#like my mind would go completely TV static blank and if I tried to talk it was super hard and I would stutter like wtf

[mecharose]

the dissonance between how my irl friends see me vs what is actually going on here is insane like they think im some girl boss shit slides off of me super confident extroverted type person but im over here crying in the west 4th station bc I was actually able to leave my apartment and go to a new place just bc I wanted to without being afraid of whatever so. ough lol

[occult-castiel]

The Same Page

This is my @destielsecretsanta2020 gift for @eclypseaf!!! The request was open, but bonus points for Miracle being present. So I wrote some post empty rescue fic!

This one honestly gave me a really hard time and I have no idea why. I hope you like it and have has an awesome christmas!

[Ao3 Link]

The portal spits them out in the dungeon.

Dean stumbles out first, a half step ahead of Cas. Human, malleable, and very much alive with one of the little dude's arms draped over Dean's shoulder.

Cas stumbles forward. Dean shoots an arm out in front of him, places a hand firmly against his chest. He maneuvers his other arms under his trenchcoat, grips his side firm.

His skins almost cool to the touch — much too cold to be safe. Not for a human, especially a brand new one.

And what if he's sick? Or gets sick and can't get better? Without his grace, there's a whole new set of worries. A bad flu that gets worse until he's gone, a hunt going wrong, fucking cancer. Heart disease kills pretty much everyone, doesn't it?

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the gentle thud of Cas' heart against his palm.

The last eight months haven't been easy. Not between the alcohol Sam eventually cut him off from, and the hunts getting sparse, and Jack being terrifying and gone until he wasn't.

Cas lulls his head to the side. His inky heart sticks to his forehead, and his blueberry-sweet eyes are unfocused but still manage to catch Dean's.

It's achingly familiar, and he smiles easy. "Hey there, sunshine."

Cas pinches his brows together as his head swims to stay upright. He slurs through some half-baked, nonsense question about coral reef bleaching, and Dean's so relieved he laughs.

Cas smiles at the sound, dazed and feather-light, but the joy is unmistakable.

It's the best thing Dean's ever seen. Fuck, he missed him. Missed him so much he didn't know what to do with himself.

Cas winces — what little help he was giving Dean in holding him up falls. He makes up the difference quick. Weak fingers curl around Dean's wrist.

"Sorry —"

"S'okay. Gonna —" he swallows hard. Tries to shove away the distinct pin-prick in his tear ducts that always means he needs to man the hell up. "Gonna get you to a bed, okay?"

Cas grunts, a pitiful noise that's mostly air and entirely feeble. "Tired."

"Rest then. It ain't far. I gotcha, buddy."

When he nods, his hair brushes Dean's neck.

It's not well thought out. The lack of work and overload of carbs haven't done Dean's muscles any favors. His joints creak and protest every step, but his room isn't far, and he'd be damned before he let's Cas feel like he has to do anything alone this time.

Miracle hops off the bed the moment the door opens.

Dean lays Cas on top of the bunched up blanket. Once he's down, Dean slowly works the trencoast and suit jacket off, his hands careful as they trail across the thin cotton of his shirt.

Cas shivers, and Dean wrestles to tug the blanket out from under him, Miracle nuzzling the side of his leg the whole time.

She's probably hungry. Or just wants attention. He hasn't exactly been available the last couple weeks, too busy with his nose in piles of research. But it all payed off.

Cas grimaces in his sleep, and it twists the cords in Dean's chest. He reaches his hand out and ghosts his fingers across the sweat-stained hair stuck to his skin, gently pushing it to the side.

He'd said it once, not more than a month ago, in the darkness of his room, Miracle tucked as close as he could get her.

He said he loved me, and I — I didn't say it back. But I do. God I do.

Dean trails his hand from his forehead to the flushed pillow of his cheeks. The other knuckles roughly at his eyes and comes back wet.

He has no god damn idea what he wouldve done without Miracle to talk to. Cause he could never get it out to Sam. Not those last moments. Not what Cas really means to him. Always too close to an edge of something larger than any apocalypse they've ever dealt with.

He traces down low enough to brush across Cas' wrist, the pained look still on his face.

Dean swallows, his heart hammers hard in his throat. Timid even though the guy is unconscious, Dean grabs his hand.

His mind blanks. Turns to complete static — a jumble of half-formed thoughts about every reason he ever told himself not to.

He's an angel. The worlds ending. Always ending. He doesn't feel that way. Can't, the equipment for it's not there. It's why he leaves, isn't it? And what the fuck could ever hope to start when it's all always falling apart? When they could fall apart.

Everyone leaves.

A flash of cold prickles down his back, and he tries to takes a deep breath. It goes down ragged. There was something he read once, about picking out a sense.

Cas' breath, slow and steady. The clink of Mircale's claws on the floor. A muted buzz from the florescent lights in the hall.

He breaths again, a little easier. His fingers curls into Cas' palm, and his finger twitch against Dean in response. The dent in his brows relax, his jaw goes slack.

"S'okay Cas." He squeezes. "Just... be okay."

When his phone rings, dumped and forgotten on the other side of the room, he isn't quite sure how to let go. Like the ligaments in his hand have cemented in place, forgotten the muscle memory to make the movements happen.

When the second call comes through, Cas mumbles something. Dean's shoulder slack, and he pulls his hands back, clammy and with a slight tremor.

It's Sam. There's a small tug of guilt — he should've called him the moment he put Cas down. He knows he would've been worried sick if Sam was the one that had to go.

Sam's relieved too, promises to buy stuff for dinner on his way back from where Dean went in the Empty about fifty miles out. And he must hear something in his voice, because he stresses to go watch a movie or something and let Cas sleep it off.

Of course he's right. They knew Cas would be out cold. But leaving the room is still hard, and he lingers in the doorway until he gets a good look at Miracle's mess of tangled fur.

He hasn't brushed her hair, since that's practically what the fur is, in weeks.

"C'mon girl."

He grabs the brush from the bedside table, casts on last look at Cas, and takes Miracle to the TV room.

She hops on the couch next to him, tail thumping with excitement.

"You wanna get pretty to meet Cas later?"

She nuzzles his hand, sticks her nose against the brush, and a little bit of the stress from today lightens up.

He flips on some netflix show about baking food, and talks to Miracle as he starts in on her snout.

It's ritualistic to touch on whatevers going on with her, at this point.

As her fur smooths, he tells her about the Empty. Its piss-poor lighting, the mind boggling way directions work, how it has this awful burnt-licorice and gasoline stench clung to the nothingness of its everything.

It kinda makes his head hurt.

Almost two full episodes in, he has all her fur neat and tidy, and his little monologue has circled back to Cas. She'd know a lot about him if she could talk.

"It's hard to believe he's really back. And — and maybe it'll be good. We could, I dunno, get you a yard?" He nods, smiles. "Yeah, I bet your spoiled ass would like that. The bunker ain't a place for pets."

Miracle leaps from the couch, and someone clears their throat from the door.

Cas stands in the doorway, hunched in on himself. Dark strands of hair twist up in random directions, and the casual clothes Dean left him fit snugly.

He looks... comfortable. Like he slipped into humanity ages ago, not this afternoon.

"Cas."

He tilts his lips up, tight and sheepish. "I see you have a dog now."

"Yeah. Miracle. She uh — she helped me." He motions vaguely to his head. "Might not be batting a hundred up here if not for her."

Cas glances down at her, and the tense smile softens. "I'm very grateful then."

Almost reverent, he scratches the side of her ear.

Dean shakes his head. Blinks. Two things he never thought he'd see side by side mixed with the insanity of the day make none of this seem real.

Deep breath.

"She can — she can be there for you too," Dean says. "If you need it. Dogs are great listeners. Even the Madonna types like this one."

Cas gives a contemplative hum. "They are both blonde."

He puffs a breath of air. It's easy to forget Cas actually knows what he's talking about now, sometimes. Even if he does still miss the point by a mile.

"It was your turn."

Cas raises an eyebrow.

"To, uh, pick a movie." He motions to the seat next to him. "If you want."

Cas runs his bottom lip between his teeth and doesn't look at Dean. Doesn't say anything either. Just nods, walks over, and sinks into the couch.

It's a respectable distance. Close enough Dean would be able to sense him, far enough away they won't touch.

Miracle curls up on the other side of Cas, head flopped on his lap, right next to his balled up hands.

"Is it over?" His voice is small.

Dean doesn't have to ask. "Chuck isn't aproblem anymore." Cas sighs, slinks down bonelessly into the cushions. "We figured it out, took his powers. Jack's fixing up Heaven with it. Says he's gunna do that, find a way to put Amara back together, and then come home."

"Good. I don't think I'm up to fighting standards." He rolls his head to the side. They're close enough Dean can make out each muscle in his neck when he swallows. "You didn't have to save me, Dean. I'd — made peace with that fate."

It's bullshit. It's bullshit and Cas has to know it. He almost tells him a much, but if he can't have that talk now, then he never will.

He licks his lips. It doesn't help the dryness.

"Did you mean it?"

It's a dumb question, but one he needs answered.

Cas doesn't miss a beat. "That and more." The serenity in his words is endearing as it is cutting when he adds, "But we don't have to address it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

It's Dean's turn to melt with relief. "Good — that's good."

Cas winces. "I understand if you'd like some space —"

He starts to stand up, and panic seizes Dean's chest like a vice grip. He grabs his wrist and Cas freezes.

"No! God no. Cas, it — it wasn't supposed to happen like that."

He looks confused, before some amount of understanding smoothes out some of the worried lines in his face. His eyes flick down to Dean's mouth for an instant. "How was it supposed to happen, then?"

"I thought, maybe on a hunt? Or — I don't know. Just... " some place I could say it back.

Its not good enough, saying it without saying it. Cas gave a speech. He saved Dean's life, saved the god damn world. All without knowing.

He shakes his head. Starts again. He had enough practice between thoughts he couldn't shove away and late night pet-therapy. "I thought you knew. Hell, I've been scared everyone knows. And if they did, you did too, right?"

"Subtly isn't always my strongest suit."

He laughs, and it's almost on the wrong side of sane. "Don't I know it."

He can do direct.

Slow enough that Cas has time to pull back, he runs his hand up his arm, cradles it against the back of Cas' neck. He leans across the small distance and kisses him.

It's clumsy and unsure, and Cas places a skittish hand on Dean's side like he's not sure what he's allowed to have even now, but their lips mesh together in a way that feels better than anything he can remember.

When they part, he's not sure either one of them are breathing. And he can't look at Cas, not when he says it. Not yet. So he presses their foreheads together, keeps his eyes fully lidded.

"I don't know how you could think you aren't worth saving. You — you're it for me."

"Dean —"

He shakes his head, and the tips of their noses brush. "I love you more than I know what to do with. You know that right?"

Bewildered, Cas says, "I didn't."

"Yean, well. Now you do."

He scoots back in place, flushed firm against the cushion. Their hands tangle together, and their knees are touching, and it's too much and not enough. But mostly not enough. Dean dares a glance over. Cas is staring at their hands, a pleased smile on his face.

And they're on the same page.

"I think you said something about a yard when I walked in?"

Instead of answering he says, "We should retire. I'm too old for this shit."

"Entirely?"

Dean shrugs. "A hunt here and there wouldn't hurt I guess."

"We'll talk about it later." He reaches over him, grabs the remote. "I think you said it was my turn?"

Dean grins, full and toothy. "Yeah, just no more romcoms, dude. I can only take so many."

Cas nods, curt and serious. "Of course."

He does anyway, and it's the best shitty movie Dean's ever seen.

[flowesona]

The Midnight Channel [1/2]

Yandere ??? x reader

Inspired by Persona 4 (2008)

“Have you heard about the midnight channel?” (Y/N) dragged her attention away from the rain drumming on the window of her classroom to see her friend leaning over to talk to her. 

“What?”

“If you look at the TV at midnight on a rainy night, you’ll see your soulmate.” Jungkook rested his chin on his hand as he spoke wistfully.

“Come on. Don’t tell me you believe in that nonsense? Sounds like someone made it up when they were bored.” (Y/N) snorted, but ceased her laughter when he didn’t seem to waver. 

“You’re kidding me?” Now, their friend Taehyung, who’s been quietly eating his lunch and enjoying their company joined the conversation to take (Y/N)’s side.

It was ridiculous to say the least. Jungkook was a reasonably intelligent guy. There was no way he could think all that soulmate hokey-pokey was legitimate, right? 

“Well, I know a friend who tried it, and he said it worked. We should try it tonight!”

“Yeah, right.” Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his lunch now forgotten as he dragged his chair closer to (Y/N)’s to help defend her side of the argument.

“Who do you think you’ll see?” (Y/N) humoured, only for Jungkook to shake his head somberly.

“Not saying. But we have to try it, I trust Namjoon to tell the truth-”

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Her friend was cut off by a sudden voice. A young man was standing next to her desk, rocking on his heels. Lunch was coming to a close and people were starting to reenter the classroom and take their seats, yet this pupil was drawn to stand by her desk instead.

“Hey…” She felt guilty for not remembering his name, letting her voice trail away.

“I heard that you’re single. And I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me?” The boy had such a giddy smile on his face it unsettled her to no end. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know you well enough.” (Y/N) tried to reject him as politely as she could, but he seemed adamant. 

“Just give me a chance? Please? I know I’m not the best looking guy around, what with that idol back in town, but I promise I will treat you like a superstar!” The raising of his voice was starting to draw attention to the duo, people even peeking in from the corridor to get a peek at the drama going down. 

(Y/N) felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Sure, this boy seemed nice enough, but there was something about his smile that was so forced it hurt to look at.

“Leave me alone, I said-”

“Mr Kang, I don’t believe this is your classroom. Get out.” Before the situation could escalate any further, the student was grabbed by the scruff of his collar and pushed towards the door without the chance to say another word. The onlookers dismissed themselves, their chatter filling the halls.

───── ⋆⋅ ☂  ⋅⋆ ─────

If having to deal with one clueless boy was bad enough, (Y/N) found herself being plagued by another before the day was through. Whilst Jimin had an undeniably kind heart and his softly spoken words were often what she leant on when times were tough, she wasn’t in the mood for company.

“You’re sure that you don’t want to come to my place? You know my mom’s an amazing cook, and I rented that new movie just in time for-”

“I’d rather just go home, Jimin. It’s been a tough day. Maybe another time.” (Y/N) gave her friend a reassuring smile before leaving, droplets of rain making her shiver lightly and clutch her parka over her body just a bit tighter.

Even so Jimin trailed after her, hoping to change her mind by gently pushing his umbrella into her hands so she wouldn’t get as soaked as she first expected and whilst the heartfelt gesture was appreciated, she was exhausted and not ready to deal with another person snapping at her heels.

After two minutes she stopped to talk, turning briefly to address the student, whose gaze resembled that of a kicked puppy more than anything.

“Go home, Jimin. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She plugged her earphones into her ears and let herself finally breathe as she heard his footsteps slowly fading, the light rain tapping against her umbrella in a soothing manner to 

Distract her from the embarrassing scene from earlier in the day. She became so caught up in her music she ended up colliding into someone’s chest. 

“Watch where you’re going, idiot.” The stranger spat at her. His blonde hair was becoming matted with rain and his clothes were barely protected by the heavy leather jacket as the downpour became heavier by the minute.

“I’m sorry. Here, do you need my umbrella?” 

The boy grimaced before reaching out to take it. Before he turned away, (Y/N) heard a quiet ‘thank you’ from under his breath as she took off in the opposite direction to get home before she became fully drenched.

Unbeknownst to her in her panic, the boy was staring after her, fingers clenched so tightly around the flimsy plastic handle that it was starting to hurt.

───── ⋆⋅ ☂  ⋅⋆ ─────

Rumours were quick to spread in the usually sleepy town. With its only claim to fame being the birthplace of a famous idol, people clung to whatever excitement they could find, and (Y/N) had already had several people texting her to ask about the dramatic event and offer words of comfort.

As she desperately tried to cheer herself up with a cup of cocoa and the warmth of her blanket, (Y/N) was still restless. She glanced over at the TV in her room, a big enough flat screen she’d weedled her mother into buying with her only child privileges. 

“If you look into your TV at midnight on a rainy night, you’ll see your soulmate.” 

She let out a chuckle at the thought. Yet, she couldn’t help glancing out the window to see the rain pelting down, nor checking her alarm clock to see it was three minutes to midnight.

There was no harm in giving it a try, right? After all, she could shove it in Jungkook’s face when she could conclusively say it was a stupid legend.

Suddenly, as she was caught up in her thoughts not even realising that she’d been staring into the screen in her daydream, the TV crackled to life. Through the heavy static she could see a figure. 

As shadowy as it was, she could somewhat make out Taehyun’s figure, seeing as his visage had all but plagued her for the day. (Y/N) shook her head, trying to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating but the image was gone as soon as she opened her eyes, leaving her kneeling in front of a blank TV screen.

Trying to erase the questions that plagued her mind (Y/N) crawled into bed, closing her eyes to rest for a while.

───── ⋆⋅ ☂  ⋅⋆ ─────

(Y/N) felt completely disgraced the next day. She could hear people whispering all around her about what had happened yesterday, how she’d rejected someone in such a cold manner. The story had flown around the school overnight, much to her dismay.

“Taehyun hasn’t turned up at school today. Do you think he’s heartbroken?” (Y/N) overheard a couple of her classmates gossiping.

“Poor guy. He just wanted a chance but she’s humiliated him in front of everyone.” One of the other girls replied. (Y/N) stood up abruptly, letting her chair fall onto the floor with a loud clang.

The noise drew everyone’s attention to her, but she just walked out trying her hardest not to burst into tears.

“(Y/N)!” She heard someone calling her name but it was white noise.

It wasn’t until there was a hand on her shoulder to stop her in her place that she snapped out of her hysteria.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” Through her slightly blurry vision she could make out Jimin, his face crumpled with concern.

“I-I-I’m fine!” She choked out.

“Is it that guy who was bothering you yesterday? We can just bunk off school today and you don’t have to see him. How does that sound? Let’s-”

“Leave me alone Jimin.” (Y/N) finally said with a heavy sigh. He was sweet, and she could tell he cared, but she just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“You don’t mean that, right?” Her friend was shocked at her abruptness, when she would normally find a much sweeter way to reject him.

(Y/N) didn’t reply, turning to walk away and her herself in the library only to have her hand snatched back.

“Whatever is wrong, you know you have me, right? If you want me to fight that Taehyun boy to the death I’ll do it to make you happy.” Jimin was almost pathetic in how he was pleading for her company. “Just let me help you.”

(Y/N) just slapped his hand away.

“Leave. Me. Alone.” She snapped, leaving the rejected boy to wallow in pity as she stormed off. Once again all eyes were on her, and regret was starting to build up, but she brushed it off in her pursuit of some serenity in the library.

The library, whilst still crammed full of students studying for their exams, provided some solice. The kind eyed library assistant had led her to a corner amongst the history books, and whilst he opened his mouth to say something - presumbaly to suggest a book, or offer her a drink - he closed it again upon seeing her stormy expression, and left her in peace.

───── ⋆⋅ ☂  ⋅⋆ ─────

Feeling more isolated and hated than before, (Y/N) spent the evening in bed with a book Jungkook had lent her, trying to immerse herself in the fictional world rather than facing the real one. However, the rain pattering against her window reminded her of last night. Was seeing Taehyun on there a trick of the eye? Was he really her soulmate? Or was there something more to it?

With her restless mind she was still awake as the clock crept towards midnight and, unable to quell her mind and knelt in front of her cold black television screen.

Once again, it flickered to life. But this time, rather than just showing a silhouette, there was something happening.

It was Taehyun, and he was crawling away from some other shadowy figure, obscured by the strong static.

“No… you’re not… I  love…” Through the muffled sound she could hear his voice, crying out as if he was witnessing a monstrosity. Her hand almost wanted to reach out to touch him, but she was frozen in place, only able to watch. She saw a flash of his face, terrified beyond all else, before the image cut out entirely.

She leant forward again, trying to see if it would come back, but the TV stayed black.  Switching it on only showed a late night horror movie, not the scene that she’d seen before. 

Was Jungkook’s friend right about the Midnight Channel showing your soulmate? Was she mistaken to reject the eager boy? And more importantly, what was happening to him? Was he in trouble?

Trying to erase the questions that plagued her mind (Y/N) crawled into bed, closing her eyes to rest for a while.

───── ⋆⋅ ☂  ⋅⋆ ─────

Maybe it was the caffeine from doubling the espresso in her usual coffee, but (Y/N) knew from the moment she stepped out the door that something was wrong.

The fog was so thick that (Y/N) could barely see ten metres in front of her. Still she persisted, hoping that by being early she could get an extra hour of studying in before someone would bother her. There was the occasional passerby - one of the school librarians hurrying past with a heavy book bag weighing down his back, a shopkeeper with their keys in hand to open up in time, and a leather-wearing stranger on a noisy motorbike. Even with these small reminders that civilization was alive and well amidst the weather, there was still an eerie atmosphere.

And (Y/N) was right to be afraid. The fog’s density was not enough to hide the secret waiting for (Y/N) as she turned the corner. When her eyes landed on the sight she staggered back, the urge to puke stronger rising up.

There was a corpse dangling from the telephone line.

Everything seemed to blur together, from her screaming for help to one of the passersby calling the authorities in the place of the shell shocked (Y/N), to someone finally pulling her away and covering her eyes.

Her mind was static as she felt someone comforting her, pressing her face to their hard chest. The regular heartbeat helped soothe her breathing, and the scent of cologne enveloped her sense to numb the pain. 

She didn’t question the comfort for a second, relishing the warmth and protection from the sight that was sure to haunt her for the rest of her life. The sight of her former admirer, a sweet innocent student, hanging from the telephone pole.

“You’re okay, (Y/N). Don’t look. You’re safe.”

───── ⋆⋅ ☂  ⋅⋆ ─────

“So you’re telling me prior to yesterday you had no contact with Mr Kang at all?” For what felt like the hundredth time that day, (Y/N) shook her head.

“Well, as soon as you sign your statement you’ll be free to leave. Take care.” The detective didn’t offer her any consolation as (Y/N) attempted a signature with her shaky hands.

She was so ready to collapse into her bed, but there was still something tugging at her.

“Do you know about the midnight channel?” She spoke up, her voice slightly hoarse.

“Is this related to the case at hand, Miss (L/N)?” The detective had a sour grimace, his forehead creased with the stress at hand, and (Y/N) felt slightly worried about poking the bear.

She shook off the feeling.

“I’m not sure. But thank you, I’ll go now.”

It couldn’t be just a coincidence. There was some connection, and (Y/N) wanted to seek the truth even if the police force could not.

Stepping outside, she felt a weight on her chest as heavy as the fog. Somewhere in the sleepy town was a murderer. They were perfectly blended in, you could see that much. Life was going on, people briefly discussing the murder under hushed breath before discussing the more conventional gossip aloud.

Even with some unknown guilt burdening her mind, (Y/N) could slip into life again as she found her friends waiting outside for her, Jungkook giving her a warm hug and Taehyung offering her a bottle of water seeing how wearing the morning had been. 

Even as she walked home with her friends, there was still something amiss in their sleepy town. And the trouble lay closer than she could possibly imagine.

Part 2/2 coming 11/09/20

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

A rant of personal experiences and trying to do something positive with them:

Okay so procrastination is a huge thing in ADHD. Same with memory issues. (Not that these are always present and maybe some people experience both without being ADHD).

So. Here’s an experience I’m just now (at almost 40) realizing was a thing:

Imagine a huge essay/report/project requiring a lot of research and several sources was due in a few weeks. The advice was always to break it down, take notes, and make an outline. It made perfect sense. And maybe it does help some or even most people.

But for some, like me, it was still impossibly overwhelming and breaking it down was worse. The project was often boring (especially if I had to ignore a hyperfixation to work on it) and even if it wasn’t, it still felt like A LOT when my brain was full of TV static and my memory was shit.

It takes a ton of repetition for me to even temporarily remember something and even then, it will likely be gone again in a few days. UNLESS I learn by actually doing something or figuring it out for myself. And my brain gaslights itself like “do I remember that right? No that can’t be right. Let me look it up for the 100th time to make sure.” And I’m WAY more likely to remember concepts or physical processes but completely forget the terms for them or names of things or important dates EVEN FOR MY HYPERFIXATIONS, damnit... Like, I can do a bunch of crafty stuff and even remember some common terms and items but not the less common fabrics or stitch types or tool names. (Yet somehow I could remember the exact location of hundreds of thousands of items of inventory at my craft store job... even if I didn’t know what they were called. But I stocked them and had physical contact with them so I could picture where they were.) The number one overwhelming thing for me about trying to be a pro at anything is trying to remember terms so it sounds like I know what I’m talking about.

Anyway...

Without acknowledging that, I ended up wasting time by trying to schedule research/work in small chunks because every time I stopped then tried to start again, I wouldn’t remember what I did or looked at last time. (Can I also add that this is why being interrupted is infuriating for me? It probably seems irrational to other people but it’s so hard to get focused on something and now my train of thought is derailed, passengers are dead and injured, and it’s going to take who knows how long to revive the survivors?) And maybe that wasn’t so bad the first time because I’d only have to reread one page of notes. But then it would happen a few more times and my focus would be blurred and I’d repeated myself multiple times in the notes and they’d become a mess and look horrible which was distracting and I’d feel overwhelmed by having to reread and now rewrite several pages and focus would be even worse because I did remember some bits and blanked out while looking at those then stay blanked out then I’d have to reread again to catch the parts I didn’t remember.

But.

If I waited until the last minute, when the consequence/reward system overrode how overwhelming or boring the project was, I could burn through it because I was in constant contact with the material and it was all currently on my mind and I could skip writing notes and an outline and go straight to a fairly decent flow-state draft then keep going through revisions and editing all without forgetting WTF I’d researched. And it would be done in so so so much less time with a lot less effort and frustration.

And...

AND

And then there’s the schedule thing and why it DOES NOT WORK for me. If I schedule doing something (or even if someone suddenly wants me to do something right now) and my brain is like, “nah sorry, just static right now,” there’s absolutely nothing I can do to make it work and I’m just going to get frustrated and tired and depressed and discouraged. But if I keep a loose list of things that need to get done and indicate which are priorities, I can look at it and say “yeah. This one seems doable right now.” No I’m not going to get up and vacuum that spot of cat litter at this exact moment but it’s a good idea to do it soon so I’ll add vacuum to the list and probably get it done later the same day. If the cat throws up, that is an immediate priority so I will get up and make sure they’re okay and clean it because my brain does actually recognize things like that as super important. If a bill arrives in the mail, I’ll stop and pay it right away because I know I don’t have to think/worry about it again if I do. But what sucks about that is that society wants and often understandably needs people to work on a schedule. And I just... can’t.

But I’m trying to take this knowledge and apply it, trying to accept that this is how I function. I function based on a system of priorities that get done in order of “absolutely must be done right this second, whether for my own reasons or outside reasons, even if I need to drop other things” to “this is what I CAN do right now.” Not something pre-scheduled. If I need to leave something to the last minute then I’m just going to accept that that’s how it’s going to be and that’s okay. Then I can free up energy and space to do other things in the meantime rather than worry and be anxious and beat myself up because I should be doing the thing and end up hating things I like doing because they’re not what I should be doing and now there’s a negative association with them. No. Screw that. If all I can do today is play a video game then fine. Gonna enjoy it. Because I now know for a fact, from years of experience, that I will do the important things. They just need to wait until I’m capable of doing them. And... if I let myself stop worrying about old WIPs... They get done eventually too. It might take a few years but as long as I don’t actually decide not to do them, they will get done.

All that said... I still want to look into meds because it would be nice to have more of an ability to focus more regularly. I just need to clear up some other medical stuff first and I’ve got appointments already set up for that.

One more thing... I f$&#ing hate the attitude teachers have about doodling in class. It was literally the only way I could focus during lectures and remember anything they were talking about. I could look at what I drew and remember what was being said while I drew it. F$&% every teacher who took away my notebooks or yelled at me for it. Without it, I’d zone out completely. And THANK YOU to the art history teacher and biology teachers I had who not only understood but encouraged it and actually helped me direct it toward the subject matter by suggesting drawing thumbnails of the art or cell structure or anatomy.

[harmonie-writes]

I Don’t Need a Hero Prologue

Johnny x reader 

Genre: fluff with a smidge *cough* lot *cough* of angst

Superhero AU 

AN/Warnings: there is a lot of background that leads up to the actual story. Language, minor violence, slight mind control

Summary: not everyone has superhero powers, and those who do don’t always become heros unless they absolutely have to. 

Word count: ~3.1k

----------

You’ve always known that your childhood friend was blessed with super strength. It was especially apparent when your best friend, a four year old boy at the time, managed to rip off the door from your little play set outside while playing house. Let’s just say the “husband” of your pretend home had to help you paint new doors multiple times to replace the others. 

You on the other hand didn’t have any super special talent or lift a car without the car jack. You were just you,  Johnny’s regular childhood best friend. But that didn’t change anything, at least not until high school. 

“I’m going to do it.” You looked at Johnny like he grew a second head.

 “Excuse me, what?” Flicking your forehead Johnny slid into the chair next to you at your usual table in the cafeteria. 

Rolling his eyes he leaned in towards you, “I said, “I’m going to become a superhero”.” Leaning back he took in your slightly confused, but also slightly worried expression.

 “Johnny I love you and everything, but where the hell did you get this idea?” You asked eyes skimming every inch of his face for some tale-tell sign. And find something you did. You noticed the slight glance of Johnny’s eyes land somewhere behind you. Brows furrowing you turned slightly to see the largest clique on campus, and the head cheerleader shot him a wink with an exaggerated hair flip. Of fucking course that’s what would make him do something so dangerous out of the blue… you had a small frown painted on your lips when you turned back around only to see Johnny send a wink back. Slumping down in your chair you placed a hand over your eyes as you felt your chest tighten slightly. “Have you actually considered this or is this just to get a pretty girl's attention?” You accused a slight edge seeping into your voice.

“(Y/N), everything will be fine. I'm practically bulletproof,” he rolled his eyes as he reclined in his chair.

  “Johnny, just because you have super strength doesn’t mean you are bullet proof.” You saw the glint in his eye that he was about to start an argument but you quickly stood up. “We can talk about this after practice, alright?” You told him with a sigh as you gathered your books and tray. Johnny closed his mouth and gave you a small nod as he watched you disappear through the throng of students.

——

Lacing your spikes you made your way out to the track ready to burn off the anxiety you still felt creeping at the back of your mind, and what a great way to distract yourself than to sprint around the track. Getting into the starting block you felt the tingle of heat of the track run through your fingertips. Lifting your head all you saw was the endless expanse of the seventh lane before you closed your eyes and waited for the blank of the starting pistol to sound. The bang resounded in your ears as you took off from the starting block, but you felt overly warm. The next thing you knew you had finished your lap and looked at the coach who was keeping time only to see surprise etched into their face. Looking around you realized that everyone was looking at you that way and the other students from your heat had stopped running. “What?” All your coach did was flash the stopwatch in their hand. 0.02 seconds. Your jaw dropped before looking down at your spikes, or what was left of them.

 “I thought you said you didn’t have a power,” your coach was still recovering from shock.

 “I-I don’t, or at least I didn’t,” you mumble as you tug the end up your ponytail between your fingers. 

——

Flopping on your bed you card your fingers through your hair before the sound of your phone went off. “He’s like clockwork,” you mutter reaching your phone and answering, not bothering looking at the photo ID. With a sigh you hold it up to your ear, “Hi Johnny.” 

Wow, I’m hurt. You sound like you don’t enjoy when I call.  

You could hear the fake hurt in his voice. “It’s not that, I’m just tired.” It wasn’t a complete lie, you were tired from everything that happened during the day up until now. 

So, about earlier I- 

“I need to tell you something.” You didn’t want to cut him off but at the same time it was your goal to prolong the inevitable. 

Uh ok, what is it? 

Taking a deep breath you closed your eyes, “IthinkIhavesuperspeed.” 

What was that? You think you have what?

An exasperated groan past your lips as you ran a hand down your face,  “I said, “I think I have super speed”.” 

What no way! I would’ve known that by now! 

“Johnny I’m serious,” you whine hoping he’d actually take you seriously. 

I’ll believe it when I see it.

“Fine.” Getting up you did just that and made sure you were still on the phone with him. Racing outside you couldn’t help but watch the little blue lighting dance across your skin as you raced to his house, greeting his parents as you sped up the stairs to his room.

  “Hi,” you gave him a coy smile as you slid into his room. Johnny rolled his eyes as he spun in his desk chair to face you.

 “C’mon, you live next door that doesn’t prove you have super speed.” 

Shoving his shoulder lightly you rolled your eyes, “Ok then mister buff guy, how do I prove it?” Johnny’s eyes lit up getting a brilliant idea as a smirk slowly slid into place.

  “If you’re really that fast then bring take out from somewhere and I’ll set up a movie to watch.” 

“Challenge accepted muscles,” you giggled, zipping down the stairs. Oh you had an idea that would definitely make him believe you, and it involved the small family owned pizza place in New York. 

— — 

Johnny has barely picked out a Netflix movie when you came waltzing into his room with a large pizza box. His eyes grew to the size of the moon seeing the name of the company on the box. “No way, we went there for our class trip two years ago. You actually ran to New York?” Johnny’s eyes were like small galaxies in awe at your new found ability.

 “I figured this would get my point across pretty well,” you shrugged, sitting down on his bed as you flipped open the pizza box.

 “I will never question you again, ever,” Johnny said as he took a slice from the box. You both ate in comfortable silence as whatever movie played on his tv. “Does this mean if I want something you can go get it for me?” Johnny asked, giving you large puppy dog eyes.

 “Maybe… only if you’re buying,” you gave him a large shit eating grin as you watched the giddy smile slip from his lips as he shoved you. At least for the time being, you were happy that you stopped your best friend from running headlong into the dangerous world of crime fighting.

——

If only you knew how little your opinion or feelings mattered in a few short weeks.

——

Fridays were always yours and Johnny’s hang out day and you were excited for the plans you made coincidently the same night you gained your speed. You were almost to Johnny’s car when you noticed him lip locked with the cheer captain before she slid into the passenger seat of his car. Gripping your backpack a little tighter you raced home ready to dive under the covers of your bed.

Johnny’s eyes caught the familiar electric, blue streak before averting his attention to his current company, the inkling of forgetting something tugging fibers in the back of his mind. Whatever it was couldn’t have been that important right?

——

Glaring at your phone in your hand you looked at the door seeing an all too familiar silhouette outside the glass of the front door. Exhaling loudly through your nose you let your fingers grip the door handle before opening it. 

“What do you want?” You watched the small glint of confusion pass over your best friends eyes before it was masked with anger. 

“What do you mean ‘what do I want’? Where the hell is this coming from?” Johnny furrowed his brows. 

Crossing your arms over your chest and a none-too-pleased look plastered on your face as you stated the obvious, “I don’t know, does Friday ring a bell?” 

The frustrated wrinkles that were etched on Johnny’s face slowly fade away as he realized what he forgot on Friday. Running a hand through his hair he sighed realizing that’s what he forgot. “Oh.” Johnny looked up when he heard the hurt in your voice. 

“Was I really not even worth getting a text saying you wanted a raincheck or that we couldn’t watch our movie this weekend?”

 “It’s not that… I just got… busy,” Johnny trailed off not meeting your eyes.

  “Yeah I kinda noticed,” the bitter tone made a reappearance in your voice again.

  “What was that supposed to mean?”

  “It means nothing. It’s late I’ll talk to you later.” You tried closing the door only for a foot to stop it.

“Wait no we need to talk about this.”

 “There is nothing to talk about right now,” you mumbled, turning your body away from your giant of a best friend. 

Walking up behind you Johnny placed his hands on your shoulders to spin you around to face him. “Of course there is something to talk about! We can start with why you are acting like a bitch. Just because you got your new found power doesn’t mean you have to be an entitled one!” 

Blue electricity crackled like static off your body effectively making your friend remove their hands from your shoulders. “You never talked about being a hero until some pretty blonde who you never even talked to gave you the time of day!” 

“At least she is encouraging me to make a difference, that I can actually save somebody!”

 “So just because I said that I worried about you getting hurt means nothing? Wait, no, don’t answer that,” your lips pressed into a thin line. You were done with arguing and just wanted to go cry in your room, but you had something you needed to do. To be honest you weren’t really sure how you managed, but you managed to sweep Johnny up and speed up to his room before tossing him on his bed and disappearing with a streak of blue trailing behind you. 

Johnny propped himself on his elbows as he stared at his closed bedroom door. What the hell just happened.

You on the other hand had closed the front door to your home pretty harshly and slumped against it bringing your knees to your chest, as you tried to suppress your sobs. The boy was all brawn and no brain, and couldn’t have been more oblivious.

----

People were actually surprised to see you and Johnny not connected at the hip, and even more surprised to see him with the queen bee. 

You on the other hand just shrugged it off trying to not to seem as affected by your tarnished relationship with your now ex-best friend. The table you used to sit at was now empty and the only time you spent inside was to pick up lunch before heading out to the track where you’d meet up with other speedsters of the like. 

—————

Oh to think that this was only calm before the storm.

—————

There has been an obvious wedge driven between you and your brawny friend, but that seemed to continue getting wider the longer Johnny had the cheer captain on his hip. All it took was for you to stay late after practice in hopes of not running into your current problem, Johnny Suh. 

Placing your feet in the starting block you focused on the track and the point where it started to curve. Eyes closing you could almost feel yourself immerse into one of the heats. The way the starting gun was loaded and all runners called to the ready. The familiar tingles of electricity started to crackle along your body, and you took off at the sound of the imaginary starting gun shooting the blank into the air. 

Opening your eyes though, you weren’t ready to meet the honeyed locks of the women who drove the wedge in your friendship. The over-the-top floral smell that rolled off her me you scrunch up your nose. “Um, can I help you?” you glanced around the area of the track to see if she was looking for someone from her team, or even Johnny.

She took one quick look over her shoulder before giving you a condescending smile. “Actually sweetie you can.” As her words left her mouth a pink mist had started to seep off her arms and fingertips, and move in your direction. 

It seemed as if your feet were made of lead and the only thing you could do was jerk your head to the side, but even then the attempt was futile. The mist seemed to put a veil over you and you felt like a prisoner in your own head. It felt like cotton was in your ears, your mouth clamped shut, but you could smell roses. 

You watched as your body lurched forward damn near close to super sonic with your fist raised. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry as you watched your fist connect to her cheek. What the hell is happening?! You wanted to stop your limbs from their continuing tangent, and they did, but as a result from an outside source.

An almost bone crushing grip had wrapped around your upper arms, before you felt a weightlessness. You have never felt like a ragdoll before but now you could market that one of your list of things you never realized you haven’t done before. All too quickly your back landed harshly against the turf field before skidding to a stop.

Shouting could be heard from your team mates, and a voice you knew all too well was starting to make its way through the fuzz inside your head. “YN! What the fuck is wrong with you?!?” Johnny yelled as he helped pick up the cheerleader.

You wanted to answer, or scream or do anything other than just watch him walk away with the person that left you smelling roses. A could tell a shadow had passed over your face and soon a light was being shined into your eyes.

Your coach and a sports medicine student noticed how dilated your eyes were while they examined them. It wasn’t until they rolled you onto your back that they realized how drastic the impact with the ground really was. “We need to get her in to see the nurse,” your coach mumbled, moving to shift one of your arms over his shoulder while the med student did the other. 

“Do you think that maybe YN was affected by a super?” The student questioned as they caught a glimpse of your face that still seemed to be in a trance. 

“It’s a possibility, but I’ll need to discuss things with YN and their parents,” the track coach let out a sigh knowing that the results of today would end with you being suspended.

----------

The nurse took one look at your face before ushering the two holding you to lay you on the bed. After digging in the cupboard for cleaning antiseptic, gauze and athletic tape the nurse looked at your coach. “Have you called the parents yet?” 

“Just about to head down to the office and call them to come down.”

The nurse just nodded before starting the task of taking care of the turf burns that ran along your shoulders, arms and knees. Leaning in close to wipe the grit away she heard you mumble words under your breath. The word ‘rose’ falling endlessly from your lips. Having her suspicions confirmed she shook her head once more before waiting for your parents to arrive.

----------

Your head turned slowly as you heard the hurried steps of heels enter the nurse’s office. You’ve already discussed your suspension with your coach, because well a fight is a fight regardless of super-usage, or who instigated it. When you met your mother’s and father’s eyes you couldn’t help but look back down at your hands fisted in your lap. 

“Oh baby,” your mom whispered as she made her way to sit next to you on the bed.

Not missing a beat you looked over at your mom and whispered, “I didn’t have control of my own body… it, it wasn’t my fault.”

“I know baby. I think there’s some things we need to talk about,” your mom told you while taking one of your hands. Your father grabbed the stool and scooted it closer. 

His eyes were trained on his hands as he wrung them. “Bub… I’ve been offered a promotion.” 

“Well that’s good?” You weren’t entirely sure where this conversation was going.

Your father let out a sigh as he looked over at your mother. “It’s not here at the office. The company wants to move me to a new office a couple cities over.”

A small frown touched your face as you took in the news. “So… what exactly does this imply then? Do we have to move?” 

“Your father and I have discussed a couple of options on our way over,” your mom told you while taking one of your hands, “one of them is that we do move to be closer to your father’s job.”

“Or, I can stay in hotels during the week and come home on the weekends,” your father finished. Your parents could tell by the look on your face that you were mulling over your options.

Chewing on your cheek you thought of all the shitty things that have happened over the past couple of weeks that all led up to today, and honestly running from your problems seemed like the better option currently. Your best friend, the person you grew up with, the person you may have started to develop feelings made it very clear where you two stand today. It’s not like he’d care right? I mean, he’s never used his power on me before… until today.

Finally looking at your parents you decided you had an answer. “I think I’d be okay with moving.”

----------

K-Pop Masterlist I next

[negandarylsatisfaction]

[PRE-APOCALYPSE: Dominique finds out she is pregnant by her boyfriend, Negan. Only to find him in bed with another woman. She takes off not knowing the world will end as she knows it. Negan stubbornly wants to protect her no matter how angry she is.]

Drama

Negan and Dominique. PART ONE.

Part one.

It was early in the afternoon and you were at work already hiding in the bathroom. Except today it was for a valid reason, you had just found out you were pregnant. Barely able to stop smiling with excitement staring down at the stick you were so eager to call Negan. Negan was your boyfriend of a year, things had been a little bumpy throughout your relationship but these past five months were nothing but peace. He had even spoken to you about finally moving in with him especially since you lived on the other side of town.

The two of you had spoken about having a baby in the future but you never expected it to be so soon.

After speaking to your boss and asking to leave early due to a family emergency you got in your car and decided to show up and surprise Negan face to face at home. He usually worked night shifts and you knew he’d be home today. This was something that couldn’t wait and you wouldn’t dare waste to speak about through text. Excitedly you blasted some music in the car singing loudly as you drove down to Negans apartment. Things were finally starting to feel just right for you.

Pulling up in front of his apartment you walked up the steps as you dug in your purse looking for the spare keys he gave you for whenever you came over. Humming to yourself you opened the door to a quiet living room and figured Negan was still asleep. He never expected you during these hours of the day you knew he would be surprised. What you didn’t know was the surprise that would be waiting for you.

Slowly opening his bedroom door with a smile, your world came crashing down at the sight before you. There was a naked blonde woman under the covers next to your boyfriend, Negan. You gasped in a state of shock not being able to move, neither of them had heard you. Looking down at the floor you saw the woman’s bra and underwear, your heart sunk into your stomach. You soon heard a low groan as Negan turned around in bed and slowly opened up his eyes at the sight of you standing at his bedroom door.

“Dominique.” He whispered as he quickly realized you were staring at him with a woman in bed with him. Without saying a word you shut the door and began to rush out of his apartment.

“Dominique wait!” Negan shot up from the bed as the unknown woman began to wake up.

“Get out of here. Now.” He told the woman as he threw on a white T-shirt and buttoned his jeans. As he made it out of his room he caught you walking out the door and made you turn to him.

“Dominique wait-“

“You filthy piece of shit!” You screamed as you pulled your arm back.

“Listen to me-“ he struggled to speak seeing the pain in your eyes.

“No. I’m done listening to a word you say. I should’ve known..I should’ve known.” A knot began to build in your throat as you tried your best not to let yourself cry in front of him.

“I only came here to surprise you with something I thought would be good...” You reached into your purse for your pregnancy test and threw it at his chest.

“Congratulations you dirtbag, you’re going to be a father.” You quickly turned away from him as you began to choke on your words. Running out back to your car you left him standing in disbelief. Negan froze staring down at the pregnancy test feeling the guilt begin to grow in his chest.

“Holy shit.” He whispered before running out after you.

“Dominique!” He yelled grabbing hold of your car door before you could close it.

“Leave me alone!” You screamed attempting to push him away but he stood his ground.

“How long have you been pregnant?”

“I don’t fucking know, it doesn’t matter, just leave me alone!” You yelled slamming your steering wheel.

“You need to relax. I’m not fucking letting you drive like this.”

You immediately broke out into laughter.

“Relax?!” You stepped out of your car as he backed up and looked straight into his eyes before laying a hard smack across his face. Of course, the smack barely making him move an inch from here he was, he stared down at you in silence.

“Stay away from me.” You whispered coldly before getting back into your car, slamming your door and driving off as fast you could.

“Dominique!” He yelled and began cursing at himself before noticing his neighbor was watching him.

“What the fuck are you looking at?!” He growled as the woman stepped out of his apartment. He turned his back to her as she walked out with her head down.

Negan walked back inside and immediately grabbed his phone trying to call you but of course all you did was send it to voicemail.

“Baby, please answer the phone. Please hear me out.” Negan left you four voicemails hoping you’d respond as he sighed throwing himself back on the couch. Turning on the tv to distract his mind for a bit he noticed something very strange going on in the news.

“What the fuck..” he whispered as he turned up the volume. A news reporter was in the middle of her broadcast explaining that a virus had been exposed to a small part of the city. It was in the town you lived in.

Negan sat up watching the chaos unfold behind the news reporter when a man suddenly grabbed her and bit half her face off.

“What the fuck!” Negan stood up watching as the camera dropped and more people were attacked. What really caught his eye was what seemed to be a human on the floor crawling towards the camera. The man was making a gurgling noise, half his face was on the floor, it was nothing he had ever seen before.

“What the fuck is that..” Negan whispered moving closer to the television before soon the screen went blank. Not hearing anything outside the only thing Negan could think of was that this was happening on your side of town. Quickly he grabbed his leather jacket and his car keys and jumped in his car racing to where he knew you would be going.

Turning on the radio Negan could hear people in panic talking about this sudden virus beginning to spread. Static began to take over as he attempted to switch channels but lost all signal. No sign of chaos on his side of town his goal was to bring you back. Grabbing his phone again he called you once more only to get your voicemail.

“God dammit baby, pick up the fucking phone, I don’t know whats happening but it’s not safe where you’re at. I’m on my way to you now.” He threw his phone on the passenger seat and continued to speed down the road.

Crying as you drove back home you could feel your phone continue to vibrate on your lap. The same stupid picture of you and Negan popping up on your home screen, it took everything in you to not throw that phone out of the damn window. Being so lost in your pain you failed to notice the traffic building up around you. You failed to notice the strange things starting to occur around you. You didn’t notice a thing until you saw a woman covered in blood running past your car.

“What the hell..” you whispered looking out the window. People were running in circles around you, some chasing others, you had no idea what was happening. A man banged into the front of your car as he chased after another man, blood was soon all over the streets, you gasped at the terror building up around you.

Looking down at your phone you saw a text from Negan, the last person you wanted to hear from but his message caught your attention.

“Somethings happening..I’m coming to get you.” You frowned staring down at the text when he began to call again. Shaking in confusion, mascara running down your cheeks you picked up his phone call and hesitantly spoke.

“H-hello.” You continued to watch the chaos around you grow.

“Where are you?!”

“What’s happening?” You whispered as you watched in horror a man bite into a woman’s shoulder. In that moment any anger or sadness you felt was taken over with fear.

“Where are you, Dominique?”

“I’m in the car, I’m close to the house-“

“Stay in the car, don’t fucking get out of it. Lock your doors-“ you screamed at a sudden woman running into your window.

“What is it? What happened?” Negan stepped on the gas driving as fast as he could.

“There’s a woman, a woman in my window I think she’s injured-“

“Don’t fucking open the door. Stay in that car you hear me?”

“I can’t move, there’s cars and people all around me I’m stuck, what the hell is happening?”

“I don’t know baby, I’m coming to get you. I’m gonna be right there.”

“Oh my god.” You gasped as you saw people being torn limb by limb.

“Negan what the hell, I’ve never seen anything like this-“ your words suddenly cut off with the sound of a loud crash making Negans heart stop.

“Dominique!” He yelled as he heard you scream, glass breaking and suddenly the call was lost.

“Mother fucker!” He slammed the steering wheel and continued to drive.

A truck had slammed into the side of your car making your car flip twice and leaving you upside down. Fortunately, you were conscious with only a few cuts and scrapes on you. It was miracle you were even conscious. Looking out the window you could see your house just down the block. Finding your phone completely crushed you were left with no choice but to just pull yourself out of the car. Moaning in pain you leaned on tiny shards of glass cutting your hands struggling to drag your body out of the car window. Easily getting yourself to your feet you were careful with the people around you. Running down the block in pain you grabbed your keys out of your pocket, relieved to have grabbed them and quickly let yourself in your home. Locking the door as fast as you could you ran to each window closing all the blinds and leaving the lights off. Rushing to the sink you winced as you let water run down the cuts on your hands slowly pulling out some of the pieces of glass.

“Fuck-“ you whispered in pain. As angry as you felt you couldn’t help but hope Negan would soon be at your door.

Negan slowed down once he got close to your house, slowly observing everything around him, fear grew in him still unaware of your condition. That’s when he froze at the sight of your destroyed vehicle.

“No..” he whispered before stepping out of his car not paying attention to anything around him and ran to where he thought you were. People continued to run circles around him as he dodged everyone coming his way.

Distracted with only focusing on getting to you, Negan zoned out on everything else around him. Crouching down he noticed nobody was in the car, he looked around and soon noticed a trail of blood leading into the direction of your home. He didn’t know whether to feel a sense of relief or not. Without hesitation Negan ran to your home and immediately started slamming his hands on the door.

“Dominique it’s me! Please tell me you’re fucking in there.” You jumped looking over at the door and ran to open it. Struggling not to hurt your hands more than they were you unlocked the door and let him in. Negan instantly let out a sigh of relief before letting himself in and shutting the door behind him.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He whispered grabbing your face noticing each and every scratch and cut on it.

“I’m fine-“ ignoring your words he grabbed your wrists looking down at your cut up hands. Shaking his head he looked up into your eyes wondering how the hell you made it out alive after how the car looked. His eyes couldn’t help but fall to your stomach. He didn’t have to say a word for you to know what he was thinking.

“I’m fine.” You whispered once more honestly not sure if you were just too shaken up to feel anything or if everything was truly ok. Turning away in silence you walked back to the sink and continued to clean out your cuts. It was almost as if even through all the fear you were feeling you came into the realization again at what had just happened between the two of you.

“Dominique...I-“

“Don’t talk to me right now about this.” You responded in a soft tone with your back still to him. Negan groaned not agreeing with what you wanted but what was he to say.

“Let’s get you back to my place. You can come back here when all this shit is over.” Negan spoke as he took a peep out the window not knowing when any of this would even be over.

“Your place?” You chuckled as you finished cleaning up your hand.

“Where your whore stayed? I don’t think so, I’ll stay at a hotel.” It seemed the fear in you didn’t completely make you forget the rage you felt towards Negan either.

“Don’t start.” Negan spoke low with his back to you, he knew you had every reason to be upset but he wouldn’t dare let you stay without him.

“Don’t start? I have every reason to start and say whatever the hell I want, I don’t care what’s going on right now. Whatever it is, it’s only in my side of town, I don’t have to stay with you.”

Negan turned with deep furrowed brows as he slowly made his way to you.

“And what exactly do you think you’re going to do, sweetheart? Carry my child and take off to some cheap motel?”

Your heart once again sunk all over at his words, the reminder of being pregnant.

Being pregnant with Negans child.

“It’s none of your business-“

“Like hell its none of my fucking business!” His voice unexpectedly louder than he meant it to be towards you. Staring at your back he could see your shoulders tense up at the way he spoke, he looked down with a sigh.

“Look, you came here to make sure I was ok and I appreciate that but...-“

“But what?” He spoke low looking up in your direction, you still couldn’t bare the sight of him. He knew and feared the words that would come out of your mouth.

“I may be carrying your child but..we are no longer together-“

“Don’t say that.”

“What? Did you think we’d somehow act like nothing and continue our relationship after what I saw this morning?” You turned with tears filled in your eyes.

“I’m done. This baby doesn’t stop me from being done with you, I am done.” Your heart hurt as you spoke your truth but you should’ve known Negan would be a persistent man.

“You can be done with me all you want, baby. I’m not letting you out of my sight again, not until this whole shit clears up.”

“What whole shit? You don’t even know what it is!”

“Exactly.” He turned around again taking a look out the window, chaos still on the streets.

“I’m going to pack my stuff then I’m staying at the Royal Inn in the city.” You turned and made your way up the stairs to your bedroom.

“Yeah and how you gonna get there? Walking?” Negan yelled up to your room as you rolled your eyes. There was no way you’d stay with this man, you could take care of yourself just fine.

Coming down the stairs you were shocked to find Negan packing a bag of his own, a shopping bag he must’ve found laying around on the couch.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m packing you some snacks.”

“You don’t need to, I’ll probably be back by tomorrow.”

Negan didn’t want to worry you, but he doubted you’d be able to come back to this side of town any time soon.

“You feel ok?” He asked you as you walked into the kitchen.

“I’m fine, Negan.” He sensed the annoyance in your tone and crossed his arms.

“Excuse me for worrying princess, have you seen your god damn car outside?”

“Yeah well, I’m fine. So drop it.”

You always were a stubborn woman but this anger you had inside you, made you all the more stubborn.

“Lets go.” You went to grab your gym back that you packed but Negan was a second too fast for you and took a hold of it before turning to the door.

“Stay behind me.”

“Mhm.” You responded low as Negan opened up the door and led the way to his car. The area had cleared up a bit. He cleared a path for you and made sure you were settled in the car before quickly making his way around.

Without saying a word Negan started the car and began to drive but he drove in the opposite direction of where you asked him to take you.

“Negan?”

“Hm.”

“This isn’t-“ you turned looking out your window.

“This isn’t the way to the Royal Inn.”

Negan let out a snort making you turn his way.

“Is that where you think you’re going, doll?”

“Negan I told you to take me there.”

“And I told you no.” He responded in a cocky manner with a hint of a smirk on his lips. You could never win with this man.

“You’re in for a treat if you just think I’m going to be doing whatever you say.” You mumbled making him chuckle. He didn’t have much to say to that. All he knew was that he was discovering a piece of himself he had never knew existed before. He had always been protective of you, Negan was always protective of those he cared for. But in his forty plus years of living he had never felt this sudden fear deep within him. The woman he loved was now pregnant and she was pissed at him. Hell, he didn’t blame her but he’d be damned if he thought he would let that get in the way of making sure her and his unborn were safe.

The car was filled with silence for a while as Negan drove. The closer the two of you got to his side of town the quieter it got. You looked out the window zoning out when the sudden feel of Negans hand gently placed on your stomach made you gasp. You looked over at him as he continued to drive, eyes on the road like if he wasn’t doing a thing.

“Stop.” You whispered.

You couldn’t take it.

The happiness was ripped out of you this morning, as much as you wanted a baby the pain of how quickly everything flipped this morning was too much to bare.

��I said stop.” You whispered as Negan pulled over right in front of his apartment before he slowly turned your way.

“Why?” He whispered leaning his face close to yours.

“Whether you like it or not that’s my kid in there.”

“Stop.” You shoved his hand away and opened the car door stepping out. You wanted so badly to be angry that this was his child but truth be told, you weren’t.

“Listen, you can’t act like nothing forever.” His eyes met yours over the roof of the car.

Ignoring his statement you walked towards his door waiting for him to reach your side and unlock the door. Not saying a word you walked inside and sat on the couch. Negan right away went to the back of the house as you lay back feeling yourself grow tired. When was the last time you took a nap during the day like this? You couldn’t remember.

The silence was soon interrupted with Negan walking back from his bedroom with a rifle in hand.

“Why the hell did you bring that out?” You shot up as he lay it on the dining room table.

“Precautions.” He muttered low, the last thing he wanted to do was scare you. But, on the drive home he noticed his phone was disconnected, certain places were closed. On his side of the road their happen to be a store with a sign telling customers to take whatever they needed. He looked over at you and he wasn’t sure what was going through your mind, he wasn’t sure if you were realizing anything around you at all.

“Precautions for what?” You almost laughed as you picked up the rifle when Negan quickly grabbed it from you.

“Don’t touch it.”

You frowned, his tone as if you were a careless woman who didn’t know how to handle a gun.

Truthfully, you didn’t know how to handle a rifle but still.

“Just don’t want you to hurt yourself, baby.” He grabbed the gun and walked towards the kitchen. He seemed tense, more than he was before, something was off.

“Well I’m gonna head to the store, do you want something?”

“Like hell you are!” Negan yelled from the kitchen making you sigh as you made your way to him.

“What the hell has gotten into you? Suddenly you find out I’m pregnant and I can’t breathe for myself? The deli is right on the corner of this block, don’t be ridiculous.” You grabbed the keys off the counter before suddenly feeling Negans tight grasp on your arm forcing you to turn around.

“Drop. The. Keys.” He spoke low staring directly into your eyes.

“You’re being ridiculous. If this is about what is going on where I live, that’s an hour away. We are fine here.”

“I’m not asking you, sweetheart. I’m telling you.” You rolled your eyes before shoving the keys to his chest.

“You want food? I’ve got enough.” He turned and opened the fridge pulling out containers, pizza, all kinds of frozen foods. It’s what he lived off of.

“There. Now stop being a pain in the fucking ass.” Negan left the kitchen and headed back to his bedroom with keys in hand. He didn’t know what he was going to do yet but he knew he had to think fast. The two of you had to get the hell out of there.

You crossed your arms and chuckled clearly in irritation. This man was something else.

Who the hell did he think he was?

Frozen foods?

You threw everything back in the fridge and looked down the hall to see his back to the door busy looking for something in his drawer. He took his keys but you didn’t need those damn keys anyways. Very quietly you made your way to the door and without Negan suspecting a thing, you made your way outside.

“Well it’s awfully quiet out here.” You whispered to yourself as you looked around realizing there was no one in sight in a usual busy street. Walking down the deli you noticed the usual old man behind the counter was not there. The register was open, you frowned looking around the store and noticed a few things on the floor.

“Mr.Boswell?” You yelled out when the lights suddenly flickered.

What the hell was going on?

Negan came back out the room with a box of bullets and a pistol. He knew he would have to teach you how to shoot, at what..he had no idea.

He lay back on the couch with a sigh placing the bullets on the small coffee table as he looked down at his pistol.

“Found something for you, baby.” He chuckled looking at the gun already picturing how it would be to teach you to shoot. Raising his eyebrows he almost became aroused at the thought of you with a gun.

“Dominique get over here, I wanna see something.” He chuckled before realizing how quiet it was.

“Dominique?” He quickly stood up walking towards the kitchen to find, you were gone.

“This fucking little-“

Negan cut himself off as he raced towards the door. Fear grew in him at the thought of you outside by yourself with something he really didn’t know much about around you. What if you were hurt already? It hadn’t been that long, had it? Why the hell did you have to be so damn rebellious? This wasn’t the time for it.

[cerezsis]

Chipped

Chapter Five: Hello

Summary: Steven tries to get through to Gray by showing her the truth about her past.

WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions of blood and gore. Tread cautiously.

--

           Gray’s body trembled with a mixture of fury and confusion. She had no idea how this hybrid got in her head, but she was not about to let him stay there! The world around her faded to static as she fully manifested in the mind space.

           “How dare you!” she shouted in her head, “What makes you think you have the right to invade my mind!? When I get my hands on you –”

           Steven froze. “You can see me?”

           “Of course I –” Gray froze too, her own realization dawning on her. “You can hear me?”

           Steven nodded.

           The two of them stood, staring at each other in bewilderment. Touching the gash in her throat, Gray stood upright and her muscles relaxed a bit.

           “… Hello,” was all she could think to say.

           “Um, hi.” Steven floated closer to her. “How are you able to see me? Whenever I’ve been in the mind space before, no one’s been –”

           His words were cut off by something appearing in his peripheral. After a better look, he saw what appeared to be a butterfly, only… not. Its shape was on point, but its coloring was completely gray, and it was surrounded by a smokey aura that trailed behind it as it fluttered.

           “My powers are based on illusion,” Gray explained, the smokey insect landing gracefully in her stretched out palm, “I can project images such as this, and make others see things that aren’t there. I suppose the opposite is true too, and I can see things others can’t.”

           The butterfly disappeared in a puff of smoke. Steven nodded, satisfied enough with that answer.

           “I just wanna talk to you, Gray. Why are you doing this? Why are you attacking your own mother?”

           Gray scoffed. “Are you serious? Why? Did she tell you what she did to the cessineans? What she did to me?”

           “What she did to the cessineans was wrong, but we can make it right without fighting. Things have changed. White has changed. We can –”

           “What about me? Did she tell you what she did to me? Her own child! She can’t be trusted, Steven! What kind of monster does that to her own baby?”

           “What happened to you was the cessineans doing. White never –”

           “Oh, so the cessineans made her abandon me?” Gray once again interrupted, her tone mocking and increasing with anger. “The cessineans made her reject me at birth? They made her and Black toss me away like trash?”

           Steven stared at her, blankly. “What… did the cessineans tell you?”

           “What did White tell you? Look at me! You’ve met her! You know how she treats things that are flawed, how she treats beings that she deems “beneath” her!”

           “That’s… That’s not…” He tried to think of how to explain it to her. “White loved you, Gray. She and Black both loved you! White’s been mourning you for centuries! She never –”

           Rage seething through her core, Gray grabbed Steven, holding him tightly in her fist.

           “You don’t know anything!” Gray screamed. “They loved me? Liar! Mocking me isn’t going to save you! When I get to Homeworld, I will shatter you first!”

           “Wait!” Steven pleaded as Gray prepared to throw him out of the mind space. He couldn’t leave yet. He needed to show her the truth, but how? This wasn’t like when he tried to reach out to Blue and Yellow. How was he supposed to –

           “It must be a trick!” Yellow’s voice suddenly echoed, “Show yourself, foe!”

           Steven’s eyes popped open, and Gray froze in her tracks. They were surrounded by the projection of Yellow, Blue, and Steven from that fateful day two years ago. Gray let go of Steven in her astonishment, and the projection faded away.

           “What… was that?” Gray asked.

           Wondering the same thing, Steven looked to Gray. Curious, he reached out for her still outstretched hand. The memory projected around them again, the way it surrounded them reminding Steven of the observation device Lapis showed him on the moon base.

           “I’m not your foe!” Steven of the past pleaded, “Please just listen to me!”

           Coming to her senses, Gray drew her hand back.

           “What was that?” she demanded once again.

           Steven turned to look her in the eye. “I… think when my mind powers mix with your illusion powers, we’re able to see each other’s memories.”

           Gray raised an eyebrow. “You say that as if it’s a common occurrence.”

           “This kind of stuff happens to me a lot,” Steven shrugged.

           Gray’s face contorted in even more confusion. Grinning, Steven offered her his hand. She hesitated, but curiosity won out. With reservation, she touched his much smaller hand.

           Suddenly, they were surrounded by a shiny, metallic room. On one side, giant sheets of paper were scattered across the floor. On the other, a variety of carefully crafted paper flowers sat piled on the floor. A much younger Gray Diamond sat in front of a large screen that was mounted on the wall. Her long, white curls flowed freely over her shoulders, and her dress reminded Steven of something out of the Edwardian era. Her scars and gashes were as present as they were today, but her face was rounder and more child-like.

           The younger Gray continued to fold the piece of paper in her hands as an old cessinean comedy program played on the screen in front of her. Something had happed that made her giggle, but no sound came out. Her body just trembled as one would do when laughing.

           “Is this what you did all day?” Steven asked.

           “Not necessarily. Sometimes I’d preform maintenance on the base. With the cessineans in cryo-sleep, it was my job to keep everyone safe.”

           Steven continued to stare at the younger version of Gray. He watched her fold the paper with great precision, her face stoic but a glimmer in her good eye showed joy in what she was doing. Within seconds, what was once a blank piece of paper was now a beautiful, though alien looking lily.

           A thought suddenly occurring to him, Steven pulled his hand away from Gray.

           “I have an idea,” Steven said, “You don’t believe me when I say that Black and White didn’t abandon you, but if you can see it for yourself, you’ll have to believe it. We can project your memories of them, and you’ll see that I’m telling the truth.”

           Gray rolled her eyes. “And what if you’re wrong? What if I’m the one who’s right?”

           “Then you’ll prove to me that you’re telling the truth.”

           Gray was silent for a moment. “Regardless of who’s right, how is this supposed to work? How are we supposed to project things I don’t even remember?”

           Steven’s expression dropped. He hadn’t thought of that. He quickly searched his mind for an answer.

           “I saw something on TV once that we can try. I don’t know if it’ll actually work, but… Just hear me out. Close your eyes.”

           Gray tilted her head, unsure of where this was going. Despite her uncertainty, she decided the truth was worth the leap of faith. Doing as he instructed, she closed her eyes.

           “Now picture a door. Behind that door lies the memories you’ve forgotten, memories of your mothers and your life before the cessineans took you in. Picture that door and focus on it.” He reached out and touched her hand. “Now open it.”

           At first, nothing happened, but after a moment of silence, a happy, high pitched squeal echoed in their ears. Gray’s eyes snapped open. The image of toys and shiny things dangling down from two overlapping arches projected around them. Two tiny, chubby gray hands reached up and grabbed what looked like a mirror. In its reflection, there was a bright-eyed, smiling baby, no cracks or gashes to be seen. The infant’s tiny, wispy curls bounced as she flailed her limbs and let out another squeal.

           Gray’s eyes were locked on the infant as she raised a trembling hand to touch the gash in her throat. Thousands of questions raced through her head, but she found herself unable to voice any of them.

           “Is she supposed to be this active at this hour?” a familiar voice asked.

           The infant Gray turned her head, now looking towards the two large gems standing next to the sensory gym.

           “Aren’t infants supposed to sleep at night?” White continued.

           The gem standing next to her was equal to her in height, her black dress tight from the waist up, but loose in the skirt, the front of which opened to show her thigh-high boots. Her black hair reached her shoulders, and a square-shaped topknot sat on the top of her head. Like Gray, her chin was rounded, and her gem was on her navel, though its point faced upwards, much like Pink Diamond’s.

           “She’ll eventually grow out of needing to sleep,” Black Diamond rationalized, though her tone didn’t sound so confident, “I doubt it matters much when she sleeps.”

           Gray tore her hand away from Steven’s, causing the projection to fade away.

           “Is this a trick?” she demanded, “Are you manipulating my memories?”

           Steven shook his head. “You’re the one with illusion powers, Gray.”

           Gray was frozen in place. Steven gave her a reassuring smile and reached his hand back out for her. Hesitantly, she reached back for him, her hand shaking the entire time.

           When they touched this time, a sharp cry pierced the air. A tiny, fussy Gray Diamond clung onto a flustered White, the baby’s face flushed from crying so long. Black Diamond entered the frame, looking to console both her lover and child.

           “She won’t sleep, she won’t eat,” White listed off, “It’s been over an hour. She won’t settle down.”

           “Hand her over, darling,” Black offered, her arms outstretched.

           All too eager to hand over her screaming child, White gave Gray to her other mother. The darker diamond stroked the infant’s hair as she cradled her in her arms.

           “You’re causing quite a ruckus, little one.”

           Suddenly, images of calming, slow moving clouds began to manifest in front of the infant’s eyes. It was like slowly floating through a dreamland, though she knew she was still in her mother’s arms. Captivated, she watched the clouds go by, her cries finally starting to slow.

           Present day Gray also watched the clouds go by. She knew she inherited her powers from her sire, but she never thought she’d whiteness them firsthand. She watched as her younger self’s eyes began to flutter shut, her cries transitioning into hiccups as both her mothers began to quietly hum to her.

           As baby Gray’s eyes closed completely, present day Gray let her arm drop to her side, her eyes still locked ahead as the vision faded away.

           “Are you ok?” Steven asked.

           Gray turned to look at him.

           “What did White say happened to me?”

           “You and Black were waiting for her at a secret diamond base, and it was bombed by the cessineans. No one survived except you, apparently.”

           “How did I survive?”

           “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

           Gray stared at him for a moment, completely silent. Her hand trembling more than ever, she reached back out for him.

           “I have to know.”

           Steven nodded, and touched her hand.

           The sound of Gray’s cried once again filled the air. This time, though, it was accompanied by the frantic voice of Black Diamond.

           “What about the warp pads?” she pleaded to a gem neither Gray nor Steven recognized, “If we can’t evacuate with the ships, we can –”

           “The warps have been deactivated as well,” the unknown gem informed her, “There’s no escaping, my diamond. The bomb will hit at any moment.”

           Black turned away from her, a mix of panic, despair, and desperation flooding over her. There was truly nothing she could do. The realization of their fates fully sinking in, she lifted the still crying Gray out of her cradle and held her close.

           “What about your forcefield, my diamond?” her pearl asked, “Perhaps –”

           “The larger my forcefields are, the weaker they are,” Black cut her off, “One that big wouldn’t stand a chance against an attack like this.”

           Looking down at the infant in her arms, a small spark of hope suddenly glimmered in her eyes.

           “But perhaps…”

           With a heavy heart, Black summoned her forcefield, surrounding Gray in its protective glow. Knowing she could do nothing more than rely on this small slither of hope, she fell to her knees and held her daughter as close as the forcefield would allow.

           “I love you, Gray.”

           In the blink of an eye, everything was engulfed in a bright light, followed by a loud BOOM! Even the memory of the sound was enough to make Steven and present-day Gray’s ears ring.

           The bright light faded to black, and within seconds, a metallic room began manifesting around them. Baby Gray had survived and reformed, but she far from unscathed. Her gem had been chipped, leaving her naked body covered in cracks and gashes. She was crying in terror, but no sound escaped her lips. Her right eye glowed white, and her face showed no emotion, aside from the fear in her good eye.

            Just a few feet away, twelve cessineans stood, the very same twelve that were on the ship with Gray right now. None of them paid any mind to the terrified, injured infant.

           “I’m telling you, keeping her alive is the best thing we can do,” one of them explained to the others, “Look at her. We might’ve made the mistake of making Black and White too autonomous, but that won’t be a problem with her. She’s just a drone now, a mindless robot. She has no choice but to obey our commands.”

           Without thinking, Gray quickly let go of Steven, falling to her knees in anguish. She covered her face with her hands and shrieked loud enough that Steven had to cover his ears. Gasping between sobs, she ran her hands through her tied-back hair. Her anguish was so strong she could feel tears manifest on her physical form, outside of the mind space.

           Cautiously, Steven approached her and put a hand on her large shoulder.

           “I’m so sorry, Gray,” he said, “I didn’t know it would be… Now that you know the truth, you can stop all of this. Without you, the cessineans can’t hurt anyone. You have the power to –”

           Before he could finish, he found himself trapped in Gray Diamond’s fist. Hate and anger burned in her eyes as she threw her arm back, and violently tossed him out of the mind space.

             Steven gasped as he awoke in a cold sweat. Taking in his surroundings, he saw that he was still on the floor of the nursery, the diamonds and Spinel still surrounding him.

           “Did you talk to Gray?” White Diamond pleaded, “What did she say?”

           Steven didn’t know how to answer. He clutched his chest as he struggled to catch his breath.

           Suddenly, a loud BOOM shook the palace walls, causing even the diamonds to lose their balance, and few artifacts to come falling to the ground. Panicked, all five of them ran out of the room.

           Sprinting through the halls, they all stopped in their tracks once the nearest balcony came into view. Gray Diamond stood in between the open curtains; the flaming remains of the cessineans ship plummeting down behind her. Her face was stained with tears, and, much to Steven’s horror, her hands and dress were stained with blood.

           White Diamond’s hands trembled as she stared at the damaged face of her daughter. Slowly, Gray began to raise her hand, pointing at White as crimson blood dripped from her fingers. Trying to suppress her shakiness, White approached her.

           For a moment, all they did was stare at each other, their eyes locked. Lifting her hands, Gray summoned a smokey, silhouetted image. In it was the likeness of Black and White, the two of them standing close to each other, and lovingly embracing an infant Gray.

           The image faded away and White looked up, once again locking eyes with Gray. Slowly, as if afraid she too would disappear in a puff of smoke, White raised a trembling hand and touched Gray’s cracked cheek. Wiping a tear trail away with her thumb, White smiled at her.

           “Hello Gray.”

[middledumpling]

i like the way you smile

fandom: gekkan shoujo nozaki-kun

summary: everyday he walked past the dim windows of the tattoo shop next door and wondered about the owner with the bright orange hair and the beautiful smile

notes: soulmate!au for day 3 of @gsnkfandomweek 

The sun was just beginning to break over the mountains but Mikoshiba had already been up for hours. Truth be told, he hated getting up early, but there was something about the stillness in the air as the world was waking up, like it was holding its breath in anticipation of something, that made it worth it. He tilted the spout of his watering can back and stood up from where he was crouching on the ground. Those were the last of his various indoor plants and flowers watered. All that was left was to decorate the sign board and set the displays outside his door before he could officially open for the day. Mikoshiba rummaged through the top drawer for his chalk pen. Uncapping the pen, he began to outline some daffodils that would serve as a border to the text he’d add in later. Drawing flowers had always been a special skill of his and required almost no concentration, so inevitably his mind began to wander to the store next door, as it was wont to do these days. His small flower shop was unfortunately located right next to a tattoo parlour. It hadn’t been an ideal location for him. Mikoshiba was terrified of illicit yakuza activity and scary people in general, so he had always hurried past the tinted windows with averted eyes in order to avoid seeing any of the store’s employees or clients. But one day he had seen a small girl, at least a head shorter than him, stride confidently into the store. She had been wearing a long sleeved, poofy dress with two large ribbons in her hair. The sight was so odd that he stopped right there in the sidewalk to see what would happen. Nothing happened, of course. It wasn’t until later than he found out she was the owner of the store. But what had started as mere curiosity had slowly evolved into interest and then into a small crush. “You don’t even know her name,” his friend Kashima had pointed out. She had even offered to go and find out for him, but Mikoshiba had staunchly refused. Even if he knew her name, he was too much of a coward to do anything about it. He knew himself too well. Mikoshiba placed his chalkboard pen back down on the table and leaned back against his chair, staring at the way the early morning sunlight filtered through the store. The world didn’t feel beautiful anymore but terribly, terribly lonely. ... The bell over his front door jingled. “Welcome to Mikoto’s Flowers!” Mikoshiba greeted. “Oh—it’s just you.” Kashima laughed and brushed her windblown hair back into place. “Don’t sound so disappointed,” she said. Before he could say anything else, she went on. “Anyways, I know you told me not to talk to the tattoo girl but—” Mikoshiba heart lodged itself firmly into his throat and he leapt to his feet. “What?” he yelped. Kashima’s hands flew up in defence. “I just talked to her that’s all! I didn’t even say your name. I just mentioned I was interested in getting a tattoo.” Mikoshiba stared at her. Since when was she interested in getting a tattoo? Suddenly the pieces clicked as he watched her absently run a hand over her bare wrist. It was still strange to see it blank, when for the past however many years he’d known her it had been scrawled with lines of text. He flopped back into his chair and ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “You’re a hopeless romantic,” he complained half-heartedly. Mikoshiba glanced up just in time to see a soft smile spread across her usual charming face. “Hori-chan-senpai said that it wasn’t necessary, but I think I’d still like it as a momento,” she said decisively. “And besides, it was just lines of script anyways. Nothing to be embarrassed about!” Yeah, it was nothing like his. Mikoshiba’s face burned as he tugged down the sleeve of his sweater so it covered the black line of ink on the inside of his wrist. It was only one sentence, but it sure made an impact.

Too late, Kashima seemed to realize her blunder. “Not that having an embarrassing line is completely awful! It’ll fade either way once you meet them.” Mikoshiba sighs, running an hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know. But still. If I meet my soulmate and want this line tattooed on me again, promise me you’ll stop me.” Kashima nodded solemnly. “I won’t stop you.” “Thanks—hey!” While they tussled, Kashima put him into a headlock and grinned down at him. “I found out her name by the way,” she said. Mikoshiba glanced up, suitably distracted. “It’s Chiyo. Sakura Chiyo.” Mikoshiba mouthed the name to himself. Sakura Chiyo. The name suited her. ... It was still dark outside. Mikoshiba walked down the silent street, breathing in the crisp air of the morning.

As usual, he passed by the tattoo parlour on his way to the store. Before he realized it, Mikoshiba was hovering just outside the glass window of her storefront, watching her putter about the store, cleaning this or shifting that. There was no other way to describe it. She was just so… adorable.

But she walked around with a quiet confidence, with the kind of presence that had caught his attention in the first place. Their eyes met through the tinted glass. The girl—no, Chiyo—looked startled at first. Mikoshiba froze in place, embarrassed at having been caught staring in the first place. Then her lips quirked up into a smile as she waved at him. Mikoshiba had enough presence of mind to let out a quiet eep and wave back before ducking into his own store, blushing all the while. ... It was Valentine’s Day. Regardless of the fact that it was his birthday, his shop was swarming with people. Roses, lilies, chrysanthemums, assorted bouquets—everything was being sold at a rapid fire pace the way it did every year. The bell above his door jingled, signalling the arrival of yet another customer. “Welcome!” he yelled in the general direction of the front door. Milkoshiba rang the customer in and when glanced up, his heart nearly stopped in his chest. The customer that had just entered was Chiyo from next door, and when she caught his eye from the front of the store she wiggled her fingers at him in greeting. Adorable.

I’ll come back later, she mouthed sheepishly, pointing at the door. Mikoshiba nodded and waved back before his attention was completely seized again by a customer asking his opinion on flower languages. Later, after the chaos, Mikoshiba bemoaned the fact to Kashima. “I could have talked to her!” he exclaimed. “What would you have said?” she asked, eyebrows raised in question while perched on a nearby stool. “I would’ve, I dunno, introduced myself or something,” Mikoshiba groaned. “Or like, been all suave and given her a flower while saying ‘This is just for you, it’s on the house’.” “Maybe it’s better that you didn’t talk to her then,” Hori piped in, leaning casually against Kashima’s back. “Or you could always go next door you know, and introduce yourself like a normal person?” Kashima asked. “No, that’s not an option. I’ll just pine here until I die I guess.” “Please don’t,” Hori said.“You’ll ruin the linoleum.”

“I hate you both,” he complained. ... His phone rang once, twice, and then a third time  before he picked up. “Hey, are you free right now?” she asks, her tone peppy even through the static

“Yeah, what’s up?” Mikoshiba asked, phone cradled between his ear and shoulder during one of his only days off. “We just got our new script and we need some extra people to help read. You down?”

Mikoshiba hesitated. He stared at the screen of his TV, where Yukino was waiting for him to ask her on a date.

“I’ll buy you that new figure that came out. Limited edition, right?” Kashima wheedled.

His decision was made in an instance. “I’ll be there in five. Where are you?”

“Nozaki’s house! We’ll leave the door unlocked so just come right in.” And with that, she hung up. Mikoshiba grabbed his wallet and keys and headed out for the day. He stepped out into the sunshine, only mourning his cool and darkened room for a brief moment before he was cheered up by the thought of the limited edition figurine waiting for him at the end of the night.

It was a quick train ride to Nozaki’s house.

Nozaki was a bit of an eccentric mangaka, but then again, weren’t they all? Mikoshiba helped pen in flowers for him to make a little extra cash on the side and so he could tentatively call them friends.

Mikoshiba cautiously pushed open the door.The house was already alive with yelling and impassioned monologuing. Mikoshiba’s stomach twisted a little at the thought of how many people would be in the room, but he had to do this.

For Yukino, he decided, and pushed open the door.

He opened the door to total chaos. Hori had his back to him and was yelling his lines impassionately at a girl standing in front of him. Kashima was clearly long gone, her admiration for her senpai’s acting throwing her sanity out the window. And Nozaki was sitting back near the window, obviously enjoying the scene before him.

Hori moved to the side at his arrival, and Mikoshiba looked down at the girl, making eye contact with dizzyingly familiar purple eyes.

“Hey,” Sakura Chiyo, owner and tattoo artist of Ribbon & Ink Tattoos, said determinedly. “I know I cheated but I just can’t decide who I love more! You’ll forgive me right?”

Mikoshiba choked. His jaw dropped as he tried to process not only the turn of events, but his entire perspective on the concept of soulmates. There’s a burning sensation on his wrist and he glances down to see the black ink that had accompanied him for most of his life fading into unblemished skin.

“Your line!” Sakura snapped, and Mikoshiba jolted.

“Um,” he stammered, and suddenly a script was deposited in his hands. Mikoshiba scanned the page desperately. “The world may burn and the stars might twinkle out of existence, but I will always love you and therefore, I will always forgive you.”

He peeked up at Chiyo. The realization of what he just said registers in his mind and he feels his cheeks blaze red at the cheesy and embarrassing line. She stared up at him, wide-eyed and shocked, only breaking eye contact to glance down at her arm.

Hori, who had already finished his next line, trailed off to stare at the silent couple.

“...huh,” was all he said. Mikoshiba’s face burst into flames.

At this point, even Nozaki, hopeless in any type of romantic matters, caught on. “Oh ho,” he said, the statement made worse somehow by his usual deadpan face.

Kashima was beaming.

Mikoshiba targeted her, because he’s blushing so hard he can’t keep his gaze on Chiyo—his soulmate. Lord, even the thought of it was crazy.

“You set this up,” he hissed at her. She shrugged haplessly at the accusation, seemingly unable to keep a smile off her face.

“Let’s give them some privacy,” Hori interjected, dragging Kashima off by the back of her collar. “Nozaki, you too.”

In an instant the room was clear. Mikoshiba simultaneously loved and hated Hori-senpai at that moment.

There was a light touch on his arm, and he turned to see Chiyo holding her hand out. Up close, she was even tinier than he thought she was.

“I’m Sakura Chiyo,” she said, smiling bashfully at him. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

[cleverbroadwayurl]

“100% THE GAME LOSERS”

A/N: Okay so I normally don’t write things, but I got super inspired by @robot-anon‘s 1000 Follower Contest! I saw the quote “If you take one more photo I swear I’ll--” and immediately thought of Life is Strange!! Now, this post does contain spoilers because there isn’t really a way to avoid them when writing about the plot, but I did the best I could! I also tried to stay gender neutral, so my apologies if the piece becomes more feminine at times. Please take the trigger warnings seriously! 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of rape, mentions of drug use, mentions of non-consensual actions, Life is Strange spoilers, swearing, mentions of domestic abuse, and mentions of sexual assault in general. 

You knocked on Jeremy’s door with your right hand just as the sun was setting in New Jersey. Your left hand kept a tight grasp around a small rectangular case as you slightly smiled to yourself. There was a chill in the air, but the weather in New Jersey wasn’t anything new, even though you had just moved across the country a year ago. The golden hour had just begun, the sunlight giving everything a heavenly glow. Time to show Jeremy what he’s missing out on.

Mr. Heere opened the door, and surprisingly, he looked more…put together than usual (as in, he was actually wearing pants). He smiled a warm smile that matched the golden sunlight that was cast on the Heere’s front porch while opening the front door a little wider so you could come into the house. “Hi (Y/N),” he said, the large smile remaining static, “Jeremy and Michael are downstairs in the basement.”

You stepped into the house, while thanking Mr. Heere before practically hurling yourself down the stairs and into the basement.

Apocalypse of the Damned flashed on the TV, and you lunged towards the two boys who were silent in concentration. Trying not to disturb them any more than you already had, you carefully managed to sit between the two, half of your body on Michael’s bean bag, and the other half on Jeremy’s.

The three of you sat in comfortable silence as Jeremy and Michael attempted to get past Level 10 (they had beaten level 9 right after the SQUIP incident, the SQUIP-cident if you will, and just before they met you).

“GAME OVER” flashed on the screen in big red letters as both boys sighed. “DAMN IT” Michael yelled as he tossed the controller to the side. You let out a small chuckle as the two boys mourned their loss. Again.

“Hey (Y/N),” Jeremy greeted after a moment. You weren’t offended that they hadn’t greeted you when you got there. This was typical for Game Night, and you knew how hard they had worked on Level 10. Why they still couldn’t beat it was beyond you.

“Hey Jeremy,” you greeted before smirking at Michael. “Hi Michael, looking peachy as usual.”

He rolled his eyes playfully before sending you a smirk back. “Aww thanks, (Y/N). You know we were aiming to lose, that’s just how we play.”

“Surprisingly, that makes a lot of sense. I mean when the three of us play Mario Kart, that seems to be the common goal between the two of you,” you sassed back.

“HEY!” They shouted as they sat up. You could hardly contain the laughter from creeping out as the two pretended that they were extremely offended.  

It wasn’t that they were bad, it’s just that you had experience. You had been playing with your brother since you were two, and he had taught you every trick in the book. You knew the tracks by heart on most systems, and could play almost any cup with your eyes closed. Of course, Jeremy and Michael put up a good fight, but you still ended up on top.

“Whatcha got there?” Jeremy asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“It was my turn to pick the game for Game Night. So I picked my favorite one,” you gave a small, but extremely genuine smile.

“Which one?”

“Life is Strange.”

“Wait…isn’t that single player?” Michael asked, his eyebrows furrowing. You nodded in response before showing the game in all of its glory.

“And haven’t you played it like 5 times?”

“Try 8 times, Heere,” you shot back, proud of yourself for logging over 150 hours into this somewhat obscure game.

“Okay…so why are we playing it tonight? It breaks not just one, but two of our Game Night rules. It’s single player and you’ve played it before. 8 times apparently,” Jeremy said, looking at you with confusion.

“Because you guys need to play it. It’s a part of me. I love this game so damn much, and I’ve devoted my only free time since Spring 2016 to this game. I mean, it’s a godsend. This game helps me relax, and sometimes it helps me sleep. So, if you want to get to know me better, which I know both of you do, we are going to sit here and play this game until we’re finished. No excuses, no buts, no shit talking from the peanut gallery. IE: you two.”

“Alright then, no sleeping buddy,” Michael teased, poking at your side. “It’s your game. You gotta stay up and play it with us.”

You giggled at Michael’s usual antics before quickly noticing that he was actually right. You weren’t lying: this game helped you relax and sleep when life was hitting you hardest. But you had committed to it. There is no way that Michael and Jeremy would be able to finish this game on their own in one night. Between the fetch quests and memory quizzes, it would take these boys over 20 hours to complete it. And the bottle collecting for Chloe Price in Episode 2 was a two-hour task on its own if you weren’t an experienced player. They definitely needed you awake.

“I promise to try my best,” you stated, confidently.

“Okay, so how is this going to work?” Jeremy asked, eyeing the controller. It was obvious that he wanted to be the person controlling Max, but Life is Strange is a choice-based game. It requires the most observant player, the most patient people, and most importantly, the ones who can keep a cool head when things get crazy. Michael and Jeremy did not seem to meet all of the requirements. Not yet, at least.

They were absolutely experienced in video games, but the two had never played something that required so much thought. Sure, the decisions get harder, but decisions are not levels. This was not the average mainstream retro game like Apocalypse of the Damned. No, this required thought, and someone who knew that they were doing.

“You guys will make the decisions. I have no input unless you two are truly conflicted on something. I will hit whatever button you guys tell me to. There is no timer for making the choices, and no quick time, so we don’t have to worry about how long each debate about decisions will take. I know where everything is for the fetch quests, and I wanted to 100% the game on your guys’ first play through. Some of the achievements are super hard to get. Plus, how sick would those bragging rights be?”

“There are achievements?” Jeremy asked, sounding skeptical.

“How does that work?” Michael followed up.

“There are optional photos you can take in every episode. Those count as trophies, or achievements,” you explained, already standing up to insert the game into Jeremy’s PS4.

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this,” Michael noted, eyeing up the game’s case.

You stood in front of the TV for a second, thinking about everything you would need. You had the game, the seating arrangement, how the game was to be played; what else did you need? Michael probably needs another slushie, and maybe all three of you need snacks?

“Hey Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“This game takes 10 hours to complete. You might want a slushie to help you get through it.”

“And maybe some snacks if we’re in for the long haul?” Jeremy quickly added on.

“Anything else you want before Servant Michael goes to 7/11?”

“It was just a suggestion,” you reminded as Michael grabbed his keys.

“Nah, I’m not mad at you. Jeremy, however, owes me one big favor when I get back because he didn’t offer to tag along and help with both the choosing and carrying of the snacks.”

“Dude, I don’t want to leave her here alone with my dad. That’s...more than embarrassing.”

“Fair point. I’ll be back soon, you two.”

You waved Michael goodbye as he climbed up the stairs and out of the house. You decided to be a little sneaky and wait until Michael was gone before sitting yourself down in his usual spot.

You and Jeremy made small talk in the basement as you waited for Michael to get back. The 7/11 was only a 4-minute drive, and you were sure that he’d be back shortly.

Talking with Jeremy was always a little bit interesting. Sometimes he was awkward, or sometimes things were stuttered out, or sometimes he was embarrassed because he accidentally overshared, but overall, Jeremy was a pretty good conversationalist once he got comfortable. Which was nice, honestly. Because you often tend to be okay at making typical and cliché small talk (you and the SQUIP Squad have talked about the weather a lot) for the first part of the conversation, but run out of things to say. However, whenever you and Jeremy talked, it was easy. If you ran out of things to say, Jeremy would become comfortable enough to come up with something relating to whatever you were talking about. It was a nice balance between the two of you.

“I have a question for you,” Jeremy started, looking at the game’s case.

“What’s up, Jer?”

“Why do you love this game so much?” He asked innocently.

Your mind went blank for a second. “Feminism,” you spat out quickly. Your gaze shifted towards your lap as soon as the word exited your lips. Sure, it was feminism. But it was also so much more. It was everything to you, the first “real” game you’d ever played. It was your outlet for any stress, it was a way to be undetected; it was an escape.

“Are you sure that that’s the only reason why you like it?” Jeremy asked, trying to meet your eyes. He knew that whenever you did this, you weren’t telling the whole truth. This was a way for you to dodge questions because it would force you to go deeper into your personal life. He knew you weren’t really a sharer, but also knew that you’d spent so many hours not only playing this game, but researching the science of it, researching strategy to get new outcomes, and, of course, waiting for the sequel. There was definitely more you loved about this game than ‘feminism’.

You opened your mouth to answer his question (actually, you were probably going to make a self-depreciating joke, which was also a defense mechanism), but Michael waltzed back into the room, cherry slushie in hand. He had a bag of snacks in his other hand, claiming that there was no Game Night complete without eating your weight in junk food.

He reached into the bag, and pulled out some ice cream. He handed the frozen treat to you as Jeremy grabbed the controller and booted up the game. Slowly but surely, Michael had dispersed the snacks in front of all 3 of you. As you opened up your ice cream, and Michael handed you a spoon, you decided that now was probably a good time to talk about some themes in this game.

“Alright guys, listen up.”

The two boys looked at you sharply as the game continued to load onto the screen. You noticed that your voice had gotten a lot quieter than it was when you thanked Michael for the ice cream and spoon.

“This game deals with some…sensitive issues. I know that sometimes you guys get upset when people are mistreated, so if either of you need to take a break to cool off a little bit, let the group know.”

“We can handle it, (Y/N),” Michael smiled, mimicking Superman’s pose before kicking you out of his bean bag. You gently moved over to the spot you’d had before as the game’s main menu appeared.

A sense of calm washed over you. The title music was the number one thing that kept you sane and happy. It stopped anxiety attacks, any bouts of paranoia, and could destress you in 10 minutes. The whoosh of the ocean and wind reminded you of the few peaceful times that you had had in your hometown.

“We get it, (Y/N). You’re from Seattle.”

“We get it, Michael. You can’t tell the difference between Seattle and Oregon: where this game actually takes place.”

Michael rolled his eyes playfully as you selected “New Game”. You had to admit, it was funny to watch the two boys jump at the initial thunder clap that began the game. You smiled, happy tears in your eyes, so happy to be playing your favorite game with some amazing people.

And with that, the game play started. You quickly blinked back your tears, and returned to your normal state. Episode 1 was rather easy. It was an introductory to the characters and the game mechanic. You had to admit, there were some moments that you’d cherish forever.

Some examples include: when Nathan shoots Chloe in the bathroom, both boys screamed out the first time it happened. It wasn’t even like a manly scream. Michael’s voice cracked and Jeremy’s was so high in his falsetto, you swore only animals could hear it. When the boys made the choice to stay hidden in Chloe’s closet and Chloe’s step-douche hits her because she was smoking weed, Michael did indeed get a little pissy. His exact words were “That guy is a fucking dick who would marry him?”

As the game went on, you noticed that Michael had a soft spot for Kate Marsh. Kate Marsh also happens to be your favorite character, so you and Michael happily agreed to help her in any way you two could. Jeremy started to get fed up because “why do we have to stop and clean her whiteboard again?”

By the end of Episode 2, Jeremy was eating his words. As soon as Max got on the roof and said the infamous: “I can’t rewind!!”, Jeremy’s eyes got wide. Fortunately, they managed to save Kate. Both of them just sat there after the episode ended, taking deep breaths. You had to keep reassuring them that yes, they did save Kate (Michael almost cried when you told him that there was a large chance that you would not be able to save her, so imagine his relief).

The two had also said yes to the date with Warren, so it was a pretty good playthrough so far.

After Jeremy and Michael had calmed down, they both decided it was best for them to keep going. Their interest in the game spiked, and they both slowly began to realize what they were missing out on. You, however, got a little bit more worried. Before you hit “Continue”, you set the controller down and took a breath.

“It only gets worse from here. I am warning you now. Those episodes were tame. The next ones are…much darker. Literally and figuratively.”

They both shuddered at your words before Jeremy bravely said that he would like to continue.

By the end of Episode 3, they had blamed Nathan, sided with Chloe and Joyce, survived the initial confrontation with Frank (they laughed when Frank said “THOSE WERE MY BEANS”), and had managed to not fuck up too badly. Plus, you had gotten them all of the optional photos so far. Not a bad playthrough at all.

But then came Episode 4. Episode 4 was the most unsettling chapter of the game. You knew this. The boys you were playing with? Did not.

However, you began the episode and kept going. When Max had to go into Nathan’s room, you tensed. How could you not; his room is creepy. Of course, you found the photo of Chloe, and the broken lamp. That was a given. But when Max commented “I hope all of those models were consenting,” Michael almost lost it, and Jeremy seemed to shake with anger.

“(Y/N), he did it, I know he did it, Jesus Christ Nathan I will personally pummel you to the ground pal,” Michael rambled.

Although his threats were funny, this was nothing compared to Episode 5. You kind of dreaded it. If they were mad at characters now, they were going to be furious by the end of the game.

The three of you kept going, and Jeremy was getting a little annoyed at how out of your way you had to go to get some of the optional photos. But when you mentioned that he’d be 100%-ing the game first try, he’d shut up really quick.

You made it to the barn. You stopped just outside of it (taking a photo, much to Jeremy’s dismay), before setting the controller down the second time. The two boys looked at you, curious as to why you weren’t going in. Taking a breath, you started to formulate what you should say in order to make this half confession to go as easy as possible for you. You didn’t want to freak out so bad that you had to turn off the game like you’d done in the past.

The basement was dark. And you were about the enter the Dark Room.

“Okay…uhm…guys? Listen to me very carefully. When I’m searching for something weird in this barn, the controller will vibrate ever so slowly. I will jump every time it does. I know what’s in there, and it’s…disturbing to say the least. So, if I do jump, there is no need to worry. It’s just me being a little anxious.”

Their expressions went from confused to concerned. They each put a hand on your shoulder, grounding you in the moment.

Finally, you’d made it to Episode 5, sans sleeping. It was a miracle to be honest. You made it through the barn, and guess what? Jeremy and Michael cried when you found out what happened to Rachel Amber. Sure, it was sad, but after playing it 8 times, you get desensitized, you know?

The end of Episode 4 was what really got these boys angry, though. When Max was given the injection, Michael screeched out “NATHAN YOU FUCKING PRESCOTT!!” while Jeremy gasped. And when the figure in the dark was shown, there was a mixture of “FUCK”s that were spewed into the room.

“WHAT THE FUCK”

“HOW THE FUCK”

“WAIT”

“FUCKIN NO THIS ISN’T REAL”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD”

“HOW”

“THAT SICK MOTHERFUCKER”

“WHO DRUGS GIRLS AND THEN TAKES PHOTOS OF THEM WHAT THE FUCK”

“TORTURES HIS FUCKIN MODELS WHO DOES THAT”

By the end of it, Michael went to go smoke some weed and Jeremy had his head in his hands. You sat silently, letting the title music take your worries away.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes Jer?”

“You were right. It’s very feminist.”

You sighed at him as he stared at the ground in confusion. “Glad you think so,” you said after a beat. You waited another second before saying “It gets worse.”

“How does it get fucking worse?”

You sat for a minute before explaining that if he wants to know, he needs to get Michael. And you could’ve sworn you had never seen Jeremy move so fast in his life.

And there you sat. Shocking that this game was relaxing, wasn’t it? Well, to you it was. The light colors, the calming music, basically everything except the subject matter made you a happy person. You wondered if Michael and/or Jeremy would question you about why this is your favorite game (Jeremy would want you to go more in depth, you were sure of it). And you were sure that they’d ask you how you were able to sleep after playing such a game. You had to form sentences in your mind. This couldn’t be about self-depreciating jokes. This had to be real. If you were going to open up to them, you needed to be yourself and use the actual terminology, not some half assed whole lie.

Jeremy showed up with Michael moments later, and he was not as high as you would actually think. You looked at him, kind of surprised in all honesty. He noticed you staring at him, and then said “I wanted to make good decisions in this game. We almost lost Kate. I don’t want to lose someone else.”

You nodded before hitting the “Continue” button.

During the nightmare portion, you collapsed into yourself as each level got darker and darker. Michael was extremely fixated on the game, while Jeremy noticed and wrapped an arm around you. Every time you’d slightly flinch, he’d give you a reassuring squeeze into him.

The stealth was coming up. It was your least favorite part of the game and by far the scariest. It was honestly nightmare inducing all by itself. As soon as you heard the villain’s “Don’t try to hide Max! Get over here! Let me capture you!” You jumped and gave a small yelp. You quickly tried to steady your breathing and get ready to stealth your way past all of the terrible people in the game.

As soon as you jumped, Jeremy’s arm fell off of you, and after you’d landed, he placed his hand on your shoulder. Michael quickly did the same, understanding that yes, the two of them were scared shitless, but imagine how you were feeling. You were the one playing. And you were the only one who could complete the game in its entirety.

“You can do this. You’ve done it 8 times. You are safe. You are here with me and Michael.” Jeremy soothed as you stepped out from behind the white wall.

Expertly navigating through the maze, both boys remained silent. It was like they were playing Apocalypse of the Damned again. Whenever you were caught, your breath would hitch, and you would tense up. But being brave is rewinding and trying it again. So, that’s what you did.

The objective was to get to the lighthouse. Both Jeremy and Michael were extremely disturbed by this creepy maze, and they honestly just wanted it to be over. They both tensed up every time a flashlight would flash across the screen. You could feel it on your shoulders.

After collecting one of the optional photos in the stealth, Jeremy breathed a slight sigh of relief. “That’s the last one, right?” He asked, hoping that you’d say yes.

You remained silent, eyes on the screen as you got to the last section. Michael and Jeremy were cheering. You were so close to being done with this hellish landscape!!

Then you heard Max comment “Oh shit! Bottle collecting? Are you cereal?” You looped around, expertly avoiding each person with a flashlight.

“YOU’RE SO CLOSE TO THE LIGHTHOUSE JUST GO TO THE LIGHTHOUSE WHAT ARE YOU DOING” both boys started shouting.

“100% THE GAME LOSERS” you screeched back. You had managed to get all the bottles, with no worries.

Well, except one. You had one bottle to go, and from behind, you heard the most disturbing line of them all: “Max, Rachel not only gave great headshots. She gave great head. Especially after I dug her up to be with her one final time. Why are you looking at me like that?”

That was the one line you had never heard the main villain say. It was the one that you hoped you’d never hear. It was the one that made you cringe, flinch, and then nearly throw the controller.

Jeremy nearly threw up. Michael nearly threw up. What kind of sick game was this?! Jeremy was done with you getting these optional photos. He was done with Nathan, Frank, the whole evil gang really. He wanted that 100%, but to be honest, he wanted you to be okay more. Jeremy hated the fact that he had to witness you being absolutely terrified and jumped at every little interaction. Sure, he knew you loved this game, but something told him you had never heard that person say that specific line before. The game had gone too far. He knew you needed to be calm again. And he knew that nothing was going to do that besides making it to the lighthouse.

“(Y/N), you don’t need to 100% the game for us!” Jeremy shouted angerly, without meaning to.

“I promised, Jeremy!” You shot back.

“If you take one more optional photo I swear to god I’ll—” The game’s animation for the optional photo went off, and Max stepped into the space by the lighthouse. You took a breath before smirking at Jeremy.

“Congrats you two, you’re about to 100% Life is Strange.”

As soon as Max sat on the bench, the three of you sighed in relief. The worst was over. Michael gave your shoulder one final squeeze before removing his hand, as Jeremy wrapped his arm around you, and giving you the sweetest side hug he could.

When the game finally ended, the three of you flopped down onto the bean bags.

“Holy fuck, (Y/N). That’s your favorite game? I thought it was going to be tame, not whatever the fuck that was. I feel like I just smoked a bunch of weed and then ran around for 2 hours. I’m drained.” Michael rambled.

You gave him a small smile, telling him the same thing you told Jeremy: “It’s a feminist game. You know I like it when feminine issues are addressed in major masses of media and they’re widely accepted.”

Michael nodded in agreement, knowing that yes, you did like it when mass media produced things with actual feminine issues.

“Anyways,” you continued, “thank you for being here with me, you guys. It means a lot. That nightmare…it…uhh…isn’t easily handled that often. I didn’t expect that one character to say that specific line. And most of the time I have to turn off the game after the barn.”

“We’re here for you, okay?” Jeremy noted, leaning forward ever so slightly.  

“Yeah, I mean, we both support you and care about your decisions and well-being.” Michael added sleepily.

“I should probably get going. It’s 2 AM, and I kinda told my mom I’d be home by 3,” you said before packing your things up.

“You can’t walk home alone!” Jeremy protested, and Michael suddenly snapped awake.

“You could die!” Michael added.

“Someone could drug you!”

“Or you could be stabbed!”

“Guys!” you interjected, “I’ll be fine. I have pepper spray, remember? Plus, I can just like call my brother or something.”

You grabbed your game from the PS4 and put it safely back into its case. Jeremy and Michael looked at you with wide eyes. The three of you had just played a game where teenage girls are drugged, sexually assaulted, and photographed. No way were they letting you go out of their sight for over a week.

“If anything, I’ll drive you home,” Michael offered.

“It’s fine—” you yawned halfway through your sentence before giggling at yourself, “I knew Life is Strange made me sleepy.”

“Why don’t you just stay the night?” Jeremy asked you.

“You don’t mind?” You asked the lanky boy cautiously.

“Not at all.”

“Let me ask my mom.”

Your mom wasn’t usually so quick to approve of these things, but it was worth a shot to ask. You could tell her you were tired, and were completely safe in the Heere household. Maybe she’d allow it. So, you sent her a text.

She replied instantly, saying as long as you didn’t overstay your welcome, it was fine if you stayed over. She knew you were safe with Jeremy and Michael; she knew who they were, and knew that they wouldn’t try anything with her child.

“My mom said I could stay!”

The two teens whooped sleepily (and were very relieved that you wouldn’t have to walk outside alone) as you made your way back to the bean bags. You took your usual spot, right in the middle of the two boys, happy that you could stay.

“What do you want to do now?” Michael asked. “It’s our first sleepover together.”

“Well we already did what I wanted to do. Unless both of you would like to wait for the prequel to come out with me,” you chuckled.

“Let’s watch a movie,” Jeremy suggested, knowing that all three of you would be asleep within the first hour.

“Which one?” You asked.

“Let’s watch something happier. I need it after that emotional rollercoaster (Y/N) here,” Michael gestured towards you, “calls a game.”

“How about The Road to El Dorado?” Jeremy asked, flipping through Netflix.

“Sure,” you responded, knowing that Michael was already half asleep.

As the movie went on, you could feel your eyes get droopy. You did your best not to lean on Jeremy, but all hopes were lost. You shut your eyes, and welcomed sleep as if it were your best friend.

Jeremy’s eyes remained focused on the movie. He knew that there was so much more you had to tell him. He knew that Life is Strange is not your favorite game just because of the issues it covers. He knew that your trust was earned, and tonight was a very clear sign that he and Michael were two people that you were comfortable enough to show what you were passionate about. And while you knew about his secrets and past, he understood whenever you’d divert the conversation elsewhere when someone asked about your past or your interests. He understood the silences you gave, and sometimes even the self-depreciating jokes. He wanted to do so much for you, but had no idea where to start. And that was okay. He knew that was okay.

When Jeremy noticed that you were asleep, his face turned a dark red. He had heard all about the studies where people who could sleep around their friends, family, or significant others generally trusted them and had good relationship with one another (of course you told him about this study, and you being asleep further proved his point that him and Michael had gained your trust). He knew you were no different. You were strong, resilient, but tonight showed a side of pure joy and vulnerability. He hadn’t missed the tears forming in your eyes when the game started. He could tell they were tears of joy. He was honored that he got to help you through Max’s nightmare and the barn (even though you’d done it before). And he was honored to have you fall asleep on him.

In a sudden burst of tired confidence, Jeremy wrapped his arm around you before drifting off to sleep as well; the smile on his face only growing larger.

[zenyattasperceptrons]

(previous chapter) (whole series)

The house was actually starting to feel like a home.

Well, as much of a home as he'd ever had. He wasn’t attached to it, just...it didn’t feel like sleeping in a stranger’s room anymore. They’d painted his bedroom (three red walls, one a dusty brown) and Gabriel didn’t mind his stuff being strewn everywhere, as long as nothing was going to mildew. He felt comfortable rustling around the fridge for food and sometimes even sitting in the living room to watch TV instead of hiding out in his room all day.

Yeah. He could handle it when it was just him and Gabriel.

But then the guy had the nerve to invite guests over.

He came home around 6, and Jesse was about to go out and say hello when he heard a voice he didn’t recognize and froze in his tracks. 

Gabriel found him like that, awkwardly standing in the middle of his room.

“Hey,” he said, pushing the door open just enough to peer in. “Ana and her daughter are staying for dinner. Do you want to come out and meet them?”

Ana. Right, the coworker who’d kick Gabriel’s ass if she heard Jesse cursing. He’d keep that in mind--for better or worse. He didn’t know she had a kid, though.

“Okay,” he agreed, voice shaking involuntarily. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous. His thoughts weren’t this nervous.

He followed Gabriel to the living room, plucking absently at the soft fabric of the pajama pants he hadn’t bothered changing out of.

Ana was sitting on the couch, legs crossed and smiling in a knowing way that gave him goosebumps. The kid standing next to her and staring right at him, then, was her daughter.

“You must be Jess,” said Ana, leaning forward. He still wasn’t sure what he thought about that name, but it was better than the one on his ID. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh,” he said. Ana laughed. He wasn’t entirely sure why. He looked over at the girl, and Ana followed his gaze.

“This is Fareeha,” she said, gesturing at her. “Say hello.”

“Hi!” Fareeha said, grinning widely.

Jesse blinked. “Hi,�� he responded. “It’s, uh...nice to meet you.”

“You, too. Do you play basketball?”

He blinked again. Ana stood up and walked to the kitchen, apparently going to discuss something with Gabriel, their voices murmuring in the corner of his perception. “No,” he answered, finally. “Don’t play sports.”

“Aww,” Fareeha whined, wrinkling her nose. “That’s boring. You’re so tall, too.”

“Not really.” He was taller than her, but maybe by a foot. She was obviously still going to grow. He wasn’t sure he would anymore.

She huffed and crossed her arms, looking over at her mom. Ana was talking about something, voice low, the sounds echoing off the kitchen tiles just enough to jumble them in Jesse’s ears. She put a hand on Gabriel’s arm and smiled. Jesse wondered if she was married.

Fareeha tugged on one of his braids, and he frowned at the sudden intrusion.

“I wish my hair was this long,” she said, sighing. Jesse’s frown turned into a grimace. He’d thought about cutting his hair off a lot recently. He might do that soon. Gabriel probably had scissors in his room somewhere.

“Grow it out,” he said, testily. Her hair was styled in a shoulder-length bob, obviously styled short in some way. Why was she touching him? He leaned backwards a little, and she stuck her tongue out at him, but at least she let go.

“Duh!” she went, loud enough to attract the attention of Ana and Gabe. “I’m trying, I’ve only been a girl for a year.”

He blinked. He blinked again, and felt the blood drain from his face. What?

“What?” he said, voice pitching higher in his shock. “What...what do you mean?”

The adults had fallen completely silent. It kind of felt like the whole world had gone silent, his heart pounding in his ears.

Fareeha crossed her arms and stood up straighter, raising her chin proudly. “Mom thought I was a boy!” she said, defiantly. “But I told her I wasn’t, so now she’s letting me grow my hair.”

Jesse stared at her. Fareeha stared back, her expression deepening into a frown the longer his eyes stayed on her, face blank.

She just...told Ana that she was a girl? And that worked? People could just do that?

Could...could he?

“Alright, kids!” came Gabriel’s voice, and Jesse flinched, startled out of his reverie. “Who wants to help make dinner?”

“I will!” Fareeha volunteered, running off into the kitchen. Jesse watched her, and glanced at Gabriel, catching a look from him, some squinting expression that Jesse couldn’t read. Was he in trouble? Was he not supposed to ask her about...what he had asked her about?

“...Jess?” Gabriel followed up with, voice in that same controlled tone he used whenever Jesse’s brain wasn’t acting right. “Do you want to help with dinner?”

Jesse hung his head, and then shook it.

"Oh, come on Jess, spend some time with us,” Ana said, a smile on her face that felt like a trap. But Gabriel nudged her, and frowned, and she sighed before turning away, reaching an arm towards Fareeha and saying something too quiet for Jesse to hear except for the doting tone.

“It’ll be about an hour,” Gabriel said. Jesse nodded and slunk off to his bedroom.

He had a lot to think about.

He came out to eat dinner instead of taking it in his room, which he could tell Gabriel was happy about. That kind of made him happy too. He usually didn’t like doing what people wanted, but...it was different here. He could have stayed in his room. He didn’t do the thing that Gabriel wanted because he had to. He just. Could. And it felt really nice to have someone smile just because he walked into a room.

He didn’t say anything all dinner, just ate quietly and nodded his head a few times or shrugged his shoulders to answer Ana’s questions. Was he going back to school soon? Was he excited? Has he made any friends in the neighborhood yet?

She seemed more like a parent than Gabriel did. Too many questions about things he didn’t care about. Too many smiles about things that weren’t funny unless he was the one she was laughing at.

He was happy when they left soon after dinner. He wanted to talk to Fareeha more, but...he didn’t know what to say. She was young, and there were too many adults around. He didn’t want to talk to them. Not yet.

He laid his head down on the counter while Gabriel did the dishes, listening to the running water and clank of pans and plates. He hadn’t asked him to help. Like maybe he knew the answer would be no.

“What did you think of Fareeha?”

Jesse lifted his head up, squinting at the sudden light. “She’s...happy,” he started. And then, out of words, never finished, instead just shrugging a shoulder.

“She is,” Gabriel agreed, smiling. “She wasn’t always, but she’s gotten better recently.”

He nodded, wondering why, exactly, that might have been. “Did, did you, uh...” He frowned at his unexpected stammer, but at the very least got Gabriel’s attention. “Did you,” he tried again, “know her before she...before she was a girl?”

“I did,” was the answer. As if it was a completely normal question. Jesse fidgeted in his seat.

“Was it weird?”

“What--when she told us we were wrong?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “I didn’t think so.”

“Oh.”

He listened to the running water for a moment longer before Gabriel chose to expand upon his answer, rinsing off the last plate.

“I can’t speak for anyone else, but mostly I felt relieved. This was a big thing for her. Is a big thing. And to know that she felt supported enough to be herself around us...it’s comforting. She’s so much more confident now.”

Gabriel glanced at him, and Jesse looked at the counter.

“Y’know, Jess...I try my best to anticipate what you need, but I know I’ll miss things, or just be plain wrong sometimes. So if you ever need something from me, I hope you know you can always ask. I want you to feel supported, too. That’s what I’m here for.”

The counter blurred, and he wrinkled his nose. “Mph,” he went, sliding off the stool onto his feet. “’M going to bed.” He went to his room without waiting for a response.

“Sweet dreams,” Gabriel bade him.

He shut his door.

He felt...weird. Anxious, but that didn’t usually make him want to cry.

He sniffed, and rubbed his eyes. His head felt full of static. He felt kind of sick. He felt kind of like laughing.

He didn’t know how to deal with this. He went to bed.

(next)

[oh-so-scenarios]

Not A Bad Thing ~ Part Seven

Fairy-tale & AU Series Index

Previous Part || Next Part

Word Count: 5.4K

Errors. Please excuse and ignore them.

A/N: Idk how i feel about this part, but I hope you like it. Expect mostly backstories and flashbacks in the coming parts. :)

{Update days: Tuesdays, Thursday or Saturdays}

I strolled into the office of my photography company. I was expecting to see Jang Mi there as always, seeing as I was running late. My mind was all over the place as I tried to set my head straight. Today was our last day working with EXO Inc. This project that has stretched over a span of weeks has finally come to an end.

It’s only been 2 months since Sehun marked me, and I’m already sensing a difference between us. It’s a good one, honestly. We’ve grown closer as friends. It feels like I’m actually having a friendship with Sehun.

He really doesn’t hold back anymore. The random PDA in the office still shocks the employees. They are so used to seeing a stuffy, stiff-faced Mr. Oh. I wasn’t used to how open he was now being, but it wasn’t bothering me either. It’s not too much PDA. He would hold my hand, whisper something in my ear or put an arm around my waist.

Some would say it’s not appropriate for a work setting, but Sehun didn’t care much.

I strolled into the office, staring down at my phone as I stomped towards my desk. My movements came to a stop when I noticed something out the corner of my eyes. I finally looked up from my cell phone screen to see a beautiful bouquet of red roses in a glass vase. My phone nearly dropped out my hand as I stared in awe.

“Pretty right?” Jang Mi muttered from her desk, breaking my attention from the flowers. All I could do was stare back at her with a vacant look.

“It was delivered here less than 10 minutes ago.” She paused, “It’s said that there are 51 roses in that bouquet.”

I looked back at the roses and raised an eyebrow, “51? What an odd number.” I started walking towards the big bouquet which sat on my desk. Where am I going to put it? I set my bag on my chair and stared at the arrangement, hoping to figure out a plan of some kind.

“I looked it up and 51 roses means ‘you’re the only thing on my mind’. Isn’t that sweet?” She chimed clapping her hands together.

I didn’t react to her words, rather keep my gaze on the roses. I rubbed the thin petals of one of the flowers and the corner of my lips turned up into a small smile. I finally noticed a small card hidden within the many roses. I reached in and grabbed it reading the words written on it in black ink.

Have you fallen head over heels for me yet?

I couldn’t help but chuckle and shake my head at his silliness. I put the small card into the pocket of my dress pants before looking at the roses again.

“What’s the memo for today?” I muttered to finally spinning around to look at her.

“Well, we are going to look over the final draft of the project before it is released. Everything was set together to showcase the caring personalities of all the CEOs.” She stated. I watched as she spun around in the spinning chairs and grabbed a flash drive off her desk.

“You gave me the flash drive for it a few days ago. Don’t you remember?” She raised an eyebrow at me, snickering slightly.

I stared up at the ceiling, mouth agape.

“Oh right!” I chimed, smiling at her.

Jang Mi rolled her eyes at me, “Your head is in the clouds and you’re practically glowing! Makes me want to fall in love.”

She pouted before getting up from her chair. She began to gather the sheets and folders for the final overview of the project. I did the same, ignoring her words. We quickly gathered everything before heading to the corporate building.

Jang Mi was driving this time, so I sat in the passenger's seat, jamming to the songs that played on the radio. My eyes stayed trained on the sky, skimming over the houses and people we passed.

I was so lost in the scenery that the music was beginning to fade as background noise. My eyes followed some things as we passed them, making them visible for a second before becoming a passing blur once again.

“Y/N?” Jang Mi called out.

I looked over at her, only to be met with the profile of her face. Her eyes stuck on the road in front of us and it seemed that the speed of the car slowed for a moment.

“I made some minor changes to the project.” She mentions, “It’s not a big deal. There were some pictures that were left out. There weren’t many pictures from candid shots we took last week.”

I didn’t answer right away, “You made some changes? Like what, you added some pictures?”

She nodded meekly and bit her lip nervously, “There were some great shots that really needed to be in there. The spread will like them! I know they will, so I added them.”

“Okay.” Was all I stated. I really hope she didn’t shift things around too much. I want to be angry, but Jang Mi always does such a great job. I moved my eyes back to the window and sighed feeling like I was coming down from the romantic high that the roses caused.

“Tell me next time,” I muttered simply. Though I wasn’t looking at her, I knew she nodded, like she always does. With that same strained smile on her lips.

We entered the building gaining small smiles from those around us. They were now familiar with us and everyone was a lot kinder. I think it’s because of my relationship with Sehun. We proceed into the elevator, pressing the button to get to the needed floor.

“Jang Mi.” I spoke softly, “Since you added some photos, you’ll be able to do the presentation right? I wasn’t able to see the changes so I won’t be able to tie it together.”

She showed me a small smile before nodding, “Okay.”

I looked back at my reflection in the elevator doors. I looked tired, it was clear on my face. It’s expected after completing such a big project. All these photos we took will be spread throughout the world. Some of the photos will be sent to magazines for interviews with the CEO’s, other will be on websites and even TV.

I wasn’t fully aware of the pressure that sat on our shoulders till we were nearing the end. The doors opened and we made our way down the long hallway, past the small front desk and to the meeting room, which had its door wide open.

I could see some figure in there moving about and talking. I recognized the back of Yixing right away as he held a phone up to his ear. I handed the few folders I had to Jang Mi before giving her space to walk in ahead of me. I quietly followed behind her as the men in the room turned their attention to us.

We all greeted each other, as my eyes darted around the room to meet Sehun’s. I bowed, a smile on my lips. He returned the gesture.

“Aaww, why are you two being so formal?” Baekhyun whined from his seat at the conference table. Sehun scoffed at the man’s reaction and rolled his eyes.

“I know right, I was expecting a passionate kiss or something,” Jongin added, pulling up a chair and taking a seat beside Baekhyun.

“It’s called by professional” Sehun murmured, “Why would I do such things at the office?”

I held in my laughter as Sehun also walked to the conference table, pulling up a chair. After a few moments, Yixing was the only one still standing.

He still stood on the phone. I think he was speaking to his mate and the conversation sounded intense. I averted my attention to Jang Mi who began to set up everything. They already had a projector and laptop ready.

“Aren’t you doing the presentation?” Sehun asked as I took the seat beside him. I shook my head, turning my attention to the front.

“Nah, Jang Mi is gonna hold it down,” I answered softly. Once everyone was seated it was a matter of waiting for Jang Mi to set up. The lights in the room soon dimmed as the power point presentation was up on the screen. I looked on as Jang Mi began the presentation.

The changes she made were small, but I can see that they were for the better. The slight anger I was feeling, has diminished. I was flipping through some paperwork that went along with the presentation when I felt a hand on my knee. My movements stopped, and my eyes lost focus of the words printed in front of me.

I turned my attention to Sehun who sat beside me with a blank facial expression. He didn’t give away anything, and though my eyes were on him, he refused to meet my gaze. I simply looked back at the presentation, ignoring the pounding of my heart in my ears.

I left out a strained sigh before leaning back in my seat so I could peek at his hand resting on my knees. I scrunched my face up before moving my attention to the papers in front of me.

“So when we did some research,” Jang Mi continued, “It seems that Mr. Oh’s reputation is the harshest.” I strained smile meeting her lips.

Sehun, whose expression was static, gawked in surprise.

“Me? Why?” He questioned, but his hand didn’t leave my knee.

“Well um….” Jang Mi hesitated to speak, “Your face is kind of scary.”

I tried to hold in my laughter, while the other businessmen in the room began to chuckle openly causing me to join in with the laughter.

Sehun looked at me and almost glared, “My face is scary?”

I covered my mouth as I giggled, shaking my head. I swallowed my laughter, trying to comfort him.

I placed a hand over his that rested on my lap, “It’s not that your face is scary, it’s just that when you’re not smiling...you’re intimidating.”

I tried to speak as gently as I could, almost pouting as I explained. As I spoke those words, Chanyeol began to holler with laughter.

“You know it’s the truth when your girlfriend is saying it.” He barked, looking over at Baekhyun to join in his laughter. My eyes almost popped out of my head at the word ‘girlfriend’. Though the word didn’t seem to affect anyone else in that way.

“So I made a few changes, making sure to incorporate pictures of you smiling, a genuine smile at that.” Jang Mi said before pressing a button to the next slide. I gasped at the pictures that were on the slide. This must have been one of the big changes she made.

There were at least six pictures and one of them was from the Business Banquet where Sehun first strolled back into my life. Though it was clearly me standing there, all you could see was my back, and a wide grinning Sehun was completely visible in the photo.

When did she take this picture? Other photos were from around the office, though in most of them my face wasn’t visible.

“What’s all this?” I asked, my voice sounding a bit on edge.

Jang Mi scratched her head, “All the photos of Mr. Oh smiling nicely had you in them.” She muttered sounding almost embarrassed. When I had no reply to her words, she went on.

“So I wanted to send these pictures to some magazines, so they could maybe make a piece on you. It’s not going to be anything serious, just one of those silly ‘Who has the best smile’ clips. It may seem silly, but I believe it could do wonders.” She explained.

“I think that’s a good idea.” Yixing suddenly chimed in, looking through some paperwork in front of him.

“If anything, I think this is a good change of image. Sehun has softened up since Y/N has shown up. So I’m sure it’ll draw interest. I mean people will wonder who the female in the pictures is.” Junmyeon added.

“Yes.” Jang Mi’s eyebrows were raised up with joy in her mind, It seems that Junmyeon hit the mark.

“That could bring in more wanted attention, because it seems that although Mr. Oh is seen as the most serious of all the CEO’s he’s also the most desired by women. Think of an idol or an actor with all their fans. Yet, his fans aren’t as intense. So I was thinking to add a lighter energy around Mr. Oh we could play off his sudden change in demeanor due to Y/N.”

My face scrunched up at her words. What kind of plan is this? She didn’t discuss this with me at all. Though the other people in the room were liking her idea.

“I think it’s interesting,” Minseok voiced, “I could become one of those, he was cold till she came along and changed everything. They could become one of those couples the public keeps their eye on while changing the image of the CEOs around EXO.”

“Yes, I believe this could draw attention to both the company and also stir up interest in the personalities of the CEOs. If you are all okay with the growing interest in your personal lives.” She stated.

There was a collection of agreements in the air, while Sehun sat there with his eyes on me. His grip on my knee tightened and I gritted my teeth.

“There is one problem.” I voiced, turning my angry eyes to Jang Mi, whose proud expression dropped to the floor.

“I did not agree to this,” I spoke. What kind of bullshit is this? I don’t want to be a part of the public eye? If she had a plan like this, why didn’t she come to me for it? We’re just supposed to be taking pictures! Not coming up with some type of publicity scheme!

“I’m sorry but if these are the changes you made to the presentation then get rid of them. You told me you made minor changes! Not came up with a whole plan that involves me! You didn’t even ask my permission. So sorry, no I’m not going to let this happen.” I stated.

“Come on Y/N! This is such a cool plan!” Baekhyun added, a pout on his lips.

“Cool or not, I don’t want any part of it. Onto the next slide please.” My tone harsher than intended. I could see Jang Mi a bit thrown back by my anger, but what did she expect.

The last thing I want is my name blasted everywhere.

“Okay, onto the next slide.” Jang Mi’s voice was less confident this time around. I watched the rest of the presentation with my anger burning up my eyes. My face began to grow hot and I’m sure my facial expression wasn’t too welcoming.

As the presentation came to a close everyone clapped, and Jang Mi showed a hesitant smile while I stared on blankly. I am not amused. Everyone began to pack up to leave, so I stood up and gathered my things. I picked up all the files I had into my folder, keeping my eyes down.

“Calm down,” Sehun spoke, standing up from his seat beside me. I ignored his words and continued to back up.

I expected him to say something else, but it was a small voice that rang through the air. Though most of the other CEOs left to attend to further business, Junmyeon and Jongin were lingering around the door. They were watching the exchange that was proceeding.

“Y/N?” Jang Mi spoke nervously. I closed my eyes and exhaled through my nose. I set the folder down on the shiny wooden table and turned to look at her. I could tell by how red her face was turning, that she felt bad. Honestly, most people would say this isn’t a big deal, but the fact that a whole plan for my project and presentation was changed without my knowledge, is burning away at me.

“I’m sorry. I did all this without even consulting you. I went behind your back and put this in the presentation which was so wrong of me. I don’t know why, but I thought this would be a sort of surprise. In my mind, it was a good plan.” She explained, scratching the back of her head nervously. She began to fidget while I stood there looking at her.

“I understand where you were coming from, but I don’t like surprises. They throw me off my game. Next time come to me first, exceptionally when the plan involves my own private life.” My voice was dull, lacking any real emotion. I just wanted to get out of here.

“Don’t hate me.” She almost whimpered.

I groaned, rolling my eyes, “You know I can’t hate you.”

I turned around on my heels, swiping up the files in my hands before smiling at Sehun. Though my smile felt off, the tension from the previous situation still weighing on my mood.

I walked past Sehun, ready to head back to the office. Junmyeon and Jongin still stood by the door.

“I understand that you want your privacy. That’s understandable.” Jongin said, he and Junmyeon walking beside me when I walked out the room. Sehun trailed behind us while Jang Mi packed up the presentation.

“You don’t want the world to know all your business,” Junmyeon added quickly.

“But,” Jongin almost sang the word, “Y/N, what about us?”

I stopped walking and they followed suit, “What do you mean?”

“You’re a private person we get that, but why are you so private with us? Why are you so private with Sehun? Even your assistant says she doesn’t know much about you.”

My brows furrowed. How much about myself can I really reveal? The anxiety? The bullying? The moving countries to escape the bullying?

I stared at Jongin’s welcoming smile and almost felt guilty. They are reaching to me with open arms, not only Sehun but his brothers and their mates, but I keep pushing them off.

I cast my gaze down to my feet, sorrow washing over me.

An arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I pulling into someone’s side.

“Don’t you have another meeting?” Sehun’s calming voice resonated from beside me.

Junmyeon put a hand on Jongin’s shoulder, “We do have another meeting to go to.”

Smiling kindly at me, the two men turned their backs to me and walked off.

“What are your plans for today?” Sehun asked. I looked up at him and smiled.

“I’m just editing some headshots, but that’s really it. Wanna meet up for dinner? I’ll cook this time.” I offered.

“No, we can’t do that, because we’ll be having a party to celebrate the project coming to an end! It was supposed to be a surprise, but you made it clear that you don’t like those.” He gazed down at me.

I bit my lip, contemplating if this party was worth my time. It seems like him and his brothers find any reason to celebrate with a party.

We stood in the hallway while others businessmen and employees zoomed by without batting an eye.

“I guess I can make it,” I tried to sound cool resulting in a laugh from him.

“Let’s still meet up for lunch.”

I nodded, but a sudden thought entered my mind.

“Thank you for the roses. They’re lovely.” I chimed, kissing his cheek quickly. Sehun didn’t respond but brought his lips to mine briefly.

“What happened to keep it professional? Jang Mi uttered from behind us. I guess she packed everything. I slipped out of Sehun’s grasp. I said my goodbyes and head for the elevator while Jang Mi trailed behind. We didn’t speak during the ride back. It seemed like there was something she wanted to tell me, but I wasn’t paying her much mind.

“I can’t believe I let you drag me here,” I muttered. Though things weren’t completely smoothed over, Jang Mi and I were speaking like nothing happened. It only took a few hours of silence at the office. When I came back from lunch with Sehun, she was being her normal self.

So when I tried to skip the last minute party being held tonight, she wouldn’t let it happen. I’m thinking it’s going to be an office party, but low and behold it’s at the house of the CEOs. They like to party too much.

I sat at one of the tables in the second living room of the big mansion conversing with Sehun about the regular things. He held my hand on the table, his thumb occasionally rubbing circles on the back of my hand.

“You’re overdramatic.” I teased.

“You keep saying that, this is just the tip of the iceberg. If you want, I and really be over dramatic and show up with a white horse so we can ride off into the sunset.” He joked. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him.

“I don’t like crazy romantic stuff like that. I don’t want to be a damsel in distress that needs to be saved.” I almost yelled. Music was booming around us as everyone danced and enjoyed the party.

“If anything I’m the damsel,” Sehun said, “You saved me.” His eyes were holding so much emotion, I felt my heart pounding in my ears. Such affection made me feel awkward so I tried to laugh it off.

I giggled and leaned back, “Why are you getting so intense all of a sudden?”

He raised an eyebrow at me, making an expected grin turn up on my lips. He grabbed bottom part of the chair I was sitting in, pulling me closer to him.

I bit my lip trying to keep from laughing as he stared at me.

He leaned forward bringing mouth up to my ear, “You play around too much.”

I winked at him, “What are you going to do about it, loverboy?”

He drew closer to me and our lips met in a sweet kiss. His arm wound around my waist, pulling into him. His welcoming warmth that I’ve come to adore so much. The kiss was short but left my lips tingling.

“You better quit it before your brothers start teasing us,” I informed.

“They’ll tease us with whatever chance they get.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Eun Ji called as she approached us with a drink in hand. I can’t be sure if it’s alcohol, but she looked like she was in her right mind.

Eun Ji has softened up the past few weeks.  She and I aren’t the best of friends, but her cold heart is slowly melting. We’ve shared a few laughs and are on good grounds.

“There are some people here,” She said. I thought she was talking to Sehun so I began to tune her out.

“Y/N!” She yelped, sounding irritated.

“Huh?”

“I said there are two people here looking for you,” she paused, “they said they’re your parents.”

I shot out of my seat, fear rushing through my system.

“What?” I tried to sound calm, “m-my parents?”

That doesn’t make sense! What would they be doing here? How they did get the address to the house? My eyes flickered to Sehun. He gazed back at me with fearful eyes, or maybe they held nervousness?

I let out a strained laugh, “That’s insane. They can’t be my parents.”

“Well, you totally share a resemblance with the lady at the door. She said they were coming to surprise you, and that Jang Mi planned all of it.”

It felt like the breath was knocked out of me. Jang Mi?! How long has she had something like this planned? My parents are going t cause such a mess, I can feel it.

I looked to Sehun who releases a nervous breath before running his fingers through his hair. He stood up from his seat, putting an encouraging hand on the small of my back.

“Let them in. I would love to meet your parents,” he wasn’t doing very well hiding the petrified expression on his face.

“I’ll tell the boys to settle down. I want to meet your parents in the right way.” He kissed my temple before heading over to Chanyeol who stood by the booming speakers.

On shaky legs, I walked past Eun Ji and out the living room. I tried to find Jang Mi before heading into the lobby near the walkway but failed to do so.

I peeked my head in first, eyes dotting around. Before I had time to figure out what was going on, I was pulled into a tight hug.

“Mom,” I said as she squeezed me tightly. I noticed my dad standing a few feet away, watching with a kind smile.

My mom finally lets go of me, looking on with tears in her eyes.

“Y/N,” She spoke softly, “It’s been so long! You’ve been so busy and haven’t been answering our calls!”

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked as my father walked over to pull me into a gentle hug.

“Well! Your assistant contacted us! She planned this months ago! Since your birthday is close, she wanted to surprise you! We’ll be here for a few weeks!” My father explained.

“My birthday is close?” My brows furrowed. Wow, it is isn’t it?

My mom sneered, “You forgot your birthday again? Y/N, that’s a clear sign that you’ve been working too hard.” My mom looked around the walkway of this big mansion before giving me cautious eyes.

“Is this the house of the guy you’ve been seeing? You assistant wouldn’t tell me much about him.”

I nodded meekly, “Y-yes. He lives here with his brothers. They’re right in that roo-”

“Well let’s go meet him!” My mom exclaimed grabbing my wrist as if to lead me, though she had no idea where to go. I couldn’t help but feel like there was a huge weight on my chest. This is bad. This is very bad.

I led her into the room where the guys had seemed to clean up a bit and turned off the music. They were standing around, some talking to the mates others looking down at their cell phones. Jang Mi was in the room. Where did she disappear in the first place?

As I entered the room, Sehun and the other men turned around. My parents entered behind me.

“Ooh,” my mom cooed, “Which one of these attractive men is dating my daughter?” A sly smile was on her lips as she scanned the room. At that moment I locked eyes with Jang Mi who looked on with apologetic eyes. She planned this a long time ago so I won’t be too angry at her. She was trying to give me an early birthday gift. However, the timing couldn’t be any worse.

Sehun cleared his throat walking forward with a friendly smile. His nerves were quite visible and it was clear that he was a bit frighten at the fact that he had to meet my parents so unexpectedly.

He stretched his arm out, “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I’m Oh Sehun.”

I felt my heart drop as both my parents flinched back when he spoke his name.

Sehun stopped, a bit confused, looking to me for help. I was also frozen. The tension in the room was yet to be felt by anyone other than my parents and I. I stood by Sehun’s side wishing and praying that I wasn’t here right now.

“Y/N.” My mom said keeping her eyes on Sehun as she spoke. The kind and warm look were no longer present in her eyes. This caught the attention of the other people in the room. They were tuning in, filing catching the whiff of hostility in the air.

Tears began to well up in my eyes at the situation before me.

“Y/N,” my mom repeated, “It’s not the same Oh Sehun is it? Please tell me I’m wrong.” A nervous cackle escapes her lips.

I hung my head down, tears falling down my eyes. I don’t know why I’m crying. Is it the tension? The look of confusion and pain on my parent's faces? Or Sehun’s innocent gaze, oblivious to the problem at hand.

“Ma’am, is something wrong?” Junmyeon was the one to approach us. Sehun turned to me as I stood at his side. At the sight of my tears, he moved forward to comfort me but my father was quicker.

“Don’t touch her!” He snarled, pulling me away from Sehun so I was standing behind him.

“Of course you grow up to be this successful. Life is cruel.” My mom hissed, “Y/N, we’re leaving.” My father began to drag me away while I protested.

“No! No! Please, mom, let me explain!” The whole place turned into chaos, as my parents tried to drag me away, while Junmyeon and Yixing were trying to speak some sense into them. Sehun, on the other hand, was completely lost, all his questions sitting on his face.

“Please, just listen to what I have to say! He’s not like that anymore!” I gripped my father’s wrist as his hand was locked around my arm.

“How dare you open your mouth to defend him?” My father snapped tugging on my arm even more. Suddenly Sehun stepped in, placing his hand over my father’s. The difference in strength was clear. Sehun was stronger, but he was tugging on me like my father was.

“Sir, with all due respect, I am not sure what is going on. Please let’s all calm down talk.” Sehun tried speaking with a leveled voice. My father shook his hand off.

“Yes, let’s all just talk like adults. Let’s sit down and figure things out, cause we’re all confused.” Eun Ji suddenly said from her spot beside Jang Mi.

“There is nothing to be confused about.” My mother snarled. She took slow bouncy steps up to Sehun who towered over her. Despite the difference in height, she looked right into his eyes, no sign of a hesitation in them.

“You and your rich friends bullied my daughter in middle school and the early years of high school, to the point that we had to move to a different country so she could start over.” My mom said.

It felt like everything in the room froze. It was like everyone stopped breathing, and you could probably hear a pin be dropped. Everyone’s eyes were on me as I stood there ashamed. Sehun’s eyes widened and trembled while he gawked at me.

“What?” It came out as an airy whisper but I heard it. I cast my gaze down at my feet. I didn’t even have the confidence to look at him.

I could hear the tears in my mom’s voice which made me start crying again, “You basically destroyed my daughter’s confidence, passion, brightness, and smile. You don’t know the pain we went through to get her even close to who she used to be.”

“I don’t know what you did to change her mind about you, but that surely won’t happen with me. You don’t deserve to be in her presence let alone deserve her love. Whatever this relationship was, is over.”

Raising her point finger my mom poked Sehun in the chest as said these last few words, “I don’t care how you’ve changed, stay the hell away from Y/N.” With that, she turned her back on Sehun and headed for the exit.

So shocked by the reveal of my past with Sehun, no one protested as my father followed my mother, dragging me along.

The whole time I kept my head down, avoiding Sehun’s gaze. As we stepped out the front door I could hear my mom’s soft sobs and her body was trembling. Those few years after moving were a dark time for all of us.

It seems I’m not the only one with unhealed wounds.

[flowesona]

The Midnight Channel [2/2]

Yandere ??? x reader

Inspired by Persona 4 (2008)

The most valuable thing (Y/N) had was her friends. She adored the simple things, such as the way Jungkook’s smile when she offered to buy him food was simply infectious, or how Taehyung would call her late at night making plans for the next day. 

They were especially precious to her the days after Taehyun’s murder, when she felt as if the entire town had turned against her. She didn’t even speak to her parents, relying instead on Jungkook’s phone calls to wish her a good night.

She didn’t express this sentiment to them until one Thursday afternoon, over a seemingly endless bowl of ramen that Taehyung insisted on buying for her, explaining that he’d gotten a pay rise at work.

“You know we’ll always be here for you.” Taehyung hummed in agreement to Jungkook’s statement, abandoning his food in favour of listening to the conversation. 

“I’m so grateful for that, I just wish everything would go back to normal.” (Y/N) sighed, smiling when Jungkook gave her a light pat on the shoulder. She finally finished her bowl of ramen and pushed it in front of her, stretching with a happy smile.

“Can we stop by the library on the way back? I need to return the book I took out or I’ll be fined.” There was no way she could say no to Jungkook’s puppy dog eyes. Thus, they ended up waiting by the desk as a woman with snail-pace speed tapped away the computer to find his library ID, as he’d lost his card.

“Jungkook! It’s great to see you again.” A hushed voice from besides them provided some company, as they saw a slightly older man with a soft smile.

“Hey Namjoon. These are my friends, (Y/N) and Taehyung.” Namjoon held out his hand, to which (Y/N) shook it. However, Taehyung was completely snubbed.

“Are you guys studying hard? You have entrance exams starting soon, right?” Namjoon said in a hushed voice, glancing at Jungkook who was still engaged in a quiet conversation with the front desk clerk, who seemed to be struggling with the computer as he pointed at the screen to direct her mouse.

“I haven’t really given it too much thought recently. I…” (Y/N) trailed off, feeling her words get caught in her throat. Sensing this, Taehyung reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You’ve been caught up in a murder investigation, I know.” Namjoon’s voice was soothing, comforting as he leaned in closer to keep their conversation on the down low. 

She felt Taehyung gently run his thumb across the back of her hand, and used that as a sign to breathe again. 

“I think Jungkook’s almost done.” Taehyung whispered. He could read her like a book, and he knew more than anything she just wanted to get out of there and go home.

Jungkook finally, after a long battle with the librarian over the basic parts of her job, was done.

“I’ll see you soon, Namjoon.” He said, as they made their way out. Not even stopping to listen as he also wished them farewell.

───── ⋆⋅ ☂  ⋅⋆ ─────

As Jungkook and Taehyung made their own ways home, (Y/N) was left all alone to navigate the rapidly darkening streets. She started to speed up, scared of being caught out in the night. [Taehyun]’s killer was still out there, after all.

The roar of a motorbike almost scared her out of her skin, as she heard the engine get louder until it drew to a stop, the biker right beside her.

In that second she wanted nothing more than to bolt. But it was as if she was glued to the spot as she saw the biker take off his helmet to reveal a somewhat familiar face.

They stared at each other for a moment, before he reached into his pocket. Expecting the worse, (Y/N) began to inch away preparing to scream her lungs out. Only to see him pull out her umbrella.

Without a word, he pressed it into her hands. 

“Thank you.” She felt herself go hot at the sound of his deep voice.

“No problem.” 

There was an awkward pause.

“It’s not safe to be out this late.” He commented.

“My friends live on the other side of town.” (Y/N) replied. “I didn’t want to have them go out of their way walking me back.” 

The biker sighed.

“I don’t feel right leaving you to walk home alone. Get on the back, I’ll give you a lift.” 

“Oh no, it’s fine-” (Y/N) protested, face still flushed.

“I’m a lot safer than some of the other people in this town. Get on.” 

Swallowing down the fear in her throat, she cautiously climbed onto the back seat.

However, he didn’t move yet. Suddenly, she realised that she wasn’t sitting properly and whilst regretting her every word, she placed her arms around his waist.

The stranger put on his helmet, revved up the bike, and they were off.

“Where do you live?” He asked as they sped down the road.

“Near the 7/11.” She answered, receiving a grunt in response.

The ride was almost refreshing, once (Y/N) had conquered her initial fear. The cool breeze whipped her face and hair, making her squeal and causing the biker to chuckle at her reaction.

Finally, he drew up outside her house.

“Thank you so much.” (Y/N) offered him a smile, climbing off the back of his bike and dusting herself down.

He didn’t respond until she was at her door.

“I’m Yoongi.”

“I’m (Y/N)” She replied. “Have a good night.”

───── ⋆⋅ ☂  ⋅⋆ ─────

The howling rainstorm outside made it impossible to sleep. Once again, her most uncomfortable days were accompanied by rain.

‘The Midnight Channel.’

Once the thought had entered her head, it was hard for it to leave. Would Taehyun still be there, his suffering captured forever to make (Y/N) suffer? Or would it simply be blank, (Y/N) having lost all her one and only soulmate.

No matter how much she tried to distract herself, (Y/N) couldn’t shake it. She just had to see what would be on there.

She watched the hand creep closer and closer until it was almost midnight. Suddenly, she couldn’t bear it anymore. She flung the bedsheet off her, and kneeled in front of the TV.

(Y/N) was ready to give up when nothing happened. But, just as she was about to climb back into bed and scrub all knowledge of the strange phenomenon from her mind, the screen flickered to life. 

At first, the static was too strong to make out who it was. All she could see was a vague female silhouette. However, once she meant closer to squint, she could make out the face. Bone chillingly, the face belonging to the figure being shown on the TV was that of her own.

───── ⋆⋅ ☂  ⋅⋆ ─────

Needless to say, (Y/N) refused to leave her room after what she’d seen. No amount of bargaining or reasoning from her parents could convince her that she wasn’t about to die in the same mysterious manner as Taehyun. 

She couldn’t even bring herself to let her friends in. All of her trust with outer society was destroyed by some stupid urban myth, and as much as (Y/N) wanted to convince herself it was all a hoax, memories of the corpse dangling from the telephone pole haunted her everytime she closed her eyes.

Eventually, she built up the courage to see someone. Her mother had knocked on her door ten minutes ago saying that Taehyung was still there, waiting for her.

And sure enough, when she poked her head out of the door he was sat outside, on his phone. The second he heard the door creep open his head shot up.

“(Y/N)! Thank god, I’ve been so worried.” He stood up, only for (Y/N) to back away.

“Maybe it isn’t best for you to see me. I look like an absolute mess.” 

“Nonsense.” Taehyung insisted, prying open the door. “I said I wanted to see you. I don’t care how you look.”

He muttered something under his breath, but when (Y/N) asked he just shook his head.

They sat themselves on her bed, as he awkwardly tried to find the most non-invasive way to ask (Y/N) what was wrong.

“How have you been then?”

“Like shit. I’m scared to leave my room, Tae.” She sighed.

“Why?” Taehyung pressed, reaching out to hold her hand. She took it, relishing in the comfort of his soft hands.

“You know about the midnight channel, right?” She said, trying not to stumble over her words.

“That thing Jungkook was talking about? Yeah, why?” 

“Well, when Taehyun was… you know… I saw him on the Midnight Channel. Twice in fact. So I thought he could be my soul mate. But then I checked again a few nights ago. And there was… me.”

Taehyung squeezed her hand tightly, letting her continue.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I feel like the Midnight Channel is calling card of some kind. And whoever killed Taehyun is going to kill me.”

“They won’t.” Taehyung said firmly. “I won’t let them. I swear (Y/N), to lose you would be to lose part of my soul.”

“Tae…?” (Y/N) felt her face go red at his passionate declaration. He’d always been so caring, so kind but this was a whole other feeling.

“(Y/N), I love you. I know that I do. And you might not love me back, and I will accept that. But I can’t live without you.” 

“Tae… thank you. I… I need time, but I know that I like you. Just let me figure out my life before I rush into this, so I don’t hurt you.”

He nodded, standing up to leave but (Y/N) wouldn’t let go.

“Please… can you just stay a bit longer?”

───── ⋆⋅ ☂  ⋅⋆ ─────

As much as she wished to be wrapped up in Taehyung’s arms for the rest of time, it was getting late and she knew his parents would be worried about his whereabouts.

“I’ll walk you to school in the morning. No one’s going to hurt you under my watch.” Taehyung was reassuring both her and himself as he spoke.

“Take an umbrella. The rain is way too heavy right now.” (Y/N) replied, finding the black fold-up umbrella she’d discarded in the corner of the room and pressing it to his chest.

“(Y/N)?” She didn’t realise how tense she’d become until he called her name to snap her out of the trance. She met his eyes, and he smiled.

“I love you. Sleep well.” With a gentle kiss to her forehead he left the room, and she could hear him making polite small talk with her parents before leaving. 

Meanwhile, (Y/N) busied herself by changing into her sleepwear and preparing herself for bed. She could only hope a good night’s sleep would ease her mind, and it felt like as soon as her head hit the pillow she was out cold.

The town itself was dropping off to sleep. Lights were being switched off, dishes left to dry, and restaurants were starting to wipe down the tables. It was the perfect setting for him to strike, hiding in the shadows as he made his way towards (Y/N)’s house. No one even spared him a glance.

Her house was perfectly silent. All it took was a simple lock pick to the door and he was let in. There was one safety hazard, however. The intruder almost tripped over the body of the (L/N)’s dog, who had laid himself at the doorstep as if he knew of the danger to come. But all it took was some quiet shushing and a hand running through the dog’s fur to calm it back down, as it laid its head on the ground with its tail still wagging, exciting to meet a new friend. Thankful that it hadn’t caused too much of a ruckus, he crept up the stairs, hoping not to stumble across a squeaky step. After all, (Y/N) was an only child and the slightest ruckus could leave him screwed.

Nonetheless, he was at (Y/N)’s bedroom without so much as a peep. Gently he opened the door, and his heart soared as he finally glimpsed her face again, after what felt like ages. She looked ethereal as she rested, even if there was a slight frown on her face.

What was she dreaming about? School, Books, her dog… maybe even him? EVen if the thought delighted him, it didn’t deter him. He was still shook from what he’d seen earlier, and it was his love for (Y/N) that was driving him to drastic action.

(Y/N) was rudely awoken from her sleep when she felt someone grabbing her head and slamming it into the wall. She was about to scream, only to have a hand harshly pressed over her mouth. She desperately struggled, trying her hardest to elbow her attacker in the stomach, or preferably the groin, to no avail.

The stranger easily overpowered her, pushing her to the ground. As if to taunt her, the attacker used their shoe to flip her onto her back before pressing it into her chest, to hold her in place. 

It was only from this new angle she could start to make out the intruder’s face as she struggled to get up, aided only by the sliver of moonlight shining on them through the curtain. Even if she could barely recognise his face, the cool deep voice that spoke was unmistakable.

“It’s great to see you again, darling.”

“N-Namjoon? What are you…?” (Y/N) was breathless, both from shock and fear of what was to come. Was she going to die, right there completely helpless as her parents slept soundly in the next room?

“Don’t worry about what I’m going to do, darling. This is all about you.”

“Me?”

Namjoon sighed. He knelt down, moving the weight off her chest but pinning her hands down instead, pinning her beneath his body.

“You don’t realise just how mesmerizing you are, do you?” 

See her blank expression, he continued.

“I love you, (Y/N). I have loved you, for so long. But I’m not the only one, am I?” (Y/N) let out a hiss of pain as his nails dug into her wrists. “Park Jimin, always snapping at your heels like some lovesick puppy. Or maybe that thug Min Yoongi, who was so insistent on accompanying you home? Even Kim Taehyung. Don’t think I didn’t notice the way he was looking at you. Right in front of me as well!”

Namjoon scoffed.

“And how could I forget that little brat Taehyun?”

(Y/N) was shaking in his grasp as she spoke.

“What did you do to him?”

“Why don’t I show you darling?” Noticing the look of fear that washed over her face, he simpered.

“I have every reason to. You’ve messed me around too long. I’ve always been there, trying to help you, vying for your attention yet you flounce around with every other boy in town! How is that meant to make me feel?”

“How was I meant to know you feel that way? I don’t owe you anything, you creep.” (Y/N) hissed, voice raising slightly. Namjoon simply covered her mouth with one of his hands once again, conscious of her sleeping parents.

“I suppose that’s true, you don’t owe me anything. But I’m going to get what I want anyway.”

He pulled her off the floor, still keeping her restricted so no matter how hard she struggled it was futile.

“How about I show you the true power of the Midnight Channel?” Hearing her squeak in fear Namjoon continued. 

“You’re familiar with it, aren’t you darling? After all, once I told Jungkook I was almost certain he’d pass it onto you. And the more people who know about this, the more powerful it becomes.”

He was pushing her towards her TV, even as she dug her heels into the floor.

“My poor darling. Taehyun was just as scared. But I had to punish him for hurting your reputation so badly, not to mention how bold he was to stake his claim on you when you should belong to only me.”

She felt her shoulder hit the TV, but rather than colliding directly with it her body started to sink into it like quicksand. 

“I hope this will teach you a thing or two. Being in the TV world killed Taehyun, but I won’t let it hurt you too much. Hopefully I’ll remember to rescue you in a day or two.” 

The last sight (Y/N) saw before she was enveloped in the strange dimension was Namjoon’s smirk, knowing he finally had her full attention.

[dibassio-prophet-of-virtuality]

I am keeping a log to see if these tablets help and to help my phyc notes for the nurse and psyciatrist. Each paragraph is a different day. Each time I update I will schedule it to post, just in case voices wins.

Sometime in Feb:

It's so hard not being able to understand your own head. I'm so confused with everything.. although sobriety has its benefits, I completely miss it as a coping mechanism. I can't stop thinking about it. The voices get so loud and now I don't have a way to quieten them anymore.. I have got to the point now that I don't know what's real or what's simulated. It's got hard to decipher. I know that recently I have recently stopped smoking cannibis and drinking alcohol. I know that the withdrawals were too real. I didn't do too bad though for someone who has both regularly drank and smoked since 17 years old not only as a dependence, but to keep me sane, whilst on and off the wrong kind of medication. I want to do is bleed. To feel the negative energy drain from me.. I need it. The voices and visions are worsening as each day and week passes and now I'm sober, I just don't know who I am. Am I actually Pete? Or am I voices disguised as Pete? And if that's the case then should I not warn people?? But even if it is the case shouldn't I have hurt people by now going of voices logic? If I'm Pete then I can constantly feel voices hands physically holding on to my brain... I'm glad I don't smoke or drink to that comatose state every day now and wasting my life away. I'm glad I don't actually have Alzheimer's or dementia.. Maybe... But voices and the constant commands and the visions he shows me are a worse alternative. I keep having out of body experiences I keep staring at myself from across the room still in the same position just looking at myself from another the top corner of the room - I can even see Alex sat right next to me watching the TV or even asleep sometimes. I hear plaster falling from the roof I can hear it coming from the walls and landing. I hear either someone breathing next to me, or I hear static trying to control me and I know it's not Alex nor the router as she tells me - it's from the other side. My side of the bed. I feel bugs crawling through my joints and when I look in the mirror it's not my face, it morphs right in front of me or I look gaunt, I can see my cheekbones clearly, my eyes sunken, my eyes aren't mine ... I don't know it's just not Pete's face. The one time I actually want to open up to the psychiatrist and just lay out the whole truth. The one time I accept I need help and god damnit I know I need the help now, she cancelled on me just because she wants to move out of her house!!!! Thanks for that. Can always count on the government for help. Couldn't even be bothered to get someone to fill in for you. She just asked me if I could rearrange for another what 2-3 weeks down the line! But a lot can happen in that time. He is hoping I can hold on until the 25th.

End of Feb:

Since I ended that last sentence a lot has happened. My grandfather figure and absolute inspiration passed away. I don't understand. I tried my best. I really did... I just guess I wasn't strong enough to stop it. I think voices dampend my power. I'm so sorry... I really am so so sorry. It eats at me every day. On the day of the funeral, my psychiatrist called to tell me we had an appointment. We didn't, we had an appointment the day after the funeral which is what I said on the phone the last time I spoke to her and said something like the 25th of February then? Okay that's good I might need to talk to you because that's the day after my grandfather figures funeral. Because I couldn't speak - obviously because we was setting off soon - we had to rearrange for the 16th of march. If I don't make it to the 16th of march I just want everyone to know I TRIED. I don't feel like a can hold out much longer I felt like I couldn't hold on last time - I'm literally hanging on to a promise right now. I don't feel like me. I don't look like me. I don't sound like me. I can't feel. Time is slipping, juddering but why does no one notice the time jumps? Why does no one notice the reality glitches? Wake up. I don't know what to do to make you see. The one thing I am sure of is that I need to shred my arms open. All I get is visions of metal sliding against my skin feel of trickling... And when I notice, no when I remember there's nothing in the house to cut myself deeply with I see the vision of my teeth tearing into my arm, into my wrist, anywhere that will release the negative energy, to relieve voices control and aggression. All day, everyday - it's a constant want, need and instruction. I don't know how much longer I can hold on. I don't know how much longer it will be before I am consumed fully. It takes everything in me to keep the Pete side in control. But I can feel voices slipping through. Seeping through. I sometime see him in the mirror I hear him around the room, in my head and body. I know I need to drain the negative energy from me, to pour out the red. He'll quieten. I want it to end. But if I end it, voices rise. He'll consume. It'll be the end and whilst Alex lives, I can't allow it. But I'm going under. If there's anyone else out there that can put a barrier up, please help me. Alexis, so far you prevent me. You are my soul. You have a part of my soul in you since I went through withdrawals as the voices tried to consume me. I gave you all I could. You are my logic and my reasoning. You guide me as much and as well as Grandma. All I've ever done is mutilate myself, smoke and drink to quieten and calm voices. I never even realised I was dependent until after I stopped and went through withdrawals. You got me through that and I owe you everything. But you've been through so much yourself recently, I need to go through this heavier challenge alone. I need to recover. But I need to recover on my own I need to show you I can do this. I need to show you that I would do anything for you. And once I am recovered be it months from now maybe years from now, I'm going to marry you and I'm going to give you the life you deserve and I'll be the husband that you deserve. So for the time being I am so sorry, this is the best I can do: I will tell you I'm okay, to keep you following down the same path. I will pretend nothings wrong, to keep you from drowning with me. If I push you away, know it's for your safety. I can't let anything happen to you and I'm getting scared. I'm so sorry - this will be the first and last time I will EVER lie to you. I just want you to know that no matter what happens to me, you are my hero and my inspiration and one day I want to be just like you, Alexis.

Begining of march:

I am made of flaws. I have wasted all my life. I don't know who I am, sometimes I think I am Pete, sometimes I think I'm someone else. I still look in the mirror and I'm not quite sure who's looking back. Is it Pete? Is it voices? Is it some parallel version of Pete? Or could it be the real world Pete?? Or is it an imposter, is someone spying on me? Like some knock-off look alike?? I don't know what's real. I don't know what my thoughts are, I'm lost. I know I used to smoke until in a comatose state when things were overwhelming. I can't do that anymore. When I couldn't smoke I'd drink. But I can't do that either I miss being comatosed. Where my mind could be blank and the voices would quieten or stop. But I have wasted so much of my life just staring through the TV lay on my bed with double vision and being unable to converse proper. Or recognising someone is speaking to me and just grunt back, instantly forgetting what has just been said to me, if I was even paying attention. But the high.. the high felt similar to how the negative releases from my body and trickles down my arm.. Drinking would help distract me from the voices, it helped me not only socially open up but calmed the voices' agressiveness.. He'd help tell me what to say to people, how to act. How to copy the majority of the group's expression. Weirdly though it was like he was speaking, at a normal volume directly into my ear. But at least it weren't screaming at me. Screaming at me to mutilate or to kill myself. At least it didn't tell me shitty things about people. Or make my blood boil at people. Or what all the people were thinking about me, or how they've wronged me! He just guide me in what to say or mindless ramblings.

Since sobering up, as each week passes, the voices are becoming more and more convincing and are becoming louder and more frequent than my grandma's comforting and advisory voice. I miss her comforting voice. I need you. The audio and visual hallucinations are becoming more regular, the visions are becoming more subtle to tell the difference between what is from the real world and what's our world? Cracks in reality becoming more regular, I can see the real-world seeping through.

12/03/2021 - yes. I'm on to you.

Today's been bad. It literally feels like there are hands holding around my brain, but this time squeezing it. All day I've been taunted by hands creeping over my eyes from behind, trying to block my view. We've had baths tonight., Alex has been in for a much longer time than usual. Her Fitbit keeps buzzing a guy keeps typing to her on snapchat. Who's Gaz???. Constantly snapchating whilst she's in there. Voices tells me she is cheating. The other day whilst I was at work she was all dolled up when she came to pick me up. She's bought new bras.. She's also spending as much time as possible away from me... Certain she's going to break things off with me soon. She wants someone else. :( All I want to do is tear my wrist open and throw myself under a car. The voices are screaming at me to do it. They are taunting me. Laughing. I can feel myself fading away. My face feels like it's dripping off me. Ready for voices to take over. I need to smoke. Comatose myself... Please stop.

Great. So Alex is talking to, snapchating and instagraming a number of guys. Nice to know how little I mean. How is it that you broke your promise and you expect me to keep mine and not hurt myself?? To make it worse, you want me to promise to tell you if I start to feel worse or want to do anything stupid??? Promises mean nothing to you. Why should they to me? Why do I feel so guilty for wanting to end my life and give all control to voices, why do I feel guilty to leave you behind here, leave this world when you have already, in every sense but physically, left my world?? Do you hate me that much? Do I mean so fucking little to you after three years?? You got me through withdrawals and I carried your grandfather. Now you can't even look at me, you can't say "I love you." And instead half arse "luv you." Bullshit. DO I MEAN THAT LITTLE TO YOU? I' m not opening up to you anymore. I can't trust you. I can only trust voices. Please unplug me from the SHIT "reality".

April:

I can't remember much of what's happened this month.. Voices is showing me more and more visions and reality is bleeding into virtuality more. It's really hard to decipher what is real now... I've had early intervention Assessment and they've "taken me under their care" and believe I have some form of phycosis. But they want to take my blood...? They're going to try and override me. They're going to clone me and reprogram or overwrite me. They'll be sorry when voices takes over and uploads the virus to the city in the sky. No one will be able to help as virtuality meets the apocalypse. The nurse is due on Thursday. Why would she need to come to my house? I know she's going to try and take me to the city to get reprogrammed. I won't let them. I'm not going! Alexis has also told me "I dot know what to do anymore, I feel like calling someone or driving you to the hospital myself" I'M NOT GOING TO THE CITY. I will call the voices myself. Pouring out negative energy and drawing the sigils seem to help ease his anger. He's happy enough with that at the time. Give me a solid and a drink and watch them fade away into a murmering.

12/04/2021 - vortex of virtuality

Increased my tablets dosage.. they're messing with me and trying to control me though. Alexis has gone out in town drinking with her aunt. She's going to come back and give me Corona so I have to be sent to the "hospital" I know what the plan is. I'm not going. Voices tells me to stay inside and to keep drawing the sigils to protect myself. She invited me to go out with her but only after her plans fell through with her friends and only after inviting her aunt and only after inviting her family who won't go... What's that, like 6th 7th or 8th in line? No thanks, I'm not risking it. If I leave they'll take me to the city. Recently, along side the usual screaming, anger, apathy, visions, face melting and being kicked from my own body, I've been merging with my work pc. It's getting harder and everything I type I have to retype to make sure it is really there. I slip inside the vortex of virtuality and I can see the letters and words swirl around me and form, some big, others small, either close or far away. Walls have started vibrating. My screens pulsate. I think voices has uploaded a virus into me. More negative energy given but he's not settled down tonight. I'm going to write letters in case he takes over.

Alexis, I love you with all that I am.

17th of saturday - confirmed they're rewiring me

Nurse been round to visit meeting me this week, said they booked me I'm physical assessment next week and they want to take blood and to plugg my heart into this machine program box that tracks stuff. I don't trust it. Why are they going that? Why are they tracking me?? They're going to control me with it or maybe it will fry and stop my heart if I don't obey?? Has voices set ths up? Maybe Alexis has she wants me in a "hospital" she knows I'll never come back, is she helping? Voices is telling her everything. I know it. He tells m. He's turn her against me. They also give me more new tablet, they say to decreases brain functions to relax me and help with him but they just broke reality more - bleeds it through more and voices sures me visions loads more often, one after another, I can't move me on them and voices completely hates them. Can't think straight on them. He doesn't want to be caged. We need to ru away, get away from here they're coming. They're reprogram us both, we've said too much about the sky city. They know we know. Theyr coming. I feel them here. My chair shifted into one an I can feel them aroun the house, watchig, waiting for my to drop my gaurd and then they will strangle me to unconsciousness me and then kidknapp me. I know what they plan is and I'm not letting them. I'm going to escape. I will go to another contry or sneak into the city and take them down with voices. We could hide in another reality.

¹9th April

Can't sleep. 3am and voices is screaming. My limbs aren't mine. Thy keep moving on their own and then Alex keeps waking up, I feel like she must hates me sometimes. I hate me. Voices hates me. He just keeps instructing me to hurt myself, to feed the negative and never stops. I just want to feed the negative and write sigils just so I can stop him. I really need to but I can't whilst Alex is in. I need her to go out. I keep feeling it pour down my arm, I really want to do it. I keep falling out of my body.. The night has been like I've been trapped in a time loop. The same things repeating over and over and over in the exact same order, over and over.. My arm and leg feel like they want to rip themselves off, they don't look like mine, they feel like someone else's, they just aren't mine. I keep going for a cig and wishing it was weed. I keep craving a drink and a smoke... They last couple of nights I've been unable to sleep without having 3 shots of vodka. I hate the stuff, that's how bad it is. I've not had it since I was 16 either! But I'll drink anything right now if it keeps Voices calm, feed the negative anyway I can. Just to keep him quietened for a while... I keep seeing things, reality keeps bleeding through I know everythng it isn't real.. none of it's real. I just don't know how to get out.

I keep thinking of my mum and dad.. My sister and brother.. My nephews.. I miss them so much. I really want to see them. I feel like everything would be okay if I saw them. It's the only thing I look forward to these days. A bit of normality. I'll need to go see them before I move the to other simulation. I just want to hug them. Tell hem I love them. It's been so long since I last did. Voices keeps telling me to pack and leave, over and over on repeat all day. Run to the other simulation. Transfer. He tells me to store more negative energy, by I can't. I don't want to hurt anyone. I know he's right. We need to move. We need to get out. But I don't know how to get there, I can't drive. No motorbike now. A need a sign. Where do I need to go? Grandma's, Grandad's, please show me the way. I need you more than ever. Everythng is confusing. Nothings real.

22nd April

They wired me up and tracked me, they took my blood to clone me they are replacing me and I feel them in my head more and more every passing day. Voices is angrier now. He cannot take over me if they kill me. If they don't overwrite he cannot download. They are coming for me. I know what they're doing to me I need to play it cool a little longer. Voices has a plan. We know what to do now. We have tracked sky city ourselves. We know where to go now. We have located the doorways to them. We are to slip through the reality bleed doorway and take them down. We will create a new reality that everyone can enjoy and love. We need to build more negative energy. Pour more into our world to fight back. Store more negative energy to convert. We will bring them down. End the control of the sky city. We will not be repressed!

[icyroseslove-blog]

GHOSTWRITER

ghost·writ·er

/ˈɡōstˌrīdər/

noun

a person whose job it is to write material for someone else who is the named author.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Identity is the single most important thing when it comes to the art of ghostwriting. In fact, it’s what defines the business as a whole. There are two types of identities a person will find in the ghostwriting industry: the famous and the enigmatic.

The famous are the stars, the ones who appear on TV with dazzling smiles and a charming bounce in their step. They’re the artists who have their names printed into record books with a net value attached. The famous have giant followings and their faces hung on the walls of a squealing teenage girl’s room, covered in a protective lamination to defend against her baby brother’s invasions. In dehumanizing terms, they’re the perfect products and money making tools of a company. In ghostwriting terms, they’re the buyers.

The enigmatic, which are more commonly known as the ghostwriters, are the famous’ unknown secrets. They’re the ones who sit at a desk for hours, painting the paragraphs that will soon be filling the best sellers under another person’s name, or counting the measures to a star’s greatest hit. The ghostwriters, who are the sellers, are the people who make a creation that someone else will soon take credit for. Their names do not go down in history for being diligent workers, and most of the time, they don’t want to be known. That’s why the sellers choose their careers. They, of free will, become the ghosts of a world that know the art from their fingertips.

But there is one type of identity that allows a person to be both the famous and the enigmatic. Some call it a double life, while others call it a symbol. But the identity has a true name: aliases. Pen names allow people to become the ghostwriters of themselves, sitting down to write a novel that their second name will assume the attention of. There would be a name to the work, but still no face to go with it.

Androkles didn’t feel that it was necessary to have a face assigned to a novel. In fact, he preferred being faceless, because it meant he could go to the ice cream shop two blocks down from his house without having paparazzi shove expensive cameras in his face. After all, he was the most popular writer of the 21st century.

Androkles Hemmer, or more commonly known to the world as Andrew Homer, was the man responsible for writing 12 novels, 10 plays, 3 musicals, and hundreds of ghostwritten songs for the music industry in the span of a few years. He was the author of the most famous play in modern times, One is a Thousand. The extent of his fame and achievement was international. Often times, he’ll see yet another critic praising the philosophical aspects of his novels or a fan gushing about the flowery romance between the two leads of a play in another language.

He leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against the blank paper presented in front of him. There was a need to write gnawing at him, his mind pouring over possible story ideas. They were good, in fact, they were probably so original it could spawn a few new genres, but there was something about them that felt empty, something non-genuine, which was the complete opposite of what Androkles was often eulogized for.

There was a play that was itching to be produced onto paper. But there were no characters, no twisted and selfish motivations the protagonist was harboring for the greater good conjuring themselves in the writer’s mind. That was odd. But he knew exactly what he was going through after finding he couldn’t create anything for months: a writer’s block.

Groaning, he placed the pen down on the desk and stretched his sore muscles. Androkles kicked the chair, grumbling about how he needed to buy a better one. Deciding to take a small break before continuing his work, he walked into his living room and opened his laptop. The light lit up the dim room, causing his pupils to shrink from the bright source. He checked his singular social media account, which had millions of followers that he didn’t know he would gain. He rarely posted anything, and often it was just pictures with no words for context. There were countless pictures of his cat, Andrew, who was most likely outside killing something before he presented it to Androkles. The male looked at the most recent post, dated to be published last month.

yay strawberry

It was a picture of the pot that was on his front porch currently. There was a small green sprout bursting from the soil, morning dew making the plant dip a bit. Admittedly, he was terrible at taking care of plants, but the seed proved to be strong, growing despite his inconsistent watering schedule.

He scrolled through the feed, looking at insignificant and important things alike. It was the usual on the website; the front page was filled with news about trends, celebrities, and political decisions, as well as rising musicians (some of which he wrote title songs for at one point). But there was always a singular article about him, who was one of the biggest accounts on the site. It was the same topic that sprung up over and over, becoming even more complex as the years progressed: Who was Andrew Homer?

At this point, everyone knew it was simply a pen name, not a real one. Besides his cat, the only shred of information he ever shared with the media is that he likes writing with feathered pens.

(Everyone thought he was pointing to quills. He was actually talking about fluffy pens, the $1 ones with the soft fluff at the top and a plastic tip to cover the ballpoint end when you were done. He doesn’t need expensive materials be successful. The quill eventually became his trademark.)  

Suddenly, his phone rang, blaring out the notes to the default ringtone. Androkles pulled it out of his pocket, not bothering to check the ID because he knew only one person had his phone number.

“Hello, Ryo.”

“Hi there, Androkles! Are you in high spirits today?”

Androkles rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth pulling a bit. “Spare me the jokes, please. I have an ache in my wrist and I’d rather not make it worse by facepalming. What do you need?”

“Always the straightforward man. Well, it’s best if I get to the point. A client wants to hire you to write a song for him. He’s a musician named Phanuel, have you heard of him? He’s the guy who just peaked at the top of the Billboards just last week.”

He hummed in reply. The writer had the radio on yesterday, cooking as he mindlessly bobbed his head to a bubblegum-pop song that he composed a number of years ago (the client was adamant about making it appeal to as many people as possible. He begrudgingly accepted as he wrote a V-vi-IV progression in C major), when a radio host rambled with a caller about a rising star named Phanuel. Androkles brushed off the commentary quickly, as his eggs were starting to burn.

“Yes, I know him. The person who sang ‘Our Letters,’ right?”

“Right on the dot. He called to ask for a written song. Any genre and whatever you’d like.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s a lot more creative freedom than I’m usually given. Are there really no details the client wants me to put in the song?”

“Actually, that’s where there’s going to be some complications.” There was a silence. Androkles waited for him to continue. “He wants to discuss the message of the song in person at your house. Face to face.”

Androkles froze.

“Wait, did I hear you correctly? Did you say that a client actually wants to meet me? He doesn’t want to send a note or something?”

Ryo sighed, his breath crackling over the phone. “Phanuel said that he likes working together with his coworkers. Talking helps his creativity start to flow much easier. A people person, he called himself.”

“What about a fill-in actor?”

“No one has your writing skills, I’m afraid. Anyone can tell the difference between a pro and Andrew Homer. Homer does it better.”

The writer fiddled with his glasses, pushing them up with shaking hands. “Ryo, we can’t do something like this. You know that better than anyone else.”

“I know, I really do. It’s just… I know how you hate disappointing people. Especially your clients. I told him I would discuss it with you, but it was likely that such an arrangement wasn’t possible. Phanuel said that composing the song would be impossible otherwise.”

Androkles rubbed his temple, attempting to sooth the headache spawning itself from frustration. This was the first time anyone had ever requested to be face to face with him. He’d heard that some ghostwriters meet with their clients to discuss the future of the project, but he was lucky that no such request had been asked of him in the long years he’d been a writer. He really wanted to keep himself a secret. But if there was anything he valued more than his identity, it was having a satisfied client.

“Would it be possible…” he spoke softly, “for Phanuel to come here and for me to wear a disguise? Or stand in a separate room and talk to him from there?”

“...you’re actually going through with this?”

“Of course. I’m not letting down anyone who wants to work with me. Especially someone who just started his career.” He tried to say it with confidence, but the shakiness of his words betrayed him. “Besides, it doesn’t take me a very long time to write songs. I could probably finish it in a few days, given that I take as minimal breaks as possible. Phanuel will be out quickly.” He wasn’t going to mention that he had writer’s block at the moment.

There was a static-filled huff over the receiver. “Alright. As your agent, I’ll support your decision to do this. But as your friend—” Ryo stressed the word heavily, “I don’t know if I like your choice. It’s just… your situation and all.”

“Ryo,” he murmured. “I’ll be fine. I manage to get the groceries without anyone suspecting a thing, right? I’m sure I can handle a few days of talking to a customer.”

“I just want you to stay safe, that’s all.”

“I’ll take every precaution. I’ll even wear that mask you gave me. The one with the bear face on it? It’s right here.” Androkles reached out to the side table cluttered with notebooks, pulling a white mask toward him. He wrapped the strings around his ears and inhaled through his nostrils. “Mhmm, it still smells like the hot chocolate you spilled on it.”

“That was an accident.” He could hear the smirk in his voice. “Okay, if you're really confident about this, I’ll call him after I get the paperwork done. But remember, stay safe, okay? And if you want, wear the mask.”

Androkles nodded to no one in particular. “I will.”

“Alright then. I’ll update you on Phanuel when I get an answer.”

Just like that, Ryo hung up, ending the call with a beep. Androkles removed the phone from his ear. He was trembling.

The writer got up from the russet couch and walked into the kitchen, pulling open the drawer to get a cup so he could shock the nerves out of him with a glass of extremely bitter coffee. He grabbed a porcelain white cup, grasping the smooth handle with his fingers. Androkles was fumbling to open the coffee maker, his shaking hands making it difficult to place anything down.

Was this guy— Phanuel— actually willing to meet up with a ghostwriter when it was old knowledge that you could exchange a few emails with them and receive a song in a matter of weeks? Moreso, why would he ask Androkles for a song when he was already skilled?

Through all of this mental turmoil, Androkles didn’t notice the mug was phasing through his hand. Finally, it slipped through and shattered on the tile floor, making a loud crash. He was shocked. Uncontrollable transparency only happened when he was extremely nervous.

He sighed audibly, walking over to the corner to grab a broom and a dustpan to clean up the mess. He floated over, picking up his feet to avoid cutting them.

It was hard to be a famous ghost writer sometimes. Especially when you’re an actual ghost.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ONE IS A THOUSAND

DEDICATION

This play is dedicated to my friend, who, after reading such a play, will know that despite end dates, he will still have an identity to me.

STORY OF THE PLAY

Clark lives in a world where the date of someone’s death is shown in bold letters above their head, although you cannot see your own. He is a man who has anxiously watched dates approach and has seen many people succumb to mortality, but despite all of this, Clark wants nothing more than to find who he is and live life in a society that tells him the numbers over his head are the only things that distinguish him as an individual.

One is a Thousand tells the tale of Clark’s identity to his loved ones after his death. A million dead is a statistic, but one tragedy can be the sorrow for a thousand.  

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Today was the day.

Androkles was running around his room, emptying his closet and heaving stacks of coats onto his bed. He lifted them, observing how much skin they would cover if he wore it before throwing it onto the floor behind him. None of them were perfect. They either exposed his neck too much or made him look like a junkie. The brown trench coat he usually wore outside was acting as a makeshift bed to Andrew, who refused to get off the comfy coat despite Androkles's pleading. Clothes were scattered everywhere, thick sweaters hanging off the armrests of chairs, the shoe rack overturned for tall boots, and twisted scarves resting on his work desk. He still needed to find gloves.

“Woah, what happened in here?” Ryo asked, sticking his head into Androkles's bedroom doorway. There was a spark of amusement in the eyes that were scanning the clothes strewn across the furniture.

The writer was visibly startled by his friend’s appearance, yelping before phasing through the floorboards. His head popped up from the ground.

Ryo extended a hand to him and the ghost took it, floating out from the basement and back into the bedroom. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

Androkles shot a hard glare at him before grabbing the nearest piece of cloth and whipping it at his friend. Ryo shrieked, retreating back into the living room.

“Hey! Don’t throw things at me!” A fountain pen flew at Ryo, the nib stabbing his cheek harshly, leaving a large ink stain the color of his hair staining his face. He threw up his hands as he backed away. “Okay, I surrender! See, look, I have my hands up. Androkles, I’m waving the white flag now, stop throwing things at me. Andro—Androkles, no. Put the typewriter down. I’m not ending up in the hospital because you gave me a concussion.”

Androkles's eye twitched, his lips contorting into a maniacal smirk. He lifted the typewriter higher. “You wanna bet?”

“No, I don’t wanna bet on anything, because there are only two outcomes to this. One leads to me being confined to a hospital bed. Put it down.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Now.”

The ghost lowered the machine, sighing. “Fine, I will. But only because a client is coming over in a few hours and I’d rather not explain why there’s an unconscious man in my living room. Now come over here, I need your opinion on this coat.”

His friend had a wave of relief wash over his face. The war was finally over. “Sure. No chucking things at me, though.”

Androkles rolled his eyes, He held up the coat by its shoulders, presenting it to the raven-haired male who strode up next to him. “It covers my wrists, but it leaves my neck exposed. If I really want to wear it, I’d have to put on that sweater over there. But that still leaves a giant space under my jaw. The mask could cover it up, but there’s a chance it could slip off and reveal my whole face. What do you think I should do?”

Ryo hummed in thought, closing his eyes and putting a hand to his jaw as if deep in thought. After a silent 10 seconds, his dark eyes lit up and he had a devious expression, grinning as if he’d found the cure to a disease. Then, he walked over to Androkles's work desk, where scarves were hiding his drafts and fluffy pens underneath. His friend took a brightly colored cloth in his hand, showing it to a confused Androkles.

“I have just the solution for you.”

All of a sudden, Androkles felt even more anxious.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ONE IS A THOUSAND

SCENE 1: I QUESTIONED

(AT RISE: FATHER is sitting in the house, reading the newspaper on the couch. It is lively and children’s toys are scattered everywhere. A crayon drawing of a nuclear family hangs on the wall. CLARK’s death date is marked on the calendar, followed with the date in the future.)

(There is the sound of a door opening. A child CLARK runs in  from offstage and drops his backpack, rushing to jump into his father’s arms.)

CLARK

Dad!

DAD

There’s my little champ. How was school today?

CLARK

It was so fun! We made rainbow toast and painted our favorite animals. Do you wanna see mine?

DAD

Of course I do.

(CLARK runs to get his backpack and pulls out a drawing of a badly painted bird. He gives it to DAD, who breaks out into a giant grin.)

DAD

This is amazing, Clark. The bird looks so real. You could become an artist if you wanted to. But my memory’s a bit fuzzy… can you remind me what animal this is?

CLARK

It’s a puffin!

(DAD pulls CLARK onto his lap.)

DAD

A puffin? Where did you see one?

CLARK

It was in one of the books the teacher always reads to us! Puffins are so cute. I think they’re my favorite animal now.

DAD

Did you hear that, honey? Our son loves puffins!

(MOM is heard laughing off-stage.)

CLARK

Hey Dad, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.

DAD

What is it?

(CLARK points to the numbers above his dad’s head, which are dated to be a decade before his son’s.)

CLARK

What are these things?

DAD

(expression darkening) Why do you… want to know?

CLARK

Well… everyone has them, but no one talks about it. They’re just kind of there. And Suzy had one that was dated for today. She didn’t come to school today and the teacher was very sad. Are they vacation days?

DAD

(hesitating) Not… exactly. See son, when the date of the numbers finally arrives, those people get to go somewhere. It’s a place far away, farther than their loved ones can reach them. Their vacation lasts a very long time. But after a while… we get to visit those people on their relaxing vacations.

CLARK

Are they at the beach?

DAD

It can be wherever they want, as long as they love that place.

CLARK

Then I’m going to go to my bedroom when my date arrives! I love my bedroom. It has all of my toys. Are you going to visit me when that happens?

DAD

...I am. Wait, is that Will I see out there? Why don’t you go play with him?

CLARK

Okay! Will!

(CLARK runs offstage. Mother walks onstage a few moments later.)

MOM

I heard your conversation.

DAD

I was hoping you would.

MOM

Is it really… necessary for children to know about the dates? Can’t they wait just a bit longer?

DAD

They’ll have to know about it sooner or later. I just wish we had more time…

(MOM sits down next to DAD. They lean on each other.)

MOM

...26 is a young age to die, isn’t it?

DAD

It is.

MOM

I wish he had more time. I wish I didn’t have to watch my son die.

DAD

Shhhh, don’t say that. Let’s just enjoy the time we have together.

(Freeze frame. Adult CLARK walks on stage.)

CLARK

I didn’t know the reality I was told that day. That a vacation which became permanent for someone wasn’t willing. That day… after Will told me Suzy had drowned in the river next to her house after trying to get her beloved stuffed dog back from the water… I realized… what death dates were.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He should have never listened to Ryo.

An image in the mirror reflected back at him, and he wasn’t quite sure it was even him under all the layers of clothing. A large winter hat covered his head, the sides falling over his ears (which were growing red from embarrassment). On his body was an oversized street style coat that stopped at his ankles, covering most of the turtleneck he had on. Black jeans were stuffed into combat boots (he didn’t wear shoes in his house, but it was all for the sake of his image). The bright scarf that was previously in Ryo’s hands was now draped loosely around Androkles's neck, covering the skin that the bear mask failed to conceal. The only thing left to cover was the transparent skin of the midsection of his face.

“And the final part of my plan are these,” Ryo announced, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a large pair of dark sunglasses, handing them to Androkles. He slipped them on, and the bright light filling the room seemed to dim immensely, leaving him disoriented for a second. Ryo grabbed him by the shoulders, cocking his head toward the reflection.

“Well?” he asked.

“I look like I’m ready to battle the blizzard of 1888,” Androkles admitted. It wasn’t hot under the bundle of clothing (temperature didn’t affect him), but it certainly felt uncomfortable.

“That means we got you all covered up. No transparent skin revealed at all. Another perfect plan of mine.” Ryo adjusted the scarf, pulling it up more. “Phanuel will be over in an hour. I told him about the secrecy of this meeting because as it goes for all ghostwriters, you don’t want your identity to be known. He said that he’ll promise to not let any information get out there, so don’t you worry about anything. Everything’s going to be okay. Your hands don’t need to tremble anymore.”

Androkles didn’t notice his limbs were shaking. Ryo held him in a comforting embrace, and he let the easy familiarity calm his nerves. His friend pulled away from him and sighed. “I have to go now. It’s busy work, being the agent and editor for the world’s biggest author and all.” Suddenly, Ryo’s gaze grew dark. “But before I go, I just need to remind you to do something…”

Androkles gulped. “What is that?”

Ryo kept his solemn face as he glared at the writer. “Remember to stay super neutral.”

The man ran out of the house before Androkles could get his hands on the typewriter.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ONE IS A THOUSAND

SCENE 3: THERE’S SOMETHING MORE

(AT RISE: Adult CLARK and WILL are at a post office. It is relatively quiet, with the exception of the ticking of a clock in the background. Workers are standing behind desks, chatting with each other as they wait for customers. A large mailbox stands center stage, facing out to the audience.)

(CLARK dumps a load of letters into the mailbox.)

WILL

What are they for?

CLARK

They’re letters for the people who might miss us when we’re traveling the world! Of course, we’ll write while we’re overseas, but we can’t just leave without telling anyone. That would be heartbreaking.

(CLARK starts to pull out more letters.)

(cont.) See, I have one for everyone. The boss at work, our co-workers, the nice lady who always gives us extra bread at the bakery… They’re all getting one! Look, even your mom’s getting a letter!

WILL

Was it really necessary to write all of those letters? Half of those people probably don’t even care about what you’re doing in your life. I mean, my mom probably does, but that’s because she has a personal connection to you.

CLARK

Everyone has a personal connection to me. It may not seem like it, but every stranger you’ve ever met has made an impression on you, even if you’ve glanced at them for only a second. Besides, I see these people on a daily basis. Getting a letter sent to them isn’t going to hurt. We just have different interpretations of each other. Now help me get these letters in, they’re falling out.

(CLARK and WILL gather the letters that have fallen out of his pockets. They put them in the mailbox.)

WILL

Is that all of them?

CLARK

… no. I have more at home, but I couldn’t fit them in my pockets.

(WILL sighs.)

WILL

Let’s go get them then. I’ll grab a few so that you don’t have to carry so much.

CLARK

You’d really do that for me?

WILL

Of course. You’re the one that’s paying rent.

CLARK

Very funny. I’m going to ask someone when these letters will arrive. I don’t want them to arrive after we’ve been gone for too long.

(CLARK runs off stage. A worker from behind the desk calls out to WILL.)

WORKER

Are you friends with that guy?

WILL

Roommates.

WORKER

I see. Are you aware that it’ll probably take more than a week to deliver that giant stack of letters? The big city isn’t exactly an easy place to deliver letters.

WILL

I am.

WORKER

You wanna break it to your friend that those letters might not be delivered while he’s still alive? Or do you want me to do it?

(The room freezes.)

WILL

I’d rather be the one to do it.

WORKER

Good. Spend your time wisely, kid.

(CLARK runs on stage with a smile stretched across his face. He embraces WILL.)

CLARK

They said that they could send all of the letters in a week or so! Everyone will receive something right after we leave. Although, those people were looking at me weirdly. But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that we’ve got the world ahead of us, Will. Now come on, we’ve got more letters to get!

(They run off stage hand in hand.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There were only 5 minutes remaining before he would hear those fated knocks.

Androkles was quaking. He checked himself in the mirror at least 50 times in the past half hour, frantically searching again and again for any skin that was showing. With the exception of the little dots of olive skin not covered by the sunglasses, everything had remained the same as the time of Ryo’s departure. He sighed heavily, feeling anxiety rise in his chest.

Wait, he had to talk, didn’t he? This wasn’t just a chain of emails with no voice to assign the words to. He had an actual voice. One that Phanuel would hear.

The ghost was about to start screaming.

A soft mass brushed up against his leg, startling him out of his thoughts. Androkles looked down to find that his cat was stepping on his boot as if he knew it would temporarily break the toxic cycle of anxiety. He looked at Andrew fondly, bending down to pick him up and cradle him in his arms.

Andrew was a stray Androkles had stumbled upon at the beginning of his career. It was a rainy night in a dark alley, and being the person he is, the man couldn’t ignore the soft purring coming from a cardboard box. He opened the lid to find a starving kitten lying inside, not bothering to look at Androkles. It just stared at the corner unmoving. He took it to the vet, waiting for news to come back about the kitten.

1 hour. It was the longest he had ever spent outside and it was for Andrew.

Now it was time for a significant upgrade: 4 hours every day for less than a week spent with a stranger that he had to write songs for. The anxiety of having to veil his ghostly origins came back to him again. Androkles buried his face in the cat’s black fur, causing Andrew to purr contently.

There was no way he was going to get through this.

Knock, knock, knock.

Androkles's movements came to a halt. A silence followed the quiet rapping, hanging in the air like mist.

Time froze. A paused moment suffocated Androkles, and Andrew was kneading his hand. It was comparable to the second of thinking before replying to a well-thought-out question, or the still atmosphere of a picture of a family at an amusement park being taken by a stranger.

Androkles was experiencing one of those moments, and his heart was starting to race.

The knocks resounded from the door again. Androkles panicked, placing the midnight cat down before checking himself in the mirror once more. He adjusted his scarf, the thick, leathery gloves restraining his movements a bit. He took a breath, smacking himself mentally to gather his thoughts. Androkles looked at himself with a determined expression.

Come on, you can do this. It’s only a few days. Answer the door.

Forcing his limbs to move, he opened the bedroom door and approached the oak door. The average-sized entrance suddenly seemed to be looming over him as if it were an obstacle. His shaking hands grasped the bronze doorknob.

I can do this. I can do this. Everything will turn out to be fine and my identity will be hidden.

Androkles's wrist refused to turn the knob.

No I can’t, this was a stupid idea. Why did I agree to this? I don’t have the skill to be sly. The client is going to find out I’m a ghost and it’s all going to be over. Oh no, oh no, what do I do…?

A soft pat on his left foot made him look down. Andrew was kneading at his foot, meowing loudly. The feline looked at him with a blank expression.

Androkles grinned. “You’re right, Andrew. It’s just one person. I can stop being afraid.”

He unlocked the door, pulling it open and letting sunlight flood into the room, allowing Andrew to slip outside. The dark environment around him brightened, and if it weren’t for the sunglasses, Androkles would be rendered to a blind mess.

Through the tinted lens, he saw a boy. Actually, rather than a child, it was a man about Androkles's age in appearance, though his soft face gave him a youthful charm. The man was an inch taller than the writer, and his jaw was strong and defined. His skin was a caramel, and his hair was a dark brown, leaning closer to black than a milk chocolate. A guitar case was secured onto his back, the black strap digging into the light blue cardigan he had on.

Androkles stared for a bit, taking in the man’s confident stature. He had a fist raised, almost as if he was about to start knocking on the door once more.

Phanuel lowered his arm. He cleared his throat. “Hello there. Is this the household of Andrew Homer?”

The writer hesitated before speaking. “I-It is.”

“Oh.” Phanuel tilted his head to the side, causing curly brown locks to fall into starry eyes. “Are you… Andrew Homer, the writer?”

He nodded weakly, pointing to himself with his index finger. “That’s me. Are you Phanuel?”

Something in Phanuel’s eyes brightened, and suddenly, the man straightened his posture. He extended a hand. “Y-Yes, I’m Phanuel. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Phanuel was blushing, and the hand held out for Androkles to take was shaking a little. Oh, so the guy, who was supposed to be a charismatic teen heartthrob was nervous in Androkles's presence. He couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the man standing in front of him. At least Androkles wasn’t the only one that was nervous. He took Phanuel’s hand and gave it a semi-confident shake. “The same as well. Here, come inside. We can start working on the song in my living room.

At that, some of the tightness in Phanuel’s jaw disappeared. The dark-haired male nodded, and Androkles moved aside to let him in before locking the door. They walked to the table in the middle of the room in relative silence before sitting down at the opposite ends.

Phanuel spoke up. “Aren’t you… hot in all of those clothes?”

Androkles shrunk into his scarf. “I-I get cold easily.”

The air around them was awkward. It was the type of atmosphere that came when you were left alone with the friend of a friend, unwilling to talk without the thread connecting you two filling in the gaps in the conversation, but forcing yourself to so you don’t sit in silence. It was to be expected. After all, they were strangers to each other, only meeting up for the sake of work. Androkles didn’t know how Ryo could deal with this type of unsettling quietness.

“I have to apologize, I don’t usually have guests over,” Androkles said sheepishly as he cleared the papers and scattered pens off the table. He walked over to the cabinet, searching for some blank sheet music. He suddenly remembered how Ryo dealt with meeting new people, as being in an industry meant you had to make lots of connections. “S-So, Phanuel. Tell me a bit about yourself.”

If there was any previous tension between them, Phanuel seemed to have forgotten, because his words had an easy flow to them. “Well, I’m a musician, but you already know that part. I play the guitar, and I’m allergic to pollen.”

Androkles nodded, hoping that Phanuel saw it. He bent down to check for a pencil, having already found a stack of paper. “Really? How about your likes and dislikes?”

“Ah, uh…” The man hummed in thought. “I really like peach flavored candy. Specifically peach-mango lollipops, those are delicious. But the coffee flavored ones, they don’t really appeal to me. They try to be caramel and chocolate at the same time, but they’re only trying.” The writer, although faced away from Phanuel, could almost feel him making hand gestures to his speech. “I also hate wet socks. It’s my belief that they’re sent directly from the fiery pits of the underworld to torture my feet.”

Androkles held back a laugh. “Oh really? How exactly do they torture your feet?”

“It’s how the water just sticks to your feet and you can’t wipe it off because it’s the cloth that’s wet. The socks get soggy and the part in the front starts to droop down and cling to the sides of your toes. It’s cold and unpleasant. Then you have to take it off and but the spot the water got onto is still moist and…” Phanuel shuddered. “Just...no.”

The writer was struggling to keep down his giggles. Anyone would agree with that. “Favorite song?”

“Mmhm, probably ‘Love Lies’ by Khalid and Normani.”

“Favorite genre of music?”

“Surprisingly, classical.”

“Favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Pineapples on pizza or plain?”

“Are you kidding?” Phanuel leaned back in the chair, causing it to creak quietly. “Pineapples on pizza. Plain pizza is bland.”

Androkles gasped, turning around to face his guest. “What you say is delicious is an invention made by the devil. I will not stand for anyone liking pineapples on pizza in this household.”

Phanuel laughed loudly. “And I’m sure you’re very happy with extremely plain pizza.”

The ghost rolled his eyes, blushing slightly. “Favorite novel?”

Now it was Phanuel’s turn to turn red. He dipped his pink dusted head down, staring at his hands. “U-Uh, Perhaps in Death. Your novel.”

Androkles almost dropped his papers right there. He was frozen to his spot. Perhaps in Death was one of his earliest novels, but it was still successful and managed to get a movie adaption. It was the story of a girl making a contract with a demon to find the murderer of her sister. It had been a long time since someone mentioned it since the work that took the limelight was One is a Thousand. “T-That’s your favorite story?”

“Yeah, it is. Don’t get me wrong, I love One is a Thousand, it’s just…” Phanuel struggled to find the right words. “I don’t know. I think there’s something very powerful about people making promises. ‘We’ll meet again, I promise, but perhaps it will be in death.’ I think that’s such a great line, don’t you think?”

The writer flushed deeply, pulling up the scarf covering his neck. “Y-Yeah, I guess it is.”

Androkles sat down at the table, passing some paper and a pencil to Phanuel. “So, do you have any ideas for the song?”

“...no, actually,” Phanuel admitted. “I’m going through some… musician’s block. I know I really shouldn’t force myself to compose any songs at the moment, but there’s a song that’s just waiting to be written. I just don’t know how to execute it. That’s why I wanted to hire you to help me write the song.”

Ah, so there was the problem. Once again, there was a similarity between them, but this time it was one that might hinder their work. “Okay, let’s start with the basics. What story do you want to tell? Maybe something current?”

Phanuel looked to be deep in thought. He rested his head on top of his hands. “How about… finding inspiration after a long period of nothing? I really can’t think of anything other than overcoming a creative block at the moment. You know, like when it rains after a long period of no water? And then it smells really nice outside?”

Androkles blinked. “Petrichor?”

The musician’s eyes widened by a fraction. “There’s a word for it?” He nodded, and Phanuel’s eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his head. “It sounds so… serene. I like it.”

It was. There was a tinkling of notes resounding from the back of his mind, and Androkles knew he had to compose it now. “Take out your guitar. I think I have an idea.”

Phanuel nodded his head, moving to open the black case that was currently lying on the ground unopened. With a few clicks, it was unlocked, and Phanuel pulled out a sand-colored acoustic guitar. Androkles didn’t know how to play the instrument, having only mastered the piano and violin, so he figured he would let the musician strum all of the chords for him.

“Play… D Flat Major 7.”

Phanuel adjusted his hands on the neck, barring one of the frets with his first finger before strumming. The guitar made a rich sound, the chord resonating in the wooden body. It sounded perfect.

“Alright, now play E Diminished, then C Minor 7, and then A Flat.”

Phanuel obeyed, playing the chords Androkles was stating. He shook his head, asking the man to switch the last two chords in the progression. He made a sound of agreement and played the chords in order. They both looked at each other.

“That sounded...  really nice,” Phanuel said, wonder in his eyes.

Androkles was furiously writing down the notes. This was working. “It does.”

Just as he was about to give more directions to Phanuel, a loud purring from behind him erupted. The two of them were startled, and Phanuel cocked his head to the side, looking past Androkles to see where the sound came from. He lifted a caramel finger to Andrew, who was meowing softly.

“Is your cat supposed to be on top of that bookshelf?”

Androkles whipped his head around, almost causing the winter hat to fall off. His eyes landed on Andrew, who was inching his way across the top of a tall spruce bookshelf with a dead mouse in between his fangs. The shelf he was standing on was stuffed with books, some of them his own and others from authors he occasionally read from. It was old and therefore weak, and the paint was starting to scrape off. The second thing he noticed was the lack of empty spaces on the various shelves. He would have to get a new bookcase sooner or later.

The first? The bookcase was wobbling forward.  

“Andrew! Get down from there!” Androkles shouted as he bolted out of his chair, running toward the teetering spruce shelf in record speed. Phanuel followed, and as soon as they were halfway across the living room, the shelf tipped over, causing Andrew to let out a hiss and jump.

The two of them extended their hands, waiting to catch the feline. Androkles watched as Andrew fell into an arch directly into Phanuel’s arms, causing him to dip his body. He let out a sigh. But Androkles was starting to shout something at him.

“Andrew, watch out—!”

Androkles turned around and a shadow was looming over him. The assortment of brightly colored novels flew at him, blinding him from the shelf that was about to collapse on top of him. He let himself grow intangible, and he fell through the floorboards, avoiding the bookcase that landed with a loud bang.

“Andr—Andrew! Oh my god!” He could hear Phanuel scramble to move the piece of furniture. “Andrew, if you can hear me, I’m going to call the police to help me get you out of there! Please respond if you’re under there!”

“No, I’m okay!” Androkles flew through the floor, reappearing in the living room. He ran to Phanuel and grabbed him by the shoulders. “I’m okay! I’m right here, see?”

Phanuel’s jaw dropped, shocked. “Andrew…?”

“I’m not under the bookshelf! See, I’m uncrushed and… right in front of you…”

Androkles took a step back from Phanuel, retracting his hands as if contact burned his palms. He was sure that he was wearing the same stunned face as the man except 10 times worse. The writer looked down at his hands.

They were transparent.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ONE IS A THOUSAND

SCENE 5: THE ACT OF SUNRISE

(AT RISE: CLARK and WILL walk upstage together,  arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders as they share raucous, hearty laughs with each other. Their business clothes are untidy and neckties loosened, as the alcohol has made them unrestrained, rendering them to stumbling drunks, constantly tripping over their own feet. The looming apartments of the city surround them, shrouding them in shadow and distancing themselves from the noisy bustle of city life. A sunrise is peeking over the horizon.)

CLARK

(laughing) You should have seen the way you threw that punch at that guy when he was poking fun at me! Your face just got all red and taut, then out of nowhere, a fist comes flying and a guy is on the floor. It’s a shame we got kicked out, we only got to celebrate for an hour. But I don’t think the poor guy really deserved that.

WILL

Oh, he did.

CLARK

Look, drama can be fun sometimes, but you shouldn’t resort to violence when you get angry. You could’ve offered the guy a drink instead of a punch… but the past is behind us. We’ve got plane tickets, and next week, we’ll be traveling the world! I can almost feel what it’s going to be like in other countries. The hot springs of Switzerland, the Galleria dell'Accademia di Firenze in Florence, the cherry blossoms in Japan… they’re calling for the both of us to explore them. Aren’t you so excited?

WILL

I am, to be traveling the continents with my best friend. I’m hoping we won’t lose each other in the crowds.

CLARK

We won’t. You always keep a tight leash on me. Remember how I wandered off in the aquarium during a field trip and you were the only one that could find me?

WILL

You could never stay away from the puffins.

CLARK

And I will continue to run after them on our trip to Iceland. Now sit down with me. If I keep walking like this I’ll throw up on my loafers.

(They collapse onto the sidewalk, chuckling. They lean on a lamppost, sitting with content smiles. The sun starts to rise in the distance.)

WILL

You know, Clark, I don’t usually say things like this but… I’m glad you’re my best friend.

CLARK

Oh? What’s this all about? Are you going through the sentimental phase of the alcohol?

WILL

I think I am.

(CLARK grows quiet. He stares at WILL.)

(cont.) Sometimes I think about what it would be like if I hadn’t met you. How different would my life be? Would I be a completely disparate person to how I am today? I don’t know. But I know one thing’s for certain. You made everything better for me just by existing. These emotions… they’re hard to put in words. But I think the only thing I can say is ‘thank you.’ I’m so glad I met you.

(CLARK pauses before laughing. He smacks WILL on the shoulder.)

CLARK

Oh, Will, you’re so funny at times. I suddenly have a philosopher as a friend. But I can’t deny that I feel the same, too. But you act like we’re going to part ways or something. That’s not gonna happen. You’re my best friend for life.

(WILL glances sadly at the date over CLARK’S head. His friend is scheduled to die in 6 days. The sun starts to rise. Lights slowly become brighter.)

WILL

… the same for you, Clark.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Androkles stared at his wall unmoving. Andrew crawled under his arm, trying to get him to open a can of cat food for him, but he felt too numb to get up.

After he revealed himself to Phanuel, he nearly shrieked, running over to grab the guitar and its case before shoving the musician out with his instrument. Androkles slammed the door on Phanuel’s protests before dashing to his blankets and crying under them. He was sure Phanuel stayed at the front door for nearly an hour, realizing that it was a fruitless endeavor once it started to rain outside. The sound of heavy footsteps walking down the porch’s steps gave Androkles some peace of mind before the reality hit him once more.

Was Phanuel going to reveal his identity to the world? Was the rising star going to hop on social media and post a long message including the details of his visit, explaining how Androkles flew through the wooden floor after a bookcase fell on top of him? All of this drowned Androkles into the fantods, and he started crying even harder.

He had multiple missed calls on his cellphone, all from Ryo. They were all probably about his ghostly origins being revealed by teen heartthrob Phanuel, so he didn’t bother to pick up. He didn’t want to hear those words anyway.

Androkles fell backward onto his bed, groaning loudly. The feline crawled on top of his chest and curled into himself, resting his soft body on top of Androkles's. Everything was going fine until Andrew crawled on top of the bookcase and knocked it over. Of all days, why did the shelf have to fall down the day of a visit?

He was never going to write another novel ever again.

The clock struck 2:30, the time Phanuel was supposed to come and work on the song. Tears burned at Androkles's already raw eyes. He knew his client wouldn’t come back after the disaster that was yesterday. Even if Phanuel didn’t care about the fallen bookcase (which was still on the floor after having been toppled over), would anyone want to work with a ghost?

Knock, knock, knock.

Androkles shot upward, causing Andrew to fall off his chest and earn himself a hiss from the feline. His heart began to pound in his ears.

“Andrew?”

Phanuel’s voice was muffled behind the wooden door,  He knocked the door a few more times, and Androkles pulled the fluffy blanket over his head. He just wanted Phanuel to go away, to just tell him he revealed his identity to the world and leave his front porch with the strawberry plant alone. But the musician kept rapping on the door with his knuckles after a few silent moments with no reply.

“Andrew, I just wanted to let you know… I didn’t tell anyone. About your, uh, form.”

Androkles huffed. That was a lie.

“If you don’t believe me, you can ask your agent. I called him after all of that happened yesterday because I wanted to know if you were alright. I figured he knew because he kept emphasizing the importance of the secrecy and made me read the contract at least 6 times. I just didn’t know… it would be something like this.”

No one would. But he was thankful that Ryo had him bound to a contract before he told anyone about him being a ghost.

“Not that I’m disappointed in what you truly are! It’s just… surprising, that’s all. I didn’t expect that my favorite author would… literally be a ghostwriter…”

Androkles walked up to the door in his fluffy mint slippers, which were partly stained after he spilled paint to them. After the soft padding of his feet halted, he opened the front entrance and sighed heavily. He was met with the sight of a mossy haired Phanuel, whose eyes were blown wide open at Androkles's appearance.

“What do you want, Phanuel?” he asked in a jaded voice.

Phanuel reached out to Androkles's face, attempting to wipe the tears streaming down his face. “You’ve been… crying…” Once his fingers met with Androkles's cheeks, his hand went through his face, and he pulled back, startled.

Androkles rolled his eyes. “Come inside. I need to discuss this… situation with you.”

Phanuel nodded, and just like yesterday, he stepped past Androkles to enter the house, heading towards the middle of the living room. Androkles closed the door and locked it, double checking if there was anyone outside that saw Phanuel walk in. He shut the curtains, walking back to the room with the fallen shelf in it.

“Sit down on the couch,” Androkles said. Phanuel obeyed, placing himself on the russet couch resting beside the glass coffee table. He fiddled with his thumbs as Androkles sat on the opposite end of the couch.

“So… what do you want to talk about with me?”

“Well, let’s start with the obvious,” he replied. Androkles rubbed his forehead. “Please don’t tell anyone about me. I’d rather not be exposed on the front page of every news portal with headlines saying ‘Andrew Homer, an actual ghostwriter?!’ I want to be able to go outside without having paparazzi stalking my every move and gossip magazines spreading rumors about the type of salad I eat. I’m not really a public person. And then there are… pretty straightforward reasons.”

Phanuel scanned his body, looking at the transparency of his face and hands. “Yeah, I understand.”

“I’m not a… people person like you. Having millions of people know about my life makes me really uncomfortable. Everyone deserves some privacy, even the most famous author of the 21st century, right?” The musician nodded. “So please, I’m begging you to not say a word about me. And if you already have… well, I guess I can’t really stop you from doing so.”

He shook his head. “No, I would never do that. It’s wrong to just give away information about a person’s lifestyle. I don’t really care if you’re a ghost. You’re a nice person to be around. You aren’t just trying to use people for their fame.” At this Phanuel’s eyes glossed over and he looked away. Androkles wondered what the story behind his words was. “But I have one request from you. Not as Phanuel, but as your client.”

“Go on.”

“Can we…” A slight blush spread onto Phanuel’s face as he struggled to find the words. “... keep working on the song, even though I know about all of this? I know it’s really selfish of me to ask since you don’t really want to have anyone around when you’re not hidden, but I—”

“Okay then.”

Phanuel looked up. “Wait, really?”

Androkles smiled weakly at him. ‘As much as I want to keep my identity hidden, I don’t want to leave any unsatisfied clients. I’d be happy to write your song.”

The man’s eyes lit up, like yesterday, when Androkles acknowledged him at the front door. Phanuel went to hug Androkles. “Thank you so much—!” His arms went through the ghost’s intangible body and he blushed. “U-Uh, oops. I keep forgetting about that. Sorry.”

The writer snorted.

“Wait, you laughed! Does this tickle?” Phanuel stuck his hand into Androkles's arm and he snickered. The musician went to fix a lock of light brown hair that was sticking up, but his hand went through the strands. Androkles laughed even harder. His tear sore cheeks were hurting from smiling.

“Phanuel, stop that—”

Androkles leaned forward to lower Phanuel’s hand, but instead, his palm went directly through his head, landing in the area where there should have been a brain in place of nothing. Phanuel screamed, pulling his hand back as if the ghost had hit him. Androkles was cackling, bending over because his stomach hurt.

The musician stared at the ghost who was doubling over in laughter. Then, he started to laugh too, and pretty soon, the living room was filled with the sound of giggling and rasps for breath. Every time silence replaced the happiness in the room, one of them would start laughing again, causing the other to follow. It was a circle of never-ending chortling.

“So does that mean,” Phanuel asked while wiping the tears in the corner of his eyes, “you’ll really continue to write the song with me?”

“Of course, I already said that. But promise me you won’t stick your hand in my skull again.”

“I can’t promise that, Andrew.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

SCENE 8: FAMILIAL FORGIVENESS

(AT RISE: MOM is sitting in a wooden rocking chair inside. She is looking through albums of her son and her having fun in his childhood. The radio is on a low volume in the background. The house is nicely decorated, and a table with flowers sits downstage, and two plates are sitting out on top of it. The house is full of empty picture frames. In the background, there is a calendar with CLARK’S death date marked on it.)

(MOM sighs and closes the album with a forlorn expression. CLARK knocks on the door and she’s visibly shaken. She doesn’t get up to answer it.)

CLARK

Hello? Is anyone home?

(MOM doesn’t answer.)

(cont.) I was hoping… that someone would be in here. I need to tell you what’s been going on my life. I wanted to get some approval. It feels wrong pursuing my dreams without getting permission from my family.

(MOM nods. CLARK sighs.)

(cont.) Mom, I know we’re not on good terms, but please let me in.

(MOM sighs heavily and gets up, walking slowly to the entrance. WILL’s face lights up as she stares at him with a steely expression.)

MOM

What did you come here for, Clark?

CLARK

I wanted to talk about how my life’s been going. I know you don’t want to see my face after I said I was in love with my best friend but… will you let me into our house one last time?

(MOM crosses her arms and looks away.)

MOM

One last time. Then you vanish from this household. I’ll go get some tea.

CLARK

Thank you so much.

(He walks into the house while she puts a kettle on the stove. CLARK sits down on the couch while MOM stands from a distance. The air is tense around them.)

MOM

So… what did you want to tell me?

CLARK

First I wanted to say… I’m sorry for being such a bad son. And I know that being gone for 15 years isn’t going to make forgiving me easier, but I’ve come here to ask… if you’ll accept the actions I’ll take in the future.

MOM

It depends on what they are, Clark.

(CLARK is smiles. His MOM is finally willing to listen to him.)

CLARK

I’m… going to travel the world with Will. In Florence, I’m planning on telling him how I feel. How I’ve cherished every year I’ve spent with him. And even if he rejects me, it’s still an opportunity I can’t let slip away. Life’s too short to not do so, right?

(She glances at the date on top of his head.)

MOM

It really is.

CLARK

Then after I come back with experiences under my belt, I plan on writing a book about them. Then hopefully, I’ll inspire someone to live a full life. Sure, they may not want to trek through rainforests and swim through rapids, but people will eventually find what they love right?

(He plays with his hands.)

(cont.) I want… to tell people that there are so many possibilities in the world. That they don’t have to be confined to the death dates floating above them. We can all live, despite knowing that there will be an end to our existences… do you support my dream, mom?

(Silence.)

MOM

I do.

WILL

And… do you forgive me for running away all of those years ago?

(She walks closer to him, hovering over him. Suddenly, she embraces him, tearing up.)

MOM

I don’t think I can. I don’t want to give you forgiveness for hurting me so much. But the thing that caused me the most pain was not knowing where you were or if you were crying. I’ve failed you as a mother…

CLARK

Don’t say that.

MOM

… but I’m glad you came back to me. I just wish we could’ve spent more time together. You don’t know how much I’m thankful for your return. Clark, I love you so much. My beloved son. My baby. You’re alive and you’re living.

CLARK

I love you, too, Mom.

(The two of them start to cry. In the kitchen, the kettle starts to whistle.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Androkles put his pen down and shook the tension out of his wrist. He heard his joints pop as he stretched his arms, and the man sitting across from him did the same. Looking at the time on the clock mounted on the wall, he internally sighed as the two hands displayed the time 5:56.

“We’ve been working for almost two hours straight,” Androkles announced. “Wanna take a break?”

“Sure,” Phanuel replied, placing the guitar back in the case. The instrument was actually donated to Androkles by Ryo, but he had no use for it. After all, he was a writer, not a musician, so it sat in the back of his closet gathering dust on top of the case. It proved to be useful, though, because in Phanuel’s rush to apologize to Androkles, he forgot to get his guitar.

“I’ll go get us some drinks. Is water fine with you?” Phanuel hummed in agreement, and the ghost walked to the kitchen, returning with two cups of cold water sloshing in his hands. He placed them on the table and Phanuel drank it, his Adam's apple bobbing before he wiped his lips and made a refreshed sound. Androkles took a few sips of his drink.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Phanuel said as he collected the sheets of work they got done, “is eating a necessity for you? I mean, I don’t know if you have a digestive system or…”

“It’s not. I eat for my own enjoyment. Everything a human needs, like sleep or bathing, I do just for the sake of having fun. Life would be kinda boring if I just floated around doing nothing when I could be eating ice cream, right?”

“Ah, I see what you mean. ‘I walk with life because I want to, not because I’m forcing myself to. Though there may be an end, that doesn’t deter me from writing my footsteps into the ground.’” Phanuel’s cheeks turned red, and he brought the glass to his face to hide his redness. “...From A Journey’s Manhunt. Johann’s line.”

Androkles covered his wide grin with his hand. It didn’t take long for him to realize that Phanuel was an avid reader of his. A Journey’s Manhunt wasn’t a recent novel, but still fairly relevant. It was a staple book in many high schools, and a company offered to do an audiobook on it a year after it came out. Androkles, of course, greenlit their decision to do so. He wondered if Phanuel read any of his less known books. “‘Of course, Johann, but why would you want to explore nature’s fortresses when you could stay with us, safe and happy in our bucolic village?’”

Phanuel shot an amused glance at him. “Of course I love our village. It’s warm with my mother and father in our home, and I love my younger brother. But this world lies in the bosom of Abraxas, and through that, I have the striking notion that traveling is meant to free us. The garden of the world is open to all horizons.’ That reminds me…” he pointed at the back door in the kitchen, which was covered in a straw-colored curtain. “Do you have a garden back there? When I came in the other day, I saw some plants through the window.”

The writer smiled. “Do you want to see?”

His eyes widened, so Androkles took that as a yes. He got up from his seat, and Phanuel followed him to the kitchen. His fingers wrapped around the knob and he pushed it open, presenting his backyard.

The yard was surrounded by a barrier of high maroon fences, preventing anyone from climbing up unless they leaned a ladder against it. But the main attraction of the large yard was the plants planted in neat rows. Flowers grew everywhere; tulips were bursting, violets littered the small spaces under the taller flowers, rose bushes were starting to bloom, and buttercups scattered the ground, creating tiny golden dots that seemed to make the garden sparkle. A cobblestone path snaked around the beds, allowing for safe passage. Phanuel gasped.

“Can we… go out there?”

“Sure. Just don’t step on the flowers.”

They walked out of the house, their shoes clacking off the stone path quietly. Phanuel’s jaw hung open as he bent down to observe the flowers, making little oohs and aahs as he explored the color-splashed garden.

Androkles watched him from behind, amused by this wonderstruck man prancing around in his garden. Phanuel pointed at the plants, looking at him.

“Did you plant all of these?”

“No, actually. Ry—my friend did. It was supposed to be a way to make me go outside more. But these plants don’t need to be taken care of. They grow on their own. I just come out here sometimes.”

“They’re beautiful.”

Androkles nodded. He was about to ask Phanuel if one of his hobbies was gardening when the sky rumbled lowly. It was a loud, thundering sound that came from above, causing the two of them to look up. The sky was covered in a blanket of dark grey clouds, blocking out the sun and causing the air to grow frigid. A raindrop fell on Phanuel’s cheek and he wiped it off.

“Oh yeah, I forgot it was supposed to rain this afternoon.” As Androkles said that, the light drizzle of water grew heavier, beginning to make a wet patch on Phanuel’s shoulders. The rain fell through Androkles's skin, phasing through his shirt as well. “Let’s go inside, you must be getting wet.” But Phanuel was still looking up at the sky. Androkles raised an eyebrow. “Phanuel?”

“Not yet. Let’s stay outside for a bit.”

He grabbed the musician’s wrist, attempting to pull him inside. Phanuel’s dark locks were already starting to droop. “Come on, you’ll get sick from being in the rain.”

Phanuel grabbed his arms, finding that they were still intangible. He pretended he was holding onto Androkles, hovering his fingers right above the non-touchable skin. The rain was soaking his checkered shirt. “Let’s dance.”

Before Androkles could protest. Phanuel was jumping around in the garden, laughing despite heavy sheets of rain coming down on his head. He extended a hand to Androkles, and the ghost rolled his eyes, letting only his hand become tangible. Phanuel’s smile widened, and he pulled Androkles closer to him, eliciting a surprised noise from the writer. The man spun Androkles around as if they were in a ballroom and Androkles let his other hand become physical as he placed it behind Phanuel’s neck.

That’s when the real dancing started. Once Phanuel felt Androkles's hand on his skin, he took the other one and started to dance around the garden, avoiding the flowerbeds that were shimmering from the warm, spring fallen water. The musician let his hand float over Androkles's hip as if they were engaged in dance, and they tripped over each other’s feet while they pranced through the garden.

(They weren’t actually stumbling. It was more of Androkles's feet phasing through Phanuel’s feet, causing the both of them to laugh.)

They stopped in the middle of the path, right in front of the blooming rose bushes. The duo was out of breath, having gone in circles halfway across the garden. They laughed loudly, slightly dizzy from the constant spinning. Phanuel was still gripping onto Androkles's hand.

Water was running down the sides of Phanuel’s face, and his dark brown locks were sticking to his forehead. Now that he was up close to the man, he could see why so many people praised him for his looks. His cherry lips were parted slightly, and his eyes were big and sparkly, like a child going to the zoo to see puffins for the very first time. He watched as a droplet fell off Phanuel’s defined jaw.

“Hey, Andrew…” he asked, squinting slightly because of the rain falling into his face. “What’s your real name?”

Androkles lowered his head. “I don’t really want to answer that. You know, to keep my identity hidden.”

“Ah, that’s okay, I understand. Names are a big part of our identity, aren’t they?” They started to sway back and forth in a relaxing manner. The movement was soothing enough to make Androkles close his eyes temporarily. “They give others an image or a way of alerting us. Personally, I think names are stories of who we are. It could be Phanuel, the rising star. Or Andrew Homer, the world famous writer. Or maybe even Phanuel, the best friend, or Andrew, the son.”

Androkles pushed a finger to Phanuel’s lips, silencing him. The singer looked at him with a confused expression. “I don’t really want to think about any other identities at the moment. Right now, let’s just be Phanuel and Andrew, two people dancing in the rain together.”

The man in front of him looked shocked at his words. But the surprised look on his face melted into a smile. Soft laughter came from his mouth. “I think I like that one the best.”

They kept dancing, even after the rain stopped and the sun’s rays shone through the parted clouds. Water droplets ran off leaves and decorated the heads of flowers. There in the garden danced two people, one a completely dry ghost who made the rain fall right through him. Another, a human who was completely drenched in warm rain, smiling brightly. They stopped spinning in circles once a sneeze rang out from behind maroon fences.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ONE IS A THOUSAND

SCENE 10:

(AT RISE: It is Clark’s death day. The scene is dark. Storm clouds roll in as CLARK stands under an umbrella. The stage is empty, with the exception of the main character. He seems to be dripping wet. Thunder sound effects roar in the background. A rusty payphone sits to the side of the stage.)

(The rain continues to fall as CLARK lifts the umbrella, allowing the audience to see his face. It’s upset, unlike the smiling CLARK who is usually around.)

CLARK

(talking to himself) You know, sometimes I think to myself… would people be more positive if death dates weren’t around? If we weren’t in such a constant state of anxiety… would anyone have bothered to live? The greats of the Renaissance did it. The fallen kingdoms of the ancient world managed to survive. And yet, we’re all just waiting for the day we die. We can’t even see the date of the day we’re supposed to die. What are all of us waiting for?

(He looks to the payphone. Fumbling with the change in his pocket, he produces a few coins from his pocket before dialing the number. After a few rings, a light shines from the dark half of the stage, revealing a distraught WILL leaning into his phone.)

WILL

Clark… Clark, where are you?!

CLARK

Will, I’m sorry if I worried you. I slipped onto a train to go visit our hometown. I wanted to see my mom before we left to see the world. Admittedly, I should’ve have told you, but—

WILL

Clark! It doesn’t matter what you did! Just tell me where you are!

CLARK

I’m at a payphone in the middle of the road. The last bus left before I could get on. It’s a good thing I had spare change, or else I wouldn’t have been able to call you. You’re always the one calling me, so this is a nice change, isn’t it?

WILL

Don’t move an inch. I’m coming to get you.

CLARK

Oh, thank you so much. It’s getting cold out here. I’m so glad I have you as a best friend. You’ve always been so protective of me. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I really appreciate everything you do for me. But could you hurry here? The only thing protecting me from the rain is this payphone and it’s not doing a really good job.

(Thunder rumbles once again.)

WILL

Clark, is it… raining there?

CLARK

Yeah, it started a bit after I left my mom’s house. Why?

WILL

Get out of there! There’s—

(There’s a snapping sound, and a wire falls onto CLARK’S side of the stage. CLARK is startled as the line cuts off. The light on WILL’S side shuts off.)

CLARK

Will? Are you there? Darnit, the line’s cut off. But I told him my location, right? Now all I have to do is… wait.

(He sits down, leaning against the payphone. He looks up to the sky, slightly tilting his umbrella.)

(cont.) I wonder how many chances people get in their lifetimes. Maybe to get the opportunity to go on a reality TV show, or sign a record label to become the next idol. Or maybe they get the chance to achieve their dreams. I don’t know, it could be something as small as being able to get a toy. But the thing I really wonder about… is how many of them they take.

(He stretches his arms, choosing to reach a hand toward the sky.)

(cont.) But maybe there are some things that come by chance. Like a ladybug landing in your hair. Or a bird making its nest in the tree outside your window. I wonder how common it is… to meet your own Will? Is it 1 out of every 5 people? Or 1 out of a hundred. Maybe even the statistic of a lightning strike!

(Lights start to flash. CLARK laughs.)

(cont.) So maybe…

(He lowers his umbrella, looking at the sky.)

(cont.) ...we’re 2 people out of 960,000 who will experience the life-changing moment we call lightning strikes. Or maybe just the greatest person you will have in your life.

(Lightning strikes the payphone. An explosion is played, and the lights flare before settling to black in almost an instant.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The second Androkles opened the door, Andrew walked out, brushing against Phanuel’s pant leg, purring. The two of them watched as the feline curled up on the porch.

“I think he likes you.”

“I’m hoping he does.”

They sat down at the wooden table once again, and Androkles produced two fluffy pens out of his pocket. Phanuel raised an eyebrow.

“I like feathered pens,” Androkles confessed. He watched in amusement as Phanuel’s expression grew even more confused and then suddenly, his jaw dropped. He lifted the fluffy blue pen to eye level, gaping.

“It’s not quills…?” Phanuel gasped. “Oh my god, it’s not quills!”

Androkles laughed. The world only knew half of the story, didn’t they?

He laid out the music sheets in front of them. The two had written all of the music, now all that was left to write were the lyrics. Then, Phanuel would leave his house and he would never see him again.

Something about that future made his heart grow heavy. But he couldn’t think about it now, he was working. “So, your theme was petrichor? A metaphor for finding inspiration after a long bout of musician’s block?”

“Yep. I got some inspiration while I was walking here. You know how you have a bunch of plants in your backyard.” Androkles nodded. “Well, what happens when there’s no rain?”

“They dry up. Oh, so you’re going to use plants in the song, too?”

“Uh huh. Listen to these lyrics I came up with. It’s only a few lines, but we can build off of them.” Phanuel cleared his throat and strummed the first chord of the intro. “Under gentle mornings, I’m waking to fading dreams. Little quiet mournings, it’s sunny today, it seems… Can you continue from there?”

Androkles hummed in thought. “Uh, so you wanted plants in the song. Hmmm… I got it! Strawberries and roses are drying under the light. Raincoats and umbrellas are sitting on the sides.” He remembered the other day, where they were dancing in the rain, spinning between the roses bushes and stepping over perennials. The memory of Phanuel erupting in a loud sneeze once the sun shone through made the ghost smile to himself.

Phanuel repeated the words, plucking through the chords while playing it fingerstyle. “The sky is so blue, the world is clear, but there’s no peace in my mind. My breath is taken, flying far away, but when will teardrops fall from the sky?”  

Teardrops fell from heaven in the backyard, Androkles was sure of it. Even if they fell through him and left him dry, they still gave life to the grass underneath his feet. But they left Phanuel soaked in spring’s rain. “I long for the day, for cloudy worlds and rainy skies, and sitting under my umbrella is a cat next to my side.”

The memory of Andrew on top of the bookshelf came to his mind. He nearly burst out into laughter. If it weren’t for Andrew, he wouldn’t have a pen name. He wouldn’t be the 21st century’s most famous author. He wouldn’t have shown who he truly was to Phanuel.

Phanuel kept playing the sand colored guitar. “The rain is pouring down, it’s dancing. Smiling strawberries love more. When it passes by, put down your hood and—”

“Smell the petrichor,” they said in unison.

“That’s—That’s it!” Phanuel screamed. “That’s gonna be the first verse and the chorus! We’ve got to write it down!”

“Already ahead of you,” Androkles said, holding up a paper with the words of the song written in ink. “Now we just need the rest and then we’re done.”

“We’ll actually be done… I can’t believe that.”

“Me neither. Now, let’s get to work.”

They ran through the written lyrics once more, making some adjustments. Then they started on the second verse, throwing ideas at each other and refining the words. Before long, there was a full sheet of lyrics, inspired by the past few days of hesitation and dancing. The story, which was observed from a person’s point of view, was weaved through the experiences of sunny weather and joyful plants, accompanied by a cat pressed against the human’s side.

“And… done.” Androkles wrote the final word and dropped the pen, shaking his arm. He had an ache in his wrist today. “Alright, it’s all written. Here.”

He handed the paper to Phanuel, who was looking at the lyrics starstruck. “These are amazing…! You’re such a skilled songwriter.”

Androkles flushed. “I’m just a writer, that’s all.”

“The most popular writer of the 21st century.”

“Andrew Homer would be disappointed in these lyrics.”

“Andrew Homer wrote these lyrics. Be proud of what you’ve created.” Phanuel grinned widely, showing off his teeth. Now that Androkles looked at it, one of his front teeth was a bit crooked. It seemed that the rising star had flaws in his appearance as well. “I know I am.”

He was growing redder by the second. Androkles hid his face behind his hands. “T-Thank you, then.”

Phanuel nodded, causing his hair to bounce up. He looked at the time displayed on the wall. His smile dropped. “It… looks like it’s time for me to go. It’s 7.”

The writer rotated his body around, finding that the time was indeed 7:00. Disappointment rose up in him. He turned back to Phanuel, who had a slightly saddened expression as well. “Oh, I guess it is. Let me help you gather your stuff.”

The two of them were both taking their time cleaning up and they knew it. Phanuel set his guitar back in its case slower than he previously did, and he cleaned the inside thoroughly, cleaning out nonexistent dirt. Androkles gathered the music sheets, pretending to not know the order and gently placing them in numerical order. He took the pens and put them to the side of the table. Phanuel tightened his strap, refastening it even though he knew it fit perfectly on him. Suddenly, after a few minutes of cleaning their workplace in silence, they realized that there was nothing else to reorganize.

Androkles decided to break the silence. “So! I’ll lead you to the door.”

Phanuel nodded, even though the door was only a few feet away from the two of them.

The duo walked to the door and Androkles unlocked it slowly, hesitating before pulling it open. Phanuel stepped onto the porch, taking in the fresh smell of earth. It had rained in the morning once again, leaving the air slightly damp and the pot with the strawberries watered. The musician turned around to face Androkles, who handed the sheets of paper to him.

“Thank you for everything, Andrew. I think my musician’s block is finally going away. It’s all because of you.” Phanuel gave him a bright smile and he shook his head.

“I only gave you the opportunity to be creative. You’re the one who truly overcame it.”

A silence fell over them. They stared at each other, waiting for the other to say goodbye. They both didn’t want to hear those words.

“Hey, Andrew, can I make a request?”

“As what? The client or as Phanuel?’

“As Phanuel.” He stepped forward, their one-inch difference seeming to be a large, unfulfilled gap. “Could you.. make yourself tangible so I can give you a hug?”

Androkles smiled, letting his body become a physical object. “Go ahead. I don’t leave any unsatisfied clients.”

Phanuel embraced him, and Androkles felt his touch on his skin. There was a living being hugging him, radiating warmth from under their fingertips. Androkles’s hair was brushing against Phanuel’s nose, tickling him. There was light, such a bright light inside of him, brighter than the sun. The man pulled away from the ghost, looking at him fondly.

“You know, to the world, you might be Andrew Homer, the world famous author. To your cat, you might be its beloved owner. To your agent, you’re their boss. But to me…” He took Androkles’s tangible hands, finally being able to lift then. “You're my inspiration, my muse, and my coworker. But most of all, you’re my friend.”

Something about the genuine look in Phanuel’s eyes made a tear slip down his face. Or maybe it was the stinging of the warm air around them. Whatever it was, it made him overwhelmed with emotion, inundating him in happiness. Phanuel wiped it away.

“Andrew, don’t cry…”

“It’s Androkles.” Phanuel’s hand paused, lightly touching the skin of Androkles’s cheek. He took it in his own hand. “My real name is Androkles. Andrew Homer is my cat’s name. I used it for my pen name. But keep it a secret, will you?”

There was a moment of nothing. Then, they started to laugh together, their hands still clasped.

“Who gave you that idea?”

“I wanted to have an alias so no one would know who I was. Andrew is the only thing I’ve ever stayed outside for.”

“Brilliant. A cat is the true writer for One is a Thousand.”

Androkles giggled. “It is. Now shoo, it’s getting dark. You should get home before the sun sets.”

Phanuel sighed, pulling away from Androkles. “I really should. Thank you again. I guess this is goodbye, Androkles.”

“I guess it is.” His face fell, but the bubbling happiness inside didn’t fade. “I’ll be waiting for ‘Petrichor’ to hit the top of the Billboards. Goodbye, Phanuel.”

The musician walked down the steps of Androkles’s porch, leaving the ghost alone with the smell of the world after rain.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ONE IS A THOUSAND

(AT RISE: A coffin is set in the middle of the stage. The characters are all dressed in black, and quietly mourn. The group includes WILL, MOM, COWORKERS, and multiple other characters that CLARK has met in his lifetime.)

(A speaker steps onto a podium.)

SPEAKER

We’re gathered here to mourn the loss of Clark Bell. His death was due on the day of May 18, 2016, and has arrived much sooner than we had all hoped. At the age of 26, Clark became an office worker in the city. Although he pushed papers all day, he still kept his dream of traveling the world buried deep in his heart. Clark finally got a step closer to his dream, but it was cut short after a lightning strike hit the payphone he was at. Will, if you would please.

(WILL walks up to the podium with a grief-stricken expression. He clears his throat.)

WILL

I… have no words to express how I feel about Clark’s death. There’s nothing that exists that can convey my grief. Clark had such a defined identity. He was a son. He was a co-worker to some, and he was a bright customer to others. He was the person living above apartment #2 and he was the stranger in the crowd. He was… my best friend. He existed differently in each and every one of our minds. He was a single person, yet he was a thousand different people. But in the end… he was Clark. Just Clark. The guy that wanted to see the world. To chase puffins off beaches. He just wanted… to be free. And I’m so sorry to say I wasn't there when he needed me. That’s all.

(He steps off the podium. The funeral progression plays out and slowly, people start to leave. The only two people remaining are WILL and MOM. The latter approaches WILL.)

MOM

Hello there, Will.

WILL

Hi, Mrs. Bell. I’m sorry. I’m probably the last person you want to see. I… didn’t arrive on time.

MOM

(shaking her head) Never. You’ve always punctual. Always working so hard. Just some of the many qualities Clark admired in you. He loved you so much.

WILL

Loved?

MOM

Yes. My son loved you. He loved many things. He was in love with life. You know that better than anyone. You two spent a lot of time together. He loved you so much, he wanted you to have this.

(She pushes an envelope into his hands.)

(cont.) Inside are two tickets to the Accademia. He talked about it a lot with you, didn’t he? It was his dream to see the art there with you. He talked to me about it right before he left my house. There was a line he would say to you if you said that the place was beautiful. What was it? “Yes, the statues are beautiful. But the real piece of art here is right in front of me.” He left them with me because… he knew his death date all along. It was always circled on our calendar at home. Clark was a brilliant boy, it didn’t take him long to figure it out.

(She laughs quietly.)

(cont.) What he wants you to do is to go and explore the world, Will. He wants you to experience the thrills of life and be able to come back and say, “I’ve changed.” Clark wants you to travel the world. He wants to find someone and get married, settle down and have a family. Make an identity for yourself just as Will. Just live as you are.

(WILL starts to cry. He looks up from the letter and hugs MOM.)

WILL

Thank you so much.

MOM

Don’t thank me. Thank Clark. He is the one who is truly a thousand.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Identity is the single most important thing when it comes to the art of ghostwriting. In fact, it’s what defines the business as a whole. There are two types of identities a person will find in the ghostwriting industry: the famous and the enigmatic.

The famous are the stars, the ones who appear on TV with dazzling smiles and a charming bounce in their step. They’re the artists who have their names printed into record books with a net value attached. The famous have giant followings and their faces hung on the walls of a squealing teenage girl’s room, covered in a protective lamination to defend against her baby brother’s invasions. In dehumanizing terms, they’re the perfect products and money making tools of a company. In ghostwriting terms, they’re the buyers.

The enigmatic, which are more commonly known as the ghostwriters, are the famous’ unknown secrets. They’re the ones who sit at a desk for hours, painting the paragraphs that will soon be filling the best sellers under another person’s name, or counting the measures to a star’s greatest hit. The ghostwriters, who are the sellers, are the people who make a creation that someone else will soon take credit for. Their names do not go down in history for being diligent workers, and most of the time, they don’t want to be known. That’s why the sellers choose their careers. They, of free will, become the ghosts of a world that know the art from their fingertips.

But there is one type of identity that allows a person to be both the famous and the enigmatic. Some call it a double life, while others call it a symbol. But the identity has a true name: aliases. Pen names allow people to become the ghostwriters of themselves, sitting down to write a novel that their second name will assume the attention of. There would be a name to the work, but still no face to go with it.

Androkles didn’t think it was necessary to confine himself to these terms. In fact, he preferred to be referred to as Androkles Hemming, not the internationally famous Andrew Homer, or the introverted ghost, just Androkles. He was, in literal terms, a ghostwriter, but he chose not to be part of any world. Phanuel helped him realize that he could just be himself.

Now he was in his kitchen, humming the words to Petrichor, one of the biggest hits to have ever been on the radio. It broke multiple records in its first week, become one of the most listened to songs in history. The music industry had been overturned by the release of Phanuel’s new album, Ghost, and his fame exploded. Androkles was content with listening to talk show hosts rave about the star’s sudden rise to fame.

The album, in Androkles’s opinion, was honest, and that’s why it succeeded. It was an honest, catchy masterpiece that took the hearts of the public and twisted a knife of emotion and life in them, causing millions to fall to their knees. From what Androkles heard, Phanuel’s worldwide tour had just sold out.

“...on the show is one of the world’s most popular idols out there. He's the mastermind behind the hit Petrichor, and one of the youngest artist to have hit the number 1 spot on the Billboards. Introducing... Phanuel!”

A familiar voice came on.“Thank you for having me here. I’m really honored to have the opportunity be on the radio. Oh no, I don’t know what to say. I’m nervous.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Phanuel.”

Laughter broke out. After the wheezing stopped, the host spoke up once again. “So, Phanuel, where exactly did you get the inspiration for writing the songs on Ghost?”

“I got it from just sitting down and observing the world around me. You’d be surprised how much you can learn by just listening to yourself. Also, most of the songs are inspired by stories from my favorite author, Andrew Homer. I’d say that a lot of my music is influenced by him.”

“Wise answer. What would you say is the main message of the album, and what’s the story behind your main track, ‘Petrichor’?”

“I wanted to tell a story about identity. We live in a world where people spend their whole lives trying to find who they are. Some people hide who they are, while others fake it. I wanted to show the world that it’s okay to be yourself. Now, as for the title track, it’s about finding light after going through dark times. It’s actually inspired by my own experiences. I had musician’s block for a long time, and after being taught important lessons from a dear friend of mine, I overcame it. I want to go back to my hometown and tell them thank you, but I have a world tour ahead of me.”

“A busy man you are. That’s all we have for today, make sure if you want tickets…”

Androkles turned down the radio, taking his eggs off the pan and dumping them onto a porcelain plate. He shut the stove off, taking the plate and sitting at the table in the living room, which had a pencil holder filled with fluffy pens in the middle.

The famous was traveling the world, living his dream. The enigmatic was at home. The aliases of ‘friends’ still lingered in the garden, refusing to wash away in the rain.

He pulled out his phone, checking his social media. Androkles laughed happily at the most recent post, stuffing more eggs in his mouth.

yay strawberry

The flowers on the strawberry were blooming.

[malcolmteller-blog]

[HORROR] Things on the Internet

You never imagine that strange things will or even could happen to you, when you live a life like mine. Me? It’s been cookie cutter and bland, all the way through. When I was in high school, I never had any amazing, formative adventures or experiences like you see in all the TV shows and movies. It was just this boring slog of go to school, go to class, come home, play video games, go to bed, wake up, repeat. Same deal with university - go to class, come home, hang out on the Internet, study, and repeat.

So you can imagine how surprised I was when, at the ripe old age of twenty-four, when I was working at a bookstore after I’d graduated from university, the strangest things in the world started to happen to me.

I should explain why I was where I was at. I graduated at the age of twenty-two with a largely useless degree in Political Science. I had no real connections or relevant work experience, so off to retail I went. I may not have achieved my full potential, but I still had to pay the bills, y’know? Be honest with you, I was pretty much aimless at that point. I knew I wanted more, and I guess I knew deep down that I could be more, but I didn’t know how to achieve it.

Then I found Chatroom Pandemonium.

See, I’d never really had a lot of friends. Well, I’ll just come out with it: I was kind of a loser. Still am. So, I sought refuge on the Internet. By the time all this started to happen, I’d be spending tons of hours on it every night, just reading on my various interests for hours, in addition to streaming Netflix and reading comic book scans.

It was on a March evening that I somehow - I can’t remember how, now - stumbled upon an odd website. It was said in a number of these alt-culture message boards to be ‘the most amazing thing ever’ and ‘everything a person could want’. I go there, and… nothing. Blank, black page. ‘Bullshit,’ I muttered to myself, and navigated away. I then decided to watch some Netflix, so I streamed one of those popular superhero shows for three hours then turned my computer off and went to bed.

I slept peacefully, and woke up early - oddly early, given I’d only gone to bed like three hours before. It was three in the morning, and the first thing I noticed was that my computer was on. It was so strange, because I knew I’d turned my monitor and tower off before I went to bed. How could it just turn itself on? But there was something else - it was on the page that I’d closed before, the one where there was nothing on it. Only now, there was a text box there. I slowly got out of bed and walked over to my desk and sat down, squinting my eyes as I leaned in to read what was on the screen. I soon understood that it was a box for me to type a username into to chat in a chatroom, one called ‘Chatroom Pandemonium’.

So, very much curious, I did so. I entered the name “JohnTheMonk” (an old handle of mine from when I was in high school) and clicked ‘JOIN’.

Chatroom prompt shows up, and I noticed it only had one other person in it. His handle was THE_BELIEVER. To make this go simpler, I’ll type up the chatlog and intersperse it with my own feelings and reactions that I had at the time.

THE_BELIEVER: Welcome:)

Now, I had no idea who this guy was, but I was mildly curious. So, I decided to spark up a conversation.

JOHNTHEMONK: hey, sup

I waited a few minutes - oddly long, where chatrooms are concerned (at least in my experience). Finally, he responded.

THE_BELIEVER: im happy youre here. i can tell already that youre a special one

Now, this got me kind of creeped out. I mean, this guy didn’t even know me, but he was saying all this stuff about me?

JOHNTHEMONK: umm..okay.

His next response came immediately.

THE_BELIEVER: im going to come see you. then we’ll have a real good time :)

At this point, I’m basically like “K, fuck this.” So I just logged off, closed the browser, and went back to bed. Didn’t even say goodbye. As far as I was concerned, that was the end of it.

Except it wasn’t.

I woke up a few hours later, got up and showered, got dressed, the whole deal, and went to work. Day went by pretty casually. It was just boring, you know? Bland with not much happening, same as usual for my life. Customers come in, ask about books, I ring them through the cash register, I socialize with my co-workers, that deal.

So I get off work in the evening and I’m walking home. Then my phone dings, so I check it. It’s from a private number and it reads, “it was really rude of you to leave the chatroom without saying goodbye.”

What. The. Fuck.

How the fuck did this asshole get my number? This was getting really scary, and I wasn’t okay with it. But I had no idea how to find out how he got my number, so I just set my phone to not accept texts or phone calls from private numbers. I also resolved to strongly consider changing my phone number later on.

Here’s the thing, though: it didn’t end there.

I was at the comic shop a week later, looking to get a certain item. That’s when the next phase of things started happening.

“Hey,” I asked the clerk who was standing behind the counter, “Do you guys happen to have the latest Hellblazer trade?”

The clerk nodded, pointed out where that title is usually kept, and off I went. I get there and I’m scanning the shelf, and then… then I heard something.

“I haven’t forgotten you.”

It was a thin, small, kind of high-pitched voice. I jumped, kind of, and looked around quickly. No one was around me. Then I heard it speak again.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten me.”

I looked around more. No one there.

I was getting freaked out at this point, so I needed to get out. So I did. Before I knew it, I was out the door and pounding down the sidewalk, trying to shake this. Now I was hearing things? The hell?

But it didn’t stop. The voice kept talking. “I’m going to be there soon, and we’re going to have so much fun.” It sounded almost giddy.

How did I feel at the time? Well, my heart was pounding, and my blood was pumping, and I felt completely on edge - goosebumps all over. What the hell was going on? Two possibilities: something from beyond (as crazy as that sounded) was stalking me, or my mental state was broken. Neither was a comforting thought.

As I walked and desperately tried, and failed, to ignore the voice speaking more and more into my ears and head, I tried to work this out. This all started with that chatroom, and that started with all the postings on the Internet that were gushing about that URL. Nothing about that site had been normal or typical. First time I go there, it’s a blank page. Then my computer and monitor turn on by themselves and navigate back to the website, by themselves, where now it’s a chatroom login page.

This didn’t make any sense, and it was scary as hell. I was on edge the entire walk transit commute home, especially because this voice just would not shut the fuck up. The entire bus ride, it kept telling me all excited how it was gonna come see me and how I’d be ‘changed for the better’ and how ‘pain can be beautiful, and you’ll find that out too’ and all other sorts of horrifying shit. When I got home, I immediately dug out my headphones, put them on and plugged them into my phone and turned on some music to max volume to drown out what I was hearing. It worked.

So, what to do? After some thought, I guess I convinced myself that this had to be a mental health crisis. Like many people, my mind defaulted to the ‘logical’ explanation. I wasn’t at the point where I could convince myself that this was an actual spiritual entity. I just wasn’t wired that way.

So, long story short, I made an appointment with my doctor, got some meds, and everything quieted down. No more voices. At that point, I was satisfied - everything was fine and good, and so was I.

So, back to my boring old life. I went back to the drudgery that was work, while also trying to think on how I could improve my life. Maybe I could go to grad school. Maybe I could try to, somehow, launch a career based on the qualifications and credentials I had now.

So, one night, a week or so later, I was doing web searches for job postings and internships I could possibly take up when I heard something from my living room. I looked at my slightly open door and focused my ears. It was… my TV? How could my TV be on? I specifically remembered having turned it off when I got home that day.

So, I walked out to the living room and checked the TV. It was on to a channel of static. Idly picking up the remote control from the coffee table, I started changing the channel. All static.

‘Well, shit,’ I thought to myself. I immediately assumed it was a problem with the cable company. So I slid my phone out of my pocket to call them, when… I heard the voice.

“You keep running from me, Michael,” it said. My eyes immediately went wide with fear, my blood running cold and freezing inside of me. I, frozen in place in a mix of abject terror and shock, looked up at the TV, which now had a figure on it. It held a basic humanoid shape, but it… it couldn’t be human. Though the figure was largely cloaked in shadows and darkness, I could see its shape. Its head looked misshapen, like there were horns or something coming out of it. As well, the way the sides of its head looked… it looked as if the skin was ridged or something. Logically, the immediate conclusion would be that this was an elaborate prank, but deep down I knew - I knew - that it wasn’t. This was real, and horrifyingly so. I could write off the texts. I could even write off this. But I couldn’t write off the combination of this and the texts and the voice speaking to me out of thin air.

As I dwelt on this, the figure on the TV continued speaking. “I’m going to be arriving soon,” it said, with a happy edge to its voice, “real soon. We’re going to have so much fun then.”

Then the TV switched off. After a moment of me standing there dazed, I hesitantly turned it back on, and it turned on to the standard TV service, like nothing had changed.

This was the point where I decided to go to work figuring out what was going on. I spent the next three days, all day, reading up on that website, what people had said or written about it. After a day, I found one piece of information that I found really helpful. I’ve decided to copy and paste it here:

POSTED BY: TheNightMan Lots of people wonder about what the Pandemonium website leads to, because it appears as different things to different people. But those who have gotten through… well, different things happen. One person got through, and according to reports, months later murdered his entire family before killing himself, but not before talking online about having contacted something. Others report friends or family getting through and talking to people - or figures, whatever they are or whoever they are - and then shortly after their mental state undergoing a rapid deterioration until they had to be institutionalized. Then there’s the murders. One person reported being stalked by some figure from that site, online and in their dreams, until one day their remains - their ripped apart, torn apart - remains were found in their apartment, with no leads on who did it. So, the question remains: who or what is behind the website? I found one lead, in the writings of some hackers from the early nineties who were involved in the occult. It’s… well, it’s batshit crazy, but I feel the need to include it. One guy, who called himself ‘a Cyber-Mystic’, says that there exists spirits - demons, entities, whatever - that exist online, wholly online, in the electronic signals sent to and from across computer networks. Then, when they want to, they show up in the real world. Crazy? Yeah. But I’ve tried to figure out what else could be at work here, and I’m all fuckin’ out of ideas.

It was crazy and insane, but it wouldn’t leave my mind. Now, I should describe my mental and emotional state at this point. At the end of the three days of researching, finding out what I just laid out and other possible ways out of this crisis (but none that I was really all that certain would work), I was just fucked up. That’s the best way to put it. I couldn’t sleep. Every small noise made me jump. My heart was constantly pounding its way out of my chest and I’d never been so afraid. Nights were a terror to get through, because every small bump in the night made me certain that this, this thing had finally shown up to come get me.

It all came to a head two days after I finished doing my research. I was getting ready for bed, and had just finished crying my eyes out in utter terror because I was so terrified that I was fucked with absolutely no hope. I had just finished doing minor chores and other stuff around my room, and had crawled into bed. I shut my eyes and tried to force myself to go to sleep. An hour passed, and I was still awake. As I was starting to despair of ever sleeping again, I… I heard it. A very, very loud sound like a rushing of wind and flame. I opened my eyes and saw in front of my bed this column of flame, that lit up my entire room. Then it disappeared, and, well, there it was. The thing that had been stalking me. I can’t describe it. It was so monstrous, so horrifying. Its long claws, and its razor sharp teeth that dripped blood, and its skin with ridges all over. My heart was pounding so hard I was afraid I was gonna have a heart attack any minute, and I knew - I knew - that this was it. I was done. It was gonna kill me, or take me back to where it was from, or what the fuck ever, and at that moment I wished that I had been a religious person so I could have some protection.

It tried to move forward, to crawl onto my bed to get me. It tried. But it stopped. Something was stopping it.

I realized what happened, and my fear disappeared. Son of a bitch, I thought to myself, the seal worked.

As it shoved itself against the invisible barrier more and more, presumably trying to figure out what the fuck was going on, I felt relief flood through me that that protective measure I’d found in my research on all this had actually worked. First I grinned. Then I laughed - a confident, mocking laugh. I was safe! Then I decided to push my luck. I spoke the incantation of the Mother’s Heart, and just like I expected, the demon was engulfed in bright, vicious blue flame. Its screams sounded like nothing I’d ever heard before. If I had to try and describe it, I’d say try to imagine the cry of a lion mixed with a high-pitched scream, but even that isn’t really close. I watched, my eyes wide open and this big ass smile on my face, as this thing flailed and threw itself against the invisible barrier in all directions, the blue flame eating away at its skin and form. Finally, after a few minutes, it fell to the ground - dead.

I slowly got out of bed and crept over to the corpse. I looked at it. It looked ugly as fuck, to be honest - I mean, not only was it ugly when it was alive, but now it was burned to death. As I looked down at it, I noticed that its flesh wasn’t just burned, it was burned well enough that it was cooked. As I smelt its roasted smell - something like steak - I got an idea. Like, okay, it was a really, really fucked up idea, but equally cool. After as few moments of consideration, I - with a giant smile on my face - went to work putting it into action.

Anyways, now it’s the evening of St. Patrick’s Day, and everything’s fine. I didn’t even have to dispose of the body, it just dissolved into white powder by itself within twenty four hours. That considered, it’s a real good thing I managed to cut off a bunch of the meat from the bones before it all dissolved. You’re probably wondering how the demon meat tasted. Honestly? Like fish. Weird, right? But, hey, now I can say that I’ve done something nobody’s ever done.

But some weird stuff has happened. I feel great - real great. Better than I’ve ever felt in my entire life, than I ever imagined I could feel. Some other stuff, too. My eyes have been changing colour, and I’ve started to notice odd ridges and bumps showing up beneath my skin. I suppose I should be concerned, maybe even scared, but for some reason I can’t find it within myself to give a damn.

So, that’s how my past while has been. How about yours?