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Realistic or Modern βœ© π’π’π’π’š π’‡π’“π’†π’‚π’Œπ’” π’„π’π’Žπ’†π’” 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒕 π’π’Šπ’ˆπ’‰π’• ✩

the winter soldier

i’ve gotta go see about a girl β€” will h ✩
𝒂𝒕 π’π’Šπ’ˆπ’‰π’•,
π’Šπ’ the π’π’Šπ’ƒπ’“π’‚π’“π’š,
the π’ˆπ’‰π’π’”π’•π’” 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 π’—π’π’Šπ’„π’†π’”

β€’ β€’ β€’
 


574852

✩ ✩ ✩

π’‚π’“π’„π’‰π’Šπ’† 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒕
20 forevermore
quiet // melancholy // domineering // angsty
piercing green eyes; tall; scar from top of right shoulder, to left hip (on back)



 
β€§Ν™βΊΛš*ο½₯ΰΌ“β˜Ύ 574901 β˜½ΰΌ“ο½₯*ΛšβΊβ€§Ν™

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louis theodore rovanski
19
lazy // sensible // laid-back // patient
light blue eyes; average height; small birthmark across the back of his neck in an indiscernible shape


 
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One would think Louis would be more eager to move somewhere else, what with how strange his new house seemed to be. Disembodied voices, doors closing on their own, his brand new socks all without their matches.

Lou was only mildly perturbed, mostly about the socks. He paid good money for those socks. Rationality always won in the face of strange happenings. Supernatural forces were a thing of fiction.

That night, less than a month into his new living arrangement, Lou woke face-down on his living room couch. The television was on, playing nothing but endless static, but the rest of the room was dark. He used his sleeve to wipe drool from the corner of his mouth as he sat up. For a moment, he wondered if it was the static that woke him up. It wasn't loud, but Louis was kind of a light sleeper. A glance at the clock showed it was nearly three in the morning. He blinked at it. In the reflection off the clock's smooth surface, he swore he saw another face close to his own.
 
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By the time the clock struck twelve, Archie had been delving in and out of rooms, resting out his abilities of the night. By the time he realised he was dead, he had no idea what capabilities could be withheld in the future. Dispersing into nothing but dust? Check. Walking through walls? That too. It seemed rather cliche to him, but after all, where did those myths come from. He’d never been a firm believe in life after death and couldn’t even fathom being back. It took him over a month to realise he wasn’t even living β€” perhaps the fact that whenever he stepped foot behind the garden gates, he would end up walking through the kitchen door like in the movies.

It was dissatisfying, being a ghost, after the initial buzz of having a second chance. But being trapped within a home that he didn’t even like, and being ever so lonely, were two massive drawbacks for him. Being young, and a social butterfly in his waking years, it got ever so boring poking about the place when his room mate, or house keeper of sorts, left the building.

He had been coming to grips with having to share his home with the living. He knew it would come sooner or later but it was quite annoying having to hide himself most of the time aside from night.

Even so. It was 3am and that was the prime of his day. His longer asleep, meant he could be free of his hiding and wonder around the place. His eyes scanned over the clock to see how much time he had left. The person would usually wake around 6am. He sighed quietly at the time, meaning he only had a remaining three hours. Though, as he squinted he realised he could see a face staring right back at him.

Before he could say anything his eyes widened and he tried to get himself out of view. β€œFuck.” He muttered, ducking down behind the sofa his companion was sleeping upon. Or, not sleeping, as the case was.
 
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Louis saw the face move and turned to look over his shoulder, caught just a glimpse of something--or someone--as they disappeared behind the couch.

Huh.

He rubbed at his eyes, swore he was still asleep and dreaming. Until a quiet, panicked fuck reached his ears. It sounded like a young man in a state of nervousness.

An intruder? Was someone in the process of robbing him? They wouldn't find much. He spent every penny he earned in the last two years buying this place. He was a broke soon to be college kid, with no valuables to speak of. Unless they wanted to take any of his electronics, which would be a nightmare. Those were his only forms of entertainment in this cruel, boring world.

Maybe he should've been more concerned.

Without pausing to turn on the light, he reached down to the floor and grabbed the first thing his fingers touched. β€œBegone, thief!” He didn't even think before he poked his head over the back of the couch and attempted to whack whoever was hiding there. With one of the many empty, old pizza boxes scattered around.

Nothing about Louis, a scrawny redhead in a taco t-shirt and Spiderman boxers, was intimidating. He would be damned if he let that stop him, though.
 
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Although Archie half expected the boy to flourish back into a trance of sleep, his expectations were rudely shot down as movement began to bloom from the couch. He almost grumbled before slapping his hand over his mouth. Honestly, he was thinking about scaring him but knew that would only be awkward for the both of them, so decided quickly against it.

In his short time with the undead, Archie had realised that the movies were wrong. Ghosts didn’t want to scare you, they simply wanted to live in peace and quiet with you. Well, unless the ghosts in films were just psychotic to begin with. But Archie on the other hand, was not. In fact, he was hardly any different from the red head when he had lived in the house himself.

He breathed in, hoping the atoms of his body would soon deplete into nothingness. But when the power, or ability, didn’t go to plan, he wasn’t sure what to do. Why isn’t it working? He thought to himself before cursing again, trying to crouch down deeper. Though he knew time was up. The shadow of the boy coming over the top of the sofa became visible and he let go the breath he had been holding in, feeling as the item went the through his body.

Great. Halfway through becoming unseen, and he gets struck. Great timing. He sighed before looking up, body not fully lucid, but still somewhat faded. β€œPlease don’t scream.” He said, pursing his lips awkwardly. Not that he was awkward, he’d just never been in a situation as strange as this before, and wasn’t sure how to go about it. β€œBoo? I guess.”

(I love the Spider-Man boxers detail he is a gay icon I love him already)
 
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The pizza box went right through the intruder's body. Louis's brain fizzled out in a single confused, bewildered thought: what. Rather than stop to listen to the man's request, he waved the grease-stained cardboard box back and forth in quick succession. Just to make sure he wasn't imagining it. He was testing his theory.

Theory confirmed, he couldn't hit the man. Mood of the night: disappointed.

Crouched down behind his couch was the man. Mostly man. No, ghostly man, he corrected himself. The man was, if it was truly at all possible, partially see through. Transparent like plexiglass. Like he was only half there and half somewhere else. The box whizzed through his nonexistent body like a bird through the open skies. How very bizarre it was.

Louis did not scream, but he did stare. For quite some time, in absolute silence, until he gathered enough brain cells to put together a coherent sentence. β€œWhat kind of sorcery is this?” He asked, equal parts awed and horrified. Fear was a strange thing for Louis, who showed it in even stranger ways. His life was dull and uneventful. The only fear he knew came from video games and Black Friday shopping. β€œYou're immune to my pizza box. My deadliest weapon, rendered ineffective. How tragic.”

Awkward was likely Louis's real middle name. It was much more interesting than Theodore, at least. Catchier. The man's boo did anything but frighten him. β€œBoo,” he repeated and flung the box at the man. β€œWhy are you in my house, you filthy extraterrestrial thief?”

( lol he is a fanboy of the highest level )
 

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