#the holding onto the chocolate flower for years after is a metaphor

[canismajorly]

when I was a very impressionable, socially stunted and nerdy gay 14 year old, my high school drama club put on a production of dracula, and I had never read it. i was in the crew, and mostly just sat around the auditorium and watched them rehearse. all the main roles were played by a friend group who had incredibly fun to watch chemistry off stage. the Dracula was this very very VERY tall person with long hair who was in my chorus class and insisted on singing soprano from time to time despite naturally being a bass (... estrogen when, queen?). the Johnathan was this short Flynn-Rider-from-Rapunzel-looking twink who was (in my mind) fought after by women around him. the Jonathan and the Dracula intentionally made their interactions extra homoerotic (I overheard them talking to the English teacher director about it one day) and would spend off time at rehearsal trying to do the dirty dancing "time of my life" lift. because I was 14, I unironically shipped them. the Mina was so beautiful and had a face that, imo, would be cast in one of those terrible BBC/netflix period dramas now. she had been friends with the other two since before I started high school. because I was a polyamorous 14 year old, I also shipped the Jonathan with the Mina. i had a crush on the person who played Lucy in the cast since middle school, they were my age but so cool and likeable they melted into the older drama kid friend circle effortlessly. i had some interesting emotions about the scene where Lucy is covered in blood in a wedding dress. during the final cast and crew party, the Dracula threw a chocolate flower into the group and I caught it then proceeded to hold onto it for years after. then they all graduated, besides the Lucy. anyway, those are the versions of all the characters that live in my head when I read my Dracula daily.

[7nosecrinkle7]

🤧🤚 from the Valentine’s list for natasha please

Thank you for sending this in, and I hope you enjoy! <3

(Sorry if it comes out a bit choppy. I started it before Valentine’s Day and wrapped it up now.)

———————————————————————-

Changing Plans

This was it. Your first Valentine's Day with Natasha. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, though. You’d been gathering “intel” from the other Avengers about Natasha’s likes, dislikes, and general feelings about the holiday of love in preparation. You had been dating for about a year, so you wanted to make this first Valentine’s Day really special.

Natasha didn’t do holidays. Not really. But, there was something different about what you and Natasha had; something that might just last. You were going all-in to show that to her. You’ve always been a bit of a romantic.

You figured out rather quickly that despite Natasha working closely with all of the Avengers for years, they still didn’t know much about her. They told you about her favorite flowers, but you already knew that answer. Natasha tended to hold private information close, but you were slowly breaking through that wall she had built. It was a process that you were happy to be patient with.

Of course you also had a conversation with Natasha about Valentine's Day. She seemed apathetic about the holiday but not opposed to festivities. You took it as a green light...

...

You stepped back and looked around at the decorations… So you went a bit overboard with the planning. What can you say? You wanted a romantic evening with the Black Widow.

The living room, dining room, and bedroom had been transformed into one giant metaphorical Valentine’s Day explosion. There were red hearts everywhere and red rose petals lining their way towards the bedroom. You had a heart-shaped box of chocolates on the living room table. Next to it were two large bouquets of red roses and a bouquet of pink lilies.

It was all planned out. Thanks to Pepper and her connections, you were able to reserve a spot in the new fancy restaurant that had just been built with a skyline view. That’s where you’d begin your evening: with a romantic dinner looking out over the city. From there, you had planned a short walk through the park. It was a place both of you liked to go to get a clear head and also happens to be where the two of you met. The park would always hold a special place in your heart.

After your walk, you planned to bring her back to the tower to enjoy the setup that you had constructed at her apartment. There was no way to avoid her seeing the decorations beforehand, but that was okay.

At the end of the day, you loved any and all the time you could spend with Natasha.

You sighed, content with the results of your decorating. The sound of a key scrape had you heading to the door. As soon as the door opened you were all smiles.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Natasha,” you said and gave her a hug. You gave her a quick peck on the cheek as you parted from the embrace.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, (Y/N),” Natasha said, returning your smile. She sniffled softly and swiped at her nose.

You closed the door behind her and led her into the living room. Natasha took in the scene.

“Oh, it’s beautiful! You know you didn’t have to do all of this, though, right?”

You shrugged and smoothed out a wrinkle in your evening formal-wear. “I know, but I wanted to do something extra special. I love you everyday, but today it’s socially acceptable to practically shout it from the rooftops just how much I love you.” You couldn’t help it as your cheeks turned a bit pink. For a second you thought you really might’ve done too much.

Natasha set down her mission bag and gently placed a hand on your cheek. “It’s perfect, and you look incredible.”

You believed the sincerity in her eyes. You sighed, relieved, and smiled with a hint of a blush.

“You deserve perfect,” you leaned in and kissed her.

“So,” you said when you pulled away, “we have reservations in an hour, which is just enough time for you to shower and get ready.”

Natasha sniffled again, “sounds good. I’ll go--” She cut herself off with a sneeze.

Hih hngt-shoo! She had bent away from you bringing the back of her hand up to her nose.

“Bless you, Natasha,” you said, a bit surprised.

She sniffled a few more times and shook her head. “Thanks.. I’ll go shower.” And she took off towards the bathroom.

You watched as she walked away, her steps a bit stiffer than normal. Not to mention Natasha rarely sneezed, and when she did, it was almost always completely silent.

The sound of the shower brought you out of your thoughts, only you grew more concerned a few moments later when the sound of two less-restrained sneezes could be heard over the fan and running water. That was her body's tell.

Oh. Natasha’s unwell.

“Right,” you said quietly to yourself. You put your hands on your hips and looked around at the room. Natasha was known for her quick showers, so you had to prepare quickly. If Natasha wasn't well, then what you both needed was each other and a night in. Not the events that you had planned.

So you went about scooping up all of the rose petals, red hearts, flowers, and chocolate. You put the water on to boil as you went and changed into comfier clothing. You also swapped out the outfit Natasha had laid out for herself in exchange for pajamas. Extra blankets and pillows were then deposited onto the sofa just as the kettle on the stove started to whistle.

With a quick jog to the stove, you turned off the burner and poured the hot water into two cups for tea. As you moved the steaming cups to the coffee table, you heard the shower shut off. You checked the time. It had taken Natasha longer than average to shower. She was definitely coming down with something.

The last items of preparation that you needed to do involved a quick phone call to the restaurant to cancel the reservation and a quick apology text to Pepper that you regrettably wouldn’t be going tonight.

Natasha came out of the bedroom still walking a bit stiffly but looking much more relaxed. She sniffled again as she came towards you. You opened up your arms, and she melted into them.

“How’d the mission go,” you asked her quietly.

“Fine. We did what we had to do. It got a little messy, though.”

You hummed in acknowledgement and ran your hand up and down her back. “Well, how about we get under these blankets and relax with a movie? How’s that sound?”

Rather than responding, Natasha brought a hand up around your back and held her knuckles under her nose. Natasha sniffled just before her breath hitched. Hih -- hiiih hngt-shoo... t’schhhoo!

“Bless you, bless you!”

“Sorry,” Natasha mumbled between sniffles.

You kissed the side of her head before stepping out of the hug and grabbing the nearest box of tissues.

“Here,” you said and held the box out. When she took them, you guided her to the sofa and sat down.

You positioned yourself so she would be able to lay back into you. “C’mere,” you said as she leaned back.

“What about the -- mmmmmmh -- reservation?” She asked. A low moan slipped out of her lips as your palms began working slow circles across her back.

“Don’t worry about that. Tonight is still all about you and us. But I get to take care of you and make you feel better.” You leaned forward and kissed the top of her head for a long moment.

“Happy Valentine’s, Nat.”

“Happy Valentine’s, (Y/N).”

[lanawinters-ily]

The Way We Were

The reader has a stormy, bittersweet relationship with Lana; when they meet again, will it end in happiness, or will she walk away?

Based on the Barbra Streisand song ‘The Way We Were’

Pairing: Lana Winters x Reader

Word count: 1400

Warnings: a LOT of metaphors & a turbulent relationship

Memories Light the corners of my mind Misty watercolour memories Of the way we were

There she was. Lana Winters. Your Lana.

Well at least she was at some moment in time.

You had met on a typical stormy Tuesday; yet another grey, bleak day in what seemed like a melancholic lifetime at that point. Your job was the same every day, no change, no variety to break up the never-ending cycle of life.

Until you saw her. The rain had been streaming down the train window, mirroring the tears of pure frustration that fell down your face, monotony overwhelming & reminding you of just how ordinary you were. But then she had tapped your shoulder, turning to meet sad eyes with chocolate orbs of wonder.

And you fell for her immediately.

Because if there was one thing that was for sure in such an unpredictable universe, Lana Winters was far from ordinary.

Scattered pictures Of the smiles we left behind Smiles we gave to one another For the way we were

Make no mistake, Lana was just one woman, but her presence packed an almighty punch, transforming your outlook by filling it with positivity & absolute joy. The tedious routine of life soon became glimpses of heaven in every moment, the beauty of simplicity revealed by the love of your life.

Before you were looking at the wide view, insignificance in such a vast planet making every aspect of life some sort of mocking cosmic joke; as if you were the extra in the movie of someone else’s existence.

Then Lana pointed out every detail that made up the world around you; the details on the petals in the flower fields you walked, the birds chirping each morning from your bedroom window, the leaves rustling in the gentle breeze singing a lullaby to rock you to sleep.

She turned the negatives to positives, the rain no longer a reflection of God’s sadness, becoming Mother Nature’s nurturing of the planet; watering to sooth the wilting souls that walked the ground.

She was your personal land of Oz – bringing plain Dorothy into a bright technicolour vision, worlds away from the black & white Kansas you had been stuck in for so long.

Can it be that it was all so simple then? Or has time re-written every line?

But once a plane has left the ground to soar above the clouds of dreamland, at some point it must return to lucid reality. Romanticizing love is never idealistic, the honeymoon period often fades into truth when the couple learns all they can about their partner, bringing along the flaws & sufferings of life.

Only the Gods are immune to the human affliction of pain; immortality granting wisdom & maturity that only originates in the freedoms away from the confines of time.

Despite the naivety of the beginnings of a relationship, Lana was not a Goddess, & not a Queen; she had cracks in her porcelain surface, deep ones at that. You had your own insecurities of course; cruel voices pointing out every blemish, every sentence spoken, every outfit worn, but not to the multitude of how Lana had suffered.

Her horrific traumas were never verbally revealed to you, triggers providing peepholes into the haunted era of her twenties – scars both physical & mental slowly chipping away at the bridge of your union. You would never know if the truth could have saved you both, or ripped the bandage of the inevitable split, but either way, you never fully understood each other.

The romance of nature seemed to be your only continuous bond, reliance on surroundings to further linger the magic spark of your first glance at each other.

A distraction from the fractures slowly creeping over the glass, ready to shatter at any given push.

For some, putting two broken halves together heals the damage, comfort providing the ultimate cure, but not for you. The shards were too sharp, too jagged, too complex to be fixed with a few words or physical affection.

Really, fate had doomed your love from the beginning, the universe’s entertainment as the new Shakespearian- style tragic romance of the century.

If we had the chance to do it all again

Tell me, would we? Could we?

Oh, but how you yearned for her. It was like having a half ripped away, functions of the body barely surviving, not even close to thriving like you had been with Lana.

It was as if you meant to have your appendix removed, but lost a lung instead. How long would it take for you to not be able to pull in a breath without her nearby?

No matter how broken the sides where, you were willing to try every single possibility to make it work again, but was she?

Is there such thing as a one-sided soulmate? The sun gives so much to the earth; a way to survive, hope for the future & security with the warmth that radiates.

But the Earth simply looks back in appreciation, not providing much in return.

One simply orbiting the other.

Memories May be beautiful and yet

The times shared were just too wonderful & joyous to be abandoned; a lighthouse shining through the grey fog of memories.

Every time you heard Lana’s name, all you could think of were the bright summer days in which you would both sprint through flower-filled fields, chasing each other & giggling like you were little girls again – a childish blissfulness under your shining sun.

You were surrounded by Lana in those glory-days; she was radiant to you, with comfort in all the seasons.

And you would kiss softly under a blanket of darkness as night fell, whilst the stars looked on with their bright, twinkling smiles.

You longed for that eternal summer again, the beauty, the meaning to every moment.

What's too painful to remember We simply to choose to forget

But of course, the seasons carry on, melting into each other as the weather changes. And, as the weather fluctuates, so does the mood of nature; calm, peaceful summers fading into temperamental, dreary winters.

You were children of the earth, the outside world shaping your love for each other, so how was it to last as the seasons moved on? There was no eternal summer for you.

Like frostbite you nipped at each other, the snow beating down outside; stamping on the flowers of hope that you had nurtured in the sunlight.

Frostbite if left untreated, will only spread, much like the little flaws in your relationship that were growing as the days advanced, darkness threatening to hold you hostage.

So your sunshine left, & the flowers were buried under the ground again.

So it's the laughter We will remember

And here she was again, in the present day.

She peered at you with those muddy eyes & flashed a smile, igniting a switchboard of emotions within your very core.

The smile sounded like a thousand jokes shared on a beautiful day, & seemed to last for eternity in your mind. It was bright & warm, evoking a feeling of security, of home at last.

The smile sounded like bickering & arguing; short insults hit in a cruel game of lover’s tennis. It was pierced with venom, teasing with the prospect of a future that was promised, but never received.

It seems that the seasons were now inside of you, a turbulent cycle sped up to feel like an entire year worth of emotion as you flitted through them wildly.

Well, at least she had followed through with the vow that monotony & blank feelings would escape you after the day you met.

It was so bittersweet; should you live in the past or move forward with a different future?

Whenever we remember The way we were The way we were

As if to answer your question, Lana broke your gaze & looked up at the sky as grey clouded the sun, & rain started to spit onto the ground.

She just turned around & walked away, leaving you with the hums of life you began with, beautiful song dimming into the last teasing notes.

The crescendo of your existence faded into the distance, as you wondered if you would ever hear music quite like this,

Ever again.

Taglist: @ka-s @ninaahs @stayeviildarling @babypocahontas @lilypadscoven @winters-witch-bitch @basicasshole @bottom4delia @forevercountess @violentwavesofem0tion @sporadicsupercorpquotesmonger @liberosisaspire @mellowalieneggsknight @thecasualgeek1 @lucykilljoy

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

You’re Not Alone

heartwitchhouse request: Hey uh.. can I get Logan introducing Thomas to neurodivergent communities online?

Sure you can, babe! Thanks for the prompt!

Read on Ao3  

Pairings: none

Warnings: also...none? there’s some discussion on having anxiety, depresion, and ADHD with some self-doubt but it’s not that bad

Word Count: 2899

It’s just a little off.

 It’s not like it’s some big obvious thing that his parents immediately took notice of. It’s not something his doctor noted on his sheet and made sure to talk about. It’s not even something one of his teachers gently pulled him aside for.

 It’s just…not quite right.

He knows that his classmates don’t struggle to stare at the board or their work for like…three minutes at a time, but he also knows one of his classmates who can’t do it for three seconds. He knows the others don’t lapse into gray hazes where doing literally anything feels like an insurmountable force, but he also knows the kids that can’t even come to school on certain days.

 He knows people who are better, but he also knows people who are worse.

 He has good days. Great days. Great weeks, even. It’s just…sometimes he’ll have a bad day and he can’t help but look at everybody else who’s having a worse day.

 And here’s the thing. He knows how to work through it.

 He can put his head down and just get things done. It doesn’t matter that he can’t focus for more than three minutes, he’ll do the work he can in those three minutes and then move onto something else. Maybe he’ll get to cycle back and pick it up again later. He can shake his head to clear it and squint at his work again, just to finish this one page through the haze. He can make it.

 But it’s just that; making it.

 He can’t deny the way the polite smile from his teachers settles heavily in the pit of his stomach saying that yeah, he did fine, but he could’ve done better. The way the list of things he needs to do gets checked off by just the bare minimum, something he’s going to have to redo in just a few days, makes his hands itch. The insecurities over all the things he could have done, could have done better, all the things he’s missed, pile up in his brain until he has to shove them all away just to breathe on bad days. But doesn’t everyone struggle with insecurity now and then? This is normal, right?

 Or is it just a little off?

 “Oh, I’m sure you’d feel better if you just exercised more! Get yourself a workout schedule, there’s no better free therapy!”

 Running makes his chest feel like it’s going to explode. His arms and legs ache after the first round of whatever ‘beginner’ program he decides to try once. The gray haze only flourishes, steady as ever on bad days.

 “Just focus on your studies, I’m sure once you’ve got more structure in your life it’ll help you feel better, sweetie.”

 Work pounds into his head and he gets it done. All the things he could’ve done better stay there too, bold and bright on the page next to red slashes of ink. He puts his head down and goes, goes, goes. That doesn’t help the bad days, it just pushes them off. Then they get worse.

 “Maybe you just need to go outside more often, sunlight can do wonders for you!”

 Listen. He and the sun have an agreement. The sun doesn’t like him. He doesn’t like the sun. It’s better if they just…stay out of each other’s way. He could do without the achy headaches the bright light gives him.

 “Are you sure you’re drinking enough water? Are you eating the right stuff?”

 His budget quickly becomes strained with the amount of ‘healthy food’ he’s supposed to buy. The piles of ‘proper ingredients’ sit in his cabinet, unused, taunting him with how difficult it’ll be to figure out how to eat them. The guilt over not using them worries at his throat as he’s forced to toss them out as they go bad. He gets raised eyebrows from everyone with how often he has to go to the bathroom. The ensuing doctor’s visit is one he’d rather not repeat any time soon, even though at that point it’s just…you know those days where you’re like ‘this might as well happen? Adult life is already so goddamn weird?’

 “At least you can get out of bed most days. You seemed fine yesterday!”

 …yesterday was yesterday. And just because he got out of bed doesn’t mean anything. It wasn’t really a conscious choice, he just…had to do it.

 “You’re not nearly as bad as—“

 You know, it doesn’t really matter who they put at the end of that. The point is he’s not as bad as other people. So he doesn’t get the support that they get.

 He doesn’t get the polite nods from professors when he needs an extension. He doesn’t get the medication prescribed to him for something that he shouldn’t need because he’s ‘healthy.’ When he finally tries therapy, the therapist compliments him on how easily he’s able to hold a conversation, maintain eye contact, and asks him if he’s tried keeping a diary.

 During the nights when he can’t sleep, when the blankets feel way too rough, like sleeping on sandpaper that rubs persistently at his skin, he tosses and turns and thinks…would it be better if…

 Would it be better if it were worse?

 If it were more obvious, if he actually had depression, anxiety, ADHD, something with a name that people could recognize, or even just the freedom to say he had something…would that be better?

 He doesn’t cry every day. He can still feel things most of the time. He eats. He drinks water. He sleeps. He goes outside. He doesn’t get high or drink or do anything to try and numb the pain or escape it. He doesn’t have suicidal thoughts.

 But it still feels like he’s not quite right.

 If he were worse…people would be more sympathetic. He wouldn’t be accused of milking anything for attention. He wouldn’t get scolded for making light of other people’s problems. He wouldn’t be faking it. Is he faking it? Is he blowing it up out of proportion?

 Is it really as bad as he thinks it is?

 He finds the perfect metaphor almost by accident. He’s over at a friend’s house one day and they’re in the kitchen, getting hot chocolate to drink before starting their movie night. He opens the cupboard and pulls out a mug with flowers all over it. As he turns to give it to his friend, he notices a chip in the rim.

 “Oh, oh gosh, I, um, I’m sorry—“

 “What? What’s wrong?” His friend takes the mug from his stuttering hands and squints at it. Her brow smooths out and she laughs. “Oh, are you worried about the chip?”

 “…yeah. I don’t—I don’t think I did it?”

 “You didn’t,” she says easily, filling it with hot milk, “it’s always been like that.”

 “Oh, okay.” The black fuzzy things buzzing about his head settle at that as he leans back against the counter, ready to accept the mug of hot chocolate. It’s warm, pleasantly so, sending a rush of contentment up his arms as he cups his palms around it. “Where’s yours?”

 “I’m almost done!”

 He looks back down at the hot chocolate, shimmering brown with the kitchen light’s reflection. Tilting his head, he examines the chip in the ceramic. It’s not that big, barely noticeable, but there’s a sharp edge on the inside. He’ll have to be careful he doesn’t drink from that side. Wouldn’t do to burn his tongue and accidentally cut his lip.

 “Alright! I’m ready, let’s—ah!”

 Her yelp startles him out of whatever hot-chocolate-drinking-planning haze he’d been in, only to see his friend staring at the floor with her hands over her mouth.

 “Hey, whoa, are you okay? What happened?”

 “I, um—“ oh, no, she sounds so upset, let’s help her!— “I dropped my mug.”

 Sure enough, as he hustles around the counter, he sees the broken mug, lying on the floor, hot chocolate spilling mockingly from the remains. He sets his mug—carefully!—on the counter, looking around for the paper towels.

 “Did you get hurt?”

 “What?” Her gaze doesn’t leave the floor. “No, no, it’s just…that was my favorite mug.”

 A horrible sadness settles in his chest as he looks at her and he gently knocks their elbows. “It looks like it’s still got some pretty big pieces, we could…maybe we could fix it?”

 “You came over here to watch movies, not to fix my mug.”

 “We can do both, can’t we?”

 So there they end up, with the lights on, newspaper spread on the floor, hot glue gun, superglue, carefully piecing together broken ceramic as Finding Nemo plays in the background. By the time the seagulls are all racing around the screen, frantically yelling ‘mine!’ they’ve set the now-fixed mug gingerly on the counter, out of harm’s way, and cleaned up all the spilled hot chocolate. As the night creeps on, their eyes growing heavier and heavier, they make it through Mulan, The Princess and the Frog, and The Nightmare Before Christmas. Just before they start The Black Cauldron, his friend gently taps the side of the mug.

 “…I think it’s fixed!”

 “Wait, really? That was fast!”

 “Dude, it was like…at least six hours ago.”

 “Is that how fast superglue sets?”

 “Have you never used superglue before?”

 “Hey!”

 The sight of his friend with her favorite mug cradled in her lap makes him smile as he turns his attention back to the screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her talking softly to herself, saying how she promises to be more careful next time, how she’s so happy the mug is fixed, it’ll be better now, stronger this time. And yet she still cradles the cracked, seamed thing with the same tenderness she did when they first picked up the pieces.

 He looks back down at the chipped mug in his lap. The chip is so small. It’s barely noticeable. It doesn’t make the mug leak or anything. The mug still works as a mug.

 He runs his thumb over the rim, feeling just the slightest pressure when he runs over the chip. If he tried to drink from that side, it would hurt.

 She’s had this mug for…years?

 He looks back over at the mug in his friend’s lap.

 The broken mug gets fixed.

 The chipped mug stays chipped forever.

  “Thomas?”

 Thomas blinks, looking up from his lap to see Logan standing next to him. Logan adjusts his tie.

 “You took a moment to respond.”

 “Sorry. Did we, uh, are we late for something? Did I miss a deadline?”

 There’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it expression that flitters across Logan’s face. Then he adjusts his glasses and it’s gone. Thomas frowns.

 “…you okay, bud? What was that?”

 “What was what, Thomas?”

 “You, uh, you made a face.”

 “I have a face, Thomas, we all have faces.”

 “But you made an expression.”

 “…I believe I am…incapable of not making an expression.”

 “Logan,” Thomas sighs, “please tell me what’s wrong.”

 Well, he certainly takes him by surprise at any rate. Logan glances around—is he worried the others are going to show up?—and adjusts his glasses again.

 “I suppose I was…perturbed,” he settles on finally, “that your immediate assumption when I appeared was that I was going to…reprimand you in some way.”

 Oh. “Jeez, um, sorry, Logan, I didn’t mean it like that.”

 Logan waves him off. “It’s quite alright.”

 “But…no, it’s not.” Thomas shakes his head. “You…we gotta talk about this…more, but that’s not the only thing you’re important for. You know that, right?”

 …well, Logan’s certainly making a face now. It’s the same one he made after Remus first appeared, after Thomas called him ‘cool.’ After a moment of savoring Logan looking a little flustered, he prompts him gently.

 “Did you wanna talk about something?”

 “Right,” Logan says quickly, shaking himself, “do you remember our conversation about neurodivergent communities?”

 Right. They’d been talking about trying to find therapists during COVID and how it would be difficult since, y’know…going outside is more than kind of a no-no. Virgil had brought up how it’s almost impossible to get a good read on whether or not a therapist would be appropriate for them without a proper appointment, which…kind of led to everyone agreeing that maybe it would be better to try just the texting one first. Logan had mentioned trying to find a group of people to talk to, not just a single person, until Janus said something about not knowing how to navigate something like that.

 Not one of their more productive conversations.

 “Since your desire to try and see a therapist seems to have stagnated,” Logan says as Thomas nods, “I have found an alternative solution that I believe might be more suited to your current approach to your mental health problems.”

 “I don’t—Logan, I don’t have—“

 The look Logan levels at him is enough to get him to shush.

 “What’s the solution?”

 “One of the main obstacles for finding a therapist or seeking help in a group setting was an unawareness of how to properly navigate those dynamics, correct?” Thomas nods. “Then it seems that a solution would be to simply find a group where you do understand the dynamics, yes?”

 “…how do I do that?” Thomas scruffs a hand through his hair. “I—look, I…I get that I should talk to someone, we made that clear but it’s just—I don’t—“

 Logan waits patiently, his head tilted slightly, as Thomas struggles for words.

 “…it’s not that bad,” Thomas says lamely.

 “But we’ve established that—“

 “I know, I know,” Thomas groans, burying his head in his hands, “but it’s just like—I don’t think I belong there.”

 “Why not?”

 “Isn’t that for people who have it worse?”

 There must be some note of hysteria in that last word because Logan blinks and eases himself down onto the couch next to him, folding his hands in his lap and waiting patiently. When it’s clear Thomas isn’t going to be able to make words go for a while, he clears his throat.

 “You don’t want to join a space in which you are not welcome, correct?”

 Thomas nods miserably.

 “This idea that you will not be welcome stems from the idea that your problems are not…severe enough?”

 “Aren’t they?”

 “Why must they be more severe for you to seek help?”

 “I don’t know, I just—what if they think I’m faking?”

 “Are you?”

 That’s the kicker, isn’t it? When Thomas looks helplessly at Logan, uncertainty probably written plainly all over his face, Logan tilts his head.

 “If you have to ask whether or not you’re faking,” he says in a soft voice Thomas rarely hears, “it’s almost certain that you are not.”

 Thomas just nods dumbly.

 “Mental illnesses can manifest in a variety of ways,” Logan continues in that same soft voice—and anyone who says Logan doesn’t understand emotion can get out—“and you do not have to fulfill a certain standard of ‘bad’ in order to seek help.”

 “But then how do I find people to—who will—who are gonna—“

 “…understand?”

 “Yeah.”

 Logan’s mouth quirks up. “When was the last time you were on Tumblr?”

 Thomas blinks. “Excuse me? Also don’t you know that?”

 “I do.” Logan gestures to Thomas’s phone. “You wanted a space where you understand how to interact with people and where talking about these types of things will not be a drastic breach of boundaries, yes?”

 “…yeah?”

 “You would be surprised at the amount of neurodivergent communities online.”

 “So why’re you asking me about Tumblr?” The second it comes out of his mouth Thomas’s eyes widen. “Logan—“

 “I am not suggesting that be your only source of help, by any means,” Logan says quickly, “but it might serve as a good starting point. You know what is to be expected from Tumblr—relatively speaking,” he corrects when Thomas makes a face, “and it will help you see that, despite what you may think, you’re not alone.”

 Logan stands, giving Thomas one last look before he sinks out.

 “…and you don’t have to be grateful it isn’t worse, Thomas.”

 Thomas looks down at his phone. He opens the app and types something into the search bar.

 Logan was right. People…people talk about stuff on Tumblr. Admittedly, it’s Tumblr, so it’s an absolute hellsite, but there is something a little reassuring about being able to just…word vomit into a post and see other people doing the same.

  Friendly reminder that people’s symptoms are gonna manifest in different ways and you’re not allowed to judge someone who experiences something different than you

  REMINDED THAT YOU DO NOT HAVE TO GRATEFUL THAT THINGS AREN’T WORSE WE DO NOT PLAY THE PAIN OLYMPICS IN THIS HOUSE

  You’re not alone.

 He’s still gonna have to figure out how to find a therapist. He’s still gonna have to figure out how to talk about this kind of stuff.

But for now, he can sit here and scroll and realize that there are words he can use to describe these things and it finally might start feeling right.

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[everythingcollided]

Radiation [Peter Parker]

(credit to owner)

Summary: Peter decides to finally tell her how he feels, but he’s too late. 

Word Count: 2,058

Warnings: Swearing, Angst (i guess), Peter is wHIPPED, the metaphors and similes are strong with this one, oh yeah there’s fluff too

A/N: No one asked for this but I was in a mood so read my unedited garbage and request if you want your own piece! and just a random shoutout to @beautiful-writings cause she’s always here.

He was finally going to do it. 

Twirling the sunflower stem between the pads of his fingers, soul on fire, nerves tied together and running through his blood. Peter can barely breathe, but he’s sure about this. He’s spent years loving her and it’s time to admit it. 

It’s the last day of school and no one’s sure why or how it became the Midtown Tech equivalent of Valentine’s Day. Paper hearts litter locker doors, teddy bears holding chocolate are being carried down the hallways in the arms of interlocked couples, and roses nurtured in plastic wraps are just about everywhere Peter looks. 

He wouldn’t usually participate in it. Going home to mope seemed like a better option than approaching her and getting rejected. But this year, for some reason, he’d flipped his perception and decided that - what the hell - he’d give it a try. 

He’s regretting that decision right about now.

“Come on, dude,” Ned says for what Peter feels like is the fifth time. His hands are digging into his shoulders and Peter knows it’s to keep him grounded. He’s been smiling since the beginning of their last class, and it’s not helping him at all. “Look, there she is, go get her.” 

His hands are shaking so badly he’s scared the petals are going to fall off of the sunflower. 

It’s her favorite. Peter’s well aware she likes things simple, and he’s respecting that. Opposed to the hundreds of rose bouquets he’s seen today, he just has a singular flower and a question that will hopefully be met with a yes.  

All he really wants is a chance. 

Ned spins and shoves him into the masses moving about, hurrying to get out and start their summer. Peter has enough time to turn around with a panicked look and see the thumbs up his best friend is sending him before he has to move in fear of getting trampled. 

God, he’s sweating. He rubs a palm against his shorts. 

She’s standing in front of her locker, turning the dial. Her hair is tied back so that he can perfectly see her furrowed eyebrows, lips pressed together as she concentrates. She’s wearing the school sweatshirt and some athletic shorts, looking flawlessly lazy and like everything he’s ever wanted. 

Peter hides the flower behind his back with one hand and tries his best to do something casual with the other. His heart is pounding. “H-Hey.” 

Hey eyes flicker to him, brightening. “Hey, Peter! How’d your last exam go?”

“Um, fine. Great, actually.” His palm involuntarily rubs at his neck, and he startles at the moist skin. “You?”

She rolls her eyes and tucks a rogue hair behind her ear, turning back to enter the last number of her combination. “Terrible. Halfway through one of the essay questions I started falling asleep so most of it just looked like chicken scrat-“

She stops when she flings open her locker, annoyed expression falling blank. Then she glances at him, alight with confusion and...something else.

Something that looks a lot like hope.

And that’s when Peter’s heart gets crushed.

Because before he can even ask what’s wrong or peek over her shoulder to find out, Mason Daniels appears out of thin air with his blinding white smile and deep voice. “Do you like it?” 

Mason Daniels is the reason why Peter and Ned have never really held out hope for girlfriends. He’s quarterback of the football team, not bad at all when it comes to good grades, and anyone in the school will admit that he’s incredibly good looking. 

Peter’s confidence takes a nosedive. 

Like what?

Her eyes are wide as she reaches into the small space and brings out a fluffy, caramel colored teddy bear. There’s a bold red heart held delicately between it’s paws and all Peter can do is stare. 

He’s so stupid. 

Everything suddenly seems pathetic. All Peter has is a flower and a voice still undergoing the horrific cracks of puberty. Mason stands a head taller than him, rigid with the assurance that only a guy like him could have. There’s obviously no competition here.

But, Peter also has the promise to love her.

What does Mason have?

“It’s so...cute. That’s really sweet of you, Mason.” She gushes and Peter’s heart splits in two.

He guesses a promise isn’t enough. He’s still Peter Parker, and she doesn’t want him.

His chest is hollow and painful bundled into one at the glee in her smile, the pink flush on her beautiful face. He’s never regret being bit by that spider until now. The misery curling around his stomach is multiplied by ten and he hates it because it makes him want to cry.

He wants to sob until his throat is raw and until the pain blooming in the spaces between his ribs is washed out. He wants to curl into Aunt May’s side like he did when he was a scared seven year old boy with nightmares.

But he can’t, he can’t because he has to stand here and still give the girl he’s in love with her sunflower. Peter doesn’t want to keep it. The second he’s out of sight he knows he’ll smash it into the ground and he reckons she’ll take better care of it.

After all, she is the Sun.

And so he calls her name before she can go running into the quarterback’s arms and runs the stem behind her ear. He pretends that he saw it at lunch and thought of her and tries not to think about the nice lady from the flower booth and the ten dollar bill sitting in her cash register a half hour away.

He pretends that she doesn’t look like summer and happiness, all warm skies and soft grass.

He pretends that she doesn’t burn him. He pretends that her smile doesn’t light him on fire and reduce him to ash because they’re best friends and only best friends.

Best friends don’t burn for each other like Peter does for her.

And that’s all right.

He pretends it’s all right.

She smiles at him and there’s a twinge of sadness lacing along her lips. It looks a lot like a goodbye and Peter has to get out. Water is pushing against his resolve and he has to get away before he cracks. 

He stares at the vibrant petals of the plant so he won’t catch himself in her eyes. “H-Have a good summer.”  

There’s a break in his voice, and with that the dam crumbles. The flood blurs his vision and he turns away before she can see. He already resents himself for crying; he doesn’t need her to see him vulnerable like this. Mr.Stark never cries, never lets people see him exposed. 

Peter is once again reminded that he can never be like Tony Stark. 

It almost hurts more than knowing he’s not good enough. 

He ends up sitting on the steps outside of the school. May would kill him if he got injured because he was stupid and rode his bike while simultaneously crying. Plus, she’d been really excited about today. Peter didn’t want to watch the disappointment show on her face. Not yet. 

So he hides his face with one hand and pretends to look through his Twitter feed with the other so no one will come over to ask him if he’s okay. Giggling couples come and go, sometimes stopping to kiss against the bricks of the building and stomp all over Peter’s emotions. 

He feels like shit. 

It’s been fifteen minutes and he still feels like shit. 

His eyes are irritated from wiping at the trails before they can move and his chest aches from holding in the noises. He wants to stop hurting but he can’t because of that damn spider and because of her. 

It’s always her. 

The metallic cling of the door opening sounds again and dread pools at the thought of hearing more love.

“Peter.” 

His head whips up and there she is. She’s all soft edges and eyes and she’s always, always been beautiful to him but with the sunlight bouncing against her hair she’s ethereal. The knife in Peter’s gut twists. 

He remembers how disgusting he must look a second too late. Worry melts into her and she takes the space next to him, her fingers pressing against his collarbone and bringing his heart back to life like it’s forgotten she was the one who flattened it in the first place. 

“Hey, look at me,” she murmurs. Her breath ghosts against his ear and he shivers but he doesn’t obey. She smells like vanilla and she’s too close. “Are you okay? What happened?” 

Peter can’t help but glance to his right. He should say yes, but all that comes out when he sees her empty hands is, “Where’s your teddy bear?” 

He watches her eyebrows furrow at the croak in his voice. “I gave it back to him. Thought it was rude to accept it if I didn’t feel the same.” 

That gets his attention. His eyes snap to hers. They wash over his face and she frowns. “I thought it was from you.” 

“What?” 

“The bear. I thought it was from you.” She mumbles her way through the words but she never once casts her gaze away from him. They don’t really make Peter feel better. All it does is explain why she looked so shocked when she opened her locker. 

“Oh. I thought you wouldn’t want something cliche like that.” 

“Peter,” she sighs, and suddenly she looks so worn down, like she’s on the verge of tears too. “Why did you get me the sunflower?”

“Cause it reminded me-” 

“Stop with the bullshit. I can tell when you lie.” Scooting closer, hand moving to grasp at his forearm. Desperation shines with the reflection of the Sun in her eyes. “Tell me the truth. Please.” 

Peter doesn’t want to, but she’s under his skin. Forever under his skin. “B-Because I wanted to...ask y-you out.” 

She smiles. Really smiles, like she’s intentionally trying to wreck him. “Good.” 

Hand grazing his jaw and staying there, tucked warmly against his skin, she pulls him into her lips. His arms go to her waist without him thinking about it, clutching the delicate material in his fists. 

That bundle latched onto his lungs feels like it’s being drawn out through the breath they’re sharing. She tastes like the strawberry chapstick she’s used in all the time he’s known her, and again he’s thousands of embers buoyant in the air electrifying around her. 

But this time she’s blazing with him, igniting him with the wildfire of her lips and the inferno of her touch. 

Peter doesn’t mind being reduced to ashes anymore. 

The pull away is slow, like she doesn’t want to leave but the air demands it. Peter’s scared to open his eyes to something fake, something his mind created under the pressure of breaking. 

But there she is when he does, crouched into herself, lashes fluttering, fingers pressing against the skin of her lips. She looks disoriented and red in the face and Peter’s mind isn’t working correctly but it still knows that she’s radiant. 

“S-So,” he starts, rejecting the urge to touch at his own mouth. It was searing with the memory of her and Peter couldn’t wait to incinerate more. “Do you want to go out...with me?” 

Instead of responding with words she’s back on him and maybe he won’t ever breathe properly again, but if she’s there to share her breath with him he doesn’t care one bit. 

“Yes,” she breathes against him. Hair tickling against her flushed cheeks, eyes luminous and the surest he’s ever seen them. “Oh, and thanks for the sunflower. You’re right; that bear was too cliche for me. Total deal breaker.” 

She giggles at her own words, clutches his shirt. “Well, that and the fact that I’m into someone else.” 

Even though he’s sitting down Peter’s still weak at the knees. He hums in acknowledgment. 

“Really into someone else.”

She’s trying to kill him, that playful spark gives it all away. He’s not giving that to her though, she’s already gotten enough reaction from him today. 

“Good.” Is all he counters with. She rolls her eyes.

Peter kisses her face until she smiles. 

[realmonstersrus]

INTRODUCING JANG DANBI, OUR NEWEST HELLION STUDENT WITH THE POWER OF INTANGIBILITY.

WELCOME TO GUMI INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL FOR THE POWERED.

WHO ARE THEY?

PERSONALITY

(+) clever, charming, daring (–) pretty and she knows it

BACKGROUND

jang danbi is destined to be spoiled. nothing else about it. the sole child of the jang family, not to mention the most adorable baby, grew up coddled, cared for, loved, by all members of the family (from mother, to father, to uncle and auntie). thrived like a budding camellia under the warm rays of affection. like this, she blossomed into a somewhat spoiled variation of disarming girls her age, girls with disarming charms and disarming smiles but behind glossed lips and flushed cheeks lies a barbed tongue and sharp canines.

it’s not to say that she’s cruel. vile. or downright wicked. because she’s not. because she grew up going to church on sundays and volunteered to teach its youths on her weekends. because she would fall on the metaphorical sword for anyone held dear to her heart. of course, it didn’t mean that she was good either. that she wasn’t prideful. wasn’t petty. wasn’t selfish. wasn’t a flower soiled by love and attention—poisoned. it fills her head, the want to be, the need to be seen, heard, loved. makes her something akin to cruel. something twisted. though, that’s life.

the early years breeze by without much trouble. but that is the norm for a pretty thing that lives such a disillusioned life. our jang danbi, among the prettiest flowers in class each and every year, lives blind to the fate of her family—the true identity of her father, the two wedding rings he holds in his fist, the role she and her mother plays in another family’s ruin.

instead, our prettiest flower fixates on the superficial, on the school cubby on valentines day overflowing with treats and cards. chocolate kisses and candy hearts she’d share with friends on the path home, sun on their backs, laughter in the air. simple days she’ll never get back again.

by thirteen, a lovely spectacle for all, danbi’s mother pressed to enter her daughter into the local pageant. plunged her into a whole new world of beauty and wickedness. see, to win in life (and this, danbi later better understand), it’s not enough to just be pretty. instead it is dependent on the highest heels, best walk, flawless hair, memorable ‘talent’, and most “moving” answers. a load of bullshit, her peer would mutter. i know, she would readily agreed. but i still want to win.

seventeen, nay, the moon of her sixteen birthday—exactly, one first place trophy, two academic certificates and one piano championship trophy later—life, as minuscule and superficial as she knew it, ceased to be the same ever again. it starts with a bump in the night. the sound of danbi’s head colliding with the cold cement of the basement is what jolted her from her slumber, leaving her more perplexed than anything. how the hell did she get here?

it didn’t take long to figure out the whys and hows. nothing is more apparent than the way her hand phases straight through the bathroom door—and continues to be intangible for a good hour. and danbi knew then, life as she knew it, picture perfect and pristine—was over.

to her credit, she did try her best to hide it. driven by the fear of her parents reaction and desperation to hold their love and affection (what would she have without it? absolutely nothing), danbi spent days at end hiding the fact that she could no longer hold anything with her right hand or that her left leg had the tendency to flicker in and out of tangibility. and nights dedicated to figuring how to make it stop. it never stops, however, waves of intangibility often sends her falling through her bedroom and onto the basement in her sleep. and then comes the pain. when her mom catches her. the relief on her features is almost foreign, the grip on her arms, the glee in her voice when she says ‘you’re just like your dad’. what?

turns out daddy dearest is a mutant, danbi isn’t sure as to when that fact seemed to have slip her — but the news brought nothing but good fortune to the likes of her (rendering her a bit silly for the teen angst freakout). talks of moving from big city seoul to incheon for her father’s alma mater (multiple talks and arguments as danbi did not take lightly to the fact that she would have to move), a new car for new college student (bribe, it’s a bribe) — and before she knew it, she had entered the gates of gumi. accepted into lotus within her first year.

and, truth be told, she hated it. jang danbi, our flower, our beauty, to place so much interest in succeeding, to sacrifice beauty sleep for grades, to conform for the sake of prestige. it isn’t that danbi was stupid (she scored above average on the norm) nor was it the fact that she wasn’t a team player. but to waste time fretting and fawning over a frigid legacy—who even has the time for that? by her second year, she was gone, finding new home in hellion’s open arms.

WHAT CAN THEY DO?

INTANGIBILITY — the ability to phase through matter. be it flesh or metal or even brick. this is done through the rearrangement of her atomic particles to pass through the atoms of the object she’s phasing though, also know as quantum tunneling—it renders her intangible to physical touch should she will it. given the nature of her ability, usage also interferes with any electric system she phases through as it disrupts the flow of electrons between atoms—this can also pertains to bio-electric systems in animate objects (humans, pets, monsters, etc) if she concentrates right. meaning she is able to cause electronics to malfunction or even destroy them as well as inducing shock and unconsciousness to living things. once in a full “phasing mode”, danbi retains an partially translucent image of herself, but is utterly intangible.

at her current level, she is able to phase anything from limbs or her entire body. although she struggles to fully control phasing with her entire body (though generally possible, she does have a few “flukes” here and there) as well as phasing specific body parts on its own. in theory, it is also possible for her to “phase” with another, but danbi has yet to  fully master that particular front. recently, however, she is fixated on “air-walking”, interacting with the molecules of air over surfaces which should allow her to ascend/descend. her power also tends to phase in and out without her consent, meaning her hand or leg or anything else could just easily turn intangible without her meaning to.

WEAKNESSES

for phasing through solid matter via her entire body, the estimation duration is for however long she could hold her breath as she’s moving through the matter.

her power tends to phase in and out without her consent, meaning her hand or leg or anything else could just easily turn intangible without her meaning to.

in some cases, if she is not fully intangible to begin with, it is possible to bridge the molecules via electricity or various energy sources — rendering her unable to phase for a good hour after.

as it is not entirely a particularly stressing power (as it is more passive than not), overusage will encourage bad side-effects. such as rendering herself to stay in a naturally “phased” state and having to consciously will herself to be solid. fatigue is not frequent, but if danbi is not careful, she may phase through the earth right to the center.

though untested, the longest danbi can fully move between solid matter in her phased state is only a good two or three minutes.

moving phasing another person with her, she can manage about thirty seconds or so.

[jaeminlore]

Partners In Crime // Na Jaemin

Pt 1 Pt 2

the prompt: part 3 of the best friend!Jaemin au

words: 2212

category: fluffy fluff

author note: i know there are rumors of Jaemin attending the sm event or whatever and i hope that’s true bc i am drinking from a dried up well as a jaemin stan. anyway enjoy the last installment to this light-hearted trilogy~

- destinee

-

Taeyong sprayed antibacterial spray throughout his bedroom. His eyebrows furrowed from above the dark mask over his mouth.

Jaemin coughed from the place on Taeyong’s desk chair, swattimg away the scented spray, “What are you doing? You’re already sick.”

Taeyong pulled his mask down and sighed, “Well my spray smells like lavender and it’ll help me sleep.”

Jaemin frowned, “It smells like my grandma. Like my actual Grandma Na.”

Taeyong scoffed. “It smells nothing like your grandma. It smells like the soothing odor of the prettiest purple flowers. Also, your little partner in crime is coming over to help take care of me, since this is all you guys’ fault.”

“It was not our fault,” Jaemin clarified. “You shouldn’t have been around us while we were sick anyway.”

The front door could be heard from Taeyong’s open doorway, opening and closing with a loud creak. Jaemin turned towards the noise and there you walked in, a disgusted look on your face. “Why does it smell like Jaemin’s grandma in here?”

“I told you!” Jaemin mocked.

Taeyong threw an empty tissue box at him. “Respect your elder, honestly. You guys should make me soup.”

“I have homework,” you whined. “Why can’t you take care of yourself?”

“Consider this payback,” Taeyong said, sneezing into his elbow three times in a row. “I can’t even fall asleep so you guys have to entertain me. Also, you have to go to the store because I’m out of ingredients.”

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes and grabbed Jaemin’s elbow, pulling him up. “Let’s go get His Highness some soup.”

Jaemin followed you out of the room hurriedly. “Fine. Can we get some banana milk too?”

“It’s Taeyong’s money,” you answered quietly, “we can get whatever we want.”

The grocery store was only a few blocks away from Taeyong’s house, and so it didn’t take the two of you very long to walk. While Jaemin grabbed a basket, you texted your mom that you probably wouldn’t be home for dinner. Jaemin handed you his phone as well, “Text my mom, too. Tell her I’m staying over at Taeyong’s tonight.”

“Oh, it’s the weekend, isn’t it? I wanna stay over,” you answered as you texted Jaemin’s mom.

“Then stay and help me take care of Taeyong.” Jaemin shrugged.

“I have homework, though.”

Jaemin looked at you with a playful smirk on his face. “Like you’re going to do it.”

You pointed at him with a knowing smile, “You’re right.”

-

The two of you went through the store, grabbing different ingredients that Taeyong had written down for the two of you. Jaemin threw a package of cookies into the basket, along with a box of popcorn.

“Won’t Taeyong get mad if we spend too much?”

Jaemin shook his head and he grabbed your hand as the two of you walked down the frozen aisle. “Taeyong loves us, so he doesn’t care. As long as we’re happy and fed, Taeyong won’t mind.”

“You guys abuse Taeyong’s niceness,” you said.

Jaemin didn’t disagree. “Well he shouldn’t offer two seventeen-year-olds his debit card.”

You leaned into Jaemin’s side as the two of you walked, “Then… can we get ice cream?”

Jaemin laughed, “Taeyong’s going to kill us.”

-

When the two of you returned to Taeyong’s house, you agreed to go check on him while Jaemin put the groceries away.

“How are you doing?” You asked him as you checked his forehead temperature.

He looked at you with his handsome eyes. “Did you get the soup ingredients?”

“We did,” you said. “Now rest while we make it, okay? I’ll bring you your medicine then too.”

Taeyong pulled his mask down below his chin, “Thanks. By the way, if you guys bought anything extra I will cough on you two.”

“Us? Never?” You assured him with a soft pat on his shoulder before exciting the room.

-

“Bad news,” you whispered to Jaemin, who stood with his back to you as he boiled some broth for the soup. “We have to eat all the snacks we bought tonight because Taeyong said if we bought anything without his permission he would get us sick again.”

Jaemin’s lips tugged into a smile, “So you’re saying there’s no excuse and we have to have an all-nighter so we can eat everything before morning?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you grinned back.

-

Taking care of Taeyong really wasn’t as bad as you two made it out to be. As soon as he took his medicine and ate his dinner, he had fallen into a deep sleep, with no evidence that he was alive save the soft snores emitting from his mouth.

Jaemin peeked into the doorway of his older friend’s room with you close behind him. “He’s asleep. Plan eat-everything-in-the-house is a go.”

You giggled mischievously as he carefully closed the bedroom door. “Let’s make ice cream sundaes first.”

“Then popcorn and a movie.”

“Then cookies for dessert,” you concluded.

Just the thought of all that junk food had the two of you lit up like Christmas trees. Most teenagers worried about their figures, or their image, especially when it came to what they ate and how much they ate. However, you and Jaemin had been friends since preschool. The two of you were friends during the awkward preteen years. You were no longer worried about what you looked like in front of him, and vice versa. You were friends with Jaemin when he joined his dance team, filled with an entire league of boys were like family. The two of you were only fourteen then, and you were afraid Jaemin would leave you. Who would stay friends with a girl when he had a bunch of cool brothers to look after and care for him?

He never left you. The thought never even crossed his mind, to be honest. The two of you were partners in crime, taking the world by storm in your own unique way. There hadn’t been a day when Jaemin hadn’t liked you. It started as a crush when he was twelve, and only escalated into full-blown adoration for you. How could he tell you? He had been hinting for the past few weeks, yet you never seemed to notice. He was too nervous to admit it to you because although the two of you could tell each other everything, what if you didn’t like him back?

Whenever he was alone with you, thoughts like this normally plagued his mind. Especially when the two of you were such a touchy pair, always holding hands or linking arms. He was very much enthralled with you in every way. Especially in the way you never cared about what others thought. It made being friends so much easier, since he had the same mindset.

You grabbed the pints of chocolate and vanilla ice cream that the two of you had bought, along with chocolate chip cookie dough, cookies, and popcorn. Jaemin grabbed two large bowls and serving spoons, ignoring his always imposing thoughts.

“Should we watch a movie?” you asked.

Jaemin set the bowls down on the carpet. “Let’s make a fort first. Then we can watch a bunch of cat videos.”

You agreed, “We have to be quiet though.”

The two of you galavanted throughout Taeyong’s house, hushed giggles filling in the shadows as you found stray blankets and pillows to decorate your plush castle with. Arms filled with quilts and throw pillows, the two of you hustled into the living room to set up your empire.

“I’ll be the king and you’ll be the queen,” Jaemin announced, grabbing the couch cushions and positioning them above you two. Once the two of you completed your giant fort, you settled onto the makeshift bed inside.

“We don’t even have crowns,” you argued, opening the vanilla ice cream and dumping it into one of the large bowls.

“Metaphorically,“ Jaemin huffed, leaning his forehead against your shoulder in annoyance. “Just hand me the chocolate ice cream.”

You obliged, handing the carton of thawing ice cream to him. “We should’ve gotten cookies ‘n cream.”

Jaemin was busy crushing cookies in his hands and sprinkling it over his giant bowl of chocolate ice cream. “We need some hot fudge, too.”

“And whipped cream,” you said.

Jaemin scooped a spoonful of ice cream with his serving spoon and shoved it into his mouth.

You laughed quietly as his cheeks filled up with the cold substance.

He suddenly winced and spoke through the ice cream in his mouth, “Brain freeze!”

“Sucks to be you,” you teased as he grasped for some kind of comfort. Finally, he spat the ice cream back into his bowl.

“Ew!” you turned away. “Why didn’t you just swallow it?”

Jaemin chuckled and wiped his mouth, “I was laughing too hard.”

“I didn’t see you laughing.”

“It was kind of hard to smile with a bunch of ice cream in my mouth,” Jaemin concluded with sass. “I can’t believe you didn’t help me.”

You grinned. “Oops.”

-

The two of you ate and ate, filling your guts until you could barely breathe. Even when there was still half of all the food left, the two of you were laying in the fort with stomachaches.

“Let’s just throw everything away. Taeyong will never know,” Jaemin said.

You groaned, “You couldn’t have thought of that before we had a cookie dough eating contest?”

Jaemin giggled, then stopped abruptly. “I’m gonna throw up if I keep laughing.”

“Don’t,” you begged. “Don’t talk about it.”

Jaemin turned on his side and placed his head on your collarbone. “I can’t move, Y/n.”

“Oh yeah? I can barely breathe.”

“But we have to throw the food away before Taeyong sees it,” Jaemin sighed.

“Rock, paper, scissors? Loser throws away the food.”

Jaemin took your suggestion by lifting his fist limply. After two scissors in a row, Jaemin finally chose paper. He groaned in annoyance, his breath tickling your skin. “I don’t want to,” he whined.

You rolled your eyes and pushed him off of you. “Let’s go together, then. We have to rinse all of the dishes as well.”

The two of you grudgingly got to work, the only thing keeping you motivated was the threat of what Taeyong would do once he found out. He surely wouldn’t cough on you guys: he was too sanitary for that. However, he would do something worse, like make you clean the dance studio every night or something else just as pointless and annoying.

Jaemin finished washing the dishes while you dried them and put them back in their places. Any food left over had been dumped into a trash bag, which was now tied up to conceal any evidence from peaking over the top.

“We did it,” you sighed, leaning against your best friend for strength.

Jaemin looked at the wall clock. “Yeah, and it’s two in the morning. We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you stifled a yawn into his shoulder.

The two of you crawled back into your fort and got into your previous cuddling position, only this time you were the one resting on Jaemin’s collarbones.

Half-alseep, Jaemin finally brought up what had been bothering him the whole night. “Y/n? Are we friends?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, confused as you looked at Jaemin’s sleepy face. He was serious. “What do you mean? Of course we’re friends.”

“No, I mean, are we really friends? Mark said friends doing act like we do and I keep thinking about it. Aren’t we a bit more than friends? I mean we’ve always had this close relationship and we’re at the age where we can decide if it’s more than just friendship, but we don’t. We just go around living in this weird limbo between friends and partners and it’s confusing me.”

You smiled, your cheeks warming as he spoke. Suddenly, you leaned forward and kissed the corner of his lips quickly.

Jaemin’s eyes widened, before he broke into a smile. “You missed.”

“What?”

“You missed my lips,” and suddenly, he was back to his playful self, puckering slightly just to tease you.

“Stop,” you shoved him. “You’re so annoying.”

“You love me, though.”

You kissed his lips softly before burying your face into his chest. “Maybe just a little bit.”

Jaemin chuckled and grabbed your hand, squeezing it lovingly. “Love you too, girlfriend.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You take the fun out of everything, Y/n, honestly.”

-

It was around noon when Taeyong woke up to find the two of you snuggled against each other amidst the blankets and pillows that had fallen down in the middle of the night. He kicked your sleeping bodies gently.

“What is it?” Jaemin groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Taeyong chuckled at the sight of you both, having already guessed that you had confessed to each other. “I’m proud of you, Jaemin.”

“What?” The younger boy blushed as Taeyong gestured to you, still sleeping with your arms wrapped tightly around his torso. “Oh… thanks.”

Taeyong nodded and turned to get up. Then, he crouched back down, “By the way, for future reference, don’t leave the receipt for all the snacks on the table.”

Jaemin averted his eyes in embarrassment, “Right…”

~the end~

[scootsaboot]

AO3 refuses to load and let me post this there so I’m posting it here instead

Timothy Lawrence/Rhys 

Valentine’s Day fluff. Tim gets some help picking a gift for Rhys.

If Tim’s honest, the explosion of bright pinks and reds when he walks into the convenience store is a little overwhelming, if not intimidating. Valentine’s Day isn’t exactly his strong suit—that’ll happen when you’re single for over five years—and normally around this time of year he’d walk past the overcrowded and overpriced displays without a second glance.

But not today.

Today they’re exactly what he’s in the store for.

Balloons, he thinks are a bit much. He and Rhys have only been dating for six months (five months and twenty-three days, but who’s counting really), and while the ‘L-word’ has slipped out of his mouth on more than a handful of occasions, he doesn’t think Rhys would appreciate having a huge balloon declaring it to anyone who decided to visit.

Plus, balloons would eventually deflate and that is a relationship metaphor Tim really doesn’t need right now.

Chocolates, then.

Tim turns his attention to the shelves of Holiday-themed sweets. Some of them are cute, with little cartoon pictures decorating them, while others are more elegant, with dark ribbons wrapped around them and finished off with bows.

He reaches out for one of the more expensive looking boxes, only to pause when he realizes he has no idea what kind of chocolate Rhys likes. Milk chocolate is a classic, right? He hesitantly reaches toward a box of milk chocolates, only to pause again. Sure, it’s a classic, but that doesn’t mean Rhys likes it. Maybe dark chocolate? White? Did Rhys like caramel filling, or would he like cherries?

Tim lets his hand fall. How has this never come up before?

Okay, okay, no, it’s fine, he reassures himself. Chocolates are…too easy anyway. Cheap, even. The last thing Tim wants is for Rhys to think he just bought him something without putting any thought into it. Even at half a year, their relationship feels so…tentative, and Tim doesn’t want to do anything to put in jeopardy…like buying Rhys the shittiest Valentine’s Day gift imaginable.

He is definitely overthinking this—

“Excuse me, sir?”

Tim blinks, his thoughts clearing as he glances beside him. A young girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen is smiling at him. The nametag pinned to her shirt says ‘Gaige’.

“Do you need any help?” she asks, still smiling. “You look a little lost.” Her voice is high and cheery—very obviously her ‘retail voice’. Tim feels a pang of sympathy for her. He remembers those days well.

Tim smiles sheepishl. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well, you have been staring at those boxes for a good five minutes. Buying a gift for someone special?”

He nods, “My, uh, boyfriend. This is gonna sound bad but I don’t even know what he likes—“

“First V-day, huh?” she says knowingly. Gaige clicks her tongue and shrugs. “No biggie, we’ll figure something out. How long have you guys been dating?”

“Er—six months—“

“Is it like a serious six months,” she continues, her hands moving along with her speech. “Or is it like a I don’t think is going anywhere and I wanna get out soon six months? Cause we got breakup cards too, y’know. They’re further down the aisle.”

“No, no,” Tim says, a little more defensively than he means to. “Definitely will not be needing any of those, thank you. It’s serious. Very serious.” He winces a little once the words leave his mouth and tries very hard to ignore the amused smirk that appears on the girl’s face.  

“Alright big guy, I hear ya loud and clear,” Gaige holds her hand up in mock surrender. “Well I think we’ve got just the thing for your very serious relationship.”

Turns out, the thing they have is flowers.

There are dozens of bouquets in every color, though most prominently are the red roses wrapped in heart-patterned paper and ribbons. When they reach the counter, Gaige effortlessly slides over it and lands on the other side.

”Alright,” she slaps her hand down on the counter, and the sudden loudness makes Tim realize it’s a prosthetic, not unlike Rhys’. “You don’t want any of these pre-made ones,” Gaige says, waving her other hand flippantly. “Boring, right? You want something special. Something serious.”

Gaige slides a piece of red tissue paper onto the counter before turning and plucking flowers from the baskets behind her.

“Let’s see, obviously, we’ll throw in a couple of red roses. Those mean passionate love—pink roses for admiration.” She places the flowers on the counter. “Ooh, yellow tulips will be good...some larkspur aaaaaand a couple of pink days.”

Effortlessly, Gaige wraps the flowers together into a beautiful bouquet and ties a matching ribbon into a neat bow around them.

“Wow,” Tim blinks, gently taking the bouquet from her when she hands it out.

“Oh, here,” she grabs a little white card and scribbles something down on it. When she slides it over, Tim sees that she’s given the meanings for all the different flowers. “You can write a personal message on the other side.” Gaige grins. “So…is that gonna be card or cash?”

--

Tim leaves the store feeling vaguely like he’d just been swindled, but the gorgeous bouquet in his hand helps lessen the blow. The gift is thoughtful, simple but not lazy, and…he really really hopes Rhys will like it.

They have dinner plans for later tonight—nothing too fancy, just a quiet homemade meal at Tim’s place. Tim wasn’t too keen on going out to an overcrowded restaurant, and Rhys’ face had lit up a little when Tim mentioned he could just cook for them. He’d have to thank Jack for teaching him the recipe if it all went well.

Dinner was still a good five hours away though, and Tim realizes he doesn’t know how long it’ll take these flowers to wilt without some water. He doesn’t want to take the bouquet apart to put them in a vase either—the girl at the store had done such a nice job with it.

He looks down at his watch again.

Maybe he can just swing by Rhys’ work and surprise him. The flowers would no doubt brighten up his office a little. He’s only…a fifteen-minute drive from Rhys’ work, and okay, yeah he’s already settled on the idea. He’s already grinning at the thought of seeing Rhys right now.

God, he has it bad.

Tim shakes the smile off his face, glad that Jack and Nisha aren’t around to make fun of him for it.

--

He’s never actually been up to Rhys’ office before, so he has to ask the secretary on the first floor where the marketing department is. After a short trip up the elevator and wandering around on the 6th floor, Tim spots Rhys through the glass windows of his office.

Rhys looks ready to fall asleep at his desk, his chin resting in his palm as he stares at his computer.

Tim hides the bouquet behind his back and gently knocks against the open door. Rhys jerks in his seat, eyes going comically wide as he sits up.

“Tim! What’s—what are you doing here?” he gets to his feet, one hand wiping at his chin while he rounds his desk.

“Hey,” Tim grins, stepping into the office. “Thought I’d stop by—sorry, you’re not too busy, are you?”

“Nope,” Rhys returns the grin with a lopsided one of his own. He steps in close and kisses Tim, who happily responds to it.

“Uh—happy Valentine’s Day,” Tim says when they part. Rhys laughs, his eyes crinkling with it, and Tim feels his heart flutter at the sight. “I—here,” he pulls the flowers from behind his back and offers them out to Rhys. “I got these for you.”

Rhys blinks. “Roses?”

“Oh, uh, yeah there’s a few roses in there,” Tim says quickly, hoping the look on Rhys’ face is just surprise and not disappointment. “But there’s a few others too. Tulips, and, uh—“ he fumbles for the little card Gaige had given him.

“Tim, I—“

“The red roses are for, um, well love, obviously,” Tim starts, keeping his eyes on the card as he feels heat start to creep up his neck. “And the pink ones are for admiration. Here.” He hands the card over to Rhys, so he can read the meanings for himself.

“I know, it’s so cheesy,” Tim keeps talking. “The girl at the store helped me put it together, I didn’t really know what I was doing—“

“Tim,” Rhys says, curling his left hand around Tim’s. It’s soft and warm and the rest of Tim’s awkward excuses dry up in his mouth as he looks up into Rhys’ mismatched eyes. “Thank you,” Rhys smiles. “I love them.”

“You do?”

Rhys rolls his eyes and takes the bouquet from Tim’s slack hands. He brings it close and inhales, his eyes briefly closing as he smells the flowers.

“Ah shit,” he says a moment later. “I don’t have your gift with me. It’s at home.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay.” Tim holds up his hands, “I totally dropped by unexpectedly, and—you really didn’t have to get me anything—“

“And you didn’t have to get me anything, but here we are.”

“Okay, fair enough.”

Rhys sniffs and rubs at his nose. “Ughh, god, okay. I have to get to a meeting. See you tonight?” He smiles. Tim nods and fondly smooths out a crinkle in Rhys’ collar before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“See you tonight.”

--

An hour before dinner, Rhys calls him.

“I am so so so sorry,” is the first thing he says when Tim answers the phone. “My boss just dumped a huge project on me—I don’t think I can get out of here any time soon. I’m so sorry.”

“I—oh, so, dinner…?” Tim looks out at the table he’d started to clear, and tries not to let the disappointment sink into his voice.

“We’re gonna have to reschedule,” Rhys says. “Maybe tomorrow? I’m really sorry, Tim.”

“It’s okay, Rhys, it’s fine, really. Are you…I mean, maybe I could just bring you some dinner, if you’re gonna be stuck there—“

“No!” There’s a quiet shuffle and a cough on the other end. “No, it’s fine. I think my boss would be…um, well, not happy if I have a visitor.”

“Oh.”

“Tomorrow night? Please? I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tim runs a hand through his hair. It’s a good thing he hadn’t started cooking yet.

“Okay. Okay, I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you!”

“Ah—I love you too. Bye.”

Tim sighs as the line goes dead. He flops down on the couch and tries not to feel too bummed out. At least there won’t be a shortage of movie marathons on tonight.

--

Sometime around lunch the next day, Tim’s phone buzzes.

< please don’t hate me

It’s a text from Rhys.

< I came down with something gross. Im gonna have to cancel again

There’s a little crying emoji following the sentence, and Tim can’t help the stab of disappointment he feels. Cancelled on twice now—but it’s not Rhys’ fault, he knows. Sometimes shit happens.

> Are you okay?

> should I bring some medicine?

The ellipses blink on the screen as Rhys types out a response.

< No, its ok

< I wish I could give you ur present tho :<

> It’s okay. Feel better. Maybe we’ll try for this weekend instead?

< that would be great!! Im sry tim <3

> no worries, get some rest <3

Tim sets his phone aside. Rhys said no to medicine but…Tim could still check in on him, right? Bring him soup or something? Would that be too overbearing?

He pictures Rhys, lying in bed with a head cold, miserable and alone.

He’s in the car ten minutes later with a bag of fresh ingredients and box of tea.

“Rhys?” Tim calls through the closed apartment door, gently rapping his knuckles against the wood. Silence greets him from the other side and he wonders if Rhys had managed to fall asleep in the time it took him to drive over here. He knocks again, a little louder.

He hears muffled shouting from behind the door this time, and then the lock clicks and it swings open. Rhys is in a tank top and a pair of sweats that looks suspiciously familiar, but that’s not what makes Tim stare.

“Tim?!” Rhys looks like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and bloodshot. All along his face are red, irritated-looking splotches, like he’d been scratching at his skin for too long.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Tim blurts out.

Rhys quickly buries his face in his hands and turns his back on Tim. “Oh my god,” he says, voice muffled. “Don’t look at me! I—ahh—“ he sneezes.

“Rhys, wha—“ Tim reaches out for Rhys’ shoulder. “That didn’t look good. Wait, let me see—“ Tim tries to get him to turn but Rhys refuses to budge, keeping his face buried firmly into his hands.

“No! You weren’t supposed to come over here.” He sniffs. “I look like a creature from the black lagoon.”

“No, you don’t,” Tim sighs. He steps into the apartment and shuts the door behind him. “Rhys, come on.” Tim sets his bag on the counter. He notices happily that the flowers he’d gotten for Rhys were sitting there as well, now in a clear vase of water.

Tim turns and gently wraps his hands around Rhys’ wrists, tries to pry his hands away from his face. “Do I need to take you to the doctor? Seriously, cause that is uh…not normal for colds, I’m pretty sure.”

“Don’t have a cold,” Rhys says miserably into his hands. “…m’llergic.”

“Allergic? Allergic to wh—…oh.”

Rhys sniffles, and peers between his fingers.

“You’re allergic to flowers,” Tim says, feeling like an idiot.

“Roses, specifically,” Rhys sighs, and a moment later he slowly pulls his hands away from his face.

“Rhys…why didn’t you just say so?” Tim glances at the bouquet on the counter. “And why do you still have them?”

“Because you put so much thought into it!” Rhys whines. “It was so sweet and nice and all I got you was a stupid wildlife adoption thing—“ he presses his nose into his elbow and sneezes.

“Rhys…” Tim grabs a tissue from the box on the counter and hands it to Rhys, who mumbles a thanks and wipes at his red nose. “…That is so, incredibly stupid.”

“Hey.”

“I’m serious. I’d rather you tell me you’re allergic than be dead.”

“I’m not that allergic,” Rhys huffs.

“You look that allergic.” Tim leans in and kisses the pout on Rhys’ lips.

“Augh, no! No kisses, I’m so gross.” Rhys scrunches his face up and tries to push Tim away, who just laughs and pulls away.

“I’m gonna throw those flowers away,” Tim says, continuing over Rhys’ protests. “And then I’m gonna cook us some nice soup. Not exactly the romantic evening we had planned, but better than nothing, right?”

The pout is already back.  Tim pats Rhys on the shoulder and takes the flowers to the dumpster outside.

When he returns, Rhys is cleaning up the kitchen, his face pink from what Tim expects is embarrassment and not allergies.

Later, when they’re pressed up against each other on the couch, and their bowls are empty, Rhys hands Tim a gift bag.

He pulls out the pink and yellow tissue paper to uncover a cute grizzly bear plush, a picture of a real grizzly bear, and an adoption certificate. The certificate had his name and the bear he’d adopted (Sebastian) written neatly, with an official seal at the bottom.

“Rhys, this is so nice,” Tim grins, running his hand over the soft fur of the bear plush. “Thank you.” He wraps his free arm around Rhys’ shoulder, pulling him in close to press a kiss to his temple.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rhys mumbles, leaning into Tim. “…You better not tell anyone about the flower thing.”

Tim laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[realmonstersrp]

❛ so you can breathe but not text me back?

INTRODUCING JANG DANBI, OUR NEWEST STUDENT WITH THE POWER OF INTANGIBILITY.

WELCOME TO GUMI INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL FOR THE POWERED.

WHO ARE THEY?

PERSONALITY

(+) clever, charming, daring (–) pretty and she knows it

BACKGROUND

jang danbi is destined to be spoiled. nothing else about it. the sole child of the jang family, not to mention the most adorable baby, grew up coddled, cared for, loved, by all members of the family (from mother, to father, to uncle and auntie). thrived like a budding camellia under the warm rays of affection. like this, she blossomed into a somewhat spoiled variation of disarming girls her age, girls with disarming charms and disarming smiles but behind glossed lips and flushed cheeks lies a barbed tongue and sharp canines.

it’s not to say that she’s cruel. vile. or downright wicked. because she’s not. because she grew up going to church on sundays and volunteered to teach its youths on her weekends. because she would fall on the metaphorical sword for anyone held dear to her heart. of course, it didn’t mean that she was good either. that she wasn’t prideful. wasn’t petty. wasn’t selfish. wasn’t a flower soiled by love and attention—poisoned. it fills her head, the want to be, the need to be seen, heard, loved. makes her something akin to cruel. something twisted. though, that’s life.

the early years breeze by without much trouble. but that is the norm for a pretty thing that lives such a disillusioned life. our jang danbi, among the prettiest flowers in class each and every year, lives blind to the fate of her family—the true identity of her father, the two wedding rings he holds in his fist, the role she and her mother plays in another family’s ruin.

instead, our prettiest flower fixates on the superficial, on the school cubby on valentines day overflowing with treats and cards. chocolate kisses and candy hearts she’d share with friends on the path home, sun on their backs, laughter in the air. simple days she’ll never get back again.

by thirteen, a lovely spectacle for all, danbi’s mother pressed to enter her daughter into the local pageant. plunged her into a whole new world of beauty and wickedness. see, to win in life (and this, danbi later better understand), it’s not enough to just be pretty. instead it is dependent on the highest heels, best walk, flawless hair, memorable ‘talent’, and most “moving” answers. a load of bullshit, her peer would mutter. i know, she would readily agreed. but i still want to win.

seventeen, nay, the moon of her sixteen birthday—exactly, one first place trophy, two academic certificates and one piano championship trophy later—life, as minuscule and superficial as she knew it, ceased to be the same ever again. it starts with a bump in the night. the sound of danbi’s head colliding with the cold cement of the basement is what jolted her from her slumber, leaving her more perplexed than anything. how the hell did she get here?

it didn’t take long to figure out the whys and hows. nothing is more apparent than the way her hand phases straight through the bathroom door—and continues to be intangible for a good hour. and danbi knew then, life as she knew it, picture perfect and pristine—was over.

to her credit, she did try her best to hide it. driven by the fear of her parents reaction and desperation to hold their love and affection (what would she have without it? absolutely nothing), danbi spent days at end hiding the fact that she could no longer hold anything with her right hand or that her left leg had the tendency to flicker in and out of tangibility. and nights dedicated to figuring how to make it stop. it never stops, however, waves of intangibility often sends her falling through her bedroom and onto the basement in her sleep. and then comes the pain. when her mom catches her. the relief on her features is almost foreign, the grip on her arms, the glee in her voice when she says ‘you’re just like your dad’. what?

turns out daddy dearest is a mutant, danbi isn’t sure as to when that fact seemed to have slip her — but the news brought nothing but good fortune to the likes of her (rendering her a bit silly for the teen angst freakout). talks of moving from big city seoul to incheon for her father’s alma mater (multiple talks and arguments as danbi did not take lightly to the fact that she would have to move), a new car for new college student (bribe, it’s a bribe) — and before she knew it, she had entered the gates of gumi. accepted into lotus within her first year.

and, truth be told, she hated it. jang danbi, our flower, our beauty, to place so much interest in succeeding, to sacrifice beauty sleep for grades, to conform for the sake of prestige. it isn’t that danbi was stupid (she scored above average on the norm) nor was it the fact that she wasn’t a team player. but to waste time fretting and fawning over a frigid legacy—who even has the time for that? by her second year, she was gone, finding new home in hellion’s open arms.

WHAT CAN THEY DO?

INTANGIBILITY — the ability to phase through matter. be it flesh or metal or even brick. this is done through the rearrangement of her atomic particles to pass through the atoms of the object she’s phasing though, also know as quantum tunneling—it renders her intangible to physical touch should she will it. given the nature of her ability, usage also interferes with any electric system she phases through as it disrupts the flow of electrons between atoms—this can also pertains to bio-electric systems in animate objects (humans, pets, monsters, etc) if she concentrates right. meaning she is able to cause electronics to malfunction or even destroy them as well as inducing shock and unconsciousness to living things. once in a full “phasing mode”, danbi retains an partially translucent image of herself, but is utterly intangible.

at her current level, she is able to phase anything from limbs or her entire body. although she struggles to fully control phasing with her entire body (though generally possible, she does have a few “flukes” here and there) as well as phasing specific body parts on its own. in theory, it is also possible for her to “phase” with another, but danbi has yet to  fully master that particular front. recently, however, she is fixated on “air-walking”, interacting with the molecules of air over surfaces which should allow her to ascend/descend. her power also tends to phase in and out without her consent, meaning her hand or leg or anything else could just easily turn intangible without her meaning to.

WEAKNESSES

for phasing through solid matter via her entire body, the estimation duration is for however long she could hold her breath as she’s moving through the matter.

her power tends to phase in and out without her consent, meaning her hand or leg or anything else could just easily turn intangible without her meaning to.

in some cases, if she is not fully intangible to begin with, it is possible to bridge the molecules via electricity or various energy sources — rendering her unable to phase for a good hour after.

as it is not entirely a particularly stressing power (as it is more passive than not), overusage will encourage bad side-effects. such as rendering herself to stay in a naturally “phased” state and having to consciously will herself to be solid. fatigue is not frequent, but if danbi is not careful, she may phase through the earth right to the center.

though untested, the longest danbi can fully move between solid matter in her phased state is only a good two or three minutes.

moving phasing another person with her, she can manage about thirty seconds or so.

DID YOU KNOW?

saves all your dickpics for future reference