#Sorry school has been stomping me to death and laughing on my grave.

[nothanksjohnny]

Hello! I saw your post on what if transformers saw as weird like guys who eat living things and hunt their friends.

Which was very fun to read, but do you think would happen if they saw a child’s child tooth fall out? Like Raf came up to Ratchet bloody mouth and holding a tooth up?

Id imagine most cybertronains would range from " get me the fuck of this planet" to " humans are disgusting" with a few in-between emotions and reactions. While I've enjoyed the headcanon that cybertronains shed like reptiles or insects leading to scars slowly fading from their permanent finish as well as adjusting to growth and upgrades that has occurred since the last shedding. Although teeth is a interesting addition to out metallic companions. While I've theorized that denta can aid in crushing raw energon and desperate need of fuel as well as just eating normal snacks on cybertron. Like lead sulfide crystals that are described to be quite the treat. As well as rusk sticks and so fourth.

While in the TFP universe if we consider how the team is a bit new to earth I'd imagine understanding human biology isn't something that was confronted. Even with other instances where cybertronains have resided on earth for a long period of time it seems beyond humans going "squish and crush" when you step on us most cybertronains lack any understanding of us and other organic life. Even decepticons have expressed discomfort at how we work. If taking into knockout looking up how we interface gives any window of how they feel.

When Raf was struck by dark energon it caused a great panic within all the bots. I'd imagine it was more that just seeing their companion ill and hurt. I'd imagine it was a new kind of fear. A hopelessness of not understanding, unable to help because your scared you'll do more harm than good. You don't know what's wrong and you can't help but get angry or shut down. Which is shown by Bumblebee who was quick to want to return the favor to Megatron. Ratchet showing high stress and frustration because for once he truly can't help. He can't help the very child who's helped them to many times. He isn't a medic at this momment. He's a bystander and that hurts him. Prime himself upon first sight of Rafael is scared. Rare to show emotion the widening of optics is a rare sight so deep into the war. While giving aid to Ratchet by assuring him being calm is best it's clearly shown Optimus is frustrated of this situation.

With time I'd imagine some instances of humans being humans occurs. Such as loosing teeth. By age twelve most children have lost their center incisors,lateral incisors, upper and lowered molars. Leaving the upper canines to fall out around age twelve. Knowing how teeth seem to love to fall out at the most random of momments id imagine this would be true with Rafael. Maybe after being picked up from school he got hungry and decided to eat a apple until later in the day where he,jack and Mike would be driven home and eat dinner or whatever they could find as a final meal. To give our senior medic and spark attack I'd find it more hilarious if this happened while he was at the base alone with the children. Muscle( what is the equivalent of muscle for cybertronains?) Memorie of everyday activities playing within the bass until a cruch and " oh just lost my tooth" seems to echo within the base.

Maybe it wouldn't have been as terrifying for the medic if their wasn't so much blood. ( cough exaggeration) Now poor Raf is being grabbed like a kitten who's mother is worried and now is being scanned for what's wrong. All he wanted to do was show his last of his baby teeth. The apple being to dense for his gums to be able to hold onto the tooth when he continued to bite. Now he's forced to sit on the medical birth as Ratchet is cursing in cybertronain. Fumbling with equipment as he once again realizes he doesn't have the right tools to help the child. This brings upon early times in the war when sparkling where harmed. Hurt and weeping for their lost or dead sires and creators. Bleeding and so small that it was difficult to get ones servos on the machines or equipment specifically made for them. So many parished. Reliving when all he could do was hold them and coo soft songs as their sparks dimmed and went out. The days when both decepticon and autobot could see the pain in each other's optics. One of the reasons why some became neutral unable to bare either insignia due to the young deaths.

A hurt sparkling meant death. And currently Rafael is hurt. Now Ratchet is holding child sparkling and cooing in cybertronian. Still scanning but slightly relived when he comes to find the bleeding has slowed and is stopping as time passes. Yet as the show has shown. Timing isn't always on their side. The beeping of the need of a ground bridge. Rafael tucked close to his chassis while the other begins ground bridge. Jack and Miko seeing the grumpy medic being so motherly..certainly has made then scratch their head. The action of losing a baby tooth was normal. All that was needed was a tissue and maybe some ice to help the pain a bit. Not to mention how frighten the medic had gotten upon first realization of Raf losing his tooth.

Once the rest of the team was informed of what had occurred a new found fear and respect was given to their human companions. As well as a brief explains from June on how yes it's normal for children to lose their teeth. No a child's teeth shouldn't just all fall out at once. And yes I'll download some medical books for you to read.

[mythrilhusk]

Korosensei Never Dies - Chapter 6

Words - 1967 Ao3 Version Chapter 5 (last) Chapter 7 (Next)

AN: Just wanted to note (although it’s already in tags) that there are no ships in this story. The characters may be affectionate with each other, but it’s all platonic. 

====

Exams are the worst part of school, but the end of the first term approaches fast. Tommy determines he will not fail. Philza has promised to teach them how to fight, and by the ever-loving stars, Tommy wants to show off his mad skillz. 

He's so intent on getting fighting lessons that he's dragged his friends into group study sessions. Wilbur insists on leading said sessions, and somehow the schoolwork gets entwined with role-playing battles with fiercesome monsters. 

"The answer is forty-two!! I pull out a bazooka and blast everything to smithereens!" Tubbo cackles. "Nothing shall stand in the way of world domination." 

"Tubbo," Wilbur sighs for the fortieth time. "That would kill all of your teammates." 

"Do I care?" Tubbo grins innocently. "Less competition, big man!" 

"I lay down and die." Ranboo says drily, leaning against the wall with his arm around Tubbo's shoulders. 

"Not you, Ranboo, you're going to be my puppet queen. Every world-dominating super-villain needs a puppet queen." Tubbo says, quite matter-of-fact.

Tommy scrawls messily on his workbook, determined to complete the next answer first and get a turn. "Ha! Fucking x equals twenty-nine!" He crows. "I shoot my nets at Tubbo and capture him!!" 

"Stand-off." Wilbur says with a grin. "Who wrote Frankenstein?" 

"Some woman with a boring name." Tommy retorts. 

"Anne Rice!" Tubbo cries. 

"Tommy, you got the closer answer. It was Mary Shelley." 

"Alright, I win, and I say 'Hahaha, you fucking imbecile, you are no match for me!' and then I drag them to jail." 

"I completed my worksheet, Wilbur." Eret pipes up. Wilbur takes it, then nods for Eret to complete his bonus action. "I stab Tommy and release Tubbo, saying, 'The world is yours for the taking, but allow me to oversee a portion of it.' and then I kneel and plant my sword in the dust." 

"Oh! Oh!" Tubbo waves his worksheet in the air. "Ranboo, stab him for me!" 

"As you wish." Ranboo sighs with a wicked grin. Eret protests weakly in the background. 

"Ranboo, you need to answer a question correctly, first." Wilbur steeples his fingers. "Or else there will be penalties." 

"I, uh, I think I got this one correct." Ranboo shows his study sheet to Wilbur, who nods curtly. 

"Fine, go ahead." 

Ranboo turns to Eret and says in a dark tone, "You betrayed your friend. I can't trust you, Eret." Then he turns to Wilbur, "I run him through with my dagger." 

"Eret, you're now a ghost." Wilbur shuffles through his game notes. 

"Aw, man. Can I haunt anyone?" 

"Yes."

"I haunt Ranboo to remind him of his crimes." 

"Aw, dang, another voice." Ranboo groans playfully. 

"Whaddya mean, another??" Tubbo cries. "Am I being replaced, Ranboo??" 

"You- you are the voice." Ranboo laughs nervously. "Even when you're dead, I'll still hear you, shouting at me to not kill the bees." 

"You better not. I worked hard to cultivate our apiary." 

"I won't, I won't." 

Tommy finishes his worksheet, ignoring the chatter of the others. "Ha!" He turns it into a paper plane and throws it to Wilbur. "I want twelve actions now!" 

"Okay, Tommy." Wilbur replies with a sly smile. The others protest, but Tommy has Wilbur wrapped around his little finger, so they won't be winning this battle. 

"But! I want to split them up between us, because I'm a fucking nice person who loves women." 

"Go ahead." 

"My first action as King de facto of the world is to declare peace between the Moon and Mars." 

"Wait, wait, you're king?? Eret, you didn't even kill him properly!!" Tubbo throws up his hands. "Ranboo, kill Tommy for me." 

"Hypothetically, what if I didn't?" 

"Ranboo. Are you betraying me??" 

"No, no, I said hypothetically." 

"Then, hypothetically, I would nuke your entire homeland and make you watch as I killed your family before your very eyes." 

"Oh! Oh, no." 

"And then I would torture you to death." 

"Oh, man. That would not be good." 

"So are you going to betray me?" 

"Apparently not." 

"Aw, man. I wanted to torture somebody." Tubbo sighs. 

Ranboo gives Tommy a look that says 'help me'. 

"You both lost your turns for talking too long." Wilbur decides. "Tommy and Eret, you both have an extra turn." 

"I turn corporeal using necromancy, and I use Tubbo's soul as the energy source, draining him of life." Eret says, his cheerful eyes belying his dark tone. 

"No! Ranboo, avenge meeeee!!" Tubbo cries melodramatically to the heavens. 

"Oh no! I'll avenge you!!" 

"I kill Ranboo." Tommy cackles at the horrified look on Ranboo's face. 

"Oh, that's not good." 

"How do you kill him, Tommy?" Wilbur asks. 

"I stab the bastard through the fucking eyes." 

"Oh. Man. That sounds painful." Ranboo winces.

"It is. You're screaming like a fucking bitch." 

"Am I? Oh dang, that's not fun. Am I a ghost now?" 

"Ghostboo." Tubbo laughs. "You're now Ghostboo." 

"You're Toast, you don't get to mock my name." 

Tommy frowns. "What's my ghost name?"

"Ghommy." Ranboo laughs. "Eret is Gheret." 

"Tommy, you think we're ready for the exams?" Wilbur gathers the papers scattered across the floor.  

"Fuck yeah, we are. We'll crush those bastards to dust. We'll get the highest grades of anybody in the entire school!"

++++

"What do you mean, you can't transfer me?? My grades are the worst they've ever been in years!!" Jack cries, stomping his foot on the polished wood floor of the principal's office. 

"I'm sorry, duckie, but I can't let anyone transfer between classes this year." Puffy-- rumored to be a pirate in a past life and therefore always called Captain-- frowns as she flicks through Jack's portfolio. "Why did you want to be transferred, anyway?" 

"No reason." Jack grumbles, then stomps out of the office, slamming the door behind himself. 

"How'd it go?" Niki hops down from one of the pillars. 

"Terribly. Those bastards in 3-E must've told Captain Puffy to not let anyone in. They're probably planning to take over the world now, using Techno as bait!" Jack cries, his eyes burning with furious tears. 

"That's awful!" Niki wails. "What will we do?" 

"What do heroes do to villains? We bomb them." 

"Bomb them?" 

"I don't know how yet." Jack grins, filled with burning rage. "But we'll think of something." 

"I know a man." Niki says decisively. "He'll get us supplies. If they really are planning to end the world, we need to stop them." 

++++

Exams roll around, and 3-E joins the the main school buildings for the tests. Quackity and Sapnap both leap on and hug Karl Jacobs. Tommy strides through the testing auditorium like he owns the place, with Wilbur glaring at everyone and Tubbo whetting his dagger with a placid smile. 

Fundy watches the chaos from the sidelines, chewing on caramel taffy and bubblegum at the same time. He doesn't recognize the quiet boy huddled in a corner and writing. Before he can creep over and look at the boy's words, Eret accosts him. "Hey, man." 

"Oh, hey!" Fundy grins and hugs his friend. "What've you been up to?" 

"Oh, just trying to stop the world from ending and make a profit in the process, you know, the usual." 

"Right, right. What's up with that, anyway? This guy, Technoblade? He must be really hard to kill if nobody's done it yet." 

"We have till the year ends." Eret says gravely. 

"Right. But why hasn't anybody, I don't know, tried to get in on the action?" 

"The government is supposed to be keeping his location a secret." Eret adjusts his sunglasses. 

"Weird." Fundy pops a bubble between his lips. 

"Indeed. I know there must be a weakness. But I'm not sure what it is."

"Maybe it's something like technical immortality! Maybe he can only be killed if he lets it happen!" Fundy theorizes, chewing more intensely. 

Eret grimaces. "Perhaps. Threatening his friend, Philza, directly is out of the question. But perhaps we can get the kill switch from the president." 

"Woah, woah, back up!" Fundy laughs. "There's already a kill switch in his friend and the prezz hasn't thought to use that??" 

"Well, he's a hostage, but- oh." 

"Exactly!! If the prezz actually wanted him dead, all they'd have to do is threaten to kill this Philza dude if Techno doesn't let himself be killed!" Fundy blows another bubble and pops it with his teeth. "Damn, I'm good." 

"That's assuming Technoblade would die if he allowed it. What if he can't?" Eret muses. 

"He has to have some weakness. How was he even created??" 

"I- I don't know." 

"The only way a mutant like that could be created is through Human intervention, aka a laboratory and scientists!!" Fundy claps his hands together excitedly. "But why would scientists create a creature who can destroy the world?? Unless he can't, and this is all just a damn test." 

"Hmm." Eret doesn't sound convinced. 

"So, they're trying to develop immortality, and they're testing it on Technoblade-"

"Why him?" Eret asks. "And if it is a test, why here, with a bunch of students?"

"He got loose before the tests could be finalized, and they're trying to contain him again!" Fundy starts pacing. "He was a terrorist, yeah? I remember him in the news. The Acolyte." 

"Blood for the blood god." Eret reminisces, paling. "That's right." 

"He only ever went after important government figures! But, five years ago, he disappeared, and nobody ever heard from him again. Until now..." Fundy grins wildly. "This is amazing, I can't believe I get front row seats to a conspiracy!" 

"Wait." Eret groans. "He had a partner." 

"Oh! He did?" 

"Technoblade was the Acolyte. But his partner was the Angel. What if that was-" 

"Philza!!" Fundy cries. "Oh god, we have both of the most deadly international terrorists in my school!! Why couldn't I have worn better clothes??" 

"I don't think that should be our main concern." Eret steeples his fingers. "I think we should worry more about what they're planning to do." 

"I'm going to talk to Captain Puffy." Fundy decides. "Come with me?" 

"I'll pass. Good luck." 

"I've got the best luck in the world." Fundy crows and skips off. He glances back once, briefly, only to see Eret watching him with an unreadable expression. 

++++

Tipsy, Schlatt lounges on one of the pristine metal tables. In the background, HBomb sweeps up the shards of a broken whiskey bottle, the remnants of a drunken tantrum. 

"Heyyy." Schlatt greets the mercenary waiting in the doorway. "Come on in." 

"How much do I get paid for my trouble?" The mercenary asks, slouching in a too-large purple hoodie and baggy pants. 

"Fifteen billion, take it or leave it." Schlatt grins. 

"I'll take it. But this is the last time." 

"Sure, honey." 

"How'd you lose him again?" 

"Bitch killed half my fucking scientists." Schlatt shrugs genially, hiding his irritation. "But we've got a neutralizing agent, now." He tosses a capsule to the mercenary, who catches it and inspects it. "Inject that and he'll be as harmless as a two-ton hippo." 

"That's hardly what I'd call harmless." 

"Eh, semantics. He won't be immortal." 

"Hmm." The mercenary pockets the neutralizer. "I'll do it. But you'd better pay me exactly what you promised, or he dies." 

"C'mon, darling, what do you take me for? A scam artist?? Nah, that's not my fucking style. Return him safe and sound, and everything will be just fine." Schlatt lights a cigar, takes a deep drag, then lets it all out in a slow plume. "Do as I say and nobody gets hurt." 

++++

Eret opens his buzzing phone and answers, "Hey." 

"Crocodiles don't cry often." The familiar voice says coldly into their ear. 

"Crocodile tears are worthless." Eret replies. 

Purpled laughs on the other end. "What do you say, partner? Ready to make some dough?" 

Eret grins, baring her teeth. "Always." 

Chapter 7 (Next)

[thefanficmonster]

And My Heart Burned In That Lodge

Michael (Mike) Munroe x Reader (female)

Warnings: Death, Grief, Dealing with loss, Heartbreak, Swearing

Genre: ANGST

Summary: None of them will ever be the same, who knows if they’ll even heal. However, the case is different for Mike. He’s left to be dealing with the guilt, grief and the haunting memory of his friend’s death. He’s angry with himself for all the wrong things he did and all the right things he was too much of a coward to do. Now, his only closure is talking to a gravestone, hoping the wind in the graveyard will pass the message onto the person who the words are meant for.  

Requested by Anon. Wish I could tag them, they have such amazing ideas ❤

PS - Sorry this is hella long, I got carried away LOL

I stand aside, watching as my friends place their flowers on her grave. I can hear their cries. For some odd reason I can’t find it in me to feel sympathy or the need to go over there and be with them. I can’t see how that would do anything but make me feel more miserable. Standing here, seeing this scene unfold in front of me, I can’t help but be reminded of how it all started.

Fuck Mondays, man. Fuck them from the bottom of my heart. Even worse, this is the first week of school after winter break so no one wants to be here. Even even worse, this is the first time I’ll be seeing Emily after out breakup. We broke up over text and while I’m aware that’s the worst way to break up with someone, I must admit it was the only way for a lot of arguing and awkwardness to be avoided. 

It’s the first time I’m coming to school alone in a while. Without Emily, the car was pleasantly quiet aside from the songs on the radio. Not gonna lie, it felt a bit lonely. Being single for the first time in what feels like forever is both liberating and oddly melancholic. I try to push the self-loathing and the depressing thoughts away as my eyes scan the hallway, looking for the group of familiar faces. My gang. We used to be ten people but we lost two girls during our winter getaway at the Washington lodge. Josh’s sisters, Hannah and Beth, went missing and are presumably dead, all cause of a stupid prank Jess, Emily and I concocted, convincing Matt and Ash to go along with it. In retrospect, I don’t know what we were thinking.

‘Seriously, Mike? From one depressing thought to another? Is your brain lacking serotonin today more than usual or what?‘ I mentally scold myself just as I spot two familiar faces - Sam and Ashley. 

It doesn’t take long for me to notice the rest of the gang - Matt, Jess and Chris - all standing near by, surrounding a girl I have never seen before. She sticks out immediately with her long H/C hair and shiny E/C eyes. Jess has her arm linked with the girl, a gesture really out of place for Jess. I mean, her and Emily are pretty close and I’ve never even seen them hug.

“Hey, man. How are you?“ Matt notices me first, lifting his head and smiling at me. His greeting leads the others to look in my direction as well, including the girl. I catch Jess lean down in and whisper something to her. I can’t hear what she’s saying but it clearly aggravates her. I have never received a dirtier look from a girl in my entire life. I usually have the opposite effect on women but I guess there’s a first time for everything. 

“Mike...” Jess steps away from the girl and towards me, “this is my best friend, Y/N. She just got transferred here.” She turns her attention back to the girl, “Y/N, this is Mike.” 

Y/N looks unamused as she outstretches her arm in my direction. “Nice to meet you” is what she says, but her expression clearly tells me she would like to see as little of me as possible. At least she’s polite, right? 

“Likewise.” The handshake is brief and, despite her obvious distaste for me, she still gives me a firm handshake. 

“Wait, you were transferred? I thought Jess said you came here cause you moved.” Sam furrows her brows in confusion. 

“Well, it’s really a chicken and the egg type of situation.” Y/N laughs, rubbing the back of her neck almost nervously, “We moved because I had to transfer.”  Yikes.“ Ashley comments, “Not to pry or anything, but why did you have to be transferred?“

Y/N looks me dead in the eyes, as if she’s sending me a message that I better not overlook, or so help me God I’ll be dead. ”Noses randomly broke when I was around.”

It hurts so much to look back on those times and not pick up on what I was feeling. I foolishly decided that if I can’t give the feelings a name or find them a purpose I should turn a blind eye. I wasn’t that ignorant, I could tell she was the cause, but I could never admit it.

And then there’s the situation with Jess...

“You hurt her, and I’ll kill you.“

I found Y/N by the bleachers and let me tell you, she’s quite the paradox. She’s a straight A, no nonsense, intelligent beyond her years girl. With all these characteristics, you’d think she’d know better than to smoke cigarettes. Wrong! She’s a smoker. Jess can never not complain about the smell of cigarette smoke, it’s a miracle these two get along.

To my ‘hi’ she responded with what looked to be an eyeroll and an annoyed release of smoke through her nostrils. Even though I know I’m not welcome to be in her proximity, I still decide to sit down a little ways away from her, for personal space and all that. Definitely not cause I’m slightly afraid of her. No way.

We just sit in silence until she hits me with the aforementioned threat. I am caught off guard. All I can do is stare straight ahead of me like a deer in headlights. After maybe thirty seconds of absolute confusion I manage to turn my head to look at her. “What are you talking about?” The question is supposed to sound harsh but compared to the way she spit out that death threat it sounded more like a whimper.

“You are such an ignorant asshole.“ She shakes her head, throwing her cigarette on the bench below her. She stomps on it and walks away. I can’t help but stare at her until she’s out of sight. I feel like I’m watching something non-human. A phenomenon you can experience once in a lifetime - if you’re lucky. 

She’s the complete opposite of Jess: grounded, smart, rational. The only time I’ve seen her be so unpleasant is around me. I catch her interactions with the rest of the gang. From afar, she seems like the nicest, friendliest girl. And then she catches a glimpse of me and her mood changes. I don’t know what’s her problem with me but I know it most certainly isn’t something I’ve done to her. She’s been like that since the first moment we were introduced, so either Jess has talked a lot of shit about me or she just hates people named Michael. I may never know.

I had no idea what she meant at the time and only found out three weeks ago. Speaking of three weeks ago, the group once again headed for the Blackwood Pines, trying to hide their uneasiness with make excitement. I was pretty hyped when I heard we were going because that also meant our friend Josh was finally starting to get better. He hadn’t been in a good mindset since his sisters went missing and we were all really worried for him but weren’t allowed to show it because he always insisted he was fine.

He wasn’t. He was as messed up as ever and served as only the prologue to the nightmare of a night we had to live through.

But before all that could happen, the night started off well. Better than expected. The eeriness of the mountain combined with the bad memories we had of the place we still there, we could all feel the tension, but we did a good job masking it with jokes and whatnot. I’ll be honest, I wasn’t really looking forward to go and not only because of what happened the year prior.

“Wait, wait, wait. Y/N’s coming too?“ I ask, looking at Josh with wide eyes.

The guy is clearly confused by my overdramatic reaction to him counting down the names of the ones who had already RSVPd ‘Yes’. “Is that a problem or something?”

I sigh, hiding my face in my hands. It’s embarrassing to admit, really. “She doesn’t like me, and that puts it mildly. She hates me.”

He looks even more baffled than before, “Why? What’d you do to her?”

“Nothing, for fuck’s sake. Not a single thing. I haven’t even had a proper interaction with her.“ Talking about this matter exhausts me, mostly cause I can’t even express half the things I’m feeling.

There’s been a time or two I’ve caught her looking at me but her eyes weren’t filled with that distrust I’m used to. She looks away quickly when we make eye contact, as if she can’t put the mean mask on in time and she has to look away to do a system reset. I sometimes catch myself looking at her without realizing. I try to tell myself I do it for the purpose of solving her. 

‘Who are you kidding, Munroe?‘

                                                                  * * *

And here I am, climbing up the mountain to the Washington lodge. I’ve made it a goal to use this getaway to mend things with Y/N. It’s the only way for me to get back to normal. To get my mind back since she’s recently been living in my head rent-free. I’m bullshitting, not just recently. She’s taken over my brain since day one. I can’t place what’s going on with me, I can’t find a term to label it with and I most definitely can’t find a way to stop it. So, I’ve come to the conclusion that if I can’t stop it on my own, she’ll have to do it for me.

Another thing - I’ve never felt nervous or self-conscious around a girl all my life. Never. My friends joke that I’m a ladies’ man and I’d say that’s pretty true. So I have a tough time understanding how I turn into an awkward turtle that’s missing confidence when she’s around.

Once we all get settled in and there’s a fire going, giving the lodge a cozy atmosphere, it’s every man for themselves. Everyone picks a activity they want to occupy themselves with and the living room of the lodge empties out, leaving me there alone.

I scroll stare at the screen of my now useless phone. The thing has no reception and no way of keeping me busy, leaving my attention to wander to the voices that are getting more and more distant as my friends walk out of the room.

I can’t help but overhear Jess say to Y/N, “You haven’t even set your bag down yet and you’re going for a smoke? Jeez, Y/N.”

“You say as though you don’t know me.“ Y/N laughs, the sound of a door opening following after her voice.

It’s such a nice sound, her laugh. I’ve never heard it before. I’ve seen her smile and seen her chuckle at someone’s joke, but it was never actually a laugh. Seems she keeps those for special occasions. 

If she’s in the type of mood to laugh, she’s in the type of mood to be civil with me. Before I can talk myself out of the on-spot decision, I mentally slap myself and get off the couch, walking to the door to the side deck.

“You’ve got this, she’s just a person” 

“Who’s just a person?“ her voice cuts through the silence of the outdoors.

‘SHIT I SAID THAT OUT LOUD‘

I decide to carry this all the way, no shortcuts. No backing out. Somehow, now that she’s standing in front of me - a cigarette between her fingers, her shoulders tense from of the cold - I find it easier to get the words out. She’s just as human as everyone else. The cold causes her to shrivel up. She’s addicted to tobacco. She’s not some riddle I need to solve, just a person I need to talk to in order to understand.

“You.“ I reply, “Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?“

She shakes her head, her shoulders trembling a bit, “It builds the immune system.”

“No, it makes you suffer.“ I shrug my jacket off, cautiously approaching her and wrapping it around her.

Surprisingly, she accepts it with a nod and a murmured ‘thanks’, holding onto it with the hand that’s not holding her cigarette. “Why were you reminding yourself that I’m just a person? Do I not look like one?” She scoffs, facing away from me to look at the snowy hills ahead.

“No, no, not that. You just make me nervous that’s all.“ 

She whirls around, giving me this look as though she has no idea what I’m talking about.

“Really? Why’s that?“ she puts out her cigarette on the wooden railing, focusing all her attention on me.

My hand instinctively goes up to the back of my neck, feeling my face start to heat up. “Well, you’re not really fond of me. And I don’t know why, and....” I trail off, sighing in self-disappointment, “And I wanna know why.”

Her expression turns the complete opposite, a smile spreading across her face. “It’s not about something you have done. It’s about what you might’ve done.”

Despite feeling slightly relieved, I am no less confused than I was a minute ago. “And what is that?”

“Break my best friend’s heart.“ She looks a lot more serious now, “You really had no idea she was head over heels for you just a month ago. You were so oblivious and she was so whipped...“ frustration radiates off of her, “I just didn’t want her to get hurt.“ She closes her eyes, stabilizing herself before finishing her statement, “I didn’t want to hurt her.“

“Wait, what?“

The hurt that paints itself on her face is contagious. I feel it too and I don’t even know what’s causing it. “She always told me about you. Mike this and Mike that. She made you sound like the best guy in the world. And...I really wanted to be let down when I met you, but you were nothing but nice to me and to the other people in the group. But you were also such a jerk from time to time. You are just too...Fucking forget it.” 

In a blink of an eye she puts my jacket over the railing and runs inside the lodge.

“Y/N, wait!“

Needless to say, running after her was the best decision I’ve made. I didn’t get her to admit to anything, but at least we lied down the armor and agreed to give each other some time to get to know one another. Drop aside the assumptions and give a this acquaintanceship the chance to become a friendship. 

Sadly, all good things come to an end way sooner than we want. The rest of that dreadful night I witnessed her transform. When everyone was freaking out, she held them and comforted them. I saw the fear in her eyes but she never let it shine through in her actions. She was the one still holding it together even after she saw that disgusting creature. Her and I were the ones to turn that sanatorium upside down. We were with Josh in the mines. We were the ones to see the Wendigo first. We were by each other’s side the entire time. We had each other’s backs. 

I’ve never felt such a connection with someone. I was experiencing the most intimate understanding with a person in the worst moment of my life. It was bittersweet. The poison mixed with the cure.

Even when she knew her death was approaching, her only reaction was a single tear. A single crystal drop running down her cheek.

We can make a break. We can run right out of this hell hole and turn it to ash, all we need is for this fucking to focus its attention elsewhere. Thankfully Chris, Ash and Emily have made it out already and they’re safe. However, Sam, Y/N and I are trapped. The silent looks we exchange are laced with fear and panic. We have to calculate our next moves down to a millisecond and we don’t even know what those next moves should be.

Suddenly, a sharp pain starts spreading from my hand shoulder. My adrenaline is no longer doing a good job blocking out the pain of the fingers I had to sever. I slip up, letting out a hiss. The pain is just that unbearable.

That thing turn at the speed of light, letting out a screech and heading in my direction. My whole body is tense I couldn’t move if I wanted to but my arm is in such a horribly painful position, I think I’ll faint if I don’t readjust it.

“HEY!“ The voice comes from opposite me and my heart drops.

Sam’s next to me. It’s not her. It’s Y/N. 

The Wendigo loses interest in me as soon as it hears her yell turning and heading straight for her. It all starts sinking in. Now that it’s facing away, Sam and I can make it out. But she can’t. It’s over for her. There’s no way she’s leaving this lodge.

I catch her eyes from across the room. Her posture says a fighter, but her eyes scream ‘petrified’. She knows it too. She knows it’s game over. A single tear rolls down her cheek, shattering my heart.

That���s the last vulnerable moment, however. She turns her head, deciding to go out without showing a glint of fear to that piece of shit. I don’t have to look at Sam or tell her what to do. We’re both aware that we’re about to make it out, losing Y/N in the process.

It happens in a split second. Y/N spits at the Wendigo and then next thing I see is her laying on the ground in a pool of blood. 

The dash out of the lodge is a blur. The last thing I remember is sitting outside of the burning building, staring at the flames. The lodge wasn’t the only thing burning. Years of memories; history; wendigos; and my heart burnt in that lodge.

I see the group leave the graveyard. I struggle to move forward, my limbs heavy. I feel gravity is a lot stronger all of a sudden. 

I didn’t go to the final goodbye. I knew it wasn’t her. There was nothing left of her to bury. Sam told me they buried things that reminded people of her and objects she cherished. 

Well it’s time I give my goodbye.

I shrug my jacket off - the same jacket from that night - and put it around the gravestone like I put it over her shoulders. There’s a box of the cigarettes she smoked in the inner pocket.

“I hope you felt what I felt, Y/N. I hope I didn’t have to say it for you to notice it. I wish I knew...cause now it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.” I can’t stop the tears, I’m too weak and I’ve been holding them back for far too long. “I’ve never believed in an afterlife. But I really hope there is one, just so we can meet again.” I scoff, shaking my head, “Who am I kidding, I’m probably going to hell.”

I believe that’s where I deserve to go, anyway. I’m the reason she died. And I will never let myself live that down. I will never forgive myself. A flame like no other burnt out so mine could keep burning.   I will make sure it haunts me till the day I leave this world behind.

[searchingwardrobes]

I Promise to Kiss You (Before You Die) : 3/7

I apologize for not posting yesterday like I was supposed to. I wasn't feeling well and went to bed early. This chapter has some iconic scenes from Little Women, so I hope that makes up for it! Thanks again to the mods of @captainswanmoviemarathon​ and to @hookedonapirate​ for her beta skills.

Summary: Emma noticed him first, never forget that, and while all four of the Lucas sisters love Killian Jones, no one loves him the way Emma does, of that she is certain. Killian Jones also made her a promise. Sure, she was only twelve when he made it, but one day he’ll realize what it meant. One day, she hopes, he’ll get over her sister Ruby and finally notice Emma. A Little Women AU

Rated: T

Also on Ao3 , updated every Thursday.

Tagging:@snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @xsajx​ *If anyone wants to be added or removed from this tag list, please let me know! I think some people asked to be added since I first posted this, but life has been so crazy I am blanking!*

Chapter Three: On Walden Pond

Winter that year was an enchanted one for Killian Jones. The weather, for one, was something out of a dream. All he’d ever known in London was the bitter cold, the icy wind, and the dirty slush. The world was rarely a pristine winter wonderland, and even when he saw glimpses, it was gone just as quickly, trampled beneath the hooves of too many horses and too many wagons on the crowded streets. Here in Maine, he often woke to an endless expanse of glittering white, unmarred and almost blinding in its purity. Icicles caught the sun, splashing a prism of colors onto the windows. Then there was the trappings of winter that he’d never experienced before: sledding, ice skating, and sleigh rides filled with fun and laughter alongside the Lucas girls.

The snow covered landscape was currently distracting him from his studies. He couldn’t stop feasting his eyes upon it, delighting in the nature spread before him. The endless white interrupted by the dark green of firs, the brilliant reds and blues of so many birds, and the occasional umber of a graceful deer. He never knew he was starved for such things until now.

Today it was a flash of gold, however, that caught his eye amidst the snow. A gold head, sans the red wool hat she should have been wearing. Her dress was topped with a thin red shawl, but her coat was nowhere to be seen. Killian frowned at the sight, then glanced around the library for his tutor. David had slipped out to give him quiet space to work, so Killian abandoned his Latin declensions and headed down the hall, through the kitchen, and out into the back yard. There Emma was, pacing back and forth on the Lucas side of the fence.

Killian paused, watching as she kicked at the ground, sending puffs of snow flying up into the air. He leaned against the fence and called out to her breezily, “Emma, what are you doing out here? And without a coat or hat. You’ll catch your death of cold.”

Emma startled at first, clearly not hearing him approach, but she quickly schooled her features into one of carelessness. She shrugged her slim shoulders. “I have gloves, which is more than I had before Granny.”

He nodded, even as he took in her threadbare shawl and the holes in said gloves. “Aye, it was the same for me on the streets of London.”

Emma’s eyes widened as she neared the fence. “Was your mother really an actress?”

“Aye, Uncle Nemo disapproved of her. As for my father, he left when he grew bored of us. When Mother died, I didn’t even know Uncle was looking for me.”

Emma scrambled up onto the bottom rungs of the fence and leaned over the top as he told his brief tale. He noticed then the leaves caught on the crown of her head and how disheveled her braid was. He thought he detected a red mark upon her cheek and frowned.

“Why are you out here in the middle of the day, Emma?”

She sighed and her shoulders slumped. “I got kicked out of school. For fighting. And I don’t know how I can face Granny or Belle. I thought about going to Aunt Regina’s to get Ruby, but I’m more afraid of Auntie than Granny.”

Killian couldn’t say he blamed her on that front. He reached over and pulled open the gate. “Well, I can’t soften the blow, but I can at least offer an ear and a cup of cocoa.”

“Truly?” Emma squealed as she jumped down from the fence with the type of energy only a twelve year old could muster.

Killian smiled and bowed exaggeratedly as she stepped through the open gate. “Of course, m’lady. As much cocoa as you can consume.”

She giggled. “With cinnamon?”

“Naturally.” He winked and offered his arm.

That was when Emma’s crush began in earnest, though she knew it was hopeless. He and Ruby were rarely apart, and Emma saw the way he sometimes looked at her older sister. When she heard he’d danced with Mary Margaret at Sally Moffett’s coming out ball last weekend, she was suddenly worried the rumors of a proposal weren’t just rumors. And she noticed even Belle blushing at him over the top of whatever book she was buried in. Why would he ever notice Emma?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma did indeed get a lecture from Granny on the importance of using one's words and not one's fists when facing injustice. Emma retorted that it had been her words that had gotten her slapped across the face by Minnie Moffett.

“I told her that her father was a tyrant sending children to early graves.”

“Emma!” Granny scolded.

“I only repeated what you said last night at dinner.”

Granny sighed and put away her knitting. She gestured for Emma to come near, and the

child came eagerly. She was the only one still small enough to sit upon Granny’s lap, and truthfully was enjoying it for much longer than the others had. No one said anything about it, however, knowing Emma had gotten precious little affection in her earliest years. Emma snuggled close to Granny, resting her head upon the old woman’s shoulders.

“Emma, my dear, while what I said about Mr. Moffett’s silk mill is true, I didn’t intend for it to go farther than our kitchen table.”

“But Minnie was turning her nose up at my dress,” Emma retorted, “saying it was old fashioned and threadbare. She said silk was all the rage now, that her father milled it right here in Storybrooke and that’s when I said she’d never get a penny from the Lucases. That we would rather wear muslin than hurt little children.”

Granny remained quiet, running her hand over Emma’s hair as she rocked back and forth. Finally, she spoke gently to her youngest child.

“Emma, it makes me happy and immensely proud to know that my girls stand up for what’s right. However, there is a way to go about it without attacking others. If we speak in a voice of hate, we are no better than the oppressors we are standing against.”

“So how do we help the children at Moffett’s Mill?”

“By making up the poor baskets, by baking for the Sunday school parties the church gives, and fighting for our right to vote. When women can vote, I bet children won’t have to work in factories anymore.”

“That could take forever!” Emma exclaimed.

Granny chuckled. “Not forever. We may not see it for ourselves, but one day, it will be so.”

“I only shoved Minnie after she slapped me,” Emma grumbled.

“I believe you, child.”

Nevertheless, Emma wasn’t allowed back at school until the following Monday, which seemed a cruel injustice since Minnie hadn’t been punished at all. Emma’s teacher would never admit it out loud, but it was painfully obvious that he considered Emma somehow morally depraved for being an orphan. Though Killian Jones had been an orphan, and no one seemed to think less of him.

“He’s rich,” Mary Margaret had explained with a shrug, “and he’s a boy.”

Emma sincerely hoped Granny and the rest of her fellow suffragettes got them the right to vote sooner rather than later. The list of things in the world that were unfair seemed to get longer every day. Of course, there was one injustice that had nothing to do with suffrage and everything to do with Ruby and her infuriating beauty. Killian was mesmerized by it, and it drove Emma absolutely crazy.

For one, Killian left far more notes in the hedge for Ruby than he did for the other Lucas girls. The notes he left for Emma in particular were downright babyish, and he always wrote “to my little cygnet.” Emma wanted to crumple them up in her fist and toss them in the fireplace, but she could never bring herself to do it. Then there was the way Killian flirted with Ruby. Belle wanted to know just how much Emma could possibly know about flirting. Emma retorted that she was twelve, not blind.

One day, Emma was at her desk sketching the snow covered fir trees from her window when she spied Killian chasing Ruby around the yard. She wasn’t sure what they were fighting over, but Killian was attempting to wrestle it away from Ruby by grasping her about the waist. Emma frowned and slammed her pencils down upon the desk so hard the tip of her green one broke. She grumbled and stomped down the stairs. When she flung the kitchen door open and stepped outside, Killian turned to her with a wide grin.

“Good afternoon, Emma!”

“Hi, Killian,” she mumbled back. “I was trying to draw and the two of you are being way too loud.”

“Sorry,” Ruby chuckled, “Killian was trying to steal my figs.”

“And you promised to share,” he retorted, trying to snatch one out of her hand again. He grasped Ruby’s wrist, but she switched the last fig to her other hand and popped it in her mouth. Killian did not release Ruby’s wrist, and Emma frowned.

“If you still want me to show you the wishing well, we need to get started,” Ruby said around a mouthful of fig.

Emma’s eyes lit up. “I’d like to go too!”

“Emma,” Ruby groaned, “you’re too little. You’ll get tired and complain.”

“No I won’t!”

“Yes you will.”

Emma’s eyes flashed. “You’re just hogging Killian!”

“Emma, that’s quite enough with your school girl crush,” snapped Ruby.

Killian laughed. “That’s ridiculous, Ruby. Emma’s just a little girl!” He turned to Emma with a dimpled grin and a wink. “It will be many moons indeed before she has to fret about such things. Am I right, cygnet?”

“Stop calling me that!”

“A cygnet is a Swan, love. It shows I’m fond of you.”

“A cygnet is a baby swan, and I’m not a baby!”

Ruby laughed. “Oh Killian, don’t hurt her feelings. She’s imagining herself as the future Mrs. Jones, lady of the grandest house in Storybrooke.” Her voice dripped with elitism as she pretended to fan her face and swoon.

Emma’s cheeks grew hot as she clenched both hands into tight fists at her side.

“You are the biggest hypocrite in all of Maine, Ruby Lucas!” she shouted. “Teasing me when everyone in Storybrooke knows you’re hunting for a proposal from Killian.”

Killian’s eyes widened and his jaw came unhinged just a bit as he looked over at Ruby. She wasn’t looking at him, however. Her eyes were flashing fire at Emma, and rage flared her nostrils.

“How dare you say such a thing! Whatever could cause such a ridiculous thought to even enter your brain-”

“It isn’t that ridiculous,” Killian frowned, his face unable to hide how her words wounded him.

Emma gave little thought to Killian’s feelings, too thrilled by the reaction she’d elicited in her sister. She gave her chin a haughty tilt and flipped her braid off her shoulder saucily.

“Everyone in town is gossiping about it. The way you’ve flung yourself at the boy next door in desperation for a proper match.”

Killian blanched then. “Desperate?” he whispered.

Emma’s gaze skittered to him, and her heart sank for just a moment at his devastated expression. For that reason, she didn’t see Ruby launch herself across the lawn until it was too late. Soon, the two of them were wrestling upon the snowy ground and screaming like hissing cats. Their cries brought the rest of the Lucas family running. Granny and Mary Margaret pulled Ruby off her little sister, and Belle rushed to comfort a now weeping Emma. Her hair was ripped from its braid, and she had a cut on her cheek from Ruby’s fingernails. Ruby didn’t get out unscathed either. Her dark hair was riotous and wild, pulled free of the pins that had held it out of her face, and her cheek was red from Emma’s fist.

“I’ll never forgive you for this, you little brat!” she screamed.

“Ruby!” Granny admonished. “What could the child possibly have done?”

Ruby fell in a heap upon the ground, weeping. Mary Margaret sank to her knees and gathered her close. Emma peeked out from the shelter of Belle’s arms and was relieved to see that Killian had disappeared. No doubt he thought they were completely out of their minds.

“How could you, Emma?” Ruby wept. “He’ll never come back to see us now. Not if he thinks we’re scheming for his inheritance.”

“Who?” Mary Margaret asked, her brow furrowed.

“Killian!” Ruby cried.

“We’ve never schemed for any proposals,” Belle pointed out matter-of-factly.

“We certainly have not,” Granny stated firmly, “and I highly doubt Killian believes such a thing.”

“He will,” Ruby said, tears flowing once again, “because Emma told him just to spite me, and now our friendship will be ruined.”

“It’s only ruined because you were so mean,” Emma countered. “You made it seem like marrying him was disgusting.”

“It is disgusting!” wailed Ruby. “You know how I feel about marriage, yet you slandered my name to Killian, making me seem like nothing more than an insipid, silly girl.”

Ruby had risen to her feet by this time, clutching her skirts in her white-knuckled hands. She spun away from her family and fled away; off into the woods where she so often found solace.

Silence fell amongst the rest of the Lucas females, and Granny sank wearily onto the bench beside the barren rose trellis.

“Emma,” she sighed, “when will you learn to control that sharp tongue of yours?”

“Me?!” Emma cried out, scrambling to her feet. “Ruby needs to learn to control her temper!”

“You’re right,” Granny admitted, “but you were both in the wrong here. What’s worse, you hurt poor Killian in the process.”

Tears rolled unbidden down Emma’s cheeks even as hot anger rose within her chest. “I know we hurt him! The worst part is, Ruby is too blind to understand why!”

Not wanting to hear her family confirm what she already suspected - that Killian was smitten with Ruby - Emma turned and fled up the stairs to her room. She flung herself across her bed, indulging in a rare fit of weeping.

It turned out, however, that Ruby was wrong. Killian left a note for her and one for Emma that very night in the hedge. They were both silly, with a little cartoon drawing at the bottom, with no mention whatsoever of the embarrassing argument and ensuing fight between the sisters. Ruby had rewarded Killian with a tight embrace and a kiss to his cheek, much to Emma’s chagrin.

Ruby did, however, keep her vow to hold a grudge against Emma, and in so doing, kept Killian away from her as well. Emma was relegated to watching them from her bedroom or parlor window, her heart sinking at the beaming smiles and bright eyes Killian bestowed upon her sister.

“Ruby will never forgive me,” Emma sighed one day, her forehead dropping to the frosted window pane. On the other side, Killian and Ruby were having an enthusiastic snowball fight.

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Belle encouraged, glancing up from her book.

Emma wasn’t so sure.

********************************************

Emma ran over the hills, her ice skates thumping against her thighs. When she drew nearer to Walden Pond, she could see Ruby and Killian laughing as they raced across the ice.

“Wait for me!” she cried as she scrambled over the last hill.

Ruby looked at her with harsh narrowed eyes, then turned away with a haughty tilt to her chin. She grabbed Killian by the arm and dragged him farther across the ice. Emma blinked back the tears that pricked at her eyes, then pressed her lips together in a thin, angry line. With determination she started to buckle the skates to her boots.

“I’m coming, Killian!” she shouted as she hobbled on the thin blades to the edge of the pond.

Killian looked in her direction at the sound of her voice, but Ruby told him loudly, “Ignore her!”

He still looked toward Emma who was edging out onto the ice on wobbling legs. Ruby shoved him in the shoulder and said something to him in a voice too low for Emma to catch. Then Killian shrugged and leaned forward to race Ruby across the pond. Emma started to shuffle her feet faster, pausing every now and then to steady herself.

“I want to race!” she called out, but her sister and Killian were skating quickly away from her.

Emma was in the center of the pond now, cursing herself for not being faster on her skates. One moment she was pushing off across the ice, and the next the bottom dropped out from beneath her. The icy waters of Walden Pond hit her like a thousand knives as she plunged into the black depths. She screamed but it was cut off as her skirts dragged her quickly under. Panic seized her immediately, and she pushed up towards the surface. Granny had made sure they all knew how to swim, her feminist ideals surpassing any scandalous notions about ladies swimming, and Emma was glad for her eccentricities as she kicked and pushed down at the water with her hands. She managed to lift her head above the surface, but the bitter cold seeping into her bones was already making her sluggish. She knew she was being pulled under once again by the weight of her skirts and the fatigue that was washing over her. A cry clogged her throat as fear gripped her. What if she drifted below the ice and was trapped?

A strong hand grabbed the back of her coat just before her head slipped back under. She could vaguely hear Killian’s groan and the sharp crack of ice. The pond was giving way beneath him!

“Emma!” Ruby’s terrified scream penetrated her foggy brain. “Grab this!”

There was a thick tree branch right in front of her, and Emma clumsily grabbed it. However, her mittened hands were like blocks of ice, and she couldn’t get a firm hold of it. She started to weep. Was she going to die?

“Killian!” Ruby screamed. “The ice!”

The sharp pops of cracking ice reverberated across the pond.

“I won’t leave her!” Killian shouted, and he reached into the icy waters to grab Emma beneath the arms. He was halfway in the water now, but grabbed ahold of Emma with one arm and the tree branch with the other. The ice continued to crack as he wriggled backwards, still holding onto Emma. She tried to help him, but she had never been so tired, her brain never so foggy. Behind them, Ruby yelled with a feral cry as she pulled on the other end of the tree branch. Finally, Emma felt her legs scraping across a frigid surface, then she felt dirt and snow beneath her. Killian collapsed, his breaths ragged, his arm still holding her. He only gave himself a brief respite, however, before he clambered to his knees beside her.

“We have to get her out of these wet clothes, quickly,” Killian told Ruby as he began to pull at Emma’s coat. She was in and out of consciousness as they pulled off everything but her shift then wrapped her up in Ruby’s outer garments. Killian scooped her up and raced through the woods back to Orchard House. The arms of his coat were damp too, but his chest was warm against her.

Emma shivered, feeling brittle as ice, Killian’s face swirling above her. “I love you,” she burrowed further into his coat, “but you don’t love me back.”

“Of course I do, little cygnet, I love all the Lucas girls.”

That wasn’t what she meant.

**************************************************

Emma’s eyes flickered open; she wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep. She was warm beneath piles of blankets, and her stockinged feet were toasty. Someone had clearly slipped a bed warmer beneath the feather bed. A hand was gently caressing her forehead, and someone else’s arm slipped about her waist. She shifted to see Ruby cuddled up on her left and Belle on her right.

“Ruby Lucas! Did you walk all the way from Walden Pond in nothing but your petticoats?” a voice cried from across the room.

Emma lifted her head just enough to see Mary Margaret in front of the fire, hanging up their wet clothes.

“As if she even noticed,” Belle laughed softly, hugging Emma tighter.

“Thank you for saving me,” Emma said in a scratchy voice.

Ruby hugged her and kissed the top of her head. “Oh forgive me, Emma! If anything had happened to you . . .” She trailed off as if the idea was too terrible to even contemplate. “Thank God for Killian.”

Yes, Killian had saved Emma’s life, and in doing so, he had made her fall even more in love with him.

“Ruby?” Emma whispered. “Do you love Killian more than me?”

“Don’t be silly,” Ruby laughed. “I could never love anyone as I love my sisters.”

Emma smiled and snuggled deeper into her sisters’ embrace. “Good.”

[xxisxxisxxis]

Deleted Scene: Gateway Drug

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"Monster In-Law" -- [1981]

My stomach is in uncomfortable knots as I rub foundation over my skin, nervously, trying not to shit myself with anxiety as the clock nears 7:00pm. 

I hope he's not late, but I also hope he doesn't even show. 

"I wonder if it's Luke Ginson." I hear my mother suggest to my father, the sound of clicking silverware lets me know they're setting the table, and I wrinkle my nose. 

"You think Vivian would be interested in the Preacher's son, Charlette?" My dad replies, doubt in his voice. 

"I hope so. He's a Godly young man, Johnny, that our Vivian would be lucky to go with." She replies and I have to hold back a scoff. 

Luke Ginson was our pastor's son but was just as debauched as Vince, Tommy and Nikki, only hiding behind the fact his dad was a preacher as a cover. I'd later find out my mom and Pastor Garret had planned on approaching me and Luke with the idea of going out. I wonder if she felt like an absolute idiot for thinking he was so much better for me than Nikki when Luke popped up in the obituary in 1988 after dying of a methadone overdose…

"Vivian would be lucky to go out with?" My dad questions her. "Any guy is lucky to even be breathing the same air as her, Charlette, don't act like our girl is so--"

"--I'm not." My mom insists. "She just needs a little push in the right direction."

"And Luke Ginson is the right direction?"

"Of course!" She says it as if she's offended he'd dare suggest otherwise, and I let out a heavy breath, my nerves only tensing up more. 

She thinks I'm bringing her Lord and Savior Luke Ginson to dinner...great. 

I'm ready just in time, hearing the door of Nikki's beat up car shut outside. 

I'm darting down the stairs, glad that my parents haven't noticed, and open the door before he can ring the doorbell. 

He's dressed as nice as he can be, jeans, a tshirt, and his leather jacket. 

"Hi." He says, smiling at me, looking me up and down. "You look hot." 

"Thank you." I reply, my eyes catching on the rosary around his neck. "Oh, no, she can't see that, we're Assembly of God, she's gonna think you're Catholic." I mumble as I quickly tuck it into his shirt as my mom says, "Vivian, is he here?" A little too excitedly. 

"Um, yes ma'am, coming!" I call, looking at Nikki.

"Relax, babe, I got this." He assures me deviously as we step inside and I lead him to the dining room, gulping when I meet my mother's eyes as she steps in with a pitcher of lemonade. 

She sets her sights on Nikki and drops the dish, causing the heavy glass to break and lemonade to slosh onto the floor, and I keep myself from squeezing my eyes closed to retreat to my mind. 

"Charlette, honey, be more care--" My dad stops talking when he walks in to see Nikki, "--ful." He finishes, immediately going into salvage mode. "H-Hey, hi," he smiles widely at Nikki, seeming to be amused with my choice of date, "I'm Johnny." My dad extends his hand. 

"Nikki." Nikki takes it. 

"Johnny, Vivian, a word, please." My mom says, obviously seething. 

"Oh, Charlette, we don't have time...the steaks will get cold." He tells her to save me, and she stomps into the kitchen before he looks at me. 

"Thank you." I mouth and he winks at me. 

"She was expecting someone else." My dad tells Nikki, putting an arm around his shoulder and patting him as we step to the table. 

Nikki finds this humorous and snorts a little, causing me to glare at him because it's not funny. 

"Would you like something to drink, Nikki?" I ask quietly as my dad wipes up the lemonade and gets what pieces of glass he can get off the floor. 

"I really don't think your parents have Jack, do they?" He mumbles and I shake my head a little, smiling sadly at him. "I'm in hell." He adds as I chuckle. "Whatever you guys have is fine with me." He says next and I nod, heading to the kitchen to grab him a soda from the fridge. 

My mom's angrily preparing to bring the plate of steaks to the table, her red lips in an almost snarl as she glances at me. 

"This is not what we do, Vivian." She states to me and I roll my eyes. 

"Mom--"

"--You know better than to get in with the likes of him." She keeps on.

"I know he's not Luke freaking Ginson, mom, but he's good to me and I really like him." 

"Oh, he's good to you?" She asks with a mocking laugh, turning to face me with her hands on her hips. 

"Yes, he is." I stand by what I said. 

"Your Aunt Lily is rolling in her grave at the sound of you giving props to the same type of man that completely wrecked her life, and eventually took it away from her altogether." She hisses, turning back around to grab the plate, while I'm struck speechless. "Grab the fries and string beans." She tells me, walking back out to the table. 

I push my tears back and grab the beans, sitting them next to the steaks as I hand Nikki his soda, next. 

"Looks good." He comments about the food. 

"Very good." Dad puts in next, sitting down. "Thank you, Charlette." He says next in reference to her helping with dinner. 

"Who would like to say prayer?" She ignores him, her eyes glassed with tears the longer she looks at Nikki and I next to each other.

"I will." Dad says, and I bow my head and close my eyes. "Father, in heaven, I pray. Forgive me of my sins, Lord. Thank you for continuing to bless us with new opportunities to meet and love on others. Thank you for your comforting hand, and not leaving one tear that's been shed recently over Lilian, unacknowledged. I pray that you continue to keep your hand over this family, protect us and those we love, but above all, I pray whatever your will is, let it be done. Thank you for this meal we are so fortunate to have, may it nourish and strengthen our bodies so our bodies may continue to be used unto your service. In Christ Jesus' name I pray. Amen." He finishes. 

"Amen." Mom and I echo, and Nikki looks at me, already chewing steak, letting me know he started eating during the blessing. 

My mother notices, too, her hand tightening around her fork.

My dad just shrugs it off before asking him, "So, Nikki, what is it you do for a living, or are you in school?" My dad asks him and my mom rudely scoffs as if it's impossible that Nikki's in college currently. 

"No, I'm kinda doing odd jobs. Right now I'm telemarketing." He explains. 

“Is that what the kids are calling drug dealing nowadays?” My mom remarks, snidely.

“Mom.” I say, shooting daggers her way and she raises her brows.

“What, I’m just asking a legitimate question, Vivian.” She tells me, raising her brows. “What, with the knotted, unnaturally black hair, eye liner and uncomfortably ripped pants that make him look like he got caught in a barbed wire fence while escaping a prison, I think it’s safe to assume he enjoys listening to the same sex, alcohol and drug endorsing music as--”

“--Charlette.” My dad sighs out, looking at her as if to say, “seriously?”

“And don’t even get me started on the rosary hiding under his shirt.” She promptly points out and he and I both tense up. “Not only did you bring home an imbecile, Vivian, but a Catholic imbecile.” She sarcastically congratulates me. “I’m sure God is so very pleased with you.” She adds and I wince as she abruptly corrects herself, looking at Nikki as she says, “or, as you Catholics believe, ‘Mother Mary.”

“Mom--”

“--Do you not feel ridiculous believing that you have to plead with dead disciples and Mary to talk to God on your behalf because simply going to God directly in prayer isn’t enough. Because I assure you, what, with the ‘Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of the womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death’, I promise you she’s looking down at your ignorance and telling you to just talk to Jesus or God yourself because she’s a woman, and men don’t listen--not even the divine.” She states, and my father has his face buried in his hands, and I can tell my expression is mortified as my mom just casually starts cutting her steak while Nikki just keeps his amused grin on his lips.

“No, my prayers are usually done in the dead of night in a discreet location in the hills, with the sacrificial offering of a virgin with the entirety of the Sunset Strip nightlife in attendance while Blackie Lawless sings 'I Fly Away’ backwards while wearing a goat carcass.” He tells her without skipping a beat. 

Her jaw clenches, her eye twitching as me and my dad are both sitting, paralyzed, and I feel the color draining from my face by the second. 

"Then you have no business associating yourself with my daughter." My mom quips, staring at him resentfully.

"Mmm, she's our latest sacrificial virgin." Nikki replies and my mother slams her fork onto her plate, throwing her napkin onto the table. 

"I need fresh air." She states in a hiss, going to the door and slamming it. 

We all just sit in silence for a moment, before Nikki looks at my dad. 

"I'm not really using her as a sacrificial virgin." He tells him, and my dad raises a brow. 

"I figured being that it wouldn't do much good." My dad mumbles. "Well, kids, moments like these I wish I wouldn't have stopped drinking." He sighs out next, standing. "I'm sorry for her mother's lack of manners and boundaries. She wasn't always like this." He assures Nikki. "And no matter your beliefs--it's not our business--as long as Vivian's comfortable…" he says next and Nikki nods as if he's thinking about it before my dad opens the door to go talk my mom down.

[kessielrg]

[Kingdom Hearts] F-You in Bouquet

Summary: By far, Ven's got the most boring job at the flower shop; the cashier. Sitting day in and day out for someone to browse along the rows of flowers and gardening tools, then probably walk right out again. Sometimes an interesting thing would happen- but they were few and far between. [flower shop AU focused on UX kids][Part 1 in a series of oneshots][VenxOC][EphemerxOC/F!Player]

Rating: K+ (cursing)

Word Count: 2,171 words

If you like this story, please reblog!

. . .

Ventus had the most boring job at the flower shop; being the cashier. Day in and day out, from after school to closing, Ven sat on a lumpy stool to watch next to no one come in. There was more of a commotion in the shop around spring- since they offered gardening supplies to help offset how little people randomly bought bouquets and arrangements for their loved ones. Not that Ven should be complaining- it was, in a way, easy money. He even had time to get his homework done in the first hour or so too.

Not that Skuld couldn't find something for him to do. Especially if he dared to utter that he was bored. However, just a low sigh would have made Skuld suggest he do something else if she heard him. That's happened before, and it was in the process of almost happening again. Ven sat at the front counter while Skuld sat at a wooden table behind him. The table in question was for finished arrangements that were scheduled to be picked up in person by the customer. Sometimes they used it as an extra table to make arrangements when the ones in the backroom were set to be cleaned off. Today, Skuld was making it her base of operations while she went through current, old, and new orders while also doing a bit of budgeting as well.

If her occasional grunts of agitation were any indication, the backlog had been much longer than what she had anticipated.

“Ephemer,” Skuld loudly declared, giving only the briefest of glances toward the backroom, “I'm gonna have to cancel your weekly order of flowers to Anora. We're going to need those spares for a bigger arrangement this week.”

“Naw,” Ephemer whined from the back room, “How will my wife know that I love and cherish her?”

Ven watched as Skuld let out a hard sigh, setting down her pen so she could rub her temples. In a voice that was understandably exhausted, Skuld groaned, “Ephemer…!”

That was when the young man actually came to the doorway bordering the main shop and the backroom. His face was rather serious as he looked back at his old partner in crime.

“I was joking, Skuld.” he told her- his voice no less serious. “It was a joke.”

“Uh huh,” Skuld mused as she reached for a piece of floral wire next to her. She bent it into a triangle shape as she told Ephemer, “Get back to work you lovestruck slacker.”

Before he could give a retort, Skuld tossed the bent wire in his direction. Ephemer let out a yelp of surprise before ducking back into his workspace.

“Rude!” he shouted from the backroom, leading Skuld to let out a rather amused laughter. She needed to let out that laugh- Ven could tell just by the way she sighed after recollecting herself.

After that distraction, the main shop got so eerily quiet that Ven's ears almost starting to ring. The hours went by as Skuld made corrections to orders and did whatever else she did. Time passed by so slowly, that Ven was surprised when Brain hit the counter on his way out.

“Whelp, time for me bounce.” he announced, giving Skuld and Ventus a nod.

“Have a good night.” Skuld replied with a little wave. “Remember that time sheets are due this week.”

“Already did mine.” the smooth talking young man affirmed. “But before I go, I gotta warn you two- the Queen of Sheba will be gracing you with her presence today after she gets done at work. She'll tell you the details once she gets here.”

Ven's heart suddenly leaped into his throat. “Sabrina?” he asked, almost automatically. Skuld, on the other hand, groaned.

“And here I was thinking about finishing up for the day too.” she said. Skuld placed two fingers at the bridge of her nose as she thought things over. “We're overstaffed as it is right now. Ephemer will be off the clock in another thirty minutes- and he has to go because I promised him as much when he stayed late yesterday. Which means you'll be manning the store on your own, Ven. Do you think you could help her out without the rest of us?”

“M-me?” he stammered. He even pointed to himself as if he had no idea of his own presence in the room.

“It'll be fine.” Brain nodded. “She likes you.”

The young man's head whipped to his older peer. “Really?”

“Just take her order and we'll fill it later.” Skuld added on. “Shouldn't be any different than any other customer.”

“Should.” Brain teased with a tip of his fedora. He then choose to make that the mark of his leave, failing to even warn Ven when exactly Sabrina would be coming around. Even if Ventus told Skuld he could do it, and that odd glare she gave him didn't inspire confidence, a part of him wondered even if he could handle Sabrina alone.

The waiting for her to come in became nearly unbearable. Skuld left not soon after Brain, and Ephemer left on time and wished Ven the best of luck. He just hoped she was in a good mood. Normal Sabrina was a handful because of her natural pessimism and sass. But angry Sabrina? Ven shuddered. No man alive knew how to calm Sabrina down when she was mad. He had been so lost in worrying about Sabrina's mood, and the boredom of nothing going on, that he almost fell asleep. He didn't even quite register that the little bell above the flower shop's door jingled before he saw Sabrina angrily stomping her way to the main counter.

“How do you say 'fuck you' in a bouquet?” Sabrina demanded, her voice almost a bit too loud, as she slammed her hands onto the counter. It startled Ven for a moment- definitely waking him up from his half sleep.

“I, uh...” he stammered as he tried to get his brain in gear. The pure rage in Sabrina's chocolate brown eyes filled Ven with both awe and great fear. His mind was blank, but he still managed to say one word, “Poppies.”

That immediately made Sabrina raise an eyebrow. “Poppies?” she repeated, her voice well laced with skepticism.

“Poppies.” Ven said once more, nodding his head almost a bit too fast. “Their seeds can be extracted to make drugs- opium. And, um, you're not allowed to grow them by seed in certain regions, and, uh...” The teen was about five seconds away from slapping himself. He was too stupefied by Sabrina's presence that he didn't even bother to voice the most obvious question on the table. “Why do you want a… uh, 'fuck you' bouquet anyway?”

Sabrina stood a bit straighter, her hands forming into fists. “I'm getting laid off.” she grumbled.

“I'm sorry...”

“Don't be.” she quickly shot at him. She looked away for a moment to mumble, “Boss was an asshole anyway.”

“So why are you…?”

Sabrina looked back at Ven- her eyes shining with a fierce determination. “His birthday is next week, and I want to piss him off one more time- think you can help me?”

All Ventus could gave her at this point was a slow nod. In the back of his mind, he was almost grateful that -while she didn't say she liked him directly- it was clear that she had some genuine regard toward him. Otherwise she'd be making him dig his own grave; literally.

“We'd need to have other flowers than just poppies though.” he then said to her. He quickly looked around for a scrap piece of paper so he could -badly- sketch out the arrangement for her. “The poppies can decorate the lower portion of the arrangement, but we'd need something as a focal point. Something tall that can create a semi or quarter circle in the back.”

“Like lavender?”

Ven blinked before looking back up at her. “Lavender?”

Sabrina shrugged. “Gotta know it came from me, right?”

“Right.” the young man agreed- his face flushing a bit. “Lavender could do.  It might be hard to find stalks tall enough, though. But we'd still need something… something that would make a statement. What about...”

“A rose.” the two of them said at the same time. Both seemed a bit off guard by their equal thought, leading them to just stare at each other.

“Black roses represent death sometimes.” Ven suddenly said, his voice just a pitch too high as he tried to look away from Sabrina. “We can even have the thorns in tact to really make a, uh, a statement. You know?”

“Sounds good.” Sabrina nodded. She looked down at Ven's arrangement sketch- his generic looking poppies and poor lavender scribbles left much to be desired. “Do you take the rose thorns off by hand, or do you buy them in bulk like that?”

“A bit a both.” the teen told her. He took a step back or two from the counter to give her some space. “We try to get precut roses because Strelitzia keeps finding new ways to hurt herself, apparently...”

Sabrina looked up at him. “But?”

“Lauriam tries to keep some flowers growing year round in the greenhouse. Depending on the color, I might be able to cut one right off the bush for you.”

“Black roses aren't natural, are they?”

“Not exactly. The closest are really just super red ones. Sometimes a dark purple too. Even then, we sometimes use dye to make them look a bit darker.”

“Does Lauriam have any that dark?”

“I'm not sure offhand. But I can show you what he has.”

“Are you allowed to do that?” Sabrina asked, folding her arms as she gave him a neat raise of his eyebrow.

Ven looked everywhere but at her as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “No, not really.” he admitted. “But it would only be for a moment. It shouldn't hurt anything.”

“Then lead the way.”

A jolt shot through Ventus for a moment. With a shaking hand, he gestured for her to follow him to the backroom. From there, they could use a side door into the greenhouse. It was with a hyper awareness that he noted that Sabrina strolled rather close to him.

This wasn't a bad thing, not really. Sabrina was Brain's sister- almost a part of the Dandelion crew herself. She could be in the backrooms and the greenhouse if she had staff permission. Besides, Ephemer's wife and kid were allowed back this way sometimes. Usually because Ephemer couldn't keep his hands off his wife for more than a minute, but still. Ven would be lying if he said he hadn't considered doing it before too. Not with Ephemer's wife, of course, but with…

“You always forget how naturally smooth real flowers are.” Sabrina sighed. Ven took a look back at her to notice that the tip of her finger was gently grazing some tiger lilies. For a moment, he found himself jealous of a stupid flower.

“Lauriam's rose bushes are this way, Sabrina.” Ventus said. It brought her attention back to him and allowed the two of them to continue their venture.

Their check on the rose bushes didn't take long. Sabrina only gave the black rose bush a nod before deciding that they would do for the task. The duo walked back to the main shop in silence- the rest of the arrangement made in near silence.

“The flowers will be delivered on your boss's birthday, right to his office.” Ven told her once everything was settled. He bit his lip for a moment before hazarding to ask, “Since you're not going to be working for awhile, are you going to be visiting the shop more? To visit Brain or whatever.”

“Dunno.” Sabrina huffed. She looked up at him before asking, “What times are you usually here for?”

A faint blush appeared on Ven's cheeks as he scratched the tip of his nose a bit. “Pretty much every day after school. We're not opened on the weekends, you know. It really makes stuff boring.”

Sabrina gave a thoughtful hum. “Maybe I'll visit.” she decided as she picked up her receipt. “After homework's done.”

“Right.” Ven dimly agreed. Sabrina gave him one last inquisitive stare before she started to leave. After she left, the teen let out a soft sigh as he rested his hand in his head. He could have gone to sleep right then and there had he not remembered that he needed to get home soon. As he got the store ready for closing, he wondered what the odds were that Sabrina could start working at Dandelion's as well. But the thought immediately left as he shut the lights off for the night. Sabrina deciding to join their crew was just as ridiculous as asking her not to wear purple.

But, as it crossed Ven's mind when he saw Terra's truck pull into the parking lot, it wasn't entire impossible either...

[moneymingyu]

[cw: talks of death, drinking]

Mingyu has this faint memory of a boy with dark, shaggy hair running around at the park him and his father used to go to. He would always be wearing his backpack, obvious to everyone that he came straight here after school, and would be chasing butterflies or catching ladybugs.

On one of the days where Mingyu’s dad would throw the ball a little too far to teach the boy how to jump up and catch, it rolled away and landed in front of a pair of scuffed sketchers.

“Hey, sorry!” Mingyu remembers saying, cheeks red from chasing the ball down. His father is standing a distance away behind him, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun and the other on his hip.

“S’accident,” the other mutters shyly, bending down to pick up the baseball.

Mingyu loved to make friends as a child which is why the next thing out of his mouth is “I’m Mingyu! Kim Mingyu!” The other boy’s front tooth is missing and he remembers that because he peaks his tongue peaks out through the gap.

He cocks his head to the side, a sly smile creeping across his cheeks. “Names Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook! But my sister is only four and she doesn’t know how to say it so she calls me Kookie.”

“My dad calls me Gyu,” Mingyu laughed. “He only calls me Mingyu is when I’m in trouble.”

“Well Gyu,” Jungkook hands him back the ball. “You must be joining the little league, huh?”

“Little league?” Mingyu raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah!” Jungkook’s eyes were wide with excitment. “My brother has this kid in his class named Ten—like the number—and he asked Wonwoo hyung if he wanted to play but he’d rather stay inside so he told me to come play with the kids my age but I dunno how to play since my dad’s always busy and hyung hates sports since he’s kinda lazy and slow like a sloth and—��

“You talk a lot,” Mingyu smiled. He liked that. His dad always called him a motor mouth because he could talk his ear off and at five, he thought it’d be fun to have someone to keep up with him. “Wanna come play with me and my dad?”

“Uh, duh!” Jungkook jumped up, racing Mingyu to the older man, who had resided under the oak tree with a bottle of water.

From that Friday on, Jungkook would play baseball with Mingyu and his dad. They later joined the little league baseball team together (though that only lasted one season before Mingyu decided soccer was more of his thing).

Now, every time Mingyu comes back to this park, he can’t help but think of Jeon Jungkook, the boy with kind eyes and a bright smile.

-

Mingyu still has fond memories of Jungkook whenever he comes to this park. Though, they’re a bit fuzzy around the edges, he stil finds himself laughing at all of their mishaps and hiccups that took place on this grass. And every time he looks at Pumpkin, he cant help but see his face.

“And then Jungkook hit a home run and Yugyeom and I smashed cupcakes in his face to celebrate,” Mingyu whispers to the girl who sits a distance away from him.

Her face is blank, eyes unreadable. Mingyu scans the bags under her eyes and the way her brows have furrowed and thinks “When did Hobag get the chance to grow up?”

He still remembers when she was a kid. When she’d come to all of Jungkook’s baseball games and hearing her scream for “Kookie” or ask “Nu” to take her to buy some snacks at the concessions stands. He still remembers her being a freshman in high school and how she and Seungkwan would trail after him and Wonwoo with whispered secrets and wild ideas for the four of them to partake in.

He still remembers the last day he saw her. The day that he was too coward to say goodbye to her and Wonwoo and left on the train earlier than they knew. He remembers the ignored calls and texts and how they soon fizzled out to every day to every couple of days to once a week until they finally stopped.

He doesn’t deserve this.

“The other night,” she whispers as if she could read Mingyu’s mind, “I had a dream.” She runs her finger over the polaroid. Mingyu realizes then that this is the first time she’s seen Jungkook’s face since she was 12. How cruel is this life? “In the dream, I hit a home run. The following day,” she flashes the picture in Mingyu’s direction, “you find this.”

It’s a sign, Mingyu knows that’s what she’s thinking.

“I’m not going to ask you why you left the way you did. It’s been five years and I spent way too much time stressing over it — especially since you welcomed Seungkwan with open arms. That dream...had to be mean something.” She runs her fingers through her hair and shakes her head. “It had to be a sign from Jungkook.”

“Hobag,” Mingyu whispers as he sees the tears spring from her eyes. “I am so sorry—“

“I told you,” she wipes her tears away a bit too harshly with her sleeve. “I don’t want to hear it.” Mingyu frowns and nods, leaning back onto the oak tree. “I don’t forgive you for what you did, Mingyu. I don’t forgive you for hurting my brother,” she shakes her head. “But...before I went to bed that night, I asked Jungkook to send me a sign on what I should do next.” Her eyes rake over the picture once more before she says, “And I guess that means to let you back in.”

“You don’t have to,” Mingyu whispers. “I fucked up, Hobag. I didn’t know what I was thinking and I’m sorry but—“

“I told you I don’t want to hear it,” the younger groans.

“But I am,” he says.

“Mingyu,” she breathes, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. “Have you learned nothing? Life is too short to be angry.”

Mingyu feels dizzy at her words.

That night. The last words between Jungkook and Wonwoo. The fire.

“I’ll be here now,” Mingyu tells her. “I promise.” He finally crosses the boundaries and pulls her into a hug, her tears finally flowing freely.

“I miss him,” she hiccups into his chest.

“Me too,” Mingyu frowns. “I miss them both. So much.”

They stay like that until all of their cheeks are dry and Mingyu wipes away the last tear. He smiles sadly at her, chuckling when he remembers just how much of a crier she was when they were younger.

“If someone told me last week I’d be doing this again, I would’ve laughed in their face,” Mingyu says as he swipes his sleeve under her eyes one last time.

“I would’ve passed out,” she snorts.

Mingyu leans back onto the oak tree again and sighs. It’s chilly outside and it’s dark out. “Isn’t Wonwoo going to look for you?” he asks.

“Seungcheol is over right now. They’re making amends,” she explains.

“Seungcheol?” Mingyu’s eyes are closed now, listening to the wind as it whistles past him.

“He’s one of Wonwoo’s best friends. Seungcheol had a fall out with their third friend Jeonghan and it made Wonwoo upset. Last I checked, they were cuddling so,” she shrugs even though Mingyu can’t see.

“Jeonghan?” he opens his eyes. “Is that the guy you were with in town?”

She furrows her brows, looking at him with confusion before she remembers the day he’s referring to. “So I did see you then!” He shrugs and closes his eyes again. “Gyu, you were here this entire time and you didn’t even tell Seungkwan?”

“I needed some time to think,” he says simply. “Is Jeonghan your boyfriend?”

“What?” she sputters. “What makes you— EW! You think I’m dating Yoon Jeonghan?”

“Oh?” Mingyu smirks as he realizes he’s successfully changed the subject. “Then maybe it’s Vernon? Woozi said he writes a bunch of songs about you.”

“Mingyu!” she smacks his arm. “I’m leaving. I almost forgot how annoying you were.”

She stands to her feet and brushes off blades of grass, ready to stomp off when Mingyu stops her again with the sound of his voice.

“The lanterns,” he says. She turns to him just as he stands. “Are you still making three?”

“Just because you weren’t here doesn’t mean we won’t make your dad a lantern,” she crosses her arms.

Mingyu isn’t surprised. Well, maybe that’s because he’s had a couple of days to simmer into the fact that they still visit his late father’s grave. But, it still makes him smile — even if he feels sad inside.

The lanterns started on the first anniversary of Jungkook’s death.

Jungkook had always been in love with the stars and could name thirty constellations before he could do long division. Because of this, the Jeon family would make lanterns and send them off on his anniversary. When Mingyu became a part of their friend group, he and Seungkwan would each make one for his dad and send it off with them.

“Do you think—“

“I’ll talk to Wonwoo,” she cuts him off. “But you have to remember that this time of year is super hard for him, Gyu.”

He nods. It’s totally understandable. If your best friend just up and left you without a word— “Did you just call me Gyu?”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” she says, turning on her heel.

“You only call me Gyu whenever you’re not mad at me,” he says. Pumpkin doesn’t turn around this time. Instead, she keeps walking until he comes to his senses. “Wait! Hobag! I’ll give you a ride! Dammit, slow down! I can’t believe it’s been five years and we’re still having this argument! You can’t go home by yourself you could get robbed—“

And she keeps walking, feeling at ease for the first time in a very long time.

Chapter Ten: Not Enough

Summary: If home is where the heart is, then the hearts of Kim Mingyu and the Jeon siblings must lie within the stars. Maybe that’s why the always feel so out of place. Maybe that’s why Mingyu left town and never turned back. Maybe that’s why the Jeon siblings can’t leave this town. Maybe this time, the stars will align and things might start actually making sense.

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master list

a/n: junhao should have their own spin off bc skskks.

a/n 2: what drama do you guys want to see first?

a/n 3: i have final exams next week so i might be slow to update! please bare with me for the time being!!!

[kriscme]

One Life To Live

Hi Readers, sorry for the longer interval that usual.  It took me awhile to work out where to go from here.  The hazard of not working to a plan.  Thanks as always to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take.”  You can read it on AO3 and Fanfiction.  Chapter 28 The following morning, I set out for work as usual.  All is quiet in the Village.  Peeta would still be sleeping off the effects of sleep syrup but there’s no sign of Johanna or Haymitch.  I modify my usual route to the school and walk down the main street, curious to see if Lace is working today.  She doesn’t open this early, but she can usually be seen behind her shop window bustling about, either sewing or sorting through fabrics.  Today there’s no sign of her.  Even more oddly, the tailor’s shop is closed.  Arthur starts early and finishes late, eager for as much business as possible to fund that factory he intends to own one day.   The bakery is open though.  Cass and Saffy are serving behind the counter.  Saffy replaced Sateen after she quit her job to marry Roy.  Her full name is Sapphire and she’s aptly named with dark blue eyes and pale blond hair.  She’s someone I might have been jealous of if Peeta hadn’t already been with Lace.   Very pretty, she flirts with everyone, male and female alike.  Peeta told me she had been training as a career before the war put an end to the Games.  Her favored weapon was the bow although she admits that she was only middling good at best. But if Glimmer – also from 1 – had made it through on good looks and charm, then why not her?  It’s the early morning rush and there’s quite a few people ahead of me.  While I wait, I take the opportunity to examine the contents of the display counters.  Bee stings must still be popular as they take up an entire shelf.  Below them are apple pastries and jelly slices.  Chocolate eclairs and fruit tarts, cupcakes and . . . yes, iced cookies, each decorated with a floral motif.  It’s clearly Peeta’s work.  In one corner of the bakery is a large glass case displaying a dazzling array of celebration cakes. “Amazing, aren’t they?”  says Cass behind me.  I look around and see that the other customers have left and there’s only me, Cass and Saffy, who is occupied packing loaves of bread onto shelves.   “We’re really lucky to have found him.  He could get work anywhere, if he wanted.”  He points to the central cake, a large multi-tiered wedding cake decorated with an intricate vine design in gold.  The pattern and the shape of the leaves stirs a memory, and I wonder if it had for Peeta too.  “We even got an order for one just like it to be shipped to the Capitol.” “The Capitol? Wow! That’s a long way to come for a wedding cake.   How did they know to look here?” Cass chuckles.   “She actually came in for the beestings.  She recognized us from our bakery in the Capitol.  But when she saw that cake, she just had to have it. It was the strangest thing.  The tattoo on her head was an exact match with the vine decoration on the cake.” “Oh, that is strange.   Did she say why she was in 12?  We don’t usually get tourists here.” “She didn’t say.  But the beestings was a treat for her crew, I know that much. Construction, maybe?  There’s a lot of that going on.” “Yeah, probably.” Despite my efforts to keep my voice even, I can’t help a sense of urgency creeping in.    “Did she ask to speak to Peeta?  You know, to talk about the cake?” “No.  She didn’t ask who iced it.”  Cass’s brow pinches in worry.  “Is there something wrong?” “Of course not,” I quickly assure him.  “Just curious, that’s all.  I thought she might have wondered how the cake and her tattoo happen to match.  But it’s probably a standard design.  Peeta likely saw it somewhere from his days in the Capitol.” His face relaxes into a smile.  “Well, there was plenty to choose from, fashions changed so fast.  None as popular as your Mockingjay symbol though.” “Yeah, it did seem to be everywhere.  Although I bet there’s a lot of people who regret they got a tattoo of it,” I say with a laugh.  I search for a change of subject. I really don’t want to revisit those days.  “Do you have any cheese buns ready?”   “A batch is due out of the oven now.   Just wait a minute and I’ll get them,” he says, and disappears into the rear of the bakery. The aroma of freshly baked cheese buns would normally have me salivating, but all I can think of is the woman who ordered that cake.  Cressida! What’s she doing in 12?  The last I heard, she and Pollux had been sent to the Districts to cover the wreckage of the war.  This was not long after the Capitol had fallen, Coin was in charge, Snow awaiting trial, and I was in hospital being treated for burns.  Maybe she’s here to do a story on District 12’s recovery. That would make sense.  I just hope Peeta and I aren’t the subject.   Paylor would certainly put a stop to it if we were, wouldn’t she?  She didn’t want me attracting any attention when I was in 8, after all.   I think as far as the government is concerned; we outlived our usefulness long ago.  Nowadays we’re more of an embarrassment. The lunatic who went berserk and kicked a fellow combatant into a pod to his death, and the lunatic who executed the wrong president.   I think, if the government have its way, we’ll never be heard of again.  No ill will, just please quietly fade into the sunset. Max sheds no further light on the Cressida mystery.  When asked if I’d missed anything while I was away, he only commented on Arthur’s uncharacteristic behavior at the pub on the Saturday night.  Max describes him as an odd mixture of concern and excitement. “Like he was happy about something, but felt bad that he was happy about it.   He didn’t stick around for long.  Said he had personal issues to attend to.”   Lace, probably.   That could explain why his shop wasn’t open as usual.  Arthur wouldn’t, would he?  Spend the night with her?  To give comfort, or maybe something more? Maybe he’s heeding his own advice: be adaptable, be open to possibilities.   “Lace and Peeta broke up,” I say, and wait for Max’s stunned reaction.  To my surprise I don’t get one.  Not beyond a raise of eyebrows and a sardonic laugh, that is.   “Did they now?  Well, you could see that coming.” “How?” I ask, disbelieving.   It’s so typical of Max to claim credit for knowing something after the fact.   Peeta and Lace were never anything less than a devoted couple.  No one could have seen it coming. I get a disbelieving look in return.  “You must have been too preoccupied with making plans for your weekend in the woods with Nature Man.   Because while their hands might have been all over each other their eyes weren’t.  His were on you and hers were on Arthur.  I was surprised Lace held out for as long as she did.  If looks could kill, Johanna would have been dead a dozen times over.” Max finishes collating the work sheets on the table and sets to work stapling them together.  “So, what’s between them? Obviously, they’re more than just acquaintances if he knew her secret before Psycho Boy did.” “They knew each other in 8.  They’re related through marriage,” is all I say. I doubt if Arthur would appreciate me giving away more than that.  Certainly not that he’s had a crush on Lace since childhood. “And stop calling people names.  It’s immature.  And unnecessary.” “But I like calling people names.  It’s fun.  You’re just jealous I haven’t one for you yet.  How about The Scowler? Yes, that fits,” he says, grinning at me. I try to wipe the scowl off my face but give up.  Max gives me so much to scowl at. “And now the big question is, who will she choose?  Nature Man or Psycho Boy?  It should be no contest but there’s no accounting for some women’s tastes.” “There is no choice,” I snap.  “And mind your own business.”  I plonk my still half-full cup of tea in the sink and stomp out of the staff room before remembering that I’ve just committed the grave offense of not washing my cup and placing it back on the self.  Maybe I can get back in time later to do it before Mrs. Matson sees it.  But I’m not going back in there right now.  Not while he’s in there, no matter the consequences.  That man annoys me so much.   And the most annoying thing about him is that he can see right through me. Because if I’m honest with myself, the thought had occurred to me too. Which is really, really dumb.  The situation bears no relationship whatsoever to the choice I had between Gale and Peeta.  Because then there really was a choice.  Two boys who were in love with me compared to one man who isn’t, and another I can’t say.   But somehow, I sense that there’s still a choice to be made.  I don’t know how, or why.  Just that at one point, I’ll have to make one.   If Max can be trusted with anything, it’s to spread information in the fastest time possible.  By lunchtime everyone knows.  I get a few looks, especially from the newest members of staff.  I suppose I’d better get used to it.  People will speculate and assume the way is clear now for Peeta and me.  In their minds, anything other than a star-crossed lovers union is unthinkable, an aberration that shouldn’t be tolerated.   It’s unfortunate for them that they’re going to be disappointed a second time. I walk home the way I came, down the main street.   Lace’s shop is still closed, but Arthur is open for business.  I watch him through the window as I walk past.  Arthur has really only one expression, but it manifests in varying degrees according to his mood and the situation.  Today it’s serious light, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s the barest hint of a smile at the corners of his lips.  It’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him.   Johanna calls by soon after I arrive home. Marcus isn’t here so I lead her into the sitting room where we can talk openly in comfort. “How is he?” I ask as soon as we’re seated. “Better.  There haven’t been any more flashbacks, at least.  I think the long sleep broke the cycle.  Not that I’ve seen much of him.  He kept to his room most of the day, except when he came down to talk to Aurelius on the phone.” “And?”  Neither of us pretend that Johanna hadn’t listened in.  We’re both shameless.  Johanna for eavesdropping and me for asking her to repeat it.  But justified, we tell ourselves, because we care about his welfare. Johanna’s forehead crinkles in concentration. “Well, I only heard Peeta’s side of it, of course.  And it was muffled at times.    But he talked about the flashbacks.  That’s how I know they’ve stopped.  And then about the break-up.  I got the impression he must have already talked to Aurelius about the possibility, because he didn’t explain why they broke up, just that they had, and he felt badly about it.  And then, all of a sudden, he started to cry.  He kept saying over and over that his life was ruined and he’ll never find a love like that again and that it was his own fault.” It’s a knife to the heart.  I know Peeta doesn’t love me anymore but he has some awareness that he once did, and that it was, by his own account, overwhelming in its intensity.  But Lace has supplanted me in that too.  She’s the love that can never be surpassed.   But something doesn’t quite make sense. Why break-up with her if he feels that way? She was the one who had to be forgiven.  Peeta did nothing wrong.  But then I remember what Peeta told Johanna when she asked him why they had broken-up.  He said they’d both lied.  Could Lace have initiated the break-up?  That whatever Peeta had lied about was a deal breaker for her?  And then I think about Arthur and his closed shop this morning and the little smile on his face when I saw him later in the day.  That’s more than relief for a disaster averted.  He’s had encouragement.  From Lace.   Poor Peeta.  Poor, poor Peeta.  Everything about her he adored – her laughter, her bright personality, her ambition.  He even liked that slobbering dog of hers.  And after everything he’s suffered. The Games, losing his leg, his torture at Snow’s hands.  And the loss of his entire family in the bombing too.  He had no one except Haymitch and me – a drunk and a depressed recluse, as battle scarred and broken as he.  And then he meets Lace.   The ray of light in the darkness.   And the amount of money he spent on that wedding!  To please her, to show her and the world how much he loves her.  And now, oh, how could she? “It was heartbreaking.  I just wanted to leap out and tell him that little bitch isn’t worth it.  But I couldn’t, you know.”  No, not without revealing yourself.  “But he calmed down eventually.  He talked about going the Capitol for treatment but I think Aurelius persuaded him to stay here.  And that’s about it.  Except to talk again tomorrow.   Oh, and Peeta promised to think about returning to work as soon as possible and to get out and see people.  And to continue to work on his memories.” That’s similar to the advice Dr Aurelius gave me when I told I was in love with Peeta.  To work on myself, to find my direction. “No, that’s not quite right,” Johanna adds.  “I left out an important detail.  He promised to work on his memories with her.  I guess Aurelius appreciated my input.  And he did make a lot more progress once I took over.  Sorry, Katniss, but he did.” I nod wearily.  It hurts, but it’s true.  All I managed to do was confirm what he had already convinced himself of. A disaster from start to finish.   “Are you going to see him?” asks Johanna. “I think it will help him to know that he still has friends.” I want to say no.  But I know that if the positions were reversed Peeta would put aside his own hurt feelings and support me any way he can.   “Yes, in a day or two maybe. I want to give him time to adjust first.”   It’s a lame response but Johanna seems to accept it.  If I were Peeta I could leave a bag of cookies or cheese buns at his front door as a convenient way of conveying support without having to actually engage. But I can’t think of anything I can give him that he’d want so I’ll have to face him.  I can’t delay it forever. I tell Johanna about the cake with the vine design and the woman who ordered one just like it.   And of my suspicions of who this woman might be. “Yeah, that’d be Cressida.  She’s been covering an ongoing story about Marcus and the national parks.  She comes around this time, just as Marcus is almost finished wrapping things up. Although, in 7, she was almost there from the start.  You know, because of all the trouble we had with the logging companies.  I don’t know if you saw it, but she did a special feature on me.  It was called “Johanna Mason – Environmental Activist.  Her Life After the Games.”  It was sensationalist rubbish really.  They kept on showing footage of me chained naked to a tree.  Even asked if I’d do the interview like that.   I did, but I want to be clear, it was their idea, not mine. And they tried to fabricate a love affair between me and Marcus too.  Marcus hated it.  Especially when memes appeared on social media transposing me naked against the tree with him next to me with his hands in various places.” “But why?” I’m aghast.  This is dreadful news.  If they did that to Johanna, what would they do to Marcus and me?  Or to Peeta and Lace?  Or to Peeta and me?  This is juicy fodder for the tabloid media.  “I thought they wanted us to lay low.  To just blend in and be ordinary people again.” Johanna looks at me askance.  “Well, maybe you and Peeta.  But not for the rest of us.  Beetee writes for a science magazine and does frequent guest appearances on “Cool Science” and Enobaria has her own reality show.  “Keeping Up with the Barbarian,” or something like that.   Annie likes to keep a low profile though.”   “Does Marcus know she’s here?” I barely whisper the words. Johanna shrugs.  “I don’t know.  Maybe not if she’s just arrived.  But he would have known she’d be here eventually.  Marcus doesn’t like it, but he relies on the publicity.   And when he goes to 13 next – “ “13?” “Well, yes.  He’s doing all the Districts.  You know that.  And 13’s practically virgin territory.  That’s one advantage in living underground I suppose, nothing on top gets damaged. He’ll want to move quickly to preserve the area most in need of conservation before developers make any more inroads.  I don’t envy him though.  That’s one place I never want to see again.”   Me neither.  There’re no good memories for me in 13.  And they hate me there. I killed their president. Johanna leaves shortly after, but not before extracting from me an assurance that I’ll visit Peeta soon.   I have about an hour before Marcus arrives home.  Enough time to use his computer to do some research.   I find the memes Johanna talked about.  One has Marcus with one hand at Johanna’s crotch and the other inside his trousers, pumping away.  I search Beetee’s name and find links to articles he’s written and his TV appearances.  There’s very little about his personal life other than he still lives in his home district of 3 and has investments in an electrical company.   Enobaria attracts the most publicity.  As well as her reality show, she’s a regular on the celebrity circuit, her trademark pointed teeth bared for maximum effect.   On Annie, there’s been no media reports since the War ended.  And there’s none for Haymitch, Peeta and me either.   I can understand why Peeta and I have been left alone.  At least, I thought I did. Haymitch and Annie would be fair game though.  Annie, slightly mad Annie, Victor and the widow of the handsome and seductive Finnick Odair, himself a Victor, the most notorious womaniser in Panem turned war hero.  Surely the birth of their son would have garnered some attention.  And Haymitch is a news story too.  A popular Victor and a prominent player in the Rebellion, you’d think they’d be some public curiosity about where he ended up.   But nothing.  Either there’s been no interest or it’s being squelched.  It dawns on me that maybe the lack of media attention isn’t just because we’re a national embarrassment.  It’s because we’re being protected.  Enobaria, Beetee and Johanna have chosen to be in the public eye, and they must take the bad with the good.  But not Annie, Haymitch, Peeta and I.   We’ve lived quiet lives, eschewing the lime-light.  I let out a long breath, not realizing that I’ve been holding it.  We’re safe then. Cressida will do her news story about Marcus and the new national park and then leave. Peeta and I have nothing to worry about.   A door opens and shuts and there’s footsteps in the hall.   I close the computer and replace everything as it was.   Marcus is home.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (Epilogue)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Death by fluff.

A/N: Here we have a visit from a very hungry super soldier, an enormous helping of domestic bliss, and an unexpected surprise for Bucky. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me on this little adventure. I appreciate every bit of encouragement and support, and I hope you enjoy the end! ♥️

If you’re interested in the song the boys are whistling, it’s a war song from 1942 “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.” You can find it on Spotify. ☺️

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

Slipping a knife from his boot, he crouches down and digs his blade into the tree. With a few twists of his wrist, he carves a rough cross deep into the base of the tree trunk. He gazes at the small token for a minute, before sliding the knife back into his boot.

Standing with an inaudible sigh, he backs away. Straightens himself up. Snaps his feet together and offers a sharp salute to the unmarked grave.

“Rest easy, Soldier,” he murmurs.

And then Sergeant Bucky Barnes turns and heads home.

*****

One month later

Out by the woodshed, Bucky lifts the hem of his shirt and wipes the sweat from his face. Sorting through the pile of wood, he finds the best piece, balancing it on the chopping block. With an easy swing, the sharp blade arcs through the air and the pieces tumble into the growing pile.

Chopping wood seems unnecessary this late in the season, but he likes the work. Manual labor feels cathartic, and he relishes the pull of his muscles with each swing. Besides, even though he runs hot, he knows she doesn’t. If he has to put in some elbow grease to keep her warm, he’s happy to do it.

Spring is so tantalizingly close, he can almost taste it.

More and more of the ever-present world of white disappears daily, the shining sun turning the world beyond the cabin into a slushy mess of mud. So muddy in fact, they’ve gotten her truck stuck twice.

The first time they got it out no problem, but the second time - Bucky has that memory tucked away forever. While the wheels spun uselessly, he got out to push, which was a nice idea in theory. Until the truck leapt forward and he face planted in the mud. When she hit the brakes and jumped out, she ran around back to find him staggering to his feet, covered head to toe in black muck.

Of course, her surprised laughter turned to shrieking when he chased her through the slop until he caught her, picked her up, and threw her in a snowbank, his fingers tickling the entire time. They rode home dripping wet and covered in mud, barely able to stop laughing. When they arrived, Bucky pulled her into the shower with him until they were both perfectly clean and thoroughly interested in getting dirty again.

Yes, spring is a magical time.

Life feels new. After a long, cold, dark winter, he can finally see the other side and everything it offers. It’s like being born again, his life with her brimming with hope.

Taking a deep breath of the clean air, he selects another chunk of wood.

Above the sharp thwack of the ax, he hears a faint sound floating on the breeze.

Shading his eyes, he sees a figure walking along the road. Even from here, he sees a bright red stocking hat pulled low over his head, a hitchhiker’s bag strapped to his back. There is a brief flutter of nerves, before his stomach eases. The slope of broad shoulders and bouncing walk are telltale signs, but then he hears the whistle of a familiar song. Embedding the ax into the chopping block with a dull thunk, he whistles the tune in return. Strange words he unconsciously knows from another time.

Praise the Lord, we’re on a mighty mission

All aboard, we ain’t a-goin fishin’

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition

And we’ll all stay free

Dusting off his hands, Bucky ambles down to meet the man, a relaxed grin on his face.

“Still singing that damn song?” Bucky greets him. “Anyone tell you the war is over?”

Steve Rogers pulls off his stocking hat with a theatrical groan and uses it to mop the sweat from his face.

“Classics never die,” he huffs. Running sweaty fingers through snarls of golden hair, it sticks straight up in an awkward mohawk. “God damn, this was a fuckin’ walk. You got anything to eat? I’m starving.”

Grabbing Steve in a giant bear hug, Bucky lifts him off his feet and Steve squawks in protest.

“You’re such a little shit. Come inside. Got someone you need to see.”

*****

On the porch, Bucky removes his mud-covered boots and neatly lines them up beside the front door; raising his eyebrows, he points for Steve to do the same. Steve grins at the domesticity and follows suit, before following him inside.

“Hey darlin’?” Bucky calls and there’s an answering shout from above.

Dressed in old wellies, jeans, and a knobby grey fisherman’s sweater she appears, trying to zip up her jacket as she trots down the stairs.

“Buck, if you actually want potato soup tonight, I have to go into town. I didn’t realize when you said you ate all the bacon, you literally ate all the bacon. There were three pounds of it, how did you even -” looking up, she stops.

Astonishment floods Steve’s face when he sees her, but he schools it quickly. Standing up straighter, he nervously tries to smooth his hair, before eventually recognizing the futility and shoving his hands in his pockets. He gives her a bashful smile instead.

“Hey. I’m, uh, sorry for just showing up. Probably should have called, I just -”

The words are struck from his lungs when she bounds forward and throws her arms around him, knocking him back a step. Steve hugs her tight, glancing in surprise at Bucky who looks on fondly.

“You never have to call, Captain Rogers. You’re always welcome.”

“Christ, no,” Steve grimaces when he releases her. “Call me Steve, please. Get enough of that Captain bullshit at home.” Catching himself, he looks momentarily horrified. “Shit, I mean shoot, sorry, pardon my language.”

“Please,” she says with a laugh. Elbowing Bucky, she winks. “Let’s not pretend I haven’t heard worse from him.”

Wrinkling his nose, Bucky wraps a playful arm around her neck. “I told you, it’s how I spice up my vocabulary. Science says swearing makes me smart.”

Rolling her eyes, she pokes her fingers into his belly and he grunts breathlessly.

“God, you two are adorable,” Steve says seriously. “I think I’m gonna vomit.”

Placing his whole hand over Steve’s face, Bucky shoves him away while she laughs, her arm curving around his waist.

“Want me to go warm up the truck? Pull it around for you?” Bucky asks, and she kisses his cheek.

“No, I’m good. Stay here and catch up. Maybe get Steve some food, I’d hate for him to starve,” she says.

“I love her,” Steve stage whispers.

Grabbing a bundle of tote bags, she heads outside, stomping carelessly through the muddy yard. On the sunny porch, the two men stand shoulder to shoulder, waving as she drives the clunky old truck down toward town. Once it disappears, Bucky turns to Steve and claps him on the back.

“Come on asshole, I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

*****

One carton of eggs and a loaf of bread later, they sit on the porch with steaming cups of coffee. Bucky tucks an errant strand of hair behind his ear as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. Steve sits back in his chair, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

“It all sounds insane, doesn’t it?” Bucky asks quietly.

Fiddling with his coffee cup, Steve scratches absently at his beard. “Maybe. Maybe not. We always knew there were others. Whatever they did to him, it wasn’t perfect, but it must’ve been enough for him to survive. Whatever survive means.”

“Yeah. I guess so. ”

Taking a long drink of coffee, Steve frowns at his boots before looking up to Bucky. “So, you buried him then?”

There’s a defiant edge to Bucky’s voice when he responds.

“Just felt right. He was a soldier, not a lab rat.”

Steve shrugs casually as he sits forward. “I get it, don’t need to convince me. We don’t have to tell anyone.”

Amused at the blatant lack of adherence to the precious world of protocol, Bucky gasps.

“Goodness gracious, I’m clutching my fuckin’ pearls. Did I just convince Captain America to commit treason?”

“Well you always were a terrible influence. So many bad decisions, all because of you,” Steve says loftily.

“You’re so full of shit,” Bucky laughs. Steve grins wickedly, knowing full well all their youthful indiscretions came from his ridiculous decisions; not that he’ll ever admit that one to Bucky.

At the thought of their past though - it makes him wonder.

“Can I ask something?”

“Hit me,” Bucky says easily. There are a couple minutes of silence, while Steve tries to find the words he wants.

“When she wipes memories, that’s - that’s it? They’re gone for good? We couldn’t - like, there’s no chance of getting them back?”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “No. I was curious, so I asked. But she said it was absolute. Looked so miserable when she told me, I’m sure as shit not mentioning it again. Besides,” he contemplates the blue sky beyond the porch railing, “it doesn’t matter. What do I need all that for anyway? Got her. Got you. That’s enough.”

The relief in Steve’s reply is palpable. “Good. I hated your dumbass running around trying to dig up the past.”

“Me too,” Bucky sighs. “Only did it ‘cause I thought I should. But now - I’m just worrying about the future. Those are the only memories I need.”

They sit in companionable silence, gazing out into the cool morning. In the treetops, birds chatter back and forth, and Steve feels himself relax. An unfamiliar peacefulness steals over him, filling him from head to toe; he almost doesn’t hear the quiet question.

“Stevie?” Looking sideways, he finds Bucky watching him calmly. “I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired. Just want a normal life, a home with her. Something quiet. Is that - will that be okay?”

The hesitancy in Bucky’s voice hits Steve like a fist to the face. Turning away, he blinks back tears and clears his throat.

“Yeah. Yeah, Buck. Of course that’s okay.”

That unspoken weight always dragging Bucky down disappears. With Steve’s words, the decades seem to fall away and there - the fleeting image of Sergeant James Barnes flashes across his features. Lighter. Softer. Carefree and full of laughter, wanting nothing more than to hang up his boots and find a warm home with the girl he loves.

“Thanks,” Bucky whispers looking back into the clear morning, a contented smile on his lips.

With the crisp breeze swirling around them, the soldiers sit in silence. One light haired and one dark, with two matching pairs of blue eyes, and two gigantic hearts.

*****

The sun is just beginning to sink when Bucky announces he’s going to go clean up the woodpile before it gets dark. The night air blows sharp when he opens the door, ushering in the wintery chill that still insists on arriving when darkness falls.

“Nah, stay here and catch up,” he urges, when Steve goes to grab his jacket. “It’ll just take me a few minutes.”

“Thanks love,” she murmurs and Bucky beams at the pet name, a happy bounce in his step as he heads outside. Grinning at Steve, she goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of beer from the depths, popping the tops and handing one to him.

“Cheers,” she says, clinking them together and he nods shyly. Pulling out knives and cutting boards and stock pots and skillets, she assembles everything for the potato soup Bucky begs her to make at least once a week. Salted water is simmering on the stovetop, before Steve finally speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Scrubbing potatoes, she looks up in surprise. “Sorry for what?”

Steeling his nerves, Steve frowns. “For not coming back. For letting you deal with his death alone. Always promised him, if something happened, I’d do my best to take care of you. And then I just -” he breaks off.

Wiping her hands on a towel, she reaches over the counter and squeezes his hand. “You just saved the world,” she says gently.

Swallowing hard, Steve looks down. “Still. My best friend’s girl, and I let her down. I let both of you down.”

Releasing his hand, she picks up her knife and starts dicing the potatoes.

“No, you didn’t. If I’ve learned nothing else in this life, it’s that you can’t stay in the past. What’s done is done, and now we move on. We’re all here now, Steve,” she says quietly. “That’s all that matters.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve lets the tension of his apology melt away. “He always said you were smart.”

“Hmmm, did he now?” she says with a mischievous grin and Steve can’t help the responding smile; it feels infectious.

The kitchen radio plays in the background, filling the small kitchen with the punchy sound of trumpets and piano, the world of old French jazz. Steve watches her cook, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“How come - how come you didn’t call? Didn’t tell us you were here?”

Without replying, she lays out slices of bacon and starts chopping. Immersed in her task, it takes her a minute to respond.

“When I heard they found you, I almost came to New York. But then, I imagined telling you what happened and - I was too ashamed.” Setting the knife down, she looks up and he sees deep sadness in her eyes. “The last time I saw him, he had no clue who I was, and I had no idea if he was still alive. It all seemed impossible. And then I saw him come back, and I just - you were with him and I was so relieved. He had you. I knew you’d do everything in your power to help him recover. After what I did, I didn’t think I should be part of that.”

Canting her head down, he sees her shoulders slump slightly. Steve knows that feeling better than anyone, what it means when you can’t save someone. Particularly when you can’t save Bucky Barnes.

“Back then, you saved him. During the war. I hope you understand, I hope you know.”

She doesn’t speak, but finally looks up. “Know what?”

He gives her a gentle smile. “How much he loved you. Never shut up about it. Used to drive us all crazy with all his sighing and his mooning around.”

The brilliant smile she gives him lights up her whole face and Steve feels his own lips curve in response. Both of them automatically glance toward the front door when they hear Bucky’s boots clomping up the porch steps.

“I know,” she says, her eyes shining bright. “He tells me every day.”

*****

Steve has more than a thousand stories about Bucky, from growing up in Brooklyn to traipsing across the European front to all their avenging these past few years, and unfortunately for Bucky, Steve seems dead set on relaying every stupid thing Bucky’s ever done. The worst part is, he can’t even refute the stories - Steve could be making everything up, and Bucky can’t even call him out on it.

A fact he continually points out and a fact Steve blithely dismisses.

“Trust me,” he says with a sage nod. “Captain America would never lie.”

“That is the biggest crock of shit I ever heard,” Bucky states. He looks mildly put out when she shushes him.

“Hush Bucky, I need to hear this story.”

“Uh, no you most certainly do not,” he replies, as Steve tells about the time him, Bucky, and Sam were stuck in a safe house in Mexico and every time Bucky went to sleep, Sam moved everything in the apartment three inches before convincing Bucky the place was haunted.

“Well for fuck’s sake, there are aliens aren’t there?” Bucky exclaims. “Why the hell not ghosts?”

Scooping up a huge spoonful of soup, Steve swallows it down and gives him a serious look. “That’s true Buck. And that’s why I supported your idea of having a séance to contact the ghost. It seemed like the sensible thing to do.”

“I hate your face so hard. Remind me why you’re here again?” Bucky groans. Leaning back, he slings an arm around her chair and tucks his face against her neck. “Don’t believe anything he says. He lies,” his plea is muffled.

Patting his head, she scratches her fingers in his hair just like he likes, and he hums delightedly. “Don’t worry, I think you’re very adorable.”

“I am very adorable,” Bucky mumbles.

Lifting up his bowl, Steve slurps down the rest of his soup; smacking his lips, he gives them a mysterious smile. “Actually, there was another reason I came to visit.”

Bucky pulls away from her and glares at him. “Was it to destroy my happiness?”

“No, that’s just a fringe benefit,” Steve says cheerfully. Shoving away from the table, he goes to his oversized backpack and starts digging. Pulling something free, he comes back to the table and sets a cloth bag in front of Bucky.

“It’s a bag,” Bucky deadpans. “Inside a bag.”

“Smartass. Open it.”

Wiggling his eyebrows at her, Bucky un-cinches the bag and pulls out a leather satchel.

“It’s a bag, inside a bag, inside - a bag.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re hilarious?”

“Literally everyone who’s met me,” Bucky says with a grin. Glancing curiously at the worn brown leather, his smile begins to fade. Something about the bag seems insanely familiar, and he racks his brain -

And he catches his breath. Wide-eyed, he looks back up at Steve.

“Wait. Is this -“

“Yep,” Steve says, eyes sparkling. “You’d left it back at the base camp, must’ve gotten stuck in some of the camp containers they shipped to headquarters. Anyway, I spent the last three weeks banging around the SHIELD archives trying to see if I could find anything - there’s so much shit down there by the way, like an episode of hoarders - and then I was digging through this moldy ass box, and there it was.”

“My bag,” Bucky marvels. Excitement fills his face, bright sunrise in the evening. “From the war, from before. All my stuff.”

“All your memories,” she says breathlessly, squeezing his thigh.

“Go on,” Steve encourages. “Open the damn thing, I’m dying to know what the hell you kept in there. You never let me see anything.”

The leather straps are fastened tight, decades of moisture and dust creating a concrete knot that takes several minutes to unravel. It creaks irritably when it finally gives way and Bucky tugs it open. One by one, he pulls out items.

A book appears first. Front cover torn, they see a copy of ‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’, one of the compact armed service editions published for soldiers. Some of the pages are stuck together and as he thumbs through it, Bucky sees familiar handwriting. Notes he scribbled in the margins, passages he underlined. Words and phrases pop out like friendly messages from another life. Flipping toward the end, he finds his favorite line, one that caught his fancy when he read the book again last year.

“Dear God,” he reads, voice wobbling slightly, “let me be something, every minute of every hour of my life.”

He touches the words with a cautious metal finger and looks up to find her watching him, a soft look in her eyes. Leaning over, he gives her a kiss and she brushes his hair back.

“You were always something, no question about that,” she says and Bucky smiles.

The next item is a thick sheaf of papers. Folded into neat rectangles are a set of maps, the ones he and Steve received from the Priest in her village, before they headed out on that last mission.

“Oops,” Steve says sheepishly. “Guess we never did get those back to the church.”

Two white, army issued packs of cigarettes follow; when Bucky tips out a Lucky Strike, it crumbles to powder in his fingers. His silver lighter is next, scales of brownish-red rest covering one side. As he tries to light it, the coils give a harsh screech.

“Okay, I was gonna give up smoking anyway,” he shrugs.

When he pulls out a dented flask and unscrews the cap, a faint wisp of whiskey floats out. Steve makes a gagging noise and shudders.

“Holy hell, I remember that garbage. Dugan bought it off a medic at a field hospital in Germany. Cross my heart, it was the worst shit I ever tasted. Gave me nightmares.”

“I remember it too,” she pipes up, looking slightly nauseated. “He convinced me to try it once and I haven’t tried whiskey since.”

Bucky grins at them both and plunges his hand into the bag again, this time, jerking back with a curse. Cautiously, he reaches in again and discovers an open switchblade. Carved below the marble handle in flaking gold are the letters JBB.

“Becca gave that to you, before you shipped out,” Steve says quietly. “She sold her pearl earrings to buy it.”

Rubbing the white marble gingerly, Bucky gently folds down the blade and sets it carefully aside. It hurts for a minute, and his throat works hard to swallow down the emotion.

“Anything else in there?” she nudges lightly, and he shakes himself from the reverie.

Reaching into the bag, his hand bumps something. Buried at the bottom, he feels a soft bundle, a rectangular parcel wrapped in old green cloth. When he pulls it free, he has to unwind it several times before they discover what lies beneath.

Bucky blinks when he sees it, his heart leaping at her soft exclamation.

“My letters,” she says, wrapping her arm around him and curling closer.

“Your letters,” he repeats faintly. Sudden tears fill his eyes and he surreptitiously wipes them away, gruffly clearing his throat.

Handling the paper reverently, he brushes his fingers over the faded handwriting. The whole bundle is tied together with a broken boot lace, and it takes a few tugs before it releases.

Eleven letters.

Eleven letters, written just for him. Eleven of his very own memories, real and tangible and full of her love. Something he knows he kept in his coat pocket every day, drawing comfort and strength from her words, while he battled through the horrors of that unending war.

Unfolding the first one, he takes a deep breath.

10 March 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I wanted to write this on your birthday, so I could fill it full of all the things I wish we could do, if you were here. Maybe next year, everything will be possible. The war will be over, and your day would look something like this.

We could spend it in Paris, how lovely that might be! We could sleep in, no need to get up early. I might wake you up with a kiss, one on your cheek, then on your nose, then on your lips, and then I’d make you breakfast in bed, strong coffee and fried eggs and sizzling slices of bacon and fresh croissants, and we could spend the morning reading the papers and laying in the sun. Then we might go for walk down by the Seine, see the bridges and the booksellers, throw coins in the river and make wishes. Eat chocolate cake and drink bottles of wine. Whatever your heart desires my love, it would be your day. Maybe that night, we would be walking home, and hear a musician playing in the streets and we could stop and dance. Just you and me, holding each other in the moonlight.

And when we get home, I think I’ll take you upstairs to soft sheets and soft pillows and all kinds of things that are rather inappropriate for this letter, but I can certainly tell you one thing - sleep would not be on our minds.

Something to dream about for next year.

But if you remember nothing else on your birthday, I hope you will remember there’s a girl in France who loves you with all her heart.

6 June 1944

…and please don’t ever tell Steve, but I laughed forever at your letter. Such a demure, solemn man when I met him, I keep picturing him covered in mud and so frustrated with all of you! I do hope his knees are feeling better, give him a hug from me.

Sending you all my love, now and always.

19 August 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I’ve never been to a drive-in movie, but I must tell you, I think it sounds wonderful. I have no doubt we could show those kids a thing or two, because the simple truth is that I could spend my entire life kissing you. There would be no need to ever stop, I know that much.

The days of sunlight are long now, and so often I lay out in the field behind the house, where the grass grows tall and the world smells like wildflowers, and I think of you until long after the stars appear. The sweet taste of your lips, the rough feel of your hands, the sound of your voice when you say my name. How much I love the red highlights in your beard and the dimple in your chin and the way you purr like a house-cat when I scratch my fingers through your hair. Everything you are, your kind heart and your curious soul, it fills me with a wanting I cannot explain.

Do you know, when I fall sleep, your face is the last thing on my mind? Sometimes I still believe this is a God, because He lets you into my dreams every single night.

30 December 1944

My love,

Just this morning, I let you go again. Back into this wretched war. It feels unforgivable, letting you leave. My heart fled with you and I admit, tonight I am having trouble remembering to breath.

You are the one thing that gets me through everything. Isn’t that so strange? I had no idea my heart missed you, until the day we met. There are so many things I want to say to you. Things I want you to know about me, who I was and who I am. So many things I want to learn about you.

But now, if I concentrate hard enough, I can almost hear your voice. It’s there in that lost place between sleep and awake, where you tell me good night darling, that Brooklyn drawl coloring your words.

There is nothing I want more than a life with you. Sitting on the porch while the sun sets, holding your hand. Falling asleep wrapped in your arms. Loving you until there is nothing but grey left in your hair. I miss you so much. Please, please, please come home soon.

Resting her head on Bucky’s shoulder as he reads, she follows along in silence, reliving every word, every phrase, every bit of punctuation. How familiar it seems, even after all this time.

When Bucky finally sets the last letter down, he turns to her. Tipping his head down, he touches his forehead to hers and closes his eyes; cradling his face in her hands, she rubs her thumb over his lips. Neither one speaks. Old letters and faded memories and quiet breaths are the only words they need.

*****

The evening is late when Steve flops on the couch and gets comfortable. Digging through the hall closet, Bucky returns with a couple pillows and a fuzzy blanket and tosses them over.

“Alright Rogers. You need a teddy bear? Glass of milk? Bedtime story? Should I check under the couch for monsters?” he asks and Steve flips him off with a huge yawn.

“G’night, asshole.”

“Night, punk.”

Flipping off the lights, they leave him snug in the warm darkness downstairs, the flames burning low in the fireplace. Steve watches as they walk upstairs together, Bucky patting her on the butt as she walks ahead, muttering something that makes her laugh. Buried in the couch cushions, he smiles drowsily as he listens to their quiet voices get ready for bed, the calming footsteps above, the soothing laughter gliding down the stairs.

It sounds perfect.

Like a home.

Slowly and surely, the firelight lulls him to sleep.

*****

Standing in the bedroom doorway, her mouth curves up at the image.

Leaning against a pile of pillows, Bucky sits with all his letters spread around him, shuffling through them again. They haven’t left his hands all evening, so perfectly enamored with his small treasure, something he never expected.

“Would you like me to write them for you again? So you have fresh copies?”

Squinting up at her, he contemplates the offer, before shaking his head.

“Nah, already have them memorized. Besides, now you can write me new ones. I like to be romanced.”

“Hmm. I had no idea this relationship would be so much work,” she teases.

Gathering up the letters, he places each in the correct envelope, wraps them back up in a fresh piece of cloth, and tucks them into the drawer of his nightstand. Giving her an outrageously sultry look, he clicks off the lamp and pats the bed next to him invitingly.

Slipping under the sheets, she immediately tucks her cold toes against his leg and he yelps at the icy feel, but lifts his arm automatically, letting her nestle into her favorite spot against his chest.

“Good god, you need to wear socks to bed,” he says with a shiver.

“No, I don’t. I have you,” she says happily.

Smothering a laugh, he rolls to face her. Face to face on the same pillow, two pairs of eyes adjust to the dark room. When she traces the back of her knuckles down his cheek, he catches her hand and presses a kiss to her wrist.

“Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you,” she breathes.

Comfortable silence fills the room, and as the minutes tick by, her eyes grow heavy. Sleep never comes easy for him, so Bucky watches her instead, content to fill his sleeplessness with nothing more than the curves and shadows of her face. He can hear her heartbeat slow, her breathing steady, and right before she goes under, a thought pops into his head.

“Darlin’, can I ask you something?”

“Course,” she says sleepily.

“All the stuff you’ve kept over the years, what you had hidden around the house. Why’d you do that? Hide it that way?”

Slow fingers trace up his chest as she thinks, and her voice is low and raspy with a reply.

“I know what it means to lose everything you’ve ever known. Instead of having it all up here,” and she taps her forehead, “I keep things everywhere. Never all together, so I can’t lose everything at once.”

“Are there more things in the house?” he asks curiously, and she hums.

“Lots more,” she answers, and snuggles closer. Closing her eyes, she presses her lips to his skin. “Can I tell you more tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he murmurs.

A moment later, her deep, even breaths tickle his chest and Bucky keeps watching, mesmerized by the sight. Everything he ever wanted, everything he ever needed, right there. Wrapped up in his arms.

Around them, the room is blanketed in darkness, deep blacks and shades of gray and he thinks about all those memories he’s collected. All that color, good and bad, and what it means to have a past. And then he thinks about the future, free from the turmoil of war, with nothing ahead but the delicate blue of her cool touches and the bright gold of her sunny smiles and the rainbow of color he hears when she laughs.

So many colors. So much time.

The paintbrush in his head lays down to dream. Closing his eyes, Bucky drifts to sleep.

*****

[tzaya]

love note

shizuo/izaya // 1,347 words // part 1 out of 8 // death note but make it love ❤️

The weather was warm, streets resonating with the sounds of kids’ laughter while they made their way to elementary school. Mikado remembered when he was just as small; it made him a little nostalgic to think about. He parted his lips and sucked in a breath of fresh, morning air (as fresh as it could be, this much was to be expected when you reside in such buzzing city as Ikebukuro).

He smiled.

It was a good day.

“You’re slacking! Is this all you have?” The cunning laughter he swore he was familiar with zipped past him. He could only catch a blurry sight of a fur trimmed jacket before there was something flying in his direction. It had happened so fast that his brain could barely register it, but he must’ve dodged the object and fell, considering he was now on the ground.

He was adapting well to the occurrences in Ikebukuro.

It was a good day.

“Is it going to rain?” Mikado squinted.

Strange, the day seemed sunny a mere second ago, but now there were black spots forming on the sky, which he immediately chalked up as grey clouds.

“Excuse me, are you okay?” Someone, a girl – invaded his view of the sky. She appeared to be of around his age, and judging from the Raira uniform she donned, his deduction skills was probably spot-on. “You got hit by a bicycle.”

Mikado blinked once, twice, then turned to look at where she was pointing.

“Eh?!”

_

 “Come back here, Izaya!”

Shizuo’s hands were as busy as ever, darting out to grab whatever was within his reach, hoping that at least one of them would hit his target. It reminded him of attempting to spray a cockroach back in his home. These two fuckers were both slick.

He didn’t dare to take a glance at the trail of destruction they’ve caused behind them. Tom definitely won’t be happy with the aftermath of their fight. The damage was immense, surely. Oh, he’ll make his damnest sure that the flea bastard pay for it.

Shizuo was merely performing his duties to protect the city from Izaya.

“Sure!” Izaya spun around rather cheerfully, his jacket billowing in the air. Shizuo was already foreseeing himself receiving a cut or two the moment Izaya brandished his favorite knife.

Neither of them could’ve prepared for what happened instead.

Izaya’s movements stilled. The blade of his knife was pointed at Shizuo’s skin, ready to slash the monster across the cheek. He’d felt so certain that he’d see red dripping down Shizuo’s face, yet his trusty knife didn’t come close as to inflict even an ounce of damage.  His whole body froze, unmoving.

“W - What, did Shizu-chan put a spell on me?” Izaya exhaled a nervous chuckle. It was ridiculous to even suggest the possibility of Shizuo doing so, but he had to ask. Being friends with a dullahan must’ve had its perks.

“No, but now you’re at my mercy, so who cares.”

The frown that formerly marred Shizuo’s face was now replaced with a genuine grin, pleased to finally have his target cornered. Izaya striked him as a scared rat when helpless. Shizuo tucked his sunglasses in the front pocket of his vest and stepped closer. He could see the trembling no matter how much Izaya attempted to conceal it from him.

Was Izaya acting? There was no way that the flea couldn’t actually move.

Ah, well, it didn’t matter.

Shizuo slammed a hand on the glass window right next to Izaya’s head, his breath ghosting over the other’s face. The people inside of the bakery were dead-set on watching them, their shocked expressions he noticed from his peripherals.

“You’re so fucking – handsome!” Shizuo growled.

“What…?” Izaya mustered himself to say, breathless.

“Shi-zu-o! You’re finally coming around to Izaya. Good, good! Fighting bad, make up good!” Simon chimed in from the side (since when had he been here?), clearly overjoyed with the so-called improvement in their relationship, “Come to Russia Sushi later, give you discount!”

“The fuck?! I ha – love this cutie!” was what he wanted to say!

No, wait – what?

Izaya stared up at him in disbelief, cheeks flushed red.  Why was the flea blushing? No, screw that. The more gravely matter now was why the hell was he saying the opposite of what he meant? Shizuo clenched his jaw. He wanted so bad to announce his dissatisfaction of this situation, but the last thing he wanted was uttering more ridiculous things.

There was a sound then. The unsettling sound of from what he could gauge, hundreds of feet running towards them. And before he could even begin to question Izaya if this was his doing, the flea had already slipped away, approaching the people. The people who were dressed in fancy costumes – princes, to be exact. Did they just get back from a play?

“Orihara Izaya, be betrothed to me! Please, accept my love!” The one man in red and gold royal attire went down on his knee, displaying a box of ring in his open palms. Shizuo knew jack shit about rings, but even he could tell that it was expensive. Soon enough, another man joined in on the party, but with a more extravagant looking ring.

“No, be mine! I have majestic white horses back home for you to ride!”

Then another.

“What the hell…” Shizuo seethed.

There was a light tap on his shoulder, and he almost smacked the person until he recognized them to be his best friend. His anger melted with her presence.

“Celty.”

[ What is going on here? I was passing by and saw these people, so I followed them! ]

“Somehow it just turned out this way. Izaya probably hired all these guys.”

If there was something far more sinister brewing in the air, Shizu couldn’t sense it. How could he? As far as he was concerned, trouble followed Izaya wherever he went. He was trouble himself. The only thing Shizuo could smell was the bastard flea’s scent.

It must be his fault – all of this nonsense must be his fault. And the fact that Shizuo was rooting a stop sign from the ground must also be his fault.

What a nuisance.

[ SHIZUO?! ]

Celty couldn’t stop her best friend in time. Shizuo was out there by the time she even extended an arm towards him, flinging and fighting the ‘princes’ as if his life depended on it. She briefly contemplated using her shadow tendrils to restraint him, but decided against the thought. She trusted Shizuo to do the right thing.

So now, he should be going after Izaya, she mulled to herself as she watched him stomp over to Izaya.

?!

She couldn’t believe her eyes.

Her best friend was on one knee before his own nemesis.

“Izaya, you found me at my nadir –” Shizuo began to recite off of his phone, his free hand situated over his heart, “— when despair attained new heights. I was cold to you. Unfeeling. You drew me out. Made me feel. Nourished my soul. Made me love again.”

[ What is that poem even?! ]

Shizuo disregarded the PDA she blatantly shoved in his face.

“I’m sorry to everyone here! It’s not an unknown fact that I love humans so much. But I have to stick to my beloved! Therefore, I’ll choose to accept your love, Shizu-chan!”

[ What are you talking about?! ]

Izaya as well, paid no heed to her.

“Let’s go on a date tomorrow, Izaya.”

“I’ll have to check my schedule, but if it’s for Shizu-chan, I’m sure I can make some adjustments!”

They were hugging now.

Celty felt dizzy, like she needed to take a seat.

“Celty-san,” Mikado greeted her. He was holding an ice pack to his head, which was bandaged with blood seeping out of it.

[ Mikado! T - Tell me, is the world ending? And what happened to your head? ]

Mikado laughed softly; the laughter sounded fake to even his own ears.

“I’m not sure if I know Ikebukuro after all.”

a/n: shizuo’s poem is from here!

[everlarkficexchange]

Let Us Lay In The Sun

Written by: @knittingbutch

Prompt 87: Katniss and Gale are about to get married and while Katniss isn’t entirely sure if she really wants to marry Gale, she does nothing to stop the preparations. While Peeta, realizing (s)he can’t just let Katniss go, does everything to stop the wedding and tell Katniss his her feelings for her. Peeta thought (s)he’s a hopeless case the day before the wedding until… (it’s up to you how it will end, but hopefully it’s hea) [submitted by anonymous]

Author’s Note: I took this and gender flipped Peeta in this story, so it’s WLW everlark  Content Warning: actually pretty light on homophobia but the d slur is used in a mostly positive way, written by someone who personally reclaims the slur.  Wordcount: 3067  OTHER NOTE: part one of ???

Part One:

  “Katniss! What in the world are you doing out here in this?” asks the baker, as though it wasn’t entirely obvious when she threw the door open that she knew who was knocking. Katniss honestly isn’t entirely sure how many people besides her come to the back door to trade. It’s hard to imagine any of the merchants approaching the back door like this, at least. Gale joked, when they used to trade with Peeta’s father, that it was because the baker wanted to hide his association with Seam Folk. That doesn’t seem to be the case with his daughter. Still, the hunters tend to sneak around.

“Come inside! Come inside!” fusses Peeta.

“It’s fine,” mumbles Katniss, and the baker just barely manages to stamp back down the urge to pull her into the warmth of the bakery herself. “Just a little rain,” she continues, though she’s hunched against herself and holding her shoulders up so rigidly that Peeta can tell it’s just to try to keep herself from shaking too visibly. Peeta’s lips pull together skeptically. If anything, the just a little rain has kicked up even more since she opened the door. Katniss fumbles when she goes to move her game bag off of her shoulder – her fingers must be going numb. The baker tries to swallow back her panic.

“Are – are you trading or not?” asks Katniss. “Yes,” says Peeta. “Come inside. Please, before you catch your death.” Katniss’s lips curl down into a scowl, though they quiver. “I’m fine,” she protests again. “No squirrels today. But I have so– s- s-” she snaps her mouth shut so hard that Peeta can hear her teeth click. Peeta’s hands twitch uselessly at her sides.

“Come inside,” she says a third time, measured. As though she isn’t fussing over Katniss Everdeen at her door with blue lips. And then, though the words burn on their way out, she tries to sound unconcerned when she adds, “You’re letting all the heat out.” It’s more like her mother than she ever likes to sound. But, as Peeta suspected, it removes the idea that it’s some kind of favor, not standing by and letting her catch some awful illness from staying out there in the rain.

  Katniss blinks, but as Peeta suspected she might, she takes a step into the kitchen and Peeta closes the door soundly behind her, too relieved and too close to Katniss. Once the wind and rain is locked out, she crosses the kitchen to turn on the burner just under the kettle on the stove. “I’m going to be right back,” she says, not bothering to qualify where she’s going. Katniss will just try to convince her that she’s fine. It isn’t hard to find something that might fit Katniss – because she’s so small. She picks a yellow sweater she’s always been fond of and a pair of thick pants, though she knows it’s pushing her luck to hope that Katniss will change at all.

Katniss has inched much closer to the oven by the time Peeta returns, though she’s still scowling, as if she thinks maybe the baker won’t notice.

“You’ve got to get out of your wet clothes,” says Peeta, still aiming to sound decisive as she unceremoniously shoves the stack at Katniss. “Go on. I won’t let you catch your death on my watch.” The hunter rolls her eyes, moving her soaked braid from her back to the front of her sodden sweater, and makes no move to take the clothes. “I’m fine,” she snaps, though her voice is tight. Her teeth are still chattering, Peeta thinks. “You’re not,” Peeta says. “You need dry clothes. I’ll hang your things over the radiator.” “I told you I’m fine,” Katniss says, though she does finally snatch the clothes from Peeta’s hands. “And I told you I won’t let you catch pneumonia,” Peeta reminds her brightly. “We can talk price once you’re dry. Not before.”

Before Katniss stomps off into the attached bathroom, Peeta passes her a hand towel and focuses on readying the tea. The two of them have been trading for the better part of a year, now, since she took over the bakery. But she hasn’t had Katniss inside the bakery before, let alone by herself.

“Have you been out all day?” asks Peeta, pretending like her hands aren’t shaking as she goes back to rolling out the dough for the sugar cookies. It’s been pouring since she woke up. “I just mean … I didn’t think I’d see you.” “Well, here I am,” Katniss returns drily.

“And without your shadow,” Peeta jokes.

“My shadow?” repeats Katniss, sounding more than a little bit irritated.

“You know,” says Peeta, swiping the kettle off the stove when it howls and pouring it into the mug. “Tall and scowly – usually hangs around over your shoulder,” she says, already regretting committing to the bit of not remembering Katniss’s fiance’s name. Katniss scowls, though she does accept the tea. “Gale?” she asks. “Yeah. He’s busy. Do you want the rabbits or not?”

“I do,” Peeta says. “What are you looking for?” The trade itself is fairly quick, which isn’t surprising. Despite the baker’s best efforts, she and Katniss aren’t exactly friends. Which is made all the more obvious when the next knock comes at the back door. The shadow himself. “Gale, hi,” Peeta says, noticing how much less drenched the older man looks. “I was just finishing up with Katniss. Would you like–?” “Prim said you never came home,” he says, addressing Katniss right over Peeta’s shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing out in this?” “I’m trading,” says Katniss. “I thought you were–” “Doesn’t look like you’re trading,” Gale mutters, and Peeta stiffens.

“I wanted her to have a chance to warm up,” Peeta interjects. “And I knew the Undersees wouldn’t be crazy about her looking like she’d just swum up from the lake.” That part is a lie, but one that she thinks might help them save face with Katniss’s fiance. Gale laughs drily, and Peeta doesn’t hear Katniss approach until she’s right behind her.

“Gale,” she says. “It’s fine. Let’s not do this here.” He goes to protest, and she sighs heavily enough for him to shut up.

“Thank you, Peeta,” she says, though she sounds annoyed again. “I’ll see you next week,” Peeta says, stupidly, and waits at the door while they leave, hearing them begin to bicker almost immediately.

…

“So when’s the wedding?” Peeta asks a couple of weeks later, trying to sound casual while Katniss counts her squirrels. She doesn’t respond for a long while, and Peeta’s heart races furiously in her chest. Stupid. That was a stupid thing to ask. Gale Hawthorne – and half the district, probably – already has his suspicions about her. She really did just mean to be friendly, but now, Katniss probably thinks – “Because if you need a cake,” Peeta continues, though she knows she’s digging her own grave. “I’m your girl.” Katniss looks up, at this. “I don’t think Gale wants a cake.” “I tend to think everyone wants a cake, always,” Peeta tries to joke. “But you know him better than I do.” Katniss’s lips purse at this, and Peeta regrets it desperately.

“You two have been together a long time,” she mentions, like it’s casual. This is common knowledge, right? “It must be nice. Being in love with someone like that.” Katniss’s lack of response feels almost pointed. Peeta washes her hands even though they aren’t dirty. “After my birthday,” Katniss says, sounding as if she’s talking about the date of a surgery she’s dreading rather than her wedding. “That next Sunday.”

…

Katniss and Gale come together the next week and the week after. Peeta doesn’t even bother trying to make small talk.

…

It’s decided. Gale Hawthorne absolutely hates Peeta Mellark. Peeta spends weeks trying to work out why that is – and why it seems to be seeping into all of her interactions with Katniss. Sure, they were never friends, but everything seems to be so strained now. Peeta isn’t sure she’s really that transparent. Yes, she’s been infatuated with Katniss for longer than she’s known to use that word to describe it, but she’s also hardly managed to learn something about her in the twelve years they’ve known each other. Or, more accurately, known of each other. Peeta isn’t sure Katniss even realizes they went to school together.

“Are you going to make your bread tonight?” Peeta asks the friday before the toasting, just to torture herself. “For the Toasting. Not that I don’t like the extra business, but I always think that’s such a nice tradition, when–” “No.” Katniss’s voice is blunt.

Peeta swallows, trying to busy her hands with the dishes while Katniss finishes unpacking her game. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to overstep.” It’s quiet for a beat. Two.

“I just – am friends with other people I trade with,” Peeta continues on the third. “If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to be.” “Gale won’t be coming with me anymore.” Her voice is flat.

“Yeah?” asks Peeta. Is he really intimidated by some Merchant Dyke? She wants to ask, but doesn’t. Katniss looks unsure. “Just –” she says. “You know mine are better than his. If he comes by, he’s gonna try to pass off some scrawny shit because he thinks you won’t know better. Just wait and buy from me if he does.” Oh. “I always sort of had the impression you two were partners,” Peeta says carefully, and Katniss laughs, dry and bitter.

“Things change.”

ii

Gale Hawthorne arrives three sundays later with a leather band on his left ring finger and a game bag over his shoulder. Peeta has to try to school her features, since she had been smiling already when she opened the door, expecting a different hunter, but it seems rude to let it fall completely. “Hello,” she tries evenly, wondering how on earth he wouldn’t already know about her loyalty to Katniss. Has he ever said more than a word to her before? “Good afternoon.” The band on his finger makes her heart kick up, nearly panicked. Did they go through with it after all? She had heard gossip about their breakup, and Katniss hasn’t mentioned him at all, but she also knows the rumor mill isn’t to be trusted. After all, there are about four boys she would be dating right now if the Cartwright matriarch said anything remotely true. He nods. “You like squirrels, right?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe. “Had a good haul today.” “Where’s Katniss?” she asks, and something she can’t name flashes across his face.

“Katniss … isn’t out with me,” he says. “That’s strange,” Peeta continues, wiping her hands off on her apron. “She told me she’d be back by, after we traded last week.” It’s a lie, but one that she figures will end up being true either way. “Is she feeling all right?” Gale sighs through his nose, clearly trying to come up with something to say.

Peeta blinks. “I think I’ll just wait until Katniss comes by.” This earns her a scoff. “Yeah. Of course you will.” “I’m sorry?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, pushing himself up from the doorjamb. “Just isn’t surprising, is all. Everyone’s seen the way you stare at her.” “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Peeta says carefully. “You know you won’t have any luck, right?” asks Gale. “I tried for years. There’s something wrong with her.” “Hey. Don’t–” Peeta starts.

“Actually, maybe you will,” he says. “Maybe that’s the problem all along, and she doesn’t even like dudes. That’d be my luck, huh?” “Stop,” Peeta says. “You need-” “Look, it’s not like it fuckin’ matters,” he says. “Have fun with the ice queen.” And then he turns on his heel and almost directly collides with Katniss, who has been watching silently all along. She looks closer to wounded than Peeta has seen on her, though that seems to shift into something angrier when she sees the band around his finger. He stills for a moment. Pauses, as if he’s about to say something to her, and then stomps away. Peeta turns, leaving the door open but trying to busy herself with her baguettes. Katniss doesn’t come in.

… “Why were you defending me?” It’s Katniss in the doorway, three days later. Looking wounded, still, but mostly baffled. “Because he’s a dick,” Peeta says, and then bites her bottom lip. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Katniss rolls her eyes. “What do I care?” she asks. “I’m an ice queen, right?” “You’re not,” Peeta says instinctively. “Come inside.” She glances off to the side. “You know about some big rainstorm I don’t?” Peeta smiles. “Come inside,” she says again. “Did you bring me anything?” “Depends,” Katniss says tersely. “What did you buy from him?”

“Nothing,” Peeta says. “Though I think now is as good a time as any to tell you that the squirrels aren’t actually my favorite.” Katniss pauses for a moment. “Oh,” she says. “Right. I know your father liked them–” “I’ll eat them, obviously,” Peeta continues. “But you may have spoiled me on the rabbits that one week.” “I can bring more rabbits,” says Katniss. Peeta manages to convince her to take a pastry from the stales basket before they start their trade and thinks of what Gale was saying, about the way she looks at Katniss, and forces herself not to watch as she tries the danish.

“Seems like Gale moved on awfully fast,” Peeta observes, though she regrets it immediately. Thankfully, Katniss is wrapped up in the sweet pastry and hardly even pulls a face. “It wasn’t like that,” she admits. “We were just – doing each other a favor.” “He didn’t look at you like you were doing him a favor,” Peeta says.

Katniss rolls her eyes. “He said we were doing each other a favor,” she amends. “What was the favor?” Peeta asks. “The housing benefit once you get married?” Katniss pauses, licking the crumbs from her lips before she admits, quietly, “Custody of my sister.” Oh. “She’s in the Community Home, right?” Peeta asks, and Katniss narrows her eyes.

“How did you know that?” “It’s not that big a District,” Peeta says softly. “They don’t let you get custody until you’re married,” Katniss says. “And Gale was – hoping I would change my mind, I suppose.” “But you didn’t.” “Obviously,” Katniss says, eyes landing on the pastry basket again. Peeta nudges it towards her and she frowns. “I wondered if I could bring one for my sister.” “Take as many as you want,” Peeta says. “Really. They can’t be sold.” Katniss’s hand darts out for a slightly burnt blueberry muffin. “I usually pass ‘em around to the kids playing out in the square after close,” Peeta admits. “It’d make my mother furious.” “Not like she’s here to care,” Katniss says distractedly, picking off part of the top of the muffin. “She can go be a witch in Two.” She doesn’t realize what she’s said until a moment later, and her hand flies to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that.” “What do I care?” Peeta echoes. “Who knows, maybe the change of scenery made her nicer.” Katniss gapes. “Do you really believe that?” “No,” Peeta admits. “But it doesn’t hurt to pretend sometimes.” She makes for a white paper bag and dumps the contents of the reject basket into it. “Take it. For Prim.” The look on Katniss’s face is all the evidence Peeta needs that the answer would have been no without the second half of the request.

iii

It takes three months for Peeta to work up the nerve. Katniss mentioned weeks ago that her parents used to make bread pudding – that she hadn’t had it in years – and Peeta spent ages working out her plan. The entire dish was for the hunter, of course, but Peeta made sure to cut out a couple of servings first, just so that Katniss wouldn’t suspect that it was made for her.

The plan worked. Katniss refused the food at first – she always did, though less and less every time Peeta managed to convince her that it was a favor, helping her get through the food.

“You know,” Peeta says, aiming for casual and missing it when it comes out all hoarse. “Gale isn’t your only option, if you need to get married to get Prim out of the Community Home.”

Katniss coughs. “What?” she asks.

“I just mean –” Peeta continues, but cuts herself off, turning to focus on the dishes in the sink instead. “I just mean that I could help. I have an extra room upstairs and I could–” “What?” asks Katniss, the stool Peeta keeps back here for her scraping against the floor as she stands. “You could, what? Take care of me?” It’s clear in the edge in her voice what she means. That she’s heard this before, that she isn’t impressed. “No,” Peeta croaks. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” “What are you saying?” challenges Katniss, and Peeta feels all of three inches tall.

“I just – I –” she stammers, fingers tightening around her sponge. “No. That’s not what I mean,” she says. It’s quiet for a beat, though she can tell Katniss is seconds from leaving. “I just – I could use a hand around the bakery,” she says. “And – I know it’s killing you, having Prim there. So I – I just thought–” “And what about when you find someone you actually do want to marry?” Katniss interrupts again. “I won’t.” A bitter laugh. “I’ve heard that one before.” “No, Katniss–” Peeta continues.

“I learned my lesson already. I just–” “I won’t find anyone else!” bursts from Peeta without her consent. It’s quiet for a moment and then she speaks again, much more measured. “How long until the little one turns eighteen?” “Four years,” Katniss spits, still sounding angry, and then corrects herself. “Three and a half, more like.” “Four years,” repeats Peeta. “Fine.” “I don’t–” “I won’t even look,” says Peeta. “No dates. No–” “Some merchant boy will come sniffing around and–” “No boys ever,” Peeta says, a little more firmly than she means to. “And no girls, either. Not until after Primrose is safe.” When she turns to look over her shoulder, Katniss is gone.

[sachigram]

Redolence ch. 1

((click here to read on ao3))

Dirk remembers a time he loved his apartment. It's spacious for the price, and it isn't run down, which is exactly what Dirk needs in a place. He has various projects strewn all over his space, but he's usually pretty good about navigating through it. Most importantly, it's quiet. Or it used to be.

People are always coming and going through the building, but Dirk has managed to learn who most of his neighbors are. Like him, they keep to themselves, but Dirk receives plenty of friendly nods in the elevator and in the hallways. It wasn't a surprise when his old neighbor across the hall moved out, but Dirk was sad to see her go. She used to bake extra cookies and other treats to give him. He didn't have an interest in meeting the new person who moved in a couple of months ago, but now he wishes he'd introduced himself.

His new neighbor is a pain in the ass.

Dirk groans and pauses his programming as the smoke alarm next door starts blaring again. It's the third time just this week, and Dirk thinks his neighbor has no idea how to cook and is probably a hazard to themselves. Huffing, he slides away from his workbench and walks across the hallway, knocking on the door.

“Yo, has anyone ever told you the smoke alarm isn't a timer? You're supposed to take the food out of the oven before it burns,” Dirk says crossly, folding his arms and wondering if his mysterious neighbor will open the door and greet him.

“Apologies!” The voice is frazzled and Dirk can hear movements inside. “I'm a horrid cook! It'll be off in just a tick, mate! If I could just—ah! There we are!”

The beeping stops. Dirk rolls his eyes and goes back into his apartment, closing the door behind him. It's fairly late and his eyes hurt from staring at a damn screen for hours on end. He decides to make a quick snack and call it a night.

The first thing Dirk notices when he wakes up is muffled shouting, followed by banging and crashing. He sits up in his dark room, running a hand through his destroyed hair. He was sleeping hard, and he's pissed off that something woke him up. He listens for a moment and flinches as the shouting grows louder, and it sounds a bit like someone is being thrown bodily against a wall. He swings his legs off the bed and hurriedly pulls on some sweatpants, opening his door into the hallway in time to see a pissed off behemoth of a man pass him and storm towards the elevator, cursing vehemently at all the heads of concerned tenants peeking out of their apartments, woken by the commotion. Dirk watches him go for a moment and decides to check on his neighbor, whose door is wide open.

He knocks on the open door before walking in, observing a small framed man smoking by the open window, his body battered and bloody. Dirk can't see his face, but he's willing to bet it isn't a pretty sight.

“Shit dude, you okay?” Dirk asks.

“Spiffy,” the man says, flicking some ashes right onto the floor.

“Do you want me to call someone? The police maybe?” Dirk frowns when the guy laughs at him.

“No, I don't think that's necessary. My ex already left. He won't be back.” The guy finally turns to face Dirk, and Dirk feels the world fall out from under his feet. “Sorry for disturbing you again. I'm sure I gave you quite the fright—ah.” He stops talking and squints at Dirk, his green eyes just as beautiful as Dirk remembers.

“Jake?” Dirk asks, his mouth dropping open. Jake gapes at him and finally gives him a shaky grin, some blood dribbling from his split lip when he does.

“Small world, eh?” Jake asks bitterly, tossing the still lit cigarette onto the floor. “I've often wondered when I'd see any of our old gang again, but I was hoping for a much sunnier meeting.”

Dirk whirls around towards the elevator the muscular prick stomped into, his fists curled. He starts to go towards it when a hand grabs his bare shoulder, stopping him.

“There's no need, Dirk. He's gone. This was the only way for this to go,” Jake says softly. Dirk turns to him, his heart breaking when he sees just how horrible Jake truly looks, even beyond his injuries. He's always been smaller, but he looks emaciated now, and like he hasn't had a decent night's sleep in years.

“What... Jake, what the fuck?” Dirk finally manages.

“It's late,” Jake says. “You were sleeping, I'm sure. I'm fine now.”

“Like fuck I'm going back over there right now,” Dirk says, unwilling even to let Jake move away from him. He hasn't seen Jake in years, hasn't even heard his name since the end of high school, the end of all things good in Dirk's life. Jake disappeared days before graduation, never to be seen or heard from again.

“Dirk,” Jake murmurs, shaking his head. “Really, this isn't the time for all of this...”

“Sure, fine, whatever. No time, got it. Come on.” Dirk grabs Jake's hand, pulling him out into the hall, closing Jake's door behind him. He leads Jake inside his own place, dragging him to the bathroom where he wets a rag and hands it to Jake, watching him concernedly.

“You're ridiculous,” Jake mumbles, wincing as he cleans the gashes on his face.

“Makes two of us then, huh?” Dirk narrows his eyes, unable to help it, his brain full of so many questions it wants to burst. “I'd ask how you've been, but I'm guessing it's been shitty based on how you look.”

“You think I look shitty?” Jake frowns and pauses his ministrations, looking up at Dirk. “Well. I suppose things have been better. Not for a long while now, but at one point.” He sighs and stares down at the floor.

“You're staying here tonight,” Dirk says with finality. “If that douche goes back over there to kill you, I'd like to be able to know I at least made an effort to help. You can go later.” Dirk's concern is being replaced with the bitter anger he's had since Jake left without explanation all those years ago.

“It'd have been better if he killed me,” Jake says simply, grinning up at Dirk like it's a joke between them. “I admit I wanted him to. A part of me. That's why I set things up as I did.”

“You're drunk,” Dirk says, smelling the alcohol on Jake's breath. “You used to be such a stickler for health and now you're drinking and smoking and apparently hooking up with real winners who use you like a punching bag. I'm sure Jade would be proud.”

Dirk hates himself for it as soon as it's out of his mouth, but when Jake flinches as if he's been hit again, Dirk feels his anger die entirely, dig its own grave, and release swan songs of apologies. It was a low blow, especially to say to someone who looks like Jake does now.

“Gramma died at the right time then, don't you think?” Jake asks in a small voice, tears in his eyes, and Dirk doesn't think, can't think, only wants to help. He steps forward, pulling Jake to him, listening to the small gasp Jake gives before his arms wrap around Dirk in turn. Jake smells like he always has, like everything Dirk loves in the world and can't have, and Jake's nose is freezing as it presses into Dirk's neck.

“I'm so sorry,” Jake sobs, his voice muffled, and Dirk shushes him, not wanting to go into any of this now. He leads Jake to his bed and helps him get in, covering him up and hovering over him awkwardly, not knowing what to do here. Jake wraps around a pillow and cries into it, and Dirk wants to crawl in behind him, to hold him like he used to, but Jake left. Jake hurt him, hurt Roxy, hurt Jane. Dirk shuts the light out and goes to his couch, flopping onto it, wondering if he'll get any sleep at all.

The next thing Dirk notices is daylight, as well as some light shuffling coming from behind him. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and sits up to see Jake wearing one of his shirts, holding a rag and scrubbing at the counter top. He freezes as soon as he notices Dirk's eyes on him, and he smiles sheepishly. In the light of day, he somehow looks even worse.

“I just—well. I thought it'd be awfully rude of me to leave before you woke up and...tidying up a bit seemed like a nice way to thank you for your help.” Jake rubs at his neck, and Dirk wants to tell him to stop smiling because it's stretching out his busted lip, but Dirk doesn't say anything.

Instantly, Jake gets noticeably restless.

“I woke you up, didn't I? I woke you up last night, too. I'm sorry. I don't sleep much these days and... I should've just slipped out without disturbing you.” He looks down at the shirt he's wearing. “Mine was ruined so I threw it in the bin. I'll...give yours back, I promise. Though you'd probably like me to wash it first, heh.”

It dwarfs Jake almost comically, though it's really not funny at all when Dirk remembers Jake wasn't always so tiny. Short and thin, yes, but now he just looks gaunt and fragile, barely fits into the frame Dirk remembers.

“Keep it,” Dirk finds himself saying. He doesn't mean it to sound as short as it does, but Jake's face falls nonetheless. He nods grimly and lets go of the rag he's been holding onto.

“Right then. I'll... I'll do just that.” He goes to the door and hurriedly wrenches it open, and doesn't even turn around as he adds a quick “you know where to find me.”

Dirk finds himself alone, and he sighs, falling back onto the couch cushions before he decides it's for the birds and gets up to shuffle towards his bed instead. He tries to ignore the fact that his sheets smell like Jake, but he fails miserably, and when he sleeps at last he dreams of the way things used to be, when everything was fine and Jake didn't look like he's seen death around every corner he's come across.

It takes Dirk a little while to contact Jane and Roxy about Jake. They'd all been inseparable throughout school, often frequenting each other's houses. They'd been devastated when Jade died and even more so when Jake disappeared, and it was unspoken between them all not to mention anything about the English family, since it was still an open wound.

Dirk is on speakerphone with Roxy, Jane in the background on Roxy's end when he finally says something.

“Jake is my neighbor,” he blurts, tactful as ever. There's a pause on the other end.

“Jakey?” Roxy's voice is a whisper.

“Yeah.”

“The neighbor who always keeps you up?” Jane's voice is closer to the phone now. “That does sound like Jake.”

“He doesn't seem like Jake anymore,” Dirk says. “He got the shit beat out of him by some guy he was—seeing. He's like a ghost now.”

“When was this?” Roxy's back now, her voice shaking.

“Bout a week ago,” Dirk replies.

“A week?! Dirk, god! Is he still there? Have you seen him since?”

“No. I don't know what the fuck to say to him. I'm sure he feels the same way about me.”

Jane and Roxy make plans to come over soon, as they have a few “choice words for Jake English” according to Jane, and Dirk regrets mentioning Jake's presence in the apartment building, but some nights it's all he can think about, the fact that Jake is across the hallway, alone and fragile, probably smoking and barely eating or sleeping.

Dirk is up late working on some coding one night when he hears raised voices across the hallway again, and his blood runs cold. Without thinking he grabs a shitty gimmick samurai sword Dave sent him and crosses the hall to Jake's door, barging in without knocking.

The burly guy is there again, and he glares daggers at Dirk, and Jake is sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, looking tired, but otherwise alright. He smiles pleasantly at Dirk.

“Hello there. Sorry for another disruption. Caliborn was just leaving,” he says, gesturing to the muscly dude like he's nothing more than a mosquito.

The guy, Caliborn snarls down at Dirk before heading towards the door.

“Have fun with him. He's a fucking slut,” he spits before slamming the door loudly enough that it echoes around them.

“In his defense,” Jake says softly, “I did cheat on him. It wasn't really for anything other than to get rid of him.”

“Jake,” Dirk says, his eyes closing as his brows furrow in frustration. He just...wants to pick Jake up and shake him. Shake him hard until Jake is who he used to be.

“But in my defense, I'd already tried breaking up with him. He didn't take it well.”

Jake hops off the counter and moves to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. He looks at Dirk and snorts.

“You brought a sword?”

“There...wasn't really time for rationality,” Dirk defends. Jake laughs, and it sounds the same as it used to.

“I appreciate the hustle. I'm fine. He came for his things and he won't be back.”

“Maybe change the locks?” Dirk offers.

“Maybe,” Jake says flippantly.

Dirk has so many questions. He can't think of what to ask first, or how.

“He didn't hurt you?” he asks at last.

“Not this time,” Jake says.

“You—since when do you...”

“Like men?” Jake hazards. “Quite a while, I reckon. Not like my taste accounts for much.” He fishes out another cigarette and starts to move towards his window. Dirk catches sight of an ashtray filled to the brim with cigarette butts, and knows his assumption about Jake chain-smoking was pretty spot-on.

“Jake,” Dirk begins again, trying to choose his words carefully despite his anger. Jake looks like he's a few harsh words from breaking and Dirk's never truly wanted to hurt him, even if Jake has hurt Dirk more than he'll ever know. “What's going on? Where'd you go?”

“It's a rather long story, “ Jake says, not bothering to look away from the window. The bruises on his face have healed to an ugly, yellowish color, but his eyes are still all wrong in a way that has nothing to do with physical injuries.

“Don't you owe me that much?” Dirk asks bitterly before he can stop himself. Jake smiles.

“I suppose I do. I owe you quite a few things. Seems like I'll be a disappointment to you yet again, because I don't feel up to hashing all of this yet.” Jake finally looks over at Dirk again.

“You'll lose your security deposit, smoking in here,” Dirk blurts.

“Oh, fuck the deposit,” Jake huffs. Dirk grins in spite of himself.

They encounter each other more often afterwards, though Dirk isn't hopeful enough to think Jake plans these things. A few times Dirk has come back home to pass Jake in the hallway, and they exchange pleasantries. The smoke alarm blares less often, and Dirk still knows Jake well enough to figure Jake just unhooked the damn thing rather than learn to cook, though it's possible Jake was also setting it off so frequently by smoking inside.

After a week of not seeing so much as a glance of Jake, Dirk starts to grow a little concerned, but before he can plan any accidental meetings, Jane and Roxy are at his doorstep, Tupperware containers of food in hand.

“Which one does he live in?” Jane asks, her jaw set.

“Uh,” Dirk says.

“Just tell us, or we'll start knockin',” Roxy warns, and Dirk just points across the hall. The girls both march over and start bombarding the door with knocks until Jake answers, his eyes wide and a...cooking pot in his hands?

“Oh,” he says softly. “I thought... Erm. I wasn't expecting anything pleasant, based on those knocks. Apologies.”

“You'd better do a lot more than apologize,” Jane says angrily, but then Jake opens the door entirely and gives them all a gander at his small, sickly frame. The circles under his eyes are practically purple and his eyes are duller than last time Dirk saw him, but still Jake smiles and motions inside. Roxy sobs and tackles him, almost knocking him down. Jake just holds her, and Dirk is pretty sure he's crying too.

Jake was always a crybaby.

Jane starts heating up the food in Jake's microwave, which is filthy. It's clear Jake microwaves most of his meals, which he admits range from Hot Pockets to cans of soup, yet he still manages to burn half of what he makes.

Once they're seated for dinner, the girls start bombarding Jake with questions. He's only picking at the food, not looking at any of them.

“I just...” He swallows and then shakes his head. “I wanted to disappear. I never imagined you'd all find me.”

“I thought you were dead,” Jane spits, and Jake winces. “I told myself that was the only way you'd go all these years without so much an email. Yet here you are, alive and—not well. But still, you're alive.”

“I am,” Jake admits in a soft voice, and Dirk's heart clenches, hearing the words Jake doesn't say, which sound a lot like 'despite my best efforts'.

“Gramma died,” Jake says. “We were all graduating and I just... I didn't have a school to go to afterwards. All of you did. I thought, best case scenario, I'd end up living with one of you and being a freeloader. I wasn't about to ruin any of your lives.”

“Jade left you money,” Jane says, her blue eyes like ice. “I know she did.”

“She did,” Jake agrees. “Enough to leave, but not much else. Gramma was a genius, you know. She would've been well off if not for me. She inherited me through my mom's will and had to cut her studies short. She didn't have much money.”

“My brother,” Dirk says, staring Jake down across the table. “He has more money than he knows what to do with. We would've—“

“Yes, I'm aware,” Jake snaps. “I didn't want your bloody charity, especially when I knew you'd never give it to me and leave, Dirk. You would've stayed with me and thrown your future away. Or worse, brought me with you, and I'd just bring you down like I did Gramma.”

“Where is this coming from?” Roxy asks, her eyes still wet. She hasn't said a word since they sat down. “Jade didn't... She didn't think that. None of us did. None of us knew you did!”

“Yes, well, it's safe to say we all didn't know each other as well as we thought,” Jake says acidly, finally looking up. He stands abruptly, rattling the dishes still piled with food he's barely touched. “I need a moment.”

He moves across the room to the balcony door and exits without even putting on a coat. Dirk can see him lighting a cigarette through the window, and he sighs softly.

“What's wrong with him?” Roxy asks, and Dirk knows she doesn't mean it cruelly. Her eyes are wide with concern, and she's looking expectantly at Dirk.

“How am I supposed to know?” he asks defensively.

“Oh, please,” Jane scoffs. “You know Jake better than anyone.”

“Maybe I did before,” Dirk says, “but I don't know him anymore. I don't know what to say or do. I'm just as lost as you guys here.”

“At least go make sure he's okay,” Roxy says, ignoring the baleful look Jane shoots her. “He's more used to you than us and...he shouldn't be alone. At least take him a damn coat.”

Sighing again, Dirk travels to the balcony, grabbing his own coat on the way. Once outside he drapes it over Jake's shoulders, and Jake flinches as it snaps him out of whatever self-deprecating thoughts he was festering in.

“They mean well,” Dirk says, crossing his arms and thanking his past self for putting on his most comfortable and warm sweater today. It's freezing outside, and Dirk's breath is fogging in the air almost as much as Jake's cigarette smoke.

“Don't tell me what they mean,” Jake mumbles. “I know them, too. I'm not just meeting them.”

“Look, okay, whatever this is, they have the right to be mad. They—“

“I never asked for them to show up!” Jake snaps, whirling on Dirk. The fire is back in his eyes, and he looks more beautiful and pissed than Dirk's ever seen him. “I left and I bungled up all our relationships, I get it, but damn it, I never asked for any of you to come here! I never asked for forgiveness! I never crawled up to any of you, on my hands and knees, begging you to dig into your hearts and forgive my faults and remind me of all I ever did wrong!”

Dirk admits Jake was definitely ambushed tonight, and as angry as he is at Jake, it really wasn't fair to do this to him.

“I didn't plan it,” he says. “They just showed up. I...told them you were next door because, well...they thought you were dead, Jake. We all did, for a while. They needed the closure, at least. And even if they're mad, they love you. They're trying to understand. And...that goes double for me.”

The implications hang in the air between them. Jake rolls his eyes, ignoring them.

Like always.

“Did you know Gramma kept a journal?” Jake asks, changing the subject.

“Most scientists do.”

“Not a scientific journal. A personal one. I found it when she died and I was going through her things.” Jake flicks some ashes away. “I was having a hard time of things, you know. Missing her. Wondering what the hell I was going to do next. She wrote about me.”

“She loved you,” Dirk says, unsure of where this is going.

“She thought I was worthless,” Jake says. “She wrote about my rubbish grades, my lack of college acceptance letters, her concerns that I was relying far too much on you to figure out my life for me.”

Dirk doesn't know what to say. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“And I knew all those things,” Jake continues. His lips tremble, not just from the cold. “I knew she had to have those types of concerns. But...then she got sick. And her entries were less and less, few and far between when she wrote about regrets. Regrets her research and work got cut short. Regrets she inherited me and I took up all her time.”

“Jake...”

“And I was doing the same thing to you. You would've let me, Dirk. Wherever you went, you would've carried me with you. Just like she was fucking worried about.”

“So you just left. Without a word.”

“There was nothing to say.”

Dirk glares at him, wanting so badly to scream at Jake until he hears him, listens whether he wants to or not, and also to punch him.

“And still, there's nothing to say,” Jake murmurs, looking down at the city below. “You've all been fine without me.”

“Like fuck, Jake,” Dirk hisses. “We mourned you. We—I—missed you so fuckin' much. And then I finally see you again to find out you've just given up on your life? You let dudes push you around and use you and you look like shit, like you died along with Jade.”

“Maybe I should have.” Jake laughs humorlessly.

Dirk grabs him by the shoulders and takes note of the way Jake flinches again, like he hasn't known a kind touch in years. Dirk thinks of the bodies who have had Jake in the way he never has, who have used Jake and thrown him over things, into things, just to have their way with him before leaving him alone. Dirk thinks of Jade's words in Jake's mind, making him think he never deserved more than that.

Dirk thinks of how even now, he loves Jake more than he's ever loved anything, and how he would rip himself into pieces to make Jake whole again.

“Things can change. You aren't dead. You...must be doing something right, okay? You live in this building, which isn't cheap. So you at least have a job, right?”

Jake snorts. “I work in a gas station. Caliborn made good money, which is why I moved here with him. Funny how he's the one who left, but I think he's hoping I'll get evicted.”

“So...all your money is going to rent.”

“Basically. At least I get discounts on cigarettes, so there's a silver lining.”

Dirk moves his hands from Jake's shoulders and pulls him into a hug instead. Jake doesn't hug back, but he leans bodily against Dirk, which is almost as good.

“Hot pockets aren't a healthy dinner, even if they're cheap. So come eat what Jane cooked before I force feed you,” Dirk mumbles into Jake's wild hair.

“Kinky,” Jake comments, but he follows when Dirk turns to go back inside.

The rest of the meal is more civil, and Jake noticeably relaxes when no one asks him personal questions anymore. Jake used to be pretty self-involved, or at least wanted them all to think he was somewhat of a confident person. None of them are under that assumption anymore, and Dirk has been kicking himself for not noticing sooner how little Jake seems to think of his own life.

Roxy regales them with stories about work. She's an editor, which always sounded boring to Dirk, but nothing involving Roxy is ever boring. After a few of her stories and a few glasses of wine, Jane warms up enough to speak to Jake without glaring at him. She's an accountant, and one day she still plans to open up her own bakery.

“Dad was right about the accounting degree though,” she says breezily. “I can just handle my own books later on.”

“She handles mine when I do business on my own,” Dirk informs Jake. All of them have had a bit too much to drink, but Dirk is closer to being wasted than he remembers being in a long time. He keeps leaning against Jake, speaking into his ear, inhaling his scent when he can.

“I saw your various gadgets strewn around your place. I assumed you made robots, like you always wanted,” Jake says.

“You assumed right, Jake fuckin' English,” Dirk slurs, and Roxy laughs while Jane takes Dirk's wine glass from him. “Lots of machines and lots of computer programs.”

“Like you always wanted.” Jake smiles. “I'm so happy your life is what you dreamed. All of you. You're all so accomplished.”

Dirk wants to say his life isn't what he wanted, because Jake looks so sad and thin and breakable, and the life Dirk wanted involved Jake being there with him for everything, happy and healthy. Jane interrupts before he can voice this.

“I really hate to be a party pooper, but we do have work in the morning, Rox,” she says, nudging Roxy, who is smiling sadly at Dirk across the table.

“Yeah. Yeah, we didn't mean to stay so long. It's just been so good to see you, Jakey,” Roxy says.

They all stand, and they make plans to have dinner soon. Jane is speaking softly with Jake when Roxy makes her way over to Dirk.

“Oh, Di-Stri. Look at you. You're so drunk,” she says fondly.

“I don't usually drink. Damn. How much did I have?”

“Not much at all, you lightweight.” She lets him lean on her, which is nice because then his brain doesn't have to focus on standing up straight.

“He looks better after tonight,” Dirk says, motioning to Jake. “I'm glad we did this. I mean, you guys scared the fuck out of him, but I think this was...good.”

“I'm worried about you,” Roxy says softly, and Dirk looks down at her confusedly because why worry about him when Jake is over there, clearly a walking disaster?

“When Jakey left...you took it hardest. Which was understandable, Dirk but...if he leaves again, I don't want you to be broken like you were then. Promise me you'll keep on your toes. When you're sober, that is,” she amends when he starts to wobble.

“I'm fine, Roxy. I learned my lesson back then.”

“Did you? Because the way you look at him says you still love him.”

Dirk stills because he never mentioned to anyone how he felt about Jake, but he should've known Roxy and Jane knew. They always understood him without him having to say much. Roxy hugs him, standing on her toes to better reach him. She kisses his cheek.

“Take care of yourself,” she says to him before she goes to say goodbye to Jake.

When they leave, Dirk realizes he's alone with Jake in Jake's apartment, and Dirk is drunk off his ass. He should go home. Should go home and sleep and not have any regrets in the morning.

“Jesus, Jane left a hurricane of food in my kitchen,” Jake grumbles, bustling around to put things up. “She has plans to fatten me up, which just sounds devious to me.”

“I don't have the life I want,” Dirk blurts, startling Jake into turning to face him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Before, when you said you were happy for us for living how we want? I don't. I don't live how I want. I don't have what I want,” Dirk says, moving closer to Jake as he speaks. Jake smiles confusedly.

“Well, I've never known you to not just take what you want.” Jake chuckles and starts to clean again. “You'll figure it out. You're a genius after all.”

“I wanted you,” Dirk says, and everything seems to get really quiet afterwards, like the aftermath of a loud explosion. Dirk can hear his own blood rushing in his ears.

“Dirk,” Jake sighs, his eyes closed. “You're drunk.”

“I wanted you. I— Fuck, Jake! I loved you so fuckin' much. And I thought you just...were straight or whatever since you spouted that 'no homo' bullshit like it was never gonna go out of style but now I regret not tellin' you sooner.” Dirk sways on his feet. “You have these jerks who treat you like shit and I...I could show you...”

“Dirk, please,” Jake says. “I can't hear this.”

“You never want to hear it. You can say now that you don't want me, and I'll go. Just give me an answer, Jake, cause this is torture.” Somehow he's ended up in front of Jake, who has to hold him up, lest he faceplant.

“I don't want to torture you...” Jake whispers, his eyes so fucking sad. Dirk dips down and presses his lips to Jake's, just a brush, and Jake's breath sighs out, his hands clenching in Dirk's shirt. It's like a dam breaking between them, and then Dirk's mouth is back on Jake's, heavy and hungry, kissing deep and probing because Jake lets him, opens for him and gives where Dirk pushes. Dirk's hands thread through Jake's hair, and he pushes until Jake's back is against the refrigerator, and then Dirk kisses him harder.

“Dirk...” Jake whines into their kiss. He gasps at Dirk's hands trail down to his ass, where they knead and squeeze roughly. “Dirk...!”

“I love you,” Dirk whispers between them, pulling back to look into Jake's eyes. “I can't stand not sayin' it anymore. I'd give you anything, Jake...”

Jake shakes his head, his eyes full of tears. “No... Dirk you can't fix this, okay? I can't let you try. I won't let you give up anything for me. I'm not worth it! This is exactly what I wanted to avoid.”

“Wait...” Dirk looks down at him. “You knew...? You knew I loved you?”

“Of course I did. I'm not an idiot.” Jake's words are defensive, but he's still crying, and he looks so guilty, Dirk feels his anger rising.

“And you just left? This whole time, you knew? Do you know what you did to me when you left?”

“I wasn't going to stay and watch you find out you're too good for me,” Jake says, and Dirk's arms drop to his sides limply.

“You broke my heart. And I at least thought...you didn't know you were doin' it,” Dirk slurs. “You just didn't care?”

“Of course I cared! You—you're a genius, Dirk! Was I supposed to let you settle for me? Bring you down like I bring down everything? I couldn't do that to you!”

“Right so you ruined your life for me? That makes me feel so much better.”

Jake's lips are still red and wet from Dirk's attentions, and even now, Dirk thinks Jake is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“You're drunk,” Jake says again. “You don't mean any of this.”

“Would you stop decidin' what I do and don't mean?! Fuck you, okay, you don't seem to know one thing about me if you think this is what I wanted. This is all fucked and you're the one who did it.”

“Dirk...”

“No, whatever, I'm drunk, so I'll go. Leave you alone, like you want.” He stumbles blindly from the apartment, slamming the door behind him in his fury.

Jake doesn't follow him.

[patronusofthepugs]

Burnt Moth

The evening news announcer grimaces on national television as she interviews the newly elected governor of New Jersey, The Jersey Devil. Of course the monster wants everyone to call him J.D. Anything to make ‘ole J.D likable to human voters. The announcer lady, a pretty blonde with hair as big as Texas, pauses during the middle of her question, eyes going wide as J.D’s slimy tongue shoots out to grab a fly. His black leathery jaw unhinges as he coils his tongue back inside his mouth. He swallows and neatly pats his mouth with clawed hands searching for fly crumbs. He smiles and tilts his head to the side, goat horns glistening in the fluorescent lights, his eyes wide and red are guiless.

“So sorry bout that. I’m afraid, I haven’t had lunch yet. But do continue. I have some exciting legislation about monster and human relations that I’m dying to talk about.” 

His voice is soft as velvet, but the announcer lady hardly looks comforted. She announces a commercial break and turns away, her trembling visible. I turn off the television as the governor of New Jersey looks straight at the camera with his gruesome grin, like a page out of The Book of Revelations. 

Monster and human relations. Ha, what a fucking joke that was. The only relations that humans and monsters should have is separation.

I lean back and sigh, just like every day for the past year, my mind goes to Lucia. Lucia with her pale pink hair, bucktooth smile and enormous heart. The only family I have left in this world, and my little sister decides to go live with her monster boyfriend. She should be in the college that I paid for, working on her business degree, not caught up in a romance that’s only going to send  her to an early grave. I clench my fists.

Damn that girl for not listening to reason and flying off in the middle of the night without a word. She could be torn to shreds, and I wouldn’t shed one tear. It’s her own dang fault for not listening to her older sister.

I get up off the couch to grab a beer from the fridge. I walk by the kitchen window before stopping, there is a large shadow peering through the window blinds. It’s easily 7  feet tall with broad mechanical bull shoulders and long arms with claws as wide as shovels. I’m not dealing with anything human. I clench my teeth as I turn around, looking for a weapon, something preferably sharp and pointy to stab the bastard. I grab a parring knife off the table, its small but at the right angle it should do the trick.  The monster hesitates before knocking on the window gently.

“I’m awfully sorry to bother you Ms. Haywood, but I mean you no harm. I’m Manny, uh, Lucia’s fiancé. I’m only here to talk.”   

     I drop my knife at the mention of my sister. Lucia has a fiancé? I think the fuck not. I storm over to the window and raise the blinds. The monster is startled but quickly adjusts. He tries to smile but I jab my finger to the front of the house. If he wants to talk, he can come through the front like a normal being. I walk out of the kitchen and to the front door where I shove it open.  

  The Monster is waiting hunched over, so he can fit through. I stand by the side, tapping my foot as he awkwardly shuffles in.  He’s one of them humanoid moth creatures, Moth Men. They’re the ones who like to swoop down and carry off cattle to suck their blood.    

Bug Boy’s rusted orange wings drape around him like a cloak. His starless night  eyes are large and his dark antennas quiver.  Cream color fuzz coats his entire body, with a fluff of fur that bunches around his neck. Lucia picked herself one fluffy motherfucker.   

  The Bug Boy straightens up to look around. He lets out a low whistle at the crystal chandelier hanging and the ornate deep blue wallpaper. 

“This sure is a swell place you have, I can see why Lucia loves it here,” he said.

 “It’s not my decorating, this used to be my parent’s house before they passed on,” I said, shrugging. 

He nods and looks down at his feet, his shoulders hunched forward again. He looks nervous. Good, he ought to be nervous.  I have an industrial size can of bug spray that I will use if he tries anything funny. So, help me God I will light a fire under Bug Boy’s ass if he steps out of line.

 I gesture towards the living room. “Why don’tcha take a seat, so we can have a…. talk.” 

 He nods agreeably and walks over to the paisley colored couch where he gingerly sits down. It looks like a child’s play thing underneath him.  I settle on the rocking chair directly across from him, staring him down. He clears his throat and rests his elbows slightly on his knees.

 “You know, Ms. Haywood I- “ “

Noa is just fine, Mrs. Haywood was my mother.”  

 “Oh. Right, then um, Noa, I have to say I’ve been wanting to meet you for quite some time. Lucia has told me so much about you but you’re not quite what I expected,” he said rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

My frown deepens as I tap my fingers on the side of the rocking chair. “Care to explain what you mean boy?” 

“Oh god, no its not a bad thing! I just meant that you and Lucia don’t look alike. I would have never guessed that you guys were sisters. But, uh, you are sisters! So, I guess it doesn’t really matter what I think. I’m uh, really bungling this up, aren’t I?” He groaned, burying his fuzzy head in his hands.

 I study him a bit before sighing. Of course, Lucia would pick someone with a runaway train mouth on him. She was the same way, always blurting out the wrong things. Leaving it up to me to clean up her messes, plus Bug Boy had a point.    Lucia was soft and round with wavy hair that she dyed every color of the rainbow. With her pale unblemished skin and wide laughing green eyes, she was like sweet peaches and cream.  I was the gaunt scarecrow that someone left out in the sun for too long with my harsh cheekbones and muddy freckles, stringy black hair, and squinting eyes.  Despite us being kin, we didn’t look or act alike.

  “So why don’t you just get to the point on why you are here? Lucia made her choice. She chose you,” I said, grabbing Bug Boy’s attention.

 He shook his head.   “See that’s just it! She shouldn’t have to choose between me or you. We want you to come stay with us until the wedding. To be there for her and give her away during the ceremony. You’re the only family she has left,” he said earnestly, looking at me with those wide unblinking eyes. I clenched my fists and stood up, glaring down at his puzzled face.    

 “So now y’all want my blessing? Seems to me like she didn’t care much on what I thought when she told me to go to hell and then ran off without a word. You want me to willingly give my sister away to monsters? Fat fucking chance. She had a future, and you took that from her. After everything that I have done to make sure she would have an easy life, she just throws it back in my face. I’m not going to the wedding and signing her death sentence. I want no part in this!”    

  There was a dull roar ringing through my ears and my throat felt scratchy. I didn’t realize I have been yelling or that my fist was pulled back and raised like I intended to smash it through his face. Bug Boy was shocked, his eyes darting back and forth from my face to my fist. His spindly arms hovered in front of him as he cringed back. I felt hot heavy shame wash over me. What the hell was I doing? I was raised better than this.

 I unclenched my fist and ran my hands through my hair sighing. I turn away with my head ducked down, warm tears blur my vision as I clear my throat.  

  “I think its best if you just leave now. I’m going outside to collect myself. You just-uh forget this ever happen. And tell Lucia…. tell her I said to have a good life.” 

 I walk out of the room quickly before I could hear a response. Outside on the veranda, I took a deep breath of crisp night air as I sunk down onto the wide porch swing, staring out into miles of corn field.   

  How dare he come here. Lucia made her choice, she left me. Left me alone with a big empty house in a crumbling town. Being abandoned by the one you love the most in this stupid world, it leaves an ache that doesn’t fade. It only grows and grows until you wake up one day and realize that everything is dull. Like watching life through a fish tank, you see it and go through the motions, but nothing feels real. Doesn’t feel like it should.  All that’s left is static.   

Suddenly, the other side of the porch swing dips low almost to the ground. I’m startled as I turn to face Bug Boy who is staring at me intently from the other side of the swing. 

“I thought I told you to lea- “

“Why do you hate monsters? We don’t mean any harm, all that other stuff, it’s just nonsense,” he said quietly. 

I turn away from him, suddenly ashamed to look at his honesty.

 “I don’t hate y’all. I’m just scared. Mothmen, Devils, Frog Folk, you’re all so different. And us humans? We don’t take kindly to different. With Lucia tangled up with you, she’s gonna end up as collateral damage.” 

He shakes his head, “No I won’t allow it. Me and Lucia, we’re going to make a change in this world. I can’t speak for the rest of the monsters but us Mothmen came out of hiding because we want to live in the light. We can all live together, you just got to take a chance.”    

I smile ruefully, “I can see why Lucia likes you. You’re a dreamer just like her. I may have never finished school but I ain’t dumb. Your fancy words aren’t gonna stop a bullet. It’s what humans do, we stomp on what we fear. It’s only a matter of time but there is storm brewing.” 

He sighs in frustration, “Why don’t you leave this town then? Lucia told me how they treated you two growing up. Two Mexican sisters adopted by a white couple, people were so cruel to you. Why do you stay?”    

 I look down at my brown calloused hands, hands that have held my sister’s hands, buried my parents, and been clenched in fists so tight, tiny half crescent moons scars my palms.

 “I’m more scared of change. This town? Yeah, it’s rotten to its fucking core but at least I know the rules. Keep my head down and do my best to keep my mouth shut. I don’t know the rules for out there. This is all that I have ever known.”

 “Oh Noa, there is so much more to life than this. My clan and I live in the Devil’s Backbone forest out in Virginia. It’s beautiful with creeks and mountains. We spin our silk and hang it from trees. And Lucia? She teaches classes to the young larvae bout all sorts of things. She’s takin online classes too, I didn’t want her to drop out of college either. Please, just come and see for yourself. She needs you as much as you need her.”

There’s a lump in my throat and I blink several times. 

“We left things at such a sour note, she probably won’t want to see me.”

“Noa, I swear to you, Lucia cries every night because she misses you. That’s why I’m here to bring you to her. This town isn’t your home. Lucia is.”  

   I can feel my resolve crumbling to dust and I look at the farmhouse. Stark white and empty, it looms over me like a towering grave. The fish tank has been shattered and for the first time in a long time, I feel alive.

 Manny stands up and grins, he reaches his hand out to me. I stand up as well and place my hand in his.

 “Alright then, fly me to paradise. But if you drop me, I won’t hesitate to kick your ass.”     

[presumenothing]

scalene

[ previous △ next ]

(AO3)

His doorbell rings at eight in the morning, right as he's put the kettle to boil.

"Hang on!" Kansuke hollers as he not-quite-hobbles over.

(He'd somehow ended up falling asleep on the sofa last night. That was bad for everything but especially his leg, which had been acting like a particularly recalcitrant suspect all morning.

One he would've arrested for obstruction of justice five times over, if he had any say in the matter. He usually did.)

Kansuke narrowly misses tripping into the entranceway like an idiot, and opens the door to find Uehara Yui standing on his front porch.

Or Torada Yui. Probably. Although given entire the Furinkazan shitshow that had gone down last week...

Ugh, whatever, he didn't care. Like it mattered now anyway.

Kansuke turns sharply, pretends he doesn't nearly overbalance, and stomps his way back inside the house. "What, you lost your key, Uehara?"

He's answered by the jangle of familiar keys, probably still attached to the souvenir keychains from both of their high school trips. "Of course not, I just wasn't sure if you'd want me to come in myself. And good morning to you too, Kan-chan."

"Good bloody morning, right," Kansuke mutters as he finally manages to sit back down at the kitchen table, leaning the crutch against one corner of it. "You might as well make the coffee if you're going to drop by out of the blue, it's too damned early for this."

Yui sets a convenience store bag down on the table and opens the cupboards as if she never left – he hasn't changed things much in the past year. "Too early for what?" she asks, pouring coffee beans into the grinder.

Kansuke makes an irritated noise as he tugs the bag towards him, already spotting the packaging of his favourite anpan bread. "To ask what you meant by that! I gave you and – " he grimaces " – Koumei the keys for a reason, didn't I?"

For the next few minutes, there's nothing between them except for the sound of coffee being ground to death, and the rip of the anpan's plastic wrapper as he tears it open.

It leaves an abrupt silence when Yui sets the grinder down with a muffled clang – it's one of those fancy metallic devices that Koumei had given him on some wholly unnecessary occasion. "I don't know what you expect me to say, Kan-chan. You've been avoiding me for months, why should I think that you'd want me walking into your house unannounced?"

Kansuke bites off another chunk of bread and chews, angrily. "Has that idiot Koumei been talking behind my back again?"

"Morofushi-keibu didn't tell me anything, no." She reaches up to another shelf for the coffee press (this one not a gift from Koumei, thankfully) and dumps in three heaped tablespoons of ground coffee. "But I was a detective, you know."

"Are." Kansuke frowns when she turns to look at him, slightly confused. "You are a detective, Uehara. Doesn't matter if you've been reinstated or not, you're still one of the more tolerable subordinates that I've had – "

The kettle chooses this moment to whistle shrilly on the stove.

Kansuke glares at it, offended.

(Honestly, he would've replaced it with an electric one a long time ago if Yui hadn't picked this one out for him. Maybe he should just give it to her and be done with it?

...although that would probably get him another lecture from Koumei that he wasn't in the mood for, so forget it. At least this kettle knew when to stop.)

" – not that there's much competition on that front, I don't know why we have so many idiots in the prefectural headquart– what?" he snaps at the odd expression on Yui's face.

"Ah, nothing!" Yui fills the press and leaves it to brew, still with that half-smile he hasn't seen in a year. "I was just thinking that it'd be nice if you would say things like that more often, you know?"

Kansuke bristles at the words, viciously decimating the last of his anpan bread. "What, thinly veiled insults? Sure, I do them at Koumei only all the time – "

He catches the definite flicker of a laugh as Yui flips open her handphone – to set a timer, probably, they've long lost track of how many pots of coffee have been ruined by them getting distracted. "Yes, I heard."

"Oh, so Koumei did tell you about that, did he?" Kansuke's going to strangle his friend after this. Or at least remind him that the crutch meant he had a blunt weapon attached to his arm all the time now. "I damn well hope he remembered to mention the part where I apologised to him!"

"He did," Yui confirms with a nod, sitting down across the table. "Morofushi-keibu seemed quite impressed by that, actually."

"Good, he better be," he grumbles darkly, taking out two umeboshi onigiri from the bag and tossing one to her. "Anyway, I already apologised once to that asshole, so like hell I'm doing it again! Even for you!"

"I wasn't – I mean, I'm not looking for an apology, Kan-chan! It's just..." Yui pulls half-heartedly at the onigiri packaging, and continues in a quieter voice. "I just need to know what you think of me, that's all."

"That's my line, you idiot." Kansuke tears the plastic open with one sharp tug and swaps the onigiri with hers. "I basically cost you your job, Yui. Aren't you supposed to be angry at me or something?"

"Like I said before, I quit because I thought you were dead, it wasn't anyone's fau–" Yui pauses. "Is that why you were avoiding me, Kan-chan? Because you thought I'd be mad?"

Kansuke goes back to glaring at the kettle. "Nope," he answers shortly.

"Mm-hmm." Yui bites into her onigiri with a carefully raised eyebrow, because she's clearly been spending too much time around Koumei without his moderating influence. "So, do you want me around or not, Kan-chan? Or are you going to keep avoiding me?"

What a dumb question. Did the planets want to go around the sun?

Yui rolls her eyes. "Right, never mind. Do you not want me around, then?"

"No!" answers Kansuke on reflex, then – "I mean, I don't not want you around, n– goddamnit, Yui, you're starting to sound like Koumei with these trick questions. You know what I mean."

"Fortunately for you, yes." Yui goes to grab two mugs from the rack when her phone alarm rings. "Otherwise I'd have to request a transfer to... hmm, Tokyo? I hear the Beika squad works with Conan-kun all the time, that'd be nice."

"That glasses brat?" Kansuke snorts. "Maybe we should transfer him to Nagano instead, he can replace all of Takeda's goon squad. I'm sure the chief would be happy to give him Koumei's old office, we'll just get him a child seat to go with it or something."

Yui hands him his coffee with a grave expression. "I think you'll have to fight half the police departments in the country for that job offer, Kan-chan, he's already got quite the reputation."

"I'll bribe him with botamochi until he agrees," Kansuke says stubbornly.

He ignores Yui's chuckle. No one ever said no to his grandmother's recipes. No one.

Except Koumei, who obviously didn't count since he was still stuck at his tiny village koban. And speaking of which –

Kansuke pauses halfway through dumping a second sugar packet into his mug. "Why did you suddenly come over today, anyway? Without even calling me first."

"Oh, that." Yui returns to the table with her own mug. "I called headquarters yesterday about my reinstatement, and Aburakawa-kun mentioned that you were taking leave for personal reasons today."

He tastes the coffee and makes a face, reaching for yet more sugar. "So?"

"Well, you never take days off even when you're ill, Kan-chan, so..." Yui looks away abruptly, cheeks a distinct red. "...so I, er, assumed it was probably about me?"

He isn't that predictable. He is not.

...he is, apparently.

Kansuke scowls into his finally-sweet coffee. "I was just planning to drop by today. In case you needed help with your stuff."

"Everything's packed, I was just waiting to settle my apartment's lease first." Yui's suddenly wearing the same unsuspicious expression that she'd used to get them out of trouble with Kai-senpai so many times. "And actually – um, Morofushi-keibu's offered to help drive things over, he said to tell you that don't have to worry about i–"

"Take my car," Kansuke says flatly.

"Eh? But – "

"It's not like I'm using it, and you don't need Koumei's stupidly flashy car to move a bunch of boxes!"

"That's tr–"

"So you can tell him that I s–"

"Said what, exactly?"

Kansuke turns around to see Koumei standing in the doorway to the kitchen, having clearly had no issues with letting himself in. "What's he doing here?"

"If you'd let me finish my sentence, Kan-chan," comes Yui's voice from behind him, "I was about to tell you that we'd agreed for him to drive me over later this afternoon. Sorry for the trouble, Morofushi-keibu!"

"You're quite welcome, Yui-san. Although I thought that you would've gotten started on the other move by now."

"Other...? Oh!" Yui looks sheepish when he glances over at her. "I'd almost forgotten all about it, to be honest."

"Quite understandably, I'd say." Koumei joins them at the table, armed with his usual boring thermos of tea and his most annoying expression. Again. "It's all in your best interests, Kansuke-kun, don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about what?" he asks, feeling irritated – increasingly irritated, rather, since Koumei's presence was irritating by definition.

Yui pushes the remaining items in the plastic bag towards Koumei. "Well, your room's still upstairs, right? I thought I'd come over to help you move some things to the guest room down here, it'd be easier on your leg and everything."

Kansuke's eyebrow twitches. "Do I get a say in this? At all?"

"As a matter of fact, no, not with how you've clearly taken up sleeping on the living room couch on a regular basis – "

"YOU SHUT UP, KOUMEI!"

.

(later:

"What'd you even come over for if you were just going to sit there and drink tea! You've moved, like – what, one book?"

"Two, actually, but as you've repeatedly said in the past, you don't need my help, so... do you require my assistance, Yui-san?"

"Ah, no, I can manage it just fine! I know where Kan-chan puts all his things anyway – ")

.

.

.

*knocks on your door* hi i can’t even with kansuke’s pov h e l p

[mysticallooney-blog]

One Day 

Alvarado, K., Bayas, C., Dela Cruz, P., Guinto, M., Medina, K.

CHARACTERS

Damon- Criminal Investigator out to find the murderer of his family

Ace- Best friend of Damon and also his partner

TIME

The story takes place at present time

Place

The story happens at the Philippine city Metro Manila

Meet Damon

Damon was what you would call an average kid, He attended school, Had a best friend named Ace, And he loves his family. But an event that will shape his entire life is going to happen with or without him even noticing it.

Damon's family house

The whole family is having a dinner except for Damon who is out of the house.

knock-knock

DAMON'S FATHER : oh that must be DAMON! I'll go and open it.

door opens

bang

(gunshot was heard)

DAMON'S MOTHER : *screams* what is that!?                                                                                      

DAMON is that you?

(Footsteps getting near the kitchen)

DAMON'S MOTHER AND SIBLINGS: all shocked

DAMON'S MOTHER : wha-

bang

(another 2 gunshots was heard)

The footsteps began to vanish as the gunman exits the doorway. The house went silent like nothing happened.

door opening

DAMON : I'm hom- (shocked) Dad! DAD!! Who did this!!? MOM? MOOOOM!!.  Arghhhhh! (screaming while holding the lifeless bodies) NOOOOOOOO!

Three days passed and the funeral of the whole family of DAMON was held at the cemetery

DAMON: *crying * I will find whoever did this to all of you and i promise that I will show no mercy once I found out who did it  *making a fist*.

Ace holds the shoulder of DAMON

Ace      : Dont worry buddy we will find the bastard who Did this then will make him pay for doing it to uncle and the your family

DAMON:  thank you ACE! Thank you!, you're the only one that i got now.

After what happened DAMON and ACE became inseparable. DAMON became more motivated to seek justice for his family, Eventually turning to become a criminal investigator with Ace as his partner. Damon would never forget what Ace had done for him and he was thankful for having such a great friend

~6 years later~

Damon and Ace are now qualified detectives, infact the is one of the best the agency has to offer closing every case they come upon. After proving their worth to the organization, Damon asks his boss if he could choose the case they went on next and the boss agreed. Naturally Damon picked the murder of his family and this shocked the boss

BOSS: You know I cant give you a case that your related to you right?

DAMON (In a begging voice): Please boss its the reason Im even with the police in the first place here to begin with.

BOSS:*sigh* Look Damon your our best investigator so I expected you to know how stupid that demand was

DAMON: Ace is there to to make sure I wont go out of bounds, which I never have by the way

BOSS: “…” *whisper* If I hear so much as a whisper of that I allowed this, Your both fired…

Ill send Ace the file

DAMON: Thank you sir

Leaves office

Damon’s house

DAMON: roams around the kitchen

DAMON: There”s got to be a clue here somewhere clues here such as fingerprints or even guns that are used and more

ACE: looks at Damon

ACE: what time did it happen?

DAMON: continues to look at the file

DAMON: around 8pm, while they were having dinner

ACE: hmm do you know someone who hates or have hatred to your family?

DAMON: I don’t know, everything happened so unpredictable.

Damon sighs and sits at the chair

Ace sits, facing Damon

Damon inspects the photographs of room again and found a bullet

DAMON: look what we got here, it’s a bullet

ACE: looks at Damon what kind of bullet?

DAMON: it’s a 22 LR bullet, most popular type of bullet that can be bought in any caliber markets. Our killer is a rookie

ACE: How’d you say so?

looks at Damon with frustration plastered on his face

DAMON: Since this is the cheapest type of bullet that can be bought anywhere, he must be someone who can’t provide to buy a more expensive bullet.

ACE: silence

DAMON: maybe the killer was closer to our family, maybe he knows my family very well, because like us. But who? My family doesn’t even know a lot of people here.

ACE: Yeah, and people in our neighborhood are few compared to other villages.

DAMON: do you think the killer was closer to our family? But how come? Damon; teary eyed my family has been good to everyone.

ACE: We’ll get to know why once we catch who he is.

ACE: walks towards Damon, pats his shoulder

ACE: We’ll get to know his answers.

DAMON:*a sighs* I’m not surrendering this case, not until I die.

ACE: of course, I’ll help you there

~That Night~

Ace walks home with a worried expression

ACE: Damon cant know who killed his parents, beacuse if that happens what will happen to me….

~6 years ago~

Ace was a special kid, that was the nicest way to describe him. Normally he would just be seen around Damon and that was it it. But in reality the more you look into his character the stranger it gets. Ive only him display one kind of emotion and it was a faint smile he would only show when he was with my son. Needless to say I was pretty cautious of him for quite some time but eventually decided that it was probably just his quirk.

WIFE: (calling from downstairs) Dear can you help arrange the table?

HUSBAND: Don’t worry Im already on my way down

Arranging the table

HUSBAND: Say where is Damon?

Finishing cooking

WIFE: I had him run an errand at Ace’s house

HUSBAND: You know Ace’s parents?

WIFE: Oh didn’t you know ?

HUSBAND: About what exactly?

WIFE: Ace’s parents rarely stay at their house

HUSBAND: Why?

WIFE: Who knows? Not even their neighbors know where his parents runoff to

HUSBAND:I guess that would explain it

WIFE: Explain what exactly?

HUSBAND: The kid always struck me as odd you

WIFE: I don’t know if your just messing with me or your actually being serious

HUSBAND: You don’t think it seems strange that Ace always shows up to pick up Damon and never looks at anyone else? Heck I bet he dosen’t even know our names!

WIFE: Your just being paranoid

HUSBAND: Prob-

knock-knock

DAMON'S FATHER : oh that must be DAMON! I'll go and open it.

~Present Time~

Knock-Knock

MAN: Delivery for mister Damon about some murder case files

DAMON: Thats strange, I Thought boss gave all the files already?

MAN: Well either you or the boss forgot, Just sign here

DAMON: Sure Sure

DAMON: Hmm so somebody already investigated the case when it first popped up

Reading through files

DAMON: It seems he abandoned the case due to some health related problems

More reading

DAMON: He also pinpointed various suspects which fit the profile Ace and I had yesterday

Stops at unpictured suspect

Damon: But it seems he wasn’t able to interview this kid because he was a minor and had a mental disorder…

DAMON: WHAT?!!!!

In the office, DAMON sitting in his chair while holding the envelope given to him by his Boss that holds the evidence who killed his parents. Damon opened the envelope and pulled out the papers then begun reading the evidence and couldn’t believe what he was reading.

DAMON: Ho – How can this be?

Damon grabbed the other papers in shock. He kept rereading and tousling with the papers in denial with the information he has read.

DAMON: No! This can’t be true. It can’t be him. He can never do this!

Damon dash out of his office and straight to his boss to get answers with what was really happening. He sprinted inside the office of his boss.

DAMON: What’s this?!

Damon threw the papers at the desk of his boss.

BOSS

(grabbed the papers in confusion)

DAMON

Explain to me why that piece of paper is pointing out that my friend killed my parents! BOSS This is all the information that was obtain from one of my investigators.

DAMON: This can’t be true! Ace can never do this to me, he — he’s not the guy. Your investigator probably got it wrong and got all mixed up. Please tell me all of this isn’t true

BOSS: I hired one of my best investigators to do this. I know that this is all shocking news but I’m sorry. He couldn’t get it wrong.

DAMON: I — I have to go

Damon went out of the office and straight to his office. Damon sits on his chair in complete shock, not knowing what to do and feel about the situation. He begun contemplating whether to confront his Ace or not.

DAMON: What am I supposed to do? I can’t believe this is all happening. We’ve been friends since we were a child. His parents are my parents and my parents was his. I treated him as my brother. How could he do all this? Why would he do this?  I have to do something.

Damon reached out to grab his phone and call Ace.

ACE:Hello?

DAMON:Ace, I need to talk to you

With Damon still absorbing what he discovered, he immediately called Ace.

ACE: What’s it all about bro? is it that urgent? *laughs*

DAMON: Really urgent. *husky and cold tone*

ACE: All right all right. Kill the vibe bro, It’s very unusual of you.

DAMON: Meet me at my parents grave.

ACE: Okay bro, be there at 5 see you.

*drops the call without listening to what Ace was saying*

DAMON:

How could he act all so innocent when in reality he murdered my parents!

*stomps his desk and throws all his paper works*

DAMON: Unbelievable! I’ve been the kindest living creature to my parents murderer.

*confused with all his thoughts laughs sarcastically*

DAMON:

*Leaving the office bringing with him his gun*  *Calling Ace over the phone*

ACE: Okay bro chill! I’m on my way! You have to tell me what  you're up to it’s making me crazy.

DAMON: You’re making me insane. *Drops the call once again*

ACE: What the hell is happening, he’s making me paranoid! Why can’t he tell me this instant! *Worried and scared tone*

AT THE GRAVEYARD DAMON SEEM TO BE VERY HAPPY SARCASTICLLY HAPPY MAKING ACE MORE CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT HE WAS ABOUT TO TELL HIM. DAMON WAS REMINSCING ALL THEIR MEMORIES FROM THE DEATH OF DAMON’S PARENT UP TO THIS TIME.

ACE: That was one of the happiest yet most crucial moment of my life brother! *chuckles* How I wish I could turn back time. *sighs*

DAMON: Yeah right, I hope I never met you. *looks a far*

ACE: What do you mean? I’m your best friend you can’t say that. Stop that vibe bro, it’s too much it’s not funny anymore.

DAMON: You think it’s funny? *Pulls out his gun making Ace stumble a bit* How could you do this to me? Acting so kind and generous to me after murdering y parents?

ACE: Be careful with that gun Damon. What are you talking about? Who killed who?

DAMON

DAMON: Can you stop that non sense! Stop denying! I hired someone to track down who killed my parents all those evidences led us to you. *Crying but  still keeps manly attitude*

ACE: *Damon strangles Ace pointing the trigger to his forehead*

Brother you can’t do this to me right? I know you’re a good man. *Scared*

DAMON: *Chuckles* Of course, you’re so dear to me I can’t kill you. *sobbing really hard* All this time I was protecting my parents killer, all this time I was with the person I want take revenge with, I was with my best friend and sadly were my parents killer. *sobs hard but manages to pull off a smile to Ace*

ACE: I’m sorry Damon. I don’t know what else to say just please put the gun down and forgive me its been years please, I’m a changed man now. *pleading*

DAMON: I wont kill you don’t you worry my dear best friend *Laughs sarcastically* I’m just gonna hurt you really really bad till you rot yourself to hell and repent forever without my forgiveness.

*Damon pulls the trigger killing himself on the spot leaving Ace speechless and emotionless*

ACE

No! Brother please hang in there you can’t do this to me.

THE MORNING AFTER DAMON’S FUNERAL ACE WOKE UP WITH A HEAVY HEART DRIFTING APART WITH HIS ONE TRUE BEST FRIEND WAS MAKING HIM CRAZY UP ALL NIGHT. HE ALWAYS DREAMS ABOUT DAMON’S FINAL MESSAGE WHICH IS TO NEVER FORGIVE HIM TILL HE ROTS HIMSELF TO HELL.

THE END

[danmacrae]

Silly 90s Intro Blab: A Thing To Skim Through On The Toilet

Hello! I’m semi-tolerable nuisance Dan MacRae! Why am I shouting at you? Not sure! Sorry, I’ll take it down a notch.

Instead of learning how to pleasure a woman or how to unlock the mysteries of grooming, I have devoted my life to TV nonsense. Blessed YouTube presence RwDt09 has been collecting these amazing compilations of era (and sometimes season) specific TV intros and they are my everything. Imagine having a child that didn’t suck? That’s the feeling RwDt09′s videos put in my heart.

I've been obsessively rewatching this collection of mostly forgotten early '90s TV intros. The bulk of these shows died a quick death and feel like the product of whatever drugs TV execs take. (Probably something snorted from one of those awesome McDonalds coffee straws they ditched in like 2002.) Because I'm a handsome pin-up hunk of the year, I wrote some dumb blurbs about the first few shows and have some stray thoughts on the rest. This appeals to no one but me AND I APOLOGIZE TO NO ONE!

In the immortal words of John Lennon, let’s get biz-zay!

DINOSAURS: I’m at a point in my life where I can acknowledge that Dinosaurs sucked. It’s incredibly freeing. Christ, this is like that stupid-ass Norman Lear show where dogs did social commentary BUT WITH HENSON PUPPETS! I hope Baby Sinclair was stomped to death and eaten as pudding before the extinction series finale. (Yes, that happened.) The intro isn’t bad, mind you. You get the lumbering theme song and Earl gets stuck in a door CUZ LAFFS! TIMES SURE HAVEN’T CHANGED HO HO HO! God I hate these fucking dinosaurs.

Intro MVP: It’s not a stellar pack, but we get a bit of Robbie Sinclair who census data has shown led to a variety of surprising sexual awakenings for youths at the time.

SCORCH: A 1300-year-old dragon named Scorch visits the 1990s on a budget that looks not far removed from Skank on The Ben Stiller Show. The song will make you want to barricade your sex organs from a world where you can bring children into a world with THAT CAWAZZZY SCORCH! The theme song really is a special brand of irritating and Scorch looks like a malformed Deviant Art dildo with a vaguely religious bent.

Intro MVP: Probably John O’Hurley for not actually appearing in the intro. (Even with O’Hurley’s weird résumé.)

FISH POLICE: Not to be confused with the (ARF! ARF! ARF!) Dog Police, Fish Police and Family Dog are shows I know almost exclusively from being mentioned as examples of the crappy post-Simpsons primetime animation gold rush. Fish Police actually looks good animation-wise, but it’s pretty clear you’re gonna be sledgehammered with endless “COULD YOU IMAGINE FISH DOING THESE OLD TROPES? DO WE NEED TO CALL A SEARCH PARTY FOR YOUR SIDES? ARE THEY SPLITTING ALREADY?” jokes. Congrats dipshits, you made a cinema-touched precursor to Frankie & George. You dummies. Also there’s the tone of casual racism UNDER THE SEA so do with that what you will. DID YOU SEE CHINATOWN? WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT SHIT?

Intro MVP: Thank goodness they specified who John Ritter voices so we could all bask in Inspector Gil as a character name. Fuck you, Fish Police.

CAPITOL CRITTERS: Christ, this looks UNWATCHABLE. Like walk into oncoming traffic as an alternative unwatchable. Capitol Critters centers around an animated mouse named Max (voiced by Neil Patrick Harris) witnesses his family being murdered in Nebraska and moves to D.C. and wait what the fuck is going on with those roaches? (Racism, mostly.) Who thought this was a good idea to invest time, money and animator joint damage in? Stephen Bochco, baby! I have a perverse curiosity to see an episode but after 90 seconds I know I'd be dying to eat a fucking gun instead of suffering through any more of Capitol Critters.

Intro MVP: Gotta be Bochco. Also, EAT SHIT BOCHCO!

And now a really tiny blab about the rest. Watch this clip package, ya goofs!

FAMILY DOG: Folks were fucking horny for Spielberg TV shit in the 90s, ditto Tim Burton too and that's how an Amazing Stories, uh, story was morphed into a shitball TV series that Brad Bird wanted no part of. Also, I have no idea how to explain things like the CBS StereoSound chyron to anyone born after Clinton left office.

THE CRITIC: Nice to see you, Jay Sherman! This is a lovely intro and you likely know that already. I've done a few rewatches of The Critic (not the web series season, though) and I say the show definitely holds up and is far from a duketastrophe. That said, some of the parody film clips that got raves at the time are kinda creaky in hindsight.

CHARLIE HOOVER: Can I say something? Fuck Sam Kinison. Hmm... That's a bit harsh. I guess I just don't get him on any level. The only thing he's done that I've ever found all that funny was when he said he wished Andrew Dice Clay die of stomach cancer from the inside out, like Bette Davis. Kinison's not my cup of tea is what I'm getting at. In Charlie Hoover (GET IT HURF HURF), Kinison is a foot high loudmouth in a long coat that's getting 40-year-old square Tim Matheson where he needs to be in life.

A LEAGUE OF THEIR OWN: Or... "Betty Spaghetti's Here Which Is All The Star Power You Need!"

HARDBALL: A League Of Their Own had a fun, feel good intro with all the corny touches of ol' timey baseball. Hardball tries to sell you on Joe Rogan: Baseball Fella and the vague scent of urinal troughs.

GOOD GRIEF: Howie Mandel golfs in a cemetery and it's not particularly clear if he's just fucking around on strangers graves for fun. (Alternate Theory: Those graves belong to the family from Bobby's World. All the Generics!)

THE FANELLI BOYS: If enjoy broad Italian-American stereotypes to the point of falling down laughing at the sight of a pizza box, you'll love The Fanelli Boys! Joe Pantoliano and Christopher Meloni both star.

SOMETHING WILDER: Something Wilder was the sort of show where I wished Gene Wilder well and still kept 5000 miles away from watching it. Also, Wilder's face on that house is CHILLING.

DUDLEY: Embrace the luxury hotel elevator elegance of Dudley! Does it feature Dudley Moore make a series of faces where he seems surprised by everything? You better believe it. This was also where Max Wright got work in-between taking abuse from a cat eating alien and Norm Macdonald.

CAROL & COMPANY: It's a bit Carol Takes On in the intro with Carol Burnett in assorted costumes and that's alright because everyone does the assorted costumes intro thing. Tickets to the show are blown across America and get in the hands of whatever Orphan Black Carol happens to be in the area.

THE CAROL BURNETT SHOW: This is an extremely 90s sort of intro that feels like something more upscale soft rock stations did in TV ads at the time too. Richard Kind directs a bit of paper at someone midway through.

DREXELL'S CLASS: One of more storied entries in the Dabney Coleman being an asshole catalogue. The first intro features Dabney, ol' Drex himself, just hanging around in class being hot shit and occasionally mimicking a flying dinosaur. The second intro is a more traditional clip collection highlighted by a young Brittany Murphy (WHO WAS MURDERED! FACT! REMINDER!) and Coleman in a wild 8 ball jacket. Rembrandt off Sliders also makes an appearance.

TEECH: If this intro looks exactly like a sitcom where a Cool Black Music Instructor™ teaches Prep School bad boys in Bush Sr era America that's because it is exactly that sort of sitcom. Maggie Han deserves better.

THE ROYAL FAMILY: It seems extra cruel to take Redd Foxx's popcorn away considering he'd be dead before the fifth episode even aired. Della Reese is in this, die-hard Della fans.

ROC: This intro works perfectly. We get Charles S. Dutton, Ella Joyce and an easy to digest Jerry Lawson theme song. (En Vogue would do the theme later.) It’d be nice if they could get Edgar Allan Poe wagging a finger at seafood or something else in the background to push that Baltimore thing even more, but I still wish this intro from 25+ year old Fox comedy all the best in its future endeavours.

BREWSTER PLACE: Speaking of good intros, Brewster Place is a first rate brand of TV welcome. Brenda Pressley is the MVP of the intro over Oprah Winfrey which might explain why Brenda Pressley has been missing since 1992. (I know she’s on The Path. Just play along.)

SUNDAY BEST: The intro equivalent of getting someone to throw shit at a wall, we get an early 90s NBC grab bag of fuck it whatever shots of TVs and TV dinners with poor Carl Reiner trotted out partway through.

AMERICAN CHRONICLES: Mark Frost and David Lynch paired for a documentary series in the early ‘90s on Fox because Fox was like fucking UHF at the time. The industrial strength creepy opening doesn’t include any shots of narrator Richard Dreyfuss turning towards the camera and that’s a damn shame.

AMERICAN DETECTIVES: If you get horny for stressed out real-life detectives, this will send your undergarments to Mars! Lots of mustaches here. A whole Safeway bag’s worth. Some real rural gas station rock going on with that theme tune.

FBI: THE UNTOLD STORIES: The tone of this entire intro is: “Hey kid, wanna see a dead body? Or twenty?” Creepy music blasting over Jackie Kennedy on the back of JFK’s death limo and Wayne Williams heading to trial equals primetime party fun!

ENCOUNTERS: THE HIDDEN TRUTH: Suck it, Sightings! Encounters is leading a new dawn for crackpot horseshit to eat Bugles to! I appreciate the shameless X-Files knockoff intro thing Fox is doing (cuz it’s their show) that comes complete with head shop blanket alien head popping up midway through.

STEPHEN KING’S GOLDEN YEARS: Essentially Garth Marenghi's Darkplace with one hell of a music rights win tacked on.

TRIBECA: This opening reminds me an awful lot of terrible movies I was bullied into watching on VHS at a friend’s house.

WIOU: One thing I like in a TV intro is when something fun happens with the title onscreen. It’s a minor thing, but the way those WIOU letters turn into view? HOOCHIE MAMA! Eight is Enough’s Dick Van Patten does a fantastic job of conveying that being a weatherfellow is tough work.

GABRIEL’S FIRE: I will never for the life of me understand how the early ‘90s could not sustain a James Earl Jones fronted program titled Gabriel’s Fire. Those worlds are supposed to meld beautifully.

PROS & CONS: Gabriel’s Fire would morph into the more lighthearted Pros & Cons which symbolized its new form by laying it on thick with the Video Toaster touches. Instead of James Earl Jones peering at you from the darkness, this go-around it’s a lot of smiles and silly moments with Richard Crenna.

BURKE’S LAW: Hearing “it’s Burke’s Law” at the start of that intro is like when “Do you smell what The Rock’s cooking?” would play before Dwayne Johnson would wander down a ramp to kick Triple H in the stomach. In this case, it’s to get you fired up that Gene Barry’s back on television. This particular episode promises Dom DeLuise and Tawny Kitaen together at last!

MAX MONROE: LOOSE CANNON: If you only see one intro for a Shadoe Stevens vehicle that transitions from a Donut Hole shot to an extended leer at a lady’s bum, make it this one!

TEQUILA AND BONETTI: The creators of Tequila and Bonetti know that if you want folks to get on board for an L.A. dramedy about a New York cop and streetwise police partner dog, you should kick things off by trying to make you feel sorry for this asshole who “accidentally” murdered a kid. Seriously, that’s the route Tequila and Bonetti goes with this fucking insane opening that begins with newspaper headlines screaming “COP KILLS 12 YR OLD” while he cradles a black girl in her arms and then BOOM! we’re spun around to JACK SCALIA GRINNING AROUND WACKY LOS ANGELES AND ALL ITS CRAZY CHARACTERS LIKE A DOG THAT JUMPS THROUGH A FUCKING WINDOW WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE? THIS IS LIKE IF SOMEONE STROKED OFF THE HANNITY VIEWING AND KEPT WHAT WAS SPURTED OUT ONSCREEN! It’s just a really, really, really bad intro.