#and so many of the buds on it had died and dried out (i removed them all right away too)...

[b-blushes]

joy has returned to my heart!!! peace and love on planet earth (:

[willowaudreykeyes]

Monster AU Idea that I don’t know what to do with

Literally what the title says. Idk what to do with this, but its in my head and so i need to write it down and share it before my brain explodes. Talk about it or ask about it; whatever you want. As long as I know about it as it is still my idea, go nuts.

@ladyedwina @sparrowofsong

Warning: Does involve murder, being captured, lots of depressed Roman because I’m mean to him for no reason and it makes me sad, gory removal of fingers (not detailed but it is there), suicide mention, me swearing a lot, stabbing(not detailed), hints of Roceit; Intrulogical and qpr Pattmile

Spider Monster Who-Realises-That-His-Race-Sucks Virgil 

Born like this. Was raised to be alone but he likes being around others to feel safe, so it makes him a little awkward and even anxious around others.

Hates the rest of his kind because he’s the only one who doesn’t want to eat people. So now they all wanna kill him. 

He can retract his extra legs but it leaves small bumps in his back, so he likes to wear his over-sized hoodie to help hide them.

Janus saved him from one of his own kind. Travelled with him and Logan before getting separated by Monster Hunters and running into a lonely wolf-Patton.

Is now Patton’s spider child, despite the fact that said father figure is afraid of spiders. And that Virgil is technically older then him. He does try to look past the ‘too-many-eyes’ and ‘long, hairy legs’ thing; which Virgil appreciates.

The only one of the group that knows how mobiles work and he finds it funny as fuck.

Werewolf Underdog (ha) Patton 

Runt of the litter.

Can shift between a humany appearance, an actual grey-brown wolf and a bipedal werewolf. He isn’t the third one often and actually enjoys being a more typical wolf as he can be passed off as a wolf-dog hybrid and has gotten free bones and pets.

Ran away from his pack as they didn’t want him to die but also didn’t want him to get stronger, then raised a bunch of homeless orphans at a young age and also defended them from a trafficking ring by ripping out a bunch of people’s throats. 

Yeah... he brought them to an orphanage afterwards as it’s safer then the streets. Then he ran away again; at this point he’s only 15-16.

Lives alone and homeless for a few more years before running into Virgil and immediately adopting him. 

Patton helped Virgil find Janus and Logan so now he has more children (who are all older then him but he ignores that).

No one will go hungry EVER with Patton is around. He is the caretaker of this pack and he will not let his pups feel hungry ever- 

He’s not over how shitty his pack was to him and it’s very obvious.

When he meets Emile though, it lifts a lot of weight off his shoulders as he learns not to be so all-bearing of others issues. And he also feels safer talking to him about his old pack as he doesn’t want to be pitied by anyone.

Tired-As-Fuck Vampire Logan 

Who’s like 600 years old and knows that a lot of History that the modern day tells everyone is wrong and HATES that he’d be found out if he started yelling at people how wrong they are.

Parents wanted him to drop science and be a farmer. They, and his younger siblings, all died when their crops were poisoned two weeks after he moved out to do his science elsewhere.

Oh and he was bit by the person who 1. Was his partner in science and 2. He was head over heels for them because they let him take risks but still made sure he was safe as he did them.

So that pissed him off quite a bit. Because he almost instantly killed the couple who took in the sickly scientist because the wife cut her finger. He managed to kill the cow instead but he ran away afterwards and never saw them again.

Ran into Janus 300 years later -after travelling a LOT and learning a LOT and nearly dying a LOT and feeling so much that he doesn’t wanna feel anymore because that’s 300yrs of friends dying- and decided to travel with the one type of guy who won’t die of old age!!!

Then Virgil appeared. Then Patton. Then the Twins. Then Remy. Then Emile. He wishes that his dead heart would stop making him want to protect them all to his last breath but what can ya do?

He will murder anyone to save the others- but much prefers to just stay inside and just experiment on the occasional new thing that he finds.

Protector. Leader. Professor. Tired. Doctor. Cantor (yes he was Jewish for a little while after the bite but now he’s Atheist). University Chancellor. Lots of titles and he got them all legit too, although some are a little out of date.

Do not ask how he feels about the others. Especially Remus. He will glare at you without a word before moving on with his life.

Naga Will-Steal-You’re-Last-$5 Janus

Age? Social construct. He hints at being around Logan’s age but that could be give or take a hundred years or so.

He can shift between having a tail and legs- but ofc much prefers the tail. But he hates that his teeth change with it as it makes him hold his ‘s’ more when he talks.

When no tail, the left side of his face is very scarred. Someone tried burning off the scales on his face but the scars only appear when he’s trying to look human. When he has his tail, his scales replace them and they look fine.

Do not touch his hands or he will strangle you with them. They’re sensitive as hell without his gloves and he doesn’t know why.

He can hypnotise you to take a fucking break and he’s not afraid to do it (except on Logan as he’s somehow almost entirely immune)

Doesn’t like hypnotising his friends unless its just to take a break or to pull them out of an anxiety/panic attack. Every other living thing isn’t off limits though.

Lived alone until he met Logan. He also liked killing everyone he met until he met Logan. The only reason he didn’t kill Logan was because the nerd almost chopped off the end of his tail. The others don’t know this and it’s staying that way.

Has a cane to walk with for days that his legs decide that they wanna be a tail but he’s in public for some reason and he can’t and it sucks.

Almost killed Remy when they first met. Literally- he stabbed him in the side. Now they’re best buds over it and it was weird how quickly it happened too.

Has stolen Roman’s last $5. He will not be returning it. He hasn’t spent it because he finds him cute funny when he’s mad.

Siren But-Flips-Off-The-Sea-And-Heights Roman

Was born a Prince! With his weirdo of a twin. They were well liked and he was next in line for the throne and he was gonna be given a wife-

He wasn’t happy that it HAD to be a wife and when he argued that he wanted a guy; everyone turned on him and threw him into the ocean. So... fuck them.

Sirens saved him by turning him into one. He hates it.

Was forced to eat kelp or people. He chose kelp. He hated it.

Was dragged out of the sea by his brother who had been thrown into the evil swamp nearby and is now a banshee. Not as bad but he’s still rather pissed.

Although he was a little sad when he heard, 100yrs later, that his entire kingdom died of the plague. He moved on quickly though.

He hates the sea and doesn’t go near it. If it all dried up one day, it’d be the happiest day of his life. He doesn’t even eat seafood anymore as it makes him upset just looking at it.

He still likes to sing. He can control if it’s going to mind-control those who hear it or not; but it’s a little annoying as he can’t get too into it without accidentally losing control. Doesn’t stop him though. 

He learnt how to play multiple instruments, made anonymously published books, the money-earner of the two. Although he was jealous that Remus was better at more hands-on stuff and is slowly, but happily, learning how to craft things from wood.

He and Remus never separated. Even when Monster Hunters sprayed him with water, forced his tail to appear, and took him to a facility to be imprisoned forever. That’s another thing he was mad about since Remus refused to just fucking RUN but he was happy to see his brother be proud of him when he dug VERY sharp teeth into a mans arm.

Had to be carried out by Janus when he, Logan, Patton and Virgil decided to free everyone inside. Every other creature could run except him, which led to him and Remus staying with them.

He definitely, 100%, no-doubt-about-it got a massive gay crush on Janus when he taught him how to fight. And sword fight. And dance. And how to look after his rather pretty scales.

In the 200-300yrs since he’s had a tail, he hasn’t ONCE really looked after them. So when Janus helped him out and made his scales less gross and more gorgeous, he actually started liking his tail a bit.

The Ocean can still go fuck itself though.

Oh and the one time they visited the Seattle Space Needle? Yeah, fuck heights too.

Banshee Will-Eat-Your-Fingers-If-Given-The-Chance Remus

After Roman got thrown into the ocean, he went on a rampage. He didn’t kill anyone, but he sure as hell got close to murdering their shitty father.

They tied him up and tossed him into the nearby swamp, where he nearly died. He inhaled days worth of magical fog that eventually turned him into a banshee. Which is just the ability to scream so loud that he makes people pass out, which is useful. Oh and sharp teeth that he looks after really well.

He managed to escape the forest, he screamed at a passing merchant and took his horse, and went to the ocean where he found Roman depressingly eating kelp on a rock off in the distance.

He literally got on a boat, dragged the surprised but happy fish into it with him, and made sure that they would never be separated again.

Didn’t care about what happened to their old kingdom. 

He learnt how to make weapons, how to blacksmith, how to glassmith, how to make clothes- Literally anything he could since Roman kind of sucked at making anything that wasn’t music or a story of some kind. Fine by him since he knew the quality of the weapon he was stabbing people with.

When the hunters forcefully made Roman’s tail appear, he tried to scream to make them all pass out but they were ready and punched him out. He would have found it a little funny if he didn’t wake in a jail cell with a thing over his mouth.

The two worst things about it: He couldn’t see Roman and know if he was okay and he couldn’t cuss out the guards.

When that nerdy but very murderous vampire broke in and helped him out of the prison, he returned the favour by biting off the fingers of a guard that had broken Logan’s glasses. He later on fixed said glasses as well but he thought the fingers removal was a better thank you.

Loves Logan; only Roman, Janus and Emile have figured it out. Virgil thinks he’s plotting to kill the vampire one day, Remy doesn’t pay attention and Patton thinks that Logan is a good influence on him (he’s not wrong as he slowly stops describing brutal murders and talks about gross facts that Logan does and doesn’t know)

Remy No-It-Isn’t-Short-For-Remington-Yes-I-Am-A-Dragon-Roman

Born as a shapeshifting dragon. Was supposed to live like a recluse like the rest of his kind but said ‘fuck that’ and now works at a clothing store in a town full of morons for entertainment.

His kind does get tired rather easily so he lives off coffee. He is addicted and luckily for him; his body won’t get used to it so he doesn’t have to heighten the dose of caffeine in every drink. Yay!

Two things happened when he first met Janus and Roman. The first is that he got stabbed by the Naga because he may or may not have seen him wearing some shiny rings that he REALLY wanted. He wanted it more then Janus, so he found it okay to do- but got stabbed for it.

Two; he then bit Roman (who kinda deserved it when he tried to ‘slay the dragon’ when Janus had saw his unnaturally-bright brown eyes) and was dragged to see everyone to figure out what to do with him.

He managed to talk his way out of being murdered by Remus by sheer amazing personality (he’s x5 sassy when afraid and Remus thought he was hilarious) and just decided to hang around everyone just because he could.

Being stabbed turned into a joke between him and Janus and now they’re besties who totally don’t steal from random assholes that they run into down the street. It’s a now competition to have the shiniest collection (Janus is winning but gives Remy the occasional shiny thing as he knows that dragons get very mad about hoard sizes sometimes)

When they all moved towns, he dragged them to one where his old friend Emile was. He also introduced Virgil to Starbucks and their coffee and is still getting berated for it to this day.

Oh and when he does manage to let himself be a dragon, he’s about as large as a horse and has really pretty black scales with a light brown underbelly. His eyes turn bright green too. Virgil calls him Starbucks’s best mascot.

Emile Is-A-Disney-Fairy-Stereotype

Can grow and shrink on command; can also make his wings appear and disappear although it does hurt not to have them out almost daily.

Pink wings and pink hair. Very popular fairy attributes (for both fairies and Monster Hunters)

Can see aura’s of humans and monsters. They look very different depending on species but he LOVES seeing human ones the most as they are often filled with more colours.

Is a therapist, is a cartoon nerd, is able to make you a dress that disappears at midnight

... Can also see your dreams but doesn’t like doing it as its intrusive and it feels like he’s breaking some kind of human Confidentiality agreement 

Being a therapist has changed a lot of his views on personal space (like the whole dream thing he has). He’s very in-your-face when excited, but as a kid he would CLING to people at every chance he had. Even strangers. It wasn’t a good habit.

Became a therapist, an independent one too, because a human friend of his died of suicide and he blamed his therapist who was telling him a lot of bad advice. And said therapist wasn’t supportive of his friends gender-identity crisis as he was very strict on ‘born a boy is a boy’ kind of thinking.

Now Emile takes in teenagers for free and adults at a lower price then a normal therapist. He doesn’t have a great living space (upstairs from his office don’t tell anyone) but he doesn’t care! 

Met Remy as he was one of his patients once. He can tell when someone isn’t human due to their aura’s and nearly fell out of his chair when a FUCKING DRAGON walked in.

After Remy finished his sessions, he still visited occasionally and always remembered his favourite drink (chocolate smoothie with whipped cream and caramel shavings and a chocolate stick or five sticking out- and Remy thought his coffee addiction was bad)

And after not seeing Remy after six months, only to find that he has made friends with a lot of other creatures made him so happy.

Then confused when they all dragged in this fairy therapist into their group. Where Logan asked for the occasional emotional advice (not at ALL related to Remus-), Janus made sure he got a better living space, Remus and Virgil gave him someone to talk to about darker cartoon ideas, Roman (after the 18 times he asked for a magical dress) started making cartoon-stuffs for him, and Patton...

Patton helped him realise that he was still very gay despite the AroAce that he was. He gave him head scritches when stressed, the help he needed trauma-wise, the cartoon marathons with the doggo using his legs as a pillow-

And Patton gave him someone to talk to about all his feelings about his clients (without breaking any rules ofc). And about his old friend and the terrible therapists that he’s met.

He will admit to anyone that he squealed when Janus told him that Patton was pan aroace. Seriously, just ask. He is not ashamed of his excitement of the fact that he has a CHANCE WITH THE CUTE WOLF DAD.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Of Dust and Ashes, #32

Hello, Lovies. How have you been? I’ve been well. The new laptop gets in later today and I hope to be writing more and perhaps next  month we may even see a one shot come into existence! 

I’ve gotten a slight rash of new followers, some of whom are minors. Unlike some, I do not ban minors from my blog however, I do clearly mark any content that they should avoid. As a general reminder, please always check the content warnings, found at the start of every fic and every chapter.  I am an adult of nearly 30 years, I write adult topics and themes.

Chapter warnings: Blood, death.

Series warnings: Smut, blood, graphic death, sexual assault, child death, miscarriage, dead babies- look, if it can be a trigger, it’s in here. 

Masterlist  Kofi  AO3

Chapter 32: What If?

Clint relished the silence in the truck for a few moments as he backed along the gravel driveway. The weeds and grass would encroach on it come spring but for now, it was a mix of ice and gravel mixed with snow. The tracks from his truck were the only ones and if they were lucky, that would remain the case. 

Spring would be upon them before they knew it. In much of the country, frozen bodies would begin to rot and a wave of sickness would spread. He wondered how many clusters of people were smart enough to take advantage of the cold to remove bodies. 

Not nearly enough, he was sure. No one wants to look at the dead, let alone touch them. Hell, he didn’t want to either. But when it needed to get done, it needed to get done. The sickness would kill many more if the dead were allowed to rot in the cities. It would be far better to be in a rural town during the warm months. 

How many more people will have died between now and spring? Food stores were likely low in most places by now. He knew he was having to travel farther and farther to find processed and packaged foods, giving proof to that fact. How many would starve to death this winter? So many would due to not knowing how to cook without the processed ingredients or how to store raw foods without a refrigerator. How many would eat toxic or spoiled food, not knowing how to tell what was safe to eat? How many wouldn’t know how to turn flour and yeast into bread? 

Those thousands were not his problem. His problem was limited to three other people and a baby. Shaking his head, he banished thoughts of infant formula away. It was a worry for another day. With enough food and Sasha’s help, Rachel would at least be able to supplement the formula with her own milk. Lizzy just needed to make it four or five more months. 

When he reached the open road, he stopped and waited. He sat there with his thoughts for half an hour and watched for any signs of life. There was no smoke from what could be other fireplaces. There were no other signs of people. It was exactly what Clint wanted to see. 

Finally, when he was sure enough that there was no one around, he pulled onto the old highway. It’d been mostly abandoned in the last ten years when a new interstate had routed near but the locals had still favored it. He had still favored it. 

Now, he was thankful for the interstate. Most migrating people would follow the interstates with their wide lanes, direct routes and clear signs. It would keep them away from his little hole in the country. 

Turning on the radio as he went, he hit the scan button. The radio searched through the airwaves, trying to find a signal. When it found none, he repeated the process with the AM frequencies. There was the same emergency broadcast, going in and out. It was weaker now. Clint was sure the emergency generator was finally giving out. 

As he pulled up to the gate, he thought about calling Nat. He thought about telling her what they did, that King Jacob was dead. He thought about telling her the things running through his mind. For a moment, he even picked up the satellite phone from where it had sat forgotten in the cup holder. He thought about asking her to come out, to pick him and Dee up and take them to New York.

Fingers dialed the number as he pulled up the hill. His thumb hovered over the button with the green phone. He only had to press it. 

His eyes looked up from the phone as he rolled to a stop in front of the house. He could see the motorhome and the chickens. He could see the shed that doubled as a year around grow room. He saw their life and instead of hitting the call button, he flipped the phone over. 

Without bothering to power it down, he pulled the back off and removed the battery before breaking the old style flip phone in two. He tossed the parts into the back of the truck when he got out. 

He couldn’t be like them. He couldn’t support people like King Jacob and King Mason being given power after they had hurt so many. He couldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t allow it. 

As he fed the chickens and gave their coop and pen a quick clean, he wondered if that was what Dee had been dancing around. Would she go with him, if he set out to remove another abusive self named king from power? Would she think he was just a vengeful killer? Was he just a vengeful killer?

There were a good number of eggs in the coop and Clint was thankful for them. They were laying and earning their keep. Feeding chickens food scraps and getting eggs in return was far better than eating the chickens. He left a handful of eggs in the nests. If they were lucky, they would hatch. He picked up older eggs, saved for the same reason and marked with a black dot. Using the light of the sun, he checked them for signs of development and life. Inside, there was a shadow of something growing. Later, he would come out with a flashlight and look properly but that was good enough for now. 

The rooster Tony eyed him with disgust. Clint flipped the bird off as he walked into the house. The damned bird should be thankful he wasn't turned into fried chicken yet. Clint was all for using the male to breed the females and have enough chicken and eggs to eat some of both. There was only one rooster though and he worried about genetics. He'd have to eventually worry about finding someone else with chickens to trade and diversify the genetics.

In a cabinet above the refrigerator, he pulled down an empty egg carton and filled it. Laura had always talked about getting chickens when he had finished his countless projects to improve the house. She gathered cartons to remind him or annoy him, he wasn’t sure which. He never did finish the house for her. Even now, it was unfinished. Now there were chickens. 

From the deep freezer he grabbed bags of meat. Deer and turkey, mostly whole cuts though he had ground some scraps up. He didn’t pull much out- if it spoiled he didn’t want much to waste. He dropped the bags into a cooler he had partially filled with snow and ice.

He hoped that would work, if kept outside and in the shade, to keep the foods frozen and good for the winter. There was always the question of the weather. This winter had been different than he had seen in the ten years he’d owned the land.

Somehow, it was both colder and harsher than what was normal but it was also warmer. There was a layer of melted snow and ice sandwiched between snowfalls. More often than not, the sky was full of heavy dark clouds. He wondered how long it would take for the ash and dust to truly settle. 

He loaded up a box with bags of dried pasta and canned vegetables and fruit. On top, he set onions, a few potatoes and a handful of squash. He filled another box with apples, cans of pie filling and tossed on a few cook books. He filled large gallon bags with flour and sugar from their stores. It wasn’t a lot but it was something. After putting everything in the bed of the truck and securing it, he made his way to the shed turned greenhouse. 

The plants inside looked to have been growing well. He had put the lights on a timer before they had left on the off chance that they’d be gone for more than a night. The fact that he had managed to convert the shed into a functional greenhouse was something he was proud of. 

Trees grew in large pots, waiting for spring when he would plant them outside. A few small buds grew on the branches of a few citrus trees. He fingered them as he passed. They hadn’t expected any fruit from the trees for at least a year. These buds would likely grow into fruits too small to eat, if they matured at all. 

Moving down the aisles, he pulled his knife from it’s sheath at his thigh. The tomatoes had grown well in the greenhouse and the vines of little cherry sized fruit were heavy and bright red. He slipped three of the vines into the box. There were a few zucchini. He hesitated for a bit before snagging two of the vegetables to add to the box. 

They were not thriving in the makeshift greenhouse. He knew once spring came and he transplanted them outside, it would be a completely different story. By summer they would have more zucchini than they would ever want to eat. That would be the case for many of the vegetables. Luckily, they would keep well enough in the cellar.

They would freeze or can much of the excess for the next winter. If they were lucky, next winter they wouldn’t have to fear where they would get their next meal. There was another reason he planted more than they needed was for trading. He held very little  hope that nationwide supply systems would be functional by then.

There were many who would be suffering from lack of food this winter. Clint strived to make sure that they were not among them. They would have food- sure there would be an overabundance of some things and they’d get tired of eating the same foods but they would not be hungry. 

Still, he knew their supplies were thin when accounting for supplying Sasha through the winter. There was no doubt that to supply Rachel and Lizzy it would eat into their supplies. Clint would have to spend more time hunting to supplement what they were growing. Worse yet, he knew he would have to travel farther and farther each time he went out for supplies. 

Clint picked a few handfuls of strawberries and called that a day. Sure, there was more ready for harvest. There was food stored in the cellar and pantry but it wasn’t enough. If he had to pick between him and Dee starving or Rachel, Sasha and Lizzy starving, he would choose to keep his food. 

He loaded up the back of the truck before pulling himself into the driver’s seat. Rather than start the engine, he sat there thinking with his eyes on the barn. His thoughts swam. The desire to help someone warred with his desire to put himself and the woman he loved first. 

He grumbled. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. Finally, he rolled his eyes and signed. Opening the door, he slipped back out of the truck and stomped back to the barn. There was no one to witness his tantrum but that did nothing to stop him from throwing one.

He grabbed a large potted cherry tomato plant. The branches and stems slapped him in the face. While he carried it to the truck, all he could think about was how much the plant stank. He was never a fan of the smell of tomato plants. He slipped it into the floor space behind the passenger seat.

He went back to the barn and grabbed potted lettuce plants and berries as well. Whether Sasha had a green thumb or not, he didn’t know but at least they would have some sort of food growing. It wouldn’t be enough to support them. They wouldn’t be able to survive off lettuce, tomatoes and berries alone if he wasn’t able to supplement their supplies but it was something. 

The engine roared to life as Clint decided enough was enough. He turned around in the drive and made his way down the dirt road. The gate rolled open as he approached, mindful all the while of the pots sitting behind him. 

The first veterinary office he checked had the windows broken out. It was in a small town not too far from the farmhouse. There were days he’d woken up in this town, having spent the night prior in a delirious hunt for his wife and children. It had been a long time since he had visited this town.

Closing his eyes, he took a moment to be thankful that he hadn’t woken up like that since Dee joined him. She saved him from the memories and longing. She saved him as much as he had saved her. 

There were a few people who still lived in this little town, though they hid whenever he had been there. Part of him wondered what he had done in the night, lost in a delirium looking for those who he had failed. It must have been terrible, for them to hide from him. Still, he didn't mind that none came to greet him or question him. He would rather less people crawl out of the woodwork and expect him to help them. 

Glass crunched under his feet as he stepped over the broken window. Ice and snow covered the ground, obscuring the razor shards hidden in seemingly innocent ice. Slipping and falling here would easily be fatal. Judging by the dried or frozen blood pooled by the window, it already may have been for someone. Looking over to the left, Clint saw the man.

He must have been the one to break the windows in. Dead eyes gazed back at Clint. He didn’t look away from the sight. Frost had touched the man’s fingers and face. Ice and snow gathered over his legs, giving away the fact that he had been there for a while. The dim light of the setting sun flooded in through the broken window. He could see the trail of blood. Around his arm was a bandage, not wrapped nearly tight enough to slow the flow of blood and save the man's life. 

He retraced the man’s footsteps. Heavy boots thudded on the tile floor next to the dark trail. Clint followed it through the lobby. It smeared along the reception desk in dark stains and over scattered papers. On the floor was a first aid kit. The plastic was broken, shards of artificial red on the ground. 

That was where the man had gotten the bandage he had used to try and wrap his wounds. It wasn’t enough. Rolls of bandage littered the ground. He would have needed every one of them to have anything like a chance. Judging by the trail of blood, nothing would have been good enough other than a doctor though. The fact that he had made it as far as he did was impressive. Humans were always one of the most impressive beasts.

On the wall next to the reception desk there was a display of colorful plastic cones. Clint was sure they were the ‘deluxe’ cones the receptionists would try to up-sell. When his own dogs needed a cone, he always went with the cheap clear or white ones. The cone never stayed on long enough anyway. There was no way in hell he was going to shell out $30 for something that wouldn’t be on for even half the recommended time. 

He grabbed a handful of the large ones. There was no reason not to give Trust a deluxe cone experience. In the back of his mind, he wondered if his old dogs would have been more willing to wear one if he splurged the extra money for the nice ones. It was too late to know, the dogs had all died of old age. The one that remained turned to dust along with everyone else he had loved. 

The door into the treatment area was closed. Clint tried the knob, expecting to find it locked. The knob turned under his hand without the slightest resistance. 

“This is too easy.” He mumbled to himself, looking over his shoulder at the dead body. “Watch my truck, will ya? I should have done this first....” 

The last thing he wanted was to find the truck stripped of supplies when he came back out. He took a deep breath. His boots echoed on the tile floors as he made his way through the dark halls. A few dim lights shone, allowing him to see his way. The emergency power had to have been almost gone by now. 

Under one of the large procedure tables, there was an emergency bag. The bright red gave it away. He wasted no time in reaching down, plucking it up and setting it on the table. Inside, Clint found a flashlight but little else was useful. He pocketed the travel sized packets of pain medication and alcohol wipes, leaving the rest to someone in more need. 

Dust danced in the air as the beam shed light on the space. He listened for a moment, making sure he was alone. There was nothing but silence in the clinic. It didn’t sound like there was anyone messing with the truck either. With a deep breath, he pushed himself to pick up the pace. 

He skimmed bookshelves in offices, looking for any books that could double as ‘Veterinary Medicine for Dummies’. When he didn’t find one, he left the office. It wouldn’t do to waste time looking for books. Sasha was a nurse and would have to trust herself. 

He checked cabinets, breaking open doors when he encountered locks. It was a vet’s office, not a doctors or pharmacist and so the locks reflected that. The doors and locks both were weaker. No one expected someone to hit up a veterinary office looking for pain meds. 

Looking around, Clint found a grocery bag in a trashcan. It looked clean enough. Without giving it much thought, he dumped veils of medication into it. Some were in boxes, some not. Clint assumed the boxes had the drug information inside. If not, he wasn’t going to hunt for it.

When he checked the cabinets and emptied what he thought he could use, he grabbed the bag full of medications and made his way out. On his way, he reached down and snagged the emergency bag. No point in leaving something useful behind because he didn’t have an immediate need for it. 

Through the broken glass, he could see the truck looking just like he left it. There was no one else around, from what he could see. Having his eyes on the truck full of supplies was a relief. He allowed himself to relax just a bit. 

When he stepped through the window, there was a scream. Clint, in reflex he dropped the bags and screamed for a split second. While his throat tightened and cut his voice off after a fraction of a second. He reached out to the source of the surprise and grabbed them. While he intended to pin them against the way, he hadn’t intended to do so with so much force. 

His foot had slipped on the ice, carrying them both forward. The boy’s teeth crashed together with the force as he hit the wall. Clint caught his balance before crashing into the wall himself. The boy’s chest heaved and his eyes were wise.

“Please.” The boy begged and he was a boy. Clint would guess he was no more than 15. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to take anything. I’m sorry. Please let me go.”

“Yeah you were.” Clint grumbled as he let go of the boy after giving him a quick glance over. He appeared to be unarmed, underweight and dirty.

“I was. But I won’t. I’m sorry. I’m just- I’m so hungry and there’s so much.”

“Are you alone?” 

“My gran- she’s at home.”

Clint sighed and looked at the boy again. He rolled his eyes and pulled from the box a bag of flour and a stem of tomatoes. It wasn’t a lot but it was something. After thinking for a moment, he grabbed a can of beef stew to add. “Take this. Water that stew down a bit and boil it with flour and you can stretch it farther. Good luck.” 

Clint didn’t look at the boy again as he grabbed his bags and tossed them into the truck. He refused to look at the now crying boy as he started the engine and pulled away. If the boy was lucky, he would make it to spring. More than likely, both he and his gran would be dead by then. Clint told himself he couldn’t care.

~~~~~<3

  Tag list: @usedtobegoodfriend96, @alcoholic-muffin, @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki, @toozmanykids, @winterisakiller, @j-u-s-t-4, @bambamwolf87, @missaphrodite23, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @xoxabs88xox, @queenoftheunderdark, @carissime72, @myoxisbroken, @coyotesongwriting, @wegingerangelica​, @tnystrk-exe​, @faemapfae​, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​

[trillian-anders]

amor de mi vida - 1942

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: racism, prejudice, fluff, angst, smut

word count: 3803

description: Bucky Barnes is a sweet young Brooklyn boy, just on the cusp of manhood, a hopeless romantic that falls in love with almost every girl he sees. when he sets his eyes on a young girl fresh off the boat from Cuba he finds out how hard love can really be.

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

“She’ll be taken care of.” Bucky said, straightening his bowtie, “If I die out there.” Steve sucked in his teeth. 

“Don’t say stuff like that.” Steve glared at him, “You’re not going to die out there.” Bucky had to be rational. There was a risk. Men die every day in war. And maybe it was selfish for him to ask you to marry him so soon after the death of your Mother but he knew war was brewing, and he knew he would be going. At least this way he could send his checks home to you, he could make sure you’re taken care of if he doesn’t make it home. And that’s what mattered. 

The love for you that he felt was unreal. He knew he was going to marry you, and it felt right. This day felt right. He wouldn’t change it for the world, but he only hoped you were feeling the same way. 

“I have to be realistic Stevie.” He stepped away from the mirror, turning towards his friend. “If anything happens to me, I need you to take care of her for me.” 

“I’m gonna enlist too.” Steve said, “I’ll be over there with you.” Bucky looked softly on his friend. 

“Steve, I don’t think they’re going to let you.” There was a rattle in his chest right now, the early spring, flowers just freshly budding. Steve was just shaking a cold. He steeled Bucky with a glare.

“I’m gonna do my part. You can’t change my mind.” It was a pointless argument. Bucky knew that anyone in their right mind would take one look at Steve and immediately deny him. The stubborn bastard was just going to keep trying. 

“You ready?” George Barnes asked, entering the room and straightening his tie. The two boys instantly disregarded the last conversation. Tension leaving the room as they knew it would be picked back up at a later date. There was one thing to focus on and one thing only. 

Bucky Barnes was getting married. 

He stood in the aisle of the church. The same church he’d been christened in about twenty years earlier. There weren’t many people here to be fair. Three of sisters sat beside his Mother in the pews, Steve stood beside him. And a couple of the girls he knew you worked with sat on your side as well. An older woman with a cane in the front. He’d seen you talking closely with her once or twice. A woman from your building he’d helped with her groceries just last week. A friend of your Mother’s.

It had taken a little work, convincing the priest to marry the two of you. When first approaching the Father having not seen him since he read your Mother her last rites, seeing him speak at her funeral, he struggled with whether or not he would allow your union. But finally settled on, “If your union be blessed, it shall be blessed by God.” 

He agreed to a small ceremony. No announcement. Not so certain members of the community wouldn’t be pounding on the rectory door. A small ceremony in the middle of the work week, quick. As quick as possible. 

He stood behind Bucky now, bible in hand. The small older woman who usually played the organ had been dismissed. Ginny was going to play the church piano as you made your walk down the aisle. Your arm in George’s. 

The piano began, the tinkling keys chiming through the wide open space, echoing off the high ceilings. The first sight of you took his breath away, eyes immediately watering. 

If Bucky could ever freeze a moment in time it would be right now. The thin veil shrouding your face, lips void of their usual victory red lipstick in a soft blush. The curve of your jaw, the corners of your lips upturned. Your dark lashes framing your deep brown eyes. Your hair swept from your face loosely curled, pinned in a bun at the nape of your neck. 

The dress you’d made yourself. The sweet white fabric was bought for you by his Mother as a gift. The satin reaching your knees. A splurge by him on some white peep toe heels that set his loins on fire.

His hands were shaking. Not out of nervousness, but excitement. 

Steve stood to his left as Becca settled across from him, not even realizing your shoes were trodding through the petals she just strewed down the aisle as you walked. 

You stopped in front of him and Bucky grew lightheaded as you peered up at him through your lashes.

Your hand met his, soft. He helped you up the three steps to stand in front of the altar. The good Father read from the Bible, and the two of you knelt before him as you took communion. 

Rings were exchanged to accelerated heartbeats. And a soft kiss exchanged at the end. 

“Hello Mrs. Barnes.” He whispered against your lips.

“Hello Mr. Barnes.” 

You’d bought a new bed for the apartment, you couldn’t bare to lay on the mattress your Mother died on. It was tossed before her body had even been in the ground. The new bedroom is a little lighter, the bundle of dried peonies from the early days hanging in a bouquet on the wall. An empty space where you’ll hang your wedding photo. 

It seems almost suffocating now. Bucky having swept you off your feet to carry you over the threshold, laughing and kissing you softly, the two of you toeing your shoes off to slow dance in the living room, drunk off champagne. 

His fingers twisted in the fabric at your hips as he chased your lips. Meeting over and over in an intense embrace. His fingers moved to toy with the buttons on the back of your dress, eyes half lidded starting at him as the two of you caught your breath. Your back met the wall in the hallway, his form covering yours, hips pressed together. The hard length of him throbbing in his trousers. 

Heart racing you turned and let him pull the buttons from the loops, the satiny white fabric coming to pool at your feet. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, brushing the thick curls out of his path.  

Your hearts were racing. The apartment suddenly so quiet, just the heavy panting breaths and the wet sound of your lips meeting. His thumbs brushed over your nipples through your brassiere. The white silky fabric over your hips held the nude hose on your thighs. His fingers dipping to play with the stay-ups. 

“Is this okay?” He whispered, pressing his lips to the skin below your ear. His bowtie hung loose around his neck, his shirt had two buttons undone, suspenders forgotten, pants low on his hips. You nod, shivering in excitement. His lips meet yours once more, walking you back towards the bed, the backs of your knees meeting the soft surface. You fell softly onto your back, Bucky’s half lidded eyes taking your body in as he slipped his shirt from his shoulders, toeing off his socks. 

“Te quiero [I love you].” Was whispered in the room as he shifted your slip from your body, tossing it behind him. Your brassiere quickly tossed as well, his calloused hands coming to lay under your breasts. Nipples pebbled in the cold air, his eyes stuck on yours as his pink tongue peeked from his lips. The cool muscle sent a shiver down your spine, a thrumming in your core as he took your rosy tan nipple into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the first true sexual contact the two of you have had. 

In those dark moments, in the front seat of his car, in the back office of the shop, in the kitchen after washing the dishes. Neither of you had dared. His fingers would twist in your skirt, brush against your calves. Breathy moans exchanged between kisses, but Bucky wouldn’t dare move further than that. Not until now. 

Your stay-ups were removed, deft fingers slipping your hose down your leg, the soft press of his lips following the path of exposed skin. Down one leg, then the other. His pants were discarded, the heavy weight of him against your thigh through his boxer shorts as his fingers tangled into your hair, slipping the pins loose. Your hands trembling on his lower back, the muscles shifting underneath your fingertips. 

“Eres tan hermosa. [You’re so beautiful].” He mumbled against your throat, trailing his lips back down your body to the top of your silk and lace, covering your last bit of modesty. His blue eyes met yours, blush pink lips bitten between his teeth as he dipped his fingers into your hips, pressing his face against the junction between your thighs. Your face flushed as he took a steady inhale. His tongue coming out to lap against the fabric. Once. Your fists clenching at your sides. Thighs trembling. 

“James…” Your breath hitching as he pulled the last scrap of fabric from your body. 

“Y/N…” He kissed your hip, “Let me do this.” His hands found your thighs, pressing them up against your chest, your face flushing with heat. Eyes unable to meet his. You lay an arm across your face. Nervously unable to look as his cool breath met your labia. His fingers parting your lips and that strong, soft muscle coming to lap at your entrance for the very first time. 

Your breath caught in your chest, “Tell me what feels good.” His tongue fumbling, searching for a spot he’d been told about, nervous and shaking. Your hips bucked against his face as he found it. The little bundle of nerves that made you release a moan from deep in your throat. His cock twitched in his shorts, rubbing it against the bed to try to release some of the pressure he was currently feeling. 

You’ve touched yourself before, but it never felt like this. This felt so much better. The soft muscle of his tongue lapping at the little bundle of nerves, a wet sound filling the room. An obscene wet sound. Your moans increase as the pleasure builds. Chasing your release against his face. His arms circled your thighs as you became breathless. Back arching as you came on his tongue, a moan hummed against your clit as you grabbed your breasts, hips bucking wildly as you rode out your orgasm. Panting with release. 

The room quieted as you reveled in a glow. Bucky shifted back onto his knees between your legs, the head of his cock poking from his waistband, a bead of precum shining on the tip. His hands massaged your trembling thighs before slipping his boxers off of his hips, the heavy weight of him pressed against your body, hands cradling your head as he kissed you. The tang of you heavy on his lips. 

“I love you.” You whispered against his lips as the tip of his dick met your entrance. Knees shifted around his hips, his hand met the mattress next to your head, eyes looking down long enough for him to watch as his head disappeared inside you. His eyes looking back into yours, 

“I love you too.” Your wet channel gave way easily to him, a slight burn from the stretch, neither of you breathing until he was fully seated inside of you. You couldn’t look away from one another as he stilled. His fingers laced into yours, breaths mingling, eyes watery. His hips shifted back, before slowly meeting yours. His teeth tugged on your bottom lip as he set rhythm. 

Soft moans soon filled the room. Heavy breathing, the wet sound of your body giving into his. It didn’t last long, your first time. His first time. His hips stuttering against yours soon after they’d met for the first time. His release spilling inside of you as his head found your shoulder. The two of you lay connected for a minute before Bucky rolled to the side, pulling you tightly against his chest, fingers twisted in your hair. 

“The next time will be longer,” A blush on his cheeks, “I promise.” 

The next morning, when the first rays of the sun met the corners of the apartment, Bucky’s arm wrapped around your shoulder as his hips met yours, your leg pulled over his hip as you lay facing each other. One hand kneading your ass as he ground your clit against his pubic bone, your fingers slipping between you to bring yourself over the edge, head tossing back moaning as he released into you for the third time that night. 

“Te quiero.” Again. And Again. 

It was a few months later. Just a few months into your marriage. He came home in uniform. And your heart stopped. He’d entered the home, an apology of flowers in his hand, hat held at his side. Your back had been to him, humming as you pressed together dough around the spiced meat mixture you’d marinated the night before. 

Bucky’s heart dropped as he realized you were making him lunches for the week. Lunches he wouldn’t be eating. He should have told you, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to see you cry. But it couldn’t be helped. 

“My love.” He spoke from the doorway, and when you turned to him he could see your face immediately fall, eyes beginning to shine with tears. “I’m so sorry.” He watched you toss the small pastry onto the counter top, turning from him. “Dahlin’ please.” 

“Don’t call me that.” You wiped your hands on a dish towel. The flowers were laid on the kitchen table, “When are you leaving me?” His heart dropped in his chest, 

“I’m shipping out tomorrow.” A loud clang as you dropped the pan you were holding. He flinched. 

“Mañana?” He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t see you cry. Your voice was cracking, “How long have you known?” His hands met your shoulders, but you shrugged them off, moving out of reach. 

“They just gave me my orders today.” A sheet of paper on the kitchen table, one he’d just put there. His tag number and division. “Please don’t do this babydoll.” Your eyes were firey, overflowing with anger as you picked up the paper, only being able to understand a few words there. 

“War ruins people James.” He could feel his eyes sting, tears building at the despair in your voice. “My Father, when I was a child…” You sunk down at the kitchen table, “He fought in the rebellion.” Your eyes scanning the paper trying to make sense of it, “The Cuban military had been killing Afro-Cubans, there’d been a massacre. A few years before I was born. My father fought with Estenoz against the Cuban Army but they failed.” Your watery eyes met his. “He was never the same. My Mother became pregnant with me a few years later but… he killed himself before I was ever born.” Bottom lip trembling. 

Bucky sunk down to his knees in front of you, hands gently grasping yours, “I can’t stand by and let the Nazi’s get away with what they’re doing.” His jaw clenched, before he brought your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles, “They’re saying that people are being kept in camps, being tortured, killed. Who would I be if I didn’t do what I could to stop them?” 

“I don’t want you to go.” The small plea broke his heart. He didn’t want to do this to you. He didn’t want to leave you. But there was an obligation. His Father fought in the last war. His Grandfather fought in the Civil War. His Great-Great Grandfather fought in the Revolutionary War. They all came home, and so will he. But just in case he didn’t...

“Steve will be here.” He kissed the inside of your wrists, “He’ll keep you company until I get back.” If he gets back. You shake your head, eyes spilling over with tears. “Amor de mi vida,” He kissed your knuckles, bringing your hands to his shoulders, burying his face in your stomach. “This is for us, for our future.” Mumbled into the fabric of the cotton apron detailed with hand stitched little pies and cakes you’d worked on while listening to the radio at night. 

What future? 

“There is no future if you’re gone.” You lifted his face to yours. His eyes wet with tears. What more could be said? There was a stalemate. But you knew he had to go. You knew as soon as the news report about the attack on Pearl Harbor that you’d be losing him. It made your heart ache. 

That night the two of you couldn’t get close enough. 

The hot breath, whispered sighs. The rocking of his body against yours, fingers intertwined and your breasts pressed against his chest, legs wrapped around each others as you met over and over in a loving sweet crescendo. The shaky breaths of settling after, your lips met the skin of his shoulder. 

You’d gone to the Stark Expo. 

Steve had disappeared somewhere in the night. Bucky shrugging and saying not to worry about it, that Steve said he’d be by for breakfast tomorrow before Bucky left you. Before he left both of you. 

“I’m fine,” Winnie sighed, watery and obviously not fine, “I’m alright.” The Barnes household was tense this morning. A goodbye from all that no one knew if it would be their last or not. Bucky was dressed in his uniform sans hat, drinking coffee with George at the dining table. The girls chattering about in the kitchen, setting the table, bringing out plates. But even their enthusiasm was stunted by the knowledge that Bucky had to be at the dock in an hour and a half. 

His hand gripped yours under the table. His left in your right. His thumb tracing a soothing pattern over the back of your hand. 

“Everyday Buck.” Ginny said, “We’re expecting a letter everyday.” Becca was quietly picking at the scrambled eggs on her plate. Suzy and Ruth had been taking turns hugging their brother all morning. 

“I’ll do my best Gin.” Steve hadn’t showed. Bucky was trying not to feel too down about it. 

“Maybe he’s feeling down about being rejected again yesterday.” George reasoned. Maybe. Bucky sighed, clearly upset with his friend’s absence. You tighten your grip reassuringly and he gives you a tight smile. 

“That’s probably it.” Bucky put a slice of pancake into his mouth, a little syrup dribbled onto his chin. You took your napkin, licking the corner before wiping the sticky substance from his face. 

“It’s hard for him.” You assure Bucky, “He’ll miss you.” 

“We’ll all miss you.” Becca grumbled from across the table. It wasn’t a secret that Becca was angry with Bucky. She hadn’t talked to him much since the two of you had gone for dinner a couple weeks beforehand and he talked about enlisting. The cold shoulder she had perfected over the years, her stubbornness was the same as Bucky’s. She could go on forever. 

Bucky sighed, smiling at his youngest sister. “I’ll miss you the most Becks.” You smile softly, the little girl’s watering eyes wiped before they could spill. 

The docks were busy. Thousands of soldiers dispatched, ready to fight. The Barnes family said their goodbyes, you gave them their time. The girls sobbing, Winnie comforting them as George and Bucky had one last moment together as Father and Son. A promise of “I’ll see you soon, you better write.” 

The affection George Barnes had for his family was unparalleled. In a time where men didn’t show emotion, they were distant, moody, belt welding masters of the house. George Barnes was a sweet man who always made time for his children. Doted on his wife. The girls with every new dress they bought would model them for their father and he would appreciate a detail. “I really like that bow, or that color green really suits you.” 

“We’ll keep an eye on her son.” He whispered to his boy, his eyes watering, “Do me a favor.” His hand gripping Bucky’s shoulder tight, “Don’t be a hero.” Bucky’s eyes widened with the statement. “I know you, and I know you want to fight for what is right and what you believe in but trust me when I say this…” A somber tone in his voice, “Men will die around you, people you grow to care about, men you love, civilians you wish you could have saved.” George began to cry, wiping the tears before they were dripping from his chin, “Don’t do anything that you know will get you killed, you’ve got a wife and family to come home to. You hear me?” 

“Yeah Pops, I hear you.” Bucky was brought in for a hug. The barreled chest of his father gave him some comfort for his shaky nerves.  George Barnes was a man that had seen war. The quiet nights, the ones he wouldn’t talk about. Those nights Bucky knew he would be coming home with. But George Barnes was a good man. He took care of his family, he was a good father. And Bucky was lucky for that. 

“Hi.” You breathed, eyes already watering. Bucky frowned, holding his arms out for you. 

“Oh dahlin, don’t cry sweetheart.” The two of you rocking back and forth. His family partially blocked you from view in this secluded corner of the docks. “I’ll be back before you know it.” 

“I love you,” So soft and sweet against your lips. The memory of last night and this morning, the longing to be close again. A picture of you was stuffed into his journal. A small photo of your wedding picture was in his wallet. 

“I love you too dahlin,” His hooded eyes gazing into yours, “I’ll be back before you know it.” You nod, the tears slipping freely down your cheeks to be caught by his fingers, gripping your jaw and bringing your lips back to his again. A long soft languid kiss, a kiss goodbye. 

“Come home to me Barnes.” He nods, kissing you one last time. 

“There’s no one on this earth that could take me away from you,” He cooed, “Especially not Adolf Hitler.” 

You saw him on the deck of the ship. Hand waving among men, blowing you a kiss as the horn cut through the air and the ship left dock. You couldn’t move. Heart racing and sweaty palms until the ship disappeared. Winnie’s hands met your arms, smoothing down the blue velvet dress you were wearing. You fiddled with the buttons on the front, 

“We have to go now honey.” You nod, eyes still staring out at the horizon, wishing the ship back. 

.

.

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taglist //  @corneliabarnes​ @bookish-shristi​ @saturnki​ @jennmurawski13​ @geeksareunique​ @albinotigerpython​ @cake-writes​ @iheartsebastianstan​ @000bananaclip000​ @shadowbuisness​ @sprinkleofbooty​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @vhsbarnes​  @the-soulofdevil​ @tinmunky

[takerfoxx]

Notes on Restless

A day overdue, but here it is! My thoughts on writing Restless.

Restless is, in many ways, the most important arc in the story, not because it is the most plot or character significant (though it definitely is very important to both), but because it was one of the first, if not the first story arc I planned out, and have been cooking up in the back of my mind and working toward ever since this story started. And, as indicated by the title, it is one big reference to the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode Restless, which is my favorite episode and also featured all of the main characters trapped in their little dream worlds.

What can I say; I like dream sequences!

In fact, and I know I have mentioned this a few times already, but it bears repeating the first chapter of this arc was literally the very first scene I thought up for this story, back when I was still in post-episode 9 depression and wanted nothing more for Kyoko and Oktavia to reunite somewhere and be happy together (well, the story definitely gives us the former, but, um, not really the latter, because I am still a sadist). If memory serves, my original vision had the two of them and Mami relaxing in a fantasy-world hot spring that had a bunch of big crystals everywhere (because I like crystals), only for them to be interrupted by the sound of something moving nearby, and, upon inspection, they would find the doll version of Charlotte watching them.

Obviously that scenario’s gone through a lot of fine-tuning, especially when it comes to Charlotte. And the crystals got moved to the end of the story after the hot spring had been removed, but hey, they still made the final cut. Regardless, I did settle on a finalized version some years ago, and the final cut came out more-or-less exactly as I envisioned, down to Mami and Charlotte going off alone for some, ah, quality time.

The only new addition was Jerky’s little scene and the Sayaka/Oktavia flirting sequence, and, well, that happened. I honestly don’t know if I’m even allowed to say much about it without getting into trouble with someone, even though I wrote it, but let’s just say the time has come to finally kick things into high gear on that end.

Okay, so onto the dreams!

Kyoko’s dream was of course the one I came up with first, and yet ended up being the shortest. I guess it’s because while she’s white-hot mess of issues, she’s at least a straightforward white-hot mess of issues, and honestly, it came out more-or-less how I initially planned years ago, with very little addition.

Now, Mephisto gave us a pretty clear breakdown of what the individual girls’ dreams meant thematically when she started torturing them directly, but it bears repeating that Kyoko’s dream was mainly dealing with her poor reaction to loss (the concept, not the meme), specifically the loss of Sayaka to Oktavia, and her stubborn and yet misguided quest to bring Sayaka back at any cost.

We start with a perfect repeat of her dream from waaaaaaaay back from chapter five, when she was first waking up from being drugged. I was originally just going to begin with the continuation, but it had been so long since that chapter that I just copied and pasted the original dream so we can have it in its entirety, which included the all-important image of Sayaka dissolving into silver fishes.

From there it’s mainly Kyoko’s singleminded quest to find Sayaka at any cost. And from there, we see her think that she’s found her time after time, only to be disappointed, from thinking that Madoka was Sayaka (and it’s a shame that they never interacted more beyond that single episode, as they had a good dynamic), to nearly catching the silver-fish Sayaka only to have her torn away, to finally finding the fake fish-faced conductor Sayaka, further establishing her inability to accept Oktavia as not being Sayaka. The hole that her father left in her heart and how deeply she misses him even with what he did does come up, but she abandons catching him once Kyubey makes it clear that doing so is impossible, as well as showing that while she still loves her father, part of her still does not forgive him and she truly believes that he went to Hell.

Also, was that the first time I’ve had Kyubey show up and have original dialogue? Because it might be!

Mephisto’s first appearance has her occupying the same role that she would in everyone’s dreams, that of a surly gatekeeper. She’s a bouncer in Kyoko’s dream, a ticket-taker/ride operator in Sayaka’s, a hostess in Mami’s, and a receptionist in Charlotte’s. And in each one, she lets the dreamer pass while making it clear that doing so is probably a bad idea. Her design was a lot of fun, though there truly is no significance to her rainbow dreadlocks, punk-rock aesthetic, or denim outfit, other than I liked the way they looked. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

Annabelle Lee and the dockengauts have very short appearances in the nightclub, as despite all the pain they’ve put Kyoko through, she is still so singleminded in her pursuit that she considers them nothing more than obstacles to be overcome, which Annabelle Lee would probably be annoyed to hear.

As for Mami’s weird striptease, well, Kyoko is just now having to grapple with her own budding sexuality, and it stands to reason that Mami would have been an early crush for her. The “ending” though shows that while she’s more-or-less okay with Charlotte, she is still very aware of how Mami died.

Like Annabelle Lee, Elsa Maria would have the same role in everyone’s dream, the same role she had in Annabelle Lee’s feverish dream during the Help arc, that of the person who points the way to what the dreamer is seeking while still advising against it, which is always ignored. Though don’t read too much into her working with Mephisto in the end, as it’s not the real Elsa Maria and Mephisto is still the one in control.

And what better place for Kyoko, now Ophelia, to start her quest to find Sayaka for real than the same train station that she originally lost Sayaka in?

Anyway, while this chapter came out basically as originally envisioned, there are a couple things that I wish I had included, firstly a scene where Kyoko loses her necklace while being swept along by the current for Sayaka to find it later, and to have the sound of the crying child from the beginning to continue throughout the whole chapter, showing that she still hadn’t forgotten her quest to find her sister, as impossible as it might seem now.

Sayaka’s dream had largely to do with her and Oktavia’s issues with personal identity, and the dichotomy that Oktavia feels at all times, but translated through Sayaka’s eyes. In fact, bits and pieces of both their personalities are present through the circus (and given that Rumia’s dream took place in a circus in Imperfect Metamorphosis, it does just seem to be a recurring theme with me). The whole knight in shining armor for Sayaka is obvious, as is her sense of righteous justice as what Lily did. But her dynamics with the various characters that she comes across, her memories in general, her growing attraction to Kyoko, and her annoyance at being addressed incorrectly is all Oktavia.

It’s the two Kyoko encounters I want the highlight. The first at the shooting gallery shows that while Oktavia does love Kyoko, she is getting quite fed up with the constant nicknames in place of her actual name, while the second in the dunking tank shows her growing concern that Kyoko’s dogheaded persistence is only going to keep getting her hurt until there’s nothing left, as well as show her growing sexual attraction to Kyoko as she is progressively more stripped.

Mami and Charlotte’s brief appearance was in part to get them on the dream, and so show that that while Oktavia cares for them deeply, she’s not nearly as worried about them as she is Kyoko, hence why they’re here so briefly. Also, them pushing Ticky Nikki around in a stroller, aside from being Nikki’s only appearance this whole arc, was also a tip of the hat to the original Restless episode from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, as Giles’s dream had him and his girlfriend pushing a stroller around through a carnival in the middle of a graveyard.

The Freakshow was a mixture of the traumatic monsters both Sayaka and Oktavia had to encounter, from the various witch familiars and to Gertrud, the first witch Sayaka ever saw, to the witch form of Charlotte, who traumatized Sayaka deeply, to Brooklyn, who briefly showed up earlier and was sort of Oktavia’s nemesis in The Heist and targeted her specifically, which left a mark.

And that whole business with Annabelle Lee “pouring” Kyoko into the tank was to lean more into dream logic, where deeply personal fears tend to be translated through nonsensical imagery. I’ve had plenty of dreams where I’d “lose” a close friend or family member because they got turned into a jar of dried corn or something and I’d just be so devastated and obsessed with turning said corn back into my loved one, and it’d be very serious and emotional, and it wouldn’t be until I had woken up that I’d realize, “Dude, dried corn?” Plus, her guilt about stabbing Annabelle Lee was a reference to Sayaka’s own increasing guilt when she realized that she wasn’t the shining hero she had wanted to be.

The clown dance is pretty self-explanatory, in that Sayaka spent so much time killing witches and treating them like monsters only to become a witch herself. Plus, given how quick her downfall was, it serves to reason that she would think of herself as a clown. Plus, I just like Lily as a character, and wanted any excuse to use her as much as possible.

The whole bit with the train station acting as the loading gate for the roller-coaster is also fairly obvious. That’s where Sayaka became Oktavia, hence the cart turning into the wheelchair, or the coaster track leading into Oktavia’s barrier. I’m honestly not too thrilled about the coaster going through Genocide City, because while having it make an appearance makes sense, since it’s literally Oktavia’s first memory, but if I recall, I had the hardest time settling on a location for the rollercoaster to ride through before heading into the castle. I tried Freehaven, the outside of the high school, and returning to the circus itself before just settling with Genocide City, which honestly was chosen mainly because the deadline was coming up and I had to go with something. I guess it works though.

There really isn’t much to say about the reversed Kyoko/Oktavia fight, as it’s literally just a perspective flip of their final battle. Incredibly important and significant as it embodies the entirety of Sayaka’s aspect as the “Monster” of her dream and hammered in her connection to Kyoko? Absolutely. Has much that I can explain that isn’t literally sitting right on the surface? Nope.

We do get Mephisto basically spelling out Sayaka’s contradictory identity in her final days though, in which she was the valiant knight she always wanted to be, she was the damsel in distress that Madoka and Kyoko tried and failed to rescue, and she was the monster holding that damsel captive. No doubt that part was inspired by the meme of the Dragonborn princess paladin who was hired to rescue herself from herself.

From there, the “Monster” is slain, and the cute mermaid Oktavia von Seckendorff is born, the only time during her own dream that she makes a full appearance. She then is treated to a montage of Sayaka’s memories, but of course, they mean nothing to her.

However, I would like to point out what amounted to the payoff of a joke I had set up literally years ago. Readers of all my stuff might remember that way back in Rhapsody of Subconscious Desire, another story that took place in a dream world, Kaguya Houraisan was split into two identical copies of herself, called Head and Body, who encountered Oktavia swimming around in a large aquarium, who in turn shot them a rude gesture and swam off. Here, we finally see the inverse of that scene, which is why a couple of previously unseen twin girls showed up with no explanation.

Next is where the dreams start to converge. Oktavia finds Kyoko’s necklace (which, again, I wish I had included in Kyoko’s dream. Maybe in time I’ll go back and edit it in) and meets the silver fish’s from Kyoko’s dream, absorbing them and turning fully into the princess and, as a result, Sayaka Miki finally returns in full.

Funny thing about that.

At this point, I didn’t know how much the whole Sayaka thing would play out, and originally she would just be Oktavia in a dress. But after having Sayaka’s memories intrude again and again, I thought, “Huh, wouldn’t it be fun if she just became Sayaka again for a short time? Have a weird inverse of the Oktavia situation?” and went ahead and did it.

This choice led to…major consequences.

Mami’s dream is next, and despite being the one that I literally had planned out the least ahead of time, ended up being the most fun to write. Naturally, her dream dreams with her immense guilt over having been Kyubey’s poster girl for so long, helping him ensnare several innocent girls into his scheme as well as kill them off herself when they became witches. Also, it served as a little nod to Candeloro’s job as a baker in WN. Anyway, the whole thing was heavily influenced by Sweeney Todd, in that victims are misled into doing something they think is innocent, only for them to be gruesomely murdered and sent off to be turned into food.

The world of candles is just something I thought would be neat imagery, so infer from it what you wish. However, it is interesting to note that Mami is the only one to have a dream that features Annabelle Lee as the persistent antagonist that she is, showing up over and over to antagonize her. There wasn’t an intended reason for this, but come to think of it, with Kyoko focused on her endgame, Oktavia just wanting her friends to be safe, and Charlotte obsessed with what was lost, Mami would be the one most living in the nowness of their situation, convinced that she is finally in Hell for her sins.

In the restaurant, Mami is indirectly guilt-tripped by Shizuku for essentially abandoning all of her responsibilities to help Kyoko, and is then given a choice: abandon her quest and stay with her loved ones, or continue on with her “duty” despite all warning signs, thereby sealing her own destruction. Charlotte even goes so far as to beg her directly to not go on, but Mami refuses, saying over and over again that she is, “On the clock,” signifying how being a magical girl essentially took over her entire life after her parents’ death, and how full she threw herself into it to shield herself from her own loneliness.

And from then on, her fate is sealed.

While descending the long staircase, the father of Mami’s occasionally mentioned former crush Ryu Hagane shows up to chastise her for throwing her life way in making her contract, and then Mami’s actual love Charlotte shows up on the big TV to remind Mami of what she was now throwing away, and curiously, when she brings out the doll version of herself, it’s not to remind her of how Charlotte kill Mami (though the worms coming out of the doll’s mouth shows that Mami still hasn’t forgotten), but to remind her of how Mami had tried to kill Charlotte upon their first meeting, as her own guilt is more powerful than even the trauma from having her own head bitten off. Annabelle Lee emerges again, and in the process, the staircase is destroyed. Mami’s choice was made. There is going back.

Sure enough, when she enters the classroom, the marionette corpse of Kazuko Saotome (a reference to how she was killed and eaten in the Oriko timeline, in addition to just being very creepy) spells out to Mami’s face what an idiot she was for trusting Kyubey, how many lives she had ruined by doing so, finishing with Homura showing up to basically say, “I told you so.”

Annabelle Lee attacks again, and Mami is sent into a montage of battles she has fought since their disastrous adventure begun, but with each of her assailants being replaced at the last second by one of her friends, showing that even after forgiveness, she still feels like she’s their murderer, as well as driving home the point that in all of her battles to defend herself over the course of this story, she was still just fighting and hurting other magical girls, and regardless of which side they were on, they were all still victims of the same scam.

Annabelle Lee is finally defeated and put down, but there is no victory, only horror at what Mami had done. She flees, but finally finds herself in the Hell she always felt that she deserved, pursued by the zombified corpses of all the monsters that had defeated her, from Lily, who had stolen her mind and made her commit atrocities, to the wild girls, whom she had slaughtered, to the Worm, whom had killed her in her arrogance.

She escapes, but that just leads her back to the bakery, signifying that no matter what, the second she had made that contract she had been doomed. It didn’t matter if she was leaping through the sky in an extravagant outfit, effortlessly defeating monsters with her magic, or if she was sinking into her own despair with a darkening soul gem, it was all the same. She was just food for the Incubators, to be chewed up and discarded, thrown into the mouth of the Worm and run down by the same vehicle that had killed her parents.

She then wakes up in the hospital, reliving a twisted version of when she had been recovered from the car wreck that had taken her parents, taking her back to her first sin that still haunted her: only saving her own life with her wish and letting her parents die. And thus, she is turned into the same monster she had spent the last few years fighting: the witch, Candeloro.

The whole bit in the hospital was a twisted version of what it must have been like for the original Mami to wake up in the hospital and learn that her parents had died. No doubt Mephisto’s dream doctors would have continued to further twist the knife had Ophelia and Sayaka not violently intervened (which gives us a rare case of blood instead of mist). And Candeloro is brought into the party, and with a Cyberpunk reference no less!

Charlotte’s dream comes last, and in my opinion, is the most multi-layered. The bulk is focused on how bitter she is at having her perfect life with her wife stolen away and how many people she resents for it, her own feelings of helplessness at being unable to prevent it, and also it addresses her own guilt at having killed Mami to begin with and how much she fears the return of the Worm that did it, but also she seems to be the only person that has some subconscious awareness of how Homura is timelooping them over and over again, forcing them to relive the same torturous sequence of events (probably has something to do with Homura being the one who killed her after she ate Mami).

In the first loop, Mami is taken by Annabelle Lee, and Charlotte is totally helpless to stop her. This is pretty obvious: Annabelle Lee has been a thorn in her side since day one. It was because of her that they were ambushed in Cloudbreak and forced into their horrible adventure. And more directly, it was because of Annabelle Lee that they fell into the Etherdale to begin with, leading to them all being enslaved by Lily and Charlotte and Mami being forced to commit atrocities.

Also, it’s hinted that the city that Charlotte is forced to march through is the same one Kyoko had been following her father through in her dream, indicating that their minds are already crossing over.

The second is a little more complicated. Yes, Charlotte and Kyoko are on better terms. Yes, they’re getting along. Yes, Kyoko apologized and they bonded. But if it weren’t for Kyoko, then none of this would have ever happened. If it weren’t for Kyoko, Charlotte wouldn’t have lost her home, wouldn’t have been targeted by Reibey, and wouldn’t have to suffer being pursued by dockengauts and valks, two creatures that she has an acute phobia of. So there is still some hard feelings there.

The third is when Charlotte is forced to confront something about herself, that no matter how many people she blames, her own actions still played a part as well. Now she is the one riding the Worm. She is the one who cost Mami her life. And in the hospital, it was her misguided wish that cost her her mother, whether she knows it or not, as well as why she became a witch in the first place.

Couple notes about the hospital: first, the cheese slices do signify how Charlotte threw her wish away for something as stupid as cheesecake, but are also another reference to the original Restless, in which a man carrying cheese slices shows up in each of the characters dreams, just to be weird.

Also, Charlotte’s magical girl outfit was in part inspired by a 4koma MamiLotte doujin from before The Rebellion Story, in which Charlotte becomes human again and crushes on Mami big time. And her outfit consists of a double-breasted coat and skirt. Also there were parts taken from the character notes from Walpurgisnacht, in which one of her familiars is an early draft of Human!Charlotte, before Nagisa had been designed, and she’s depicted holding a staff topped with the wrapped candy charm.

The final loop is where Charlotte fully becomes Nozomi (a name I think I just took from another fanfic that gave her that name) and finally defeats the Worm, this time ridden by Homura Akemi. After all, Homura Akemi is the one resetting things over and over again, forcing Charlotte to relive the same terrible events over and over. And as for that rooftop meeting…well, explaining that would be telling, so infer what you will.

The next chapter is mainly spent playing catch-up, gathering all the characters together and pushing toward the final battle with Mephisto. Here, things get less symbolic and more character based, so there’s a lot less to explain. Ophelia’s path of destruction through Sayaka’s carnival and Mami’s school are basically in line with lucid dreaming, in that once you know that you’re in a dream, everything just feels so much less solid, leading Ophelia to take down the ravaged versions of Brooklyn and Annabelle Lee with ease. Also, that scene with her talking to the dying Lily was an American Gods reference, which featured a similar scene.

So let’s talk about the big thing with this chapter. Let’s talk about Sayaka.

Originally the plan was to go straight from Charlotte’s dream to the fight with Mephisto, but then I realized what a bad idea that is. I mean, Sayaka was back! It’s something that’s been hinted and talked about all through the story’s run, but now it’s actually a thing. The original Sayaka Miki, the one that fell into despair and became a witch, is now back, and without having merged with Oktavia and gaining her memories. She’s thrown literally into the middle of things, during the gang’s weirdest adventure yet. And, it should be noted, her most recent memory is literally sitting with Kyoko in the train station, right before she became Oktavia. That is one hell of a bad day.

Obviously she reacts poorly, and who can blame her? And give her credit, she pulled herself together pretty quickly. However, she did pick up very quickly on Kyoko’s feelings for her. And why shouldn’t we just start saying it? It’s obvious to everyone! But obviously, as short as it was, Sayaka’s brief return will have major consequences that will play out over time.

Anyway, obviously everyone else has their own identity crisis. Mami turns fully into Candeloro, which provides a measure of relief from her own shame, while Kyoko as Ophelia is the rare witch that remembers everything while still sticking fully to her witch identity.

As for Charlotte, her case as Charzomi is easily the weirdest, with her constantly shifting back and forth between Charlotte and Nozomi, and her own memories fading in and out, forcing her to work extra hard to stay focused. It’s been suggested that this might serve as a metaphor for gender fluidity, and while this wasn’t the intention and thus I can’t speak to its accuracy, I can see and support the applicability. Still haven’t worked out what the long-term consequences of that will be, but I do want this to play into her future character development.

The walk up the tongue was mainly me realizing that the fighting was going to start soon, and Sayaka was going away right after, so I had one last opportunity to make the most out of her presence and I was determined not to waste it.

So we ticked off the boxes on everything we ought to address with her. She cleared the air with Charlotte over having to watch Mami get eaten. She finally got to hug Mami (well, Candeloro anyway) and got everything she wanted to say off her chest. And with Ophelia, she naturally wants to know more about exactly what Kyoko has been getting up to with Sayaka’s other self.

Sayaka again confronts Ophelia about how she feels about her (or, well, Oktavia, or maybe Sayaka? It’s weird), and naturally she is kind of freaked out by it. Remember, from her point of view, her relationship with Kyoko had been nothing but antagonistic. Whether Kyoko had been attacking her or trying to help her, Sayaka always resented her presence, so now suddenly being dropped into the middle of things and learning that her one-time rival now has a thing for her? Well, can you blame her for getting a little freaked out?

Also, it’s worth pointing out how the script had been flipped with everyone’s new identities. Now it’s Ophelia and Candeloro with the witch names, while Sayaka still thinks of them using their old names, causing them discomfort, but she has no problem calling Charzomi whatever because they had just met and she didn’t care.

And then we get to the fight, and of course it has to be a pro wrestling match. I’d also like to point out that there were a lot of songs I wanted to use for this chapter but was unsure of where to put each one. Originally the climb up the tongue was just going to have generic thrash metal playing the background, while Mephisto’s entrance theme was going to start with Mr. Sandman, only to transition into Bad Reputation (which is Ronda Rousey’s RL entrance theme), but then I was like, I should put Welcome to My Nightmare in there somewhere. And then I remembered that Cult of Personality is a thing, which is also CM Punk’s entrance theme, so I finally decided to move the first three songs to the tongue scene and have CoP as Mephisto’s entrance music.

And finally, we come to the last chapter. The magical girl fight scene was another one of those checklist things I wanted to have so long as I had Sayaka around. That way, I could actually build some real KyoSaya moments to make the KyoTavi angst all the more potent, as Sayaka realizes that she is developing an attraction to Kyoko as they fight side-by-side, letting me recreate that magical little moment from The Rebellion Story in which Sayaka basically confesses in the middle of the battle, complete with Charlotte ruining the mood.

I’ll admit, I kind of skimped out on Mephisto’s witch design and didn’t give it as much thought as I could have, but that part was never important. The important part was to recreate a classic witch fight and let the girls interact during it. I am proud of the Charlotte’s Web joke though.

What happens next is to establish that it doesn’t matter how hard they fight or how smart they are, they simply cannot beat Mephisto now. She’s taken complete control, enough to flick them through their various personas on a whim turning them into Puella Magi, then to human!witches (basically the Walpurgis Nights girls), then to full witches, then to the classic squad from the bulk of the story (bringing Oktavia back briefly), then to vanilla humans. It doesn’t matter. Mephisto has them, and can do whatever she wants.

From there, she separates them again and subjects them to a condensed version of their previous dreams, with the same themes but different imagery. Kyoko is subjected to a sermon about her poor responses to loss from her dead father, as he really lays into her over how much damage she had done. And I gotta admit, even I felt pretty bad just for writing that scene. Because I know torturing Kyoko is kind of this story’s MO, but damn.

Sayaka is a little more nuanced. Yes, the identity issues from her own dream are brought up, but it’s more focused on a new issues: mainly, now that Sayaka is back, she not only has to grapple with all the weirdness that she’s been thrust into, but also with essentially having been replaced. We see the vision of her friends getting along happily without her, the friends she had pushed away and alienated having moved on without her, Madoka basically having replaced her entirely with Homura. Of course this is not reflected in reality, as by this point in the world of the living they probably haven’t even found Sayaka’s body yet due to the time difference, but it is definitely that Sayaka would easily believe.

The next part is basically the whole reason for bringing Sayaka back in this manner. Mephisto then shows Sayaka a real memory that of Oktavia spending time with Kyoko, Mami, and Charlotte and being loved and accepted by them.

Sayaka’s character arc in the original series was driven by her letting her insecurities cause her to overcompensate and destroy herself, and Oktavia has largely been characterized as what Sayaka would be like if she didn’t have those insecurities. Sure, she’s had the shadow of the original Sayaka hanging over her, but for the most part this hasn’t seemed to bother her much, aside from getting annoyed at being called the wrong name, but it’s been taken for granted that sooner or later being thought of as Sayaka instead of herself by Kyoko was going to come to a head.

But here we have one of those happy unplanned gold veins, something I hadn’t planned on doing but am thrilled gets to happen now: we have Sayaka being forced to come to terms with living in Oktavia’s shadow.

Yes, they’re the same person. Yes, Oktavia is just Sayaka with her memory wiped and many of her self-destructive issues cleared away. But as WN demonstrated, it’s not as clear cut as that, and there is still some degree of separation between the two. And the infamously self-loathing Sayaka would most certainly be messed up by being confronted by a version of herself that people like and enjoy being around, that doesn’t feel the need to prove anything. And this is coming right off the heels of her realizing that she might have feelings for Kyoko after all (even if that is in part because of her empathetic connection to Oktavia), only to have it thrown in her face that it was Oktavia that Kyoko really loved, when she herself never did anything other than push Kyoko away. Granted, she had good reason for doing so, given that the first thing Kyoko did was try to kill her, but the point stands.

The Kyoko/Oktavia dynamic has always been messy due to Sayaka’s constant presence, but I kind of feel that that was unfair to Sayaka herself, as she deserves better than just being a memory, and I wanted her to have an actual voice in the whole deal, to be able to express her own feelings about it, even if it does complicate an already incredibly complicated situation.

Anyway, the next bit is pretty self-explanatory, with Mephisto further twisting the knife by replaying Sayaka’s last conversation with Madoka and really driving home what a wreck Sayaka had been at the time. Remember, from Sayaka’s point of view, that whole moment was only a few hours ago, at most!

Mami’s was very interesting, because the whole trial bit is self-explanatory, but it’s actually a reference to the bizarre trial that made up the final episode of the classic mindscrew TV show The Prisoner, which featured a jury wearing masks, the plaintiff sitting on an ornate chair on a raised platform, witnesses being pulled out of steam-filled holes, and an extended singalong of Dry Bones. Granted, I mainly knew about it because Reboot, one of my favorite shows, also referenced it in a dream episode of their own, but I liked that episode, and wanted to rip it off.

For the witnesses, we first get the expected faces from the show itself, but we also get a few new ones. Brooke Alexander was already named once before when Mami was reflecting on the various girls she had trained, Janice Goldberg was made up specifically for this scene, but we also get Michiru Kazusa, from the really weird spin-off manga Kazumi Magica, who was established as having a past with Mami. Kazumi Magica had its problems, but I did like a lot of the characters (i.e. The Twins), so this seemed like a good time to bring in another one.

Charlotte’s dream is the most straightforward, as it’s basically just her first dream condensed into a claw machine. What I wanted to put focus on was that Charlotte is the one character that knows who Mephisto is, as her role as the team scholar who does the most reading, she would actually have heard of the Ideal Witches, and thus would really understand just how much trouble they were all in.

And at the end of each segment, Mephisto gives each of them the same offer: submit willingly and be given a pleasant fantasy while Mephisto digests their souls, or continue to resist and get digested anyway, only in eternal torment. And her offer would give them each what they wanted the most. Kyoko wants her loved ones back, Sayaka wants to be loved and appreciated, Mami wants forgiveness, and Charlotte just wants to go home. And in light of what they were facing, can any of them be blamed for wanting to take Mephisto up on her offer?

Enter Jerky.

Jerky was a ton of fun to write for, and judging by the overwhelming positive response to his segments, bringing in the baby space raptor was a good idea. Like I’ve said before, his bits were one big love letter to Raptor Red, a novel by paleontologist Robert Bakker which tells of the life and times of a female Utahraptor from the Utahraptor’s point of view. And the nice thing about Jerky is that he’s smart enough to know the does and don’ts, but simple enough to be uncomplicated. He’s an animal. An exceptionally smart animal, but still an animal. He knows that he loves Kyoko and is loyal to her, he’s been made to understand that he can’t let Charlotte, Mami, and Oktavia see him, and he knows that Kyoko’s skin is softer than his and he needs to be careful, but beyond that he couldn’t care less of their various issues. It’s refreshingly simple.

As such, when confronted with a complete inexplicable threat such as Mephisto, something well beyond his ability to comprehend, he’s worried, he’s scared, he doesn’t know what to do, so he defaults to his predatory instincts.

When in doubt, start biting.

And it does the trick, because something that needs to be said is that while the Ideal Witches are powerful, they’re not omnipotent. Mephisto needed to lure the girls in and submerge them fully in her dream in order to control them the way that she did, but in the real world, she was vulnerable once she had manifested fully, allowing Kyoko to break free long enough to fire the final shot.

In the end, everyone escapes, but not unscathed. Kyoko especially had been scarred even further, in part from the dream of her father, but also from having to watch Sayaka basically die again, leading to her reaching what very well might be her breaking point. Mami’s slipping deeper into depression, having been forced to once again confront all the damage she unwittingly did as a magical girl, Charlotte is fully fed up with everything that had happened to them. And Oktavia? Well, now that it’s been shown that Sayaka Miki can and has come back, suddenly her own identity issues are going to become worse. She’s really going to have to grapple with Sayaka being an actual person with a legitimate claim to her body, especially since when Sayaka came back, she effectively traded places with Oktavia instead of merging with her. That’s gotta be scary.

At the very least, Kyoko did not reject Oktavia. In some way, she does understand that Oktavia is her own person, and she’s coming to respect that. But there are some deep wounds having to do with Oktavia’s creation, and they’re both going to have to come to terms with a great many things in the days to come.

And at the very end, it’s shown that Mephisto is weakened but still alive, and she’s pissed! We also learn that one of the girls did accept Mephisto’s offer before she was defeated, so that’s definitely going to come up later. And we meet the rest of the Ideal Witches. Obviously there is more to come with them, so I will say nothing further.

Anyway, I guess that’s it. Feel free to message me if you want anything explained further, or just make your own interpretations. Either is fine.

[lisatelramor]

Choking Bittersweet

A DNAngel fic from me! I’ve had a few in the works, but this is the only one that’s got anywhere lately. This fic is a bit of a mess tonally but I can't bring myself to fix it as I'm a mess right now and I know I'm probably not going to want to go back and edit it some day. So fic. Basically I was reading a couple hanahaki fic and couldn't get the image of Satoshi coughing up flower petals out of my head because of course my brain would go "oh, Satoshi's suffering! This would be even worse!!!" because brains be like that. I binge wrote the latter half of this due to 'vent emotions via writing' and it shows >_>

******

A month before his fourteenth birthday, Daisuke coughed up tiny white petals into his hands. It wasn’t a surprise really. He knew that someone who had an unrequited love could end up with hanahaki. It ran in the family too. His mother had told him stories about his father getting it over her, so sure that she wouldn’t love him in return, until he finally confessed.  So it wasn’t as terrifying as it could have been. He knew that it wasn’t something that killed quickly, and it could be cured just by getting the emotions caught in his chest out in a confession to the girl he loved. He knew that just because it felt like he didn’t have a chance with Risa, it didn’t necessarily mean that she didn’t return his feelings. And if it came down to it,  if she didn’t love him back, he’d have the resolution he needed to move on and let the flowers die on their own.

Daisuke didn’t panic when the flower petals grew in number or when the occasional clump of blossom heads were coughed out of his throat. He just wrote a confession letter and waited for the right moment to give it to her.

There wasn’t anything keeping him from doing otherwise.

He had more to gain than to lose. So he waited for his birthday. It seemed like the thing to do; fourteen had always been the family’s lucky number.

And when Risa turned him down? He cried and the petals withered on his tongue and he tried to move on. Because for Daisuke it had never been a thought that he’d die from something as avoidable as hanahaki.

o*O*o

The Hikari were cursed. Most would say it was a curse of hubris, to try to create life, to create beautiful things, those things took life from them. Others would call Krad the curse. Satoshi agreed with both of those things as horrible misfortunes of birth into the Hikari line, but he thought his ancestors were blind in missing the other curse that seemed to follow them like a miasma. There were no, so far as Satoshi could tell, Hikari members of the main line who had been fortunate in love.

If the Niwa had Dark as a curse of romantic love, the Hikari curse was that they would forever fall for the worst possible person.

Satoshi’s grandmother had fallen in love with a soldier gone off to war and chosen the then-risky operation to remove the roots of her love rather than suffocate a love that was impossible to confess. Satoshi’s mother had fallen for a man she met once, conceived Satoshi, and had died rather than remove the feelings shortly after Satoshi was born. The Hikari family archives were littered with stories about lovers who died tragically young, of loves never realized, and premature deaths from flower-choked lungs.

He’d made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t fall in love. If Satoshi didn’t love anyone, then Krad couldn’t gain as big a foothold in his soul. If he distanced himself from everyone, emotions couldn’t grow. Friendship would never root and there would be no chance that anything would blossom. He’d make his heart and soul a barren ground and he’d do better than his ancestors.

No giving life to art no matter how tempting. No giving into emotions. No letting Krad drain the magic and life from his veins in his pursuit of Dark.

Three rules. Three simple rules.

It should have been easy. Satoshi was no stranger to denying himself wants (or occasionally needs). He had the self-discipline to complete university at age thirteen; he had more than enough discipline to control his thoughts and feelings.

What he hadn’t accounted for was that not everyone would accept being held at a distance. That they wouldn’t give him a choice. That the very boy who was his enemy would offer a hand in friendship time and again no matter how Satoshi brushed him off.

He didn’t account for how too much denial made his mental walls brittle. Made him weak.

When Satoshi felt a tickle in his throat the day after the debacle with the lighthouse, he didn’t think much of it. He got sick easily and they had been out all night near the ocean.

But the cough didn’t go away and when he coughed up pale yellow specks and a perfectly shaped pink petal, his first thought wasn’t about confessing. His first thought was how long he had left until he died. Because there was only one person it could mean, and he could never bend to tell him how he felt.

In Satoshi’s head, Krad jeered about the frailty of human beings and the weaknesses of their emotions.

He could get a surgery tomorrow if he wanted to. Kei would sign off and it would nip the whole thing in the bud before it even had a chance to properly blossom.

But.

There was warmth in his chest wasn’t just the pain of the cough, and for the first time Satoshi understood why so many relatives had suffocated on their love. The feeling was simultaneously the best and worst thing he’d experienced. Like being split open and vulnerable but with the chance that something good might come out of all that pain.

It was a ridiculous thought. Nothing good could come from such a foolish, dangerous love. Satoshi was a Hikari and Daisuke was a Niwa. Dark’s tamer. It was an unbridgeable gap.

And he reminded himself this over and over as bits of flowers started to bloom in his chest. Bit by bit.

He should do something about it.

There was a certain sort of morbid curiosity though about what would kill him faster; Krad, his body’s frailty, or his own suffocating love. …He supposed he didn’t care much for living anyway.

o*O*o

Daisuke had flowers for Riku less than a month. Much like Risa’s they were small and white and left him coughing white petals into his hand. Much like Risa’s they went away the moment he confessed to her. Unlike Risa, she liked him back.

The weirdest thing out of all of it was that Dark never had a flower pass his lips. His feelings for Riku and for Risa didn’t bring out hanahaki the way they did for Daisuke, and when Dark was in control, they might as well have not been sick at all.

Maybe Dark didn’t have an ability to catch it like the Niwa did. Maybe being a work of art kept him from catching frail human diseases. Maybe Dark didn’t love the same way Daisuke did at all.

Either way, the petals dried on his tongue and the love bloomed healthily, the hanahaki fading from his chest.

Yet again, Daisuke hadn’t feared at all.

o*O*o

It was amazing what people failed to notice, Satoshi thought, breathing careful and slow to avoid aggravating his lungs and throat. No one noticed Daisuke’s odd behaviors, not as himself or when Dark took his body. They just accepted it as eccentricity. They didn’t notice the pale white flower petals he coughed into a handkerchief and later threw away. They didn’t notice the flowers end. And no one noticed Satoshi carefully control his breaths and coughs to keep them from disturbing anyone. They didn’t notice the yellow specks on his handkerchief and tongue or the pink petals that cropped up.

No one noticed the first specks of blood on his handkerchief either.

Satoshi looked at it dispassionately. The flower in his lungs had thorns. He’d coughed a leaf once, and little straight thorns had lined the underside. A kind of rose, he thought, and it was probably slowly tearing into him, roots and vines and thorns as it stubbornly tried to bloom no matter how barren he tried to make his heart. He couldn’t be lucky enough to have some finicky, delicate rose that could die at the slightest mistreatment. He’d ended up with a hearty wild thing that would choke him until he gave into its ache or it killed him trying.

His throat tasted faintly of blood a lot lately. He thought that his disease might be spreading faster than he had read it would, but his ancestor’s accounts varied wildly, so there wasn’t any clear way to tell how fast was normal for a Hikari or not.

Satoshi cleared his throat softly and felt the burn in his chest urging him to cough. His breath caught and he breathed through the pain. He needed to catch Dark. There were only so many more opportunities he would have.

He cleared his throat again and Daisuke glanced his way, a small worried frown on his face. Perhaps not everyone was blind to their surroundings.

o*O*o

If asked, Satoshi would say he was managing his hanahaki well. He got through every school day, managed his job chasing Dark—although with a bit less literal chasing—and still did research in his spare moments. He rarely had major coughing attacks, and while there was blood when he did, it remained tiny flecks. He was still functional. He still had a grip on Krad. How he felt wasn’t important. It never had been. Satoshi had one purpose in life, and that was fix the mistake his family made with Dark and Krad or die trying.

No matter how much his step father liked to point out the extra goal of continuing the Hikari family line, it had never been a priority or even an objective to him.

But even Satoshi could admit that having hanahaki was impairing his ability to work toward his goal. Getting shoved into situations with Daisuke were only making his condition decline faster. (He was almost thankful that it had been Dark in Daisuke’s body for most of the Ice and Snow play rehearsals. Worse, almost grateful for Krad bursting free if only because for a moment he could breathe freely, even if the pain was no better than before.)

Things were coming to a head.

Satoshi sat on a bench. It was chilly but not too bad to sit outside. He should be watching Daisuke right now, but there were only so many hours he had patience to watch him go about his day while Satoshi’s breath burned more and more in his chest. Watching Daisuke from a distance always made the memory of Daisuke’s outstretched hand come to mind. If he took that hand, took the offer implied in that. The friendship and everything that went with it… Daisuke never once rescinded that offer.

He closed his eyes. He was so tired. Of all of it. He swallowed against the prickling feeling in his chest. In the back of his mind, Krad sneered at the feeling. He’d been pushing more the worse the feeling of the flowers got.

Satoshi pushed him back and down and breathed, breathed, breathed. His head felt wrong, like he was floating and dizzy.

He wished it was as simple as taking Daisuke’s hand. If it was, he’d take it in a heartbeat, change their fates and their enmity. He wished—his breath caught and stuck. He choked, coughed, clutching at his chest. The world spun and he crashed to the ground, struggling to breathe.

o*O*o

Satoshi woke somewhere warm and soft with voices speaking above him. ‘Ah,’ he thought, ‘hospital.’ And yet there wasn’t the sterile scent or the too cold air, no beeping of machines or IV drip hooked up to his arm. So not a hospital. He opened his eyes and almost laughed because of course. Of course it would be Daisuke who found him. Of course it would be Daisuke’s home that he woke up in with Daisuke having a furious whispered conversation with his mother a few meters away.

Satoshi blinked at them and then at the fluffy white creature he knew was Dark’s wings sitting close to his head. It stared at him through large red eyes, not showing one thing or another. He supposed he should be glad it didn’t attack him on principle. His chest and throat ached. When he tried to sit up, his breath caught and the world spun for a moment.

He must have made a sound because suddenly Daisuke was there, one hand steadying his shoulder and his face far too close, scrunched up with innocent concern.

“Satoshi,” Daisuke said. “You passed out at school and weren’t waking up. I didn’t know what to do and ended up carrying you home.”

“You should have called an ambulance,” Daisuke’s mother said, her emotions smoothed away into a dispassionate mask like she hadn’t been fiercely arguing with her son moments before.

“I panicked,” Daisuke said, sending an irritated look over his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Satoshi said, pulling back from Daisuke’s support and touch. His chest hurt.

Daisuke turned a frown on him. “You passed out.”

“I’m aware.”

“That’s not exactly fine.”

What could he say? That this happened? That he got sick easily in the first place? He looked past Daisuke at the room instead. It had to be Niwa’s bedroom, a scattering of personal items lying around and a work desk with the day’s homework laid out untouched on it. He saw cameras hidden carefully along the walls when he looked up, probably traps built in as well. This was a Niwa household, who knew what secrets it held. He was probably the first member of his family to set foot in one of their homes in generations. Perhaps the only one ever.

“I should go home. Thank you for your concern, but I can’t stay here.”

“You can’t just leave!” Daisuke said looking panicked. He put a hand on Satoshi’s forehead and Satoshi just. Didn’t. Breathe. “You don’t seem to be feverish right now, but you’re not okay! And you live alone…”

“You did collapse,” Daisuke’s mother said slowly. Niwa Emiko. Satoshi’s notes on her were far and few in between; his mother never met her. Still, she met his eyes in challenge and said, “You might as well stay for dinner.” There was something in that stare that made him feel cold. She knew, he was sure. She knew what was wrong with him and she didn’t like what she saw. But she was also going along with Daisuke’s wishes for some reason. She’d let him in here and was letting him stay for dinner.

This had to be some sort of cruel joke from the universe. Why? Why would they even show the slightest kindness toward him considering…? His chest ached, but so did his mind, Krad rousing slightly at the surge of his emotions.

Satoshi let his breath out slowly, pushing Daisuke’s hand aside.

“Please?” Daisuke said.

And Satoshi couldn’t deny him when he looked so earnest and concerned. Daisuke truly should only be concerned for himself.

“…Just for dinner,” he relented.

Emiko pasted a smile on her face. “You can rest in Daisuke’s room while I finish up dinner. Daisuke, why don’t you lend a hand?”

“Wait, but—” Emiko threw the door open, dragging Daisuke with her and leaving a dark-haired man who looked very similar to Daisuke standing awkwardly in the hall outside, a hand raised to knock.

“Ah,” the man, who based on appearance alone had to be Daisuke’s father. “It looks like they’re going to be busy.” He scratched sheepishly at the back of his head the way Daisuke did. But unlike Daisuke, there was something sharp in the glance he threw Satoshi’s direction like he was sizing him up.

Satoshi breathed as regularly as possible even though that close encounter with Daisuke had him aching to cough.

“Actually, could I speak with you a moment?”

Niwa Kosuke had married into the Niwa family. An art history student who had gone on to specialize in the Cultural Reform after becoming entangled with the Niwas. He had a few well received articles in the community, but Satoshi knew he was most likely the one researching and choosing a good percentage of Dark’s targets. There was always someone doing that in the Niwa line, and it certainly wasn’t Daisuke. He didn’t look like much, but neither did Daisuke; that was part of what made him dangerous.

“I’m Daisuke’s father,” Kosuke said, taking Satoshi’s non-answer as permission. He walked in and sat next to the bed and Satoshi, still struggling to breathe, didn’t have much choice in whether or not they had this conversation. “I’ve been wanting to see who this Satoshi Daisuke talks about.”

Daisuke talked about him? His breath caught, wetly, and he struggled to breathe through it.

Kosuke watched him with knowing eyes. “You know, sometimes your face looks very adult. Is that your face, or someone else’s?”

Satoshi’s hands closed into fists beneath Daisuke’s blanket. There was a pause, something heavy between them before Kosuke took another breath.

“I wasn’t born into the Niwa family,” Kosuke said, “So the feud between your family and them isn’t my business. But it gives me a different perspective than everyone in the middle of it. I don’t know where the things I see will lead, but I think you and Daisuke might just be close to a solution, more than anyone else.”

Satoshi wanted to leave. Now. Didn’t want to hear some man try to lay bare things that no one spoke of. There was no reason to speak of them because they couldn’t be changed. He took a breath. “I don’t—”

“I know,” Kosuke said, “I’m just a meddling adult, but I can’t stand seeing kids like you two suffer. Daisuke is always worrying—”

“Stop,” Satoshi said, the word choked as his throat threatened to block entirely.

Kosuke stopped, looked him over again. “You don’t have to accept what hurts you,” he said. “Even if—”

“Please stop,” Satoshi said again. “I don’t…know what you’re getting at.”

Kosuke sighed softly and gave Satoshi a sheepish little smile that was all Daisuke. “I see, well, thanks for letting me ramble then. Although… you should try to make a choice soon.”

“Pardon?”

“About your illness.”

Satoshi held very still and refused to cough. Refused to breathe wrong. It hurt.

Kosuke looked up and met his eyes, smile still friendly, but sadness in his eyes. “You’re nearing late stage hanahaki, correct? If you leave it much longer, you’re going to end up in the hospital or worse.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

There was pity there too. And kindness that stung worse than the pity. “I reached that stage myself when I was a little older than you. It feels like the end of the world, but I promise that it isn’t.”

Satoshi looked away. “Somehow I doubt it was ever that bad for you,” he said. For one, he doubted Niwa Emiko had been in a relationship at the time. And also wasn’t his enemy.

“Hmm,” Kosuke said. “Perhaps not, but everyone’s feelings are their own. Ah.” He reached into his pocket. “One more thing.” Kosuke held out two small objects, one a ring, and one a bottle. Satoshi, against his better judgment, let them be placed in his hand. “That ring has a seal on it that might help you. Dark used it once. It can suppress your…shadow. But only once.”

A ring that could hold Krad back? That was tremendously valuable. Where on earth could Kosuke have found something like that? Let alone feel comfortable giving it to him? “Where…?”

“You can find a lot of things if you poke around long enough. Including treasure,” Kosuke said with a mild-mannered smile.

“And the bottle?”

“That… It helped me once. Its contents can hold off hanahaki’s progress temporarily. It’s not a cure, and you can’t use it very long, but it helps.” He looked at the bottle with a mixture of warmth and sadness, like he was remembering something bittersweet. “I tried to put off dealing with it a lot longer than I should have.”

A bit more time… To what? Catch Dark? To feel himself slipping away even more as Krad tried to become him? Of watching Daisuke smile and offer hands of friendship Satoshi could never take? It was a gift, but it was just as much a curse.

“You know,” Kosuke said, “it wouldn’t be a bad thing to let Daisuke understand you. That sort of trust might be hard, but I truly think it’s possible that you can both shake off the chains of the past and make a brighter future.”

Did he mean Krad? A confession to Daisuke? Satoshi stared at the man and felt a pang of jealousy even as he was glad that, for Daisuke at least, this wouldn’t be a curse. He had someone on his side who would watch over him. Encourage him.

Kosuke gave a wave and stepped out. Satoshi clutched at his chest and tried not to choke. The bottle, something crystal and beautiful, surely an artwork in its own right, had liquid in it and a tiny dropper. Satoshi let a single drop fall on his tongue and it was bitter, horribly bitter, like poison. And like weed killer, he felt the flowers in his chest wither. Not gone, but weaker. Weak enough that he could take a breath. There was still blood on the back of his throat, blood on his tongue under the bitter taste. He wiped his mouth on a tissue from Daisuke’s desk and a single withered petal was crumpled in its mess.

A gift of time and agency. Daisuke was truly lucky to have a father like that.

Satoshi slipped the ring and bottle into his own pocket just before Daisuke came back into the room.

o*O*o

Emiko had never had hanahaki. She’d seen it in so many others, but she’d never had it herself. She had, before Kosuke, never been in love, and had only looked toward people who already were in love with her for potential romantic partners. She couldn’t have unrequited love in that setting. She hadn’t loved Kosuke when she first met him, and maybe it was a mercenary way of thinking, to only look for people who loved her, who could fulfill the requirement of a father for the next generation of a line of phantom thieves. But even if she hadn’t loved him at first, she’d grown to love him.

She didn’t know for sure if the Hikari boy was in love with her son, but he was in love with someone and it was killing him.

Emiko wouldn’t intervene with that. But Kosuke was kinder than her, and that was what had ultimately made her fall in love with him. He was kind and saw more than other people gave him credit for, so if he saw something in that boy, and Daisuke did as well… She wasn’t going to kick him out. She didn’t have to like it. But she’d feed him and let him spend a night under her roof. She just hoped her boys knew what they were getting into.

o*O*o

Satoshi was a fool. He should have left after dinner. Before dinner. Climbed out the window and fled. His heart was weak though, so he stayed. He ate food Niwa Emiko cooked, accepted what the rest of the family put on his plate, and let Daisuke cajole him into taking a bath and sleeping in his bed.

Not together. Thank goodness or he’d have died. Choked on flowers and died on the spot.

Satoshi had looked at Daisuke’s room with all the personal items that showed love and care and life. Looked at the painting he’d done and ached. “Daisuke, someday I’ll destroy you,” he’d said, heart feeling like it was going to burst, lungs burning, burning, and Daisuke had looked him in the eye and said back, “Not me! No matter what, we won’t be destroyed.”

Satoshi didn’t know what to do with that. With how certain Daisuke sounded or how it made Satoshi want to cry. Or maybe to reach out and bury his face in Daisuke’s hair and pretend he could believe him.

Instead he laid down in Daisuke’s bed that smelled like him and was warm and soft and waited until Daisuke was asleep to study his face. Defenseless and open. Peaceful. Things Satoshi never was nor could he ever be.

The vial Kosuke gave him held back the flowers just enough that he didn’t choke.

Krad stirred and for once he wasn’t full of anger. He was contemplative instead. Emotions were complicated things. For people like Satoshi and Daisuke, for Krad and Dark, one form’s emotions impacted the other’s. Even when those base emotions were so far apart, there was bleed over. For Satoshi, Krad’s rage. For Daisuke, Dark’s confidence. For Dark, Daisuke’s love. For Krad…

There was something simultaneously bitter and gentle as they watched Daisuke sleep. Satoshi wasn’t entirely sure where some of Krad’s feelings began and his own ended. “I never wanted to become deeply connected with you,” Krad said, voicing Satoshi’s words. “Daisuke, I always envied you.”

And yet he loved him too. Krad sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair from Daisuke’s face. “You have no idea what you do to him,” he said. “It would be kinder to kill you in your sleep.” But there was no violence in the words, no violence in his thoughts. No intent to harm there at all for once so Satoshi did nothing. Krad carefully shifted Daisuke to his bed with a tenderness that was Satoshi’s feelings, not his own.

A feather drifted free from his wings and they left it behind.

“You can’t go back now,” Krad said as they left through the bedroom window. “We can’t go on like this at all.”

Satoshi pushed that emotion down, all the emotions down, and Krad folded back away without fighting for once because Satoshi knew he was right.

There were flowers and thorns growing in his chest as he stood barefoot in his apartment bedroom, and there was no going back from this at all.

o*O*o

Dark never had hanahaki. He’d experienced it vicariously through his tamers, but roots had never grown in his lungs or flowers choked at his throat. He loved people. Loved girls his tamers loved, but it had always felt like a borrowed love. A lingering effect of the fact that they share a body. The love was there and then gone, just like Dark himself was.

It was different with Risa. Yes, Daisuke might have started loving Risa, but it hadn’t lasted, and Dark might have fallen for Riku first, but he hadn’t experienced this before, this divergent interest from his tamer.

He wasn’t sure if he liked it honestly. It felt wrong on a level he couldn’t explain, not that he ever would to Daisuke. They weren’t supposed to like different people. That wasn’t how it worked. But then Daisuke wasn’t supposed to go befriend a Hikari, and the Hikari wasn’t supposed to want to friend him back. It had to be driving Krad insane which would almost make Dark like the kid except for the whole, y’know, trying to catch/seal/kill him thing the Hikari had going on. Things were weird this time around.

Dark was pretty sure he really loved Risa, and he wondered if he could get hanahaki the way his tamers did. But even if he could, he wouldn’t get it with her. She loved him back and he’d known it from the start. It was Daisuke who had trouble. Daisuke who found himself coughing up petals and hadn’t even felt too worried beyond the ‘I’ve fallen in love with the other sister, how could I’ that Dark didn’t really blame him for being conflicted about. It was kind of an awkward situation if either of them stopped and thought about it too hard.

Thankfully Dark wasn’t usually one for introspection.

It was probably for the best that Dark would never have hanahaki. Maybe works of art couldn’t love that way in the first place.

o*O*o

Satoshi didn’t go back to school. It was a hard choice to make, but school kept pushing Daisuke closer and choking off what little time he had left Satoshi wasn’t even sure he wanted that time sometimes, but he knew that if he actually wanted to make any progress on figuring this curse out, he couldn’t keep watching Daisuke day in and day out.

He’d never realized how much he could miss someone he barely allowed himself to speak to.

Emotions were terrible cruel things. Like Pandora’s Box, once he let them out, all of them, the good and the bad, were overrunning his life. And like Pandora’s Box he hadn’t let out hope so he just felt more and more exhausted by it all.

Kei definitely knew something was up. Satoshi hid the flower petals, hid the vial Kosuke gave him, was very careful not to cough around him or use the blood-speckled handkerchiefs. It was only a matter of time though. Kei would confront him and try to get him to have the surgery. Late stage was a risky surgery. He could hear Kei’s words in his head without him needing to say them. “You have a duty, Satoshi. Don’t make the mistakes of your ancestors. Get that emotion dealt with and catch Dark.”

The truly scary thing was that Satoshi was starting to wonder if the hanahaki would keep choking him even if he did confess to Daisuke. It happened sometimes. No one was sure if it was because the person in love couldn’t accept the rejection or if they couldn’t let go of that love even after knowing it would always be hopeless.

“You’re a fool,” Krad said in his mind. “Just like so many Hikari before you.”

Satoshi blocked Krad out with volumes of family history and art records. With research for something, god anything, to remove Dark from Daisuke without killing him. He was starting to think he’d have to make it himself. Nothing good would come from trying to make something like that himself.

“Ah yes,” Krad said sarcastically. “Kill yourself trying to save your foolish love. You’re all the same in the end. You try to feel nothing at all while feeling too much.”

“Go away,” Satoshi said.

“There’s the gun if you want to die so much.”

Satoshi’s hands trembled on yellowed, crumbling pages. “No.” And that artwork was broken.

You can fix almost any Hikari art if you really want to, a voice that could have been Krad’s and could have been his own whispered. They were blurring more. Slowly becoming one person and Satoshi didn’t want that. He was terrified of becoming that. His great great grandfather had gone mad, Krad seeping into his mind until he’d almost killed his own wife as he lashed out at the world.

Dark went away for the Niwa line once romantic love was actualized. When someone chose the tamer over Dark.

It wasn’t that clear cut for the Hikari.

“You’re a disease,” Satoshi said to Krad. “I just haven’t found a way of getting rid of it yet.”

Krad simmered in the back of his mind and sent him a mental image of Daisuke, defiant and with his own blood-red wings as he defended Dark when Satoshi had sealed him in the mirror. That catalyst that started the end for real. Krad’s emotions were a mix of hatred and sick admiration. The sort of admiration that made butterfly collectors pin insects to boards. Satoshi sent back the memory later. Daisuke’s hand extended even though he was about to pass out. The compassion and kindness that act took. “Weak,” Krad said.

“Strong,” Satoshi countered in his head. Those were both moments of strength. The strength to fight back and assert his emotions, and then the strength to be vulnerable and kind even though Daisuke had just been hurt. Satoshi wasn’t that strong. He was no stranger to being hurt, but he couldn’t keep reaching out the way Daisuke did. Asserting himself didn’t do much with Krad who sometimes just felt stronger.

The roses in his chest dug in their thorns and Krad’s disgust roiled through him at Satoshi’s resulting coughing fit. A whole, five-petaled pink rose, stem and little leaflets and thorns and all ripped its way out his throat. Satoshi stared at it a long time before crushing it between the pages of the book he’d been reading.

How cruel that hanahaki killed with something beautiful.

o*O*o

Argentine happened. Risa kidnapped and another Hikari artwork gone rogue that shouldn’t have had the strength to do so. Argentine in love with Qualia and broken, unable to fully process or express what he felt. Satoshi felt pity for him. Krad felt disgust.

Satoshi extended a hand to Daisuke with roses crowding the back of his throat and felt something like acceptance when Daisuke took it.

Satoshi probably wasn’t going to live to catch Dark, but maybe… Maybe he could make the best of this anyway. Satoshi didn’t want Daisuke to love him back anyway. Nothing good ever came for Hikari lovers. If he could have someone who understood even a little…

He had to sneak another drop of Kosuke’s potion to make it through the rescue effort. The potion was slowly killing him too. The comparison to poison that first time he tasted it hadn’t been too far from the truth. There were so many things he was slowly dying from now he didn’t even bother guessing which would kill him first anymore.

They saved Risa and Daisuke thanked him and Satoshi… Was it love? Hate? Fear or longing? He didn’t know but it gripped the roots in his chest and he didn’t have a choice about whether or not he could breathe through it. The coughing fit came and Satoshi spat out blood and pink petals and yellow pollen to Daisuke’s horrified expression.

“Satoshi…”

He’d hoped to hide it until the end. Satoshi smiled grimly, blood on his lips. “I’m fine.”

“Please tell me you’re going to confess. Please.”

Satoshi just kept smiling. There was an echoing ache in his chest as Daisuke looked more distressed. He took a step back, then another. “I’ll see you around,” Satoshi said.

He left with a sinking feeling in him, one part having a secret shoved to light, another the thought that Daisuke might not understand after all. Not the way Satoshi did what was going on with Dark and Krad. That hurt. It hurt like walking on broken glass. And Krad was there in those hurts, pressing himself into the wounds, using that pain to gain more ground.

What happened to keeping a soul barren of emotion?

Worst of all, Satoshi still loved Daisuke as much as ever. It hurt more, but the warm feeling he’d first realized was there in the center of that pain. Like a fire.

Fires, Satoshi thought, also hurt. He was the fool that kept letting it burn him.

o*O*o

There was no warning when Kei showed up. That was what visits from him were always like, but Satoshi had grown complacent lately with work as a go-between.

“You’re sick,” Kei said when Satoshi entered his own apartment. He stood over Satoshi’s kitchen trash bin, looking down at its contents with a neutral expression that told Satoshi more than one of his pleasant-fake smiles would. In the bin was an empty bottle of cough syrup, bloody tissues, and many odds and ends of flowers.

“You’ve stooped to going through my trash,” Satoshi said in return, just as neutral.

“Were you going to mention it at all?”

Satoshi met his gaze, silent.

Kei’s lips thinned in a displeased line. “I’ve scheduled an appointment to talk to a surgeon. You are attending it.”

“I don’t want to,” Satoshi said quietly.

“This isn’t about what you want,” Kei said. “It’s about what needs done. You’re too far gone to wait longer, and you haven’t done the obvious thing and cleared the problem the normal way.”

“It’s fine the way it is.”

“It’s killing you.” Kei’s stare was biting, cutting into him like it wanted to slice him open and dissect how his mind worked. “But I suppose for you, that is the point.”

Satoshi looked away.

Kei sighed like he was an unruly toddler instead of someone who had been caring for himself perfectly fine for years without his supervision. “However poetic an end you see this, it’s a waste. If you were a bit more proactive you would have caught Dark by now, but you’ve let these emotions take root instead. You have a duty to—“

“Maybe,” Satoshi bit out, “for once in my life it don’t want to think about that duty. Maybe I want to be fifteen and feeling something that is normal. Maybe I want—”

“To die?” Kei said suddenly looming over him. Satoshi took a step back. “Oh, Satoshi, I’m not going to let you die any sooner than is natural for you.”

“Hanahaki is nat—”

“Curable. It’s curable,” Kei said over him, pushing him back a step, another until the wall was at his back. “This can be fixed and so can the problem of Dark. There just needs to be a few more sacrifices.”

Wasn’t it enough, what he’d given already? What all of them had?

“You can’t make me get the surgery,” Satoshi said.

“I can,” Kei said. “You aren’t in your right mind and I’m your guardian. I’m doing this to protect you.”

No, he was doing it because he needed Satoshi. Because Satoshi was the last of the main Hikari bloodline and the last of Krad’s tamers. Adopting Satoshi had opened doors to the Hikari archives that Kei never would have seen otherwise. He could never believe that Kei would act altruistically when Satoshi was concerned.

“You’re going,” Kei repeated. “As for hunting Dark… I’ve let you try your methods. Going forward, you’ll be using mine.”

Satoshi felt cold. Kei cared much much less about the safety of Dark’s tamer. “Don’t,” Satoshi said, regretting the moment the word slipped past his lips.

Kei patted his shoulder in a way that felt condescending. “Get the surgery,” he said, “and we’ll talk after.”

If he got the surgery, he wouldn’t care about Daisuke at all anymore. He’d feel nothing. Krad would probably override everything. But Kei probably knew that. He probably guessed who made love bloom in him in the first place. This was a warning and a punishment.

“Or get rid of it the old fashioned way,” Kei continued. “If you can. Either way you’re going to that appointment.” He moved away and Satoshi remained frozen against the wall as Kei let himself out without so much as a goodbye.

In his head, Krad laughed, a wild sort of rage simmering in him eager to have a crack at Kei’s methods. Satoshi slid to the ground and gripped his hair. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let either of them.

o*O*o

The hanahaki specialist’s office was strangely cheerful. It might have something to do with all the charts of flower species, which were actually rather depressing if Satoshi lingered on the thought of them, but it was much brighter than most doctor’s offices he’d been to. The doctor herself was a calm, middle aged woman who seemed perfectly content to ignore Kei’s presence in the corner and focus entirely on Satoshi himself.

“Well,” she said, looking over the symptom sheet Satoshi had filled out in the waiting room with Kei watching him like he thought he’d run, “it looks like most of your symptoms are edging toward late stage hanahaki. You’ve had symptoms for over six months?”

“Correct.”

“Hmm. May I take a look at your throat, please?”

Satoshi obediently opened his mouth and let her shine a light down his throat.

“Every case progresses at its own rate, but your throat is worse than expected even with your late stage symptoms. Your flower, did you determine its species?”

“It’s a rose,” Satoshi said, pulling out the sample he’d been told to bring. “I never bothered to look up the variety.”

“A rose?” The doctor looked up sharply.

Satoshi blinked at her sudden increase in intensity, but handed over the sample. “It didn’t look like a domesticated one.”

The crease in her eyebrows went deeper. “I see. This does look like a wilder variety.” It had five simple pink petals and a bright yellow center, a branching stem with bedraggled leaves and a myriad of small, straight thorns. His chest and throat burned at the memory of coughing it up. “Typically with roses, we hope that they’ll be domestic ones. They’re less hardy.” She looked up at him. “They also tend to be cases we hope to see here early on because plants with thorns are much more dangerous even at an early stage than soft-stemmed flowers. I’m surprised you aren’t worse.”

Satoshi knew without a doubt that he had Kosuke to thank for that.

“Roses, especially wild ones, are riskier procedures too,” the doctor continued solemnly. “Between the hardy rootstock and the thorns, there’s risk of permanent damage even in a middle stage operation let alone a late stage one. You should have been in here months ago.”

“He’s been hiding his symptoms,” Kei said from his corner, “or I’d have made him come sooner.”

The doctor didn’t even look his direction. “I’m going to have to ask that I speak to my patient alone for a moment, if you would.”

Kei lifted a brow. Satoshi could see the thought about arguing cross Kei’s face before he decided it wasn’t worth it. “I’ll wait outside then.”

The doctor waited until Kei shut the door before she spoke. “I like to hear in my patient’s own words why they chose to come or wait,” she said. “You’re not the first person to hide their symptoms from a guardian, and you won’t be the last. I want a better understanding of the situation before I advise you on anything.”

“Is it really necessary?” Satoshi asked.

The doctor smiled. “You’d think not. But hanahaki is both a physical and a mental disease. I’ve found that in curing it, you need to understand the patient’s mind as well as the symptoms of their body. For example…” She took Satoshi’s sample and pulled a book from under the preparation counter. “Hanahaki is a phenomenon that’s been studied for as long as humans have been experiencing it. And through the years there have been documented trends. Certain flowers show up in certain situations. You’d think it would be a flower that fit the person who is sick, or that best suits their love, but in practice it is a great deal more about how that person feels about their own emotions and the person they’ve fallen for than any straightforward symbolism.”

“I can’t see how it’s important why one flower was chosen over another. It’s the same end result.”

“It can determine how likely it is to kill you,” the doctor said. “For example, how long do you think someone who had belladonna growing in their lungs would live? When I wasn’t much older than you, I fell in love with my pen pal and had irises growing in me. Very pretty flower, also poisonous coincidentally. If I hadn't decided to get the surgery early on, it would have poisoned me before it suffocated me.”

“That has nothing to do with the emotions though,” Satoshi pointed out.

“No, it doesn’t,” the doctor said with a smile. She flipped through images, comparing Satoshi’s flower to them. “Yours… A Carolina rose. Native to North America.”

“And?”

“And I can tell from previous people who’ve had this flower that you view the emotion of love as dangerous, at least in this situation.” Satoshi felt deeply uncomfortable. The doctor folded her hands in her lap, looking at Satoshi attentively. “Please, help me understand the situation.”

He didn’t want to talk to this woman, didn’t even want to be here. He hated being vulnerable, but she’d already seen a large part of how he was feeling just by looking at his flower. “This is only between the two of us?” he asked finally.

“Of course. If I planned to tell your guardian I wouldn’t have kicked him out. Anything said here will remain between the two of us.”

Krad snarled about people interfering where they didn’t belong, but Satoshi ignored him. He could lay out the facts and that would be that. “I didn’t want to fall in love with anyone. Attachments have never brought anything good in my life. So naturally when I did fall in love with someone, it was the worst possible person to have feelings for.”

“In what way?”

Satoshi stared her down and she didn’t even flinch. “A person in feud with my family,” he finally relented.

“And this person dislikes you for your family?”

“No.” Satoshi could almost laugh. “No, they want to be friends.”

“So you’re worried about how your family would react?”

“I know how he would react.” It would be just as uncompromising as being forced to come here.

“And you don’t feel that sharing your feelings with this person would work out well. Is it the thought of rejection?” The doctor’s head tipped to the side, infinitely patient with how little Satoshi was expanding on anything.

“That’s not the problem. I know I would be rejected. This person is already in a relationship.” And it was stupid to feel anything about that fact. If Daisuke wasn’t in a relationship, nothing would change. He still wouldn’t feel anything for Satoshi other than friendship.

“And you’re worried that confessing would complicate things?”

“No. My feelings wouldn’t change theirs. I don’t want them to feel guilty though.”

“And do you think that there would be trouble for this person if their family learned about your feelings?”

“Why would they care? It wouldn’t make them dislike me anymore than they already do. The trouble is me.” He hadn’t meant to say that last part.

The doctor sighed. Her fingers tapped her leg, one-two-three, just once. “If you were less far along, I’d recommend a support group to work through accepting what you’re feeling, but you’re too far along for that to help. But Hiwatari-san, what you are feeling, for whoever this person is, is not wrong. Emotions are just emotions.”

Emotions weren’t just emotions though. They were fuel for Krad, and they meant he was slowly losing himself. He said nothing.

“Hiwatari-san,” the doctor said, taking a different track, “this person is your friend, correct? Or they view you as one?”

“Yes.”

“If you came in here a few months, or even a few weeks ago, I’d advise getting your surgery as soon as possible. But with your flower type and as far along as you are, this would be a very risky procedure. However,” she said sitting a bit straighter as if that would convey the severity of the situation, “the most effective method for curing still remains resolution for your emotions. Talking to your friend and accepting whatever outcome the conversation holds is the least dangerous method at this point. You’ve avoided it because of family history between you both and—excuse me if I’m reading this wrong—because you see your feelings as a failing in yourself. But it remains that if you continue to do nothing, you will die.”

“I know that.”

There wasn’t any judgment in her eyes, not like there would be from Kei, and no pity like Daisuke would have for him. There was sadness, but she was someone who dealt with hanahaki on a regular basis. There had to be plenty of people who’d consulted her and ended up dying from inaction.

“I advise you to talk to your friend. If they care about you like you seem to believe they do, they’ll accept what you tell them even if they may not reciprocate.”

Sure, tell Daisuke and potentially have Krad try to kill him in the process because Satoshi would be focusing on those emotions with their target right there. “And if I can’t find acceptance even after that?”

“Then you attempt the surgery. I would put it at a seventy-five percent success rate if we operated in the next week. Past that, the chances of properly removing it go down exponentially.”

A week. Kei would demand to know the time frame and probably schedule something as soon as they left. Satoshi took a breath, felt it burn like all breaths did lately.

“Thank you for the assessment,” Satoshi finally managed to say. How many people that came here came back? How many cured themselves naturally versus a surgery?

“I hope you take it to heart,” the doctor said.

Satoshi gave her a curt nod. She stood and moved to the door.

“I’ll let you talk to your guardian, and come back around to answer any questions you might have in a few minutes. You can schedule a follow up at the front desk.”

Satoshi gave another bland thanks and felt hollow inside. When Kei came back, he told him as little as possible, but Kei asked the doctor questions when she returned. She didn’t once give any indication about what he told her in confidence. It likely didn’t matter though. Given enough time, Kei would figure it out on his own anyway. There weren’t many people Satoshi spent time with in the first place.

They left with a follow up scheduled and resounding silence between them.

o*O*o

He hadn’t talked to Daisuke since Risa’s rescue. A dumb part of Satoshi had hoped that would help something, but considering it was two days past the doctor appointment and Krad was restless in his mind, it hadn’t mattered. Distance and time were doing very little in helping the situation, even if they weren’t making it necessarily worse.

Satoshi rolled the vial Kosuke had given him between his fingers. It didn’t get any less full with use. It was definitely magic, but he could tell he was nearing the end of time he could use it. There was something about how it tasted, something about how he felt afterward that warned him, like grains of sand falling bit by bit into an hourglass in his mind. One the one hand, he was forcibly having a surgery in less than a week that would either kill him in the process or leave him without the warm-painful sensation thinking of Daisuke brought. On the other, he ran and died from the disease in his lungs.

Or he talked to Daisuke and hoped for closure.

The tickle in his throat was impossible to resist, flaring up to fiery pain the second he let himself cough. Blood and petals. Nothing fully formed at the moment, but it left his breathing wet and raspy and Satoshi leaning against his kitchen counter feeling exhausted even though it was only morning. It was harder to sleep when laying down felt like suffocating lately.

There was a scuffling sound, something he almost missed with the heavy sound of his own breathing, but he looked up to see a familiar lizard looking at him.

“Oh,” Argentine said. “That looks bad.”

Yes, blood-flecked flower petals and a mix of blood and spittle on his face and hands was certainly not a healthy look, but it didn’t explain why Argentine was there at all.

“Where did you come from?” he rasped.

“Under your door,” Argentine said, answering the literal question instead of what he meant.

“Why?”

“Master Daisuke was worried about how you felt.” A tilted head and blank eyed stare. “Rightfully.”

Another cough rattled in his chest. Satoshi rested his head on the counter as it left black spots flashing across his vision. Damn it all, why did he have to fall for someone kind?

“Oh dear,” Argentine said emotionlessly.

Satoshi sent him a glare even as his chest kept stubbornly spasming.

“I suppose I have my answer.” The lizard crawled back toward the door.

“W-haa—it!” Satoshi wheezed. Argentine was gone. Dammit. He couldn’t do much about it through, just slide to the kitchen floor and focus on getting his breathing back to something of a normal. His mouth tasted like blood and bitter-sweet rose petals. If he ever smelled or tasted the things again if he survived this, he would probably throw up.

Well. That went wonderfully. Argentine would report back that, what? Satoshi was coughing blood and flowers? Well, Daisuke already knew he had hanahaki.  Satoshi could probably expect a frantic phone call in the future.

…Or his door could suddenly slam open as a frantic Daisuke let himself in, lock pick still visible in one hand. “Satoshi!”

Satoshi stared at him dumbly. He had lost a bit of time focused on his body, but he didn’t think it was enough time for Argentine to return to Daisuke’s home and Daisuke to run here. Which meant Daisuke had been nearby waiting for a response.

Daisuke froze at the sight of blood streaking the counter, Satoshi’s hands and his face. “Oh my god.”

“It looks… worse th—ahn… it is,” Satoshi got out around a stray cough. A pink petal clung to his lip. He was too tired to wipe it off. Besides, it wasn’t like he had any dignity left at the moment.

“Satoshi, you should be in a hospital,” Daisuke said, suddenly in his face and frantic, wiping blood from his face.

Satoshi jerked back, banging into the sink cupboard. The place Daisuke touched felt like it was burning. His lungs were burning. Everything hurt and Daisuke was there and caring and he never asked for this. He wanted to freeze off feelings and get through his goal to catch Dark, and maybe didn’t care about anything that happened after that. He couldn’t handle this.

He coughed again as his lungs seemed to heave, flowers suddenly blocking his throat. Thorns dragging and scraping. He heaved, heaved again, barely conscious of Daisuke’s arms supporting him as he finally got air enough around the obstruction to cough and expel it out. Six mostly-formed roses fell in clumps of two from his lips, catching on his tongue and gums and lips. They looked more red than pink. “Why,” he said as he could finally drag air for words, “are you… here?”

“Oh my god, are you dying? Oh no, oh no, I should call an ambulance, oh gosh—” Frantic hands on his shoulder, arm, neck, face, flitting like butterflies.

“Daisuke,” Satoshi said, more of a hissing wail of a desperate man than a spoken word. “Why?”

There were tears in Daisuke’s eyes and a bit of blood smeared on Daisuke’s face, probably from Satoshi flailing as he tried to breathe. He looked scared, horrified. Satoshi had tears of his own on his face and he didn’t know when he started crying because pain hadn’t been enough to make him do that in years. Maybe it was just the way he was feeling too much of everything all at once and he just wanted it to stop.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I wanted to make sure you were okay, you’re not okay, what do I need to do to make you okay?” Daisuke babbled, gripping Satoshi’s shoulders like a lifeline. Not giving him a chance to really answer, Daisuke kept talking. “You need to fix this, get the surgery or… or something. Who, who is it so you can tell them, please, I don’t want you to die!”

And Satoshi’s tears came harder along with that struggling feeling of Krad rising, in part because they werere hurt and because Satoshi’s emotions were right there and vulnerably exploitable. He clutched his chest, trying to breathe, to keep it all down, Krad, the flowers, the emotions, but there was too much. It was like trying to cup water in his hands, it just kept draining free no matter how hard he tried to stop it. “Can’t—”

“You can! You’re dying you can still fix this—!”

“You’re part of the problem!” Satoshi tried to say, but it came out sounding more like “Yera-plem.”

“I don’t know what that means!”

“Oh,” Argentine cut in, in human form behind Daisuke. “Is he actually dying?”

If this wasn’t happening to him, Satoshi would probably have found all of this at least mildly amusing. But it was happening to him so it was just distressing. He made an inarticulate sound and clamped down on Krad in his mind because forget dying, Krad escaping would be the worst scenario.

“Oh no, he’s not responding!” Daisuke shook him slightly. “Satoshi! Argentine, get the phone and call 119!”

Satoshi grit his teeth. Could they be quiet for two seconds so he could get back in control? Daisuke was a terrible emergency first-responder.

“Satoshi don’t die!”

Why did he even love him? Oh, right, because he was the only one who would care enough to check in on him and cry over finding him covered in blood. Satoshi grimaced up at Daisuke’s tear-stained face and felt something in him break. This was such a mess. “Sorry,” he choked. It would be awfully poetic if he died like this. Like one of his ancestor’s disastrous lives forever immortalized in their journals, just one more beautifully tragic moment to end a family’s legacy. It didn’t get much more poetic than dying in the arms of someone you loved.

“Don’t say that,” Daisuke protested.

Krad still struggled under his skin, but it was strangely easy to hold him back all of a sudden. Everything hurt, but Satoshi also contrarily just felt warm. Daisue was here. He wasn’t actually dying, he didn’t think, but it felt like in that moment it would actually matter in some way if he lived or died. To Daisuke, it mattered. It was like a revelation. Not Satoshi the last Hikari, not Satoshi the police officer, not Satoshi-Krad’s-tamer, but Satoshi the person he was under all those duties was someone that mattered to Daisuke. Not for what he was or what he could do. Just for being himself.

It wasn’t deserved and he certainly hadn’t asked for it any more than he’d asked to fall in love with Daisuke but it made Daisuke mean all the more to him as well. Maybe that was what gave him the courage to forget about all the reasons he shouldn’t say anything and let the confession fall shaky from his lips. “I love you.”

Satoshi was crying again, blood and tears and snot making it all the harder to breathe. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Wh-what?”

Inside, Krad was furious with him for saying it, but it was still strangely easy to keep him back.

Petals fell from Satoshi’s lips, a wheeze of breath as he laughed weakly. “Who else could it be, Daisuke?” Where was he getting the air for these words? “I’ve been in love with you since the Towa no Shirube.”

Daisuke stared down at him wide eyed, arms tight around Satoshi’s shoulders. He was so warm. Satoshi clutched the hem of Daisuke’s shirt, the closest thing to hold onto. “You… but…”

“I didn’t mean to. I… I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.” His throat felt like he’d swallowed glass. He couldn’t look at Daisuke’s face.

Those warm hands gripped tighter before he’s suddenly crushed to Daisuke’s chest. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Daisuke said, sounding like he was crying again. “All this time…”

Satoshi had half expected to be dropped or pushed away, but of course he wasn’t. This was Daisuke. This was Daisuke and he was kind.

“You could have died!”

Satoshi wanted to point out that he could still die, but it felt overwhelmingly nice to be held.

“It’s not worth dying for. Even if I can’t… There’s always someone out there. It’s not worth it.”

Satoshi laughed, once, it hurt too much to do it again. “You’re my first friend. You’re the only person who’s made me feel anything good in years. I only felt anything because you wouldn’t let me shut you out. I’m… I can’t. I can’t trust people like you do.”

Daisuke made a helpless, sad sound and held him tighter.

“I don’t want to feel anything. It’s so much easier not to.”

“Why didn’t you get the surgery?” Daisuke asked. His voice vibrated against Satoshi’s cheek.

“And be left with all the negative emotions and nothing good?” Satoshi almost laughed again, the memory of main the only thing keeping him from doing it. “I’d rather die.”

“Don’t say that!”

“I’m going to die young anyway. No one with Krad has ever lived past thirty.” Might as well die feeling something and of his own mind.

Daisuke’s hold went iron-band tight. Satoshi would probably end up with bruises from his fingers. There was a long silence that Satoshi couldn’t interpret. Or maybe it was only a silence on his end. Daisuke could ask Dark anything.

“Daisuke?”

“No.”

Satoshi blinked as Daisuke pulled him up so he could look him in the eye. His eyes were puffy and red and Satoshi had stained his shirt. Still, Daisuke had a fierce look of determination on his face.

“No,” Daisuke said again. “You’re going to live. I might not be in love with you romantically, but Satoshi, you’re an important friend to me. You’re going to live and find a way to be happy. Even if I have to help you seal Krad myself.”

The idea of Daisuke being capable of doing that was ridiculous. He didn’t even have any idea what Dark was or how he was affecting him let alone how Krad worked. But the way he said it almost made Satoshi believe it was possible. “You can’t seal Krad without sealing Dark.” Not permanently.

“We’ll find a way.” Daisuke smiled tremulously. “…Satoshi, how are you feeling?”

Satoshi blinked. He felt like a mess. He hurt all over, his throat was raw and aching, he couldn’t breathe through his nose—he could breathe better than he could this morning. Not perfectly, but so much better than he had anytime recently unless he took one of Kosuke’s potion drops. Satoshi blinked again and felt his throat.

“Your flowers, are they wilting?” Daisuke asked.

“I… I don’t know.” The love was still there, still unrequited. But. But Daisuke cared for him. Not the same way. But he cared and Satoshi had finally admitted out loud how he felt. It didn’t hurt as badly as it had all bottled up inside.

Outside there were sirens suddenly blaring and they both jumped and turned toward the door as they definitely stopped outside. Daisuke turned toward Argentine who still had a phone to his ear.

“Oh, I think they’re done crying on each other,” Argentine said in a monotone into the receiver. “He’s probably not going to die.”

“Argentine,” Daisuke said, somewhere between grateful and annoyed.

“You told me to call an ambulance,” Argentine said calmly. He looked at Satoshi. “Love isn’t supposed to hurt you like that. Are all humans this broken?”

“It’s a thing that happens sometimes,” Daisuke said. “But we’re going to be okay. Right?” he asked Satoshi, a little too anxiously.

Satoshi looked back, lost. Were they? But he wasn’t coughing up flowers right this moment and Daisuke was still holding him and warm. So they were better than they had been before. That was more than Satoshi could have hoped for. He nodded and Daisuke looked so relieved that he knew he’d given the right answer for Daisuke’s sake at least, even if it wasn’t wholly true.

The paramedics walked through the open door; Daisuke had never actually closed it behind him when he burst in. They took one look at the blood and flower petals and two red-eyed teenagers and took control of the situation. The flowers might not be choking him, but Satoshi’s throat was still bad enough that they wanted him to go to the hospital anyway. It was a pleasant surprise that Daisuke went with him, refusing to let go of his hand at all.

And Krad was still not breaking free.

For such a painful, exhausting morning, Satoshi supposed it was actually a pretty good day.

o*O*o

“Well,” his doctor said, “the good news is that your flowers are wilting. It’s too soon to say if the roots will wilt as well, but so long as you keep in the same mindset as you have been, I’m optimistic that it’ll be a complete cure.” She smiled. “I’m glad you were able to talk to your friend.”

Satoshi looked off to one side, a bit too embarrassed to be properly attentive. He hadn’t really thought he’d have another conversation with the hanahaki doctor. After all, it wasn’t like she had to talk to him to operate. But since the operation was no longer on the table…

“Your friend seems like a good kid,” she added. She’d briefly met Daisuke, who hadn’t left Satoshi’s side at the hospital until the doctors shooed him away to do a more in depth test and have his actual hanahaki doctor look him over.

Thankfully he’d left before Kei showed up. Kei had also left as soon as he was sure Satoshi wasn’t immediately dying, promising they’d have a talk later. Satoshi had to figure a way around that.

Satoshi squirmed, but there wasn’t really anywhere to go, not while he was hooked up to machines and drips. He hated hospitals. “He’s… kind,” Satoshi mumbled.

She nodded like he said a lot more than that. “As I said last time we met, hanahaki is as much a mental disease as a physical one, so try to hold on to the feelings of resolution and whatever else you’re feeling. It will help everything clear up quickly.”

“He doesn’t love me back romantically,” Satoshi found himself sharing, perhaps at the novelty that he both had emotions to work through and an adult who seemed to be trustworthy not to use them against him. “I knew he wouldn’t love me the same way I love him.”

“But?” the doctor prompted gently when he went silent.

“He cares for me platonically. Which… is more than I ever let myself hope for.” He could still feel Daisuke’s warm arms around him and see the raw emotion in his face.

“A good friend, then.”

Satoshi nodded.

“I’m glad. Now I do have to say there are some complications.” Satoshi sighed. Of course there were. He rubbed his throat absently. It still hurt like hell. “Yes, that,” the doctor said, catching the motion. “Even though the flowers are withering, they did still leave a good deal of damage to your throat and some upper parts of your lungs. I have a few medications that will prevent infections and promote those areas to heal, but you have to be aware that some parts of your lungs might never be as strong as they were before. Plants with thorns are vicious on their bearers.”

Satoshi laughed drily and winced when it felt like glass. Right, still no laughing.

“Well,” the doctor said, equally dry, “you would know that firsthand.” She set aside the chart. “I’ll have them fill your scripts. You shouldn’t have to stay overnight, but they might keep you for observation just because of the amount of damage to your throat.”

“Thank you,” Satoshi said.

“Keep working toward feeling better,” the doctor said, smiling. “I’m sure you have that full recovery in you.”

Full recovery. Satoshi wasn’t sure, but it was easy to be optimistic at the moment. Reality was sure to crash back down eventually, but until then he felt the most content he’d ever been considering he was in a hospital.

He could truly almost believe that one day they could do it. Seal away Krad and let Satoshi live life freely for the first time. There were dozens of reasons why it wouldn’t work, maybe hundreds, but without Kei or Krad right in his face at the moment with talk of duty and animosity… Daisuke’s conviction weighed more. And maybe some part of him wanted to keep living to see that future.

o*O*o

The conversation with Kei did eventually happen. But technically Kei couldn’t complain because Satoshi had ‘taken care of the problem’ like he wanted and by some miracle Kei still didn’t know that it was Niwa Daisuke that was the center of the whole thing. Who knew how long that luck would last. For a little bit longer at least, Satoshi was holding back Kei’s methods. Maybe with a bit more luck, he and Daisuke could make progress before Kei made his move.

Satoshi tended to be a pessimist at worst and a realist at best, but he was choosing to try to be cautiously optimistic this time.

o*O*o

Satoshi wasn’t sure how to feel, being in the Niwa family home again. Last time had been an incredibly stressful time and he’d been literally dying. This time was still stressful, but a different sort of stress.

“How’s your breathing?” Daisuke said at the door, one hand on Satoshi’s arm. “You’ve been taking your medicine?”

“It’s fine, and yes, I’ve taken my medicine. I’m fine.” It was a relief that Daisuke wasn’t flinching away from him or treating him strangely now that he knew. It was concern, the same concern he usually showed toward Satoshi, perhaps a bit more smothering, but he’d seen Satoshi at his worst so it was to be expected.

“Good.” Daisuke pulled him past an entryway that showed signs of traps all over, all currently not active. He’d been asleep last time and hadn’t left through the door. It looked like Daisuke had training in every moment of his home life if this hall was any indication. “Mom said we could use the study.”

“I’m surprised she’s letting me in the house let alone in the study.”

Daisuke shrugged. “Dad talked her around.”

“Ah.” The house was nice. Rich, but of course it was with the Niwa living off generations of stolen goods. They probably didn’t even have day jobs. He smiled wryly to himself. It should bother him more than it did on a moral level, but at their core, their families were equally corrupt. He was learning to make peace with it, especially since he’d seen in Towa and Argentine how Hikari artworks could thrive under Niwa care where before they had fallen to neglect. Daisuke let them into a room filled with old, carefully maintained books, and odds and ends that weren’t Hikari art, but were old and valuable artefacts.

Daisuke waved a hand at a desk with two seats. “Go sit down, I’ll go get some tea for while we work.”

Satoshi sat. There was a wave of fond exasperation in him when Daisuke waited to see that he was comfortable before leaving, but that was fine. It wasn’t the all-consuming love and pain of before. That love was still there, but it was settling into something less painful. It would probably always be there, but he felt like he might one day make peace with that instead of the emotion choking him from the inside. His doctor had been a great help with that.

A soft rap of knuckles on a door frame caught his attention and he turned to see Kosuke’s sheepish smile poking around the door. “Mind if I say hello?” he asked.

“It’s your home,” Satoshi pointed out.

Kosuke’s smile widened. “So it is.” He slid into the chair across from Satoshi. “You look better than the last time I saw you.”

“I’m no longer dying,” Satoshi said with dry humor. “Or I suppose not as quickly.” He pulled a little crystal vial from his pocket, held it out. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t think I would have made it this long without your help.”

Kosuke took the bottle, holding it so the light caught it and left glittering squares of brightness across the desk. “You might have,” he said optimistically. “Either way, you’re still here.”

“I am.” He wasn’t quite at peace with that but he was getting closer to it.

“Have you thought any more about what I said back then?” Kosuke asked.

“Would I be here if I hadn’t?” Kosuke had wanted him to work with Daisuke and put their trust in each other. He was here now, doing just that.

“Maybe.” He smiled. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

Satoshi hummed. “I still am not convinced we can do it. But we’ll probably have a better chance by pooling resources than alone. And…”

“And?”

“None of us have thought to try before.” Understandable considering the enmity. And Krad. Krad was not happy at all, and some of that bleed over was making Satoshi feel more easily irritated by small things. But Krad was getting bleed over too and feeling far less lethal toward the Niwas because of it. “There still isn’t much time but… perhaps this will work. It’s not as if I got very far alone.” When everything was working against him it was pretty hard to achieve anything.

“I’ll lend my help however I can,” Kosuke offered.

“We’ll have to see about negotiating access to some of the Hikari documents.” He wasn’t about to let someone run around in his family’s private information unsupervised, but another set of eyes would be welcome.

“The same for us.” They shared a smile, both calculating the others’ probability of misusing information no doubt. It was a risk for both of their families as much as it was an opportunity.

There was still a chance that Satoshi wouldn’t live to see Krad or Dark sealed away, or that Krad would leech into his mind until he couldn’t recognize himself before they managed to fix anything. This could blow up in their faces and kill all of them because magic and curses were volatile things, and art with souls even more unpredictable. He would worry about that when the time came.

For now, Daisuke returned with tea and another determined expression. And Satoshi took a breath of floral steam without blood or bitterness on his tongue. For now they worked together to maybe put the feud to rest for good.

For now, Satoshi did not regret.

********

I used Victorian flower language for the flowers because why not? Flower meanings taken from here For anyone curious, Daisuke's flowers For Risa and Riku are : Alyssum for Risa (worth beyond beauty) and Angelica for Riku (inspiration) Satoshi's flower, as shown in story is a Carolina Rose, which is "love is dangerous" according to my source (Meaning both how Satoshi feels about love and indicative that Daisuke is a dangerous person for him to love) Kosuke's flower for Emiko was Motherwort which, while being ironic since Emiko's dream was to be the mother of the next phantom thief Dark, means "concealed love," as Kosuke initially hid his identity when leaving tokens of affection toward her.

I like flower language.

Played with the thought of making it requited love when planning it, but this wasn't the fic to do it and in the end I wasn't in the headspace to write actually romance, just project emotional angst. So. Hope you like it despite the sad..

[buggest]

Under Stars

It was three in the morning when Happy received the call. Rolling over, Happy picked up his phone, about to silence it before he read the I.D.

“Peter?” Happy asked into the phone. “It’s three o’clock, kid. What’re you doing up?”

“Happy…” mumbled the voice on the other end. Happy wasn’t sure if it was Peter. The kid’s voice was always so happy, always so loud.

“Yeah?” he answered unsurely.

“Happy,” Peter’s voice started to grow more confident. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the Vulture. I’m sorry about Titan and- and everything else. I- I want it to go away. It’s so loud. Happy, it’s so loud and it won’t be quiet and it’s all too loud and-”

“Peter, what are you talking about?” Happy struggled to keep his voice even.

“I- I can’t. Happy, it’s too loud, it’s too loud. I can’t- I can’t make it stop and I want to and they won’t shut up and it’s too loud,”

Peter started repeated those words time and time again, as though they were stuck on a loop in his mind.

“FRIDAY, where’s Peter?” Happy whispered.

“In his aunt’s apartment, boss, according to Karen. He seems to be intoxicated,”

Happy frowned. “Alcohol?” He asked, surprised.

“He appears to have taken a large dose of his painkillers”

Shit.

“FRIDAY, try to find out how much he took, and get a car ready,” Happy stood up.

“Peter, stay on the line, ok bud? Um, how long has this been going on? How long has it been,” Happy paused, not wanting to say the words. “Too loud?”

Peter stopped repeating his words. “Since- since Titan. I’m sorry, Happy. I didn’t mean to wake you up,”

“No, Peter, it’s ok. You’re going to be fine, got it?”

“No,” Peter said forcefully. “He’s gone. Ben’s gone. Mom, Dad. They all left. I can’t- I’m not going to be fine, Happy,”

They both knew who “he” was, but Happy wished he didn’t. He had known that Peter had lost virtually everyone in his life, but Happy knew he had never stopped to think about what kind of effect that would have on someone as young as Peter.

“Kid, Tony would want you to be ok,”

Peter didn’t respond for a second. “Happy, make sure May’s ok when I’m gone. She needs to know this wasn’t her fault. Ok?”

“Mr. Hogan?” FRIDAY’s calm voice broke through Happy’s shock. “Peter has taken a lethal dose of his enhanced Spidey meds,”

Happy froze as all the pieces fell into place.

“Peter, no- Peter, please tell me this wasn’t on purpose,” Happy said, his voice suddenly soft.

“I’m sorry, Happy,” Peter forced out, his breathing growing more laboured. Happy stumbled into the garage and nearly fell into the open door of the car FRIDAY had prepared.

“Peter! Stay with me. Please,” Happy’s voice broke.

“I’m sorry I was such a bother. I never shut up. I didn’t want to make you suffer, I can’t- can’t be alone in silence, and so I would just talk about nothing and I knew it was dumb and-” Peter cut off his ramble. “I called you to say I’m sorry. And please take care of May, she won’t have any family when I’m gone. Tell her I love her, ok? And make sure Ned and MJ aren’t too sad. They can’t blame themselves. Make sure they all know that I’m sorry- oh yeah. There’s a box of letters under my bed. Make sure everyone-” Peter stopped. “I’m talking too much. Bye, Happy,” Peter mumbled.

The phone beeped as Peter hung up.

“FRIDAY, call him. Force the call through if you have to,”

Peter picked up after a second, much to Happy’s surprise.

“I called you because you wouldn’t care enough to stop me,”

Happy paused. Peter’s voice was void of emotion. “No, Peter. I’m so sorry it felt like that. Kid, I care so much, please-”

Happy’s phone beeped again. Peter had terminated the call.

Happy opened his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Peter,” he said softly. Looking back, Happy realized that he was driving the same car he had driven to the apartment when Peter had called him. Looking back, Happy had realized a lot of things. Peter had stopped talking whenever Happy took him to the new compound. And Happy had been grateful for that. Looking back, Peter had only spoke when spoken to and he had only worn long-sleeved shirts. The autopsy had made the reason for that blatantly clear.

Happy opened the car door and stood outside, staring at the funeral home for a moment before entering.

Happy slammed the car door shut, not wasting a moment to let himself into the apartment complex.

He slowly made his way into the viewing area, which thankfully wasn’t crowded yet.

He rushed up the stairs, pulling out the spare key as he made his way to the door.

Happy steeled himself, knowing well enough nothing could prepare him for seeing May’s face.

The door to Peter’s room was locked. Happy barely thought as he kicked it down.

May’s face was pale and she didn’t speak as she grabbed Happy’s arm and slowly led him towards the open coffin.

The first thing that computed in Happy’s mind was that Peter was wearing a tank-top like contraption that seemed tight against his chest. The second thing he realized was that Peter’s arms were uncovered. Peter had always worn long sleeve shirts. Happy understood why now.

Happy tugged against May’s arm without much effort. He didn’t want to see Peter yet.

Blood covered the sheets of Peter’s bed, staining the fabric bright red. Peter’s once-white binder was stained with the dull shade of dried blood that contrasted the bright red flowing onto the binder.

Happy stared at the navy blue of the suit Peter had been stuffed into, not being able to bring himself to look at Peter’s face. He could still remember the jokes Peter had made about his name, and the way he would rant nonstop. Hell, the kid had started rambling to him that night. That had been two weeks ago. He could remember Peter ranting like that before the Blip, before Titan, before the kid lost his fourth parental figure. Now that Happy thought of it, he hadn’t heard one of those impassioned, overly excited rants since before everything had happened. Happy knew he would give anything to hear one of those rants again. Hell, he would give anything just to speak to the kid again, even if it was only for a minute. To tell him he was loved, that he could get better, that he had nothing to be sorry for. All the things no one had told him until it was too late.

The only part of Peter not drenched in blood was his face. Happy stifled a yelp as his gaze traveled to Peter’s face. Happy had never thought it possible for a face to be both unearthly pale and flushed with the ghosts of tears. He gently pressed a finger to Peter’s neck, scared of what he would find. For a moment, Happy felt relief coursing through his veins, but…

Happy gently took Peter’s hand, just like he had that night. Happy could still remember the fading warmth that had been present underneath the blood that had covered Peter’s whole body.

Happy’s knees gave out under him as he removed his fingers from the spot Peter’s pulse was supposed to be.

“No,”

Happy grabbed Peter’s limp hand desperately, bringing it to his lips, trying to find warmth within it. Happy had sobbed uncontrollably, begging Peter to come back. He had seen so many people die before, but not this young. Never this young. Never someone who had lit up every room he entered. Never the light of his best friend’s life. He could still remember Tony sobbing after Thanos. He could still remember the way Tony had stared at Peter’s picture for so long after he was gone, and, worst of all, he knew Tony had gone across the universe, across time, just so he could save the young man that he saw as a son.

Happy distantly heard the door open behind him. He felt as someone collapsed next to him, but it didn’t seem to matter until he remembered Peter’s words to him.

“Make sure May’s ok when I’m gone”

Happy looked up, wrapping his arms around May Parker’s nearly limp form.

Peter had given off warmth, even in the moment that Happy had found him.

His hand was cold. Happy stared at the limp, freakish remnant of Spider-Man. It all seemed so wrong . Peter was the epitome of life. He had never stopped moving, never stopped talking, never stopped spreading his warmth and light, which had made so many people subconsciously drawn to him.

Now that warmth was gone. Peter had been a star that shined brilliantly even in the darkest of times, but he hadn’t died the way he was supposed to. He hadn’t aged out of existence, finally exploding into a supernova that would make more stars or light the sky brightly. Instead, a black hole had swallowed Peter whole, and no one had seen until he passed the event horizon. Still, even as he was brought down by a black hole that didn’t even let light escape, Peter had still managed to keep shining. Happy wondered if his eyes still had a shadow of the light he had given to so many people.

Happy and May stayed wrapped up in one another’s arms for what felt like hours. FRIDAY had dialed 911, and when Peter was taken out of his room, Happy stayed with May. He stayed with her when she passed out. He traced the lines of her face, wondering how she and Peter weren’t blood relatives. Peter had more than a bit of May in him, and now it seemed that the piece of Peter that in May was the only little bit of Peter left in the world.

Happy felt urged to laugh when he remembered that he had thought that the piece of Peter in May was the only bit of Peter left. Peter had left marks on so many people. Maybe he was a sun, and all of them had been planets, feeding off Peter’s bright, warm light. And while he bettered their worlds, they had just turned away. Happy had just turned away.

Happy looked away from Peter’s pale hand, inhaling before firmly forcing his eyes to look to Peter’s face.

He regretted it the moment he did.

Happy’s phone rang.

“What?” he asked harshly.

“It’s Peter’s friend, Ned. It’s probably nothing, but… has Peter been going out as Spider-Man lately?”

Happy scoffed. “Hell no. He’s- how did he say it?- ‘taking a breather.’ What makes you ask?”

“Well, it’s just… he showed up at school and he had this huge gash on his arm and said it was from Spider-Man, but he said he was taking a break from Spider-Man and-”

Happy inhaled sharply. “I’ll ask him about it,”

And Happy had. Peter had muttered something about an accident having to do with school before leaving. Happy had seen the tears in his eyes as he turned to go. But he hadn’t done anything. After that, Peter hadn’t worn short sleeves again, and he had started going out as Spider-Man again. Happy had seen how reckless the kid was being. He hadn’t done anything. Again.

Happy stared at Peter’s face. No- not Peter. Peter was a boy- a star- who gave off light wherever he went. This thing, this doll, was pale and cold and plastic, it’s face adorned by a disgusting, unnatural thing stuck on its lips that seemed to be trying to resemble a smile. It smirked up at Happy, taunting him with bitter reminders that it was no longer Peter’s smile. Because Peter wouldn’t smile again. Happy had seen to that.

“Peter. I’m sorry. I-” Happy’s voice broke. “This is on me, isn’t it? You thought I wouldn’t care. I guess I didn’t. I saw the signs. I saw, kid, please. Please, kid,” Happy wasn’t even sure what he was asking for. He just stared down at the remainder of the kid who had always been a star. The kid who, without warning, stopped shining.

There were warnings. You just ignored them.

May was gone by the time Happy looked up. In her place, a teenager stared down at the casket.

“Why’d you do this?” the girl asked. She looked up at Happy. “We knew he was depressed, but we didn’t think it would go… like this,” Happy stared at her. She seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place where he knew her from. “I’m Michelle Jones. One of Peter’s friends,” Happy nodded. He had heard a lot about MJ from Peter, back when the kid actually talked to him. Happy squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Peter had talked to people during the end. Just no one had listened. And now Peter was paying for that. “So, what do you plan to do about Spider-Man?”

Happy blinked. “You know about Spider-Man?” he asked incredulously.

“I figured it out a while back. Are you going to release Peter’s name? He deserved a lot more credit than he got, and now that” MJ paused. “Well, May won’t have a target on her back anymore,”

Happy frowned. The tear tracks lining MJ’s face proved that she must have cared for Peter, but she spoke as though he had merely gone on a long-term vacation, not like he had swallowed a bottle of pills.

“I don’t know. He asked me to take care of May, and she deserves to grieve in peace, but-” Happy trailed off, remembering what Peter had said to him about Ned and MJ. “Peter told me to tell you and Ned that you can’t blame yourselves for what happened,”

MJ froze. “You’re Happy Hogan,” she said suddenly. “You were with him when… when he passed,”

Happy sighed, the well of unbidden memories torn open again.

“Yeah. Yeah, I was,”

“Did he say why he didn’t call one of us?”

Happy stared at her. “He thought-” His voice caught. “He thought I wouldn’t care. I think he knew you would’ve cared,”

MJ stared at him, unimpressed. “Was he right? Did you not care?” she asked softly.

Happy took a breath. “I saw the signs. He didn’t really talk anymore unless someone talked to him. He was reckless, kept apologizing over everything, he didn’t eat. I saw. And I,” Happy looked to MJ, “didn’t do anything,” MJ nodded, her eyes going back to Peter’s body.

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “Peter wouldn’t want you to blame yourself,”

“Yeah, but then again, Peter would blame himself,”

Happy took a breath.

“Mr. Hogan. They’re ready for you,”

Happy nodded distractedly. There was no avoiding this. Finally, he looked up at Mr. Morita’s grim face and stood up. He felt like he was in a trance as he walked up to the podium and took in the audience in front of him, a couple hundred grave-faced high schoolers and a few news cameras that were broadcasting Happy’s speech.

“Hello,” he started. “As you know, a student within your community recently took his own life. That student, Peter Parker, was one of the strongest, most perseverant people I’ve ever had the privilege of meeting. I’m sure a lot of you know that as well as I do,” Happy looked up, first meeting the teary eyes of Ned and MJ, before searching through the crowd for one final person.

Flash Thompson’s eyes were red and he sat alone, not moving a muscle as he fearfully met Happy’s gaze.

“What the majority of you don’t know,” Happy said, looking away from Flash, “is that Peter Parker doubled as the hero dubbed Spider-Man and fought in the battle against Thanos. Without him, many of you may not have been here today,” Happy stared at the crowd, letting himself briefly make eye contact with Eugene Thompson. “And yet, that didn’t stop many of you from calling him ‘Penis Parker,’ and making him hide bruises and cuts from the people who loved him, and-” Happy’s voice broke. “Peter wanted a letter to be read to you all,”

Happy gently pulled the rumpled paper out of his pocket, reminding himself that Peter had touched this when he was alive.

Alive.

Was.

Happy froze, wondering how the hell he could think that. How had he gotten to a point where one of the happiest, goofiest people he knew had killed himself?

Why did the brightest star in the sky let himself be swallowed?

Slowly, Happy looked down at the letter in front of him.

“Hello, ” he started.

“ I could explain why I did what I did, but I’m sure that far too many of the people watching this understand a bit too well, even if they don’t know me. You all deserve to move on, and to understand. I tried to feel better for a while, but there isn’t anything that helps, except maybe Spider-Man. Who is me. That’s why I had to ditch my date at Homecoming, why I witnessed Mr. Stark dying and a lot of other stuff. Anyway, I want to finish this by saying that this is for the best. Just maybe don’t start copying me? But also don’t feel bad. I deserve this.

Happy looked up, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

I deserve this.

The cafeteria was dead silent. Happy sighed, knowing there was nothing else he could do. Calmly, he turned away from the microphone and walked off stage.

He’s with Tony now.

Happy knew that thought should be comforting. But Peter had still left them. There would be a gap in Ned and MJ’s conversations. May’s apartment would be empty. The remaining Avengers’ battles would be so much quieter, because suddenly, the sun they didn’t know they depended on had left them.

Happy wondered if the Avengers would even stay together after this. Without Nat, Tony, Steve… Peter? When the Avengers came back from the missions before, they had always been joking, smiling. Weary, yes, but happy. After Thanos, though, the missions had stayed silent. No one spoke when they returned, because they all felt the void of their missing teammates. And eventually, Peter had spoken into that void. Happy had heard them laughing wearily as Peter had made plans based on movies he had seen, or made quips that reminded them all a bit too much of Tony. Peter wouldn’t do that again. He had chose not to because he had been falling and no one had cared enough to reach for him until he was hitting the ground.

And now they all seemed to care so much. They didn’t when he was a boy, spreading his dimming light throughout the world, but now that he had rejoined the stars, becoming the thing he had always been inside, they begged him to come back.

[thefracturedmosaic]

If Only One Died

Part 1- Madivh

Part 2- Neia

Part 3 - Synric

Part 4

Featuring:

@savianblackwood

@synric-silversong

@neiablackwood

 The pitter patter of rain came upon the early morning rise of black skies and grey clouds. Madivh rose to the slight noise all around him, the smell of deeper rain to come, and the promise that if they didn’t start moving, they wouldn’t be moving any time soon until the flood plains dried up.

           Savian was sitting where Madivh had last left his son, but he no longer smelt clean; there  the cigarette buds laid beside him in the grass. Neia was asleep; her head was prompted up on her bag, a blanket over top. She was sleeping with the three other individuals. Synric was no where to be seen.

           Madivh rose to his feet, and with a sniffle and an itch in his noise, he stood beside Savian.

           His son said nothing, only a slight, tired look upwards, then back towards the grey streaked sky.

           “Synric hasn’t returned?”

           “Do you see him?” Savian growled wearily.

           Madivh shook his head, and looked down the hill.

           After a moment’s consideration, waking his mind to his body, he took in a deep breath and said, “I’ll be back.”

           Savian had no retaliation, no farewell concerns, and as Madivh slide the last several feet down, he struck a thin ripple of water over the grass. Over his shoulder, Savian hadn’t budged, looking like a hackle wolf more than an exhausted twenty-year old.

           Within the forest, the birds began to tweet, the bugs grew both quiet around him, and louder further away, the water pelted from high above, striking loose strands against his face; his boots were now an inch deep in water, and silence was discarded.

           “Synric!” He shouted, listening, for the sky was not bright enough to see distant shapes or colors; the world was black and grayish for him, with a hint of deep greens around.

           No answer came, and Madivh did not stop.

           Several long minutes passed, and luckily the water had not risen, but the wind began to whistle and holler, the skies, though grey above, had seemingly grown a deeper color. 

Madivh hopped up into one the trees, steadied himself, and then climbed further up. A peak through the top, he could spy the ocean, a several good mile hike. Around him, the forest opened up for only a mile or so more before the trees began to thin and the mountains reigned supreme were a tilted stone building laid, no further than a few miles east. Behind him he spotted the hill; too far to see shapes clearly, he estimated a good mile had been walked. He also estimated he had wandered a little to far east. He climbed back down, and head towards his left, calling out “Synric!” once more; no answer came.

           The rain had picked up, and with it the water had risen just to his ankle. His clothes now stuck to his body, despite the leathers that guarded his torso and upper legs. The wind blew and chilled him.

           “Damn that boy,” he found himself muttering as he skimmed the far distances. “Next time, I’m sending Savian with him.”

           He wandered a further more, stopped as he took in the far distant rise of the gentle waves of water, and decided that Synric would have long turned around by now. So, he did too, and as he walked, felt his eyes grow heavy.

            Perhaps a mile back, mind numb and bored, Madivh stopped. The water rippled around him, steadying slowly to the careful beat of the raid above.

           Looking upwards, his back prickled and his neck tucked. Hands unwrapped themselves from under his armpits and…

           He flung himself side-ways. A man dressed in all black leather and a mask over his mouth  and head landed helplessly where Madivh last stood. Slowly, the man looked up. Slowly, the man straightened up with dagger already in hand.

           Daggers were already comfortably laying in Madivh’s palms as well, their weight comfortable, their grip wet, but sticking. Madivh managed a smile as the man before him began to side-step. “Do we have unfinished business friend, because I don’t know you, and I’m just trying to find dry land.”

           The man gave no response, typical, and truly annoying. 

The rogue sprung forward, low, and his daggers coming out for a typically slash. Madivh back-peddled, then jumped away; the water below rippled and waved, and the rogue slid in his failed attempt to find his footing and make for a sharp sprint and turn.

           Madivh kept his smile. “Look, buddy, I have no reason to fight you. Why don’t you go on your way, and I on mine?”

           The rogue rose to his height once again, “Where is she?” He said.

           The tree above groaned above him, the wind took leaves and broken branches with it, and the sounds of it slapped the water around them.

           “You know how many she’s I know?” Madivh said stoically. “Have to be more specific than that.”

           The rogue jumped back and disappeared from sight.

           Madivh let out a heavy breath and closed his eyes; he counted, listening, feeling, letting his own magic begin to stretch out. 

A few silent second pass, peaceful, blissful, calming; Madivh ducked, spun on his heels and meet two daggers coming down like fangs upon his head.

           A terrible bad move, Madivh realized. The weight of the man was heavier and came down with more force than he had anticipated. Madivh’s legs gave out and he fell head first into the water and the world grew disorient.

           A blur of movement came, and Madivh took in a deep breath of fresh air and was kneeling in a foot of water. The rogue was back against a tree, an arrow in his shoulder, his fingers wrapped around its wooden shaft.

           A shame, Madivh thought somberly, as he let his magic consume him, take him, and appear right before the rogue whose wide eyes grew terribly fearful. Madivh stepped back, pulling both his daggers back.

           The rogue snorted and grunted, falling slowly to the ground.

           Madivh scratched the back of his head, and stepped forward, kicking away hidden blades that had fallen in the water below.

           A finger pushed the scarf off the man’s mouth and removed the cloth around his head. A young boy, no older than twenty-five, no younger than twenty; his bright brown eyes seemed to beg, while his lips contorted in pain and anger.

           “I told you,” Madivh said slowly. “Sorry kid.” He pressed his blade up against the boy’s chest and slide the blade through.

           A splash sounded behind him as the lights of the boy’s eyes flickered and then disappeared.

           Madivh rose to his feet, dipped his blade into the water around and stroked it as clean as he could with a wet shirt.

           “Are you alright?” Syrnic’s voice was welcoming, and as Madivh turned around to face his son, saw the little nicks this particular rogue had given him.

           “A little worn out. Are we in anymore trouble?”

           Synric shook his head.

           “Well, its best you tell me what happened as we walk. I don’t what to be slugging my way through knee high water. Come,” he said patting his son on the shoulder and turning him away. “Did you at least save the group you wanted?”

           Synric nodded with a light smile. “A small traveling group, their escort was killed.”

           “Lets hope they have a few gold coins then for this trouble,” Madivh chuckled and let his hand slip from his son’s shoulder, who casually took the lead through the flooded wetlands.

[loveofyhwh]

August 23: Job 13–14; 1 Thessalonians 1; Psalm 49; Proverbs 22:2–4

New Post has been published on https://loveofyhwh.com/august-23-job-13-14-1-thessalonians-1-psalm-49-proverbs-222-4/

August 23: Job 13–14; 1 Thessalonians 1; Psalm 49; Proverbs 22:2–4

Old Testament:

Job 13–14

Job 13–14 (Listen)

Job Continues: Still I Will Hope in God

13   “Behold, my eye has seen all this,     my ear has heard and understood it. 2   What you know, I also know;     I am not inferior to you. 3   But I would speak to the Almighty,     and I desire to argue my case with God. 4   As for you, you whitewash with lies;     worthless physicians are you all. 5   Oh that you would keep silent,     and it would be your wisdom! 6   Hear now my argument     and listen to the pleadings of my lips. 7   Will you speak falsely for God     and speak deceitfully for him? 8   Will you show partiality toward him?     Will you plead the case for God? 9   Will it be well with you when he searches you out?     Or can you deceive him, as one deceives a man? 10   He will surely rebuke you     if in secret you show partiality. 11   Will not his majesty terrify you,     and the dread of him fall upon you? 12   Your maxims are proverbs of ashes;     your defenses are defenses of clay. 13   “Let me have silence, and I will speak,     and let come on me what may. 14   Why should I take my flesh in my teeth     and put my life in my hand? 15   Though he slay me, I will hope in him;Or Behold, he will slay me; I have no hope‘>1     yet I will argue my ways to his face. 16   This will be my salvation,     that the godless shall not come before him. 17   Keep listening to my words,     and let my declaration be in your ears. 18   Behold, I have prepared my case;     I know that I shall be in the right. 19   Who is there who will contend with me?     For then I would be silent and die. 20   Only grant me two things,     then I will not hide myself from your face: 21   withdraw your hand far from me,     and let not dread of you terrify me. 22   Then call, and I will answer;     or let me speak, and you reply to me. 23   How many are my iniquities and my sins?     Make me know my transgression and my sin. 24   Why do you hide your face     and count me as your enemy? 25   Will you frighten a driven leaf     and pursue dry chaff? 26   For you write bitter things against me     and make me inherit the iniquities of my youth. 27   You put my feet in the stocks     and watch all my paths;     you set a limit forOr you marked‘>2 the soles of my feet. 28   ManHebrew He‘>3 wastes away like a rotten thing,     like a garment that is moth-eaten.

Job Continues: Death Comes Soon to All

14   “Man who is born of a woman     is few of days and full of trouble. 2   He comes out like a flower and withers;     he flees like a shadow and continues not. 3   And do you open your eyes on such a one     and bring me into judgment with you? 4   Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean?     There is not one. 5   Since his days are determined,     and the number of his months is with you,     and you have appointed his limits that he cannot pass, 6   look away from him and leave him alone,Probable reading; Hebrew look away from him, that he may cease‘>4     that he may enjoy, like a hired hand, his day. 7   “For there is hope for a tree,     if it be cut down, that it will sprout again,     and that its shoots will not cease. 8   Though its root grow old in the earth,     and its stump die in the soil, 9   yet at the scent of water it will bud     and put out branches like a young plant. 10   But a man dies and is laid low;     man breathes his last, and where is he? 11   As waters fail from a lake     and a river wastes away and dries up, 12   so a man lies down and rises not again;     till the heavens are no more he will not awake     or be roused out of his sleep. 13   Oh that you would hide me in Sheol,     that you would conceal me until your wrath be past,     that you would appoint me a set time, and remember me! 14   If a man dies, shall he live again?     All the days of my service I would wait,     till my renewalOr relief‘>5 should come. 15   You would call, and I would answer you;     you would long for the work of your hands. 16   For then you would number my steps;     you would not keep watch over my sin; 17   my transgression would be sealed up in a bag,     and you would cover over my iniquity. 18   “But the mountain falls and crumbles away,     and the rock is removed from its place; 19   the waters wear away the stones;     the torrents wash away the soil of the earth;     so you destroy the hope of man. 20   You prevail forever against him, and he passes;     you change his countenance, and send him away. 21   His sons come to honor, and he does not know it;     they are brought low, and he perceives it not. 22   He feels only the pain of his own body,     and he mourns only for himself.”

Footnotes

[1] 13:15 Or Behold, he will slay me; I have no hope [2] 13:27 Or you marked [3] 13:28 Hebrew He [4] 14:6 Probable reading; Hebrew look away from him, that he may cease [5] 14:14 Or relief

(ESV)

New Testament:

1 Thessalonians 1

1 Thessalonians 1 (Listen)

Greeting

1 Paul, Silvanus, and Timothy,

To the church of the Thessalonians in God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ:

Grace to you and peace.

The Thessalonians’ Faith and Example

2 We give thanks to God always for all of you, constantlyOr without ceasing‘>1 mentioning you in our prayers, 3 remembering before our God and Father your work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. 4 For we know, brothersOr brothers and sisters. In New Testament usage, depending on the context, the plural Greek word adelphoi (translated “brothers”) may refer either to brothers or to brothers and sisters‘>2 loved by God, that he has chosen you, 5 because our gospel came to you not only in word, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with full conviction. You know what kind of men we proved to be among you for your sake. 6 And you became imitators of us and of the Lord, for you received the word in much affliction, with the joy of the Holy Spirit, 7 so that you became an example to all the believers in Macedonia and in Achaia. 8 For not only has the word of the Lord sounded forth from you in Macedonia and Achaia, but your faith in God has gone forth everywhere, so that we need not say anything. 9 For they themselves report concerning us the kind of reception we had among you, and how you turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God, 10 and to wait for his Son from heaven, whom he raised from the dead, Jesus who delivers us from the wrath to come.

Footnotes

[1] 1:2 Or without ceasing [2] 1:4 Or brothers and sisters. In New Testament usage, depending on the context, the plural Greek word adelphoi (translated “brothers”) may refer either to brothers or to brothers and sisters

(ESV)

Psalm:

Psalm 49

Psalm 49 (Listen)

Why Should I Fear in Times of Trouble?

To the choirmaster. A Psalm of the Sons of Korah.

49   Hear this, all peoples!     Give ear, all inhabitants of the world, 2   both low and high,     rich and poor together! 3   My mouth shall speak wisdom;     the meditation of my heart shall be understanding. 4   I will incline my ear to a proverb;     I will solve my riddle to the music of the lyre. 5   Why should I fear in times of trouble,     when the iniquity of those who cheat me surrounds me, 6   those who trust in their wealth     and boast of the abundance of their riches? 7   Truly no man can ransom another,     or give to God the price of his life, 8   for the ransom of their life is costly     and can never suffice, 9   that he should live on forever     and never see the pit. 10   For he sees that even the wise die;     the fool and the stupid alike must perish     and leave their wealth to others. 11   Their graves are their homes forever,Septuagint, Syriac, Targum; Hebrew Their inward thought was that their homes were forever‘>1     their dwelling places to all generations,     though they called lands by their own names. 12   Man in his pomp will not remain;     he is like the beasts that perish. 13   This is the path of those who have foolish confidence;     yet after them people approve of their boasts.Or and of those after them who approve of their boasts‘>2 Selah 14   Like sheep they are appointed for Sheol;     death shall be their shepherd,   and the upright shall rule over them in the morning.     Their form shall be consumed in Sheol, with no place to dwell. 15   But God will ransom my soul from the power of Sheol,     for he will receive me. Selah 16   Be not afraid when a man becomes rich,     when the glory of his house increases. 17   For when he dies he will carry nothing away;     his glory will not go down after him. 18   For though, while he lives, he counts himself blessed     —and though you get praise when you do well for yourself— 19   his soul will go to the generation of his fathers,     who will never again see light. 20   Man in his pomp yet without understanding is like the beasts that perish.

Footnotes

[1] 49:11 Septuagint, Syriac, Targum; Hebrew Their inward thought was that their homes were forever [2] 49:13 Or and of those after them who approve of their boasts

(ESV)

Proverb:

Proverbs 22:2–4

Proverbs 22:2–4 (Listen)

2   The rich and the poor meet together;     the LORD is the Maker of them all. 3   The prudent sees danger and hides himself,     but the simple go on and suffer for it. 4   The reward for humility and fear of the LORD     is riches and honor and life.Or The reward for humility is the fear of the Lord, riches and honor and life‘>1

Footnotes

[1] 22:4 Or The reward for humility is the fear of the Lord, riches and honor and life

(ESV)

[blackthumbgardenjournal]

5/15/2020

Well, the diatomaceous earth slightly worked, so I thought, ok, let me throw it on the leaves directly so that any bugs that try to eat my leaves will get a big mouthful of horribleness! Yeah, don’t do that. The next day, after watering the plants, I noticed that wherever the diatomaceous earth had been, the leaves had become translucent, and then the translucent parts broke through, and now I have plants that look like they belong in a Yayoi Kusama art installation, all polka-dotted with holes. I looked up non-chemical ways to get rid of caterpillars and other bugs, and it’s mostly just kill them if you see them and encourage birds to come by to eat them. So, now I am so frustrated with with this ongoing battle with nature that I have called a tactical retreat; I decided that F*** it! I’m just going to let the bugs have their way, and if they kill all my plants, I will just start again next year. 

Despite all the leaves looking like the cookie monster has decided to go vegetarian, many of my plants are still hanging in there. Unfortunately, my purple Japanese plants with the pretty purple flowers were also beloved by the bugs, because two of the plants I transplanted that were growing really well, got chomped in the stem by the bugs and promptly died. So, out of the original 15 or so plants that managed to germinate, I have one lone plant left. I was really excited by that plant, so this has been a bit of a bummer. My other purple pepper plant have two tiny ones hanging in there, and I am hoping they will survive.

The tomatillo plants are hanging in there (all their bottom leaves have become bug food), and it looks like flowers may happen soon!

See those tiny buds?

The cucumber plants are hanging in there, just growing taller, and both types of tomato plants are doing well! The blue berry tomatoes are actually starting to flower. 

The two tiny struggling ones are even putting on some new leaves, so I am super excited. I was so ready to give up on them!

And the orange hat tomatoes have popped out with its first fruit!

It’s so tiny and cute and adorable, and I spend way too much time just staring at it in awe.

The lemon tree is starting to pop all over with green fruit. The weird thing is, there are some tiny lemons that have already turned yellow (and even fallen off). I have no idea why it’s doing that.

See that tiny yellow one? I was going to do some weird philosophical metaphor about maturing early, but I’m just so baffled that I decided to leave it be.

Still, the flowers are lovely and so fragrant.

Plus a random spider that looks interesting (can anyone tell me if it’s poisonous?)

The mini fig tree has sprouted a couple more leaves, so that’s promising as well.

The flowers in the front are 50% alive and 50% struggling to hold on. I’ll do a more extensive update another time on them (they’re also kind of boring to look at right now). 

On the weeding front, the hot weather we’ve had lately coupled with my lack of watering in certain areas has killed most of them, so now it’s a matter of removing all the dead plants. Unfortunately, some of them are SUPER spiky now that they’re all dried up, so I end up with briars and spiky seeds everywhere everytime I go near them. With the amount of weed seeds everywhere, I have no doubt that when it rains again, we’re going to have a massive weed invasion again. 

And our neighbor’s bush/tree is taking over our shed in the backyard. A part of me thinks it looks romantic and very “secret garden”. Another part of me thinks I should get rid of it before it become a real problem. I haven’t decided which part of me has won out.

Oh well, now that the hot weather is kicking in, I’m sure we’ll have a whole host of new things to face. 

I see all those people on Youtube or on blogs saying, “Oh look at us, gardening is so wonderful, you too can grow your own food” and I want to be like “what are you doing to make it look this easy?!” I’m glad our yard is so small, because I feel like I’m in a war of attrition.

[adriennefrank]

Creation’s Song

I remember the first night we saw her eyes peering in our front window.  I had noticed the stranger lurking outside the evening before, but hadn’t thought much of it.  It sounds silly now.  How could I ignore this odd visitor, hanging around outside our window during the middle of the Minnesota summer heat?

When she returned the second night, I called out to you, “Hey bud, look outside this window!”

“What?  What is it?” You ran over, your five year-old curiosity getting the best of you.

“Look!” I exclaimed, and pointed at the tiny being, peering inside our home.

It was the midst of summer in Minneapolis.  The sun would warm the air until it became hot and sticky.  Then the sky, pregnant with humidity and things I don’t understand, would rip wide open and birth torrential rains, screaming winds, and deep growling thunder.  Hours later, the cool breeze would gently lull all of nature back to peace.  And repeat.  

We should have changed our mailing address to the pool because that is where we spent most of our days.  Except the ones when I was at the hospital.  Or the doctor.  Or dealing with cancer for the sixth time.  This diagnosis felt devastating.  The lowest of all my days was when my surgeon determined it was too risky to remove the cancer and that I should use chemotherapy to slow down my breath-sucking fall off the cliff.  

Had I listened to his advice, I’m not sure that I would be alive right now.  The chemotherapy that I infused directly into my heart, the very part that was keeping me alive, damn near killed me.  I can’t recall how many weeks I had to skip because my blood counts were too low.  The poison was toxic to all my cells: healthy and malignant.  It was my fourth chemotherapy experience in nine years, and my body wasn’t strong enough to withstand the venom that flowed down from the bag hung over my head each week.

It was terrifying.  Time after time I just prayed that I would make it to your kindergarten graduation.

Through a series of providential events, I met a new surgeon.  Perhaps even more skilled with his scalpel.  At least quite a bit more confident.  He offered the surgery, and even used the word, “cure.”  How could I not take him up on his offer?  An offer that might lead to more time with you?  An offer that might give me more days to write our stories.  An offer that might allow me to live.

It was a mere month after that dangerous surgery when our squatter set up residency outside the front window.  Her eight legs and eight eyes intrigued me on the second night as I saw her dangle from a single thread that must have been tethered the the brick above.  I watched as she moved back and forth, across the stone framing the sides of the window.  She formed her anchors, diagonals like numbers on the face of a clock. Perhaps like the one that told her exactly what time to begin her creation each night.

I was stunned.  How did she learn these mesmerizing motions? She began to dance, creating a circle, attaching her thread to each point of her foundation.  Around and around and around.  I could have watched that little hypnotic architect for hours.  Except it took only minutes.  She knew exactly what she was made to do.

I watched for her at twilight on night three.  Slowly I saw her lower her body down. I couldn’t contain my excitement.  

“The spider is back!” I called to you again.

You ran over and we watched the beautiful silk art she created.  I wasn’t sure if I had ever seen anything more amazing.

My child, you were born to a city girl drawn to the tall, lit buildings, dense and diverse population, and four-lane highways that lead right into the fast-paced urban heart.  And yet, that metropolitan girl who couldn’t turn away from the bright lights and city sidewalks named you after one of the most natural objects of all creation: a tree.  The way my heart skips a beat when I see a skyline’s silhouette is woven with the way my breath is taken when I drink in a majestic mountain.  Is it possible to love them equally?  And somehow, I believe I do.

Once her web was complete, she would creep down into the center and wait.  Head facing the ground, abdomen facing the darkening sky.  

“Let’s call her ‘Meredith,’” I suggested. “And let’s see if we can figure out what kind of spider this is.”

I had to know more.  I had never in my thirty-three years seen such a thing. Or had I and never paid attention?  I immediately opened my laptop and googled, “spider mn rebuild web night.”  Through I series of clicks, I learned that Meredith was an orb weaver.  Well, that makes sense, fully recognizing my ignorance.  We learned that she was similar to Charlotte of E.B. White fame.  Would she start writing words in that web of hers?  Words like “hope” and “perseverance” and “healing”?

It had been just hours before that we had built our own sign of hope.  A paper chain, symbolizing each day that I would travel three hours in the car for radiation treatment.  Six weeks.  Thirty treatments.  Hope.  Perseverance.  Healing.

You lost interest a few minutes in to slicing up the pages of a Paper Source catalog, but I continued on.  I needed the immense path stretched out before me, like a runner knowing where mile 26.2 would land.  And yet I needed to take each mile as it came.  One day.  One treatment.  One link tenderly removed from the serpentine timeline.

Each mid-August summer evening, we would attend to the chain and then wait for Meredith to appear.  Google told us that she ate her web each morning, consuming the dew and whatever prey she caught throughout the night.  Again, this astounded me.  Her instincts compelled her to build an elaborate web each night and destroy it each morning, fueling her body with the nutrition it needed to build a new web the very next night.  Wow, I breathed.

I don’t remember exactly how many nights we saw her.  I think it was around a week.  And then one night she didn’t begin her descent down in front of the window.

“I don’t see Meredith!  Do you think she is late tonight?” I asked you.  Had she forgotten to wind her clock?  Was she not aware that it was 8PM and she needed to start construction?

It was then I remembered the rest of Charlotte’s story.  The part where she lays her eggs, her final gift to the world.  And then dies.

You were terrified of the movie, “Charlotte’s Web” when you were three and four years-old.  You didn’t like the beginning where Fern's father threatens to butcher the pig.  This tender heart of yours will serve you well as you make your way through this world.  And yet, I worry that your beautiful heart will bear hurt upon hurt.

I felt this was all some sort of foreshadowing of my life.  Charlotte.  Meredith.  Me.  Would you lose you mother much too soon from this relentless beast of cancer?  All the signs pointed to “yes.”  

I grieved that loss of Meredith in a unique way.  She had become a friend, even though we never spoke to each other.  She was someone I could count on each night when my world felt like it was spinning much too fast.

And now it is summer again.  Almost one year later.  The early heat of June has brought out the fans, pool passes, sunburn, and summer school.  We never found an egg sac outside our window.  I’m hopeful that Meredith simply moved on to better hunting grounds, continuing on her daily routine of eating and building.  Rebuilding.

And isn’t that what we have done?  I completed my thirty trips to the hospital, threw the last chain link away. As we are completing another trip around the sun, we can’t find cancer in this ravaged body of mine.  Miracle of all miracles.

This summer is different.  I volunteered to take care of the flower beds in front of our building.  Each night, around 7:30, when the sun seems to be moving west, we walk down the steps outside and I pick up the watering can.  It’s weight causes me to stumble as I fill it with two gallons of water though it grows lighter and lighter as we pour into our blossoming shoots.

We started by pruning back all the dead stalks that had withered up over the fall and winter.  There is something quite satisfying in that loud snap when the clippers cut into a dead branch.  We filled bag after bag with death, removing all traces from the yard.

I offered you a penny for each pine cone you picked up and put in the garbage bag.  You counted up to 500.  I didn’t correct you when I heard you skip numbers, whether accidentally or greedily.

My favorite flower in our yard (and the yards of most Minnesotans) is the peony.  Especially the double blooms with their soft, silky, perfect pink petals so thick you can’t see to the bottom.  Our next priority was getting cages around the large plants.  Each year it breaks my heart when I see them with their heads on the ground from the weight, too heavy for their stems to bear.  The flowers live such short lives, just a few weeks at the end of May and beginning at June, so to see them spend even a day of that time with their blossoms in the mud fills me with sorrow.  

You grasped the new strong stalks together while I gingerly installed their support system.  

“There are ants everywhere!” you noticed.  

Yes, my boy.  These plants are my favorites and I’m quite certain that they are the ants’ favorite too.  They swarm over the bursting buds, doing their supremely important job as pollinators.

We bought planters, and I chose bright pink tuberose begonias, deep pink and royal purple fushia, and a periwinkle flower whose name I can’t remember.  You received two deep-toned marigolds as gifts and decided to grow lavender for the summer. Your choice makes me immensely proud.  What six year-old chooses to grow lavender? My boy with the green thumb.

They are all healthy and growing.  I wasn’t sure what to expect.  And yet, here they are, blooming.  Fragrant. And aren’t we as well? 

We pick off the dead heads each night and toss them into our own version of a compost pile, consisting of only dried up flowers and leaves.  The neighbors compliment our hard work as they pass by.  I feel proud and protective.

Once we have watered, I sit on the steps and inhale the cooling night air.  You begin your search, looking for bugs, worms, centipedes, caterpillars and any other critter you can glimpse.  This time feels magical.  Like a dream.  And really, it is.  I didn’t expect to be here this summer.  I expected cancer to win the war over my immune system.  Over surgery.  Over chemotherapy.  Over radiation.

And yet, here we are.  Growing new life.  Making memories.  Paying attention.  Learning.

It was a little over a week ago that I commented on the birds that squawk at approximately 9:15 each night.  The sound first caught me off guard because I don’t often hear birds at night.  And then the second night.  And then I started watching the clock.  Same time each night.

“Do you hear that, bud?” I asked you.  "Those birds do the same thing each night.“

What a gift creation has been to us.  To recognize the rhythms, the ebbs and flows, the death and life.  What a joy to pay attention with you.  To learn with you.  And to continue growing with you.

[dailyofficereadings]

Daily Office Readings September 02, 2020

Psalm 38

Psalm 38

A Penitent Sufferer’s Plea for Healing

A Psalm of David, for the memorial offering.

1 O Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger, or discipline me in your wrath. 2 For your arrows have sunk into me, and your hand has come down on me.

3 There is no soundness in my flesh because of your indignation; there is no health in my bones because of my sin. 4 For my iniquities have gone over my head; they weigh like a burden too heavy for me.

5 My wounds grow foul and fester because of my foolishness; 6 I am utterly bowed down and prostrate; all day long I go around mourning. 7 For my loins are filled with burning, and there is no soundness in my flesh. 8 I am utterly spent and crushed; I groan because of the tumult of my heart.

9 O Lord, all my longing is known to you; my sighing is not hidden from you. 10 My heart throbs, my strength fails me; as for the light of my eyes—it also has gone from me. 11 My friends and companions stand aloof from my affliction, and my neighbors stand far off.

12 Those who seek my life lay their snares; those who seek to hurt me speak of ruin, and meditate treachery all day long.

13 But I am like the deaf, I do not hear; like the mute, who cannot speak. 14 Truly, I am like one who does not hear, and in whose mouth is no retort.

15 But it is for you, O Lord, that I wait; it is you, O Lord my God, who will answer. 16 For I pray, “Only do not let them rejoice over me, those who boast against me when my foot slips.”

17 For I am ready to fall, and my pain is ever with me. 18 I confess my iniquity; I am sorry for my sin. 19 Those who are my foes without cause[a] are mighty, and many are those who hate me wrongfully. 20 Those who render me evil for good are my adversaries because I follow after good.

21 Do not forsake me, O Lord; O my God, do not be far from me; 22 make haste to help me, O Lord, my salvation.

Footnotes:

Psalm 38:19 Q Ms: MT my living foes

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 119:25-48

25 My soul clings to the dust; revive me according to your word. 26 When I told of my ways, you answered me; teach me your statutes. 27 Make me understand the way of your precepts, and I will meditate on your wondrous works. 28 My soul melts away for sorrow; strengthen me according to your word. 29 Put false ways far from me; and graciously teach me your law. 30 I have chosen the way of faithfulness; I set your ordinances before me. 31 I cling to your decrees, O Lord; let me not be put to shame. 32 I run the way of your commandments, for you enlarge my understanding.

33 Teach me, O Lord, the way of your statutes, and I will observe it to the end. 34 Give me understanding, that I may keep your law and observe it with my whole heart. 35 Lead me in the path of your commandments, for I delight in it. 36 Turn my heart to your decrees, and not to selfish gain. 37 Turn my eyes from looking at vanities; give me life in your ways. 38 Confirm to your servant your promise, which is for those who fear you. 39 Turn away the disgrace that I dread, for your ordinances are good. 40 See, I have longed for your precepts; in your righteousness give me life.

41 Let your steadfast love come to me, O Lord, your salvation according to your promise. 42 Then I shall have an answer for those who taunt me, for I trust in your word. 43 Do not take the word of truth utterly out of my mouth, for my hope is in your ordinances. 44 I will keep your law continually, forever and ever. 45 I shall walk at liberty, for I have sought your precepts. 46 I will also speak of your decrees before kings, and shall not be put to shame; 47 I find my delight in your commandments, because I love them. 48 I revere your commandments, which I love, and I will meditate on your statutes.

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Job 12:1

Job Replies: I Am a Laughingstock

12 Then Job answered:

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Job 14

14 “A mortal, born of woman, few of days and full of trouble, 2 comes up like a flower and withers, flees like a shadow and does not last. 3 Do you fix your eyes on such a one? Do you bring me into judgment with you? 4 Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean? No one can. 5 Since their days are determined, and the number of their months is known to you, and you have appointed the bounds that they cannot pass, 6 look away from them, and desist,[a] that they may enjoy, like laborers, their days.

7 “For there is hope for a tree, if it is cut down, that it will sprout again, and that its shoots will not cease. 8 Though its root grows old in the earth, and its stump dies in the ground, 9 yet at the scent of water it will bud and put forth branches like a young plant. 10 But mortals die, and are laid low; humans expire, and where are they? 11 As waters fail from a lake, and a river wastes away and dries up, 12 so mortals lie down and do not rise again; until the heavens are no more, they will not awake or be roused out of their sleep. 13 O that you would hide me in Sheol, that you would conceal me until your wrath is past, that you would appoint me a set time, and remember me! 14 If mortals die, will they live again? All the days of my service I would wait until my release should come. 15 You would call, and I would answer you; you would long for the work of your hands. 16 For then you would not[b] number my steps, you would not keep watch over my sin; 17 my transgression would be sealed up in a bag, and you would cover over my iniquity.

18 “But the mountain falls and crumbles away, and the rock is removed from its place; 19 the waters wear away the stones; the torrents wash away the soil of the earth; so you destroy the hope of mortals. 20 You prevail forever against them, and they pass away; you change their countenance, and send them away. 21 Their children come to honor, and they do not know it; they are brought low, and it goes unnoticed. 22 They feel only the pain of their own bodies, and mourn only for themselves.”

Footnotes:

Job 14:6 Cn: Heb that they may desist

Job 14:16 Syr: Heb lacks not

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Acts 12:18-25

18 When morning came, there was no small commotion among the soldiers over what had become of Peter. 19 When Herod had searched for him and could not find him, he examined the guards and ordered them to be put to death. Then he went down from Judea to Caesarea and stayed there.

The Death of Herod

20 Now Herod[a] was angry with the people of Tyre and Sidon. So they came to him in a body; and after winning over Blastus, the king’s chamberlain, they asked for a reconciliation, because their country depended on the king’s country for food. 21 On an appointed day Herod put on his royal robes, took his seat on the platform, and delivered a public address to them. 22 The people kept shouting, “The voice of a god, and not of a mortal!” 23 And immediately, because he had not given the glory to God, an angel of the Lord struck him down, and he was eaten by worms and died.

24 But the word of God continued to advance and gain adherents. 25 Then after completing their mission Barnabas and Saul returned to[b] Jerusalem and brought with them John, whose other name was Mark.

Footnotes:

Acts 12:20 Gk he

Acts 12:25 Other ancient authorities read from

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

John 8:47-59

47 Whoever is from God hears the words of God. The reason you do not hear them is that you are not from God.”

48 The Jews answered him, “Are we not right in saying that you are a Samaritan and have a demon?” 49 Jesus answered, “I do not have a demon; but I honor my Father, and you dishonor me. 50 Yet I do not seek my own glory; there is one who seeks it and he is the judge. 51 Very truly, I tell you, whoever keeps my word will never see death.” 52 The Jews said to him, “Now we know that you have a demon. Abraham died, and so did the prophets; yet you say, ‘Whoever keeps my word will never taste death.’ 53 Are you greater than our father Abraham, who died? The prophets also died. Who do you claim to be?” 54 Jesus answered, “If I glorify myself, my glory is nothing. It is my Father who glorifies me, he of whom you say, ‘He is our God,’ 55 though you do not know him. But I know him; if I would say that I do not know him, I would be a liar like you. But I do know him and I keep his word. 56 Your ancestor Abraham rejoiced that he would see my day; he saw it and was glad.” 57 Then the Jews said to him, “You are not yet fifty years old, and have you seen Abraham?”[a] 58 Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, before Abraham was, I am.” 59 So they picked up stones to throw at him, but Jesus hid himself and went out of the temple.

Footnotes:

John 8:57 Other ancient authorities read has Abraham seen you?

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

[sachaferrier]

THE GREAT MANGO ROBBERY

As a small boy the trip to Gateway food store with mum was a lifeless chore of dolour, Cavendish Square Swindon 1976 wasn’t the greatest of shopping experiences, but unfortunately, back before caring, it was all we had. Amongst its sparse but rich selection was Dewhurst, spilling the sweet sickly stench of death, permeated into the sawdust footprints of its patrons. Devon Savouries, where in summertime I would stand mesmerised, watching the freightage of industrious ants, transferring sugary debris back and fourth from the lavish display and of course a cycle repair shop, where gleaming wrought iron grifters sat ready to be purchased. There were the usual splattering of newsagents, hair salons and public houses around its many alcoves, one in particular the Cock Robin pub, where kids would have their heads ruthlessly shaved for the price of a pint, as their fathers watched on whilst enjoying a pale ale…or two.

Central to this Utopia of consumer habits, stood, proud as brass, the Gateway supermarket. Nothing in comparison to the labyrinth style supermarkets of today, the Gateway boasted three isles, two checkouts and half a dozen trolleys. The entrance was grand, well it was to me, huge double glass doors, one pane boarded up, due to the previous evenings drunken debauchery. Above these aluminium framed doors proudly hung the sign, a motif, a symbol of power and safety, a sturdy green image of two towers, a portcullis and the words Gateway in bold Helvetica. The first time I walked beneath this daunting symbol my aspirations of what lay in wait were somewhat shattered, no knights in shining armour, jousting or jesters, what greeted every customer was a rusty trolley dragged from the brook, and a frumpy looking employee, cigarette in mouth named ‘Iris’, carefully stacking tins of a certain product, claiming to contain no lumps of fat or gristle……GUARANTEED!! 

Shopping for food when I was a kid seemed a painful exercise with no rewards, the shelves a palate of dull pastel colours, all shouting false claims of exotic luxury and adventure. I’d watch as mum piled in the smash, dried vesta curry for dad and of course the 3 lit container of vegetable oil, an essential ingredient needed to top up the aways warm chip pan. The oil selection of today with its Pantone of glorious golds and greens, virgin press and blends, are a far cry from the wall of ‘crisp n dry’ we had back then. The chilled section, with its tantalising ‘Ski’ yoghurt range, which was in fact a special treat and of course ‘Spam’ and ‘Brains’ faggots, which, alternated their way into most mealtimes. I didn’t know any better, the food on offer for my social demographic, was to me, all there was, and on the rare occasions when a ‘Fray Bentos’ was served, I literally had died and gone to heaven. Unfortunately my taste buds and interest in food had all but dried up or to be true never really started, following years of over salted and dull miserable looking concoctions, all served on translucent pyrex plates, but all this was about to change

At fifteen I took a position at the Wiltshire Hotel Swindon as banqueting waiter, hours and pay of no concern, in fact I never turned down a shift or questioned my earnings. Once a week I joined the queue along with the rest of the waiters, chefs, doormen, housekeepers, outside the accounts office, in order to receive my small brown envelope, stuffed with a few greens a blue and some coppers, this weekly task had become my new ‘Fray Bentos’. Following the end of a function, it was my responsibility to carefully salvage any gateaux’s, trifle and butter, reassemble pieces and portions, in order to form a whole new serving ready for the next day. I would often sneak a spoonful of the thick birds custard and dessert topping, but this came at a risk, as being caught by the chef, would result, not only in public humiliation but a thump or two, so the indulgence was very rare. However it was the fridge which changed my knowledge of food, experience and appreciation.

One evening when placing the newly rejuvenated desserts back into the walk-in fridge, I noticed a strange looking box. It wasn’t like the other fruit crates of slatted wood, but an artistic version, brightly coloured, alluring and more importantly closed. This pandora’s box had limited wording on the side “Mangoes” and a country of origin, of where, the location I couldn’t even begin to imagine was. Each time I returned to the fridge my bravery took me closer and closer to peer inside. I’d heard of mangoes, in fact seen them, but never actually tried one. As my shift ended I through caution to the wind, and with the stealth of a ninja opened the box to reveal the plump orangery green fruits lying inside, like strange jewels.  At this point I heard the chef calling, followed by the sound of his wooden clogs. In panic, I grabbed a fruit, tucked it into my jacket and ran for the door, bidding farewell to my comrades.

The walk home was a few miles, dark and often wet. I dreaded this passage, as its path took me through some unsavoury areas, however on this occasion, I had lost all fear, for within my grasp safety stowed away was the stolen mango. I walked with added spring that night, eager to leave behind the hotel so as to find somewhere quiet and alone in order to inspect my wares. I don’t for one minute condone this behaviour, as I had stolen, for which I felt terrible, but at the same time I couldn’t wait to sample this exotic treasure. Once I considered my position to be one of safety, I reached in and pulled out the plump fruit, which was now not only stolen, but like my brow, dripping with condensation, having been so abruptly transferred from fridge to pocket in this daring robbery. Lifting to my nose Idrew in the aroma, it was unlike any other scent I had experienced, even better than a cherry ski. I had no training or previous knowledge into how this fruit should be approached, and so with confidence and excitement, bit straight into it’s flesh skin and all. Juice flooded my mouth, the sweet juicy perfumed flesh tasted delicious, although I felt the skin maybe not as easy to digest. Working around the skin, discovering the odd shaped stone inside, my journey home had become an adventure, I was a young boy experiencing something new, exploring the world through a fruit, stolen from a fridge in Swindon, Gateway was now a distant memory.

My exploration didn’t end there, each shift became a new experience, I had become a professional thief, stealing to feed my first for new tastes. The Kiwi was next, which again taught me that sometimes skins are best removed, the papaya with its black bitter seeds, different oranges, olives, asparagus stems, which are actually quite good raw and fresh cooked beetroot, of which to date I had only tasted pickled, sat upon a pile of hot steaming smash. Before I had exhausted the fridge, the final fruit to fall into my possession was the avocado with its rich glossy emerald jacket. I had delayed my theft of this item due to it’s boringness. I had tried pears many a time and wasn’t a great fan. My youth only ever saw one type, bruised over ripe and at times sour. The flesh was grainy and once down to the core never held its shape, unlike an apple which leaves you with the perfect cartoon core. What could be any different from the pears I knew and the avocado I didn’t? That night the same stealth ridden theft took place, I then headed for home. Had I learned nothing??? Taking my bite through the skin I waited for the sweet grainy pear flesh but instead was greeted with an almost tasteless milky paste finished and a slice of what seemed like a conker, I thought I’d been duped, was this real, was it off, was it ripe?? I didn’t have a clue. The remains of the avocado and the mouthful I’d taken ended up over someones garden wall, I had tried this stolen fruit, offered it a fair hearing, but in the end decided and for many years after that the humble Persea Americana was not for me.

My adventures with food were short lived, slowly as time passed the excitement in taste tapered to a point where it became very rare to find a fruit or flavour of which I hadn’t already experienced. Now at 47 I feel I have exhausted all but a few items, and of those which are left, serve no real interest. Don’t misunderstand, there are cooked dishes of which I enjoy discovering, but it’s the fascination of those raw ingredients which are missed, the child like exploration and excitement of awakening taste buds for the first time, have given way to bitter black caffeine and the thick smog of Philip Morris.

As a father my voyage of discovery is now shared, albeit as more of a spectator. I envy my son, I once had his wide eyes and impatient fixity to explore further than he can reach. I delight in watching his senses mature, revel as he discovers that chocolate, is not the only nectar(Although hard to beat), those fruits I stole at risk of being beaten are now staple ingredients, readily available. They may have lost their shine to most, but introducing these fruits at a steady pace without fear of reprimand to a yet untarnished palette is as exciting now as it was back then.

It wasn’t until I took up photography that something did reignite my own guileless interest towards these basic and often overlooked ingredients. When looking through a camera what you see is yours to frame, to determine the angle and at what point the composition is aesthetically pleasing to your own eye. The German Philosopher Walter Benjamin wrote about the optical unconscious, stating that the camera and cinema have the ability to record aspects of reality that do not fit into the natural optics, namely because they are too quick, small or disperse. We see these details but do not perceive them as information. When taking photographs of what I considered as fairly mundane vegetables and fruits, brought this notion of the unseen to life. The more you stare through the lens at subjects the more you see, the apple with its blemishes, beautifully shaded exterior and perfectly formed stalk reaching from its core to the sky, the fissures naturally occurring between each cabbage leaf, made even more alluring by the rippled fleshy leaves. As I stare I often recall the great mango theft, the fervour now of my experiences are explored through the lens, not dissimilar from the stolen tastings all those years ago, the only difference, it is now the eyes that are rewarded. All of a sudden the normality of food has once again taken centre stage, I see so much more, appreciate the absolute genius in that something so simple, has grown from nothing. 

With the supermarkets offering so much choice I feel we have become numb and oblivious to what not so long ago was classed as exotic, it drives me insane to see vest clad men rummaging through the sprouts at Christmas, tossing to one side rejects which have failed to make their grade… Sometimes we should all stop, hold the object in our hands and explore, examine its form, admire its colour and imperfections. I have realised with the help of a lens, that there is still so much more to see and explore, objects all to familiar do in fact have so much more to offer, hidden beyond our initial perception, further than what we first see, a return to childhood, a chance to regain an inquisitive nature…If only we look harder.