#cuz i was visibly weirded out. then he tapped me on my shoulder before getting off. shivers
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:/
#too many men have NO shame NO haya NO respect vallahi. it almost gets me worked up#this one guy sat next to me ON PURPOSE. the seat next to his FRIEND was empty. then along the way several more got empty#he stayed sat next to me and i'm not dumb i knew it was on purpose#then minutes before his stop he starts talking to me 'is everything well?' i dont know u and wtf do you mean#he asked several times i said yeah very weirded out#then he goes where u from are you german. then he gestures to his head saying very good meaning me wearing hijab#VOMITTTTTT WHO ARE U EW EW EW#i got so icked out cuz the audacity????? how you commenting on that?????????#i hate that it when it has to be said cuz it should be COMMON sense not to act this way not to make stranger women uncomfortable#but you like imagine someone doing this to your sister???? the fact it has to be said#the fact men dont have this common sense in their brains and only (sometimes) clock it with comparisons to their mums or sisters#before getting off he stretched out his hand to me to shake it AUUGHHHH???? NOW WE DONT KNOW THAT'S HARAM?????#had to say no two times cuz he insisted like you fr frrrrrr have to be stupid to ignore body language#cuz i was visibly weirded out. then he tapped me on my shoulder before getting off. shivers#you think it's very good when a woman wears hijab bit THEN sit right next to a non mahram woman when you couldve sat next to your friend#you look her directly in her eyes make comments about her covering (v inappropriate) THEN try shaking her hand#it's always the ones so so delusional about what theyve done wrong may Allah guide them for the sake of the women they give a hard time to#i rarely have encounters like this but i'm sure other sisters have it worse and they are TIRED#if any non muslim tries to analize this interaction to come to the conclusion that he was being normal and i'm overreacting#give it a rest xx#nesi rants
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Do It For the Band, Part Six (fic)
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: IchiRuki
Summary: When Tatsuki said she wanted their sophomore album to be the next Rumours, this is NOT what she meant. Band AU. Read Part One, Two, Three, Four, and Five.
Tatsuki never thought she’d live to see the day that she has to drag herself to jam with her friends.
Sure, she’s been pretty hung over on some of her work days; but she was always, always able to pull herself out of bed, pop a couple of Tylenol and be on her way to make a racket. It made no sense how she could still be giddy to beat some loud drums when she had a throbbing headache - but.
She loved it. She loved her band.
She still does… But she hates Ichigo right now.
Ichigo, who’s being a real insensitive dick. Ichigo, who went on a date with Orihime, aka her-best-friend-aka-longtime-love-of-her-life-maybe-who-knows-she-never-got-a-chance-to-find-out-cuz-of-her-dickwad-friend.
Ichigo, who is doing this as some stupid fucking vendetta against Rukia, or to forget her, or whatever the fact is being a dumbass and everyone is having to pay for it.
Needless to say: she’s worked herself up to a pretty furious state by the time she rages to practice.
She stomps over to Chad’s garage, viciously lifting the the heavy door while simultaneously (unreasonably) half expecting to be faced with the sight of Ichigo and Orihime making out -
When her eyes adjust to see into the garage, there’s none of that (thank God). They’re not even next to each other. Instead, she’s met with a very different sight.
Ichigo’s stewing in the corner, hands stuffed in his pocket and visibly grinding his teeth. Chad is sitting quietly next to him but definitely trying to blend himself into the shadows more than usual. Orihime is looking down at her hands across the room, silent and stiff.
And Rukia is plugging her phone into their speaker jack rather manically.
“Ah, good afternoon Tatsuki!” Rukia greets the drummer with a too-large, sparkling smile that she recognizes as Rukia’s favorite mask to put on when she’s pissed. The vocalist has noticeable bags under her eyes from… Lack of sleep? Crying? Who knows. Her heart cracks for her.
The pity doesn’t last long when Rukia continues, sickly-sweet. “Since Ichigo was so kind to tell us we should start working on new stuff - “
“Woah woah woah, I didn’t tell you - ”
“My mistake!” Rukia sends Ichigo a somehow-withering smile that could kill. “You’re so right, we all agreed. In any case, I decided to start sooner rather than later. I recorded a quick version by myself last night at - oh, I don’t know, two A.M. - and sent it to Urahara by five.”
Ichigo’s foot starts tapping as he leans forward, arms crossed. “You sent something to Urahara without showing us first?”
“He said he liked it, but to get it passed through you guys. Of course I agreed, so… Here we are.” Rukia’s not looking at him any further, instead sending a hard glance to Tatsuki.
The drummer knows it’s not really directed at her - more like a woman’s communication-without-words kind of thing - but she finds herself gulping anyway.
--
Here we are indeed.
Oh you got stars in your eyes, baby
If you think this will work
I won’t follow your galaxies
Won’t fall for that fucking smirk.
When will you realize the stars were never yours?
Never at any time, never at any time.
The song has turned to pure obliteration by the end. Rukia’s voice intentionally fades out at the finish, but not without absolute raw emotion, pure fury that leaves goosebumps on Tatsuki’s skin.
Rukia stands in the middle of the garage, hands on her hips, looking proud and dangerous and fiery as she stares straight back at Ichigo’s stone-faced glare.
Good for her, Tatsuki thinks before remembering: wait. She shouldn’t be rooting for this.
This is the beginning of a war.
As if on cue, Ichigo clears his throat, raising his chin to match Rukia’s arrogance.
“Great work, Kuchiki. Way better than anything you’ve done so far, I’d say.”
Rukia’s nostrils flare. “Is that a comment on my previous work?”
“Not at all. Just… Inspires me to step up my game. In fact…” Ichigo stands up, dusting off his pants. “Is it cool with you all if I cut out early? Think I have some writing to do too, alone.”
“Absolutely not, Ichigo.” Tatsuki is shaken out of watching the trainwreck that’s her life. “Chad, Orihime and I did not come here for you to cut out without even practicing - “
“No, I think it’s fine, Tatsuki.” Rukia’s eyes glint with a challenge. “We can practice… Without Ichigo.”
An excruciating silence follows. Tatsuki can practically hear Ichigo’s teeth crack beneath his grinding.
“... I can wait to write.” He roughly grabs his guitar, quickly getting to work on tuning it. “Teamwork is important. We’re nakama, after all.”
Something about the pointed word visibly causes the keyboardist to flush, but she starts to unplug her phone from the speaker jack anyway.
The next hour of practice may just be the most painful hour in Tatsuki’s life.
--
She thought she might have an idea of what happened between Ichigo and Rukia from Rukia’s song Celestial Lies - okay, so Ichigo broke a promise? - but seeing what kind of songs follow after that practice from both of them leaves it all… A little muddled.
The next day, Ichigo sends the group chat audio of a break up song.
Eyes softly gazed
Heart breaking stare
Who knew you’d crush me
Lying is your best jewelry you wear.
Everyone hits a wary thumbs up reaction except Rukia, who hours later only replies: Did Urahara approve of this one?
Yes. Ichigo sends back at a neck-breaking speed…
Followed by a :).
A few days later, Rukia sends another audio.
It only took you ten days to realize
I wasn’t good enough, but no one’s ever good enough
No one’s ever nice enough,
No one’s ever fucked you enough
Called your bluff enough
Said your name like a God enough.
Now Ichigo’s response is a weird song about a siren with lavender eyes feasting on a golden-haired sailor’s skull, and Tatsuki didn’t know what to think happened but frankly? She doesn’t care.
She calls Urahara immediately.
“You know what this is gonna do to us, right?!” She shouts into the phone. “This isn’t doing anything but hurting the band, letting them go at it like this!”
Urahara - to his credit - listens patiently from the other end as she explodes. He has the decency to voice his sympathies, that it must be really tough working in a group with… So many opinions.
“These aren’t opinions. These. Are. Fatalities.” She grits out.
“I understand, Tatsuki-san, but…” She can nearly hear their manager shrug. “This is… How good music is made. I hate what it’s doing to your nerves, but you have to understand that this is how I get you guys out there.”
“At the expense of our friendship? What kind of manager are you -”
“A good one.” His voice drops low, suddenly serious in a way she’s never heard before. “What would you have me do, Tatsuki-san? Tell everyone to stop writing mean songs? Have them hug it out? You know that does nothing for any of us.”
“That’s not what I’m... “
“Tatsuki.” His voice lifts, a bit gentler. “This is what you all wanted, what you’re working hard for. Whether or not they get through this… Nobody can say. But that’s not gonna change whether or not they stop writing these stellar pieces. You know how good they are. So… I hate to tell you, but you’re gonna have to suck it up. Enjoy it while it lasts. It might make your career.”
She hangs up immediately, knowing he won’t be offended.
He knows that she knows he’s right.
--
Almost like a God-sent gift for Tatsuki’s suffering, Orihime breaks it off with Ichigo after only a few weeks.
The relationship ends - quite spectacularly - in disaster after a couple of dates… Just as Tatsuki thought it would, but hey. She’s not going to gloat about it, only promises whatever deity is responsible a huge offering the next time she happens upon a shrine.
She hears all about it from Orihime, of course - she’s way too pissed at Ichigo to speak to him about anything besides business - who tells her they got a couple of drinks, dinner a few times.
“It’s a very nice time! But he’s not… It’s…” She sighs forlornly and it makes Tatsuki hurt for her.
“He hasn’t made any moves, huh.”
The stage manager shakes her head, suddenly grabbing her water to keep the tears misting her eyes at bay.
Tatsuki wants to kill him.
“He said I looked nice. He opens the doors for me, pulls out my chair, pays for my bill. He and I have… Fun, I think. At least I do - and he’s very kind, such a gentleman -”
“It’s okay, Orihime. You can say it: he fucking sucks.”
Orihime laughs a watery laugh. “No, nothing like that. I just… This Rukia thing. It’s so… Intense, right? In practice? I should’ve known. I feel so stupid.”
“... Orihime.” The drummer puts her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Nobody could’ve known. Had I known? You’d find me on a cruise ship, drumming for some dumb cover band.”
“You make jokes like that, Tatsuki, but you’re the band’s lifeline.” Orihime shakes her head, blinking back tears. “I just… Rukia is so… Goodness, she’s lovely. And talented. And so, so kind - “
“Orihime - “
“And I’m not one to be jealous, I know I’ve only known Ichigo for about a month now so I’m really not too upset about that. But I’d - I’d love to be someone’s first choice like that. I’d love to be the person that someone wants to write songs about, that inspires someone so much. Because that anger that’s coming through their songs… That’s them caring, you know? That’s them caring so much that good or bad, they want the whole world to know, and yeah I don’t love the bad so much but I do love love and want to be cared about like that one day but I’m not as smart or talented as Rukia-chan so - “
Tatsuki interrupts her by firmly pressing her lips to Orihime’s, her hands snaking into her gorgeous auburn hair and suddenly: everything is perfect, angels are singing and if she died at this very moment she would be too blissed out to fight it.
She briefly breaks it off, nudging Orihime’s forehead with her own. “Rukia is also my friend, but don’t get it twisted. They’re both absolute shits.”
Orihime laughs, smiling softly at the drummer before she goes back in and Tatsuki thinks band drama?
Who gives a fuck.
--
Her new girlfriend calls her the next day to say she’s told Ichigo, and Tatsuki sighs. She was about to enjoy her morning by smoking a joint, but. Priorities, she guesses.
She arrives at Ichigo’s apartment door within the hour, banging until he opens it.
“Y’know, how you get beyond the buzzer at the building entrance is beyond me - “
Tatsuki wastes no time. “Orihime told you, yeah?”
Ichigo rolls his eyes, but a rare, small smile betrays him. “Yeah, she told me. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. You mad?”
“What? No. Of course I’m not mad.”
“Cool. ‘Cuz what the ever-loving fuck, Ichigo.”
“... Not sure what you mean.” Ichigo’s eyes turn to flint as understanding dawns on him, and he’s about to close the door when she stomps on his foot.
“Tatsuki, what the hell--”
“Don’t ever try to do that to me again. What is this all about?”
“God, we didn’t have a - Orihime and I are friends! It’s all been worked out! What do you care, you got your girl - ” He shuts his mouth at the giveaway as Tatsuki narrows her eyes.
“Is that what this is about? You didn’t get your girl so you tried to get mine?”
“No, Tatsuki. I had no idea you liked her, I would’ve never had - and what do you mean ‘my girl’?!”
She ignores the question and chooses instead to ask in reply: “Have you talked to Rukia?”
A beat.
“... We’re not discussing this, Tatsuki.”
“Like, really talked to her? ‘Cuz I know you, and a whole lot of this bullshit could’ve been avoided had you just - “
“I’m not discussing this with you Tatsuki.” He looks down at his phone, lighting up the screen to look at the time. “Look, there’s a few more hours until practice and I wanted to get in some writing - “
“Of course you do.”
“... Just do me a favor. Please? Don’t - don’t ask me to talk about that stuff. You’re my friend and you scare the shit out of me - but I’m drawing the line there. Unless it has something to do with the band - “
She’s getting pissed all over again. “Ichigo, you know it effects the band - “
“We’re professional.” He snaps, and the quick show of temper stuns Tatsuki. He’s never had the nerve to talk to her like that, ever.
She’d be impressed if it wasn’t for the circumstances.
“... Congrats again on you and Orihime. I’ll see you two at practice tonight.”
He slams the door.
“... And you can kick my ass for doing that, later!” His muffled shout sounds from the other side of the door.
Tatsuki leaves in a hell of a less good mood than when she came.
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I’m gonna rewrite the IBVS fic ‘cuz I no longer vibe with it
Same thing as the other but hopefully less ooc
IBVS is by @onebizarrekai
"What's up with him?"
The rain fell in droves, soaking him to the bone almost instantly. But that wasn't his main concern at the moment.
"He's been acting weird for weeks."
He couldn't afford to stop and catch his breath, he just needed to keep running.
Running.
Running.
R͙̜̱̈́u̬͚ͯͭͥ̀n̜͕̤͖͑́͛̚͜n̳̖̯̖͊͢ͅi͓̮̖̹̲̜͈̤ͧ̿̋͜ň̴̳̠̱͙̂g͔̺͉̭̗͖͍̏̄ͭ͗̀
"I hope he's OK."
Then the worst happened, he slipped and went sprawling into the pavement. After the shock wore off, he tried to scramble to his feet before he was caught by-
"Hello there Quinton."
-------------
"Chris, I know you mean well, but I'm not helping." Isaac said, taking another bite of his sandwich.
"C'mon, Isaac!" Chris responded, his own lunch forgotten, "You won't even try?"
The artist sighed, "Look, I get what you're saying and I'm glad you've got this heart of pure gold, but I'm. Not. Helping."
"Alright, I get it, you and Ed don't have the best relationship, but still! Besides, he's trying to get better too!"
Isaac hesitated for a moment, "Fine, I'll admit that he's more... Tolerable nowadays. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna' go sticking my nose in his business. Even if he wanted someone to bother him there's still the issue of-" he waved his hands for emphasis, "Neither of us like each other."
Chris huffed in annoyance, "Fine, I'll go figure it out myself."
"Good luck with that!" Isaac called after him as Chris left.
Chris had just walked through the door when he was tapped on the shoulder. He jolted and turned to see who did it, relaxing slightly when he saw that it was someone he didn’t know.
He looked at the other student in confusion, “Do I know you?”
The other student just shook his head, “No, sorry, I forget not everyone knows me sometimes.” he stuck out his hand, “Name’s Barry, I’m Edward’s friend.”
After a moment of hesitation, Chris reached out and shook his hand, “Alright, what did you need?”
"I believe you've noticed that something's up with Ed too." He said, his face unreadable.
"How did you know?" Chris asked, beginning to feel slightly nervous.
Barry just gave him a friendly smile, "Call it a hunch. Now, I assume I'm correct?"
Chris nodded slowly, "Yeah... What's it mean to you?"
"Well, I care about my best friend for one. There's also the fact that very little goes on in this school without me knowing so when there is, I like to know what I didn't before. No c'mon, we've got a lot of figuring out to do."
Chris didn't have a chance to speak before Barry was pulling him down the hall towards who know where.
------------
Meanwhile, on the other side of the school, the answers Barry and Chris were looking for were revealing themselves.
"I-I haven't t-touched Drew!" Edward stuttered, backtracking quickly, "J-just leave me alone!"
"Don't treat me like I'm stupid," Nevin sneered, "I saw you two together. Now get over here."
"I-I... I'll do anything!" Edward pleaded, "I'll n-never even LOOK at him again!"
Nevin just stepped forward, "I warned you Quinton..."
"P-please." He whispered, freezing as he hit the wall.
He was trapped.
-------------
Chris jumped as Barry slammed his hands on the table, "OK, what do we know?"
After recovering from the shock, Chris hesitantly responded, "I... Guess he's been avoiding people more often? I don't know, you probably noticed more."
Barry nodded, "That's the most noticeable change. Even his little gang hasn't seen much of him outside of class."
This was new to Chris, "Wait, not even they know what's up? I thought he told them everything."
Barry shook his head, "If he didn't tell me, he wouldn't tell anyone."
"I feel like there's more between you two than just being friends."
"I'll tell you later." Barry responded dismissively, "Now, back to what we know. So no one has seen him much which implies that he's avoiding people."
"The question is why."
Barry nodded, "And unfortunately, that's something I can't figure out."
"Do you know any reasons why he wouldn't want to be around people?"
"No, not really. He's always been very social so I don't understand why he wouldn't be around others even if something was bugging him."
Chris sighed, "Then we're back at square one."
They sat in silence for a while, both of them feeling frustrated and somewhat defeated. If they couldn't figure out what was wrong they couldn't do anything to help. And it wasn't like they could just ask since Edward wasn't really known for being an open book.
"I wish this was as easy as movies made it look." Chris muttered, "I wish this was like some detective movie or something where there's a clue or sign just magically seems to appear."
And of course at that moment, the universe decided that Chris had gone thre enough already and granted his wish.
The door burst open, causing Chris and Barry to jump in surprise. The door slammed again and they could hear the sound of something thudding against the cabinets in the kitchen.
They shared a worried look before Barry stood up, "Who's there?"
There was a quiet mumble from the kitchen that neither of them could decipher.
Chris stood up next, "Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?"
There was no response this time and after sharing a wary look, the two teens crept towards the kitchen. At first, it looked like no one was there, but once they rounded the corner they saw the intruder. Sitting on the floor, knees tucked up in a defensive position, sat the very person they'd been talking about.
"Ed...?" Barry whispered.
"Go away." Edward rasped, seeming to draw even further into himself.
"Well," Chris said, a look of confusion on his face, "I think we've got even more questions to answer now."
---------
It took them about half an hour to get Edward to leave the kitchen, and even then. he refused to be near them or say anything. Barry eventually gave up on getting Ed to talk after another half hour of fruitless attempts.
He sat down at the table with a groan, "Y'know, Ed's a good guy, but there are times where he is extremely frustrating. This is one of them."
Chris chuckled quietly and glanced out the window, "Oh geez, I didn't notice how dark it got. I wonder if my dad's wondering where I am yet."
Barry looked surprised, "Oh my gosh! You it's never told your parents!" he stood up and walked off, "I should tell Ed's mom he's spending the night."
Chris stood up after him, "Well, good luck with that. I gotta' head home before I get in more trouble than I'm definitely already in."
Barry nodded, "Alright, good luck to you too."
They waved goodbye to each other and Barry watched the other walk off until the last trace of color disappeared into the night. He shook his head, turning back to his phone as he pulled up Edward's mom's contact. Most people would consider it weird that he has the number of his best friend's mom but it made sense to him. After Ed had developed the habit of accidentally falling asleep at Barry's house, he just decided to help out and message Ed's mom for him.
Speaking of which.
Edward had finally fallen asleep, slumped over with his knees still pressed to his chest.
Barry sighed, "Wish you weren't so stubborn and let people help you..."
He walked to the kitchen, grabbed a towel, and returned to sit next to his friend. After moving Edward's arms away from his face, Barry began wiping off the tear stains. Shockingly, the jock didn't wake up, only shifting slightly. After carefully removing the other's jacket, Barry grabbed one of the blankets and practically tucked Edward in. And after a moments hesitation, he leaned down and gave his friend a soft kiss on the forehead and turned off the lights, finally heading off to get some sleep.
---------------
Thankfully, it was finally the weekend, meaning Barry didn't need to fight Ed to keep him home. Chris came over again, saying he wanted to help just as much as Barry did. It took an hour or so and lots of prying for Edward to finally open up. And when he did, the story he told definitely shocked the other two.
"I'll t-talk now." He mumbled.
Barry and Chris instantly started questioning him.
"What happened?"
"Are you OK?"
"Did someone do this to you?"
"How can we help?"
At this, Edward instantly shrank back into the blanket covering him, wide eyed and shaking slightly. The other two backed off upon seeing his reaction, giving him a minute to collect himself.
"Maybe don't do that next time." Was all he said, still tense but doing better.
Chris rubbed the back of his neck, visibly embarrassed, "Yeah, probably wasn't my smartest moment."
That got an annoyed scoff out of the other that caused Chris to perk up.
Barry spoke up after a second, "Could you tell us what happened now?"
Ed flinched again, obviously not liking the conversation, "I... Guess..." he took a breath, steeling himself for the coming conversation, and finally spoke. "It started a couple weeks ago. Stupid-" His face scrunched up in disgust, "Stupid fuckin'... Emo kid said something 'bout me messing with his brother. Of course I wasn't 'cuz even if I was like, violent all the time, I'm not gonna' beat up a kid on crutches. That's just sick. But yeah, the asshole kept catching me after school and just pummeling me. I tried to fight back a couple times but that didn't work so I just tried avoiding him. That didn't work either so I just started avoiding people altogether. Didn't help that after the first few times any sort of contact freaked me out. But yeah, that's basically it."
Chris and Barry just sat there and stared at him, completely at a loss for words. Edward looked unnerved by the sudden attention, once again shrinking back into himself.
Chris snapped out of it first, "S-sorry, we didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. We're just... Surprised, I guess."
Edward raised an eyebrow, "Really? He already hated me, this shouldn't be too surprising."
Barry was still in a state of shock, just staring at his friend with a mixture of concern and anger.
Chris suddenly stood up, "That's it. I need to talk with him."
Edward looked panicked, "No way! He'll crush you!"
This didn't stop Chris who just continued towards the door, "I don't care, he's not getting away with this." and with that, the door shut and the house was silent.
Barry sighed, standing up, "I hope he doesn't get himself into too much trouble..."
Edward just kept staring at the door as if he was expecting Chris to walk back through at any moment.
Barry noticed this and sat down next to his friend (Not close enough to touch mind you), “Hey, I’m sure he’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry so much.”
Edward scoffed, trying to mask his embarrassment, “I’m not worrying! I’m just... Waiting for him to come back and tell me about how he whooped Nightmare’s ass! Yeah!” he grinned, I’m so smooth.
Barry just chuckled, leaning back into the couch, “Whatever you say buddy. Want to watch something?”
“Sure, what are you thinking?” The jock responded and instinctively glanced at the TV as it flickered on.
“We could just see what’s on. That is unless you were thinking of something specific.”
“Nah, whatever is fine.”
And just like that, Edward quickly forgot about his worries in favor of intently watching the show that came on and criticizing the acting. Barry was glad he managed to take the other’s mind off of Chris, but now it was his turn to be worried.
-------------
Chris rapped on the door of the Jovel house, having to keep himself from just busting it down and scouring the place for any sign of Nevin. After a bit of shuffling from inside, the door opened, revealing none other than the emo disaster himself.
He gave Chris a bored look, “You want something?”
Needless to say, the urge to punt the boy in front of him increased.
Chris took a deep breath, reminded himself that other people might see him pummel what appeared to be an emo 12 year old (Height wise), and forced a fake smile.
“Hey Nevin,” He said, his voice slightly strained, “mind coming outside so we can talk?”
After surveying his tall friend for a moment, Nevin shrugged, stepping onto the porch and shutting the door, “I don’t see why not.”
“Cool.” Chris responded simply, turning to walk down the stairs when he was pushed down.
He quickly scrambled to his feet and spun around, a short knife resembling a blood red dagger appearing out of nowhere in his hand. Nevin was still standing on the porch, a smug smirk on his face.
“You really thought I was stupid enough to fall for that?” He sneered, “You weren’t even trying to pretend like this was just gonna’ be a normal conversation.”
Chris grit his teeth, “Kinda’ hard to play nice when you learn that your friend is secretly an asshole who beats up people who didn’t even do anything.”
Nevin scowled, stepping down the stairs, “Quinton has done more than enough to deserve what I did. I even warned him.”
Chris glared at him. This is going nowhere. Guess we’re doing this the hard way. Nevin suddenly jumped forward, snapping the other out of his thoughts. Chris managed to step out of the way right as Nevin swiped at the air where he had been moments before. Black crystal like structures had formed at the tips of the dark haired boy’s fingers, effectively forming crude claws. He made another swipe and Chris barely managed to block it with the flat of his knife.
Nevin hissed, shaking his hand lightly before glaring at Chris, “I thought you were on my side Chris! Not that pompous bastard’s!”
Chris took the opportunity to go on the offensive, “That changed when you started being a jerk!” he grunted, making several slashes and stabs at his opponent.
Nevin quickly moved out of the way, “Then I hope you’re prepared for what you got yourself into!” he tried to grab the knife but cried out, an audible sizzle coming from the black liquid now coating his hands, “You little-”
Chris allowed himself a triumphant grin as Nevin reeled, holding his burned hand. His smile quickly faded however as the flow of black liquid just increased, the previously dull cyan glint in the shorter boy’s eye doubling in intensity. The liquid seemed to have a mind of its own, moving and bubbling with frantic intensity. Chris began to move back, starting to wonder why he thought this was a good idea as his once-friend gave him a hate filled glare slightly obscured by the black sludge.
“Now you really fucked up.” Nevin growled, flinging some of the sludge off his hands and exposing the now lengthened claws.
Chris swallowed, gripping his knife tightly as he willed it to grow. Oh shit. Was all he thought as the two stared each other down. Then, Nevin lunged, restarting the fight.
--------------
The show had been long forgotten and been reduced to background noise. Edward was splayed out on the couch, having taken it for himself in his sleep. Barry switched to one of the armchairs and was absentmindedly petting a random cat that had crawled into his lap.
The relative quiet wasn’t meant to last though.
The door burst open, startling the cat which caused it to leap off of Barry and dart off into the kitchen. As the boy was beginning to stand up to see who had barged in, his surprise guest stumbled into the living room.
“Chris?!” Barry said in shock.
The boy in question was covered in dirt, grime, and some unidentifiable black sludge with several leaves stuck to it. He had numerous bruises and scrapes along with a slight limp. All in all, he was a mess.
“Heya Barry.” Chris mumbled.
Barry immediately snapped out of his shock, “Holy- Chris go take a shower right now, you need to get all that gunk off. I’m gonna go get some bandages and anti-bacterial spray.”
Chris stood there for a moment, looking completely out of it, before nodding slowly and limping up the stairs. After a minute, the faint sound of falling water came from the upstairs bathroom. Somehow, this was more jarring than the door slamming open and woke Edward up.
“Barry...?” He called, his voice slightly hoarse.
“In here Ed!” Barry responded, eventually returning from one of the many closets with an armful of medical supplies.
Edward, who was still tired and groggy, just stared at his friend for a moment, “What’s all that for? I already told you I don’t need anything.”
“It’s for Chris.” Barry said, “He just got back. He was covered in dirt and all sorts of muck so I told him to take a shower before anything. I’m waiting for him to come back so I can patch him up.”
This obviously didn’t sit right with the school king, “He’s hurt?! What happened?”
“I don’t know but I’m assuming it’s Nevin’s fault.”
Edward scowled but before he could say anything, the water stopped and a voice came from the bathroom.
“Hey Barry!” Chris shouted, “I uh... I don’t have any extra clothes!”
Barry sighed, “Damnit, I should’ve thought of that.”
“You could give him some of my stuff I left here,” Edward suggested, “we’re close to the same size.”
“That could work.” Barry mused then called back to Chris, “Give me a minute! I’ll go get you something!”
He walked to the spare room and opened the closet, revealing Edward’s stash of spare clothes he kept there in case he slept over. After grabbing a plain T-shirt, sweatpants, and a sweater with the school emblem on it, Barry made his way up to the bathroom.
He knocked on the door, “I have some clothes that could work for you.”
After a moment Chris opened the door, only wearing a towel and looking incredibly embarrassed, “Sorry for taking your stuff, I didn’t think I’d get this messy.”
Barry waved a hand dismissively, “It’s no problem. Besides, Ed suggested I give you his spare stuff anyways so you don’t need to worry about taking my things.”
Chris only looked more embarrassed at this, “Oh my gosh, Isaac’s never going to let me live this down if he finds out.”
Barry just chuckled, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Now get dressed so I can patch you up.”
Chris nodded and took the pile of clothes, then proceeding to retreat back into the bathroom. After a minute, he came out, looking slightly flustered.
“It fits.” He mumbled, pulling at the sleeves of the sweater and avoiding eye contact.
Barry just smiled, “That’s good, now c’mon.” he grabbed the other’s hand and brought him downstairs.
At the sound of the two coming downstairs, Edward looked up from what he was doing on his phone. Upon spotting the incredibly flustered Chris, he immediately looked back down, feeling his face heat up slightly. Barry worked in silence, disinfecting and wrapping up all the scrapes and cuts Chris got from the fight. After that was done, the three sat in semi-awkward silence until Edward finally said something.
“Want to see what’s on TV?” He suggested, obviously uncomfortable with the silence.
Barry nodded, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV. After a few seconds, the screen lit up and the sound of voices and quiet music issued forth. It was some sort of Spanish drama if the music and stereotypical mustaches and sombreros were any indication.
Right before Barry could change the channel, Edward reached out and stopped him, “No wait, this looks interesting.”
Barry gave him a confused look but just shrugged and set the remote aside. They all huddled on the couch, Edward on one end, Barry on the other, and Chris in the middle. It took a bit for them to understand what was happening since the episode was apparently in the middle of the season. Not to mention the fact that it took forever for them to figure out how to get English captions since Chris was the only one who could even sort of understand what they were saying. About an hour in, Edward and Chris were extremely invested, both of them immediately denying Barry’s request to find something actually good. An hour and a half later, the two were crying over a wedding scene.
Chris sniffled, tears streaming down his face, “S-she f-finally got her h-husbaaaand!” he trailed off into sobs.
Edward was too distraught to respond and just nodded aggressively, blowing his nose loudly. Barry just watched them, a look of concern on his face. When the villain crashed the wedding though, they became even more distraught. Chris leaned against Edward, hugging him for support as he cried. Edward noticeably flinched but after a moment, smiled slightly and awkwardly patted the other’s back.
“I-I-I c-can’t b-beli-ieve he dID THAT!” Chris sobbed, descending into distressed mumbling and tears.
Barry snorted and began laughing and so did Edward. Chris just weakly smacked Edward’s arm and tried to kick Barry, only succeeding in tapping the other with his foot.
“Y-you guys are mean.” He muttered, causing the other two to start snickering again.
It didn’t take long for him to pass out, having tired himself out with all the crying. It took Edward a bit to notice that there was now a deadweight leaning up against him.
“Uh, Barry?” He whispered, “There’s a problem.”
Barry looked over and upon noticing his friend’s predicament, he smiled, “Aww, that’s cute.”
Edward blushed slightly, sputtering something unintelligible, “No it’s not!” he hissed, “Now help me!”
Barry just grinned, “Nah, he looks comfortable.” his smile faltered after a moment though, “Are you uncomfortable? I’ll move him if this is making you uncomfortable.”
The jock hesitated then sighed, “No, I’m fine, I just need to move him a bit.”
He began shifting slightly, trying his hardest not to wake the other up. After moving so that he was laying on his back, he let Chris’s head fall onto his chest.
He glared at Barry who was smiling again, “Not a word.”
Barry held his hands up defensively, “Hey, I wasn’t gonna say anything.” he thought for a moment, “Actually, do you want to stay here or move to my room?”
Edward glanced at Chris, poked his head, and when the sleeping boy didn’t do anything, he nodded, “Yeah, the couch isn’t the most comfortable and one of us would probably roll off.”
“Alright.” Barry said, standing up, “You got him?”
As if on cue, Edward hoisted Chris up, holding him bridal style. He stumbled slightly at first but quickly regained his balance, shifting his sleeping load a bit before following Barry to the bedroom. They settled in, Chris in the middle again, and Barry turned off the light.
“Goodnight Ed.” He whispered.
“Night Barry.” Edward responded.
-------------
Chris woke up to a bright light shining onto his face and the sound of muffled talking and clanging. It took him a moment to register that he didn’t recognize the room he was in and another to begin panicking.
He shot up and instantly groaned at the sudden soreness, “Aaaooooww shit-”
He looked around, trying to figure out where he was. He quickly pieced together that this must be Barry’s bedroom after remembering the events of last night. He swung his legs out of the bed (Also registering that he was still wearing Edward’s clothes) and after stretching a bit, left the room to see what was happening. He got to the bottom of the stairs and followed the noise to the kitchen. The source of the noise was Edward singing along to a random song that was playing from his phone along with Barry cooking some eggs and bacon.
“Ed I’m trying to cook-” Barry started but was cut off as Edward started singing again.
“Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah no I can't risk falling off my throne!" he sang, “La la la la la la la la love is something I don’t even know!”
Before he could stop himself, Chris slid in and started singing the next part as well, “Straight hair! Straight A’s! Straight forward, straight girl. Little Miss Perfect, that’s me!”
Edward noticed his new singing buddy and after a moment of embarrassed silence and surprise, the next verse came up and he decided to just go with it. They eventually convinced Barry to join them and they all had a sort of karaoke session before Barry finished the food. Breakfast was relatively quiet but instead of it being awkward, it was a comfortable quiet. Eventually, Chris and Edward needed to go home. Neither of them were too happy about that fact but they couldn’t just live at Barry’s house. Barry fussed over Edward for a bit, asking if he needed Barry to walk him home and if he was feeling alright. After managing to convince his friend that he was fine, Edward turned to the door.
He paused though, turning around to look at Chris, “Hey, umm...” he thought for a moment, not sure what to say, “Thanks.”
Chris just looked confused, “What for?”
Edward shrugged, “I dunno, beating up that jerk for me I guess. Figured it wasn’t right to just ignore what you did for me, so thanks.”
Chris was caught off guard, “O-oh! Oh yeah no problem, I couldn’t just let him get away with that.”
Barry jumped in, “Don’t you ‘no problem’ us, we saw what happened to you. You did more than you needed to and more.”
Chris felt his face heat up, “Oh, thank you.”
Edward patted him on the back, “No problem bud.”
After once again assuring Barry that they were both perfectly fine, Chris and Edward finally left. They waved goodbye to each other and went their separate ways, both smiling to themselves.
~~Extra~~
Chris opened the door, “Hey Isaac, come on in!”
The shorter artist walked in, glancing around, “Is your dad out?”
Chris nodded, “Yup. No need to worry about him. Now c’mon, we got a project to work on.”
Isaac groaned dramatically but followed his friend up to his room. The room was a bit messy but nothing Isaac wasn’t used to. It took them a minute to get set up and he decided to check out Chris’s room out of bored curiosity. It was pretty normal for a teenagers room, a messy desk against one of the walls, a bookshelf covered in books that were collecting dust, a sweater with the school logo on it, a couple socks on th-
Wait...
“What’s this?” He asked, picking up the sweater that had been partially hidden by a blanket.
Chris instantly froze and began panicking, “Uh- I-it’s just some sweater I got at the beginning of the school year!”
Isaac gave him a suspicious look and then glanced at the tag on the back of the collar, “Funny, cuz right here it says ‘Edward Quinton’.” he smirked, “Now what does that mean?”
At that moment, Chris wished he could sink into the floor.
#Edward Quintion#Barry Price#Chris Jackson#Isaac Beamer#Nevin Jovel#Drew Jovel#ibvs#tw fighting#tw knives#long post#Fucking FINALLY#I've been working on this for ages#Lost's writing
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ok guys i genuinely don't know what to make of this but before we begin
TW: potential s3xu4l a5s4ult, kidnapping?? IDK MAN I'M REALLY BAFFLED BY THIS WHOLE SITUATION
so earlier i was at a mcdonalds studying with my friends, and we wrapped up at about 9 30? cuz we live on different streets we went separate directions so i walked home alone
then otw home this boy came out from behind a pillar and tapped my shoulder...he looked about 11 or 12? he asked me to piggyback him, which was a pretty odd request and when i asked why, he claimed that his leg was injured. ok normally i would've dropped everything and offered my assistance immediately but idk i had a bad feeling about this whole thing, so i just said my back was injured (not a complete lie, i have scoliosis) BUT being a bio student, i helped him check and strangely there were no visible signs of injury on his leg? and he was walking normally when he approached me so...
the sus thing is that although offered other ways of helping him get back home he kept insisting that i piggyback him, and he looked terrified for some reason. i offered to do the human crutch thingy, but he didn't end up putting his hand on my shoulder and just walked NORMALLY ahead of me, back to the same pillar. and i was so weirded out like ?? if you can walk fine why do you need me to piggyback you?
ok normally i wouldn't have thought much of this incident but after going on tiktok i saw many other singaporean girls posting about similar experiences. and the thing is it's happening all across singapore, but most of them are clustered in the west which is where i live?? and some saw the same boy i did, others were approached by different boys, all about the same age?? what the actual HELL is going on cuz if this is an islandwide thing it's rly sus, are these boys just like h0rknee or are they being used by some unscrupulous adults?? and if it's the latter option what is it? SA? kidnapping? what else? do i make a police report? i kinda still remember how the boy looks...
for anyone in sg reading this, please be safe, if you encounter similar boys DO NOT in any circumstances help him out cuz idk what is going on and it could be REALLY DANGEROUS, and for those in other countries be careful of similar things too! please stay safe out there everyone!
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Her Soul is Like Magnolia
Written By: @heckyeahitsnick
Pairing: Harry Styles/OC
Word Count: 20,979
Warnings: Some explicit/foul language
Summary:
Magnolia “Mags” Rahman believes in hard science, has a tendency to stick her foot in her mouth, and is a lover of all things horror and Halloween. Harry Styles likes to toe the line between fact and fiction, strangers and friends, and normal and paranormal.
Harry Styles has a ghost problem.
Mags has a Harry Styles problem.
An au where seeing is believing and everyone is trying their best to treat each other with kindness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Day 1: October 24th, a week from Halloween
“You’re stepping on my foot.”
Mags broke herself out of her stupor, visibly shaking her head. She stared at the person the voice belonged to, trying to orient herself and gather her bearings, and saw that it was her coworker, Liam. “Oh,” she murmured apologetically, “Sorry.” She was so exhausted at work, counting down the minutes until her shift was over at the campus bookstore so she could go home and curl up with Pumpkin, the adorable black cat she adopted only a month ago when it was love at first sight. Grad school was a vicious beast that she had yet learned how to slay. She probably hadn’t slept in the last 48 hours, busy with school, work, and occasionally binging B-rated horror movies on Netflix with Pumpkin. In her drowsy state, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions, like accidentally charging the last customer the wrong price, shelfing the Twilight series under the Biography section, and stepping on her coworker’s foot. She was just so tired.
“Okay? Thanks for apologizing? But you literally haven’t moved. You’re still stepping on my foot!” He pointed at her white sneakers atop his (knock-off) Timberlands.
She gave him a playful glare and replied, “You’re so high-maintenance,” before shifting away from him.
“Okay, well, I just came to tell you I’m headed home a little early,” he paused to eye her with vague concern, “Are you sure you’re okay to close up?”
She snorted, “Does my answer even matter? It’s not like you’re gonna offer to close up for me.”
He grinned good-naturedly, “Yeah you’re right. Makes me feel like less of a dick though.” Putting on his coat and gathering his backpack, he quickly headed for the door as if the devil was chasing him, ignoring the peace sign Mags threw at his retreating figure. Probably eager to go home and chug some beer, or like start a fire, or whatever it was that boys like to do. Mags wouldn’t know. She couldn’t possibly even attempt to understand the male psyche.
Like for example, Mags looked at the only customer in the bookstore, frantically pacing through the aisles and muttering incomprehensibly to himself. His curly hair was tussled and frayed, not in the intentional bedhead way that some people, like her ex-boyfriend, styled it in an attempt to look good but actually coming off as a douche, but in a way that indicated he’s probably been constantly running his hand through it. Probably exam stress, she mused, considering the boy’s current state. He was tall too, she observed, but that was overshadowed by his hunched shoulders, head facing down, and of course the frantic pacing.
“Dude. Are you okay?” Mags called out in a voice slightly louder than usual.
No answer, as if he didn’t even hear her. She realized she should probably be a bit more cautious. The customer honestly was acting very strange. He could probably be planning to rob the bookstore. She was the only employee left, her slight build and big brown eyes (which her friends called doe-eyed but Mags herself considered to look more like a fish) weren’t enough to intimidate anyone. She laughed softly to herself. Like anyone would rob this bookstore. College students never paid with cash and Mags probably had negative three dollars to her name and an even lower will to live. If someone held her at gunpoint asking her to hand over her wallet, she’d probably wouldn’t be able to stop herself from bursting into laughter. Besides, he looked like a college student himself. An English major, she guessed, considering his pretentious wool coat and heeled boots. She did a double take. Glittery, heeled boots apparently. She would know, she’s dated her fair share of them.
You’re being so foolish, Maggie-Girl, she scolded herself with the affectionate nickname she gave herself and that no one (read: especially Niall, her roommate’s, Marisol’s, boyfriend) was ever allowed to address her as.
The draft Liam let in earlier caused her to shudder. Wrapping her yellow cardigan tightly across her chest, she longingly gazed out the window. The weather was the perfect crispy fall weather, with orange leaves littering the sidewalks and she sighed, wistfully thinking about the brisk air sure to greet her as she biked home. If only the boy would leave, she could be on her way!
She glanced at her watch and decided, screw her self-preservation. She stepped out from behind the check-out counter and headed towards the boy. He barely noticed her, continuing to drag his fingers frantically through the spines of the books on the shelf. Mags just now realized they were standing under the horror section of the store. Weird.
“Hey, um, dude. Are you okay?” She asked with a voice that she hoped sounded professional and confident but probably came across as a mix of “wow-I-don’t-get-paid-enough for this” and “maybe I don’t wanna die?”
Her presence seems to finally break him out of whatever trance he was in. He looked up at her, taking Mags aback. He’s kind of cute, she thought, if she ignored the bluish-purple bags under his green eyes and his pink lips twisted into a frown. Potentially a robber, possibly a murderer who likes to creep out female employees in bookstore by having a near breakdown in the horror section, sure, but at least he was nice to look at.
“What?”
Mags gave him an ironic smile in return. “Ah, you speak! Thank god. I was beginning to think your only talents were to burn a hole through the carpet.”
His brows furrowed in confusion, “What?” he repeated in frustration.
Maybe I gave him more credit than he deserved she thought to herself. Out loud, she said, “Look. Technically, we’re closing in 5 minutes. You looked like you needed help. What’re you looking for? Maybe then we can both get out of here.”
His eyes darted nervously to the side. “A book,” is his brilliant reply.
“Yeah? I figured?” She said, stretching out her word because at this point, who cared if the boy could tell she thought he was ridiculous. This was definitely a strange scenario and she wondered if her own sleep-deprivation caused her to dream up this handsome boy with vague answers and possibly three functioning braincells. She briefly had a thought that this was like a reverse You situation, where he was the Joe to her Beck, but she quickly stopped her overactive imagination “Any book in particular?”
“Yeah, um,” the boy quickly straightened up and looked her in the eyes, as if he finally came to the realization that he was coming off a little odd, “I’m looking for a horror book. Obviously. But like, something non-fiction? Like about, y’know. Ghosts.“
“Ghosts?” She cautiously prodded, “but non-fiction? Like…paranormal accounts?”
“Yes! Like, I dunno, spooky shit. Stuff, sorry. Paranormal stuff about like haunted houses,” His eyes brightened, and his word tumbled out faster with a tinge of hope. “Hey! You wouldn’t happen to have a How-To book about how to cleanse a house that’s haunted?”
Mags tried. She really did try. Not the fake trying like when she tries to make it to her 8 am class every Tuesday morning and ‘accidentally’ snoozes her alarm. Not even the fake trying she does when Marisol makes her do sit-ups at the gym for their weekly (read: monthly) workout and she taps out after 5. But even trying her hardest meant she could not stop the laughter that escaped her mouth.
“Haha, I’m sorry, what?” She laughed, her face in disbelief and amusement, clutching her stomach, “You want what? What is this? Did you end up watching too many episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved ‘cuz honestly, I’m not sure you got the right bone structure to be Shane. You’re funny though, I’ll give you that!”
The laughter and words began to trail off because the boy, his face completely changed. The hopeful, pleading gleam that was in his eyes suddenly hardened in anger. Mags quickly tried to reign herself in, registering that he was not amused, and she’d accidentally offended him.
“I –“ She began, ready to start apologizing because she realized she completely read the room wrong. “Forget it!” He cut her off, quickly stuffing the book he had in his hands back into the bookshelf.
“Whatever.” He peered at her nametag disdainfully, “Don’t offer to help if you don’t intend to, Magnolia,” spewing her name out like it was poison in his mouth.
“Wait! I’m sor – “
“Forget it. Sorry I asked!” He exclaimed, abruptly walking past her, his shoulders jostling hers and she whipped around to try and apologize once more.
But he left just as quickly as Liam did. Like the devil was chasing him.
Mags turned around and pulled out the book he had in his hands (and totally shelfed in the wrong place), trailing her fingers across the blue leather bound and golden imprinted letters. “Exorcism: Encounters with the Paranormal and Occult,” she muttered to herself, and then looked up at the door that the boy had exited from. “Nonfiction.”
She slumped against the bookshelf, mentally kicking herself. Why don’t you ever think before you speak?! She berated herself morosely. Had she taken a second to assess the situation, she would’ve registered his worried eyes and another emotion that she couldn’t quite place. Could it have been…fear? She eyed the book in her hand. What could that boy possibly be afraid of?
Her phone dinged with a text message. She pulled it out of her pocket and immediately groaned reading the message from Marisol.
Pumpkin just shat (shitted? shatted?) on the living room carpet J Can’t wait ‘till ur home.
If Mags was an English major, she’d probably see an irony in this. Or like a metaphor, because she shat all over that boy’s concerns and like the shit was representative of like…. being a dick? But she wasn’t an English major. Obviously.
The only thing her soon-to-be-chemist brain could come up with was: well, fuck, isn’t karma a bitch.
_______________________________________________________________________
Day 3: October 26th - 5 days until Halloween
“Be honest with me. Am I gonna die?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Niall!” Mags exclaimed, shifting her backpack onto her other shoulder, “For the last time! I. Don’t. Know.”
“But look closely!” He pestered, shoving his arm into her face, whining. “Tell me this rash doesn’t look bad. It’s red! And like, rashy! And it itches, Mags, it itches so bad! I think it’s infected!”
She backed away from him and shoved the offending arm away, quickly muttering an apology to the guy in a suit and tie behind her, before facing Niall again with widened eyes (well, wider than usually because Fish Eyes, remember?). “Seriously, Niall, I really can’t deal with you before I’ve had my morning tea.”
“But I – “
She cut him off. “And rashes can’t be infected! Now can we puh-lease talk about something else? Anything else. I’ll literally discuss your sex life with Marisol right now if it means we can stop talking about your nasty-ass rash!” This time, she ignored the glare from the man in the business suit; she can’t be blamed for his eavesdropping.
While Niall, in typical Niall fashion (taking everything literally), began to recount a tale about his midnight rendezvous with Marisol, Mags let her mind wander. She impatiently tapped her foot against the floor, sparing another glance at her watch, while also giving her own mental nod of approval at the store’s festive decorations (fake spider webs and caution tapes that adorned the doors and counter). For a chain that had a slew of ridiculous redundant names for their drinks (she will always bemoan the fact that people don’t realize that a chai tea is literally translated to tea tea), they sure knew how to get into the Halloween spirit. The line at Starbucks was long she noted, and with four people ahead of them, she and Niall would be late for their lecture if things didn’t speed up. Mags just knew she should’ve made her own cup of chai this morning, but it never tasted the same as when her mom made it, and all it would do is make her more homesick.
Niall briefly interrupted her train of thought with a quick interjection, “Yo, Maggie are you listening to me,” to which she responded with a quick lie, “Yes!” followed by a “And don’t call me that!” with a soft jab to his ribs.
The gears in her mind shifted, wandering to the boy from the bookstore last night. She couldn’t stop thinking about him last night on her bike ride home, during her stern lecture with Pumpkin about the importance of using the litter box, all the way until she finally went to bed. What was he so scared of? She pondered while also still scolding herself for handling the situation absolutely in the worst way. Though she didn’t mean to, she doesn’t ever intend to come across as so rude and aggressive. She just had a knack for blurting out the wrong thing that made it hard for people to see that she actually had a heart of gold.
Well, maybe not gold, she thought. That was giving herself too much credit. To be sure, she interrupted Niall’s ramblings with a quick interjection, “Hey quick question. Would you say I have a heart of gold or like…a heart of bronze?”
He was used to her antics; his blue eyes didn’t even hesitate before meeting hers. “Are we using an Olympic scale? Like gold would be first place and like the kindest person ever?” Acknowledging her nod, he held his fingers to his chin, making the universal thinking face as he mulled over her question.
She barely heard his answer (“Maybe a happy medium, like a silver heart? You suck at first impressions but once ya get to know ya, you’re super sweet,” the blonde mused in the background) because something, or more like someone, caught her eye. She watched him walk past her, exiting the Starbucks. Her eyes locked in on a pair of glittery boots and trailed up a pair of black jeans, a burgundy hoodie, and finally, green eyes that looked even more sleep-deprived than last night if that was possible, until she stopped at the black beanie that did little to contain the escaping brown curls.
It was the boy! The boy from last night!
“It’s him!” She shouted to Niall, dragging him by the arm so she could catch the boy before he left, ignoring Niall’s cries (“Wait, we were next in line!”)
“Hey!” Mags shouted, ignoring the grimace of the man in the suit, as she chased after the boy with a disgruntled Niall slowly trailing behind. She followed the boy outside, desperate to get his attention. “Ghost boy!” she shouted, somewhat hysterically, “Wait!”
Finally, he turned around, just registering that the crazy girl running on the sidewalk was trying to get his attention. His eyes widened in surprised and then narrowed with recognition, as he frowned.
“I - What did you just call me?” He said, his voice huskier than Mags recalled.
“Um, I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name last night. I needed to get your attention! I needed to apologize.” Her eyes took in his appearance. He looked even more haggard than yesterday. His face seemed sunken in and his skin dull. He was still really handsome, if her heartrate was any indicator, but he looked worse for wear.
“Look,” she continued, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to like, laugh at you or anything. Let me make it up to you! I can probably help you find the book you’re looking for! My conscious is like, really annoying, and I couldn’t sleep last night ‘cuz I felt so bad and I looked up a shit ton of books about hauntings. Nonfiction ones! For whatever mysterious reason you need them for.”
His brows furrowed and his frown deepened, “What?” He shook his head from side to side, as if to shake away his confusion, “Look s’all good. It’s fine. I’ll figure it out on my own,” He turned as if to walk away before adding as an afterthought, “You curse a lot, y’know?”
Before she could even respond, she was interrupted again (which was probably a good thing because her knee-jerk response was to say “No shit sherlock”) by Niall coming to a stop beside her.
“Mags, what the actual fuck? We were next in line!” He bent over slightly, resting his hands against his knees as he paused to catch his breath from the strenuous five steps he took from the Starbucks door to where she and the boy were standing. He looked up and nodded, “What’s up, Harry?”
“Hey Niall,” the boy, Harry, said as he eyed the pair of them cautiously, like he didn’t want anyone to think he could be associated with them. “I’ll catch you later.”
“Wait, Harry!” Magnolia cried out, making immediate use of his name, “Seriously, tell me what’s wrong! I can help!” But her cries fell to deaf ears as she watched Harry walk off, his shoulders in his seemingly perpetual slump, one hand jammed into his pocket and the other holding his coffee cup as he crossed the street.
“So,” Niall began, “Couple of things to unpack here. We don’t have coffee, I’m a little more out of shape that I thought I was, and we’re definitely late for class so I suggest we should just skip it and grab some food.” He finally straightened up and looked at Mags, as if was an afterthought, “Wait. How d’you know Harry? Did you sleep with him?”
_______________________________________________________________________
Day 4: October 27th, 4 days until Halloween
On days like this, Mags truly does take a second to appreciate the finer things in life. The fall foliage that lined the paved pebble pathways on the university’s campus only contributed to the magical spell of October. As maple leaves fluttered downwind and the cool wind blew against her skin, she embraced the enchanting atmosphere of the autumnal weather, taking in the beauty as college students hurried past her, a colorful, warm blend of red scarves, brown coats, olive sweaters, and all. The breeze that blew through her dark hair didn’t even bother her, when usually she’d be grumpy considering how long it takes her to tame the thick, wavy locks into an acceptable amount of frizz. Despite having an o-chem midterm waiting for her, she slowed her pace to truly enjoy the bliss she was in. Mags paused on the cobblestone to close her eyes and breathe in the cold air, a small smile slowly forming on her face. Nothing could ruin the feeling of contentment that she was feeling right now and –
“What’re you doin’?”
A deep baritone disrupted her. She stands corrected. Maybe she could be bothered. She took a longer second to herself, keeping her eyes closed and steadying her breathing before planning to huffily face whomever (whoever? Whomstever? Times like this really made Mags rejoice at the fact she wasn’t an English major) decided to ruin her moment of peace.
The same voice let out a chuckle. “Hey, are you planning to open your eyes anytime soon?”
It took her a second, but Mags recognized that voice. Ghost Boy! Harry! She whipped around towards the voice, her hair following along and sharply striking her face and shoulders as she settled her brown eyes on Harry. She was so happy to see him, even if he did ruin the coming-of-age, dramatic introspective Bollywood moment she was having to herself. Magnolia gazed at him, taking the surprisingly peaceful silence between them to truly assess him. His green eyes peered back at her, glistening from the cold breeze, pronounced by the dark purple bags that seemed to have worsened overnight. His cheekbones jutted out just below, and lower, his pink lips settled in an expression she couldn’t quite decipher, but she’d guess wistful if she had to. He seemed to be in better spirits, dressed in a chunky caramel cable-knit sweater. Maybe it was how cozily he was dressed or perhaps it was the softness enhanced by his sleepy demeanor, but Mags was hit by a sudden wave of endearment for him. For a boy she hardly knew! She shook off the weird feelings that washed over her and broke the silence.
“Harry!” She quickly recalled all their past encounters and decided to approach this conversation with a little less well-meaning aggression and exuberance. “Harry,” she calmly tried again, “I’m so glad you’re here. I really, really need you to listen to me. I am really and truly sorry I laughed at you the other day.” He opened his mouth to respond, but Mags bulldozed on, not wanting to lose her chance. “I – look, I have knack for saying the wrong thing but I promise that I really want to help you with –“ She paused as she realized she never knew what exactly seemed to be plaguing him, but persevered nevertheless, “with whatever it is that’s bugging you. I pinky promise I can help - somehow!”
He broke into an amused smile, one that Mags couldn’t help notice was a very nice smile at that. “Pinky promise, huh?” He prodded, “That’s pretty serious for someone who quite literally just met me and doesn’t even know what my problem is.”
“Well, whatever it is, just tell me! I won’t laugh!” Mags pleaded.
“Do you promise not to laugh?”
“I promise!” She said solemnly, her face somber, nodding with earnestness.
“Do you,” he paused, inhaling a deep breath, as Mags leaned in closer to listen, breath baited, eyes unwavering, “do you pinky promise?”
“Oh!” She swatted at him with a free hand as she realized he was teasing her, as he stepped away laughing.
“Sorry,” he smiled, not looking the least bit apologetic, “Couldn’t help m’self.”
They shared a small moment, each looking at the other with their own, soft smiles before
Harry suddenly straightened up, his smile vanishing just as Mags began to welcome the sight. His tone sobered, “I did wanna say m’sorry for being kinda a dick to you. I’m dealing with…something right now and I really didn’t mean to take it out on you, Magnolia.”
“Mags,” she instinctively corrected, “Magnolia is reserved for customers that I don’t insult.”
“Mags,” he repeated wryly, “I like that. Well anyways, just happen to pass you and wanted to say that.” He gestured to the papers she had forgotten were clutched in her hands, “Anyways, looks like you’ve got a test on…” He trailed off, squinting at her neat penmanship of carefully copied formulas and calculations, “rocket science or quantum physics or whatever those horrible numbers mean. Just looking at it is giving me a headache. I’m sure you’ll do well though. G’luck!” He said, turning to leave.
“No wait!” She was not going to lose another chance. Truly, she did feel awful about how she treated Harry, but also, she didn’t want him to go for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. She liked his presence and didn’t want the conversation to end just yet. “Will you seriously tell me what’s wrong? Please?”
He considered her, his guarded eyes boring into hers for what felt like eternity, not even breaking contact when a boy with rounded hipster coke-bottle glasses and a plaid coat bumped against her shoulder without so much as an apology (friggin’ English majors she briefly lamented).
“Yeah, okay,” he conceded, running his hands roughly through his brown curls, “You think I’m crazy anyways and it’s not like my life can get any weirder.” He pursed his lips as he formulated his thoughts. Mags tried to be patient, resisting the urge to check her watch because she did actually care about her grades and she did have a midterm to get to after all and Niall was such a push-over he wouldn’t be able to save her a seat for much longer, but she had to hear what he had to say. Just as she was going to (gently, she swears) prompt Harry, he broke his contemplative silence.
“Um. Okay so basically,” he stalled, scratching at his hairline before spewing out in anxious, bullet-fast speech, “I um, pretty-sure-I-accidentally-summoned-like-a-demon-or-ghost-or-some-evil-otherwordly-spirit-in-my-house-and-now-I’m-being-haunted.
Brown eyes blinked in his directions. To her credit, Mags remained composed despite her thoughts that ranged from what the actual fuck, this boy is psychotic to my minority ass is not equipped for this situation to aww he looks kinda cute when he’s nervous.
“Yes,” in reality is how she responded, trying to maintain neutral as she organized her thoughts, her voice robotic, “I understand.”
“Yeah, see, I knew this was a mistake. I didn’t really expect you to believe me,” his hopeful expression fading to disappointment, belying his words.
“No! Okay, yeah I don’t believe you,” she confessed, “but,” brandishing her speech with wild gestures, “I can help you prove that your house isn’t haunted! That’ll like give both you and I peace of mind! Not right now, because I really do have to go kick some o-chem ass but like, later tonight? Take my number, text me your address, and we can like ghostbust the fuck out of your non-haunted home!”
There was a brief moment of hesitation before Harry nodded in agreement, albeit reluctantly but hey, she’d take it, Mags quickly gushed out her cellphone number as Harry’s thumb clumsily attempting to enter each digit and keep up.
Mags raced away, peeking at her watch and sparing a parting glance at Harry and calling out, “I’m serious Harry, if I don’t get a text, I will haunt you myself! And I am way more annoying than a ghost!”
He smiled fondly in response, “I don’t doubt that. I swear I’ll text you,”
“Promise?” she shouted, as she retreated further away from him to her awaiting exam.
“Pinky promise.”
_______________________________________________________________________
Same day, later that evening
Mags leans against the bay window in the living room, watching the rain drops splatter against the window. A cup of chai in one hand, a worn murder-mystery novel in the other, with Pumpkin curled up against her feet hidden under thick socks, she truly felt content. Marisol had thrown a quilt over Mags legs earlier as the former left for work. Mags was so immersed in the book’s plot she barely gave the other girl an appreciative smile but she was sure Marisol knew.
She was pretty sure she aced her midterm exam earlier that day (and Niall was fairly confident that he didn’t fail so it was a win-win for all) and she was able to make some progress with Harry. The curly haired boy, whom she met for the first time a mere three days ago, seemed to consume a lot of her free time and thoughts.
He was just so curious, and skittish, and he genuinely did seem scared of something. Mags was a firm believer in science, statistics, hard, factual data. Give her an equation to solve or a statistical analysis to decipher over an essay any day. Even if she wasn’t a believer, she knew better than to laugh at others, even if her actions didn’t always reflect that. She had never believed in Santa Claus, being Muslim and all, but she’d been the one to comfort Kevin Vo in the first grade when the classroom bully had tried to convince others that Santa was fictitious. Likewise, even though she didn’t truly know Harry, she did believe that something was scaring him, and she was determined to figure out what it was. But one thing was sure, she positively knew it was not a ghost.
Her phone rang out with a small chime, alerting her of a text message.
Hey, It’s Harry. Harry Styles.
Before she could respond, her phone dinged again.
Or as you like to call me, Ghost Boy.
harry!! im so glad u txted!!!
I keep my promises. Are you sure you want to come to my house that is DEFINITELY haunted?
yes i do wanna come to ur house that is definitely NOTT(!!) haunted. send me ur addy.
Once receiving his address, Mags began to root through her closet for a warmer coat and umbrella. She grabbed her keys, gave Pumpkin an affectionate kiss on her furry little forehead, and gave herself one last look at the mirror. She almost found herself reapplying her mascara and running a brush through her hair, but she fought the urge. This is what she always looks like, and she wasn’t sure why she cared so much about her appearance for this friendly little demonic (but not really) excursion she was about to partake in. Certainly, she’s looked worse before. Liam has seem her adorned in her older brother’s shapeless, oversized sweaters as she hastily arrived seconds before her shift and Niall had seen her when she hadn’t showered in days, bra forgotten, her clothes stained, and remnants of last night’s dinner on her face (although, granted it had been Finals week).
As her blonde companion came to mind, as an afterthought, she shot one more text to Harry; just as a precaution because as attractive as he was, she didn’t know him that well yet. Though she doubted his heart was anything but sincere and good, she had to be safe.
also im bringin niall. the more the merrier rite?? (((:
Niall and Mags stood side by side on the property, their sneakers and boots respectively crunching the orange leaves that littered the lawn, as they gazed up. The house was huge, intricate, a stark contrast against the cloudy gray sky, and beautiful. Hauntingly so. If she believed in ghosts, Mags could envision how one would think this particular house was haunted. The brown and orange wood that made the exterior seemed to indicate that this house could creak when it wasn’t supposed to, the broken shutters revealing that the house holds secrets from its past, the surrounding black iron gates emitting a foreboding sense of doom.
But, she knew how to deal with facts. And the facts were that this house was old as shit and old houses liked to creak. She was sure that Harry probably just had an overactive imagination, which she was here to quell.
“Holy hell, you’re tellin’ me that Harry lives here? In this friggin’ place?” Niall let out a low appreciative whistle, “I’m definitely gonna have to convince him to host a house party here.”
She snorted in response, “Right? He couldn’t have lived in shitty student housing like the rest of us?”
They made their way to the porch, carefully side-stepping planks of rotting wood and loose nails. As Niall knocked, Mags sent a quick text to Harry alerting him of their presence. She’d filled Niall in when she picked him up for this adventure, letting him know that Harry was scared that this house was haunted and that they, soon to be scientists, were going to prove that it was all just hodgepodge. Blasphemous. A figment of his imagination. And of course, Niall was game, as he always was, his laidback and flexible personality among the many traits that Mags loved about the Irishman. The door creaked open, groaning under the movement of shifting wood, as Harry greeted them with an appreciative smile.
“Hey. Come in. Thanks for doing this, honestly,” he ushered them inside, into the house, “though I’m not sure how smart this idea is, or why you’d be more equipped to tell if this house is haunted more than me, considering one of ya have literally drank yourself into a drunken stupor and became convinced that Big Bird was a part of a larger conspiracy theory.”
“Falsifications!” Niall boasted, while Mags yelled in her defense, “Hey that was literally ONE time!”
Both Harry and Niall shot her a concerned look. “Right,” she realized, “You were referring to Niall because we just met and how could you possibly know that about me? Haha. Moooving on.”
Niall and Harry amicably bickered in the background and Mags wandered off to take in her surroundings. She had every intention of taking off her heavy coat as she surveyed the house, taking in the wood floors, antique furniture, mosaic windows, and high ceilings, but there was a chill in the air, despite the burning fire crackling in fireplace. She turned to question Harry about the temperature, and his eyes were already on her, watching her take everything in with an unidentifiable emotion. Recovering from his unexpected gaze, she questioned, “Why’s it so cold in here? Trying to save money on bills?”
Harry seemed validated by her question, “See! So you notice that too! No matter how much I crank the thermostat or feed wood to the fireplace, it is always chilly in here.”
Niall nodded sagely, “Ah yes. A very common indicator that a house is haunted,” which caused Harry to nod enthusiastically in agreement in having found his kindred spirit and Mags to shoot Niall a look of annoyance.
“Or,” she interjected, “It could mean literally anything else. Climate change can be linked to more severe, harsher winters and this has certainly been a record-breaking cold October.” This, in turn, prompted Niall and Harry to shoot each other a look, as if to fondly say they found her adorable. Huffing slightly, she continued, “Okay, Harry, let’s get down to business. What else is making you think you’re haunted? Tell me everything.”
Harry nodded, “It’s a long story. Let’s get settled on the couch, I’ll grab us some drinks. This is going to be an interesting evening.”
Wine in hand (and a beer for Niall), bodies settled, and fire crackling, the trio sat on the rug and couch, eyes on Harry. He cleared his throat, an odd hush falling over them as he began his tale, “Well, let’s start from the beginning. The reason I even can afford to live in this house is because Bertha, the old widow who owns the place. She used to live here and took a liking to me, so she charges me cheap rent after her granddaughter took her to another state to live with her.”
“Gilf,” Niall responded nodding, as Mags inquired, “Wait, how did you even know Bertha?”
“We played Bingo together,” Harry clarified, which raised more questions, but he didn’t elaborate, “Anyways, I lived here for about a month, no problems other than the usually leaky faucets and the sorts. But one evening,” he broke off, lowering his head to focus on the arms of his sweater stretched over his palm, his fingers twiddling anxiously.
He looks so sad and worried. Mags instinctively reached out and placed a comforting hand on his knee, the warmth of his skin felt through his jeans, causing Harry to look up as she smiled in reassurance.
“Right,” he persisted, “Well, one evening, about a week ago, my friend Louis and I were having drinks and watching horror movies, as a little farewell celebration because he was going to study abroad the next day. Getting into the Halloween spirit y’know? We were drunk and shootin’ the piss, and Louis suggested we hold a séance as he had a Ouija board in his car.”
“He just happened to have a Ouija board in his car?” Mags questioned in disbelief.
“He’s odd like that,” Harry explained, coinciding with Niall’s comment “Yeah, that checks out. Sounds like Louis!” Once again, reminding Mags that Niall was such a social person, and of course he somehow knew this Louis character.
“So we were just being stupid, lighting candles and asking the Ouija board silly questions and really just goofing off,” the sound of the rain grew louder, the droplets slapping against the wooden house and glass windows, prompting Harry to raise his voice to be heard, “And off Louis went to Brazil the next day to study abroad. And over the next few days, things kept happening.”
“Things?” Mags encouraged.
“Things like…I would hear sounds in the night. The wood creaks like someone is walking through the house and I hear strange sounds like scratching on the walls. The lights randomly flicker,” He takes in a shuddering breath, his hands absentmindedly pulling at a loose thread form his sweater in apprehension, “and I dunno, a painting literally fell off the wall in the dead of the night. That is not normal! Sometimes, there’s a weird smell in here, like rotten eggs, and it doesn’t go away no matter how hard I clean or how much air freshener I buy. It is always so cold in here and I haven’t been able to sleep in days, because I feel like something is just…watching me. If I can sleep, it’s only for a little because I’ll have nightmares, or I find myself waking up in the middle of the night.” Harry’s voice gets louder and louder, becoming more agitated and fearful as he recounts, “I can’t take it anymore, but I’m stuck here until the next semester but I’m not sure how much longer I can last.”
A quietness overtakes them, as everyone processes the story. Once again, Harry breaks the silence, “I dunno what we did that night, but I think. I think we definitely woke something.”
Mags stared at him, her heart feeling for him and she so desperately wished she could just give him the answers. Her brain was in overdrive, considering what could be source causing all the strangeness. Sleep deprivation can cause a lot of symptoms, her mind raced, delirium, hallucinations, your cognitive functions skewed because of being loopy. Because she believed, that while he may believe everything he said to be genuine, there were other plausible explanations. Ones that didn’t include the paranormal.
“Well, we’re here for ya mate,” Niall promised as Mags murmured in agreement. “We ain’t leaving ya alone tonight and we’ll be here to hear anything strange.”
Harry exhaled in obvious relief, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Thanks mate,” he said, as Niall cheered and went off to grab himself another beer, leaving the pair alone, “And thank you, Mags. I just, can’t explain it, but I feel better just having you here.”
Mags looked at him, the fire dancing in the reflection of his eyes. His words were sincere and made her feel warm despite the chill, alighting her nerves. “Of course,” was all she could muster in response, her voice thick with emotion.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Day 5: October 28th, 3 days until Halloween
The rest of last night had passed in a similar fashion. They watched a B-rated cult classic on the Sy-Fy channel, played a rousing game of scrabble in which Niall of all people emerged victorious (the winning word with triple points: craic), and just swapping stories about their lives. It was fun, and Harry had looked the most relaxed that she had ever seen him. But when they woke in the morning, the mood was somber. Niall and Mags hadn’t heard a single peep the entire night, sleeping peacefully until morning, leaving Harry to fret over two options: the fear that he had gone crazy or that they wouldn’t believe him.
Mags was quick to dissipate both fears, assuring him that she would go home, shower, pack herself a bag, and come back again after work. If anything, she knew just having someone there with him helped Harry sleep better than he had in days, and although Niall wouldn’t be able to make it as he had a date night planned with Marisol, Mags wanted to be there for Harry. Harry was kind, Mags discerned, the way he had draped a blanket over her snoring figure last night and had given Niall his extra pillow. And the way she felt when he looked at her? She couldn’t describe. It was unlike any feeling that not even her past boyfriends made her feel, and it was simply small touches and gazes. She felt like a Victorian woman in the early ages, having to fan herself at the slightest contact, becoming undone and exhilarated when Harry had reached to embrace her in a hug earlier that day, his sweater rising to revealing his tanned, taut stomach and a peek of tattoos.
She drifted through work in a haze. She barely could recall any of the customers and she wouldn’t be able to you what she and Liam chatted about throughout her shift. She would get off in the evening, since she was closing again, and Harry insisted on coming to pick her up so they could walk back together to his home. Pumpkin lazily stalked through the aisles of the store, darting between the shelves and under tables as Mags watched in amusement. Mags wanted to bring Pumpkin along for their sleepover, and Harry thought it was a great idea because in his words, “A black cat would totally be able to sense if something was off.” Her bosses were never in the store and she knew Liam didn’t mind Pumpkin’s presence, if the fact that he had spent the latter half of the day cooing at her pink nose and soft paws, giving her belly rubs and half his lunch to share was any indicator.
Though she knew she was being silly, she mused as she kneeled on the worn carpet and shelved a stack of books, she couldn’t help feeling the anticipation and nervousness that usually precedes a date. But it wasn’t a date. She was just feeling this way because Niall wouldn’t be there and it would be just her and Harry in that big old house, alone together. If she was being honest, she would admit that she did wish it was a date. She found herself drawn to Harry, his caring personality and really taken by his dimples and all. His husky, low voice stirred something deep in her stomach, and when she heard the baritone in his throaty voice, coated with sleepiness earlier in the morning? She felt flush and wonderstruck, all at once.
But it wasn’t a date. Facing facts is what she did best. It was just two people on their way to becoming friends, working to prove that his house was not being inhabited by any spirits, that’s all. Completely platonic, normal stuff.
When it was 8 minutes to closing, Mags began to make sure that everything was put away so she could leave on time considering there probably wouldn’t be any last-minute customers, noting that Pumpkin was now currently snoozing near the cash register. She was deep in thought, dusting a particularly dusty shelf, secretly becoming more and more excited at the thought of spending more time with Harry.
“Boo!”
“Holy shit!” Mags’ heart jumped out of her chest, as she whirled around in fear, only to be met with a laughing Harry, one hand outstretched and grasping the bookshelf, the other across his stomach as he doubled over in laughter.
“You’re an idiot!” She declared, without malice, shoving her shoulders against his. “Absolutely awful.”
“Y’know, for a girl who says she isn’t afraid of ghosts, you sure are quite jumpy.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m a girl, Harry. I have real things to fear. Like creepy men that come in here to harass me!”
His eyes flashed with amusement as he leaned against the shelf. “If you want me to leave, just say the word.”
Mags just smiled to herself in response, choosing to ignore his comment. “I’m almost finished up here and then I’ll be ready to go.”
“Y’know,” said Harry, his tone become dramatic and teasing, “This is where we first met. When you first accosted me here, in this very aisle – “
“I did NOT accost you! You have to admit you were acting so suspicious!” Mags exclaimed indignantly. She straightened out one of the books and wondered aloud, “But it’s a bit crazy innit? That we just came into each other’s lives a mere four days ago?”
“Crazy,” Harry agreed, his sudden low and husky tone causing Mags to look up at him. “Feels like I’ve known you forever.” His eyes caught her with an unrecognizable expression, and Mags stared back, unable to look away. It’s like she was in a trance. Harry takes a step towards her, closing the small gap between them, standing so close that she could feel the warmth exuding from his chest, could see the freckles that dotted his green eyes, could practically hear his heart beating in his chest. Now was it just her or was his heart beating very, very fast?
Another second passes between them and Harry brings up his hand, placing it affectionally against her cheek, as Mags impulsively nuzzles against his palm. He leans in, closing the virtually non-existence gap between, his eyes focused on her lips, and all she could think was Is he going to – Is this really happening?
“Please tell me you guys are still open!” An unfamiliar voice shouts, as a male college student races in, eyes frantic and voice desperate.
Harry and Mags spring apart, their bodies separating as they turned to face the newcomer.
“I’ve got a paper due tonight on a book that I haven’t read. Please tell me you’re open and that you have Shakespeare!”
“Y-yes,” Mags answered, her voice a little shaky as she avoids looking at Harry, “Technically, we’re still open for another 2 minutes. You said Shakespeare? Which one?”
The boy looks around, scanning the books in the aisle before answering, “William, I think.”
She lets out a huge sigh before finally looking at Harry. “I’m just gonna help this last customer and then we can lock up and head out.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
She guides the customer to the classic literature section; On the outside, she was explaining how prolific of an author Shakespeare was but internally, she was still thinking about her interaction with Harry. They were already becoming so close. When people get close, Mags discovered from her 23 years on Earth, they find the things they like and appreciate about you. But it’s a double-edge sword. That kind of intimacy also reveals the unpleasant things, it gives the other an opportunity to see the all the little things that makes a person real. Real was messy and not always pleasant. What if Harry saw all the little things that made Mags real – her tendency to ramble, her need to always have opinions about everything that she often loudly expressed, her struggle to be emotionally vulnerable with others – and decided that she’s easier to admire from afar. It was always a fear of hers, one of those doubts deep within her heart that she’d never expressed, never spoken into existence, but that still dwelled profoundly within; the fear that the more you got to know her, the harder she’d become to love.
In the middle of asking the customer probing questions, and finally being able to deduce he was looking for Othello, she turned to look at Harry who was across the shop. Just like countless times before, she found that his eyes were already on her.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Okay,” Mags twisted the key into the lock and pulled the door of the bookstore before turning to face Harry, “We are good to go.”
It took Mags seemingly forever to get the last customer checked out and out of the store. She and Harry seemed to have an unspoken agreement to not speak of whatever it was that almost happened between them.
Harry lifted the cat carrier up into his arms as Pumpkin let out an adorable little mewl, begging for attention. Harry stuck his finger between the bars, laughing as Pumpkin’s pink tongue darted out to lick his finger. “Well, how about this? We go drop Pumpkin off at my house and let her get settled. And then how about you and I go grab some dinner. There’s a diner nearby and I’m sure you’re famished,” Harry suggested, all the while playing with Pumpkin and not meeting her eye.
On the outside, Mags was cool, calm, and collected and she offhandedly remarked, “Sure” in agreement. But on the inside, she was a whirlwind of emotions. Dinner? Like a date? I’m not ready for this. I mean, I know I was just wishing this was a date but maybe I should have wished that I’d have the foresight to have changed into a top that didn’t have a coffee stain on it or to have applied some gloss before coming to work today. She felt so unprepared.
But then Harry’s looked at her when she responded affirmatively, his eyes shining happily and a broad grin overtook his face, and suddenly, she didn’t quite feel so panicked. It was as if he was nervous that she’d shoot his idea down. Anew with confidence, she stated, “Lead the way.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The diner that Harry had chosen was very kitschy, decorated in a way that heavy handedly embraced the retro 80’s vibe, with neon signs and polyester covers on the booths. The diner even got into the Halloween spirit, as evident by the fake bats that were hung all around the place, and the jack-o-lantern tablecloths covering each tabletop. Harry and Mags were seated across from each other, staring at the menu, as a male artist’s voice crooned from the juke box, singing about holding hands.
“So,” Mags began as she finished assessing the menu, “My options are either a hamburger or a cheeseburger. How ever will I decide?”
Harry laughed at her reaction to the limited food options. “What can I say? Don’t need really need too many options when everything tastes amazing.”
Ordering a cheeseburger and coke for herself, Harry followed suit, and Mags inquired, “You come here often?”
“Yeah,” Harry admitted, his fingers interlocked and resting atop the table, “I just really like the vibes. It’s also a 24-hour diner and I’ve been coming here more often within the past week, since I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”
Right. Harry’s haunting problem. She’d almost completely forgotten, but she wasn’t really to blame. Was she really supposed to stay focused when she and Harry had walked to the diner, their arms intertwined, chatting about anything and everything? When he sat only a few feet across from her, trying to catch her eye but also nervously looking away?
“Hopefully, you can finally start getting some rest soon enough. Maybe we’ll finally be able to put this whole ghost business to rest tonight,” she suggested optimistically.
He gave her a sad smile in return. “Hopefully,” he said, his voice betraying the fact that he didn’t really believe that to be true.
Her heart ached for him once more, so she decided to change the subject. “What song is this anyway? I kinda like it. It’s cute and – what?”
Harry regarded her strangely. “What’d ya mean who is this? It’s the Beatles.”
“Like the bug?” she joked, before quickly admitting, “I’m kidding, I know of the Beatles. I just don’t usually listen to this kind of music, now don’t go and have a heart attack,” she explained as Harry eyes had initially widened at her statement.
“So, what kind of music do you usually listen to?”
“I’m definitely a top 40’s kind of girl,” Mags responded, shifting in her seat. She thanked the waitress, who adorned a festive witch’s hat, as she set down their cokes and began to work on unwrapping her straw, planning to blow the wrapper at an unsuspecting Harry’s face.
“Top 40’s? What’s that?”
“Y’know,” she responded, “Like, the top 40 songs that are most popular on the charts. The songs that are always playing on the radio.” Harry held his hand against his chest, as if he couldn’t fathom anything worse. “You are so pretentious!” She laughed, “Those songs are popular for a reason!”
Harry laughed too, making sure to let Mags know that he was really just teasing her, no malice behind his mockery. “And just when I thought there was absolutely nothing wrong with you, you go ahead and admit to that.”
Mags couldn’t help her own smile from creeping across her face. “I’m far from perfect Harry.”
There’s a look of affection that seems to flash in Harry’s eyes and Mags flushes, not really sure how to deal with it. “Yeah?” he responds, looking down to swirl the condensation pooling at the bottom of his glass of coke, “Could’ve fooled me.”
The rest of their dinner passed by in a similar fashion. Comfortable jokes, casual conversations, and longing looks passing between them. It was the first time that Mags had ever seen Harry look truly happy. She decided it was a good look on him, and right then and there, she made a silent vow to herself that she would do everything in her power to keep that happiness. Even if it meant she’d have to face the devil himself.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Although Harry’s house was cold, it was still much warmer than the bitter icy wind howling outside. Entering his home, Mags immediately took off her shoes and coat, with Harry following suit. She looked to him to see where she should place her coat, and when he removed his dark peacoat and tossed it over an armchair, so did she. He was wearing a cranberry colored crew neck sweater, and he wore it well, leading Mags to ponder if his closets were just an endless supply of comfy clothes, each cozier than the last. Not wanting to be caught eyeing him, she shuffled into the living room, pausing to scratch Pumpkin under her chin, just like she liked it, and to drop her duffle bag onto the floor.
“There a bathroom just down the hall, if you’d like to change into your pajamas there,” Harry offered. He scratched the back of his neck, “I’m just gonna, um, go in my room and change into mine to give you some privacy. I’ll meet you back out here and maybe we can watch a movie or something?”
“Sure,” she replied, somewhat amused. In the bathroom, she changed into her pajamas, which consisted of an old Maroon 5 shirt she had from years ago and a pair of soft fleece pajamas. When packing earlier that day, she had briefly considered wearing something a bit more flattering, but she realized it was futile because she liked to be comfortable when she slept, let alone the fact she didn’t actually own any proper sleepover, her pajama wardrobe made of oversized promotional t-shirts unsuitable for public wear. She washed her face and turned to face her reflection in the mirror. She gazed at her big, brown eyes, droplets of water tinting the tips of her lashes. Her warm tawny brown skin seemed dull and washed out under the harsh fluorescent bathroom lighting. Her dark hair was due for a haircut, and in its windswept state, wasn’t doing her any favors. She swept back her hair into a high ponytail, the stubborn baby hairs quickly reclaiming their rightful spot by framing her face.
Mags was never one of those girls that couldn’t acknowledge that she was pretty (not that girls who struggled with their beauty were less than, everyone had their own struggles. Mags was a large supporter of girls and wouldn’t speak ill of her sisters). She found that she did quite well with the male population, garnering attention when she so desired, and sometimes unwanted attention as well (looking at you, creepy Walmart man that had the audacity to comment on her big boobs just because she wasn’t wearing a bra). But then men she usually gave the time of day weren’t men of substance. Usually, she sought them out for something physical sans the intimacy. But something about Harry had her feeling self-conscious, unnerved. Raw. It was like he was appreciating her outer beauty but also truly seeing her, erratic enthusiasm and all. And even more baffling? He seemed to like what he saw.
Mags broke out of her reverie and found Harry lounging on the couch, remoted aimed at the tv as he flipped through channels. He looked up and automatically offered her one of his signature smiles, “You look lovely,” he commented nonchalantly.
“Thanks,” she responded reservedly. She joined him, careful to sit on the other end of the couch and looked around. “Where’s Pumpkin?”
“I put her on my bed,” Harry confessed, “Figured it’d be more comfortable than the hardwood floor.”
“You’re gonna spoil her,” Mags snickered, “She’s used to sleeping atop the rusty radiator in my apartment.”
Harry and Mags quickly decided they should watch a movie, both wanting to stay in each other’s presence for a little while longer but struggling to find the words to express as such. Picking a movie, however, was a more difficult challenge as Harry felt that he’d had enough horror in his life to last a lifetime and couldn’t bear to suffer through another horror film, prompting Mags to put on “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before,” partially because she wanted to annoy Harry and partially because she just thought the move was really cute, okay? The joke was on her, because apparently Harry loved romance films and was really into the movie.
As entertaining as the movie was, both found their eyes wandering from the screen, looking at each other and quickly glancing away. Mags was very hyperaware of Harry’s presence on the couch, aware of his every movement. It was like her body was in tune with his. Meanwhile, Harry couldn’t help himself. He automatically gravitated to her, like he was seeking out warmth that only she could give. Mid-movie, they found themselves to be sitting side by side, practically no space between them. If Harry wanted to, he could reach out and enclose her hand with his.
And he wants to. And so he does.
And she doesn’t pull away.
They don’t speak, just hold hands, the only source of light illuminating from the television. Neither saying a word in fear of breaking the moment. Harry finds that for the first time in a while, he feels safe. Safe and happy. He hopes she feels the same way.
Needing to hear her voice, to get some reassurance, Harry breaks the silence once again, his eyes never leaving the scene playing out on the television. “I don’t get this part. Why is Lara Jean so scared to be with Peter? She’s so hesitant when he obviously cares for her and she does too.”
“I think it makes sense. It’s pretty accurate,” Mags responds, shrugging slightly.
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because,” Mags bites her cheek in contemplation, “Love is scary, y’know? And letting yourself fall for someone? That’s…well, it’s terrifying.”
“Not if it’s the right person,” Harry said with all the sincerity of an honest man, before quickly adding as an afterthought, “And obviously, Peter is the right person for Lara-Jean.”
“Right, for Lara-Jean,” Mags agreed a little too quickly, “But it’s still scary nonetheless. Some guys aren’t all that great. It’s hard. To trust someone else, to trust them with your vulnerability, to let them know every part of you, and trust them not to hurt you.”
Harry broke the spell. He no longer referred to the characters and implicated himself. “Y’know I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you, right? I…I care about you. You do know that, don’t you?”
As she peers up at him through her lashes and meets his widened eyes, she becomes mindful of how close they had leaned towards each other. She fidgets under his intense gaze, his green eyes piercing through her own. She feels the warmth of his hand on her thigh as he inches closer until his forehead rests against her. A loose stray curl tickles her cheek and his lips just barely brush against hers. She hesitates for only a moment before deepening the kiss, pressing her lips against his forcefully. He pulls away, his pupils blown and the smallest of smiles playing on his lips, and his eyes scan her face for reassurance. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find because he rushes to close the gap and his soft lips captures hers again. She responds eagerly and her hand cups the nape of his neck. His tongue lightly sweeps across her bottom lips before slipping into her mouth, making her hum in approval.
He gently pushes her back until she’s lying on the couch. He breaks the kiss for only a moment to pull off his t-shirt and toss it carelessly across the room before swinging his legs over her until he’s practically straddling her. One hand flies to his head, pulling at his curls as the other rakes it’s fingernails into his shoulder. She angles her head back and lets out a sharp intake of breath as he leaves a trail of wet kisses down her neck. She feels the hand resting on her lower back slide up and swiftly unclasp her bra. His hands explore her body until he’s palming her breast, grazing her nipple and rolling it between his fingers, making her gasp. Harry always thought of himself as an ass man, but now, in this moment, he has a newfound appreciation for breasts. Her tongue darts between his lips hungrily and he pulls his body closer to hers, grinding steadily. She can feel her whole body on fire, the tingling sensation spreading to the pit of her stomach. Her hands immediately go for the band of his pants, but she breaks away suddenly, and he outwardly moans at the loss of contact.
“What – What is it? Are we moving too fast?” Harry questions, panting rapidly.
Mags places a hand against his chest, as Harry allows her to push him upright and she follows suit, both now sitting up.
He would never forgive himself if he had pushed her and scared her away. “We can slow down. I didn’t mean to –“
“No, shhhhh,” Mags harshly shushed him. “Don’t you hear that?” And suddenly, they’re still, unmoving like stone. The house just as quiet as the two, the only sound filling the air is their own ragged breathing stabilizing. In the silence, just as suddenly, another loud creaking resounded against the wooden interior.
“Okay,” Harry said anxiously, his eyes wandering upwards from where the sound was seemingly coming from, “I heard that.”
“Do you think it’s Pumpkin?”
“I’m gonna go with no, considering Pumpkin’s right there by the fireplace.” And sure enough, Mags turned to see her kitten had at some point, bounded into the room and found comfort beside the warm flames.
Then an even more frightening sound could be heard. Mags would describe it as heavy, a hefty thumping sound that was very different from something that could be explained away, like the light scurrying of a rat.
Harry would describe it as footsteps.
It was irrational. Mags couldn’t explain it. She didn’t know what making that sound, but she did know that the sound was frightening her. She couldn’t rationally chalk it up to the characteristic creaking of an old house or wood settling, the thumps were too loud, too sporadic. Logically, she knew she should use the flashlight on her phone and go straight to the sound source. But the fact of the matter is, she’s scared.
Just when she began to steady her racing heart rate and begin to think she could work up the nerve to go investigate the sound, a sudden crash came from the other side of the room, causing her to yelp in surprise and clutch Harry’s arm in fear. One of the picture frames that Harry had hung on the wall fell on to the ground, the glass shattered from the impact. It just fell. Nothing to cause it, as if the material had literally leaped from the wall to its untimely death. “Fat load of good you are,” Mags glared at Pumpkin who, unbeknownst to the danger, was playing with a discarded bottle cap.
Harry put in quick work to shrug his sweater over his shoulders, and then taking care to ensure that Mags wasn’t too frightened. “Well, at least now you believe me?”
“Believe you?” Mags asked in disbelief, facing him “I more than believe you. I think, I think we should get outta here. Let’s just go stay at my place.” She frantically stood up, brushing her stray hairs from her face, trying to clear her mind so she could form rational thoughts. Harry stood up just as suddenly, standing next to her, holding her elbow and shoulder, pulling her towards him in a comforting hug.
“We need to come up with a game plan,” she said, her breath slightly muffled as she nuzzles her face against his sweater clad chest. “I think it’s best if we just spend the night at my apartment. And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” Harry questioned encouragingly.
“We’re going to do whatever it takes. A cleansing. Research. Anything to un-haunt this house, because this shit? It’s scary.”
They both spared one last glance upwards, to where the sound was coming from, an array of emotions filling the room; frightened (Mags, because ghosts can’t exist, they just can’t. It transcends the rules of physical science!), agitated (Harry because how could he be so dense as to put Mags in danger, though he figures that once she sets her mind to something, there’s no stopping her), and confused (Pumpkin, wondering why the humans were looking up when she was right here, as she softly mewls from the lack of attention).
_______________________________________________________________________
Day 6, October 29th, 1 day until Halloween.
The sun filtered in through the linen curtains, illuminating the white sheets beside her, warming her skin and giving her a bronze glow. Mags slowly peeled her eyes open, immediately noticing Harry’s absence. His side of the bed was empty, and Mags wasn’t sure how to feel. Was it really just a few hours ago that her world was shook by the presence of ghosts? If science wasn’t solid, then what else was there to rely on?
Once they got to her place, they were both too strung-out and tired to do anything. They shuffled under the covers and slept in her small bed, sleeping together in the most innocent way possible. The only touching was the hand holding that occurred under the bed, which although much less risqué than what happened last night had it not been for the potential ghost encounter, the thought of which still made Mags warm and blush. Stretching out her limbs and gathering her relentless hair into a manageable bun, she created an itinerary for herself. Bathroom first. Find Harry, second. Figure out what happened last night, third. Although she wasn’t so sure about the last one. Did she want to figure out the ominous sound they heard or figure out exactly what happened between her and Harry last night? All she knew was, it was way too early for this.
Once emerging from the bathroom, she tuned into the sounds of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, immediately deducing Harry’s whereabouts. She knew it couldn’t possibly be Marisol, because she’d never be up this early, and she knew she had spent the night at Niall’s place.
His back was facing her, his shoulders moving as he poured batter into a frying pan, Pumpkin nuzzling against his ankles. Mags didn’t even know they owned a frying pan. Marisol and Mags mainly lived off of frozen dinners, take-outs, and Niall’s generous discounts at the café where he occasionally moonlights as a waiter.
“G’morning,” she croaked, alerting Harry to her presence. She cleared her throat and tried again, “Mornin’, Harry. What’s all this?”
“I’m making pancakes,” He turned, greeting her drowsy appearance, his voice thickened with lack of use, guttural and raw. “Ran out to the convenience store this morning and grabbed some ingredients. Figured we could both use a hearty breakfast.”
Mags hummed in appreciation, rubbing a sweater-clad fist over her dreary eyes, sleepily offering help which Harry firmly denied and directed her to sit at the small kitchen table. “Are the pancakes chocolate chip?”
“Is there any other way?” Harry responds, smiling warmly at her sleepy antics. He sets a plate of scrambled eggs and chocolate chip pancakes in front of her, placing a bottle of syrup within her reach without her having to ask.
Mags suddenly felt out her element. She wasn’t used to this kind of treatment with any guy she had ever been with, and she technically hadn’t even been with Harry. Was she meant to kiss him in appreciation? He was so tender in everything he did, always putting her needs and comfort first. The situation was foreign to her, so domestic and comfortable that it made her feel uncomfortable. “Um, thank you – It all looks delicious,” she finally managed to stammer out.
Harry carried his own plate of food in one hand, his other opening the fridge to grab a carton of orange juice. Witnessing how comfortable he seemed to be in her small apartment made her unnerved, but it was also exciting. Thrilling.
As he sat across from her, their eyes met once again. “I figure,” Harry began, “I mean, I think that we should probably talk about what happened last night. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” Mags agreed, nervously wringing her fingers, “Good idea. It…scared me. Um, I didn’t like it.”
Harry’s face blanched for a moment before he smoothed his features into an expressionless façade. “You didn’t?”
“Of course, I didn’t, it was just so…I don’t know how to put it. It all happened so fast, one thing after the other. It’s a lot to process.
Harry nodded slowly, gently, as if Mags was fragile and he was handling the situation delicately, although she couldn’t figure why. “It is a lot. And it was a bit fast. Maybe we need to just slow down and figure out what it meant?” He suggested nervously.
Mags eyed him in confusion, his apprehensive demeanor puzzling her, as she continued speaking. “It was just so unexpected. I didn’t think that was going to happen when I went to your place last night. It was so awful.”
Harry’s brows furrowed together, looking wounded, as he murmured, “I mean, well me neither but I don’t think it was necessarily a bad th-“
“What do you mean you weren’t expecting it?” Mags probed, pausing to chew her scrambled eggs, “it certainly seems like you were positive that it would happen.”
Harry’s face, despite his efforts, flashed with hurt. “Well, I mean, I hoped it would happen but of course I wasn’t expecting anything. I just –” Abandoning his food, he rubbed his hands over his curls, then dropped them to rest against his knees, palms up as if pleading, “Look, I really, really like you and obviously it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way but I really thought - ”
“Who says I don’t feel the same way?” Mags questioned in confusion, wondering if perhaps Harry, as cute as he was, might’ve been a few screws short. Guess people truly can’t have it all.
Meanwhile, Harry’s own face contorted in confusion, his voice borderline hysterical. “What do you mean who says, you says! I mean, you just said that you didn’t like what happened last night.”
“Right,” Mags nodded empathetically, “The noise we heard really scared me and I think it’s quite normal to not like the fact you have an actual fucking ghost in your house.”
A beat passed. Then another.
“Did you think I was talking about, whatever happened between us?” Mags clarified, gesturing at their bodies. When Harry offered a sheepish look in response, Mags smiled with fondness, putting her fork down on her plate. “You’re silly. Let me be clear. Ghosts? Bad. Harry and Mags? Good. I’m not sure exactly what happened between us last night, but I like you. I think it should happen again, minus the paranormal encounter. Not just the, erm, the touching part. The diner part. The talking part too. We can table that for now and come back to it when we aren’t in fear of lurking ghosts. We can figure that part out together.”
The relief that washed over Harry couldn’t have been more evident. “Oh thank god, I’m so happy to hear you say that,” and when Harry was happy, Mags couldn’t help but think that the sun was trapped within him, warmth, comfort, and blinding brightness and all. “And um, what about the other thing? The ghost thing?”
Mags beamed at him, at the 6-foot boy that towers in her small apartment but looks over at all five feet of her with concern and care, before replying, “We can figure that part out together too. I have a game plan.”
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After the tenderness and confusion of their morning breakfast, Harry and Mags got dressed for the day, each renewed with a determination to solve this ghost problem of theirs once and for all. It wasn’t just Harry’s problem anymore. Harry’s safety and happiness were now Mags’ priority as well. Cleaning up and getting dressed took a little longer than usual, as they spared moments to steal glances and accidental touches. By the time they made it out of her apartment, the sun was brilliantly shining in the sky, for once the skies clear of any clouds, and it was noon.
Mags truly did have an anti-ghost plan. And she intended to put it to use before tomorrow. It was as she explained to Harry, that tomorrow was Halloween, and everyone knows that on All Hallows Eve, the world between the paranormal and normal collided. Her extensive repertoire of horror movies led her to confidently assert that the if the dead were to roam the earth, then Halloween would be the best night to so do. She figured that now since science and everything she’s ever known has changed; she might as well rely on literature to guide them through this ordeal.
“So, first on our agenda is to seek out a priest,” Harry commented, eyes squinting at the sun, hand firmly holding hers. “Which church should we go to?”
“Askin’ the wrong person here,” Mags chuckled while gesturing to herself, “Nearest mosque, I could help ya with. But church?”
“Right,” he said, blushing despite her obvious joking tone, “Well, I guess we’ll have to trust google?”
Finding the church was easy enough. Getting the minister to believe that they weren’t pulling a prank was a little trickier. After much clarification and pleading, they left the church armed with some information.
“I dunno about you, but this bottle of holy water has me feeling a bit indestructible,” Harry joked, wagging the holy water tauntingly. Mags owns hands clutched the pewter candlestick holders and candles the church had generously donated to them. Though they had initially hoped for the church to interfere with their dilemma, the resources and tips they provided would just have to do. “Although,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows, “I must say, I’m surprised.”
“Why? ‘Cuz I thought of such a brilliant plan?”
“No. I’m shocked that you were able to last that entire trip to the church without swearing even once.” Mags opened her mouth, feigning offence, before shoving him. “So, what’s next?” Harry questions, after composing his laughter, “A psychic?”
“A medium,” Mags corrected.
“Oh, I didn’t know there was a difference,” Harry admitted good-naturedly.
“Me neither,” Mags confessed, but google sure did.
As they followed the GPS directions to the location of where the medium was located, Harry had another question. “How’d you pick this medium? Does she specialize in ghosts and exorcisms?”
“Hmm?” She said, looking up, “Oh no, she just had the best Yelp rating.” She scrolls through her phone, thumbing through the device before presenting it to Harry. “And, she’s got a Halloween special going on right now. 50% off for her services. Pretty crafty of me, huh?”
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The medium, a woman named Clair LeMadeline, had looked relatively normal. Her red hair curled into define ringlets and her eyes were a piercing blue. She was wearing a simple pea blouse and black slacks. The only thing that was even considerably odd about her appearance was her green eyeshadow, bold and unnaturally glittery. She was a stark contrast from what Mags was expecting, which was a woman, possibly raven haired, with a crystal ball in a dark room with thick purple drapes.
Even more so, she had hoped the woman would be able to help them out a bit more. For someone who claimed to have a unique ability to hover between two worlds and a connection with spirits without a physical body, she wasn’t really helpful.
Mags recalled the only bit of information that was slightly useful. Clair had taken Harry’s hands into her own, hoping to get a ‘read’ on his aura.
“Ah yes,” she had said, her sharp nails outlining the lines on Harry’s palm, “I’m sensing something here. I see that recently in your life, you’ve come upon some suffering.”
“Yes!” Harry fervently nodded, with Mags reservedly watching from his side.
“Your future,” Clair continued melodramatically, her eyes tightly shut as she focused, “it’s blurry. Unclear. I see, red liquid. Lots and lots of red. It’s staining your shirt, dripping onto your shoes, there’s so much red.”
Harry’s face pales, dread overcoming him, as he frantically tightens his hold on the medium’s own hands. “Is it blood?”
“Hard to say, but my best guess is that it is indeed blood. Yes, I can see that. And, you’ve suffered a great loss. I also see here that you’re a widower.”
“Erm, no,” Harry confessed, pulling his hands back slightly, “I’ve never even been married. Way off base.”
The medium had looked slightly put out with that comment, “Well, I never. Surely you must’ve been married. With those dimples and a body like that, you’ve probably had your fair share of wives. You don’t have to lie to impress your little girly over here,” she harrumphed, gesturing towards Mags.
“Okaaay,” Mags announced, offering the medium a tight polite smile, “I think we’re done here.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“That was a waste of time,” Harry groaned. “She was obviously a scam artist. Also, I’m pretty sure she was hitting on me.” He glanced at his watch and groaned even more audibly, “And we’re running out of daylight. Halloween is tomorrow. What are we gonna do?”
“That woman certainly was…a lot of things,” Mags said, carefully choosing her words, “But she was surprisingly helpful.” Harry brows furrowed, his face distorting in disbelief. “Think about what she called you,” Mags explained, answering his unasked question. “She said that you were a widower.”
“And you believed her?” He explained, “Mags, I’ve never – “
Huffing slightly, she interrupted his speech, “Okay, no. Obviously, I’m not an idiot. But that just got me thinking. Didn’t you say Bertha was a widow? Do you know anything about her husband? Maybe we can look into his death. Maybe his spirit was awoken by the Ouija board and it’s restless for some reason and unless we help him with his unfinished business, he can’t pass over to the other side.”
“You’re a genius,” Harry commented, which prompted Mags to thank him and inform him with sincerity that it was all because she watched a lot of Buzzfeed Unsolved. “I don’t know much about her husband, but I know how we can find out more.”
And that’s how Harry and Mags found themselves standing on the steps outside the town’s public library. Harry’s idea was brilliant, Mags had to admit. The town newspaper always printed the obituaries for residents that passed. Older editions of the newspaper could be accessed using the microfiche. Even more promising was that if Bertha’s late husband had passed under unusual circumstances, the paper was sure to have done a story over it. But even with a great idea put into action, and their hopes and spirits renewed, Mags couldn’t help the nauseous pit growing in her stomach.
As they embarked up the steps, Harry looked over at Mags in concern. “You okay there? You look a little green.”
“Hmm?” She feigned ignorance, “No, I’m fine.” Harry opened the door, ushering her inside before stepping into the heated building. “Must’ve been something I ate.”
“My pancakes have you feeling nauseous?” Harry exclaimed in concern.
Oops. Right, Mags had forgotten that the only thing she’d eaten today was Harry’s cooking. This was why she hated lying – she was bad at it.
“Hush, Harry,” is the route she decided to go with, “We’re in a library. We don’t wanna disturb the other patrons.” She gestured to the room, mentally groaning when she saw that the library was jam-packed with three other people, a young girl and her mother were fiddling on the computers, and an old man that was sleeping on one of the armchairs. Or, at least Mags hoped he was sleeping. One would think the library would be more popular on a Friday night.
Harry shot her another concerning look but chose to drop the matter, for now. In fear of being shushed again, he gestured to the circulation help desk, indicating that they should ask one of the library assistants where they could find the catalogued newspapers. As they approached the desk, Mags legs felt like they were heavy lead as she dragged them across the carpeted floor. She just needed an excuse to slip away for five minutes and then this upcoming crisis could be averted.
She stopped in her tracks, spinning around to face Harry. “I, um, need to go to the bathroom. It’s an emergency. Not that you asked,” She nervously chuckled. “Anyways,” she pushed Harry’s back towards the help desk, “Why don’t you ask where we can find the newspapers while I’m gone and I’ll just meet you there and – ”
“Magnolia?” The voice came from behind her, just as smoky and honeyed as she remembered.
She froze in her tracks. This cannot be happening. I’m a good person she thought, I fast during Ramadan. I try to be nice to others. I’m fairly sure that I pay all my taxes. Why is this happening to me? Would it be too late for her to make a run for it? She could just tell Harry it was an emergency and then meet him back at his house once he acquired the information.
Just as she began to inch towards the exit, the voice called out again. “Magnolia, that is you! I thought it was. I’d recognize you anywhere. ”
Ignoring Harry’s look of confusion, she turned around reluctantly. She looked at the other boy, his dark hair perfectly styled atop his head, not a strand out of place. His cheekbones sharp and proudly protruding, his lips slightly turned into a familiar smile. Unlike her, his brown skin didn’t seem to have a problem with dulling under florescent lights, as he was golden and glowing. One tatted arm reached out to embrace her in a hug, pulling her softly against his chest, before pulling back to get a look at her. “You look good,” he professed, looking at her intently form head to toe, “Beautiful like always.” From her peripheral, she could see that Harry certainly didn’t like that, if his body language was any indicator as he crossed his arms and shifted his stance to stand closers to Mags.
“Zayn,” she greeted, trying to modulate her voice and stifle her feelings of panic. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“At the library?” Zayn questioned, “Where I work?”
“Must’ve slipped my mind,” She nervously answered. Just as she was going to grab Harry’s arm and steer them away from the upcoming train wreck, Harry himself piped up. “I’m sorry. Mags hasn’t introduced us. Who are you?”
Zayn looked at Harry, as if he just registered that Mags wasn’t alone. “This is Zayn,” Mags answered quickly, “He’s my –”
“I’m Magnolia’s ex-boyfriend,” Zayn interrupted, reaching over to shake Harry’s hand, muscles tightening, jaw clenched, “She and I used to date.”
“He knows what ex means,” Mags hissed.
“Oh really?” Harry responded, his face unreadable, “Funny. Mags actually hasn’t even mentioned you.” His emphasis on her preferred nickname was evident to both Zayn and Mags, because Harry was as subtle as horse. “I’m Harry.”
Mags, despite the train wreck happening before her very eyes, was relieved that Harry introduced himself. She didn’t know what title she would’ve given him. She didn’t even know what they were. They were in some weird limbo until this ghost mess was past them. What would she have said? Harry piping up saved her from the verbal onslaught that would’ve been sure to follow. Hi, yes Zayn, my ex-boyfriend who broke my heart, this is Harry, a boy that I almost slept with and really want to sleep with but haven’t yet because I was cock-blocked by a ghost. Anyways, can you point us to the non-fiction section?
“Um,” Mags spoke, breaking the palpable tension, “While we have you here Zayn, we could actually use your help with some questions.”
Ignoring Harry’s disgruntled expression and Zayn’s self-satisfied smirk, she continued on. “Aren’t you doing your senior thesis on like witchcraft or something of that nature?”
“It’s on magical realism and occult fiction,” He clarified, before giving her a sly smile, warmer and more comfortable than his smirk, looking more like the Zayn she knew. “Y’know, all that haram and Jinn stories that used to bother the hell out of ya.”
Despite not wanting to, she couldn’t help but smile in return. “Right,” she warmed at the mention of their insider, “Well, we could use your help. For your research, did you come across anything about how to perform an exorcism on a house that’s possessed by a ghost?”
Zayn, to his credit, didn’t bat an eye at her odd question. He was used to Mags’ antics. “Yeah, from what I’ve read, the best bet is to light some sage. Ask the ghosts what they want and try to get them what they need, and they’ll leave.” He paused as if he truly registered what he just asked her, and then eyed Harry suspiciously. “But I know you. You don’t believe in that kinda stuff.”
“It’s nothing,” Mags lied, wanting to end this conversation, like, five minutes ago. “Can you tell us where the newspaper archives are? Ones from like 10 years ago?”
Heading towards the corner of the library that Zayn pointed them to, Harry and Mags walked in silence. Unable to take it anymore, Mags spoke up. “So, that was Zayn. My ex-boyfriend. But you already know that.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Harry assured her. And it seemed like he truly meant that sentiment, his voice unwavering and genuine He didn’t seem the slightest bit accusatory, no hint of sarcasm lining his tone, which was so unlike what she was used to when she was dating Zayn. Not that she was dating Harry, but she and Zayn had a knack for being able to get under each other’s skin. Had the roles been reversed, Zayn wouldn’t have let that interaction go, hounding Mags for more answers to impossible questions until they’d inevitably get into another one of their infamous fights. Zayn was an English major, through and through, envious and passionate. He felt deeply as an artist and fought just as dramatically too.
It was the fact that Harry was nothing like Zayn that encouraged her to share. “No, I want to explain,” She insisted, as they carried a stack of newspapers to a table, ready to dive into their town’s obituaries. “Zayn and I, well, he and I dated for a good while. It was one of those things where, when it was good, it was really good, y’know? But when it was bad? It was awful.”
Harry encouragingly nodded, his green eyes looking to her in sincerity, letting her tell the story at her own pace. “Well,” Mags exhaled, “It was serious. One of the most serious relationships I’ve ever had. But it didn’t work out. Obviously. We were just too different. We both retreated when we were hurt and angry instead of talking things out. And it wasn’t just his fault, it was both of ours. It wasn’t anything dramatic or serious. We just broke up because we never really tried our best, never gave our best effort to fix our problems.” She recalled the months after the end of their relationship, Mags tried her best to hold it together, but it really did wound her. “The break-up still sucked though,” she admitted. She may act collected and composed, but when she does let someone into her heart, it’s different. If it wasn’t for Niall and Marisol, she wasn’t sure if she’d have gotten through it.
Harry placed his hand atop of hers, taking care to look into her eyes. “He’s the guy that broke your heart, isn’t he? The reason that you’re scared to be vulnerable with someone.”
Mags kept her gaze on the stack of newspaper, unable to meet his eyes, wordlessly nodding in affirmation.
“Well, thank you for sharing that with me,” Harry said earnestly, reaching over to put a finger under Mags chin, turning her face so they were looking at each other. “Thanks for being vulnerable with me.” Mags raised her gaze, smiling at the kindness of the boy who sat across from her, unsure how to respond.
She needn’t worry though because she didn’t have to reply. “Anyways,” he continued, “We have a ghost to get rid of. Let’s get to looking through this decade’s worth of obituaries.”
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As they started to head back to the house, Mags was a ball of nerves, filled with anticipation. The trip to the library had been a success. Mags was able to find Bertha’s late husband, Tom’s, obituary. It simply stated that he passed due to a head contusion, with no information on how it occurred. News must’ve been slow that week because Harry then found the real treasure: an investigative article that revealed more information about Tom’s death. They discovered that Tom and Bertha had gotten into an argument, over something silly as she had to remind him multiple times to check the circuit breaker in the basement. Tom had begrudgingly gone to do so when one the wires in the breakers shocked him with a small current of electricity. The electrical shock didn’t kill him, but it did surprise him enough so that he stepped back, falling over and hitting his head on the edge of his workbench. The death was quick and painless, the article assured readers, but Mags still felt awful while reading it. Poor Tom, she thought, and poor Bertha. Even more so, it was a bit unsettling to Harry that a death had occurred in the house in which he was currently living.
As they had prepared to leave the library earlier, armed with knowledge and a secure plan to conduct their exorcism, Zayn had caught up with them, giving Mags a bottle of sage that he had lying around in his office that he acquired during his thesis research.
Now, she and Harry trekked back to the house, loaded with goodies that would hopefully guarantee an end to the paranormal activities; bottle of holy water, pewter candlesticks, and a bottle of sage, not to mention everything that they learned throughout the day. As she mentally recounted the day’s hectic and odd events, she voiced her thoughts. “Wasn’t that medium funny? The things she so-called predicted about you were so wild.” Mags laughed, brandishing her speech with air quotes.
“Heh, yeah,” Harry said, uncharacteristically without elaboration. There was a small pause, and then, “Actually, she wasn’t all wrong.”
“How’s that?” Mags inquired, wondering how much longer their walk would take. She was so ready to deal with the ghost. Especially now since she knew it was Tom and he probably didn’t mean them any harm.
“I actually, uh, well you know how she said I suffered a great loss?” Harry reached over to rub the back of his neck before continuing, “Well. She wasn’t wrong about that. My uh, my dad passed away. Not too long ago really.”
“Harry,” Mags said, concern and sympathy and sadness all intertwined in her voice, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. We don’t have to talk about it.”
“We don’t,” Harry agreed, but then he looked at her. And if Mags had to guess, the look in his eyes showed that he felt comfortable with her. Safe. “But I want to. My dad was an okay guy, not the best husband but a good father. He passed quickly – cancer, but not painlessly. It was tough for my sister and mom. Tough for me too.” He cleared his throat, sneaking a peek at Mags before looking down at his feet. “I just, I wanted you to know that about me. I like sharing things with you. You’re easy to talk to.”
Usually, Mags was quick to stick her foot in her mouth. Her special talent of saying the wrong thing reared its ugly head when it was most unwanted and in the most awkward situations. But surprisingly, that didn’t happen this time. Mags took one look at how exposed and open Harry was, how he shared his sorrow and confided in her, and she knew exactly what she wanted to say. “He must’ve been a great father,” Mags noted, “To have helped raise someone as wonderful like you.”
They shared a smile. A small one that meant that whatever this was, whatever was happening between them, it was going to be big. The shared smile revealed that there were wonders and adventures yet to come between them. But it would all have to wait until after tonight, when they would finally leave Harry with a ghost-free home.
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When Harry unlocked the door to his house, they didn’t waste time in removing their shoes or coats and got straight to work. Harry began to burn the sage and Mags set the candle around the room, lighting the wicks and igniting flames. They worked in silence, the magnitude of what’s to come weighing heavily on their shoulders. When finished with their respective duties, they met back at the center.
Harry’s grip on the bottle of holy water tightened. “You don’t have to do this, y’know? I won’t hold it against you.” He was offering her an out, not wanting to put her in any unnecessary danger.
Mags rolled her eyes, before reaching over to grasp his free hand. “I’m not that easy to get rid of. I’m not going anywhere.”
Just then, the awful thudding and heavy footsteps could be heard from above. It was loud, the steps so heavy that it caused bits of wood shavings to fall from the ceiling. It was now or never.
“Hello?” Mags called out, her voice trembling at the unknown. “Is that you Tom? I mean Mr – “
“Bleakman,” Harry helpfully supplied.
Mags gulped, “Mr. Bleakman. If that’s you, can you give us a sign?”
Was it her imagination, or had the room suddenly gotten colder? The inside of the house seemed to be even more freezing that the harsh winds outside. It was chilling. Goosebumps began to dot her arms and an uneasy feeling settling around her. She held her coat closer to her exposed neck, her grip tightening in Harry’s intertwined hand.
“Mr. Bleakman?” Now it was Harry giving it a go. “If you can hear me, I just want you to know. I’m Harry. Your wife, Bertha, rented this house to me. She’s a real sweet woman.”
“They play Bingo together,” Mags offered.
“We did. We played a lot of Bingo together and – “
“Which isn’t a euphemism by the way!” Mags exclaimed, before mouthing an apology to Harry when he shot her an exasperated look.
“Right. Well, Mr. Bleakman. Tom. I was hoping that you could stop haunting this house. The thing with the Ouija board the other day? It wasn’t very cool of me and I won’t do it again.”
The thudding didn’t stop. The cold air didn’t seem to warm. In fact, things began to worsen. Mags and Harry looked around just as the lights began to flicker, casting an ominous lighting around the room. Just as suddenly, the lights went out all together and everything was dead silent. In the dim lighting, with the candles their only source of light, Mags eyes struggled to adjust. A chill ran down her spine, causing her to tremble. She clumsily reached out for Harry, having let go of his hand earlier, and then let out an audible sigh of relief when his hand found hers instead, squeezing it once as reassurance.
The thumping sound stopped. The only sound that could be heard was their shallow breathing that seemed deafening in an otherwise silent room. They waited, breath baited, for something to happen. It couldn’t be that easy Mags thought. There’s no way.
And though she didn’t want to be, she was right. No sooner has she mentally expressed that sentiment that there was a loud smashing sound that came from the right of her, followed by a loud bang of something crashing to the ground. She screamed, backing up into Harry, who immediately pulled her behind him, trying to shield her from whatever danger that lurked. Before they could even question what caused that smashing sound, a sudden gust of cold air could be felt, causing Mags to shudder and simultaneously, and all the flames in the candles went out. They were trapped in pitch darkness.
The front door slammed open, and the pair whirled around to look at the entrance. A hooded figure could be seen, face hidden, a blunt object in his hand.
This time, both Mags and Harry screamed bloody murder.
The figure screamed back.
A voice thick with an Irish accent resounded in the room. “Why’re ya screaming?! It’s just me!”
“Niall?” Mags questioned desperately, while Harry shouted, “What’s wrong with you? You don’t just bust into someone’s home like that!” The latter’s voice sounding suspiciously scared in a falsetto.
As if this was a playwright and not reality, the lights flickered back on, almost on cue. The lights revealed that it was indeed Niall, as he pulled down the hood from his jacket and stepped into the room. The large object in his hand was just a scroll of paper, rolled up into a tight cylindrical shape.
Mags took long strides to cross the room and stand before Niall before not so lightly pounding him on the arm repeatedly. “What is the matter with you?”
“Ouch!” The Irishman exclaimed, wincing and rubbing him tender arm. “I’m here because I’ve found the answer to Harry’s problem.” He was met with unimpressed stares. “Yikes, tough crowd. Look, why don’t you guys take a seat?”
Mags and Harry shared a look, and then walked over to the couch, sitting close to each other, practically on the same cushion, not wanting to be apart after what they’d just witnessed. Once settled, all eyes were on Niall, who physically claimed the center of the room.
“I have found the solution to this haunting,” Niall began. Mags noticed that he was using the same rambunctious, haughty voice he employed when he had to present a subject in class over something that he hadn’t done the reading on, but she ignored calling him out as he actually had piqued her interest. Could he truly have the answer to stop all this madness?
Harry hunched over and ran his palms across his face, and Mags instinctively reached out to rub his shoulders comfortingly. “Oooh! When’d this happen?” Niall asked excitedly, pointing at them.
Mags eyes just flashed in irritation.
“Right!” Niall exclaimed, as if he suddenly remembered he was in the middle of something important. “The solution.”
He began to pace the length of the living room rug, his hands tied behind his back, the rain droplets from his jacket dripping onto the floor. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about everything that Harry had said about this house. All the things that spooked him. I didn’t know what to make of it, so I did some digging of my own.”
He bent over and unfolded the roll of paper, and Mags and Harry reached out to hold opposite edges to keep it straightened.
“Erm, what exactly are we looking at here?” Harry questioned, his head cocked to the side trying to make sense of the white lines and measurements adorning the navy-blue page.
“I went to the town hall and asked for a copy of this house’s floorplan. You mentioned it was old, Harry, something in Bertha’s family for a while so I figured they would have it. If you look closely, right about here,” he pointed to a section on the paper of what Mags deduced was the living room that they were currently in, “that’s the room we are in right now. And if you follow the measurements of the floorboards, you’ll see that they don’t quite align.”
From Harry’s squinted eyes, it was clear he hadn’t caught on yet. But Mags had. The paper showed the square footage, measurements, and scales; Numbers! She was back in familiar territory! She excitedly traced the area that Niall pointed out. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered, “This bitch is built crooked.”
“What?” Harry exclaimed, exasperated at being out of the loop. “What is this even showing me?”
Niall seemed gleeful at Mag’s realization, validating his findings. “The house, while structurally sound, was built crooked. The plot of land it’s on is uneven. The left dipping lower than the right. Which is why sometimes,” Niall threw his arm out to point at the right wall, splattering Mags and Harry’s faces with more water droplets that flew off his sleeve, “the painting from that wall falls off periodically.”
They all looked to where he pointed. The sound Mags and Harry had heard moments ago, the loud banging in the darkness, had been a picture frame that fell off the wall. That’s all it was. Mags felt just the tiniest bit of air fill back into her lungs in relief.
“B-but,” Harry nodded his head side to side in apparent puzzlement, “But how does that explain the lights? We – “He nodded his head at Mags, “We found out that Tom, Bertha’s husband, had died while messing with the breaker in the basement. The flickering lights has to be his ghost.”
Niall only patted Harry’s head in response. “Oh, you silly lad! If only that were true. In actuality, Bertha forgot to tell you that in the winter months, the house needs a scheduled appointment with the town’s electrician. The house is old, the wiring is faulty, and it needs a nice tweak now and then in the cold weather.”
Niall stood up once again with a flourish, one finger raised and poised in the air, “And how would I know that? Fret not Harry,” to which Harry deeply exhaled in frustration. “I looked up Bertha, found her granddaughter on Instagram. She’s a fittie by the way, has a boyfriend though. Real shame.”
A swift kick to his shins from Mags got him to stop his harmless flirting and get back on track. “Right, so I reached out to her. She relayed that information to me. She also pointed out something else that she thought we’d ought to know.”
He treads to the other side of the room, to the wall that has four large windowpanes covered by thick, velvet drapes. Grabbing the curtain from one corner, he peels it back, loudly exclaiming “Ta-daa!”, his hands outstretched as if he was presenting something fascinating to them, a magician in front of an audience.
Eyes blinked back at him. “There’s nothing even there!” Harry exasperatedly noted.
“What?” Niall did a double take, and then chuckled to himself. “Oops, wrong window.”
He repeated his same dramatic motions, this time uncovering a window with a large, crack on it. On the corner, was a missing shard of glass. “Bertha had been meaning to get this fixed. The neighbor’s kid accidentally threw a baseball through the window. She got really forgetful towards the end, according to her granddaughter, which is why she whisked her away.”
Mags nodded excitedly, “That’s what’s been causing the drafts.” She turned to Harry, eyes glowing with relief, “That’s why it always so damn cold in here. Your thermostat can’t compete with that.”
“Hopefully the flickering lights will offset how high your electivity bill is going to be,” Niall joked.
Harry seemed unconvinced. “What about that smell then, huh? It smells something dreadful in the kitchen and I’ve cleaned the place spic and span.”
Mags turned to Niall in wonder, looking at him in a whole new light, as if he was an all knowing being that held all the answers.
“Follow me,” Niall said, leading the trio into the kitchen while continuing his monologue. “I called up our dear friend Louis. Hard guy to keep track of, that lad, with the time zones and all. I told him about the smell, and wouldn’t you know it? Our friend remembered the fact that when he was here, he had drunkenly tried to make himself scrambled eggs for breakfast when you,” he pointed accusingly at Harry, “were passed out on the couch. What he actually did was drop an egg on the ground. In his drunken state, he simply just kicked the egg yolk under the fridge, like ice, and promised to clean it later.”
Niall leaned against the fridge, arms crossed dramatically. “As we know, no follow-through that one. He forgot to clean his mess. So that smell you smelt? The scent of rotten eggs? It actually was a rotten egg. Disgusting but true.”
“I –” Harry couldn’t believe it. Gently pushing Niall away from the fridge, he knelt down on one knee, sinking onto the cool tile. Sliding his phone out of his front pocket, he turned on his flashlight app and shined in under the fridge. Niall and Mags also leaned in to get a closer look. Audible gasps could be heard from all three of them. There, under the dusty and sticky tile bottom of the fridge, wedged between a dust ball and an expired coupon, was a broken, rotten egg.
Mags pinched her nose, unable to take the scent anymore. “Niall, you’re an absolute genius,” she complimented nasally.
Before Niall could bask in his glory for long, Harry interrupted once again. “You’ve explained the lights. The painting falling off. The cold. The smell. But,” his eyes bleary and red, his arms flailing in frustration “what about the sounds coming from the ceiling? The footsteps?”
He turned around and looked at Mags frantically for support. “Mags heard it too! The night that she stayed over and we – um, she just heard it too!” while Mags nodded feverishly in the background.
Niall looked away, breaking eye contact. “That’s the only part I can’t explain,” the blonde confessed, scratching his scalp. “But the blueprints show this house has an attic. Let’s all go search up there together.”
Emboldened by Niall’s other explanations, everyone geared up for their excursion, which really meant that everyone had their phones in hand, flashlights shining. Once again, Niall lead the way, stopping in the middle of the hallway. It was no wonder Harry had never noticed it before. There, on the ceiling, was a subtle outline of an attic door and a very small chain dangling. It was so high up that Niall and Harry took turns hopping and trying to reach the latch, while Mags didn’t even try, watching the boys struggle because she know her attempts would be futile. Eventually Harry was able to grab ahold of the chain and pull the attic door open, as the wooden steps fell along with it. Harry looked back at Mags, feeling a surge of affection for this girl that was willing to risk everything for him, and then looked at Niall, the friend who jumped through hoops to help a friend. Inspired by the love and support around him, Harry took the lead, climbing up the steps as Niall and Mags respectively followed.
“Please don’t be a creepy man that’s been hoarding and hiding in Harry’s attic for shelter,” Mags whispered, climbing the last steps “Because I WILL die of shock, and that’s a promise.”
Niall and Harry helped her up, and she stood upright. They each flashed their lights at different corners of the attic, trying to find something amiss among the dusty boxes of forgotten belongings and storage.
“Wait,” Harry whispered, pointing in the opposite corner. “Look over there. Something’s glowing.”
And sure enough, Mags saw it too. Something was glowing and moving. Two little round balls of light.
“I think,” Harry began, taking a step closer to the source when all Mags wanted to do was drag him back to safety, “Oh wow, it is.”
“Is what?” Niall exclaimed, unable to handle the suspense.
“It’s a family of possums!” Harry cried in relief, “It’s just a mama possum and her babies. It’s not a ghost!”
“Awww,” Niall cooed.
The release that everyone felt was almost palpable, the relief tangible. There was no ghost after all! No otherworldly being! All of this was caused by a forgetful old woman, a drunk friend, and a family of critters.
Mags could almost cry tears of joy. Science was valid. Her whole wasn’t flipped upside down. Numbers were important, her beliefs restored. Rationale could explain everything unusual that had occurred within the confines of this house. Without being too dramatic, she could firmly declare that once again, her life had meaning.
She took a few minutes to herself to truly appreciate that there was no haunting before finally speaking up. “I hate to ruin the moment,” Mags said as Harry and Niall admired the critters, “but mama possums are very territorial and will attack if she feels threatened.” When neither Harry nor Niall made any intentions to move, she added, “And possums are at high risk to carry strains of rabies.”
“And that’s our cue!” Harry quipped, as Niall vehemently added, “Yup!”
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Day 7: October 31st, Halloween!!!
Mags beamed with content, relaxing every muscle in her body as she laid on the bookshop’s couch, her head resting on Harry’s warm thigh, his face partially obscured by a book, reading snippets from the murder-mystery novel she had started but never got to finish given how hectic the past few days had been. His other free hand was draped across her shoulder and chest, and Mags divided her attention, taking turns to hold his hand and running her fingers across his forearm, despite Harry’s constant claim that it tickled.
It was Halloween, the day that she had first anticipated because she loved all things horror and it was her favorite holiday, and then the day that she had started to dread when she believed that Harry’s house was being haunted by a ghost. Now, she was back to loving her favorite holiday again, the world was ruled by science, and everything felt right. And it truly did. Ever since last night, when Niall was able to demystify all of the strange occurrences, Mags felt lighter than she had ever before. She let out an exhale as she relaxed into her position, nuzzling closer to Harry as his low voice rumbled, reading aloud to her, and embraced the pleasant sound.
She was so comfortable, so relaxed, she felt could fall asleep right here and now. A little nap was well-deserved at this point, she decided as she closed her eyes contently, considering the hell she’d been through this past week.
“Do not fall asleep,” a voice demanded.
She inhaled deeply in frustration, peeling one eye open to see Liam passing by. He eyed her, irritated, though Mags knew he wasn’t truly annoyed. “You’re still on the clock, y’know?” Liam said, “Just checking in to make sure you’re all set to close up.” He paused to nod at Harry in greeting, because apparently it was really a small world and Mags had found out that Liam and Harry actually knew each from freshman year history class.
Mags sat up, running her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to tame it. “I don’t understand why you always ask me that when you never offer to actually help close up.”
Liam laughed in response. “I’m nothing if not consistent.” He reached over to give Harry one of those boy handshakes that would always elude Mags. Why couldn’t boys just say goodbye normally? “Anyways, I’ll see you at Harry’s place tonight. I’ve got a wicked costume planned,” he concluded as a farewell.
It wasn’t hard for Niall to convince Harry that he should host a Halloween party at his house, to celebrate the fact that he wasn’t haunted, but also because it was a great excuse to bring everyone together and get drunk. Mags, always eager to wear costumes, agreed with his sentiments and thus, they were hosting a last-minute Halloween party with no invitations spared.
Mags twisted her body to face Harry, his eyes already on her. “I probably should get up and start to close up.” She straightens herself up, ready to check inventory and cash out the register. “Before another student comes rushing in last minute again. Or God forbid, an English major,” she jokes.
“Um,” Harry treaded cautiously, “You know I’m an English major, right?”
“You’re a what?” Mags eyes widen in shock. “Nope. No way.” She shakes her head vigorously. “Absolutely not.”
Harry smirks in amusement. “Unfortunately, yes. Sorry to break it to you, hon.”
Mags froze, flabbergasted. She guessed she really did have a type. Karma really was a bitch. “I’m so glad you decided to reveal your major after the fact,” she joked, “Or else it might’ve been a deal breaker.”
“Oh!” She exclaimed, changing the subject, “Don’t forget! I’ll need to rush home and put on my costume before meeting you at the house.”
“Ooh,” Harry resounded in excitement, “Can you pretty please bring Pumpkin with you? I haven’t seen her all day.”
She rolled her eyes in response. “I’m beginning to think you’re only dating me for my cat,” she joked amicably.
And that is what they were doing. Dating. As soon as all the ghost nonsense was put to rest, she and Harry finally had the opportunity to address everything that happened between them. Though their coming together was unconventional, the feelings were real and strong, and they decided to give their relationship a try. Mags felt good about it. They way Harry made her feel made her think they were in it for the long haul and she was excited about their future holds.
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Adjusting her halo that fell askew when she threw her head back to take a shot, Mags looked around the kitchen in happiness, the kind that fills your heart when you’re in a party, surrounded by close friends and loved ones, loud music thumping from a distance and filled with good vibes. Alcohol definitely plays a part too.
Suddenly, two tattooed arms reached out to envelop her, careful to avoid smushing her wings. She leaned her weight against Harry’s chest, allowing him to support her, as she turned her face slightly towards him. He lowered his head to her ears, his breath tickling her skin and making her blood rush. “You look so good,” Harry murmured, “I’ve got half a mind to call the cops on my own party so they can kick everyone out. Want you all to myself.”
Despite rolling her eyes, Mags couldn’t help the pleased smile that snaked across her face. “Easy there, I’m spending the night anyway.” She turned around so that her wings were no longer a barrier between them, wrapping her arms around Harry from the front, her face against his chest, as he placed his head affectionally atop hers, the wisps on her Halo tickling his cheeks.
Mags had chosen an angel as her last-minute Halloween costume, mainly because it was an easy outfit, but also because the white contrasted well with her golden-brown skin and this particular outfit did wonders for her boobs. A fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Harry, if the look he gave her when she first made her entrance was any indication. On the other hand, Harry had chosen to dress as a devil. Or at least, a very lackluster devil. He had a red sweater on earlier, but the warmth from the house crowded with bodies caused him to abandon that hours ago, and he was left with a white t-shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of devil horns hastily placed atop his mass of curly hair. It was mysterious the way the world worked. Just a week ago, she imagined that on Halloween she would be at home, watching the Scream movie series with Niall, Marisol, and Pumpkin, with a bag of Halloween candy to pass out to trick or treaters. And now, she was celebrating her favorite holiday with her friends and her boyfriend with a fun party.
As the Monster Mash played deafeningly in the background, and they were jostled from people entering and exiting the kitchen to get punch, they swayed to their own silent music, content to be lost in their world for just a moment.
A moment that was interrupted by Niall. “Seriously Harry? You were supposed to grab Mags so we could play charades!” To which Harry muttered an insincere apology. Niall turned to Mags, “It’s a Halloween version of charades. I know how competitive you get. You and Harry can be on the same team. It’ll be a true test of your love!” He declared, his speech slow and slurred.
Mags was game. “Oh, we are so gonna win!” She declared, already leaning into her competitive streak.
“Great!” Niall declared enthusiastically, his arms sloppily flailing in excitement. Unfortunately for him, and for Harry, Niall had forgotten about the cup he was holding and just emptied its entire content onto Harry. His white shirt was completely stained with red punch.
Niall avoided Harry’s harsh glare as Mags slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Oops! I’ll just let ya take care of that before our game,” he announced, adjusting his fake leprechaun beard before hurriedly making his exit.
“Great,” Harry groaned, dabbing his shirt with a paper towel in vain, “I have to go change my shirt.”
Unexpectedly, Mags was hit with a sudden realization. “Oh my gosh!” She exclaimed in a tone of wonder. “You’re completely covered in red liquid.”
It took Harry a moment, but then his eyes flashed with recognition. “That crazy old psychic was right!”
Mags laughed at the absurdity of it all. “I wonder,” she began, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, “If she was right about two things so far, I’m starting to suspect that she was right to warn me. I’ll bet you are a widower! How do I know I’m not dating a married man?” She teased.
Harry just looked at her fondly in response, at the crazy girl that he called his girlfriend.
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Buzz!
The electronic buzzer resounded, indicating that Mags and Harry’s turn was over. She threw her arm up in frustration. “Seriously Harry? The word was Leatherface! It’s the killer in Texas Chainsaw Massacre!”
“How was I supposed to get that?” He howled with laughter.
“I was pointing at Zayn’s leather jacket!” She explained, pointing at the boy dressed as a Greaser, “And I was miming a chainsaw!”
“A chainsaw?” Harry questioned, as Niall guffawed, “I thought you were chopping vegetables!”
Mags sat back next to Harry, arms crossed, and lips pouted in pretending to sulk. “It’s okay baby,” he comforted her, “We’ll get them next round.”
“You promise?” She teased.
His pinky reached out to capture hers. “Pinky promise.”
Mags had chosen a seat next to Marisol and Niall, her main competition in this game. She had squeezed Liam’s shoulder as she passed to get to her seat and shot Zayn a smile in greeting, noticing other familiar faces in the room. It seems that the people that she was the closest with had chosen to join the game.
Niall observed Mags and Harry tangled within one another, as she sat close to Harry, her back to his chest, his arm slung around her shoulders as they waited for their next turn. “You guys are so cute. We should go on a double-date!” He exclaimed, the alcohol causing his enthusiasm to increase ten-fold, “Marisol,” he called, turning to his girlfriend, “Let’s all get brunch tomorrow morning!”
Marisol shared a knowing look with Mags, to say Gosh my boyfriend is so cute but such an adorable handful when he’s drunk. “Sweetie,” she began understandingly, as if she was speaking to a toddler, “Y’know I have church in the morning. The church on 3rd street holds their sermons really early on Sunday mornings.”
“Oh, the one with Pastor Mike?” Mags questioned, “He’s super nice!”
Marisol looked over at her roommate in concern. “Why do you know that?” She questioned in exasperated confusion, the synthetic hair from her blue Coraline wig slipping over her eyes as she narrowed them at Harry suspiciously, who was busy playing with the ends of Mags hair, the long strands skirting against the small of her back. Marisol lowering her voice in a drunken whisper that wasn’t actually that quiet, “Is he trying to convert you?”
Harry looked offended at the accusation and Mags bubbled over in laughter, unable to explain to Marisol. She didn’t even know what’d she say. Yes, I know Pastor Mike is really kind because he helped Harry and I with an exorcism.
As Marisol and Niall got distracted because it was their turn, Mags turned to admire the mantle above the fireplace. When rooting through the basement for Halloween decorations, she and Harry had found a beautiful picture of Bertha and Tom. They felt it was appropriate to have it up, as a reminder of the love that once filled this house, instead of the horror they previously feared. “I guess I’ll have to go out and buy another frame,” Harry commented, following Mags eyes to see what got her attention.
“Why’s that?” Mags asked curiously.
“For a picture of us, of course!”
Mags shoved his arm playfully. “Harry, we’ve literally been officially dating for one day, why are you like this?”
In turn, he dropped all pretenses of joking, carefully looking into her eyes. “When you know, you know,” he explained, his words firm and laced with adoration. He reached out to tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ears, his actions tender and careful, his gaze unwavering. This time, Mags didn’t have to guess what expression was on his face, wasn’t confused about the look in his eye. As he ducked forward, dipping down to touch his nose against hers, she recognizes the emotion that all the signs point to: love.
Just as Harry’s lips are about to make contact with hers, Liam speaks up boisterously, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. “After this,” he boldly proclaims, his once carefully applied zombie makeup now smudged and his speech imprecise due to the effects of the punch, “we should all get into the true Halloween spirit by playing the ultimate spooky game.”
His proclamation is meet with cheerful jeers of encouragement and questions about what the game was.
“Great!” He all but shouts in enthusiasm, “I’ll just go and find us a Ouijia board.”
Time stood still. Everything seemed to move in slow-motion.
Completely in sync, their motions fluid and graceful, contradicting the amount of alcohol consumed between the three of them, Niall, Harry, and Mags jumped up from the couch in harmony, bellowing a resounding chorus of “NO!”
The End. (or isss iiiiiit?)
(Just kidding, it is.)
#1dff#1dff challenge#harry styles#one direction#1d fic#one direction fic#harry style fic#one direction au#zayn mailk#louis tomilson#niall horan#liam payne#1d au#harry styles au#Louis tomlinson#spooky
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New Years w/ Joel
Day 5, it’s Christmas, and ya girl is tired 😴 I loved this little marathon it was so fun and different so i hope y’all liked, i saved one of my favs for last, it’s a little long tho sry. So enjoy some first kiss Joelito action~
.
You step out of the house and into the cold with as much enthusiasm as you’d had all month. This was your season, the only time you felt at peace and ready to take on anything.
With Christmas already passed and the new year arriving within hours, you were full of so much excitement you could barely contain it.
You were never one to pass up a good party, so when your friends had managed to get you all into the hottest event in town, you swear it was a Navidad miracle.
You spent all day gettin dressed up and making yourself pretty that when the time came for you to leave, you left the house with the intention to have the best time and to make this new year your bitch.
.
You get to the venue and are a little taken back. Definitely not what you expected. Instead of a building or even a small night club, you were staring into the heart of an old parking garage.
You check your surroundings and decide if you should leave or not. Instead you send a text to the group chat of friends you’re meeting.
“Uuhhh?? Estoy aquí....?”
You wrap yourself tighter in your jacket and wait for a text. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to wear this short of a dress.
You gather some courage and walk into the sketchy garage. Your keys are secured in your hands tightly and you’re so thankful for the pepper spray on your keychain.
The first and second floors are cold and dark. Little flurries of snow brush against your cheeks and you sniffle. The lights are so dim and you hate every part of it.
You start halfway up the steps to the third floor and you can’t help but feel you’re being watched. The sound of very faint music is in the far distance and it gives you slight reassurance.
Until you hear footsteps behind you. You whip around and see nothing. Your heart races a little and you hope it’s nothing.
The footsteps get faster. You stop in your tracks and yell out into the empty void.
“If you’re trying to scare me, stop being a coward and do it already” Something shuffles from behind a car and you inch closer cautiously, pepper spray ready to go.
Your breathe hitches from adrenaline as you finally reach the side of the car. You lean over to get a good visual and prepare yourself for.....
Nothing.
You sigh in relief and as soon as you turn back around a figure jabs at your sides teasingly and screams “bOO”
You scream and throw your keys at the person quickly, not even realizing who it is.
“Tranquila, T/N” they say with a chuckle and you clear the hair that fell over your eyes from your scare.
“JOEL YOU ASS” you’re relieved but annoyed at the same time and hit his arm with your fist.
“Damn good thing it was just me,” he observed the keys you threw a him. “Cuz i don’t know how you’d make it with throwing your weapon AT the bad guy,”
He pulls you into the same hug he gives you every time you see each other and you feel more at ease. He’s warm and smells like the cologne you like.
His arm lingers on your waist and you hold back a tiny smile. He was always so sweet with you, even if he could be a total jerk sometimes. You’d been friends since high school, so you knew his antics, and it was always in good fun.
“This place is scary dude where the hells the party” you shiver and stand closer next to him.
“Lo sé, it’s weird, but trust me you’re reaaally gonna like it up there,” he motions up and pats your back. “3 more floors up tho sorry”
You “ugH” annoyingly and follow him up the stairs.
As you reach the last staircase of your journey, the party being held becomes more noticeable to you. The music is louder than ever and you hear a multitud of voices filling the scene.
At this point you’re running up the last few steps and get a first look at it all. It was the same old format of the parking garage. But there were tables upon tables of drinks and snacks, a setup of beer pong and numerous other games. Your favorite was the lights, the dark space of the building let the fluorescent colored bulbs bounce off the walls and dance across moving bodies.
There was even a damn dj in the far corner, a crowd of people jumping and singing in a circle in front of him.
“What the hell???? ?” It slips from your mouth and Joel laughs. “Weird, huh? Like what is this place, who thinks of this??” he jokingly agrees.
You guys wander around the area until you make your way to a drink stand where you see the rest of your friends have congregated. They’re taking shots and already seem waaayy above Joel and your party level.
They shove a few drinks in your guys faces, trying to get you both a little “loose” as they said. “You guys are always so uptight, have some fun,”
You look at Joel with a hesitated look because you knew how much he didn’t like the whole “getting trashed at a party” scene.
He always told you how much you didn’t have to hold back at parties with him. He felt bad that you liked to make him comfortable and stay somewhat sober through these kinds of nights.
It wasn’t all for him tho, he was your best friend, it felt so wrong to have him sit back and be the only one not participating. And plus, you always managed to have way more fun together anyway, alcohol or no alcohol.
He looks at you reassuringly before starting, “I’m good with just this drink, but i know T/N wants one,” you shoot him a glare because he knows you weren’t planning on drinking. “Joel, no it’s okay, i don’t-“
By then your friends are already cheering you on and pouring one more for you. “I’m not letting you be a loser with me tonight,” he says to you with a smile. “Have fun, you really deserve it, I’ll be fine”
You crack a little side smile and cross your arms disapprovingly. “Fine.” You take off your bulky coat and toss it on the table. “Just one, that’s it”
You grab the tiny plastic cup and gulp it down with ease. You shiver a little from the impact and chase it with the coke Joel had in his hand. “Not so great?” He laughs and you hand his drink back.
You agree with a little “mhmm” and separate yourself from the group before they make you do another. Joel follows as you lead him to another table that seems to be a “make your own drink” stand.
“Is this sketchy???” He says and you shrug, “i dunno, better to make our own than drink whatever the hell that shit was that they just gave me” you make a face and he laughs.
“Alright then I’ll be the bartender,” he makes his way on the other side of the table. “What can i get ya, ma’am?” His accent forms into a terrible southern drawl.
“Surprise me, cowboy” you mock and he starts scrambling at the various liquids surrounding him. You realize what he’s trying to make and observe with a grin as he catches on to his big mistake: no ice, no blender.
“Uuuuhhh...” he second glances around and puts his hands on his hips. “I fucked up, didn’t I” you glance at his mixture, the saddest piña colada you’ve ever seen, and throw a bendy straw in it. “I’ve seen better, but this’ll do,” you take a sip and hold back how fuckED his mixing ratio was with a sarcastic “mmmm....”. He throws a stack of red plastic cups at you.
“Te odio,” he says as you throw a cup back. “I know it’s your favorite so i thought I’d try,” you beam on the inside at his little meaningful acts of kindness he always did for you.
You look towards the crowd around the dj growing and spot your friends once again. “Ven,” you motion towards them. “Let’s go dance,”
As the night went on, time seemed to almost drag on in your anticipation for the New Year. There was only so much dancing and mingling you could do for hours on end.
You were thrilled when the dj stopped the music suddenly and made the announcement. “5 minutes everyone, get ready for the countdown soon”
The crowd cheered and gathered around the tables to pour themselves more champagne and random drinks. With the sudden rush of people preparing themselves, you found yourself cut off from your group.
You wandered around in hopes to find at least one of your friends to share the moment with. But with time passing quickly, you decided to toughen up and enjoy it alone.
Becoming more aware of your location, you remember that there was a scheduled firework show across the city that was probably visible from here. You find the nearest staircase and climb the last 2 floors to the roof.
You wrap your arms around yourself and blow warm air into your hands as the cold hits you first hand. You look up at the open sky and see the light snowfall, reflecting off the faint city lights in the distance.
You lean against a cold rail on the edge of the building, your teeth beginning to chatter quickly. You get lost in a sudden new year daydream.
You close your eyes as you imagine some fantasy love interest- typical. It was always this time of year that made you want it more and more. Someone to sweep you off your feet with a huge romantic gesture. When the moment is perfect and the snow is falling just like this.
Someone to find you unexpectedly, tap you on the shoulder and say-
“Que haces güey?????”
The fantasy is cut off by another lame scare attempt from Joel. “BrO” you say out of fright and when your shivering becomes more intense his smile fades a little.
Oh shit, where’s your coat,” he starts to take his off and wrap it around you, rubbing your arms to warm you up. “I th-th-think i lost it,” you chatter, the cold and sudden nerves hitting you.
“I saw you come up here, you wanna go back inside where it’s warme-“ he’s cut off by the sudden burst of fireworks in the distance. The both of you jump a little, not even aware that the new year countdown had just ended.
You both stare up at the bursting lights in the air, not realizing the distance that was closed between you both.
He had you in his arms as an attempt to keep you warm and you hadn’t noticed just how bundled up into his chest you had become.
“Happy new year lol” you joke, trying to lighten the air that you both just missed the big moment. “Good thing we’re up here so we didn’t have to watch everyone have gross New Years makeouts,” He laughs to agree and you continue to watch the fireworks finish off.
They start dying down one by one and you close your eyes to make your New Years wishes.
You open your eyes to find Joel staring down at you, “What?...” you say nervously as he smiles.
“I’ve known you for years and i still can’t get over how you do that,” you finally step out of his grip and watch as he talks to you.
“I’ve seen a lot of New Years rituals like the whole colorful underwear for luck or love, or even when people eat all those grapes as the clock strikes, but I’ve never met anyone who straight up just makes wishes,”
“Listen you can roast me all day for my weird superstition, but I’m just sayin, maybe you should try it before you talk smack,” you joke and he leans against the rail lining the building, closing his eyes.
“Alright,” he says and rubs his hands together. “I’m all in, teach me how to do this whole wish thing,”
You take the opportunity to roll your eyes at him since he’s not looking. “There’s nothing to teach, just make a wish,” you stick a tongue out at him and mock him even more.
“My eyes are closed, but i can see that” he points at you with a little frown.
“Ok shh I’m starting,” you get silent and watch the faces he makes as he’s thinking and wonder what the wish is. His furrowed brow softens and a shy smile plasters his face, he giggles and rubs the back of his neck, he was nervous.
He slowly opens his eyes and stares right at you. You’re wrapping yourself deeper into his jacket and give him a confused look. “Ta’ bien, güey?” You say as he makes his way to you.
“I just-“ he laughs nervously again. “I didn’t have a wish i guess,” you roll your eyes. “Dont do that” he continues. “I think i just realized something tho...”
You give him a look and you’re more confused then ever. “And...?” You suggest for him to go on. “You’re the risk taker in this friendship, you always have been,” he starts.
“And you always peer pressure me into taking more risks sooo,,” none of what he’s saying is making sense to you so you listen understandingly. “I want to tell you how i really feel about you.” Your eyes grow wide and heart skips a beat from anxiety.
You stumble for words but nothing comes out. He looks nervous- no- more than nervous, but he finishes. He grabs your hands in his and you know he’s not joking this time. “I’ve just- i always knew there was something between us. Ever since i met you.. you became more than my best friend. You’re somehow the angel and devil on my shoulders, you’re my positivity when I’m down, you- you’re basically my everything.”
You try not to get emotional at the sudden confession. You couldn’t deny you had felt it too, just never let it surface for the sake of your friendship. Your eyes water a little through a shy grin and that tells him everything he needs to know.
“Can I.....can i kiss you?” He almost whispers and you melt.
“I-“ you rock back and forth on your heels nervously like a child. “I think I’d like that,” you finish and he smiles the biggest you’ve ever seen, his perfect teeth peeking through and his eyes shining against the moon light.
He takes his time and grabs you by the flap of his jacket that was blanketed around you. His hand slides up your neck to cup your cheek gently and you can’t help but look to the side embarasingly from the touch.
“No te pongas tímida..” he says in that voice that he’s used on you so many times. For as long as he’s known you, he always knew how to relax you when you were spiraling.
You look up into his eyes and they’re so familiar, yet you’ve never seen this look in them before. You see his breathe in the cold air and it feels like you’ve been looking at each other for an eternity now.
He leans closer.....
His eyes never leaving yours
He smiles once again before his eyes flutter shut. You quickly do the same and feel the warmth of his lips brush to yours.
The contact is slight and not full yet. You both pause almost as to savor the moment. Feeling this tiny touch from him was making your senses go crazy.
He lets out a shaky breathe and finally presses his lips to yours.
At first they softly meet, resting against each other nervously to find the perfect position. It’s short and sweet, a bundle of anxious bodies snuggled up against each other.
The next moment is more courageous. You both know what the first feeling is like, and suddenly you become more open.
Your lips begin to move against each other’s, finding a rhythm to work with. He’s holding onto you so gently still and it’s the most safe you’ve ever felt before. With that, you reach up to touch him. Letting your fingers roam the side of his face, and he lets out a loving sigh against you.
He has both hands on either side of your face now and he’s holding you still. His lips roam from your lips to the corner of your mouth, covering as much ground as they can. You smile and he continues to kiss your cold cheeks, your chin, your nose, before finally returning to your lips.
He stops and lets them hover over you again. His eyes are closed and his breathe is heavy like yours. His arms move down around your waist, pulling your bodies together. He takes a breath, and suddenly he’s lifting you up off your feet, his lips meeting yours once again.
He spins around once and you smile against his mouth as he sets you down, feeling a smile grow on him as well. “What the hell was that,” you brush your lips against his as you speak. “I dunno, saw it in a movie, just always wanted to do that i guess.” He says innocently and you lay your head on his chest, his arms around you to keep you locked in a hug.
Now that’s one way to start the year off.
#i have such a soft spot for mi joelito ugh#imma be honest#but when i started following cnco more than 2 years ago joel was my FAV#it was mainly bc he was mex and close to my age#so hes my ride or die 💪🏽#mi joelito#cnco#cnco imagine
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Ain't No Grave
Characters: Dullahan Comic Negan
Warnings: Language and massive amounts of gore and violence :)
Notes: This is my second entry into @ladylorelitany Monster Mash writing challenge
———————————————————–
Once upon a fucking time, I fucking died.
Now I know what you’re thinking.
“Negan how the fuck are you gonna tell a fucking story if you’re fucking dead?”
Well kiddos when you’re a sonofabitch like me, you tend to think about death.
You tend to think about it A-Fucking-lot
But more often than fucking not my fucking brain takes a left turn, drifting to how my own death might pan out.
Now when you got a bullseye the size of the fucking Pentagon on your back, you kinda hope it’s gonna be fast.
Maybe painless if you’re lucky.
Cuz there’s a whole lot of fucking well deserved torture on my tab I’ll need to pay off at some fucking point at the fucking asshole bar.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m about as fucking lucky as a dick in a room full of fucking vaginas, but I’m smart enough to know my lucks gonna run out sooner or later.
And by later I mean two fucking days ago apparently.
Well, at least it was fucking fast right?
So fast I never fucking seen it coming actually.
One moment I was giving some fuck the business then BAM!!! fucking lights out Negan.
Fuckers.
So let’s go back a couple days to the fucking moment I realized I’d screwed the pooch.
So for the sake of my story were gonna change things up a bit.
We’re gonna fucking fade the fuck out to first person POV cuz it’s fucking better that way, don’t like it…fuck off!
☆☆☆☆
Cracking my eyes open with a groan I wince, jesus fucking christ on a unicycle my fucking head hurt. Rolling over I furrowed my brow, squinting in confusion.
Ok, Negan
Don’t freak the fuck out.
Laying next to me was a large body it’s wide shoulders wrapped in worn black leather. Lucille lay between us, her beautiful smooth surface split in half, her barbed wire dress strewn in loose loops around her broken body. I grit my teeth as memories began flooding back.
Rick the prick.
Goddamn Lucille.
Fucking skin suites.
The sound of knives slicing through the air.
GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!!!!!
Fucking Frowney-Mctwoknives! That fucking limp dick lurch motherfucker better be dead. Fuck! decapitated or not, the next time I see him he’s fucking fucked.
Fucking cut me down, Fine.
But fuck with my Lucille?
Hell, I’ll get fucking Rick to soccer ball me the fuck down his throat if i have to.
Rolling my eyes around I scan the large field, fucking dicks didn’t even have the stones to brain me so I wouldn’t tun.
Well fuck you too prick.
Fuck you.
Movement suddenly brought my attention back to my nearby corpse, I probably looked like a damn mini-golf attraction with my mouth hanging open like some two dollar whore.
But fuck me, my body was fucking moving.
Its fingers twitched fisting the grass as it pushed itself back onto its knees, black blood oozing lazily down the front of my now red stained shirt. My body jerked thrashing about as it convulsed.
I grimaced, jesus that’s fucking gross.
Pitching itself forward my newly animated arms twisted around the blood soaked grass.
Shit
OK this is fucking weird.
“Marco”
The sound of my gruff voice sent my body jerking in my direction, blood spurting out around its leather clad shoulders.
Fuck, I know fuckers who actually have ears that can’t hear that well.
Twitching slightly as it leans backward against its boots, my headless corpse slumps forward with a gross squelching noise before crawling its way toward my face. Grasping my jaws roughly in its gloved hands I curl my lip in annoyance “fuck, hey take it easy there fuck face” I growl as my body stumbles to its feet.
Cradling me in the crook of its arm, my body shuffles forward, it’s large torso bending forward to grab Lucille by her handle. I can’t help but frown at my girl’s broken body, her twisted wire the only thing keeping her together as he drags her behind us.
I’ve seen some weird shit in my day, but damn.
What the fuck was happening to me?
I mean…
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK???
I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be fucking surprised. I always fucking knew I was too much of a fucking bastard to die.
The low rumble of moans snap me back to reality, chuckling I watch as the dead shuffle in around us. It sure as shit didn’t take fucking long for me to have my own fucking herd. I mean fuck, I knew I was a fucking charismatic fuck but damn even the dead couldn’t resist me.
Squinting in curiosity I watch as a roamer roughly shoves its way forward, it’s jaw slack as it’s guts dangle freely from its decaying flesh.
It sure was a pissy little thing.
I snort noticing its exposed breasts, well that explains a lot.
Chuckling at my own joke I waggle my eyebrows at her “so, you come here often baby?” I give the oblivious corpse a wink, flashing her one of my famous panty-dropping smiles. Its face turns at the sound of my voice snapping its jaws as it stumbles forward. With a vicious growl the female roamer suddenly trips over a large rock, her leg tearing apart at the knee as she collapses to the ground with a thud disappearing from sight.
Scoffing I roll my eyes, “fucking typical”.
*****************
Well it took a fucking month and a half but my body finally stumbles into what looks like an abandoned farm, dropping me unceremoniously to the hardwood floor.
“Fuck”
Blinking my eyes I notice the barn still holds the smell of animals, like the world is still fucking normal. looking around I watch as my body thrashes around in the back of the building. The sound of something growling followed by a loud crack can be heard before I see my other half returning to me. It’s large hands dragging out a long rusted-ass chain attached to the corpse of a burly, half eaten horse.
“Oh god please don’t tell me you want me to fucking eat that” I groan wrinkling my nose in disgust. Choosing now to fucking Ignore me, my corpse drags the carcass in front of my eyes dropping the rusted chain so that it thuds loudly next to my ear making me wince.
I furrow my brow in confusion as my body shuffles around before dropping to its knees next to the rotting animal, a swarm of flies dusting up around him.
Dear fucking god I hope he doesn’t fucking start eating it.
Wait a second…
I give an enthusiastic smile
Hey, he doesn’t have a fucking mouth and I don’t have a fucking stomach so he can’t eat and I can’t blow fucking chunks so…
Problem fucking solved
A loud gurgling noise wipes the stupid grin off my face faster than an elderly nudist. My body is hunched over the dead horse, it’s stomach tensing as it wretches a torrent of black sludge from its stump onto the animals open neck wound.
Ok
Now I really wish I could fucking throw up.
Giving one last heaving spray my body drags itself off the ground hobbling slightly as it grabs Lucille tossing her to the creature’s neck. My eyes widening even further as her barbed wire is sucked inside the wound, it’s bloody strands twisting the animals flesh closed. Several more strands dart out amongst it’s many wounds pulling flesh and bone back together.
A loud rumbling sound echoes around the barn as steam jets out the once very dead horse’s nostrils . It’s eyes darting around the room, emitting a fiery glow. With a low growl the creature fights to its feet shaking it’s blood caked mane.
It’s ink black flesh is torn in several areas exposing bone and it’s now throbbing innards. Lucille’s wire can be seen holding the flesh of several large wounds closed. Her barbs twisting around the creature’s nose and jaw keeping the exposed bone tightly together.
This was…
THIS WAS FUCKING COOL AS SHIT!
I couldn’t help but give my best super villain laugh as my body finally retrieved me off the floor grasping the unholy beasts chain leading it outside, it’s skeletal tail twitching behind it almost nonchalantly.
Holding his hand out I smile as more barbed wire spins forth from the creature’s jaw snaking out around itself to form makeshift reigns as my body swings us up on its back with ease.
Looking up at my body with a wide smile showcasing my blood stained teeth I drawl “think it’s time for a little fucking payback dont’cha think?” in response my bodies leather clad heels tap the creature’s sides. The beast roaring as steam bellows out its wired jaws as it rears up on two legs jumping forward at a full gallop racing off to Alexandria.
******************
The forest was like a grave as we clip clopped our asses between the trees, an eerie mist beginning to follow us adding just enough terror to the growing parade of dead fucks stumbling behind us to bring a smile to my face.
Trotting up a small hill we finally came upon prick-topia, fuuuuck this place looked like shit, I grimaced as I took in the sorry fucking state of things. The once shining butt plug that was The Alexandria Safe Zone was now Completely tarnished. The gates were pulled apart, practically hanging off their fucking hinges as hoards of the undead crawled and pushed their way inside.
Several gunshots echoed within the walls sending the sacks of shit behind me into a frenzy. “Hey, settle the fuck down back there” I growl. The silence that follows has me raising my eyebrows, holy shit that actually fucking worked?
My body urges our monstrosity of a horse forward, the roamers shuffling quietly behind us.
Searching the area the best I can without a fucking neck I narrow my eyes.
A roamer is stumbling towards us.
Alone?
With two herds clearly visible this fuck is standing out like a turd in a punch bowl.
“I see you” I sing out to the wandering dip shit, it’s body halting as it cocks its head in confusion.
I can’t help but laugh “yeah, surprise, sur-fucking-prise…I mean fucking really? Did you sorry shits really think I’d stay fucking dead?”
The dumb fuck stares at me like it wasn’t a fucking rhetorical question.
“Jesus fucking christ” I groan “alright shit heel, take me to your fucking leader before you really fucking piss me the fuck off….I mean you’d think fucking lopping my fucking head off in a fucking field of fucking corpses would of fucking pissed me off”. I raise my eyebrows in amusement “but fuuuuuccckkkk me I’m really not that fucking upset, ask me if I fucking know why but here we are…”
The stupid shit still just gawked at me like I had a fucking dick for a head.
“ok, I’m gonna count to fucking five, and if you don’t start fucking walking I’m gonna fucking rip your fucking spine out your fucking ass”.
Fucking nothing….really??
My bloodshot eyes glance behind the stupid fuck just as fucking Frowney-Mctwoknives himself lumbers to prick-topia’s gates.
Rage.
That’s all I fucking feel
I don’t notice the strands of fucking barbed wire spewing forth from my fucking corpse’s neck until there twisting their way into my blackened flesh.
Shit that fucking hurts
Baring my teeth as I’m lifted back to my rightful place on my fucking shoulders, the rusted wires pulling my flesh secure as black blood drools out the corners of my mouth.
Fuck
Reunited and it feels so fucking good.
I cough up more of that fucking black shit as dip shit jerry finally makes his move, his fingers grasping his knife as I surge forward.
I’m a man of my fucking word.
Leaning over my undead mount I grab his pencil neck, dragging his ass onto the saddle with me as I wrap the barbed wire reins around his throat. Fighting harder than a fucking salmon swimming upstream he lets out a bloodcurdling scream as I ram my fist up ass sending blood pouring down off my horse.
I’m laughing like a fucking maniac but the homoerotic jokes just won’t fucking stop, so with a deep chuckle I wrap my fingers around his spine wrenching it from his body in a wave of gore that would put a meat grinder to shame, as the force pulls his head free from his shoulders due to the fucking barbed wire.
His body falling to the ground in two halves.
Still holding his blood soaked spine I smile brightly as lurch finally notices my presence. Giving my mount a slight kick he pitches a fit rearing on his hind legs with a loud demonic noise.
“Come on ya stupid fuck, your dousing my fucking epicness in cold water here”.
Snorting it turned it’s head to look at me, Lucille’s handle sticking out of its mouth like a dog with damn bone. Pulling her broken shaft from its jaws I smirk as more wire twists from its broken end, slithering over my lap to intertwin with dipshit Jerry’s spinal cord. The silver strands pull the vertebrae apart connecting them with the wire in a long ass fucking whip.
Looking the badass weapon over I smile, the damn thing looks like it belongs in a fucking Clive Barker novel.
Yeah that’s right…I fucking read.
I’m not a dumbass.
Sliding from the horse from hell I stalk toward Frowney-mic-twoknives, I’m beyond fucking pissed at this point and all I wanna do is fucking tear him apart.
Fucking Beta lumbers at me like the fucking cocky ass douche canoe he is. But snapping my Barker whip back behind me I pull of my best Indiana Jones slash catwoman whip crack I could dish out. The loud snap making him stop before pulling out his fucking clearly compensatingly big knives from within his coat.
Spinning around I lash out, my whip snapping out around his body as he quickly blocks the vicious barbs from cutting his face with his knives. Spinning back around I wrap the bloody weapon around me slightly as I yank him to me, smashing my head into his thick fucking skull.
Chuckling as he’s knocked on his fucking ass I growl “come on you big lumber dick, show some fucking balls”. Spreading my arms wide I run my tongue over my bloody teeth.
God this fuck had me all kinds of fucking pissed.
Beta stumbles to his feet, rushing me as we collide like fucking linebackers. Somewhere in the fucking mix he rammed his fucking mini sword into my side.
Didn’t even feel the fucking thing.
Slamming my foot down on his boot I elbowed him in the stomach wrapping my whip around his neck, tossing him over my back before ramming my knee in his spine.
Pulling the wire taught.
Blood splattered up over his shoulders as I began sawing his fucking head off.
Unfortunately the fucking Hulk of the apocalypse had a little life left in him.
Throwing his bleeding head back he shoved me off tripping my leg so he could straddle me, his large fists slamming into my face.
Twisting my hand around the Barker whip I crashed it into his jaw sending him rolling off me.
Swinging with everything I had the bloody barbs and human vertebrae slashed across his face. Lifting my fingers to my lips I let out a harsh whistle, my lips pulling back in a wide smile as my demonic steed galloped to a halt behind his stumbling form.
Lifting my hands I laughed as barbed wire shot out from its wounds wrapping around him like some kind of fucking spider catching a damn bug.
Beta put up a big ass fucking fight of course by went still when I cracked my whip, demanding silence.
Leaning over to whisper in his ear, I grit my teeth “boy did you pick the wrong fucker to fuck with, shit stain”.
Raising my fist in the air I opened my palms with a wide grin as my body was covered in blood. My horse retracting the barbed wire, the strands moving against his skin like a buzz saw.
Laughing manically I swung my whip around so it slithered up around my torso. Stepping through the gooey human mulch that used to be Frowney-mic-twoknives I swung my body up on my horse.
I felt like I was gonna fucking throw up.
Gagging as I suddenly fell from my shoulders once more, my body caught me in its arms.
Well that was fucking fun while it lasted.
Giving Pricktopia one last glance, I smirked “saved your fucking ass again captain hook” I grumbled.
And like a fucking badass I jerked the reins, turning the beast around.
disappearing into the fog, my army of dead fucks stumbling behind me.
Fucking King of the fucking dead fucks.
The. Fucking. End!!!
————————————————————
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Aww it's alright if you can't do the vet scenario 8'D Okay how bout if Prom saw a stray kitten/puppy on the streets and just when he got excited and was about to approach it, reader bumps into him in her haste cuz she was trying to go pet it too! Cue friendly chat over animals turning into interest in each other (hope I made sense, I just need Prom interacting with animals in my life thank youuu)
Hey anon! I diverged from the prompt a little bit because A) I forgot about the bumping into each other until it was too late, but B) it seemed a bit more natural this way that I wrote it. I hope you enjoy!
——-
You reached into your bag and felt around for the pouch of cat food, eyes scanning the street for signs of your little friend. You hear a familiar, squeaky little meow from around the corner, but you’re surprised to hear a male voice respond to it.
“Hey little guy!! I brought you something real special today, you’re gonna love it!!!”
As you peek around the corner, you see a blonde young man crouching down and petting a small grey kitten. The kitten squeaks again, and he pulls a small tin of cat food out of his pocket.
“This is the good stuff! It costs… well… never mind what it costs, buddy. You’re gonna love it!!”
You watch him struggle with the pull tab for a moment, but to his dismay it pops right off. He wails.
“Oh no!!! Uh… don’t you worry little dude, I’ll figure this out. Uh…”
He looks around in his bag for something, but finds nothing. Suddenly his eyes fall on you. You freeze. His smile is so gorgeous it stops you dead in your tracks. He gives you a friendly wave.
“Hey there!! You wouldn’t happen to have like a pocketknife or something, would you?”
You shake your head quietly, and his shoulders droop.
“Ah, man… the tab came off this darn thing and this guy really needs to eat…”
“Well… I do have this.”
You pull the pouch of cat food out of your purse and gesture at it. The boy’s face lights up with another beautiful smile, and you can feel yourself blushing.
“Hey, that’s perfect!! I should have bought the easy-open kind too but I didn’t even think of it… that’s so smart.”
Somehow your legs propel you forward, even though everything in you is screaming at you to flee. CUTE BOY, CUTE BOY, ABORT ABORT. JUST GIVE HIM THE CAT FOOD AND RUN.
When you hand him the food your fingers brush, and to your surprise a blush spreads across the boy’s freckled face. He gives you a shy smile before taking the pouch and tearing it open. He lowers it to the ground and the kitten mews eagerly before tucking into the food with a gusto. You gather your courage and come to crouch next to the blonde; both of you watch the the small cat eating in silence for a few moments.
“So um… you come here often?”
“Sorry?”
The young man blushes again. “I mean, ah… you’ve been coming to help this little guy too?”
“Oh!” You nod. “Yeah… I usually pass through here on my way home from work, and I’ve been working on getting him to come close enough for food… I’m so surprised he’s been letting you pet him. I thought I was gonna have to just leave the food and hide.”
“Animals can tell when you have a kind heart… I’m sure he would have let you feed him no problem.”
You twirl a strand of hair around your finger nervously. “Well at any rate… I’m glad you were here too. It’s so nice of you to look out for this poor little thing.”
He smiles at you and you can feel your heart skip a bit. Oh no… Gods, he’s so cute. Don’t get attached, _________… you don’t even know this guy.
You realize with a start he has his hand out. You’re not sure how long you ignored him while you were lost in your thoughts, so you grab his hand and shake it hastily.
“I’m _______…”
“Prompto Argentum!”
He holds onto your hand a bit longer than you’d expected, and you give it another awkward shake… so he shakes your hand a third time. Neither of you seems to want to let go, but the longer he holds onto you the more embarrassed you feel. Eventually you withdraw your hand, but somehow you can still feel his warmth. Neither of you can manage to make eye contact, so you watch the kitten eat again. Feeling bold, you decide to be the first to break the silence.
“So… uh… same time tomorrow?”
“Huh?”
“Uh… I just thought you might want to see how kitty is doing… it’s okay if you’re busy! Or um… if you’re not interested.”
“No no, I… I’d love to see him again.”
Your face feels like it’s a million degrees. Gods, he must think I’m an idiot.
You stand, taking care not to startle the kitten. “Actually I just remembered I’m busy tomorrow… sorry to bother you. It looks like you have him well in hand, so I’ll just be going now.”
“Wait!!”
Prompto grabs your arm, and you gape at him. He must have realized he crossed a line, because he quickly releases you.
“Um… if it’s not too weird to say… I’d love to see you too. Maybe we could go get him some food together on the way? There’s a pet store nearby…”
Oh.
“…I’d really like that.”
You smile at each other nervously before he snaps his fingers.
“Hey!! I should get your number… we should take a selfie together so we can remember today!!”
“Okay… as long as you promise to text it to me.”
Both of you kneel down so that the kitten is visible in the background; Prompto throws an affable arm around your shoulder and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. He smells so good… You decide to throw caution to the wind and lay your head on his shoulder. You can feel him freeze up beneath you, and you mentally kick yourself for being too familiar. But when you stand to look at the photo, you’re struck by just how happy both of you look.
“Wow, you look so cute!! You photograph really well…”
“Thank you… so do you.”
You smile at each other nervously for what feels like an eternity before Prompto’s phone goes off. He unlocks his phone and scans it, then makes a sound of consternation.
“Oh man, I forgot! I’m about to be late, I’m supposed to meet my friends… here, give me your phone and I’ll give you my number real quick.”
He taps his number into your phone with an impressive speed, and then returns it to you. He hesitates for a moment, then approaches you with his arms out, as though looking for your permission. When you smile and take a step towards him he throws his arms around your shoulders and squeezes you in a hug that ends far sooner than you want it to.
“It was so great meeting you… see you tomorrow, ______!!”
You clutch your phone as he dashes off, hardly daring to believe your luck. You crouch back down and turn your attention back to your feline friend. The kitten is making tiny, adorable growls as it eats.
“Thanks little guy… I guess both of us made a new friend today.”
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NSFW #02: For Fun!
“Say Hey, EWC Faithful! We’re here with you at the lovely Crystal campground in the majestic Ouachita National Forest in Arkansas.”
“We’re going camping, and you’re going to watch.”
Indeed, NSFW was camping. A large two person tent was set up and just visible to the left, and framed right in the center of the shot were Bishop Church and Mike McGuire, sitting across from one another beside a large, cheerily crackling campfire. The evidence of their dinner sits atop a small cooler: hot dogs, tofu dogs, stadium mustard, ketchup, buns. Chocolate and marshmallows for s’mores. The night sky is star-flecked through the towering trees, and in the background are the sounds of rustling leaves and the babble of a nearby but unseen creek.
It was a good campsite. This had been a good trip so far in general, marked by a good beginning: a Fourth of July party held at the magnificent estate of their good friend (and as far as they were concerned, the heir apparent to the EWC Undisputed Championship) Natalie Young. There had been a moment that, while perhaps not exactly pleasant, had lent some serious emotional gravity between the three of them, and though the unpleasantness had dissipated, the strengthened bond hadn’t. After the evening’s festivities they’d been wished a safe trip and, much to Mike’s delight, she got a kiss goodbye that’d set her in an outright giggly mood for hours afterward.
Mike pulled a speared marshmallow away from the fire, sandwiching it between two graham crackers with a piece of Hershey bar before taking a bite. Bishop held a small assortment of notecards, and Mike had some of her own sitting on the log beside her.
“As you can see, our efforts to save some cash on this cross-country roadtrip we’re doing have gone critical mass. We are Now Sleeping in the Fucking Woods. But since we’re camping… you wanna hear a scary story?”
She leaned forward, her face illuminated by the flames in an eerie manner.
“This is a story of a man. A man who surrounded himself with people he called his friends. But little did he know that these people were not what they seemed. They were… FUUUUUCKING HYYYPOCRIIIIIIIIITES.”
Raising her arms up, she wiggled her fingers to convey spookiness.
“Our story begins on a most jingoistic of evenings and our hero had just introduced a most marvelous of notions. He would captain a squad of five like individuals. They would bring forth a new era.”
John looked down at the first card in his hand and read it aloud:
“This is not a Revolution. We are not taking some grand stance against corruption or apathy or any other "cause". This is not about The Future. This is about right now. This is about bringing some fun back to the EWC. Too many competitors are wound up tighter than the blunts Smokey Jones rolls.”
He tossed the first card into the fire.
“Only it turns out, this little newly formed group of ragtag misfits, Freaks and Geeks, if’n you will, has a really fuckin’ interesting idea on what constitutes ‘fun’. And just to prove that we ain’t just spinnin’ this tale out of our asses, we did our homework. And we took fuckin’ notes. Let’s start with everybody’s favorite stoner, shall we? Smokey Fuckin’ Jones.”
She brushed the graham cracker crumbs off her hands and picked up the first card off her small stack.
“James Larson, you carry all the tools for success, but have done nothing more than play games with the likes of it. I say, you sacrifice yourself one last time. Sacrifice yourself to me in the middle of the ring and lie down on the mat for the three count and I will take you back to the top of your game.”
She looked at the camera with a slightly tilted head, lips twisting into an inquisitive frown.
“Let me preface this with saying I don’t mind a bit of the wacky tobaccy now and then. But I, no sane person, really, goes off and demands human fuckin’ sacrifice or whatever in the name of legalizing it.”
Following her partner’s lead, she pitched the card into the fire before picking the next one up, holding onto it for the time being.
“Now. I don’t think Cletus literally means human sacrifice. But in nearly every one of his bouts, he has made the ultimatum that if you don’t join him in The Promised Land, he’ll make sure you regret it.”
“Y’know, for fun!”
“Anyway, I’ve already spoken at length about Orianna Johnson. She is spry and cheery. She is only eighteen-years-old. Look at the jubilation she expresses in her every word. Happy statements to Lavender like:”
Next card.
“You’re about as sharp as the leading edge of a bowling ball aren’t you?”
“Which is funny considering just weeks prior she stated:”
"With the admiration of many, you've gained mine as well, and my respect, Lavender. You'll never hear me bragging about how I can go out in the sunlight and not be afraid. I won't rub that in your face like others have. You may not realize it, but you've won far more in life than your win/loss record in the ring says.”
Whoosh. Into the flames.
“A little condescending. We all have some quotient of snark these days. But Mike, there’s just something strange about this.”
“You’re right, partner. I mean, I’ve seen that promo and rewatched it a couple fuckin’ times because it was so goddamn weird. She says somethin’ about the well deserved admiration of the people or some shit like that, and then, boom. She’s talking about something else out of the blue, in a different position than she was a second ago.”
“Maybe she flubbed. When we started this whole ordeal, I certainly didn’t feel comfortable with all of this. Still makes me tense but I can deal with it. But yes, maybe it’s a promo cut together with the best takes. Or maybe…”
“...given Little Miss Teen EWC’s track record on talking shit, she said something so fuckin’ untoward that even she couldn’t leave it in. Cuz if she did? Everybody’d know just what an ugly, rotten, two-faced little snake that girl is. And we can’t have that. She’s just a CHILD, right? Kids will be kids.”
“Youth isn’t an excuse for being needlessly cruel. Although, this is just speculation. But we’ve got plenty of tape of how she views those of a lower station than her. Orianna Johnson: Dehumanizing others by referring to them as ‘it’ and the destruction and theft of private property.”
“Y’know, for fun!”
She looked down at the card she’d picked up, pursing her lips a bit.
“Now, this one seems like a breath of fresh fuckin’ air, especially comin’ after the lovely Miss Johnson. Steve Barnes. Superhero. Would be fuckin’ bully killer. I quote.”
“I am sick and tired of men like you in this business. They are everywhere, thinking they can do whatever they want, to whoever they want, whenever they want. Today that stops. Men like you are nothing more than schoolyard bullies; and I hate bullies. So, from now on, wherever there are men like you, I will be there. You want to keep coming at people like you just did, I will be there to stop you. My name is Steve Barnes...and I AM IRON MAN!”
“Nice words. Would be an admirable cause. Problem is? You really really suck at it. Let’s look at the night you said all this. Sure, you came out, beat up on Collateral Damage, and why wouldn’t you? Beating up Draco Lazarus is fucking fun. There are few faces as outright begging to be punched as his. But where the heck were you when Az was getting shredded by a bunch of masked fuckers? I don’t recall Tony Motherfucking Stark bein’ all selective about his superheroism. Matter of fact…”
She winged the card into the fire Frisbee-style and folded her arms, smirking a little in spite of herself.
“...we’re doing a better job than you. Not that we’re out looking to be the Avengers, heh, the Guardians actually suit us way better if we’d even want to go that route. But how many instances of fucking shenanigans have Draco and his cronies tried to pull lately? And who’s usually there to beat his ass? Here’s a hint: NOT YOU.”
“You certainly had your chance last Monday. Twice. You had a chance to make another grand statement. Instead you opted to say nothing whatsoever. When Mucho Grande! were the victims of another assault from Collateral Damage, where were you, Iron Man? If you’re going to virtue signal, at least live up to it.”
“So much for having no cause except for ZOMGOD FUN, huh?” She paused. “Hey Church. You got one more card there. That who I think it is?”
“Yes.” John tapped his last index card against the palm of his hand. “A familiar adversary. Kendrick Kross. Mr. Lutter’s tag team partner in our upcoming encounter. Two men who prior to this alliance were embroiled in a heated contest. But now there are no agendas and it’s all about entertainment. What does Kross really think about that?”
“I truly have a love and respect for Nostalgia, he is someone that I can call a friend, he has his faults just as everyone else, one of them is having to please his followers, the Sentimentalists...what is the point in that? Why should you fight and please the Sentimentalists when all that you should want and need to do is fight to please yourself, that’s one of his faults that will get him in trouble one day, and that day will be at Scars and Stripes.”
John’s hands are now empty as the last card joined the rest. “His plans were put on ice that evening.”
“Yeah, unfortunately, Cherry Garcia decided to give him the fuckin’ cold shoulder.”
They glanced at each other for just a moment, giving simultaneous slight snickers at each other’s dreadful puns.
“But it makes me think, Mike, our cool friend essentially said that he does this for himself. That his leader’s selflessness will cost him one day. When do you think that will happen? Maybe in Oakland?”
Mike nodded grimly.
“Yeah, I mean, calling your tag team partner naive and prone to fuckin’ backstabbing don’t exactly harbor an atmosphere of trust, and as we can tell you, if you don’t have trust in a tag team, you’re fucked with a capital F. U. But I guess in your book, maybe if he’s that gullible, he deserves it, right?”
“Although, if I were Mr. Lutter, I wouldn’t take much of what Kross says at face value. I happen to remember that his evaluation of me was of little worth. He has the habit of deriding every individual he comes across with backhanded compliments that culminate in him trying to run them out of the business. Friend or foe.”
“Condensation and backstabbing. Y’know, for fun!”
Silence except the crackle of the flames. John raised a finger in the air as if to correct her but then he withdrew and nodded in agreement. “You know, you’re right. He would technically do that as he defrosted.”
Mike blinked, and then broke into wild cackles, falling backwards off the log she was sitting on.
“Ooof. I’m okay.” Picking herself up, she sits back down, brushes herself off, and clears her throat. “Anyways. You may notice by now that we are fresh outta notecards. That’s because, well, we ain’t got nothin’ bad to say about Nostalgia. He ain’t a hypocrite, far’s we’ve been able to see: he’s the only one in this whole bunch who actually believes in his own fuckin’ mission statement. You’re a good dude, Nos. You’re a lot of fun, and you’re real fuckin’ talented. But when we got your manager out of a spot, and you asked us to join your group? We said we’d get back to you… an’ now we’ve got our answer.”
“No. Not because of you. I like you. Mike likes you. You’ve been nothing but kind to us. You’ve said complimentary things about us. Here’s the thing. If we joined you, we’d be quoting ourselves all through the night.”
“We’re just not like you. We don’t fuckin’ fit in your box or anyone’s. Do we like to have fun? Fuck yeah we do. But unlike what you said you guys are about? We DO stand for something. We’ve said it all this time, and if you missed it you haven’t been fuckin’ paying attention. Nuh-uh. We’re not freaks, or geeks. We’re us, and ain’t nobody like us.” She paused a moment, a dreamy little smile flicking over her face. “Cept for maybe Miss Natalie. She’s so fuckin’ cool, and strong, and smart, and she’s got the prettiest fuckin’ eyes, and it was so awesome of her to invite us over for the Fourth for that party…”
“I enjoyed Natalie’s pie.”
Mike sat up, suddenly looking slightly irked. “Hey, I thought you liked MY pie best! I mean, you ate a bunch of it before we left the house. Eh, on the other hand, maybe it wasn’t that great after eight hours in the car.”
John looked directly at the camera. His words would be followed by thousands of fingers clacking away at their keyboards. “You both had me licking the plate clean.”
Mike’s hand flew to her mouth, perhaps stifling a snicker, and her emerald eyes glinted merrily in the firelight. “Anyway. Don’t take what we do to you personal, Nos, but take this right now as a warning that we’re givin’ you as friends. I’d keep an eye on the company you keep. They may be playin’ along with you just long enough to swipe something you have that they fuckin’ want.”
“Storytime is over.” John stood up from the log. “Coming up, Freaks and Geeks makes their official debut in the tag team division against us. Mike, lots of folks around here like history. NSFW stands before you and well, we don’t have a shot at the tag team gold. You train and train in the hopes of reaching the top and sometimes it just doesn’t happen no matter how much you wanted it to. Tell them, Mike, what does NSFW do when we just fall short?”
“We pick ourselves up, fuckin’ reload, study up, and do better next time. We don’t run to the back and sob like little eighteen year old girls. So we’re not number one contenders right now. We will be. We said we’re gonna be fuckin’ Tag Team Champions, and we stand by that, no matter how many times we gotta start over. And you guys’ll be as good a handhold in our climb back up the mountain as any.”
“And believe me, we aren’t marginalizing you two. Champions. Main eventers. Bonafide megastars. And here we are: the upstarts. That’s the nature of this business. Not fun. Notsports entertainment. Ask the Madison brothers what sports entertainment has ever done for them.”
Mike got to her feet as well, standing with her arms folded at her partner’s right hand.“That’s where fun gets you when you don’t stand for shit. Goofing around, smoking a bowl, and lighting farts on fire. Is that what you really fuckin’ want, Nos? Is that all you want out of this business? It’s clearly not or you wouldn’t have fuckin’ main evented the year’s biggest goddamn show.”
“That goes for them all. Kendrick Kross said because I didn’t know why I was here that I’d wash out. You know what? You were right. But as I stand before you with my partner, you’rewrong.” John put an arm around Mike’s shoulders. His hand hesitated for just a moment before he rested it on her bare shoulder. “NSFW. That’s what matters. That’s our cause.”
“We believe in us. And not just us. We believe in our friends. We believe in every fuckin’ person out there who takes those four letters to mean somethin’ besides ‘Not Safe For Work’. We fuckin’ stand by that and nothin’s gonna budge or break us. Can you Freaks and Geeks say the same? I don’t fuckin’ think you can. It’s right there in your motto. You don’t stand for nothin’ but fun, and we already pointed out where that fuckin’ leads.”
There’s a pause then, almost if Mike was very reluctant to pull away. But she did (though she was almost too slow about it) and strode over to the tripod-mounted phone, bending down, almost staring right through it at the people she was addressing.
“See you in Oakland. I hope for your sakes you find a better fucking conviction than ‘FOR FUN’ before then.”
The camera clicked off.
After that, John and Mike set to tidying up the campsite- dousing the fire with water from the creek and stirring up the ashes, putting the food away in the cooler and out of the reach of hungry, mischievous raccoons, throwing their garbage into a sealed trash can not far from their campsite. All that done, they tucked into their tent for the night.
It was one of those comfortable silences, little sound but the chirp of insects and soft rushing of the creek, the tent illuminated by the dim light of John’s Kindle as he finished the chapter of The Natural he’d been in the middle of. Mike smiled. He’d really gotten the hang of using it, just as they knew he would. They could only imagine the size of his digital library.
Their voice softly broke the silence.
“Hey, Church. I’m glad we did this.”
John clicked off his book for now. “Me too.” Perhaps a struggle, John rewinded past everything, through all of the ugliness and told them: “Used to go camping all the time. In better days.”
“We can keep doing it, you know. If you want. I kinda like it better than seeing the same fuckin’ hotel room insides every night.” Mike propped their cheek in one hand, and as if realizing they forgot to take it off, removed their hat, setting it beside their pillow. “If you liked it before, I wanna give it back to you.”
“Maybe it isn’t necessary.” John’s back was to them. He nestled his head into the pillow. His tone was drowsy. “Mike. I don’t know how to put this but I feel like I’ve come back to life. And all of this, this can be what I like now.”
“Yeah… I can see what you mean.” They closed their eyes. There was something dancing on the tip of their tongue, but it was colliding and conflicting with other things, growing affections, even. Things they felt. Things they wanted to say. It was unlike them and they found it frustrating, stewing on their words this way, but they were unable to just spit it out. It tied itself in knots, rearranged itself, and finally came out in something both completely different and exactly the same as what they’d originally had in mind.
“John? You… know I’d never hurt you ever, right? I’d drop fucking dead first.”
Silence.
“...Church?”
No sound but a soft, easy, contented cadence of breathing. They smiled, shook their head, and bedded down as well. Maybe it was for the best.
“G’night, buddy.”
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