbed with conjuring spiteful imaginations to even think of masking her annoyance.

“Ran, hey. Look at me.”

His low voice freezes her from drawing, and she slowly looks up to meet Shinichi’s serious eyes.

When this happens, she knows he’s reading her. She inwardly chants a prayer because now isn’t a good time. Whatever time isn’t a good time. She doesn’t know what to say when she’s aware everything she’s been feeling is irrational and unfair. She’s being selfish.

“You’re… stressed.”

“No, I’m… Eh?”

He scoots closer, an arm’s length away. “Your dark circles are more prominent now, you need a break.” His eyes turn a soft blue. “Let’s have dinner out? My treat.”

Ran is surprised, to say the least. The last time he invited her out was two weeks ago. She’s become so used to seeing him around others that any initiative from him sounds too good to be true.

“But I need to finish this project by tonight.”

“Let’s have food delivery then!” Shinichi announces, not rattled by Ran’s indirect refusal. “I know exactly what you want. Ramen and shaved ice.”

Her eyes thin at the absurdly goofy expression she knows he makes when he’s being mischievous. “Clearly you’re ordering that ramen for yourself. I only like shaved ice.”

“Damn! Miss Detective gets it.” A mile-wide grin stretches across his face, earning an eye roll from the half-smiling woman. “Let’s eat together on your short break, please?”

He leans within a respectful distance and she sees his smile better, pair of kind eyes locking with her overworked ones. “It’s been a while.”

Her heart throbs for him. So much.

She caves - of course she does - and breathes her acquiescence.

After two long weeks, they have dinner together, just them and Shinichi’s ramen and Ran’s donburi and shaved ice, Shinichi taking a spoonful of dessert from the cup when she isn’t looking and Ran snatching a slurp from his take-out bowl and laughing when he catches her.

With how heartfelt his laughter is in her presence devoid of any mysteries, Ran knows she’s probably giving herself too much credit, but for once she wants to believe she is the cause of why Shinichi’s happy.

Just for that night, she gives it to herself.

She’ll change the dark colors of her digital artwork to brighter ones after they eat.

.

.

Despite everything, Ran finds it difficult to contain her recurring jealousy.

The more she shares precious time with him, the more it gets harder to suppress the selfish emotions. What is so unsatisfying about being the best friend is that she is only the best friend. No more no less. At the end of the day, she isn’t the one he gets to cuddle with, to tease then kiss, to tell ‘I love you’ to, romantically.

“I love you.”

Ran feels her heart about to leap out of her chest.

“But please. Stop. Tearing. The. Cushions!”

The little furball he has scooped underneath a throw pillow wiggle from his grasp. The kitten and detective engage in a brief staring showdown before it jumps away to hide under a farther couch.

Snapping out of reverie, Ran watches her childhood friend slink dejectedly onto the partly scratched furniture. He’s fortunate enough that his mother isn’t around to give him a long lecture on Why Pets Aren’t Allowed in the House 101. She can always take Yukiko-san’s role and reprimand him for it, but as for this and the cat, she finds herself not wanting to intervene.

“Kaori-san sure is taking her time with her parent’s permission. By the time she does, Momo would’ve shredded all the pillows in this house.”

“You named the cat?” Ran asks, amused.

“She did.” He thinks for a moment, then sniggers. “Actually I did. I suggested a random name. She took it.”

Ran merely hums. What can she say? They’re getting close. Close enough to team up as parents to an adopted kitten.

“I’m surprised you also agreed to keep Momo when you never took in animals before.”

“Kaori said she’ll treat me to the latest Detective Samonji movie this weekend if I do. Can’t resist that.”

“Just you two?”

“Yeah.”

A beat. Then he turns to her.

“Wanna join? I can ask her to count you in since you’re kinda helpi—”

“N-no need,” Ran quips, “It’s—It’s fine.”

“No really,” Shinichi insists, “Kaori-san has a lot of money, she—”

“I’m going to Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum with Shun-san this weekend... so... I can’t.”

“Ah.”

Silence.

“It’s, um, for a project,” she bolsters.

“I know.” The faintest smile graces his lips. “It’s your thing. Both of you.”

“Mm.”

He doesn’t say anything else after that.

“Shinichi, you’re a detective, right?” she blurts out of the blue.

“Yeah...and?”

Then deduce what I feel. Here and now.

“Then you’re going to enjoy that movie!” Ran forces a beam, giving Shinichi a thumb of approval. “And you can discuss it with Kaori-san over dinner. I’m sure you two have a lot to say about it.”

Shinichi’s eyes linger on her, reading her like a book, and Ran has her mind reeling again, afraid to be read.

“Yeah, we do,” he finally says, ending the conversation.

Only a few words are uttered the rest of the afternoon.

Momo resurfaces and curls beside Shinichi.

Momo’s purring is loud, but Ran’s shattering heart is louder.

.

.

Ran must not feel jealous. She is not a girlfriend.

Because she isn’t a girlfriend, he’s free to fall for and date anyone else. Who is she to gatekeep him? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s one big catch. Ran believes she’s a big catch, too. With the way she loves dearly, her future boyfriend is going to be very lucky.

Her future boyfriend is not going to be him.

“...mber the required fieldwork in one of my majors I told you? We actually go by batches. The first batch did theirs last month. The second batch was last week… and I— Ran, are you listening?”

“Ah! Yes,” Ran notices they have already reached her station and are now walking two blocks to her apartment. “Your fieldwork, right?”

“...Yeah,” he carries on. “I’m in the last batch... This whole winter break.”

“I see, I understand.” She smiles, getting what he means. No Christmas or New Year’s Eve together. The first time since they’re four. It’s fine, honestly. If it’s a required activity, then there’s really no way to go about it. She isn’t going to lash out just because she can’t be with him in her most favorite time of the year.

“And Hattori-kun and Hakuba-kun will be with you?”

“Hattori did his last month. Hakuba is in the previous batch. I’ll be stuck with the girls.”

Ran’s heart momentarily squeezes. “Where will your fieldwork be?”

“In Akita.”

Her pupils constrict. “That far?”

“Yes... so to cut on expenses, Kaori-san offered her house for me and the others to stay while we’re there—”

Kaori. Again with the tall, beautiful, intelligent Kaori. She bets it’s amazing to spend the holidays doing what he loves and with Kaori beside her, snuggling with him by the fireplace in a romantic snowy night and she might even confess, and it’ll be a great catch for Shinichi, and he’ll return with a girlfriend, and—

“Kaori-san is lucky.” The words flow out of her mouth, unbridled.

Shinichi looks at her. “Lucky?”

Ran remains quiet and keeps walking. It’s dangerous to say anything. She only has one thing in her mind and she doesn’t want to say it out loud. She has no right.

“Ran, hey.”

She doesn’t stop walking.

“Ran.”

She ignores his call.

“Ran… you’re jealous.”

She stops walking.

“Excuse me?”

“...You’re jealous…” Shinichi repeats quietly.

A contrast to his calm tone, his irises beset hers in the cold twilight and Ran attempts to shield herself but her bag and umbrella are in the way. She thinks of turning away but her feet are frigid like icicles, and Shinichi steps closer.

For the third time, he declares, “You’re jealous.”

Hearing her thoughts echo through his words renders her speechless.

It seems to take a moment before Shinichi’s brow arches, lips curl up as his eyes refuse to stray, and she hears a faint exhale even, like he’s exasperated, and suddenly he’s smiling - or is he smirking? sneering? - and...and...

It stings, is her immediate reaction.

For the longest time, she’d wanted him to take a hint. But if she had known this was how he’d react, she’d rather live a life having him oblivious of her emotional struggle. Dealing with that is more tolerable than witnessing him gaze her down in blatant mockery. He sneers as though he’s about to crack a joke and move on and forget such a laughable matter. That’s the last form of acknowledgment she wants for her honest feelings.

Heartbreak and shame and pain build up in her chest like a volcano closing eruption. Water begins to cloud her vision. She clenches her fist tight on her umbrella and Shinichi notices, and he takes another step forward.

“Ran…?”

“I am not, and you’re a fool.”

In a span of a breath, she’s sprinting in the opposite direction, tracing the path where they have walked, ignoring the distant yells of her name behind her. She runs and runs, and as she runs farther, with her thoughts muddy and breath short and dry, she wonders if she may have overreacted.

If he’s done that on purpose, screw him. If not, screw her.

After all, they are merely friends and she has no logical reason to act this way.

“Stop... running... will you!”

She hears heavy footsteps close in. It takes all the energy Ran has to prevent herself from turning her body around but his strong grip overpowers her.

“Let me go!”

“Why are you running?!”

“I can’t...deal with you!”

“Why? Was I right?”

“Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter!”

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because I am your best friend!”

On another occasion, she would’ve successfully jilted away and run farther, but Ran is floored when he yanks her into a one-armed hug, so floored she drops her umbrella to the snowy ground.

“Stop saying that!” he hisses in her ear, frustration apparent.

“What are you— Let me go!”

He hugs her tighter.

“If you don’t let go in three seconds, I will screa—”

“I am happy!”

Ran stops struggling, eyes widening in shock.

Icy huffs tickle her neck as he half shouts, “I’m happy you feel that way!”

“You’re...You’re happy because I’m suffering?”

“What? No! I—”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? How?” The hurt in her tone is impeccable, prattling muffled against his chest as she spares him no moment to butt in. “You think I wanted to feel this? That I enjoy griping in helpless jealousy? And you’re rejoicing that I am? How full of yourself can you be?!”

“That’s not...You don’t underst—”

“I do understand! I understand that I am so incredibly stupid for catching this disgusting heap of emotions for an obnoxious, stuck-up deduction maniac that is my best friend and maybe it’s better after all that he never, ever sees me the way I see him!”

“Stop saying that, Ran!”

She thinks he has broken away, but he drags her back with an insistent tug, crashing his lips onto hers as she stumbles into his arms.

All willpower rippling through her disintegrates quickly like snow in high heat.

An impatient pop resonates as he separates, eyes slowly opening, breath thick and ragged.

“I know that is not how we explain things, but does that explain anything?”

She hears it. The madness. But more than madness, yearning bleeds through his voice so much that her frustration turns into physical pain. Blinded by an all-consuming ache, she tips her chin and presses her lips back against his, demanding for cure in the wrong place. Shinichi freezes, then relaxes. He moves his hand to her nape, four fingers in her hair, thumb treading her jaw.

They look like a scene in a movie.

Under his umbrella and hidden from view, they communicate through brushing lips and tilting heads. His mouth closing over hers with gentle force, her hands splaying across his chest, heavy with something that makes his heart pound under them.

She is so lost in the chase and his tender embrace that for a second she forgets she is kissing her best friend.

Best friend.

This doesn’t explain anything. It worsens it.

She pulls back, ending what she has so recklessly started. “N-no, I’m— No.”

She pushes him away, gathers the stuff she drops, and runs without looking back.

“Ran!”

He shouts her name. Twice.

On the third call, his footfalls die down. On the fourth, he stops running.

She doesn’t.

.

.

Thirty minutes before midnight, Ran stands outside his gate, boots buried half foot under the snow as she rings his intercom for the second time, thinking to herself how foolish she must be to cut communications with him for a week and then show up his doorstep looking miserable like a stood-up date.

It’s the start of winter break.

He’ll leave for Akita in ten hours.

She needs to give his Christmas present before his departure.

She’s crazy, pathetic, still frustrated, and hurtfully in love.

“Oi. You better have a good explanation for why you’re buzzing at goddamn midnig—”

“Shinichi.”

His surprised gasp is apparent even through the intercom. A rustle follows and with a croaky voice, he responds. “...Ran.”

Surely he isn’t expecting this. Not after the tantrum she threw days ago. He probably thinks she hates him more than ever. But what she truly feels is more overwhelming than all negative emotions combined, and may god grant her all the strength to address it all, tonight.

“May I come in?”

“The house is—The house is a mess I, um. I’m packing my stuff for...”

“I’ll help you.”

“...”

She’ll understand if he decides to turn her down. But the answer that follows the deafening pause is a low and quiet ‘Okay’.

Despite psyching herself hours before she came, courage wanes when he opens the front door and gate in his pullovers. She is welcomed in, and the trip up his room is wordless. Shinichi only talks when he points out that he’s already packed clothes for two days and will need help for two weeks’ worth. He lamely laughs when he instructs her to pick the tops and layers, and he’ll take care of the pants and underwear.

On a normal instance, she would’ve humored him and they would’ve been talking right after. Now she simply pulls an empty smile and then they fall back into silence.

She supposes he’s trying to act unbothered, to treat what happened a week ago as a one-and-done glitch in their friendship, never to be discussed again. She cannot fault him when she’s trying to do the same. But it’s not easy when in the stillness of the night the echo of their altercation howls, raging persistently in their ears.

What has he been thinking of for the past week?

Has he been kept up all night by the words she said and the words he left unspoken?

Are they still friends? Will they still be friends after this?

The kiss... What about the kiss?

So many questions. So little words. So little time.

Ran is seated on the floor, folding shirts and stuffing them neatly in his duffel bag. Her back faces Shinichi who is sorting out bottoms in his cabinet. She senses him sit on the floor, back against her but not touching. Neither dares to speak first.

A ringing phone cuts the silence.

“Mm, still awake. Good for two weeks right? Gotcha. No, I’ll meet you girls at the station, no need to fetch me. Pfft. I can walk. Ok, see you tomorrow.”

If Ran wasn’t so hyperaware of where she is and what she’s done, her mood would’ve shifted to the one she’d been trying to avoid. Now isn’t the time to think about that. Midnight sneaking out to go to his house is something she wouldn’t do even on good days. She scans her bag on the far couch, deliberately bringing a bigger one to hide his gift. Maybe she can just sneak it in his bag and leave once she’s done and he’ll discover it only when he’s prefectures away. Brown has always suited him, and he’ll definitely find the overcoat useful as spare protective gear.

That’s right. She always cares for him like this. She is his best friend first, and... and nothing second.

“Don’t just leave after putting your present in my bag. At this hour, I can’t let you walk home alone,” he says swiftly.

Ran’s eyes fly wide.

“How did you…”

He doesn’t say anything and continues with his business.

Again with the throat-drying silence.

Something in Ran’s gut compels her to speak, but she is surprised when he does first.

“I... I don’t like Kaori-san. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

Ran stiffens, pausing mid-motion from folding. “I’m not…”

He leans his back completely against her and she shudders, voice reverberating through her skin. “Ran, if you could just hear me out.”

Unable to talk and move, she does.

“Kaori-san and the rest... They know I love mysteries. They know I want to build my own private detective agency. They know my favorite Holmes’ story is The Sign of Four. They know how many crimes I solved in Tokyo. All the information about me which anyone can read from the internet and newspaper and from what I told them when they ask, they know. Ran, you know all that. All that and more.”

He angles his head to the ceiling as if he’s talking to someone there. Ran supports his weight, curling to her knees as she silently listens.

“You know of my first ever deduction because Christ, my first deduction was about you. You know of the two cases which haunt me until this day because I watched the culprit die in front of my very eyes. You were with me the nights I locked myself in here thinking about them. You know of the interesting, the boring, the absurd cases, everything, because I told you or you were there. You know of the odd way I play the violin while I ponder over a case. You know I forget to eat when swamped with new books to read. I have three copies of The Sign of Four but the one I keep beside my bed and read almost weekly is the one you gave me on my tenth birthday and that is all I need. You know me for me, Ran. Everything about me that is off the record, the good and the bad, you know all of those. Only you. The same way I do... about you.”

She feels him crane slightly to the side, addressing her.

“Ran.”

“Mm.”

“I love you.”

Ran’s heart almost completely stops beating.

“I love you,” he whispers, “more than I am even supposed to.”

All words seem to have fizzled out of her vocabulary as she sits still, stunned at what she’s hearing.

“I’m happy growing up with you, studying with you, bickering with you, acting stupid with you, investigating with you, eating with you, napping with you, hugging you, holding you, taking care of you, simply... being with you. Before I know it, it’s not the cases or Holmes or mysteries that complete my days, it’s you.

“For you to keep repeating that ‘best friend’ phrase, I…” He lowers his head.

“For who knows how long, I’ve loved you as that and more.”

Someone pinch her because in no way can this be real.

“I was happy thinking you’re jealous because it meant a sliver of chance you feel the same way. We could’ve remedied the misunderstanding easily, Ran. We could’ve talked it over like we always do. But I was stupid and emotions were high and in the end I… kissed you…” he takes another deep breath, “But—but you kissed me back, and my heart couldn’t stay still...”

Pulse drumming loud, Ran tilts her head on the side where he leans, wanting to see the slightest expression he makes as he continues.

“If my deductions are wrong and you’re mad for a different reason, and—and you returned that for a different reason...” she hears the pang of remorse in his tone, “then please forget I ever said anything and I’ll leave myself to die in humiliation once I’m out of your sight.”

He lays one palm flat on the floor and she notices.

“But if my deductions are right and you were indeed jealous, I...” She feels his head swivel enough to feel his warm breath fan across her cheek, before shifting back front and releasing a slow, guttural exhale he’s kept contained within.

“I’ll wait... until you accept it. Accept me.”

Ran may have choked on her throat for how long she’s held her breath.

In spite of herself, she knows she doesn’t need to think of what to say. She had it all in her head before coming here. Yet expressing it out loud is a different matter.

She isn’t ready, but when will she ever be ready? Shinichi undoubtedly isn’t too. Yet here he is, laying the groundwork for her, no holds barred and a stuttering mess at that. How she plans to build from it is the question she asks herself next.

Inhaling as though bracing herself, she places a hand beside him, pinky slightly grazing his.

“I didn’t... You never showed any signs.”

Careful and calm, he extends his little finger over hers. She doesn’t flinch, and both hands crawl closer until two fingers overlap.

“Either I’m a great pretender or you’re incredibly dense.”

“I’m...I’m not dense.”

“I’m a bad actor, then.” He slides his hand further.

“I was trying so hard to be a supportive best friend for you.”

“I sensed that but ignored it because I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“You did though. Now we’re here.”

“Would you rather we aren’t?”

“I would rather we spend the last weeks of this year talking like normal than being stupid idiots before you leave.”

“It’s just two weeks, Ran.”

“Two special weeks I would’ve wanted to spend with my best frien-... with you.”

Without knowing it, his hand has completely nestled atop hers, four fingers curled between her thumb and index finger.

“Ran... You must really hate the idea of falling in love with me.”

“Eh?”

“You’re so wrapped with the thought that we’re simply best friends that you hold your love in chains as though it isn’t permitted to grow.”

“I… I didn’t want to ruin the only connection we have-”

“Two friends falling in love are still friends… They are also more. You cannot ruin an indefeasible connection. Friendship and love may be the only bond we have, but they’re the most important bond of all.”

Ran falls quiet.

“Geez…”

He releases a thick sigh, brushes his thumb across her splayed fingers.

“I have shit art appreciation skills, but I can take you to museums too... as a friend and as a date.” A beat, and a mumble. “Even to better museums than Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum.”

She darts her head sideways, realizing something.

“Were you also…?”

“No.”

Ran doesn’t suppress the heartfelt giggle that bubbles out.

“Shun-san has a boyfriend, Shinichi.”

“I—” he pauses. “I wasn’t asking.” Ran giggles more.

“Shinichi.”

“Yes.”

“I love you too.”

The hand above squishes hers all too suddenly like he’s been blown away and is needing something to hold onto.

“I came here to give your present and to apologize for being so shallow and for acting without thinking and for a lot of things actually... but now I feel there’s no need, because then I wouldn’t have...” She looks down at their intertwined hands.

Before she can return his squeeze, he recoils.

“Oh, y-you do apologize. Running away like that.” He coughs, and she can practically hear the tripping in his tone.

“Aren’t you already used to it? I’ve done it many times,” she chides.

“No. Apologize,” he insists. “And look at me while you do.”

Ran’s stomach twists, heart kicking up a step.

It’s easy to talk without eye contact, but to be requested so after confessions are exchanged—

“Face me, Ran.”

The familiar voice of yearning strums her heartstrings, tone sounding a lot like a plea than an order and Ran finds her head instinctively craning at an angle, hand coiling on the floor trying to calm her nervous beating heart. She feels him shift behind as well.

She takes all her time to face him, partly unsure what to do, partly knowing exactly what she wants to do. Despite the deliberate slowness of their movements, it is when they lock eyes that time truly seems to stop.

Shinichi appears so different, so soulful. His blue irises glimmering, fixated on nothing but her as she reveres him with matching intensity. The same guy she treats as her best friend looks at her with tender love in his eyes, darting down her lips and up like no best friend ever would.

“I love you,” he says, breathless. “Make me your boyfriend.”

A wave of emotion sweeps over her, heartbeat fluttering in overdrive as they huddle on the floor, bags and clothes and time forgotten.

“From best friend to... such a shift-”

“Nothing will be different.” He rests his forehead on hers, gaze of soft blue patient though more intimate now, knowing what they share is mutual. “We’ll still do what we do... With exclusive romantic commitment and sweet nothings that translate to ‘I love you’ in more ways than one.”

She attempts a jab on his chest but he catches her fist, soft but jesting beam all too apparent and she does but play along.

“What about when we fight?” she asks.

“Same. But...” he slides a thumb over her quiet lips, parting them slightly, “I can do this once we make up.”

“...Like right now?”

“Like right now.”

A genuine smile is the last thing she sees before delicate pair of lips lands on hers, capping their one-week fight and their last night of the year together in the best and most unexpected way imaginable.

.

.

Ran keeps telling herself she shouldn’t be jealous.

Not because they are simply best friends, because they aren’t. Not because life would be easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven, because it wouldn’t.

Not because Shinichi doesn’t look at her that way, because he does.

She shouldn’t be jealous because she absolutely has no reason to, is all.

“I haven’t forgotten about your present. I was planning to buy yours in Akita.”

“Stop lying, you totally forgot it.”

“I didn’t. Stop that.” Half-mast eyes rake her side profile, and Ran covers a mirthful grin with her mitted hand holding the umbrella, then yawns. Hours of packing and talking and laughing left them with roughly four hours of sleep. It isn’t like she slept the whole period because while sleeping in his room isn’t new, cuddling while they sleep is. Ran couldn’t simply shut her eyes and heart to that.

“I believe though,” he wraps a hand around her free one, pocketing both of them in his brand new overcoat, “I gave half of my present already.”

“Hnn. That doesn’t count as a gift.” Her hand shifted, coddling his own to a warm fit.

“Really?” A smug smirk pulls up his face. “I believe I am a nice present, Ran. That’s why they—”

“Screw this. You are unbelievable. A humbug. Why do people like you.”

“I know. Why do you like me?” Shinichi laughs as he avoids the swing of her umbrella.

From afar, they see Kaori and the girls at the meet-up point outside Tokyo Station, though they seem unaware of their presence yet. Suddenly feeling conscious, Ran feels the urge to disentangle her hand, but Shinichi holds on, firm.

“Why?” He asks in a low voice.

“I dunno… maybe this isn’t the best time…”

“Isn’t now the best time?” His smile is proud and natural, not one ounce of reluctance visible.

Although she gets what he means, that doesn’t free her of shyness and guilt. Somehow she feels like apologizing to Kaori for… she doesn’t know. She just wants to. Letting her see them like this makes her think that she’s giving her an indirect slap on the face. Shinichi certainly won’t agree because ‘What’s with women and their logic?’, but still, whether or not it’s all in her head, Ran needs more time to prepare for this.

But to her surprise, Shinichi lets go of her hand. They are still a few feet from view when he steps in front of her and turns around. “Maah, fine, I get it,” he huffs, then smiles. “Then, just give me your umbrella.”

The moment she does, Shinichi closes their distance and dips his face onto hers. Ran is given no leeway to gasp as loving lips seal her quiet. It isn’t as long as what they shared a week ago, but the emotions are loaded and full, speaking fond thanks and temporary farewell.

She doesn’t realize she has closed her eyes until he separates, and she’s met with the most tender, most angelic expression he wears only on the rarest occasions. He’s saying without telling that her feelings are valid, she doesn’t have to worry,  and he doesn’t have eyes for anyone but her. Somehow, the snow is the sea and fish are swarming around but neither cares because they have already caught each other.

“You don’t have to, silly.” Three layers of pink blanket Ran’s puffy cheeks.

“But I want to.” Grinning, Shinichi hands her back the umbrella. “You don’t like hand-holding. You don’t like being seen. Don’t you think that’s a great compromise?”

“Idiot, many people saw...”

“No, they didn’t!” Upping the duffel bag slung on his shoulder, he steps back and gives her one last goofy beam. “I’ll see you next year, Ran. I’ll call as often as I can.”

Wordlessly, Ran watches Shinichi’s back as he jogs to his waiting companions, who by then have already had their eyes pinned on the approaching figure.

“That is Shinichi-kun! ...And Mouri-san!”

“Ehhh!!?! You’re a thing!”

So much for being subtle, Ran flushes inwardly as she returns the wave the other girls are giving her. At that moment she really does feel immature for her past conduct. All of them are sweet. Even Kaori.

“I knew it Shinichi-kun! Mouri-san is sooo lucky, I’m so jealous!” Ran hears their banter and sees her jab his bicep before acknowledging her. “We’ll take care of him, Mouri-san!”

The Ran from one week ago would’ve had her heart crushed by such declaration, but now she’s nothing but pleased and the smile that forms across her lips is nothing but honest. “Make sure he doesn’t drag your group into a random dead body, Kaori-san!”

“Hey!” surfaces Shinichi’s shout amidst the mincing laughter of the group and the onlooking passers-by, and Ran bids her last wave before they enter the station.

Smiling to herself, Ran returns home, the lingering promise of his kiss committed to memory, knowing that she doesn’t have to get jealous because she has no reason to. Their indefeasible bond is all the assurance she needs.

.

.

.

[spxllcxstxr]

Bumps and Bruises • M.M

(GIF is not mine)

Request: Hi! Sorry, May I ask for a Marlene McKinnon x fem!/gn! reader fic, Soulmate AU where they feel each other's pain. — anon

Summary: Two Quidditch rivals finding out they’re something...more (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: Mentions of food/eating, injury description, brief mention of blood

Word Count: ~2k

A.N: NonGryffindor!Reader, this is my first time doing a Soulmate AU so I hope this is ok! It’s hard to find a balance between Soulmate AU and normal AU, but I’m sure I’ll get better with it in practice! The ending is kinda iffy imo, but it’s not terrible. Hope you enjoy!

****

The first thing you feel when you wake up on Friday morning is a flare up of painful throbbing blossoming across the outer part of your right thigh.

You groan, prying your eyes open and pull back your blanket.

The pale light filtering through your curtains is enough to see the grotesque purpling of swollen skin. You poke and prod at your thigh, occasionally hissing out in agony.

The bruise is both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

Its circular shape is something you see all the time. As a Beater on your Quidditch team, Bludger bruises were commonplace. The issue is, and this is where the mark becomes unfamiliar to you, when you went to sleep last night, there was no evidence of any such mark.

This was peculiar because you never had a history of sleep Quidditch, and you’re sure that if you got up in the middle of the night in a trance, at least one of your dorm mates would’ve told you.

And this certainly wasn’t some accidental hitting your bed frame sort of injury. This was ten inches in diameter, black and blue like a ball of pure iron slammed into you. As a self proclaimed Quidditch expert, you’re fully aware of what caused this.

But this conclusion brings up more questions than answers. Sure, you had practice after classes yesterday, but you would remember being hit full force—and you don’t.

But you have no time to sit and ponder over this mystery, you have to make it down for breakfast and then endure hours of classes. If only you could skip ahead to tomorrow’s match against Gryffindor.

You limp your way through the dorm, unable to put the usual amount of weight on your right leg. The room is empty, save for Bedelia, who, as usual, is still snoring underneath her blanket. On your way out, you make sure to wake her up by slamming the door shut as hard as you can.

Hobbling down to the Great Hall with a bag of heavy books slung over your shoulder is no easy feat even when it’s something that constantly happens.

The Great Hall is buzzing, though most of the noise is coming from the Gryffindor table.

The ceiling reflects the morning, bright blue and not a cloud in sight.

By the looks of it, the Gryffindor Quidditch team just got back from their morning practice, still panting and sweaty. For the entire week leading up to a match, James Potter, their captain, makes them practice and go through relentless drills in preparation. When they’re not on the pitch, he’s quizzing them on maneuvers. You’re lucky that your captain and fellow Beater, Morgana Sharpe, gives you the day before a match off, mostly to rest and review. If Potter was your captain he would’ve ended up in St. Mungo’s by now.

Your eyes wander over to Marlene McKinnon, her blonde hair up in a bun, face red and splotchy from practice, bare arms showing off muscle. Her chest heaves under her scarlet top.

“Practicing getting your arses handed to you?” You joke, leaning against their table.

Marlene scoffs. “Oh, you wish.”

Her deep brown eyes find yours, a troublesome twinkle shining through.

“Focus, Marlene, can’t have you fraternizing with the enemy!” James laughs out between mouthfuls of eggs.

“More like flirting with the enemy.” Sirius snorts, leaning closer to Remus, who chuckles into his glass.

“Oi! Piss off, Black!” Marlene snaps, the red on her face spreading.

Dorcas squeezes in next to her, dittany in hand. “How’s the leg, Marls?”

“Aw.” You pout. “Did McKinnon get a boo boo during practice?”

She scowls at you. “Don’t you have a potion to blow up?”

You clench your jaw and ball your hand into a fist. She’s got a point.

“Alright, enough trash talk, you two, leave it for the pitch.” James rolls his eyes.

Instantly, a weight lifts from your shoulders.

“I gotta go eat, anyway.” You smile warmly at your sort of friends. “So I’ll see you guys in class.” You wave before turning to your own table.

You join the rest of your team the table, squeezing through the tight huddle. Parchment is scattered all over the surface, some with crude drawings of maneuvers, some with written stats.

“Right, now that we’re all here,” Sharpe grunts our in her thick Irish accent, shooting you a disgruntled look. “We have a change of plans.”

“Change of plans?” Webb, one of your Chasers, asks. He looks up from his diagram, eyebrows raised.

“Greene’s soulmate took a tumble and landed him in the hospital wing. Can’t play tomorrow’s match.” She scowls, drawing clenched tightly on her hand.

“Again?” Your team groans.

Rupert Greene spends more time in the hospital wing due to his soulmate’s clumsiness than from playing a dangerous magical sport. That’s the way it’s been for the four years you’ve known him, and you have a hunch that it’ll never change.

“So we’re gonna have to put in Knight? Against Gryffindor?” Webb cries out, eyes wide. “No offense, but he isn’t ready to take on those pricks!”

Sharpe runs a hand through her dark brown hair. “Well, I guess we all just need to pray to Merlin some Gryffindor gets knocked off their broom.” She sighs.

The news of Knight replacing Greene for the match against Gryffindor puts you in a sour mood, making the bruise on your thigh throb more painfully.

You march through the corridors, face contorted in a permanent frown, barely paying attention to your lessons. You do, however, manage to keep your potion from exploding, which Slughorn is thrilled about. Match notes and plays take over your free time, pushing all your homework to Sunday, quickly deciding that this match is far too important. Marlene sticks her tongue out at you whenever she gets the chance as she hobbles through the corridors or looks away from Flitwick in your shared Charms class.

Sharpe drags you and the rest of the team up to bed at nine, lecturing you all about a good night’s rest. You roll your eyes, but you do only spend half an hour studying moves before heading to bed.

You wake up jittery.

You’re always nervous the morning of normal Quidditch matches, but this isn’t a normal Quidditch match. Gryffindor has gone undefeated for the entire season so far, and you just need to beat them. You crave to watch the smug look fall from James’ face and the cocky attitude that Sirius is infamous for crumble. You want to win. At the same time, though, you’re hesitant to see the frown on Marlene’s face. Those perfect lips deserve to shaped in a perfect smile.

Your bruise isn’t as irritated as yesterday. It’s still black and blue, but you really need to dig your thumb into it for it to hurt.

You stretch, listening to your joints pop before strutting down to the Great Hall to join the rest of your team.

Taking a deep breath before making your way through the threshold, you try your best to calm down and radiate confidence. You crack your knuckles and make your way to your table.

Marlene throws you a playful glare across the room, which you teasingly reciprocate.

Breakfast is a quiet affair for your group. Feet tap impatiently against the stone, nervous habits running wild.

The weather is perfect for Quidditch. There’s a slight breeze and a couple fluffy white clouds drifting through the blue sky, providing the occasional blotch of shade. It reassures you and calms you down on your walk down.

Sharpe gives her usual pep talk in the locker rooms. It’s all about blood, guts, and glory, and how we better not mess this up for her or else “she’ll haunt us from the great beyond.” Knight is white as a sheet, trembling underneath his robes.

The crowd roars out from the stands just above, your cue to make your grand entrance. Brooms are taken off their positions in the wall and in a single filed line, you all follow Sharpe out onto the pitch.

“And here it is, everybody,” Remus’ voice calls out over the chaos. “Captain Sharpe, (Y/Ln), Webb, Byrne, Spade, Opal, and their reserve, Knight!”

Your house cheers louder at your introduction, your eardrums pounding. You smile and nod at the crowd, excitement bubbling up inside of you.

“While the two captains are taking positions and shaking hands,” You hear as you mount your broom, Potter and Sharpe facing each other. “I have been paid quite a significant amount to say that according to James Potter, Lily Evans looks absolutely gorgeous today—“

“That has nothing to do with the match, Lupin!” McGonagall cries.

“Godric, Minnie. I’m just doing some adverts, it’s all good. No need to—“

A large thwack echos throughout the pitch, but you’re too wrapped up in Hooch blowing the whistle.

Quickly, you soar up in the air, Beater’s bat in one hand, chasing after your teammates to defend them.

You barely hear Remus over the whistling of the wind and your own grunts.

You watch Marlene laugh after she bats a Bludger away from James, the bat giving off a wicked crack. You’re momentarily mesmerized by her figure. How her tongue peeks out in concentration and her ponytail bounces wildly in the wind.

A moment passes and your arm erupts in pain, and to add onto that, you’re hurtling towards the grass.

You clutch your arm and brace for impact, breath being forcibly ripped from your lungs. Tears well in your eyes from both the pain and the air lashing against your body. Your Quidditch robes flap wildly behind you.

The landing, however, isn’t that bad. You end up in the grass, your bad arm protected. You assume Dumbledore is the one to thank.

You let out strangled pants, sky spinning around you, a piercing whistle sharp against your ears. Your arm screams in agony.

“(Y/Ln)!” Sharpe calls out, broom clutched in one hand. “You alright?” Her face shines with sweat.

“Bloody hell, she’s got quite the swing.” You groan, face contorting in anguish.

In the corner of your rotating vision, you watch red and gold blurs crowding around someone else.

Madam Hooch and the rest of your teammates are talking, but you can’t understand a word they’re saying.

Tendrils of black fog enter your vision and suddenly you’re out cold.

You recognize the hospital wing bed immediately. It’s firm, but not unbearable, the white cotton sheets rubbing against any exposed skin.

“So (Y/Ln) and McKinnon, eh?”

It’s garbled and you’re unable to place the voice, but it’s understandable.

“What’s this ‘bout me and McKinnon?” You manage to slur out, eyes blinking open, the figures above you blurry.

The world gradually clears itself up, your teammates surrounding your bed. Your left arm is wrapped tightly to your chest with a white cotton sling. The pain is dull, but it’s the most noticeable feeling present.

“Ah, well...” Webb scratches the back of his neck, averting his eyes.

“They’re talking about how I finally felt my own strength.”

Slowly, you turn your head to see Marlene sitting up on her bed, carefully watching over you. Her friends surround her, knowing smirks gracing their faces.

Her blonde hair is a bit of a tangled mess from the wind, but her smile is blinding in the light.

“You mean...” Your eyes widen in shock.

Marlene nods her head. “Soulmates.”

You bite your lip in response.

“I mean, it was pretty obvious, wasn’t it?” Sirius asks, looking between his friends for approval. “They literally wake up covered in bruises after like every Quidditch match!”

“Shut up, Pads!” Remus hisses, smacking him on the leg. “They’re having a moment.”

Sirius rolls his eyes and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

Your eyes drift to your thigh where the mysterious bruise was.

“I’m guessing you got hit by a Bludger during practice?” You ask.

“And you’re the one that gave me that broken bloody nose during detention!” Marlene exclaims.

You nod shyly, remembering when Knight accidentally threw the Quaffle at your face during a late night practice.

“Are we really that bloody stupid?” You laugh.

“You want a real answer or...?” James starts, repositioning his glasses.

Marlene shoves James off her bed, and he yelps before ungracefully tumbling to the floor with a crash.

“Guess this is our cue to leave the two stupid lovebirds alone.” Lily giggles before patting her friend on the back and leaving, the Marauders and your own team trailing close behind her.

Because the bones in your arm are practically shattered, you’re confined to the hospital wing for at least another day, but with Marlene at your bedside, it’s been made bearable. You talk about all those mysterious injuries you’ve acquired over the many years and learn the extent of your idiocy.

With various bumps and bruises to match, at the end of the day, the two of you are much more than Quidditch rivals.

[pollyrepents]

where his tenderness resides | thomas shelby

Summary: To others it would seem Tommy’s love comes in the lavish gifts he gives, but the jewelry and clothing and horses mean nothing when you know he takes the care to feel his love.

Warnings: Nothing major. Reference to John’s fate, so a little bit of hurt. Or a lot a bit of hurt, that’s all dependent on you, really.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: I’m absolutely obsessed with the idea of Tommy’s romantic love language being touch and that he only really indulges in it when he knows they won’t been seen. It haunts me, truly. I have a whole tag dedicated to it on my blog. This got kind of sad without meaning to, but that’s just how I write. Enjoy!

He was always careful when he paid attention to you in front of others.

A polite hand on your lower back, guiding you away from unpleasant conversation or steering you into a needed one with potential donors or the wives of lucrative business partners, wanting small talk to take the place of touchy conversations and new business ventures you could strangle him for ruining your evening with. 

His attention was gentle and calloused at the same time, with his hands rubbing up and down your arm in a weak attempt at soothing as soon as you dragged him to a dark corridor for questioning.

“What happened to minimal business tonight?” You rose the glass in your gloved hand to sip your champagne, raising an eyebrow as he opened his mouth to speak, “You’ve snuck off twice and now I’m hearing from Polly there’s powerful people here?”

“Yes, there’s powerful people here for the charity-” His attempt to clarify made you click your tongue.

“There’s blinder business, Thomas.” You pursed your lips and he nodded once, unable to deny anything under your scrutinizing gaze. He focused himself on something outside, trying to pull enough words together to excuse himself from your discussion. “Why is there blinder business here, Tommy? At our charity event for ailing orphans?” You straightened up, eyes unwavering as you tried to meet his.

Tommy turned back to you and his icy blue eyes met yours. “They’re making sure you’re safe, is all.” He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin with a reserved gentleness despite the roughness of his skin. The tone was nothing other than truthful, steady as ever while he spoke. “I can’t have anything happen to you. Extra security for my peace of mind.”

“Or the dress.” You quipped, proving your point by turning your hips slightly to make the fabric swish. “I spent a long time picking this out as I wanted it to pair perfectly with the apology earrings you left me on the dresser.”

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling briefly at the mention of the new pearls, and you didn’t doubt he was pushing his tongue against his teeth as he gathered his words. “Alright. Not a mark on either of you. You or the fucking dress you picked out just for me, Y/N. ” 

“I didn’t pick out anything for you.” You pecked his lips briefly, smiling softly as he moved in for another, whispering between the two of you, “The dress is mine.”

“And what’s under the dress is mine, ay.” He had that tone to him, treading the line of authoritative only you got to hear behind closed doors, the kind that came with pushing his buttons. You felt a smile pass your lips before schooling your features, an imitation of the man who undoubtedly knew you best. You pushed a stray curl behind your ear as you looked him over.

“As long as you keep your minimal business to a minimum,” You tutted and straightened his bowtie, the careful knot your own doing while Tommy had made his initial promise in the sanctuary of your bedroom during the early evening hours. “what’s under the dress if yours.”

His hand was on your lower back again and you relaxed into the touch, a warm smile coming to your face as you examined his. The cold, determined Tommy melted away for a split second, the changes you had learned to savor coming forth easy to spot in the dark of the cold hall. The corner of his eyes pinched slightly, the corner of his lips turning upward for a brief moment. He tilted his chin down, pressing his lips to yours softly.

“Now,” You cleared your throat, gently pushing his hand off of your lower back in exchange for his arm. “Back to minimal business, Tommy.”

There were mornings when his lips never left your skin for more than a few moments, the both of you needing tangible assurance of someone’s love. Yours usually came in the middle of the night when you would tuck yourself against his twitching body, his limbs settling as he felt the pressure of you against his side, the smell of your soap and hair oils pushing through the clay and muck of the reimagined tunnels. Where the mumbling and quiet gasping would ease as you rubbed his chest and whispered to him that he was home, that he was safe, that he was with you in your bed. 

His came in the mornings, seeing through the teasing to assure you that although he was off to a dealing business meeting  or political business in London or factory business in the shit and smog of Small Heath in a moment, he would not stray for too long. His mornings were always early, always that sweet spot in time when you were too drowsy to put up a believable act in front of Tommy and would grumble an answer to any question he had without thinking twice as long as he stopped talking soon enough.

“Is there anything else, Mister Shelby?” The voice recognized as Frances’ was distant, the old woman’s voice more delicate than usual.

“That’ll be it, Frances, thank you.” His low voice came next and made you stir slightly, taking a deep breath and turning over to bury your face in his warmth that lingered on the blankets, begging for sleep to whisk you away again.

The door shut and a moment later the mattress dipped behind you, the smell of burning tobacco and aftershave enveloped your nearly sleeping form. Soft lips pressed against the back of your neck and you tried to remain still, breathing evenly as his lips trailed across your shoulder.

“You’re awake.” The words rumbled against your skin, soft lips moving against your neck as he kissed where he had marked in the earliest morning hours. 

“Mm-mm.” You hummed, pressing your face into the pillow. “Not yet.”

“Frances has brought you breakfast.”

“You made that woman get up before the sun rose?” You mumbled into the pillow, furrowing your eyebrows despite your act. 

“That is what I pay her for.” Tommy reminded. “The sun is up, dearest. Open your eyes, see it for yourself.” 

“Come back to bed, Thomas.” You verged on a whine, reaching a hand back to try and run your fingers through his hair. Your nose wrinkled at the lack of contact on your part as he slipped away. “It’s Sunday. Let Linda and Arthur go to church then handle the business. Just take a day, we can even take Charlie out for a picnic.”

Skillfully and typically he ignored your request for his leisure time. “I’m Thomas now?”  His fingers trailed down the curve of your back and you all but arched into his touch like a spoiled cat.

“You were Thomas last night.” You reminded as you rolled over to face him and stretched out on the mattress. His fingers trailed up and down your side lightly and you flinched away from the ticklish touch, grabbing his wrist in your hand. “Watch it, Thomas.”

The corners of his lips twitched upward and something resembling mischief sparked in his eye and you narrowed your own at him, challenging, “Do you think they’d miss you?”

“I think you would.” He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss between your eyebrows. “How would you explain yourself then, ay?”

“Thomas Shelby was taken care of,” He snorted at your wording as he crossed the room but you persisted anyway. “Thomas Shelby was handled after pushing his lover to the limit so early in the morning after waking her up so rudely.”

He moved to where he had Frances place the tray of food and lifted it, nodding for you to shift yourself among the sheets. You propped yourself up, holding a hand out to stop him as he reached your bedside. Tommy quirked an eyebrow.

“Only if you’re planning on staying.” You raised your eyebrows to mirror him. “If not, I’ll eat at the window. On my own.”

Tommy looked at you momentarily, the smoke from his cigarette swirling upward and around him as he examined you for any sign of relenting. He sighed and nodded, placing the tray over your legs and trying not to show any amusement at your triumphant smile as he came to the empty side of the bed. 

“Your meetings can wait for a bit, Tommy-don’t get into bed with the suit.” You cautioned. “It’ll wrinkle.”

He sighed, patience steady as he listened to you. “Am I expected to feed you the toast as well?” He unbuckled his belt and slipped his gray suit pants off, folding them and placing them on the end of the bed. “Is that what you need me here for?” He slid out of his waist coat, placing it atop his matching pants. His fingers made quick work of the tiny white buttons on his shirt, lying it over his other clothes.

“Well, if you’re offering, how could I say no.” You laughed lightly, bringing your legs up under you as he laid out next to you, leaning back against the headboard. You took a bite of buttered toast, holding the slice to Tommy’s lips as you chewed. His unamused look made you giggle and you pulled the cigarette from between his lips and moved the toast slightly closer still, prompting him to take a small bite.

“Good boy.” You patted his face lightly and ignored the scoff, leaning in to kiss him around the crumbs. “Can I expect you back before midnight?”

He nodded once, pulling another drag from the cigarette and blowing it upwards toward your painted ceiling. “I’ll try for a reasonable hour.” He muttered to himself, lifting his fingers to try to tuck away the fabric where your scarf had slipped from its knot during the night. “No idea how you keep this fucking thing on all the time.”

“Enough magic to give me a headache.” You batted at his fingers, unraveling the knot and letting your curls loose. You massaged your scalp, shaking out the tightened coils. “I’m sure I’m a real vision right now. Looking like I’ve been shocked by a wool touch or something.”

Tommy puffed smoke out through his nose, a hand reaching up to tug at the curls on the nape of your neck. Your shoulders relaxed at his touch “Not a bad sight so early in the morning.”

“If you’re softening me up with the affection and compliments so you can leave, it’s not going to work.” 

His hand fell to the spot where your shoulder met your neck and he pulled you down slightly, pressing a kiss to your temple, mumbling something along the lines of you being insatiable and a menace, but his nonetheless.

It was rare he let you hold him first.

He was mourning.

Different than Arthur, who was weeping aloud and different than Polly who rolled the rosary beads between her fingers more often those days. It was a different mourning, when his persistent mind stopped for a moment and his thoughts droned into white noise and the realization that John was gone-permanently gone, at the fault of his own greed and impulse washed over him the way the panic in the tunnels would. You found him hunched over on his bed in their Watery Lane home, shaking breaths making the hunch of his back rise and fall unsteadily. In the candlelight beside him you could make out his hands-your favorite hands- hands trembling as they gripped at his hair.

“Tommy,” You spoke up carefully, staring at him from the doorway. You reached behind you, closing the door in an attempt to shield him from a passerby’s view. “Tommy, you’ll hurt yourself.” You took slow and measured steps toward him, fearful of creaky floorboards that would alert the other nearby Shelbys, or knocking anything to the ground that would set him off. His trembling form made a knot in your throat tighten and you reached out your hand, startling when Tommy sprung up. Automatically, his hand reached under his pillow and his wet eyes found yours, his normally calm eyes flashing with something wild before he reconnected himself to the present moment.

“It’s just me, Tommy.” Your hand that had flown up to stop him arming himself dropped, cupping his stubbly chin. Your thumb caressed his jaw, trying to push away the tension for a moment. “Couldn’t find you after dinner, I got scared.”

He nodded, pulling away from your touch. He cleared his throat. “So many places to check in the house.”

“I thought you’d be out smoking or at the Garrison.” Your fingers sought out his hair where he had been pulling at it, rubbing your fingertips in soothing circles on his scalp. “Taking your mind off of things.”

“I can’t be drunk if we’re being hunted, Y/N.” His tone was dismissive and reached for his cigarettes and lighter on the bedside table.

“Everyone in the house is armed.” Your hands reached out to touch him again, blocked as he rolled his cigarette between his slightly swollen and raw lips. You assumed he had been biting them, one of his tells that things had bubbled up while he was alone. “We’ve all got guns under our pillows and in our pockets. Even Linda’s got one on her.”

“Fear convinces people better than simple words can.” He rested his elbow on his knee, hunching over. He smoked for a moment, long drags and lingering clouds of smoke swirled around the two of you. You stepped in front of him and reached down to take the cigarette, watching him closely as his fingers went limp. You placed it between your own lips, both hands coming up to cup the back of his head. You listened to his breathing, waiting until the stuttering breaths became fewer and farther between.

“He was your brother.” You traced your finger upward over the shell of his ear, lightly tracing the outline of his forehead. “He was a Shelby.”

“Yeah.” Tommy spoke into your nightdress, his eyes shutting as your finger came to brush against his lashes. “Yeah, I know he was.”

“So you know you can mourn him.”

The next breath was shaky and Tommy’s hands began to tremble again. You took your final drag and snubbed out the cigarette, letting it smoulder in his aged ashtray. 

He pressed his face into your stomach, hands pressing into your lower back as he sought refuge in your being. You tilted your head to the side, taking in his closed eyes and clenched jaw before he turned his head away from the flickering candle light.

“Mourn him, Thomas.” You whispered downwards at his hair, a hand coming up to rub his cheek. Your fingers met wetness just under his eyes and you ignored it, stroking his cheek with your thumb as Tommy held onto you for dear life. “It’s alright.”

His hand began to move against the material of your nightclothes, palms pressing more firmly than before. You settled yourself across his lap, one knee on either side of him on the edge of the bed. You gripped at his shirt, still smelling of the day’s whiskey he had taken and cigarettes he had found a way to take more of recently. His face tucked into your neck and you wrapped your arms around him tightly, letting his forearms squeeze you close around your lower back. He took breath after shaking breath against you, his fingers holding the fabric of your clothes in an iron grip. 

You held him, pressing your face into his hair as he held you as close as possible, hiding above the blankets in the flickering candle light.

[brunchbitch]

tw marijuana, suicide

a’s 35th birthday is on monday! we’re going up to maine later today and coming back sunday night. then on monday we’re doing presents after i get home from the internship. i got him celtics tickets and i’ve never been to a game so i’m excited! he has said he’s going to quit tobacco on his birthday (he doesn’t smoke straight cigarettes but he sprinkles some tobacoo into his joints every time he rolls them) and i’m going to try to cut down on weed as well. 

it has been really tough to cut down so far and b and i talked about it for a while in session today. ultimately, my motivation to quit is lacking - it’s helped me in soooo many ways. i was reflecting on how awful my insomnia used to be and b said that before he even started working with me, my psychiatrist from 3e impressed on him how difficult sleep is for me and how many different meds we had tried. now it’s not even an issue and i can sleep for 12 hours... as long as i’ve smoked or taken an edible. the idea of sleepless nights, of tossing and turning for 3 hours before falling asleep, of counting the hours until i have to wake up, of obsessing over how tired i’m going to feel the next day... i’m not exactly jumping for joy at the thought of giving up this sleep aid. 

i do recognize the downsides, probably most noticeably some cognitive effects, not feeling quite as sharp or quick as i used to especially with word recall, and the deleterious long-term effects, as well as the difficulty of just feeling dependent on a substance. i really think i would need a to take a break or cut down substantially on his weed usage bc it’s sooooo hard for me not to smoke when he is. but at the same time, i also know that i’m a bad influence on him! he usually doesn’t smoke wednesday or thursday nights, but this week i begged him to roll for us both nights since it’s his birthday weekend. not trying to say i really twisted his arm bc he was happy to do it lol but still, i was the one pushing him. so i’m gonna talk to him about it this weekend but ugh this is so hard.

on a totally different note, i watched a tiktok video to the song of fix you by coldplay and wow... that really brought me right back into my bedroom at the age of 15, sobbing and writing my suicide note. the first 2 or 3 times i attempted, i listened to that song. i called it my “suicide song”. it’s so haunting and sad and makes me feel like i’m yearning for love and connection, for someone to grab my hand and pull me out of the dark hole. it makes me so sad how alone and utterly hopeless i felt. things are much better now, yes, but to be honest, parts of me still wish it had just worked the first time so i wouldn’t have had to go through all the misery that led up to this point. 

i was reading through my hospital record recently and saw one note from an interview with me a day or so after waking up from my most recent attempt. the writer said that i stated i had tried to kill myself 89 times when i know for a fact i said 8 or 9 times (maybe i said 8 to 9) and they heard 89 times, wrote it down in the record, and that was that. then of course that was copy pasted into all the future notes and it’s just frustrating that nobody thought to stop and ask me if they had understood me correctly. as a practitioner, if i was working with someone who stated they had attempted suicide 89 times, i think it would’ve caused me to think a little differently about how they viewed attempts (i.e. maybe including more half-assed attempts or more times in which they had the intent but stopped themselves or something). i don’t mean to imply that my attempts were more “real” than someone who has had dozens of attempts, but it would make me think about their assessment a little differently. i don’t know if what i am trying to say makes sense, but regardless, it really made me realize how important it is to get things down accurately. that will be in my chart forever for any of my future doctors to see.