#and salt on hardwood floors is a torment to me

[wrishwrosh]

i KNOW that my quest to keep road salt out of my apartment is sisyphean bc i live in massachusetts and it’s january but my roommate could at least do me a solid and stop SABOTAGING and TORMENTING me by wearing wet salty boots inside

[golden-letters]

ghost of you (or is it just me?)

some random prose that probably isn’t that good 

by @golden-letters

When I was a child, I would sit, in the whisks of silence, in moonlit solitude, next to our glass door facing the garden. Even in winter, when the hardwood floor was frozen into ice, slippery like rain puddles and barren like snow, I'd sit there, in quiet contemplation, gazing out onto the frosted grass and starry sky, counting raindrops, naming constellations. The quiescent stillness of time gave me comfort, nothing had never been as lovely as nothing. I would lean against the glass until my thoughts quieted or footsteps approached, then I'd skid back into my room, like a ghost in my own home. 

In summer, morose melancholy settled on me like the shade of some towering willow tree swaying in the humid breeze. Sweat would trickle from my jaw to my chin, diluting with the salt streaming from my eyes. I sat, again, on the hardwood floor now lit by the midday sun. My skin illuminated, gleaming and glowing with a golden hue, the Midas touch of the sun turning my days into tasteless gold. 

You'll never seen her again, my mother’s fiery words wavered in my mind as the scorching sun did. I'd scream back at her, tongue twisting with venom, eyes as angry as the summer heat, but I never won, never with words. 

***

I wonder sometimes, whether you remember that time we went out to the beach, two and a half hours from Shropshire. I ripped off my sandals and pulled your oily palms, running towards to the ocean in a childish frenzy. 

The sand was a milky colour, only a tinge of mouldy yellow mixed in between. Dark dreariness and dark, dreary clouds danced in the sky, threatening rain at any second. 

I couldn’t care less, in fact I waited the dew drops to land on my greasy, unwashed hair; I flung myself into the sea, you followed shortly afterwards, shrieking a ‘wait for me!’, before the splash of tides filled our ears. 

Oh, if it wasn’t for my body’s innate fear of death, I would have allowed the embrace of nature to choke me. 

Thunderclouds rumbled above our heads as the waves begin to snake around our waists. 

You rose from the surface, dragging me along.

‘Hey, we need to go, it’s gonna rain soon.’

You said, in between gulps of breath. 

I followed along, a bit bleary-eyed, perhaps that was the moment I sank. 

***

I hated spring that year. The white dots of daisies and tired scoops of green leaves tormented my lifeless thoughts and lonely walks home. There was only my shadow on the sidewalk, the warm presence next to me was absent. The cold numbed my fingers, even bees dispersed when I neared. 

Tears prickled my eyes like the thorns of the wilted rose you gave me last month. I couldn’t bring my clumsy hands to depose of it.

What a dull way to die, I thought, brushing the thorns over the tender skin on my left wrist, over and over and over again, as though it was simply a feather, dusting off the dirt. 

***

there’s no (visible) plot or point to this, i’ve got my own interpretation but aye this is just a random burst of inspiration :)

please credit me when reposting!!

@golden-letters

[jimothy-hopkins]

Meddling Kids VI

WARNING! This work/series contains mentions of slut shaming, EDs, gore, implied torture, implied SA, SH, violence, and many other things that can trigger some viewers. I will also mention that this work does NOT intend to glorify, romanticize, normalize, or promote ANY of these behaviors or ideas. That is not who I am and that is not what I stand for. Please do not take that message away when you read this.

This is a Manhunt/Bully crossover. Please enjoy at your own risk.

Jimmy only turned to look away when Gary hit the floor.

To his right, Pete knelt over, throwing up on the hardwood floor.

Jimmy stepped ahead, ejecting the tape just as another bloodcurdling scream played. For a moment, he stood still, processing the footage he had just seen. Part of him wanted to believe that this was a bad dream, but the sickness and the impending sense of doom proved him wrong. He didn’t even know someone could scream that loud. God, he didn’t need to see what violent things those depraved men did to that poor girl.

Pete stood up, shaking as tears fell from his eyes. The head boy’s hands trembled as he glanced down, coughs escaping him.

Jimmy sniffled, kneeling to look over Gary, who had passed out. He felt the back of his head for a bump or cut, relieved to find no injury. He turned back, motioning for Pete to come and help him. The taller student shuffled over, lifting his cousin by the legs while Jimmy looped his grasp under Gary’s armpits. The pair gently rested him on Pete’s bed.

“Can you grab water?” Jimmy asked.

“Mhm,” Pete nodded, retrieving a small water bottle from his desk and bringing it over.

Jimmy unscrewed the top, pouring small amounts of water into his palm and splashing it on Gary’s face. Occasionally he would slap his cheeks, bringing them to an irritated red as Gary woke up.

“Please tell me you turned that shit off..” Gary said.

“We did,” Jimmy replied.

“We need to call the cops,” Pete spoke.

Jimmy turned, now angry.

“Call the cops? Pete, the reason this tape even exists is because the cops don’t do their jobs!” He shouted, making Pete cower back.

Silence hung for a moment before Gary sat up.

“We need to talk to Edward again,” He said.

“Not right now. Not- not after this, Gary..” Pete sniffled, rubbing the side of his arm.

Without another word, Jimmy exited the room, returning to his dorm.

Jimmy could barely sleep in the days that followed. When he did, his head tormented him with nightmares of Alice's violent torture. Every night he would wake at an odd hour soaked in a puddle of cold sweat. It sickened him knowing her fate. It made Jimmy sick, knowing that he likely could have changed the outcome if he had been more aware.

HE walked, swallowing the lump that had developed in his throat. His feet shuffled over the salt-covered walkway. Jimmy stopped once he reached the parking lot. Here he saw the bullies pulling their usual antics, building a dick-shaped snow sculpture, and tagging random areas. He spotted Angelina talking with Summer Callahan and made his way over.

“Hey,” He initiated.

“Oh, sup baldy,” Angelina smirked.

“Yeah, whatever. I need to talk to you, Lina.” He told her.

Her facial expression changed, and the blonde stood upright. “Alright,” she nodded.

The two walked, trailing to the small yard behind the bus.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy sighed.

“Jimmy, what are you even talking about? I don’t-”

“She’s dead, Lina,” Jimmy spat.

“You’re lying,” She spat.

“I’m sorry, Lina,” He breathed.

“You’re fucking lying to me, Hopkins!” Angelina yelled.

“I saw it on video!” He yelled back.

“Let me see it-” She breathed, stepping forward.

“No, I’m not letting you,”

“Why not!?”

“You don’t need to see her like that, Angelina!”

“She’s my girlfriend!”

“That’s why! Do you wanna see her crying for mercy? Do you!? Is that what you want!?” Jimmy hollered, getting in her face.

Angelina stood, becoming quiet as she thought. Jimmy stared, keeping defiant eye contact with the tall blonde.

Her knees buckled, and loud sobs left Angelina. Jimmy knelt beside her, hugging the bully as she cried. The ginger would rub circles into her back, guilty for how he had shouted at her.

“I’m sorry, Lina,” Jimmy said, “I’ll find whoever did this to Alice,”

“Please, I want to help,” She sniffled.

“No, you’ve been through enough. Let me take you back to the dorms, ok?” He offered as he helped the girl to her feet.

As the afternoon set in, the students left their classes. Pete confidently walked through the campus, hoping to have a moment to speak with Edward. The young man entered the prefect dorms, turning around to look down the hall. He heard what sounded like an argument coming from the lounge area. He sighed, walking down the hallway and peering through the door. He saw Max MacTavish and Edward standing in front of one another amid an argument. The other three prefects stood on the other side of the room, glancing between Pete, themselves, and their group members.

“Do you have any idea how Unbearable you are!?” Edward screamed.

“You’re one to talk!” The brunette snapped.

“OH Really? You’re such a lapdog!” The former prep sneered.

“At least I’m not Bullworth Academy’s bottom bitch!”

“How dare you!”

Edward lunged forward, delivering a hard punch to Max’s jawbone. Pete gasped, scrambling to pull him away.

“Goddammit, why don’t you three help me!?” Pete yelled.

Seth, Diana, and Karl all scrambled, assisting in prying Max and Edward away from one another. The two seniors kicked and thrashed as they continued to throw swears and insults at one another.

Pete gritted his teeth, losing his cool and raising his voice.

“Shut UP!”

The room went silent, tension rising as they all looked toward Pete.

“How did this even start?” He demanded, stepping back.

“He wanted to try and-”

“Ed and Seth were too busy-”

“We were NOT!”

“Yes you fucking were!”

“STOP!” Pete hollered once more.

Max and Edward ceased their childish bickering, breathing hard as they looked at one another with hatred.

“I’ll ask you again, individually. Max, care to explain yourself?” Pete glared.

“This entire week, Edward's been ditching us for stupid stuff. I’m sick of picking up his slack! He just free roams and flirts with the girls and Seth!” Max explained.

“Edward?” Pete turned.

“Max continuously disrespects me! This entire day he’s been slut-shaming me! You heard what he called me!” Edward defended.

“Look, you guys need to suck it up and get away from each other. But for now, I need to talk with Ed.” Pete ordered.

Seth quietly let go of Edward, watching as he and Pete both left the room.

Edward followed Pete to his dorm, stopping once the door was closed.

“We need to use you as bait again,” pete told him.

“What? No, I’m not doing this anymore,” Edward argued.

“It’s either you do that, or I’m gonna let everyone know you snort lines,” Pete threatened.

Edward sighed, dropping his shoulders and groaning.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

[laurabelle2930]

Olicity One Shot~ My cure to writer’s block

So this will make no sense but a friend named Matty or as many know her @supersillyanddorky06 suggested I cure my writer’s block by doing a free write. The shot might be odd, or disorganized but that’s what it’s meant to be. I needed to free my mind and by doing this I did just that. Thank you my friend and thank you to everyone who has ever read a word that I’ve typed. It means more than you could possibly know. 

His eyes looked frozen, that she could clearly remember as his gaze carefully scanned over the her painstaking words. His parted lips and quivering fingers made her own body tremble with unspoken fear. She watched him carefully through the security cameras that lined the walls of now heavily guarded building. His downcast eyes and fallen chin made her softly touch the flickering screen. His lips moved soundlessly before his knees gave way; she watched in silent torment as he slowly slipped to the cold ground. The letter fell beside him limply as she whispered into her self made darkness, “I’m sorry Oliver...I’m sorry...” 

5 Years Later...

“Are you sure about this?” the quiet voice beside him beckoned somberly. 

Oliver’s heavy, light-less blue eyes raced upwards toward the tower’s glowing tip. He felt her supportive touch near the small of his back; her soft perfume floated around him like a warm blanket as his body shuddered from his own internal cold. He croaked with tears forever frozen in his raw throat, “I’ll be fine Dinah, but I need to do this, I need to say goodbye...” 

He felt her gloved fingers pressing firmly over his spine. Her hiccuped reply made his chest burn, “Did she know?” 

His chin fell instantly to his cavernous chest, “What that I loved her and still do?” he mused tiredly. 

“You’re never going to move on are you?” she asked as her hand raced up his chilled spine. 

“I tried and she left...” he snapped quietly with not even a small note of hidden remorse. 

Dinah’s sighs over the nape of his neck warmed him momentarily before the chill of her words made his blood run cold. “She left because you betrayed her trust by trusting Susan over her.” 

His automatic nod seemed rehearsed when he seethed with repressed anger, “She left me long before that day Dinah...” 

“No Oliver she didn’t and that’s why this is all so screwed up.” 

His eyes floated towards the once glowing scripted Jonas along the chrome tower’s shining tip. “Don’t you have a husband waiting for you?” he threw out bitterly in a vane attempt to anger her into leaving.  

Her angry grip over his shoulder burned when she quietly growled, “You betrayed the woman you loved and now instead of celebrating her life all you can do is mourn her death.” She swallowed a furious sob then muttered, “I’ll be forever indebted to you for the life I now have but don’t you dare for one second think that I couldn’t do this on my own. I have a life Oliver, I have a husband, and a home while all you have is a crumbled picture and a letter that you still keep in your breast pocket.” 

He laughed coldly, “You were going to get yourself killed without my intervention...” 

She mumbled, “Felicity deserved so much better...” before her hand fell limply to her side. 

He mumbled in restrained agreement, “On that we agree.” 

He heard the sharp intake of air as she struggled for a well timed retort. He heard her shoes tapping along the ground as her stomach growled from mid-day hunger. He felt her body trembling with unexpressed words as her mind fought over the right phrase. He felt every painful moment until she finally said, “Once you get up there do me a favor?” 

His eyes never left the gleaming tower as he replied, “And that would be?” 

“Tell her you’re still hopelessly in love with her,” she stammered before the soft heels of her shoes could be heard carrying her slowly away. 

He reached out and gripped the door with ease and confidence. His steely eyes were set forward as he marched through the chrome, detailed doors. His footfalls made the frayed hardwood floors crack as he gingerly stepped over the many destroyed thresholds. His once bright blue eyes now seemed grey as they traveled over the dust laden surfaces before him. The once soft couches now sat covered in months of moth balls and piled dust. The once bright blinds now seemed dull, if not lifeless as they sat beneath the decay of a wasted life. 

His calloused fingertips ran down the front of her once pristine desk. He frowned when the line revealed the richness of the dark painted wood beneath the months of disuse. His slumped shoulders seemed to move downward as his eyes caught the once silver frame of the lone picture she’d kept on her desk. He moved with the stillness of a lion and the deadliness of hungry shark as his angular face shifted into a tortured smile. Her red eyes narrowed into small, saddened slits when his thumb brushed over the broken glass. 

He mumbled into the stale air, “You lied to me...” 

Her spine froze within her tired body. His words echoed through her strained mind until his voice had reached her nearly frozen heart. He repeated the sentiment again with more anger, “You lied to me, you left me and claimed to no longer love me...” 

Her bruised fingers flew to her cracked lips when a lone whimper cracked it’s way through her gnarled throat. The room around her seemed to crackle like a newly lit fire as, she kept her back pressed along the side of hidden wall near the edge of the left window. His tortured confession continued on around her as her heart crumbled to dust within her tightening chest. “I take that damn letter everywhere you know.” 

Her eyes fell with a silent thud as he picked up the damaged frame. She could feel him carefully wiping away the dust with his fingertips. She could actually smell the salt of his tears as one lone droplet pinged off the fractured glass surface. “You did it again Felicity,” he wept openly. “You left me again,” he whispered before she heard the cracked leather of her office chair crack even further beneath the added weight. 

She sighed gently from her hiding space, “When did you know?” 

She heard him place the frame gently over his lap. She heard the pop of his pursed lips when he sniffed somberly, “I take that damn letter everywhere Felicity...” 

She slowly opened her eyes before she finally slumped onto the floor in a exhausted heap. She caught his narrow glance as the dust around her settled over her denim clad legs. “Did you stop the wedding because of me?” she croaked in a bit of veiled annoyance. 

He tapped the glass with angry precision, “Did you take this picture on that day?” 

She let the back of her head fall back roughly against the splintered wall. She felt a few small shards of wood pricking along her scalp when she moaned, “Yes now answer my questions how did you know and did you call of your wedding for me?” 

His eyes flickered for the first time in what she thought must have been years, “Our friend Rory might have dropped by after we received the news of your death.” 

She scowled, “I knew Curtis was teaching him how to navigate the dark web...” 

Oliver chuckled deeply on that one which made her snort, “I bet the dragon lady never made you laugh like that.” 

He shot her a warning look while his fingers remained splayed over the crumbled picture. “I see you’ve kept in touch with Thea...” he remarked darkly. 

She shifted along the wall and shrugged softly, “Maybe...maybe not...” 

His tapping index finger was beginning to aggravate her so she sputtered darkly, “Did you call of the wedding because of me or not!” 

His fingers froze over the frame. He fixed her with a deadly stare as her stomach began to angrily churn. He stood slowly with deadly intent. Felicity remained frozen along the wall while her fingers splayed over the damaged floors. His steps seemed to vibrate through her hips as he inched toward her. She lifted her frozen eyes and gulped when he began to kneel towards the ground. He placed the frame beside her and instead of reaching for her knee he reached for his inner breast pocket. 

“I was reaching for my vows...” he breathed. She felt his words caressing the skin of her knees through the rips of her jeans. Her pulse raced as his steady voice became shaky. “I was facing the mirror, the image before me looked gaunt, lifeless and utterly destroyed until I looked down at the words before me. 

Felicity gulped roughly, “I will vomit if you say your vows gave you clarity.” 

His snarky smile played over his full lips like unsung song, “Will you do the same if I say it was your letter and not my vows that shattered my heart?” 

She cocked her head carefully as the wood splinters dragged along the back of her head. “You took my letter instead of your wedding vows?” 

He nodded gingerly then bypassed the question knowing his words would only make it worse, “Why didn’t you tell me you were in trouble Felicity?” 

Her eyes floated to the damaged frame as she silently respected his choice, “Because I couldn’t hurt you anymore than I already had...” she answered honestly. 

He ran his fingers up her small calves before he placed his chin over her kneecaps. “Susan caused this mess didn’t she?” he implored gently. 

She sighed but in the end relented. “She must have seen us talking before the ceremony. I didn’t know that you’d called of the ceremony, I thought you married her three years ago until a file showed up outside my apartment door about three weeks ago...” 

Oliver’s thumbs brushed down the lines of her calf muscles gently. “She tried to have me killed Oliver, she blew up my office because you’re still in love me didn’t she?” 

She saw the tears in his eyes beginning to form, “I told her the truth and like a fool I thought she’d moved on,” he answered with an empty soul. He began sputtering shortly thereafter, “I should’ve been marrying you, and I should’ve met our daughter when you came back three years ago...” The shame in that last statement made her heart bleed.  

“Oliver...” she whispered. 

He pressed his forehead to her skin and rattled painfully, “You told me I had a daughter and I panicked...” 

She wanted to soothe him but her body wasn’t ready to offer him the forgiveness he craved. Her soul needed more than words her soul needed the actions to go with them. Her soul was about to be rewarded...

He shifted his forehead upwards until she felt the tip of his nose. He nudged along her soft skin until finally she felt his pressed lips against her shaking knees before he breathed, “Once Dinah and John slapped some sense into me I went to find you but, by then three days had passed and you’d gone to ground. Curtis tried for two years but he couldn’t find you. I even tracked down Noah...but alas...” 

Felicity’s raw voice cut through his musings. She knew why he didn’t find her but, still was touched beyond words that he’d tried. “After what happened with the Pandora's box of all hacker’s I didn’t want my past to affect our daughter so...” 

Oliver’s lips brushed so tenderly over her skin that she nearly wept, “You destroyed Felicity and created Meghan Jonas...” 

She felt her walls faltering as she admitted, “I couldn’t cut the ties of my past completely...” 

He let out a gnarled, “Did I ever tell you I was sorry?” 

She pale lips formed a small smile, “Did I ever tell you that I love you?” 

He pressed his trembling lips to her skin, her chest heaved in silent relief as he muttered, “I love you too...” 

Felicity slowly slipped her palms along the dusty floors. Oliver’s shoulders were shuddering against her as she very timidly reached for his bent knees. “You broke my heart by not trusting me...” she frowned nervously. 

He groaned in acceptance, “I honestly don’t understand why you ever loved me nor why you chose to keep a piece of me with for the past three years.” 

Her fingers burned to touch his cheek but she stayed her hand and uttered instead, “I needed to feel connected to my past and you had my heart so I chose to incorporate that into my new life. 

He rubbed his cheek along her bruised knees, “You didn’t have to do that Felicity...” 

“Jocelyn Jonas would disagree,” she mumbled softly. 

She felt her body vibrate when he chuckled softly, “I thought you would have chosen Laurel...” 

“I did...” 

He glanced up as she muttered, “For her middle name.” 

“Does she know I’m her father?” he asked curiously as they remained locked in their awkward embrace. 

Felicity first nodded silently then breathed, “She does, but again I’ve been careful about the subject.” 

She felt his nod over her heated skin, “Why my picture and not her’s?” 

Felicity felt foolish but hell now was hardly the time for another mind game. She gripped his knees as her chin fell to her chest and moaned in dismay, “Her picture would have put her in danger so why I thought one of you would be better is beyond me but again I did pick Jonas for a last name so clearly....” 

“You’re full of odd ideas...” he interjected before she laughed, “Exactly.” 

They sat in silence for another moment before Oliver chose to state the obvious. 

“The world thinks you’re dead,” he mumbled. “You can’t stay here and keep our daughter safe can you?” he asked even though he knew the answer. 

“Nope, but with the help of an old friend I’ll be staring a new life by 8 o’clock tonight,” she clarified with heartache. 

“I don’t want to lose you,” he barely whispered as his lips traveled over her knees. 

She brushed her thumbs along his knees, “Oliver?” 

He replied instantly, “Yeah?” 

“Why don’t you come with me?,” she suggested weakly. 

He brushed his lips to the revealed skin of her knees. She let the sensation of his long missed touch dance through her heart like an unplayed melody. “I’d go anywhere with you,” he admitted. 

“Even if we took things slow?” she ventured I slowly. 

He smiled over her skin, “I won’t lose the both of you twice,” he declared brightly. 

“What about the team?” she swallowed as the reality of his confession hit home. 

He lifted his eyes and stared deeply into her own. The light of a renewed soul shined through his dilated pupils. His skin no longer seemed dull nor did his paler seem grey. He grinned with maddening charm as he proclaimed, “I love you Felicity. Nothing beyond that matters.” 

She grinned in kind then leaned forward. He let her come forward until her chest was at her knees. Their noses touched gently before their foreheads met. She whispered, “I’m still hurt Oliver and I’ll need time...” 

His lips ghosted over her own with his muffled reply, “Just don’t leave me again, make me own my actions okay? Don’t let me fall back on bad behaviors just because I can alright?” 

She felt their skin brush as she nodded, “I won’t but you have to talk to me, you have to let me in...” she reminded him with no softness in her tense tone. 

“I’ll be better for you both I promise,” he sighed before pressing a chaste kiss to her trembling bottom lip. 

She accepted the gesture before returning it with a chaste kiss of her own. 

Tagging: @emmaamelia95 @pleasantfanandstudent @coal000 @memcjo @lesanchea @mrsbubblelee @olicitylovemaking @miriam1779 @love2luvyyou @almondblossomme @diggo26 @rivaroma @cjjingram @vaelisamaza @befitandchase @pimsiepim @anonymiss118 @yet-i-remain-quiet @lexi9515 @kathrynelizabeth89 @marniforolicity @marytagus @myuntetheredsoul @myhauntedblacksoul @blondiegrl00 @independent-fics @felicity-said--yes @relativelyobsessedfangirl @i-m-a-fan-world @mel-loves-all @somewhatinvisible @danski15 @stygian-omada-fan @malafle @emilyp05 @oliverfel4 @alemap74 @vicky-vale @charlinert @hope-for-olicity @missafairy @arrows-4ever @jaspertown @sweetzcupcake @captainolicitysbedroom @nalla-madness @smoakingarrow19 @bwangangelic @ccdimples88 @lalawo1 @yespleasehawkeye @scu11y22 @ireland1733 

[evaandnonotlikewalle]

Pirates Have More Fun

His hair is thinning in the back. I never noticed that before. Odd, isn’t it, how I can wake up to that man every day for twenty-three years and not notice how his hair looks in the back? Now, he is turned away from me, and the light from the window makes the room look more sterile, if that is even possible. The hospital gown exposes his back and I can see the faint curve of his spine. I bite my nails and stare at the expanse of his shoulders and the dimples at the base of his neck where his vertebrae begin.

           “How is he doing?” a deep voice whispers from behind me. I turn around and see his ID badge flashing at me nearly as bright as his smile. I had forgotten how bright that smile was.

           “Fine. He’s just sleeping. Been doing it all morning.”

           “You shouldn’t do that,” he orders with a barely hidden smirk.

           “What?” I blurt.

           “Bite your nails. It only ruins them.”

           I pull my hand away from my face, realizing I had been talking through my fingers this whole time. My nails are now jagged and the polish is chipping away.

           “Then again,” he continues, walking toward the bed, “I told you that all the time back in the day. You didn’t listen then and it looks like my words still have yet to resonate with you.”

           “I’m afraid they haven’t. It’s a bad but permanent habit.”

           He picks up the clipboard hanging from the end of the bed and examines it. He squints at it, wrinkles gathering at the corner of his eyes.

           “The nurse came in about an hour ago and replaced his IV,” I inform him.

“I can see that, right here, actually,” he says pointing the paper with his pen.

“Of course!”

I begin to chew at my nails again and tuck my legs under me. “Of course. Of course you can,” I mumble into my hand.

He nods his head, looks at me once, and puts the chart back. “Well, his surgery is scheduled for tomorrow morning. So, the nurses will be in and out prepping him for that. As for me, I’ll come before he goes in tomorrow. Expect me around eight. Until then, have a good day.”

           He walks past, but not without gently squeezing my hand as it rests limply on the arm of the chair.

           “No need to be nervous,” he assures me with a slow grin.

He leaves and I am left with Michael breathing deeply in sleep. He doesn’t move for hours, only sighing every half hour or so. I sit and read the novel that everyone at the office had been recommending but I never got the chance to start. As I read, his soft snoring scores the action on the page and an itch begins in my feet. Soon the itch travels to my legs and finally to my scalp. I stare at his balding head, biting the insides of my cheeks to the point of bleeding. I dig my toes into the soles of my shoes and slam the book down on the ground beside me.

           I shuffle over so I can see his face and lean in close. He is still breathing heavily and living with him for twenty-three years, I know he isn’t roused from sleep easily.

“Michael, I swear, if this surgery somehow goes wrong, I might…” I chide with a whisper and stare at the ceiling. I notice a spider, black and quick, crawling toward the window. Just before it reaches the window pane it diverts and scuttles into the corner where a small web has been made.

           I sit and read until visiting hours are over. I could stay overnight and keep him company but I don’t think I could take being here anymore. The suffocating quiet of this room while he struts through the hospital halls gnaws at me and makes me squirm. I have to leave; I just have to. I kiss Michael’s balding head and sigh a goodbye. Heading for the elevator, he is suddenly there walking down the hall, tormenting me with his kind smile and cheerful hello’s to those who pass him. I stand there for a moment and just watch him in action. He spots me and stops almost immediately.  

           “Hi, there! Heading out?” he asks.

           “Yeah, appears so,” I reply, shrugging my winter-jacketed shoulders and turning my gaze slightly away, pretending as if I wasn’t staring.

           “I just have to say, you look just as you did when I left for school,” he marvels.

           Tucking my hair behind my ears, “God, I hope not. I had mascara running down my face and my hair was bigger than Dolly Parton’s.”

           He laughs, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, sorry about that, again,” he sighs.

He shakes his head slightly and smiles once again, “Well, let’s just say you look fantastic. You really do. I’m not putting you on.” He waves his hands and shakes his head fervently. He stares down at me and just grins. I almost wish he would stop. Almost.

           “Thank you.” I can’t bring my eyes to look at his face. Already I can feel the color rising in my cheeks.

           “We should catch up some time. Over coffee, maybe?”

           I can barely contain myself, my calm façade melting away onto the tile floor, “Sure. I would love that.”

           “Good. I don’t know what I would have done if you had said no,” he chuckles to himself. “We’ll arrange it after surgery, then.”

           “Sounds great. Well, good night, Sam,” I say as I fumble to grab my gloves from my pocket, unable to look away from him face, expecting him to take it back, expecting this to be some sort of dream.

           “Yeah. Good night, Marianne.” Hurriedly, he leans down and pecks my cheek. I immediately blush. If that didn’t wake me up, then surely this must be real. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

           “Good night,” I repeat loudly as I nearly run into the open elevator. I shuffle into my spot in the cramped space and peek from under my brow as the doors close. He smiles and gives a half-wave.

           When I reach the car and buckle up, I nearly forget to turn on the heat. The flushing of my face is making my sweat lightly under my coat. During the drive home, every song is either too loud or too soft, so I turn it off and drive the half hour home in silence. This time, this silence is absolute bliss; just the sound of the old engine revving away and the tires spinning over the flattened and salted snow.

I get home and check the voicemail; Mom and Dad say the kids are angels and should visit more often. I stare at the kitchen pantry for a while and roll my eyes at the abundance of not-quite-good-enough food, so I opt out of making myself a decent meal and stuff potato chips and dip into my face while I watch television. The blaring of the actor’s voices and the brightness of the screen soon give me a headache and I decide to go to bed early.

I change into my oh-so-sexy pajamas of an old sorority t-shirt and sweatpants and stagger into the bathroom, covering my eyes from the overhead lights. After teeth brushing and make-up removing, I close my eyes and exit the bathroom, only to nearly slip on Evan’s toy dagger that came with his pirate Halloween costume. I pick it up, staring into the plastic rubies and graze my fingers along the silver carvings. I juggle it between my hands and shake my head. I run my hand along the dull plastic and imagine it slicing the skin of my palm with fearful ease, blood dripping onto the polished hardwood. I cock an eyebrow and stick the dagger into the gap between my pants and hip while swaggering into the bedroom. I observe the empty room, turning in a slow 360, and grin. I whip the dagger out and point it at an invisible foe.

“I have you now, sir!” I cry into the empty space. “You cannot escape!”

I chase the foe around the room with jabs and grunts, finally pinning him to the bed under my weight. His imaginary head rests on Michael’s pillow and sneers up at me, daring me to make the final move. I glare at him and plunge the dagger into the pillow, cackling.

“You thought I couldn’t do it! You thought I couldn’t do it, you smug idiot! But I did! Haha! I did!”

I stare at the pillow, feathers poking out of the hole I’ve made. I pull out the dagger and stare at it once again. The plastic rubies glint at me, and I begin to sob, my body convulsing with gasps. I sob into the torn pillow and smother my face in his scent. I think of coffee and blood transfusions, gagging on my tears and memories. I can’t help but hope, hope for the worst. Is it awful if I were to hope? Is it terrible to hope for such things? I lie there, head buried in his pillow, expecting to dream of sword fights and sea chanteys, and as I drift to sleep, I finger the dagger’s cold, hard plastic and dub myself Captain Mantis.

[glympsis]

As long as you notice I’m hoping that you’ll keep your heart open I’ll keep mine open too

Amora Jeremiah was not just a werewolf. This was the truth she had let herself forget. She was also a Wulfington, of a distinguished monster hunting family. There were places that still feared the Wulfingtons, places where monsters dared not tread, simply because of their history of maintaining it. Sure, Jeremiah wasn’t so sure where those places were anymore, and none of them were the Frontier, but they had almost been the Frontier, had almost rid it of monsters. Surely that counted for something.

Seeing the old two story manor-house in the middle of nowhere, made of a fine, dark wood and with a stable house in the back, awoke that sensibility within her. It reminded her of her mother and father when they went back home, of their smiles and delicate language, of the bestiary they’d take turns reading until Jeremiah and Daniela knew each page back to front. She remembered the big comfy chair that her and her sister would sit on, side by side, with the big book on their lap, and trace their fingers along the lines of written text, making big eyes at all the artistic renderings and diagrams of creatures from the inside out. These were monsters, and this was science, and their parents were always right. The shadows would grow long before the fire as they read, and soon Daniela would nod off, her head heavy against her big sister’s shoulder, but Jeremiah would always keep reading, inhaling the information until, finally, her own head would get heavy, and she’d wake up in her bed, or halfway up the stairs as her father carried her. The Wulfingtons had been refined, and it was with the memory of this refinement that Jeremiah knocked on the door.

Heavy footsteps came to answer her knock, stomping through and parting her memory like fine mist. The man who answered the door was, in a word, armed. Jeremiah’s fingers twitched when she noticed the grenades strapped to his chest, the pistols and rifles he had tucked away shown only through the peeking handles. The heavy weaponry made her itch to steal, and it was a slow swallow that she grasped at her control and smiled.

“Hello.” She greeted. After a brief moment, she curtsied, the action slightly awkward.

“Hello.” The soldier replied, looking first at her, then at the group behind her. Jeremiah was suddenly aware of what they looked like, this ragtag group, completely armed, decked out with weapons from god knows where, covered in the dirt that came from being on the road. “Can I… help you?”

“Yes, actually.” Jeremiah said, putting on her best smile. “You see, our carriage was hit. Our wheel is rather out of sorts and we’d like… well, we need some assistance with repairs. Could you maybe… help with that?”

The man scrutinized her for a moment, before moving as if to close the door. “Please!” Quickly, Jeremiah put her arm out, pressing her palm flat against the smooth wood. “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t have to be.”

Slowly, the man reappeared in the entrance. “I have to speak to the master of the house about this.” He said, and the way he straightened when he said it made her think he wanted to click his heels together. “You are all rather armed…”

Her companions immediately opened their mouths, their arguments overshadowing her until she stepped forward again, her eyes on the soldier’s.

“We need help. Come on, sir. Don’t you think if we were going to attack you, we’d at least make an attempt to look nonthreatening?” She could see the debate in the man’s eyes, watched as he conceded.

“I have to speak to the master of the house.” He said again. There was a pause, and then he sighed. “The stables are around the side there. I’ll meet you there.”

Pleased with herself, Jeremiah nodded and stepped back, the party making their way to the carriage and waiting. In the corner of her eye, she caught Candella turning into a bird and flying toward the house, content with this knowledge and assuming that she knew the best way to map out the house. Pat and Yvel, the newest it couple since their time in the chapel, started flirting, and then the elder man whisked the witch into the carriage, Jeremiah looking skyward. She supposed it was much more awkward to Rex, who was also looking skyward with his shoulders slowly creeping toward his ears, but still. At least it wasn’t as bad as the chapel.

Yet.

The soldier chose that moment to come back, introducing himself as Jacob and telling them that the master of the house - Jeremiah glanced back at it, knowing even then who and what the master was - said that he could help.

“Weren’t there two more of you?” Jacob asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“They’re in there.” Jeremiah said, pointing to the carriage. “You can look if you want.”

She watched with avid curiosity as Jacob walked to the carriage and peeked into the window, a grin growing on her face as he recoiled in shock.

“You could have just told me.”

“I didn’t know if you’d believe me.” She said primly, folding her fingers together. “Untrustworthy as we are, you know.”

Jacob gave her a long look, then moved to the wheel, looking it over. They’d fucked it up real bad, essentially, and even putting it back together had been a dud. She’d known that. The wheel was splintered, and their efforts to put it back on the wagon had been laughable. It was a miracle it had gotten this far, that was clear in Jacob’s tone.

Then, a commotion came from inside the house. There was a yell, and then a door swung open and out ran Sergeant Oliver. He was… tall. That was all Jeremiah’s brain would give her as he came up to them, recognizing them from before, from the military camp. He still looked… good. His hair was salt and pepper, his face hardened by age and battle, but his eyes… his eyes were bright, even as he paused his skyward search to look down at her.

“Have you seen a bird?”

“A bird?” Jeremiah became aware of Candella, somewhere within their group. “What kind of bird?”

“A Crow.”

“I haven’t seen any crows.” He paused to regard her again, and she found herself standing taller, running her hands along her arms and smiling innocently as his gaze ticked away from her, pausing lightly on Candella before sliding over the rest.

“Wasn’t there another of you?”

“She’s in the carriage.” Jeremiah smiled, innocently. “You can peek in, if you want…”

Oliver looked back at her again, his gaze sweeping her like he was trying to see through her. Jeremiah felt it like a touch, even though it wasn’t invasive in the least.

“...Is she with a… companion?”

“Yes.” Jeremiah watched as he nodded, his gaze going to the carriage.

“Well, the master of the house is fine with you being here for as long as it takes for your carriage to be in working order.” He turned to leave. “You’re to stay outside until then.”

“...Do you think it would be alright if we could come inside?” Oliver paused, his gaze shooting over his shoulder, back to her again as she allowed herself to look uncomfortable. “They… can be at it for a while.”

He turned back to them, looking at the carriage, then at her for a moment before he chuckled. “I’ve had my share of companions and we could go at it for a bit… I suppose it’s alright.” Jeremiah was at his arm, then, smiling brightly, already recalling his rank amongst the men they passed.

They made their way away from the carriage as the vehicle began to shake, Jacob looking markedly uncomfortable as he tried to continue his work on the wheel. Jeremiah hid a smile at Rex’s expression, even as the monster hunter moved to take his helmet off, the motion smooth and effortless. His hair came spilling out last, dark brown waves of perfection, and Jeremiah heard the sound of something dropping, as a young cook dropped a pot of something, the sound audible through the thin window pane. Jeremiah blinked at the young girl, puzzled and amused, before looking back in time to see Rex wink, the cook dropping the little bit she’d managed to clean as she tried to look… more together, Jeremiah guessed.

The werewolf rolled her eyes, taking pity on the poor flustered creature, smacking Rex lightly on the back of the head to keep him from tormenting the girl further. When he turned to retort, the wolf was already back at Oliver’s side, the very picture of innocence.

Inside the manor looked of taste, refinement, and stature, the sort of place made and decorated to show who lived there, and Jeremiah read it loud and clear. The floors were all polished hardwood, the panelling of the walls and ceiling pleasing to the eye after the drywood and dirt of the Frontier. The main eye grab of the parlor  being a large chandelier made completely of bone and candlewax. It’s center was a skull that glowered down at any who entered like they were interesting morsels to consider, and it was with a shiver of recognition that she saw it for what it was. A wendigo skull.

Oliver lead them into the parlor , a beautiful room with high ceilings and a long dining room table near the windows, and a grand piano toward the wall. With no prompting, Crois went to the piano, the tall bounty hunter sitting and immediately starting to play a beautiful melody.

“I wanted to ask to speak to the master of the house. To thank him.” Jeremiah paused, her focus returning to Oliver. “For welcoming us in.”

“Ah. He is… recovering from a bullet wound.” Oliver paused, before nodding. “I shall send message of your thanks.” He looked, at once, impressed that she had asked, as though he had not had much politeness in his work on the Frontier. Jeremiah realized, belatedly, that he probably hadn’t. Rex and Carolyn disappeared off to the kitchens, and Jeremiah made a decision, moving closer to Oliver shyly.

“Would you like to dance?”

The sergeant looked down at her for another moment, as though trying to measure her sincerity, and then offered his arm. “It would be a pleasure.”

He lead her to the center of the room, and Crois began to play a waltz, a dance that Jeremiah hadn’t danced in a long long time. Luckily, Oliver was a great lead, to much so that she only had to glance down at her feet once, the gentle pressure of his hand on the small of her back all she needed to know where to go.

It was… nice. Instinctual, almost, the way the smile spread across her lips to match the one on Oliver’s… It was simple, and calm, and… nice. She could follow the music, she could focus on Oliver, and for a moment nothing else mattered. She could be anyone, dancing here with this sergent while the sound of the piano wafted toward the rafters, she didn’t have to think of tragedy, of her family, of pickpocketing birds or reticent monster hunters, or witches or vampires or priests. She could be just a girl dancing with someone who would smile at her. She could be the eldest daughter of a monster hunting family, dancing with a man who simply wanted to be near her. She could be… herself.

She could pretend to know who that was. She could be someone worth being.

Carolyn came back with drinks for everyone, Rex was still missing, and Crois was still playing, so Oliver and her kept on dancing, until the song came to a soft and pleasant end, the two of them bowing and curtsying to each other to the applause of the other men.

When dinner came, and Rex returned, Oliver lead them to the table, Jeremiah not even pausing before sitting beside the sergeant, even though she had to cross the path of the monster hunter to get there. He seemed satisfied, at least. She didn’t worry too much about it, her focus on the man who actually gave her time of day.

“So, will the master of the house be joining us?” Candella asked, as they all sat down, the platters of food set before them much richer and more delicious than anything they’d had in a very long while.

“He’s ill. So he won’t be... joining us.” Oliver looked a bit uncomfortable to be having to say the words again, and Jeremiah found herself glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

“What kind of business does he do?” Crois said, their focus solely on filling their plate and tasting every morsel on the table. Jeremiah was moving only slightly slower, filling her plate with an air of dignity she had only recently remembered.

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Oliver shifted slightly in his seat, looking uncomfortable, even as the group spoke up around them, Rex and Candella both clamoring loudly as Crois began to dig into their meal. Jeremiah shot them a look, then rested her hand on the sergeant’s arm, her eyes capturing his own.

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to. It’s… nice. That you’d keep your word. We were just… curious.” Oliver relaxed against her hand and words and gaze, and gave her a small private smile.

Rex was stabbing at his food, and the meal continued. When the dishes were cleared away - a certain cook giving the monster hunter a long look through her lashes that Jeremiah was sure even the stars could see - Crois returned to the piano, and the music began again, just as beautiful and melodic as before. Jeremiah paused for a moment, looking at the center of the floor, before her gaze went back to Oliver again, something in her chest blooming at the look the older man gave back.

“Would you like to dance?” She asked, standing slowly. Oliver grinned, offering his arm like a proper gentleman.

“You didn’t even need to ask.”

He swept her onto the floor with a wide palm and smile, his arm resting lightly around her waist until they were dancing, and she was once again the eldest daughter of a grand old family, a Wulfington from birth all the way til now, with no calamities. A servant lit candles as the sun sank through the windows, and it was all heart shatteringly romantic. This could be her house, this could be her time, her future, who she should have been, and Oliver… Oliver was gentle and polite and kind. He was a perfect gentleman. The sort of man she could have taken home to her father and mother, the one that Daniela might have smirked at her and winked and gestured to, but she didn’t want to think about Daniela. Not yet.

“Oliver.”  Her sister’s ghost is trembling in her voice, and she felt rather than saw Oliver’s hold on her become more protective. His palm on the small of her back pressed gently to bring her in closer, as though to shield her from the world. Blinking Daniela from behind her eyes the werewolf tightened her hold on the sergeant, her fingers on his arm squeezing gently. “Are we safe here?”

“Safe as any place on the frontier” She took her meaning from his arms, from the way the entire world seemed further away.

“And everyone else, too?” Jeremiah asked, with a small warble in her tone as she slid closer to his welcoming warmth. He was a strong fort and she was a dame in need of shelter, it was the oldest story there was. Oliver gave her a look, long and soft, and then looked around at the room, his gaze sliding over her companions, the piano, the other soldiers. Then, he was looking back at her, something in his eyes different, almost… worried.

“Come with me.” And then they were waltzing toward the door, and ducking into the hallway, Oliver’s hand in hers warm and firm. Jeremiah followed a bit dazedly, not quite sure where they were going, but curious to what he wanted to tell her, and eager to see other parts of the house.

“Oliver? What’s wrong?” The man pulled to a stop, his frame sharp lines in the candlelight, and when he turned his face was awash with conflict. She wanted to comfort that conflict away, she wanted to know what it was, she wanted… something.

“If you could do one thing to be happy, one last thing, would you do it?” His voice was hesitant, almost anguished, and the werewolf felt, rather than decided, herself come closer to him.

“Of course.” She said, her voice soft for a reason she couldn’t quite fathom. Oliver’s gaze swept her expression, and then he was looking into her eyes, and the young wolf could feel herself sinking into his gaze, feel him pulling her in slightly, gently, her eyes half lidding…

Then, they were kissing.

It was a soft thing, this kiss. Gentle and so heartachingly sweet that Jeremiah couldn’t help but lean into it, to rest her palms on his chest as Oliver leaned down and softly moved his lips against hers.

It was Oliver who pulled away first, and Jeremiah who followed, leaning after him like a puppy on a lead. Her eyes fluttered open, and she couldn’t help but look up at Sergeant Oliver like he was something new, something… else, with his gentle hands and warm gaze and kind smile.

“I have business to attend to.” If there was weight to his words, Jeremiah couldn’t hear it, the space between her ears was full of other things, of bubbles and feathers and fur and other soft light things.

“Okay.”

Jeremiah’s cheeks ached, and it took glancing at her reflection in a windowpane to realize she was smiling.

Oliver disappeared after a moment, and she stood there, rocking from her toes to her heels, beaming at the air where he’d been.

“What was that?” Rex’s voice was a surprise, and she turned to meet it, shock almost getting through to her, but instead she grinned once she knew who it was, her monster hunting friend with the dark hair and the strong arms and the hazel hazel eyes.

“What do you mean?” Jeremiah was the picture of innocence again, blinking away her daze and giving a sweet sweet smile. She brushed her hands down her shirt, making sure the half top was still in place before making her way back to the parlor. “Weren’t you with the cook just a bit ago?”

Rex opened his mouth, and then shut it, the motion making his lips a firm line.

Jeremiah wasn’t quite sure why her happiness was somehow more satisfied.