#ITS ABOUT A DEPRESSED HITMAN MAKING HIS LIFE WORSE UNTIL HE NO LONGER CAN RUN AWAY FROM HIS PROBLEMS !!!!!!!!!

[james-fun-in-the-sunderland]

WATCH. barry on hbo . one of the many medias that make me eat drywall from my house

[browniefox]

Not Even Our Dying Will Can Unite Us

A Pro No Evens Production of Against All Odds ( @royalflushstories ) and Katekyo Hitman Reborn

It’s the 1920′s, the prohibition is well in motion, mobs are everywhere, and dying wills burn fiercely in everyone's hearts, especially when death can be found around just about any corner.

PJ has a habit of staring at his ring.

The Godfather insists, over and over, and he needs to wear it more. PJ has seen the depression in the Godfather’s finger, right where the ring used to lay on his hand, and he decides he isn’t ready for that kind of permanent marking of the mafia. He wants to remain free just a little bit longer. A selfish feeling perhaps, but it’s what he desires more than anything in the world.

So he puts the ring on a chain and lets it hang down underneath his shirt, the cool metal gently reminding him of what his future is.

But some nights, he sneaks out to the roof. And some nights, the capos let him, leave him alone long enough to stare up at the moon. To hold up the ring next to it so he can see the delicate engraving in the sides. The dark blue gem set in it sparkles at him, seeming to question why it wasn’t where he could more easily use it.

He almost always puts it back on the chain.

Almost.

Other nights he slips the ring onto his finger. He thinks about the Family, his Famiglia, what he would do for them. He is their Sky, the one to embrace them all and protect them. He lets the feeling swell in his chest, build, and then releases it to the ring.

The flames is usually small, a small orange light, but it’s tough. It’s not about to be blown out.

He ignores the thoughts, the wonderings, of how strong a Dying Will Flame created with others in mind may be.

oOo

People often comment that Jack plays like his flame. He drums up a Storm.

Jack usually responds with a grin and lights up the drumstick tips with the crazy red flames. People usually don’t know that his drumsticks double as weapons, though he’s never needed to use them as such. All he’d probably end up doing was damaging the drumset.

He always wears his ring he got from working at Freddy’s, a simple thing with a red jewel, but he keeps his older one on hand. It’s always in his pocket, a more powerful ring with scratches and an engraving on the inside from his parents wishing him luck. It served him well during the war. And he had a feeling one day he’d have to put it on again. Burn down the enemy again.

So far, it hasn’t come to that.

He’s worn the ring for luck, and for just-in-case, but he’s never had a reason to light up the Storm Flames and start to make everything around him fall apart.

Anyway, that wasn’t really his style.

oOo

Molly places her hand on the Orchid’s arm.

The girl flinches as the yellow flames leap from Molly’s ring, ghosting over the scratches and scrapes, soaking into the skin. But she holds still. She knows that Molly doesn’t need any distraction or a moving target. Healing was a decently hard task. And Molly is thankful for the girl’s stillness.

The skin knits back together, the area warm from the cells working faster than ones’ should.

When the area is healed, the mob boss gets back up. She’s tired. Constantly tired. But nobody else would be able to help this girls, save these girls, like she can.

She is so focused on her work as she heads to the next damaged Orchid that she doesn't see Wade.

Wade, who is watching her with a deep sadness in his eyes.

Wade, who worries at the ring Minx had given him a while ago that he’d never gotten to work.

Wade, who leaves the building and find a corner of a run-down building and screams at how useless he, how he can’t be of more help to those he loves. Screams of what he wishes he could do, what he’d be willing to do.

Wade, who leaves the building later with a plan in mind, the building crumpling behind him as it decays into dust as red flames consume it.

oOo

Sometimes, Jordan wishes he had a different flame.

Sky flames were rare, and precious. They let natural-born leaders to be shown from the normal people, literally shining. But the only known ones were the Godfather, who was weakening everyday, and PJ, who was still learning how to use it. And so, in a world ruled by those who were strong, Jordan was seen as a desirable member.

Cloud flames users were known for being strong. The brute force of the team. Capable of taking down bigger and stronger opponents. A lone cloud that could watch its own back, so you didn’t have to spare man power on him.

And it was lonely.

Because Jordan didn’t feel he was meant to be a Cloud user.

So many times he had almost thrown his ring into the river to join the corpses beneath the surface.

But he had a duty to fulfill.

There was a reason the purple flame burned at all.

oOo

Phil knocked on Dan’s door.

No answer.

So it was one of those nights.

With a deep breath, the journalist opens the door.

Dan is nowhere to be seen. The bed is made, the window is shut, the room is clean, the closet is open to reveal nobody there. There had been a time when this would’ve worried Phil, when Phil would’ve panicked, but instead he just sighed. He told Dan not to wear his ring to bed, that creating illusions in the middle of the night right after nightmares wasn’t a good idea, but here they were.

At least it wasn’t one of the worse ones, where the room has become The war zone.

Small, green, electric-like fires crackle along Phil’s skin, just in case something happens, and he slowly reaches towards the back of the tidy-bed. He touches something, because Dan’s illusions are good but not too good, especially not at night. The illusions dissipates into swirling indigo mist flames.

Dan is curled up on himself, hands pressed to his ears to block out the sound of explosions that don’t exist. He doesn’t strike out at Phil this time, a fear and reflex planted so deeply into him, but Phil doesn’t let the lightning flames stop yet. He carefully slides next to Dan on the bed. He doesn’t pull away the others’ hands, but he does run his fingers through the veteran’s hair.

Dan flinches, and Phil prepares to be hit, for his added defense to come into play, but fate has favored him once again tonight.

The green flames dance from Phil to Dan, and Dan relaxes ever-so minutely.

The familiar, comforting feel of Phil.

Of Phil’s willingness to stick by Dan through thick and thin, whatever may come at them.

He falls asleep at some point, surrounded in each other's Dying Will.

oOo

There was a time when Mark didn’t know much about Dying Will Flames.

Oh sure, people knew they existed. It was hard not to know when most of the mobs utilized them.

But, well.

Dying Will Rings were illegal.

Too much power.

Too dangerous.

Rumors had it people burned themselves up, literally, from using flames.

So Mark didn’t think about them.

Well, he didn’t think about them until he had a speakeasy.

By then, he was already breaking the law. And he kept looking at the jewelry most of his patrons wore. Most of the time it was the rings, they were the most common (and later he’d learnt they were the easiest to use) but sometimes it was necklaces and earrings and cufflinks. Pin by lapel. A hairpin. One time, even a belt buckle. He didn’t want to show off even more of his ignorance to Madam Foxglove, so he didn’t ask.

Of course, Madam Foxglove ended up telling him.

It’s their added protection, she explained. They don’t have guns, but trust me when I say each and every one of them are packing.

She explained that there were seven flames. And she revealed the set she had, the set she’d occasionally sell to those she deemed worthy enough or deep enough in to warrant such added fire power. She had him try them out night after night until eventually he got the blue one to light up with a dancing flame. She’d smiled, said it suited him.

And every night, despite his own aching limbs and headache and tiredness, he washed the speakeasy in the Rain flames. He’d watch as people’s shoulders would relax, their breaths would be easier, their thoughts slowed down for just a moment so that they weren’t over thinking their life.

Calm.

Tranquility.

Escape.

For just a moment.

Sometimes, he’d think about the darker blue ring. The one Molly hadn’t let him try. There’s no point, she’d said. Sky flames are too rare. You’ll wear yourself out for something you don’t have.

But curiosity doesn't die easily.

[wish4youff]

10 ~ Ugly Betty?

Chrissie 

College Dayz

“You don’t know nothing ‘bout this, Chrissie.”

The second Kingston shut his mouth, the slow sounds of Marvin Gaye’s Just To Keep You Satisfied played through the room off the TV screen shared between myself and Destiny in the Dunster House’s room on Harvard’s campus.

Dropping the colored pen on the bed beside me, I listened closely. The sound ringing a bell, but I was mixing it with a movie for some reason. Putting the textbook down, I removed the remote from his hands, drawing King out of his trance of fake loving.

“You set my soul on fire My one desire was to love you”

Kingston’s horrible job of humming caught my attention, finally helping me to put it together as the lyrics seemed even more familiar the longer the song played. I almost couldn’t believe it. I’ve never listened to the song outside of the movie.

“Baby Boy…” Shaking my head, I tossed the remote back, laughing. The soft voice of Marvin Gaye, my humming and Kingston’s filling my ears now.

From the movie, I always heard that snippet of the song. From how Juanita and Melvin go from loving and singing to one another. To, Jody who is suffering from a broken heart, a man’s ego, and pride. Not wanting to show Yvette his deal of cards. I knew the lyrics. Knew them well enough to hum along right now as Kingston stood at the foot of my bed, eyes closed, and clearly in a different world.

At this age, I’m hearing Marvin in a different light. This was no love song, this was a goodbye, my love for you has ran its course song. Regardless of years and right or wrongs; we’ve hit the end of our road. Go your way, I go mines, and let’s hope that we see the best out of this.

It was truly depressing.

“Wow.” Marvin’s voice ended soon after the words; “All we can do is, we can both try to be happy,” filling the now saddened air surrounding me. While King looked as if he was on cloud nine.

“I told you, BabyGirl. You don’t know nothing about that.”

“In this case, you may have been right.”

I watched as he turned the TV back down to mute, obviously the title caught his attention because we both had the thing on mute so I could concentrate for the rest of this paper outlining.

“It’s deeper than Jody and Evette you know?”

“Obviously, now. I didn’t realize what he was saying. That’s like the song by Donell Jones you love so damn much. My God, I could punch that man for what he said. As a child, it was groovy. My mother would sing that around the house, but now, no.”

“Why? Because he’s honest?”

“Because it heartless.”

“No, BabyGirl. Both songs are real, they are full of emotions. The truth hurts, the real is painful, and both of those men are at the point in their lives where it times to be honest with their women,”

“If a woman had just fallen out of love. She’ll be a bitch, or accused of been messing around on the man.”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.” I shot back at him. My eyes locked on King as he lowered himself onto my, well our bed.

“Well, no, but let’s not lie to ourselves. Nine times out of ten y'all are bitches because you’ve hurt a man’s pride. Leaving us for another man bruises our egos. We have nothing left but a fake façade and bitter words. I don’t see you as a bitch for falling out of love, though. You’re human. Not every relationship runs a course of forever.”

“And Donell? You think that’s the way to go about things?”

“I love the song. I love it even more, because I understand it. You hate it, because you understand it.”

Those words got my attention. My mind in a jumble as I thought of what he had said. Kingston is bright, he has a 4.0 GPA since freshmen year, making all A’s on every test that sat in front of him, but most importantly, he’s strong minded and knows life like the back of his hand. Seriously. We don’t talk much about his mother, but he’s said her death is the reason why. He was forced to learn the “game” by himself and as King says best; ‘he be damned if it’s the death of me,’

“You see yourself getting married and falling out of love?” The question was intended to be a joke. King knew it, but it didn’t stop the frown forming in those brushy eyebrows.

“If I’m blessed with a marriage, she’s not leaving me. My wife is mine. For better or worse. Until death do us apart.”

“Sounds like you’ll kill your wife on the low, my friend.”

“Maybe,” He mumbled, his eyes closing as he relaxed against the purple comforter. “Or maybe she’ll have to kill me.”

Present 

I don’t want to meet my soulmate. No, a soulmate? They’re meant to come and awaken a part of your soul and heart. Being awareness for issues that we don’t typically see as problems. They teach us new rules, challenge our hearts to test the times. But I want forever with someone. I’m convinced a soulmate doesn’t exist because in this generation no one is willing to even commit and fight. I want a life-long partner, someone who is there through the challenges, the hardships, the pain and disappointments. Someone who understands me. And while that someone may push me to new limits, they know me and know what I can and can’t take. I want that person. I want forever.

I don’t know where Olivia received this one-page essay on Soulmates vs Life Partners from. Maybe it was something she took the time to type up herself just to slip it to me during our lunch date early today. Regardless it’s held my attention the entire afternoon and early night.  I’ve been sitting in my truck for over ten minutes. There’s nothing wrong with being fashionably late even if it’s on purpose. Most importantly I decided to pull out this paper and read it. For the second time. Half way through I knew it was a mistake. Once I reached the end, again, I regretted not hating it. I don’t believe in a “life partner”. Nonetheless, the read is good. It’s always important to know what others are thinking to give yourself the opportunity for other sources and outlets.  I fixed my Pretty Plump Mac gloss as I crossed the street to Club Steakhouse of 58th.  My second time in the last week. This could almost be my second job. Sitting at tables with people, just to please them. “She’s here.” The sound of a female voice caught my fixed attention as I entered the restaurant, not in for one lone second before she spoke. I was lead through to the opposite end of the restaurant the moment my strappy gold sandal heels hit the marble floors. She led me across an empty sitting area and then to the private dinner rooms in the back of the restaurant.  “Mr. Vitale. Your guess has arrived."  And then we were alone. I took the only available seat besides his lap. "Good evening.” His chilled voice causing goosebumps to cover my arms. I grabbed the choice of wine off the table taking an small gulp. The sweet taste making my taste buds dance encouraging the next few sips. “Drink up.” Loosening the cap he refilled my glass to the brim. “You rented this place? Damn.” I guess a hello would be more appropriate. But, eh.  “No, I just waited until they were close to closing and called in a favor to the head chef. He owed me one. This was his pay back."  "He owed the hitman a favor?"  My voice was intentionally low. I didn’t plan on anyone, but King hearing that question. It wasn’t meant for anyone, but him.  "If you’re referring to me. Then yes, he did."  "I thought if someone was in debt with you they died.” “Most do."  His big brown eyes hadn’t left mines since he spoke. He wasn’t slightly amused by this.  "Do you like it? Your job?"  He sighed, taking a sip of the brown liquid in his cup and I knew it was Hennessey. He’ll only pick up that wine bottle for himself when the liquor was starting to do its job and he wanted something else to taste.  Leaning up, he put the cup back, raking his eyes over me now. He took the time to analyze the gold necklaces I wore, the off-the-shoulder drawstring crop top, and then back up to my face.  "I’m going to be in New York for about another month definitely,” He wasn’t going to answer my question. “The last time we spoke, you made it clear you weren’t happy. So, I’m wondering what’s the next step. I’m going to be here, we gotta get alone."  "We have to?” “Don’t you think its best, Chrissie?"  Yes, but, "Do we plan on seeing each other more?"  "We have a wedding to attend together. So, yes. We will be seeing more of one another. Get used to it. After the wedding, maybe not. Stop being so damn stubborn though. You came here tonight because I called and asked you to. I didn’t force you. You didn’t hesitant and you came only ten minutes late, even though you had been parked across the street for fifteen. Don’t play yourself by trying to hate me. I said I was sorry,” “And that makes it better?” “No, but I don’t know how make it better to be honest, Chris. It was fucking college. I can’t go back to being a damn teenage boy. I don’t want to revisit that time in my life. I was a fuck up then. It was bound to happen because of the situation we placed ourselves in."  Maybe there was some over reacting on my behave. I could admit I am stubborn. Always have been, but Kingston is as well and that’s where I draw the line because it’s not fair. Maybe it was years ago, but that decision has fucked me up since then. I haven’t been in a committed relationship since. I haven’t allowed anyone to get too close since then. No friends, no lovers. Just myself and my sister because even when I didn’t know rather I was coming or going Liv was there. My closest friends turned their backs on me when Kingston did.  There was no speaking after that. An ugly silence as the waiter came in with an plates for myself and Kingston. Every item from lobster to steak and shrimp. Served with sides of potatoes and asparagus. Kingston kindly refilled my glass to the brim and the bartender brought him another two shots of Hennessey.  "You said you forgave me, Chrissie,” He sat across from me, his pointer finger circling the glass brim. “I get the feeling you lied."  "I have, but……."  "What? Do you even know why you’re mad still?” “Kingston,” Was I mad? Or was I hurt? I think that’s the biggest question. Going into college I had no one. Kingston came with a group of people which he knew. Of course, the New York crew knew of one another, but only because we all that one thing in common; NY. And by God’s plan we found each other in Harvard. That first semester I hung with whoever the wind blew my way and suddenly Kingston came along in a College Composition class during the last semester of our freshmen year. That’s where we meant. “Like you said, what’s the next step for us?"  "I don’t know. I’m in counselling now.” The volunteered piece of information surprised me.  “Why?” Somehow, my question amused him. A small laugh passing his lips.  “Because I’m fucked up and its time I let someone help. See, Chrissie, our biggest issues are that we don’t even acknowledge what’s wrong with us. We just keep it bundled up inside and until something ticks us off and we blow up. That’s backwards, BabyGirl. Talk about your issues.” “I don’t have any.” “And that’s where you’re wrong, BabyGirl. When was the last time you blankly spoke about your parents?” It took a second for me, I didn’t respond because I didn’t know. Maybe years now. I try not to. “See, Chrissie, that’s where it starts. Honestly, sweetheart? I’m the least of your headaches, but I’m here now so it easy to pick me out the bunch, but Chrissie, you have to acknowledge the fact that you lost your parents. You went from home to home, all while raising yourself and your sister because if you didn’t, no one else would. With the money left behind, you put yourself through college and Olivia. You got a home for y'all to live in, a decent car for transportation. You made shit happen for the piece of family you had left. Not because you wanted to, but because you had to. That’s where you must start. Not with some fuck boy you met in college. Your parent’s death and the effect it had on you. The crazy ass aunt you had no choice, but to leave your sister with. All the childhood pain that you subsided so you could see your sister with a smile. Start with the root, Chrissie. Until then, you get ya’ ass off this sorrow trip. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. But if you wanna be happy, you have to let go of the pain and make that happen for yourself."