#but please do tag anything about suicide. i dunno just tag it as a simple tw suicide and I won't see it

[morangoowada]

Being a person who gets triggered easily is awful because I can literally filter every single tag about the thing that triggers me and I'll still find something that makes me feel awful because people DON'T TAG IT AOGEOSHDOJDLD PLEASE TAG IT

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Wonderland by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Read on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Or on FF

Tagging: @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @teamhook

Note: This could have a trigger affect regarding suicide. If you or anyone you know needs help, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline1-800-273-TALK (8255) or text TALK to 741741 for 24/7, anonymous, free counseling.

Note: This chapter was inspired by the song Understanding in a Car Crash by Thursday 

Chapter 5: Understanding in a Car Crash

It’s not that Killian was not looking forward to his therapy session, in fact, that would be an understatement, but he had woken up in such a foul mood that he didn’t even want to leave his room.

“You know it’s just like detox. You’re on day 5. Reality is setting in.”

He looked over at August staring at him. “I already have a therapy session with Hopper today; I don’t need you psychoanalyzing me as well.

“Sorry, just offering some reassurance.” The man threw his hands in the air in surrender and Killian decided it would be just as bad to stay here as it would be to face Dr. Hopper’s questions.

Stepping into the courtyard he watched as Ruby left Hopper’s office. He strolled toward the tall brunette, grinning when he noticed her immediate recognition of him. She smiled and strutted in his direction.

“Hey there handsome.” She flirted.

“How was your session?”

She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Eh, I talk more than I should, so I think he’s happy when I leave.”

Killian chuckled. “Got any tips for me?”

“If you want him to change the subject, talk about sex.” She giggled and ran her hand along the buttons of his jacket, fondling them with her long fingers.

“Not sure that tactic would work for me.”

“Well, if you ever need help working on that tactic, you could always practice on me.” She pressed her hand into his jacket against his chest. “Maybe after dinner tonight?”

“Tonight huh? Let me see how this session goes, I’ll think about it.”

“Ok don’t think about it too long, I happen to know that they close off the back side of the island after 5pm so, if you’re interested in exploring…” Her hands roamed toward the waist band of his jeans. “Just let me know.”

“Will do, lass.”

“Good luck.” She purred, swinging her hips as she walked away.

He pushed open the door to Hopper’s office and stepped inside. “Afternoon Killian.”

“Same day, Same Island.” He joked and settled into the couch.

“Today I want to talk more about Milah.”

“Wow right for the balls.” He grumbled.

“Why would you think that? I’m interested in what your relationship was like with your fiancé Milah. Where did you two meet?”

“Hi, I’m Milah, I’m pretty sure I’m your biggest fan.”

“Hi Milah, I’m Killian. Thanks for coming to the show tonight.”

“We uh, we met at one of my shows. She was a fan of the band.”

“When did it move from fan to dating?”

“It was pretty quick. We went out that night, it was a whirlwind courting. At least that’s what Robin says about it.”

“Did Robin like Milah?”

He laughed. “Hell no. Robin called her a gold digger.”

“Did that cause an issue with the band?”

“Rob’s a good guy. He didn’t like her but he’s my mate, so he didn’t push things, no one else would dare bring it up.”

“When did you get engaged?

“About 8 months after we started dating. I had just started filming the sequel for Neverland.”

“When was the wedding taking place.”

Killian tensed. “Um, it was going to be right after the sequel came out, but we uh, we postponed it.”

“Oh, and why was that?”

“There was a lot going on. I uh.” He stared out the window. “Milah and I were fighting a lot during filming.”

“Was Milah accepting of your lifestyle? The drugs?”

“Um yeah, she didn’t have any issues with it.”

“Did she participate?”

“You mean did I do drugs with my fiancé?”

“If that’s how you want me to ask it, yes.”

“Yes, Rob was against the drugs, its part of the reason he disliked Milah so much.”

“Was she high the night of the accident?”

Killian rubbed his palms on his jeans. “No, she wasn’t doing drugs because of the baby.”

“How far along was she?”

“Six months. Doctor said the baby was the size of a mango, so I had just started calling her mango, you know at nights. I always thought it was funny they compared a babe to fruit.”

“But you were still using, while she was pregnant?”

He stared out the window. “Uh yeah. Like I said, there was a lot going on with the baby, I was away a lot because of filming, and when she was with me on set, I felt like she wasn’t really there for me.”

“Were you using the night of the accident?”

“I wasn’t high. I’d had a few drinks, that’s all.”

“Can you remember how many?”

“No, like I said, it was a few.”

“The accident report doesn’t mention driving under the influence, just that rain was a factor.”

“I was bleeding out when they got there, they rushed me into surgery, guess I got lucky I was in shock, so they didn’t think to test.”

“Do you remember the accident?”

Killian glanced at the ceiling. “I uh, not really.”

“Let me the hell out of this car.”

“So, you can run back to him?”

“I want out.”

“Don’t you fucking open that door.”

“Killian, look out.”

“What do you remember?”

“Um, it was raining. I guess I hit a truck. Totaled my car. I remember the ambulance coming.” His voice trailed off, his squeezed his eyes shut.

“The report said that Milah died on contact. Did you know before you went to the hospital?”

He felt a stray tear roll down his cheek. “I…I don’t know. I um, I guess I was in shock. They made me let go of her.”

“Were you aware of your own injury?”

“No.”

“How does it make you feel, knowing what happened that night?”

“How the fuck do you think it makes me feel? Why would you even ask that? It felt like shit! Is that what you want to hear? It was the worst day of my damned life and no matter what I do, no matter how long I spend on this island, none of that is going to make it right. Nothing can fix the fact that I killed her. I killed them both.”

He buried his face in his palm, sobbing.

“Killian, I think it’s important to note that even though nothing you do will ever bring back Milah or the baby, it is important to remember that you didn’t die that night with them. You are still here. Only you can decide how to move forward.”

“And if I don’t want to move forward? Then what Doc? Because I’m good where I am.”

“You’re not really trying to tell me that you’re happy like this?”

“Happy? I don’t bloody deserve happy.”

“Killian, giving in to one’s dark side never accomplishes anything.”

“It’s the only part of me that I have left. “

“If you can't let go of the past... it's doomed to haunt you.”

Killian glared at the man, wiping at the tears in his eyes. He knew he was right, but he also knew he deserved to be haunted for what he did. He was lucky he didn’t get put away for the rest of his life. One simple error of not testing his blood alcohol before surgery and he escaped punishment from the law.

But you never really escape reality.

“How can I help you? Do you want to tell me your name?”

“I dunno, maybe I shouldn’t have called.”

“I’m here to listen, if you just want to talk.”

“…It should have been me.”

“What should have been you?”

“I should have died, not her.”

“Do you have a family member you can talk to?”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just want the pain to end.”

“Have you thought about hurting yourself?”

“I…uh…yes. I have a gun.”

“Can we stop for today?” Killian pleaded with the man.

“Absolutely. You did good today.”

Killian smiled softly before leaving him and headed back toward his room. He had not expected to go into such detail in therapy. He was both pleasantly surprised and mildly annoyed that the therapist was so good at digging information from people who didn’t want to share any.

He lazily wondered if the blonde lass had lifted any of her burden with the man and then immediately chided himself for giving a damn about a woman who clearly wanted nothing to do with him, regardless of what the kiss under the pier meant.

He stumbled into the dining hall, his roommate waving him toward a table.

“You eat yet?”

“No, just left Hopper’s.”

“Awesome, we just sat down, grab some food.”

He turned toward the dining line when Will yelled to him. “Don’t eat whatever it is she’s calling the daily special.” He turned away from him and then yelled again. “And don’t get #4 either.”

“Aye, no daily Special, avoid #4.” He continued to mutter the words over and over to himself as he approached the crazy red haired fitness instructor.

“Well, hello there Killian, can I suggest the daily special?”

“Well, lass, that depends on what makes it special?” He joked.

“Quinoa.” She beamed.

“Keen what?”

“It’s a grain that’s very high in fiber, protein, and gluten free.”

“I’ll stick to the things I know. #5 please.”

“Oh, fine but come back when you decide to stop listening to your friends and want to try something healthier.” She turned to her left. “What can I get you Emma?”

He froze before peering to his left at the girl standing beside him, the one who was currently avoiding his gaze.

“Might I suggest the Quinoa?” He offered with a wink toward Zelena.

Her eyes narrowed but she did not look at him. “I’ll have the Grilled cheese please. With onion rings.”

“None of that is healthy. I hope you know that. You’ll need to do an extra spin class this week just to work that off.”

The girl shrugged. “Worth it.”

When Zelena left to get their food, he turned to face Emma. “Swan, are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you.” She continued to stare straight ahead.

He leaned forward and then stepped in front of her, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t tell me you’re not avoiding me, because I’m actually quite perceptive.” He pointed his finger at her and then back at himself. “And this…this is avoiding me.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped around him, grabbing her food. “I don’t even know you well enough to be avoiding you.”

He leaned in closer to her face, “We could change that.” He breathed against her ear. “Care for another distraction?”

“Give me one good reason not to punch you in the face.”

“And ruin this devilishly handsome face, admit it, you want all of this.”

“If you were the last man on this island, I would still say no.” She growled and he was immediately irritated with his own disappointment.

“If the lady insists.” He grabbed his tray and stepped beside her, walking back to his table, joining Will and August.

“You keep messing with that one and you’re gonna get bit.” August gestured toward Emma.

“Her bark is worse than her bite, gents.” He mused, peering over August’s shoulder to observe the girl. She was currently laughing with Ruby, her head tilted back before he heard a distinct snort.

“I know someone else who seems interested in her bite.” Will pointed his fork in the direction of the door. Killian turned his head to see Jefferson walk into the cafeteria and beeline directly for Emma’s table. He felt his jaw tense as the man sat down next to Emma and nudged her with his shoulder. Emma gave him a bright smile and he groaned and shoved another bite of food into his mouth.

He heard another shrill laugh from the other side of the room, and he grumbled.

“Don’t think that lass has laughed so much since she got here. Gotta give it to the bloke for being able to do that.” Will nodded.

Killian slammed his fork down onto the table and stood from his seat, striding immediately to their table. Emma glanced up as she saw him approaching and he broke eye contact, sitting down next to Ruby.

“Killian.” The dark-haired lass perked up when he reached out and touched her knee. He leaned closer to her, staring into her dark eyes.

“I’m in, love. Meet you at 7?” Her eyes widened and her fingernails traveled from his knee upwards on his thigh under the table. He winked at her and then stood from the table, avoiding the dumbfounded look from Emma, before he turned and walked away, a smirk growing on his face.

He took the long way around the island on his way back to his room, taking in the view on the beach and trying to clear his mind from all the activities of the day. The session with Archie had affected him more than he was willing to admit. He had not spoken of the accident to anyone prior to today.

So much had been written about him in the press after Milah had died. Rumors had swirled about Milah and his co-star being in a torrid affair, though no one was able to confirm any truth to it. Killian had always denied the allegations, thankfully his bastard of a co-star refused to comment.

Killian had known that Milah had an affair with the man, he remembered the day he came home early to the sounds of passion in his bedroom. It had broken his heart, but nothing had prepared him when he found the wallet on the floor and identified the other party that was currently bringing out the moans of passion from his fiancé.

Everyone on set knew the truth, especially after a heated confrontation during a scene where Killian had tossed the asshole overboard. He tried to claim he was simply improvising, but the tension remained with everyone on the crew anytime they had a scene together.

Killian had confronted Milah days later only to have her deny that any such deceit had happened. He punched a hole through their bedroom wall that night. Milah cowering in the bathroom and swearing she had always been faithful to him.

His drinking increased from casual to nightly after the incident. Milah’s pregnancy announcement only causing him to spiral further into his use of drugs as a coping mechanism. She continued to swear there was no one else but him but he knew the timing of her pregnancy meant that it was possible the child was not his.

The papers wrote glowing articles about a man at the top of his celebrity prime who lost his fiancé and his hand in a terrible accident on a dark and rainy road. Fans sent him cards and set up memorials in front of their home. It became too much to bear knowing the truth of that night. Killian couldn’t stand to even look at his own face in the mirror.

“Hey, you wanna head to the gym?” Killian peered up to see his roommate poke his head into the doorway. “Will and I are gonna work out for a bit.”

He looked at his watch and realized if he wanted to get to the other side of the island by 7pm he would need to leave now. “Nah, I’ve got plans.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Plans? Care to share?”

“Nope.”

“Stay out of trouble man, you’ve almost made it a week.”

“Sure thing pop.” He joked and pushed past him.

“It’s your funeral.” He heard the man yell as he left, heading toward the beach. As he crossed through the courtyard his eye was drawn to the couple sitting on the grass under one of the palm trees. Blonde hair blowing in the breeze. He slowed his steps, observing as she sat next to Jefferson, her head dropping back a few times to laugh at something he said. He felt an irrational anger when his hand brushed against her hand, he wore a simple smile but one that clearly showed an affection for the girl.

He turned toward them suddenly, clearly his feet had stopped consulting his brain. He crossed in front of the couple, purposely tripping over Jefferson’s shoes.

“Sorry bout that.” He said dryly. “Didn’t see you there, Mate.”

Two pairs of eyes stared at him. “You expect me to believe that you couldn’t see two people sitting in the middle of the grass?” She quipped.

“Contrary to what you may assume, I’m not always paying attention to your every location, love.”

Her mouth dropped. “I wasn’t, I never, I…”

His eyebrow raised as he waited for her to pull together her thoughts, the smirk growing across his lips. When she stopped puckering like a fish, he interrupted. “Lass, I haven’t the time, if you’ll excuse me, I have places to be.” He winked and then his feet carried him away from the fuming blonde.

His feet hit sand and he made his way quickly to the back of the island, trying to remove the image of Emma with Jefferson. He was infuriated at how light and unencumbered Emma seemed with the man. Someone who he thought was literally quite mad. Why was she able to relax and enjoy Jefferson’s company while being completely hostile towards him?

“You made it.” A voice whispered and then he felt fingers grasp him by the shirt. “I wasn’t sure if you would come.”

“Of course, lass, I said I would, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”

She pressed up against him, her lips connecting with his neck. “Enough words.” She whispered, hot against his ear.

“Impatient, are we?” He laughed nervously, closing his eyes, and connecting his lips to hers. He slid across her mouth like silk, their tongues clashing together. He backed her up against the building they were hiding behind and she groaned at the aggressive contact. Her hands traveled down his chest and her felt her fingers tugging at the button of his jeans. Pulling back, he smirked. “Now lass, let’s not rush things.”

Her lips pouted. “Hard to get. I can work with that.”

He grabbed her hand in his and pulled it back to his shoulder, returning his lips to hers. She grinded her hips into him and he groaned into her mouth. He ran his hand down her back, resting along the supple curve of her ass.

She ran a hand over his jeans, his cock reacting to the attention. He cursed his active mind that was currently in direct competition with his body.

“Killian, I love you.”

“Milah, baby.”

He moaned, trying to clear the movie playing in his thoughts. Milah laid out underneath of him, her breasts highlighted by the moonlight in their bedroom, looking up at her from his place between her legs.

He grabbed Ruby around the waist and drug her with him to the sandy floor beneath them, running his fingers beneath her shirt and exploring the crevice under her breast.

He pinched her nipple and she cried out in delight. He pressed his mouth to her stomach, enjoying the pleasurable sounds she was making when the picture changed back to his room again.

“Killian, please touch me.”

His gaze drifted up and he was met with hooded green eyes that were praising his attention. His eyes blew open. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” Ruby’s head lifted from the ground, peering in the dark in search for his eyes.

He returned his lips to her stomach when his thoughts were invaded by blonde hair, head tilted back, mouth open in a breathy moan. “Fuck.” He sat up quickly. Confused and angered by this new turn of events. His thoughts had always drifted to Milah during sexual encounters, he had become used to it, almost welcomed it at times. Ever since the accident, he had been unable to come to completion in any sexual situation without falling apart to the memory of Milah’s face. How could this woman steal away the last thing he had of his Milah?

“You ok?”

“Of course, dear. I just, it’s been a while.” He shrugged. “I supposed I’m a bit rusty.”

“Oh. I’m…”

“It’s not you, love. You are absolutely gorgeous and amazing. I just, perhaps I’m not as ready as my body is willing. This week has been a bit of a challenge.”

She frowned but her expression remained soft and understanding. “It’s ok. No rush, right?”

“Thank you. If you don’t mind keeping this between us, I would greatly appreciate it. Would hate for my reputation to be sullied.” He winked.

“Just promise me that if anything changes, you’ll come find me.”

He smiled and stood, dragging her up with him. “Allow me to escort you home.” He held out his elbow and she wrapped her arm in his. He was thankful she did not engage him in conversation the rest of the way, he was unsure if he would be able to mask the discomfort or confusion that was at war in his mind.

[hunter-the-sad-skeleton]

Two birds on a wire inspired oneshot?

(Trigger warning for: self harm mention, self destruction, suicide, ect! Ask to tag!) July 15th, 2010. Time: 2:07 PM. Hunter ran off, tearing up, from home. She heard of a movie studio about an hour or two from home, so she went there to, hopefully, get a job. When she arrived, she stood back, gazing up at it in awe. It was so much larger in person...! She soon shook herself from her stupor and took a deep breath, slowly walking in and up to the reception desk. There was an awkward silence. He hadn’t spotted her yet. Hunter waited a few minutes. Then it turned to ten minutes. Eventually, she gently tapped on the desk as if knocking, getting his attention. “Huh?! Someone there? Robin, I swear, if you’re pranking me again, The Conductor’s gonna hear about it!” The receptionist said. “Down here sir, I’m by no means a Robin, I’m a Hunter, sir...!” Hunter chirped. The Receptionist looked around before leaning over the desk, looking Hunter over. “Oh! Hey there little Chirper!” The receptionist smiled. “What can I do for ya?” He asked gently. 

“I was curious if any job slots were open, sir...!” Hunter answered.  The receptionist thought it over. 

“None that I ca-” the Receptionist started. 

“PECKNECK!!!!!” A voice cried out. The receptionist winced. “OF COURSE NOW IS THE TIME YE CHOOSE TO COME DOWN WITH THE BIRD FLU!!!” It sighed heavily. A door to the left of the desk slammed open, a golden yellow owl(?) storming out, running his hands through his feathers. “Receptionist, how do ye feel about being a detective?!”

“Why? What happened to the original?” The receptionist asked. 

“Went and got himself sick!!” He barked. The receptionist sighed. 

“Kid, this is the Conductor. He’s a director here.” The Receptionist said tiredly. Hunter smiled. 

“Pleasure to meet ya, Mister Conductor, sir!” Hunter beamed. The Conductor waved her off, pacing in the lobby, leaving skid marks every time he turned around again. 

“Well, I can’t be the detective, I’ve got work to get done. The kid here was looking for a job, so why not he-” the receptionist started. 

“WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT. GO BACK, HOW OLD IS SHE?” The Conductor asked. 

“Um...almost 12, sir.” Hunter answered, rocking on the balls of her feet back and forth. 

“ALMOS-WHERE ARE YER PARENTS?!?” The Conductor squawked. 

“.........they’re the reason I’m getting a job.” Hunter said coldly, falling still. 

“Eh?” The Conductor asked. 

“I basically carry the whole family. I know how to pay bills, balance checkbooks, pay rent, that kinda stuff.” Hunter chuffed. 

“When did ye learn this stuff?” The Conductor asked, anger growing in his tone. 

“Around....Six years old, sir.” Hunter said. 

“BUHDUHZUHBUH!!!! SIX?!?!?!?” The Conductor squawked. 

“Six.” Hunter confirmed. 

“Well-how good are ye at acting, lass...?” The Conductor asked gently. 

“Sorta good.” Hunter said. 

“Convincing?” The Conductor asked. 

“I played Juliette in Romeo and Juliette and everyone thought I was actually dead.” Hunter answered. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” Hunter said. 

“Well, ye wanna be a Detective in a myrder Mystery, lass?” The Conductor asked. 

“Sounds fun!” Hunter grinned. 

August 24 2010

“Hello, darlin! Welcome to our moon set! Today’s simple! Lead the parade around! Don’t forget to drop by the refreshments! Ya gotta stay hydrated!” Grooves beamed. “But wait! Your current outfit isn’t really parade material....go over to the changing room there” Grooves pointed  “and get changed, Okay darlin?” Grooves asked. Hunter nodded, hopping over.

When Hunter changed, she hopped out, twirling slightly. Grooves laughed at the silly little action, but figured she was having fun, so that was all that mattered.

Hunter ran around, occasionally jumping from wire to wire, even swinging on them. Hunter hopped to a rooftop, grabbing a small bottle of apple juice, gulping it down swiftly before running off again when the parade owls were ready. Hunter finished by hopping from one of the platforms and landing on the main building and taking a bow.

(Timeskip a few years.)

“-ow are we gonna tell her, Conductor, Darlin?” Grooves asked. 

“Honestly and to the point. This doesnae need to take long. It can be quick and painless.” The Conductor said. 

“I dunno, darlin-that seems kinda harsh...” Grooves grimaced. 

“Harsh or nae, we have to tell her.” the Conductor barked. 

Hunter skipped in and dread filled the lobby, express owls and moon penguins dispersing to their work stations. “Hey guys, what’s going on with everyone today? They’ve been almost ignoring me and I feel weird about it...did I do something?” Hunter asked. 

“No, darlin....! Not at all!” Grooves assured. 

“Lass, let’s talk. Let’s have a heart to heart.” The Conductor said, rushing to the point. “

“Oh! Okay!” Hunter said. 

“Darlin, we’ve appreciated what you’ve done for us lately, truly! We do!” Grooves started. 

“I’m glad!” Hunter beamed. 

“I...wasn’t done, darlin...” Grooves grimaced. 

“Oh...sorry sir!” Hunter apologized. Grooves grimaced, looking over at the Conductor. He was still frowning. Oh God. The plan was still go. 

“Darlin, I wanna preface this by sayin ya in NO WAY did ANYTHING wrong!” Grooves stated. “Ya know how plans....sometimes don’t...work out...?” Grooves asked. 

“Huh? What’s that have to do with anything?” Hunter asked, confused. 

“Darlin, look, I-” Grooves started. 

“Grooves, yer taking too long, lass we have to remove ye from the projects.” The Conductor snapped. Hunter’s heart stopped. She felt tears growing in the corner of her eyes and her chest tightened. Why...? What had she done wrong to warrant this action...?

“Wh...What...?” Hunter choked out. 

“Darlin, please understand that this is NOT an easy decision for us to make...!” Grooves pleaded. 

“Why?!” Hunter hiccuped. 

“Yer getting yer own section lass. Animation. We donnae need any idea theft.” The Conductor barked. 

“I’D NEVER DO THAT!!” Hunter hiccuped. Hunter rubbed her eyes with her hoodie sleeve, tears returning shortly after. “I don’t understand...!” Hunter hiccuped. 

“We know darlin, this is just a precaution...!” Grooves padded. 

“IF YA KNOW, WHY DO YOU NEED THE PRECAUTION IN THE FIRST PLACE?!” Hunter sobbed. 

“We bend rules for ye, the rules bend for others, lass.” The Conductor barked. 

Hunter fell silent. “Darlin, we wish we didn’t have to, but-” Grooves started. 

“I....have something to deal with.” Hunter said blankly. Hunter hurried off to the elevator, pushing the button for the basement.

“DARLIN WAIT!!!” Grooves yelped, hurrying after her. As Grooves reached the elevator, dread started bubbling in his stomach. 

“Grooves, What’s wrong?” The Conductor asked, hurrying over.

“Is anyone else downstairs...?” Grooves asked shakily, eyes still trained on the closed elevator doors. 

“Nae, everyone is upstairs, why?” Conductor asked. 

“Is there another way down...?” Grooves asked shakily.

“Nae, just the elevator. What’s going on?” The Conductor asked. 

“...dammit...” Grooves muttered. 

“What was that?” The Conductor asked. 

“I SAID DAMMIT, CONDUCTOR!!!! DAMMIT!!! DAMN YOU AND YOUR DUMB PECKING TEMPER!!!!” Grooves snapped, tears streaming down his face. 

“What...?” The Conductor breathed shakily. 

“IF YOU’D JUST PUT YOUR PECKING EGO ASIDE, WE WOULDN’T BE IN THIS MESS!! I COULD HAVE TOLD HER NICELY, CONDUCTOR!!!” Grooves snapped. The elevator doors opened and the two directors hurried in. 

“............Grooves...? I.....I’m sorry I talked to her like that....I shouldae been more patient....” The Conductor admitted. 

“Yeah. Ya shoulda been.” Grooves said coldly. The Conductor shuddered at the new nature from the moon penguin.

“......do ye think she’ll be okay...? Maybe after we’re done here, we can go hang out-swing by that diner she likes and grab a few root beer floats...” The Conductor suggested. Grooves sighed heavily, taking his glasses off, rubbing his eyes. 

“I don’t know....” Grooves droned. Grooves turned, look at The Conductor, worry evident in his eyes. “I’m scared for her....we were one of the only good people in her life....what if she-” Grooves started. 

“Nae.” The Conductor cut off. 

“What if she-” Grooves restarted. 

“NAE. SHE WON’T. She’s strong, Grooves. She just needs a hug.” The Conductor interrupted again, not wanting to imagine her committing the act Grooves was implying.

“What if it’s not just that, Conductor?!? What if it’s more serious?!?” Grooves hiccuped. 

“It’s nae-” the Conductor started. 

“YOU SAW HER ARMS, DARLIN. THOSE WEREN’T AN ACCIDENT!!” Grooves hiccuped. The Conductor fell silent. The rest of the elevator ride was in silence. When the doors opened, Grooves rushed to Hunter’s typical hideout spot, face draining of colour as he looked up at the loft.

“GROOVES, DID YE FIND HER?!?” Conductor called. Grooves tried to respond, but no sound came out. His little darlin was gone. Hanging from the loft like a coat in a closet. “GROOVES, DID YE HEAR ME?!” Conductor called. Grooves got up, walking over to a desk, gently unfolding a note and reading it. 

“In here....!” Grooves called, shaking violently. The Conductor hurried in, freezing in the doorframe up spotting Hunter.

“Grooves-” the Conductor started. 

“We’re too late, darlin...” Grooves croaked handing the note over. The Conductor gingerly took it from the moon penguin’s flippers, reading it.

“Dear Grooves and Conductor, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I guess I ain’t as strong as ya think, huh? I never told ya guys what was going on in my head since I-quite frankly-didn’t wanna freak you out. It scared me, the thoughts I could get. But! At least those thoughts won’t bother anyone else now, right? =) anyway, I guess that I should explain. I did this because it got to be too much. I couldn’t deal with the thoughts anymore. I couldn’t listen to my head anymore. I couldn’t deal with myself anymore. I couldn’t bear it anymore. So I chose to not bear anything ever again. Guess mom ‘n’ dad were right, huh? Conductor, I know you’re gonna find this note-you’re clever like that-but I have a special request for you. Hug your family. Tell them you love them. Tell them you love them, and hug them, and kiss them, and NEVER. LET. GO. it could be your last time seeing them. And Grooves, I know ya! I know it’s gonna be sad for ya that I’m gone, but please-I’m begging you-Don’t let your films lose their sparkle! Keep em special! They don’t need me to be successful! They never needed me to be successful! Ya just needed confidence! Don’t lose that confidence! Heck! Don’t see my death as sad! Use it to inspire you! To inspire OTHERS! You can even use it for a story for a movie if ya want! Use it for an inspirational story about being strong enough to know when to ask for help! Strong enough to admit that you NEED HELP. That you’re not okay. That you’re reaching your breaking point. That you’re hurting but don’t wanna tell anyone for fear of coming off as stupid or pathetic or useless! To show that it’s okay to not be okay! For the both of you; work together. Please. I’ll still be watching ya! So every time ya argue, I’ll shake my head disapprovingly! I’ll waggle my little ghost finger at ya! Don’t think I won’t! Anyway, my hookshot is callin for me, so I gotta go! Swing by ya later, my buddies! -Hunter Bridgette Burkes.”

The Conductor’s throat tightened. She was hurting-and for so long-how did he not see it? How did he not see the signs? If only he wasn’t blind to it-if he only told her she was doing such a good job! If only he wasn’t caught up in his ego! If only he wasn’t such a peckneck! If only...he’d just listened to Grooves and stood back. He folded the note back the way it was gently, putting it back on the desk. He stood back, looking at Hunter again. It was horrible. She shouldn’t have been there. She should have woken up-dropped down and chirped out ‘surprise!’ Ages ago! She should have heard Grooves’ distress and dropped down, hugging him tightly and apologizing instead of hanging there, lifeless as a  statue. He felt tears start to make their way down his face. This wasn’t fair-HE wasn’t fair. She shouldn’t be dead-NOT at such a young age. His shoulders shook as his vision started to blur. It wasn’t fair. He fell to his knees, head in his hands as the tears flowed. HE. wasn’t. Fair. 

(Timeskip to when The Conductor comes home.)

“I’m home...!” the Conductor called hoarsely. 

“Welcome home!” Mary called from the kitchen.

The Conductor plopped down on the couch after putting everything down. Mary poked her head out of the kitchen, worried at how quiet her husband was being.

“Did something happen at work today, sweetie?” Mary asked  

The Conductor shuddered. “What about Aunty Hunter?” Poppy asked. 

“Aunty Hunter?” Max asked. 

“Purple hoodie, crow?” Poppy asked. 

“Oh! Hunter! She was nice! I wonder if she’s gonna babysit us again soon!” Max beamed. The Conductor shook slightly. 

“Con?” Mary asked. The Conductor walked over to Mary, hugging her tightly. “Oh!” Mary exclaimed in surprise.

“I love you so much, Lass.....I hope ye know that...!” The Conductor sniffled. 

“Con, what happened...? You’re shaking like a leaf...!” Mary asked, concerned. 

“Kids, can ye please go upstairs...? Mama Mary and I have to talk about something ye don’t need to know yet...” The Conductor asked gently. Poppy nodded, taking everyone else upstairs.

“What’s going on? Is something wrong?” Max Asked as he was taken upstairs.

“What happened at work today, Con?” Mary asked. Tears filled The Conductor’s eyes. 

“She’s dead, Mary...” The Conductor hiccuped.

“What?” Mary asked, confused.

“Hunter’s dead...! Suicide...!” The Conductor hiccuped.

“Wh-What....?!” Mary gasped. 

“I shouldae seen the signs...! I didn’t know....!” The Conductor hiccuped. 

“Oh, Con...” Mary frowned. The Conductor hugged her tightly.

“I shouldae been more gentle....! How am I gonna tell the kids...?” The Conductor sniffled. 

“Truthfully...they deserve it.” Mary advised. 

“I donnae wanna break their wee little hearts...!” The Conductor sniffled.

“I know, but they’ll keep asking when she can next babysit if you don’t tell them...” Mary said. 

“Aye....” The Conductor said. “I....I think I’m gonna go tell them as gently as I can...” The Conductor took a deep breath, walking upstairs to the kids’ room.

The Conductor knocked, opening the door gently. “Hello, kiddos, I have an important announcement to make, so....gather ‘round...” The Conductor said. The kids hopped over. 

“What’s wrong, papa?” Ray asked. 

“Did something happen at work today?” Max asked. 

“Aye, lad...it was nae something good....” The Conductor shuddered. 

“Is Aunty Hunter okay, papa?” Ray asked. 

“About Aunty Hunter.....” The Conductor sighed. He took a deep breath.

“Is she okay? Is she hurt?” Poppy asked, concerned.

“Aye, badly...” The Conductor asked. 

“Like you when yer train blew up at work that one time?” Max asked.

“Nae, worse...” The Conductor shook his head.

“But ye almost died...!” Max said. 

“Aye.....” The Conductor nodded.

“What happened...?” Poppy asked.

“....today, at 2:57 AM, Hunter took her own life....” The Conductor shuddered.

“Oh no...!” Poppy gasped.

“Whe-When’ll she be back...?” Max asked.

“Lad, ye can’t-there’s nae coming back from death....she’s gone fer good...” The Conductor said sadly. The Conductor laughed sadly. “In part, it was me fault....I was the one who snapped at her...”

“Papa, it’s not your fault...!” Poppy assured.

“Poppy’s right...!” Max nodded. 

“Hunter may not be alive anymore, but she’s still alive in our hearts...!” Poppy said. “And family never leaves your heart-no matter what!” Poppy added.

“I love ye all.....” the Conductor sniffled.

“We know, papa....we love you too...no matter what...” Poppy said, hugging The Conductor with everyone else.

[dreamingoffairys]

Love Thine Enemy

Chapter 3: Predestination

Summary: Sting Eucliffe had never been one for responsibility and rule following, preferring to spend his time as Prince of the Light Kingdom in the arms of his secret lover: another Prince from the long-time rival, the Shadow Kingdom. As the war between the 7 Kingdoms begins to grow in turmoil each day, the ties between Sting and Rogue begin to be severed one by one. Sting grapples with a sudden barrage of new responsibility as blood is spilled, secrets are revealed, and tensions are high among the people of the Light Kingdom. The longer the war goes on, the harder it becomes for Sting to keep himself sane, feeling himself shattering under pressure, wanting nothing more to see Rogue again, and in the process, forgetting that sometimes, you have to be careful what you wish for.

Hello everyone! I know it’s been 50,000 years since I’ve posted anything. I kinda have no excuse besides that I’ve been really stressed out (depressed) because of school and adulthood and ahhh yeah all that.

I dunno if anyone still remembers this, but if you do, here go! If not, here’s Chapter 1 and Chapter 2. Or, if you’d rather read on AO3, here’s it from the beginning and here’s it from Chapter 3.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Please reblog/leave replies/write tags, etc, I’d love to hear your feedback! Thank you!💖

Previously... Princess Lucy agreed to help her brother Sting Eucliffe in hiding his secret affair with the Shadow Prince, Rogue Cheney. King Weisslogia's body was burned, and Light Prince Sting Eucliffe gave a speech to his people promising them he would wage war upon the enemies of their kingdom. After sending a letter to Rogue, he was crowned at dawn, then fled the ceremony to read Rogue's response, which revealed that he knew about the assassination... 

Morning the Twelfth of Month the Fourth

Year X791

Light Kingdom of Fiore, Royal Palace, Council of the Holy Light

One of the hardships about being King was having to sit there during a war council and listen to the various brutal ways your people wanted to sentence your secret lover to death. To be honest, it was more of a personal problem, but the title of “King” meant that he couldn’t simply leave. Sting had used to have the privilege to excuse himself during the meetings if the subject felt “sensitive”. No one ever questioned him, they had always seen Sting as an individual with childlike innocence and assumed that the topic of violence unnerved him. In reality, the thought of targeting the Shadow Royal Family had made Sting vomit of fear time and time again.

Right now the other Lords are discussing their next move, arguing over some minor details that didn't really matter. Eventually the Chairman of the Light Army, Gildarts, interrupts the argument with a simple, “This is irrelevant!” He stands up, facing the rest of the table. “We already know the culprit!” He turns to look at Sting, gaze slightly lowered. “Your Majesty, have we spoken to you yet about the assassination of the late Weisslogia?”

“No, but I already know.” Sting sits up a bit straighter, eyes cold and calculating. “It was the Iron Kingdom,” he says flatly, watching as everyone’s expressions shift in surprise.

“Your Majesty, how did you know?” pipes up a younger Lord near the Chairman’s elbow.

“It's a simple deduction.” Sting reaches towards the smooth, molded game pieces in front of him. He moves the Iron Kingdom over towards the Fire Kingdom, eyes still empty. “They attacked Fire as a distraction, hoping that they could lure us into thinking their main forces were focused there.” He slides a smaller piece towards their own kingdom. “Meanwhile, a small force snuck into our kingdom and infiltrated our palace as we worried about what to do with Fire’s losses. A cliche plan, but an ingenious one nonetheless. It's such a simple tactic that we overlooked it. The oldest trick in the book.”

Sting lets out a small breath of relief seeing everyone's impressed expressions. Sting wasn’t unintelligent, rather the opposite of the fact. Not only did he conceal the fact that he found out from Rogue, he may have possibly deduced Iron’s actual plan in the middle of his own lies. He watches as the table murmurs in astonishment at Sting’s apparent wit and feels relief flood through his veins. His secret is safe.

“Excellent deduction, Your Majesty,” Jellal bows his head slightly. “If I may ask, do you believe attacking Iron would be the best course of action?”

Sting leans forward over the strategy board again, blue eyes narrowed in concentration. “Well...I would say yes, but most likely we’d be walking into a trap. They’ll be expecting us, after all.”

“They won’t know we found out, will they?” Chairman Gildarts stands up again, hands on the table. “They could think that we haven’t realized it yet, and just-”

“It’s foolish to assume such things,” General Loke cuts in, glaring at the Chairman.

“General, it’s rude to interrupt, perhaps you should let the Chairman finish?” Jellal suggests.

“Silence, Fernandes,” Loke snaps. “You’re a mere knight, though you may be high class, addressing your General in such a fashion is more disrespectful than my interruption.” He folds his hands, looking over at Sting. “Your Majesty, I formally demand that we focus on invading the Iron Kingdom. In order to prevent extreme loss due to a trap...perhaps you should be part of the invasion force.”

The table erupts into argument. The Chairman speaks first, eyes wide. “You want to risk your own King just newly crowned a few days prior?”

“General, you’re insane!” another knight cries.

“It would not be wise to send His Majesty into the battlefield on the enemy front!” Jellal cries. The argument grows louder and louder, Loke standing up and shouting at Jellal from across the table, eyes narrowed and voice risen.

Sting’s head is pounding. This is too much. “ENOUGH!” he roars, rising to his feet and banging his hand on the table. The  council falls silent, eyes widening as they look at the young King. “This foolishery needs not to go on!”

Sting takes a deep breath before continuing. “I do not find it wise to put myself in danger, but I also believe you do not give my strength credit: I have become a far better warrior than even Sir Fernandes. If needed, I could easily fend off our enemy.” Sting doesn’t want to go, but showing that may conjure suspicion. “However, I think it wise to not attack so brashly, we know not our enemy’s plans or forces… If we were able to get a spy across the borders, perhaps Dobengal, to investigate the situation, I would feel more inclined to send an attack force.”

“Your Majesty, we don’t have time,” Loke presses. “You have a target on your back, we must eliminate them before they invade our glorious kingdom a second time!”

“Then sending him out into the battlefield would be suicide!” Jellal cries.

“Did I ask your opinion, Fernandes?!” Loke snaps. Jellal falls silent, glaring at the General from across the table. “It won’t be suicide, it’ll be safer out there for you, Your Majesty, as there you can fight back as equals instead of being stabbed with a knife when not looking.”

Sting sighs loudly. “Both of you, silence. I have a lot on my mind.” The room is eerily silent as Sting stares at the wooden pieces in front of him.‘Oh, Rogue...what do I do? You have so many friends in Iron you speak of so highly...and to think it will be my orders that kill them...if it’s not a trap. Oh, my dearest love, if this is a trap, we may never see each other again… If only I had a way out of this situation… If only, if only…’

He reaches for the Iron Kingdom’s piece, holding the wood in his palm. ‘I’m so sorry, my love, I’m so sorry…’ He looks up at the table, dark blue eyes glinting. In deathly silence, he clenches his fist. The wooden piece shatters into tiny fragments from his dragon strength, the shards falling onto the table. He said nothing, but his message was abundantly clear.

This was war.

Afternoon the Twelfth of Month the Fourth

Year X791

Iron Kingdom of Fiore, Outskirts

Cold, heavy rain pours down over the armor-clad Light Army, swords sharpened and shields ready. Dragon Warfare is simple: your enemy marched through your gate, you confront them. The Light Army is currently marching through the massive Iron Kingdom’s gate in perfect lines, lead by Loke, Jellal, and Sting. The young King is completely silent, while Loke is arguing quietly with Jellal, whose eyes have strange conflicted emotion inside of them, as if he wishes Loke and him weren’t fighting, but enjoying each other's company. It’s strange, but Sting ignores it and marches on. These kind of things are not relevant in wartime.

Hushed whispers move around the army as terrified Iron citizens rush into the safety of their homes, although most were inside already due to the storm. Loke steps in front, turning around to face the army with a cold stare. “Halt!” The army stops, shouting out an echo of Loke’s statement.

He stands firmly, the rain falling faster around them, voice carrying across the streets to alert the steadfast men of their duty. “The Iron Army should be directly ahead, waiting to meet us! We must be ready for any surprises they may hold!”

Sting turns and takes Loke’s side, adding in with a strong voice, “My orders are absolute, you will obey them no matter the cost! There will be sacrifices, but death will not come without reason!”

“Light Kingdom, Iron Kingdom, this is war!” the young men shout in unison, raising gauntlet-covered fists to the air, voices powerful through the violence of rain.

The army is on the move again, turning to reach the main square of the kingdom. But what awaits them is not as expected… Instead of an army dressed in only the finest metals, amongst the Iron soldiers are warriors cloaked in shadow, eyes glowing in the rain. But Sting’s stomach only churned with acid at the sight of the young Prince before him with crimson eyes and dark bangs covering one side.

“R-Rogue…” he chokes under his breath, and he watches as the other’s eyes widen in recognition and horror.

“Your Majesty, is that…?” Jellal breathes, his eyes just as wide as Rogue’s.

“Yes…” Sting whispers. “Rogue Cheney...Prince of Shadow.”

The Iron Prince Gajeel is nowhere to be seen, which is a relief, but Sting would have preferred anyone but Rogue to face off with, even if it were the fearsome Black Steel Gajeel.

“Your Majesty, I’ll hold the East side,” Jellal draws Dark Heavens, the glow of magic casting upon his face in the rain. “I’ll take a good portion of men with me!”

“Good,” Sting replies, turning to order Loke and finding him already leading most of the army to the West side to engage the battalion of Shadow and Iron. Sting sighs, realizing he is left with Rogue and a few high-class warriors from each of the enemy kingdoms present.

The four or so Light men Sting has been left with look at him expectantly. Sting wants nothing more than to order them to Rogue, but it would be suicidal and seen as a tactical mistake. Instead, he readies his sword and shield and shouts out, “Charge the side men, I’ll take the Prince!”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” the four soldiers cry, and then they are running through the raindrops to the knights flanking Rogue. Blades clash and steel sounds as Light collides with Shadow and Iron, a fight that Sting could already feel would be a losing battle, but he stands his ground and faces his worst enemy and dearest love with unyielding determination.

“King Eucliffe,” Rogue says in a clipped, cold voice as he draws his fearsome blade Night Edge and stands at the ready.

“Prince Cheney,” Sting replies with the same poisonous tone, stepping towards him. The two Dragon Warriors lean forward, breath hot on each other’s faces. Sting wants nothing more than to kiss his beautiful lips, pour all of that passion into a single embrace, tell him how much he missed him and wanted him in his arms again like that morning that seemed so long ago, where the sheets fall around his hips and he looked like an angel and Rogue laughs and smiles as he climbs from the window, eyes twinkling like rubies.

Sting tries to not let the tears fall, but it's to no avail. They mix and blend with the rain, and for one brief moment, Sting sees Rogue crying too. Swords raised and eyes spilling tears, the two boys charge.

Blades smash together in a loud, musical sound that rings in their sensitive ears as they gaze at each other through the raindrops. Sting steps back and stabs towards Rogue, who parries quickly, then swoops down near Sting’s knees. Sting leans back to dodge, swirling around and slashing at Rogue’s shoulder.

The Shadow Prince stops the blow easily before descending on Sting once more. Sting shoves his own blade between them, putting pressure on the movement. They stand in deadlock, swords grinding against each other, radiating Dragon power into the air. Sting suddenly pulls away with a simple spin and lunges at Rogue’s chest, tip first, but Rogue vanishes into a shadow and slips away.

Sting whirls around and catches Rogue’s blade as he appears again, swishing his sword through the air where Sting had once stood. They were perfectly in-sync and equal in strength, Twin Dragons performing a dangerous dance amongst blood and tears and rain, hiding away in their own protective bubble so fragile it would take only a foreign eye to shatter it forever. This is the place where blood should be drawn, taken from their veins by blade instead of tooth or nail.

Sting could feel the eyes of the people upon him, judging stares of three powerful Dragon Kingdoms watching and waiting for either Light or Shadow to succumb to the other. Sting swallows hard, knowing that they would have to at least draw blood, for there is no way of soaring themselves from their own people whom claim to love them so dearly. Oh, if only they knew the love shared by the Dragons of the Yin and Yang.

Sting’s eyes scream a thousand apologies as he lets Rogue make a small cut across his chest, drawing a bit of blood. Rogue is so startled that Sting is able to lunge forward and slash violently at Rogue’s shoulder. The cut is much deeper than his own, crimson instantly soaking through black fabric, Rogue hissing violently in pain as he grits his teeth together and carries on. The pain is much more than the physical wound, the sensation scars emotionally, cutting deep and harsh.

Sting feels a trickle of blood run hot down the white and gold fabric, but does not falter. He had to power through, to appear loyal to his kingdom that he is secretly betraying as he fights on against his one and only love. He takes a mighty swing at Rogue’s face, and although Rogue moves to dodge, the edge skins his nose, cutting the bridge enough so that blood slides down either side. “Infernum stupri!” Rogue curses, blood all over his face. He spits out a bit of blood that has dripped into his mouth, charging at Sting again with a loud war cry.

Sting tries to parry, but his response is too late. Rogue’s sword slashes through his side, instantly splashing blood onto the iron road below. Sting is swearing over and over again, clutching his furiously bleeding wound as he blindly swipes at Rogue. The Shadow Prince trips, in too much pain to continue, and falls to his knees before Sting.

Sting knows his duty: kill Rogue. But he can’t...he’s frozen solid in place, shaking from head to toe. Suddenly his head is spinning, heart is pounding, and acid rises in his stomach into his throat. Sting instantly grasps his stomach and pukes, the thought of losing Rogue plus his immense pain getting the better of him. Acid and blood burns his throat, and seeing the extreme about of blood Sting has coughed up, Jellal is by his side in seconds. “Breathe, Your Majesty, everything will be just fine.”

“Retreat,” Sting croaks, spitting up more blood.. “We’re too weak...we’re outnumbered. Get the men out of here!”

Jellal is shocked, but he obeys with only a single nod. He stands up and shouts out the order above the crowd, and as the soldiers of Light confused leave the Kingdom of Iron, all Sting sees is a fleeting glance of Rogue’s adviser Bickslow helping him away, and then...darkness.

[hannahindie]

Not What She Seems-Chapter 16: The One Where Ava Makes A Decision

Characters: Ava, Sam, Castiel Word Count: 1,943 Warnings: Difficult conversations, mention of killing, possible suicidal thoughts (no details, mostly just insinuated) A/N: We are quickly coming to the end of this series, and I’m amazed that it has come this far. As excited as I am to finish my very first fanfic, I’m also going to miss it...it’s what got me back on Tumblr. If you’d like to catch up, all previous chapters are linked on my Masterlist. The first eight chapters are incredibly dark, and there are some sexy times in a couple of the chapters, so please do not read unless you are over the age of 18. Don’t use my words to aid in your delinquency.

Beta’d by the wonderful @trexrambling: “This is so true, and i'm really glad you hit on this point.”

And @pinknerdpanda: “dammit what a great line! this is not going to be pretty.”

As usual, tags are at the bottom, and if you’d like to be added, please let me know!

Ava woke slowly and tried to remember where she was. A quick glance around the tidy room was all it took for memories of their conversation to come flooding back to her.

Last night had been the best she’d ever had. Gentle touches and the whisper of Dean’s lips remained on her skin. She couldn't remember a time she hadn’t worried about the scars that covered her, or even just let someone get that close. She had often hid herself from Ben, keeping the lights off or not undressing all the way, but with Dean it had been different. Dean had felt safe, familiar, and she had wanted nothing else than to give herself completely to him. She wondered what it was about him that made her trust him as much as she did, but she didn’t question it. If anything, she looked forward to seeing where this would go.

She stretched as she yawned, unsure of what time it was. She looked down and saw that she was not wearing her clothes but what she assumed were Dean’s and smiled. Life was finally starting to look the way she’d always wanted it to. She stood and made her way out into the hall, the delicious smell of coffee tickling her nostrils.

“Mmmm…..coffee. Perfect!” she said quietly to herself as she walked towards the kitchen. As she got closer, she could hear the quiet shuffle of someone as they walked around on the worn tile, and she smiled as she rounded the corner. Sam sat the coffee pot down with a gentle clatter and sat down at the table across from a man Ava had never met. He was a handsome man, dark hair with bright blue eyes, although she found it odd that he was wearing a suit and trenchcoat. He looked concerned, and Sam didn’t look much different. She paused in the doorway, curious to see what was going on.

“Cas...I dunno. I don’t think we can do that. Dean is not going to let you anywhere near her, and if he thinks I have anything to do with it, he won’t let me either. I gotta be honest, I don’t want to do this. There’s got to be a different way.”

“Sam, you know that there is not. Look me in the eyes and tell me that this is something that I want to do. I have not spoken to this girl, I only know what you have told me about her, but I believe if this had not happened to her she would have been a great asset.”

“Then why can’t we just give it a little time? She deserves a little time-”

“We do not have time. You did not see what I saw. There is a battle raging inside of her, and I am afraid the darkness is winning. Sam...I saw what was in her mind. She kills you. She kills both of you.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and Ava’s hand flew to her mouth as she gasped.

“What do you mean she kills both of us?”

Cas sighed, “Sebastian is inside of her. His evil is influencing her thoughts; they are tricking her. Right now, it might be okay, she might forget these visions or be able to control her emotions. But eventually she will not be able to. Sebastian, even in death, is poisoning her rational thought. She will begin to hallucinate when she is awake, and it will not take long for her to believe that you are trying to hurt her. She will fight back, and she will win. She will be far stronger than either of you could ever dream of being.”

Sam ran a hand over his tired eyes, “There has to be a way we can exorcise...whatever this is. There’s always a way…”

Cas shook his head sadly, “There is not. I have looked everywhere for an answer, and there just is not a cure for this. This is different than what happened to you, Sam. Drinking demon blood was bad enough, and I had never given thought to any of Lilith’s children doing something like this. No one has. She is going to change. And she is going to kill you.”

Ava stepped forward, panic filling her chest, “Sam, I would never hurt you! I don’t know who this man is, but don’t listen to him! You and Dean...I would do anything to keep you safe...anything.”

Sam looked up from his mug of coffee, and the look that passed between this man named Cas and Sam was filled with anguish. Neither of them looked at her.

“Sam…”

“Cas...I can’t.” A tear rolled down his cheek, and he hastily wiped it away. “I can’t do that to her. I can’t do it to Dean. She has been through too much, this isn’t fair.”

“I need you to understand that I do not want to do this. I have sacrificed so much to save you and Dean. I have sacrificed fellow angels, my place in Heaven, everything. I did that because...you are my family now. I do not know this girl, but I would do the same for her, because I can see that even in the short amount of time that you have known her, both of you have a great love for her. But to let her live...it affects more than just you. You and Dean would both die, and then she will move on to the next thing, and then someone after that, and she will not stop. It will not be the Ava that you know, it will be some bastardized version of Sebastian, and I cannot allow that to be unleashed on the world. We were lucky with Jesse, I do not believe we will be lucky again.”

Ava walked closer to the table, “Sam, come on...you know I’m not going to do anything. I don’t know who this guy is, but he’s wrong. I don’t kill people, I don’t understand…” Sam continued to ignore her, although Cas glanced in her direction for a moment before returning his gaze to Sam. “Sam!” She reached out to put her hand on his shoulder, but nothing happened. She couldn’t feel the softness of the flannel he was wearing, or the warmth she knew was there because he was like a heater. He never even looked in her direction. It was like Sam couldn’t see her at all. “What the hell?” she muttered, her confusion growing when Cas seemed to look at her again, once more staying silent. “Am I dead?”

This time, Cas shook his head almost imperceptibly, “Not dead. Your body is still in Dean’s room. You could call this an out of body experience.”

“Who are you? Why can you see me and Sam can’t? And how are you talking to me, you aren’t even moving your mouth.”

“I am an Angel of the Lord. Sam cannot see you, but I can. I am very sorry you have had to hear all of this. I need you to understand that if I thought there was any other way to deal with this, I would do it.”

“You’re going to kill me?”

Cas frowned, “For lack of a better word...yes. I am very sorry.”

I sighed, “Dean will hate you.”

“I know. It is not ideal. Dean...he may forgive me. It will take time. But it is not just about the Winchesters this time. I have no way of knowing how you are going to react to this...but what I felt inside of you...it was very, very dark. I know that does not always determine how someone will behave, but Ava...what is inside of you...I do not think any good can come from it.” Sam was still talking to Cas, she could see his lips moving, but at this point Ava had lost track of what he was saying. She stared at Cas for a moment, thinking about what he had just said.

“I can feel it. Whatever this is...I can feel it. It’s like it’s eating away at me, it burns like fire in my veins. The visions keep getting worse. I tried to pretend like they were getting better, but they aren’t. This last one...I didn’t think it could get worse, but I guess I was wrong. I can’t put Sam and Dean in the middle of this.” Ava’s eyes locked with Cas’s clear, blue ones, and she could see that this man was far more conflicted than she originally gave him credit for. He didn’t want to be the one to do it either, but in order to keep Sam and Dean safe, he was willing to sacrifice Dean’s trust. “Cas, what do I need to do?”

“I cannot tell you that. But if you cannot do what you decide needs to be done, I will have to. Understand?”

Ava nodded, “I understand. I...umm...I have an idea. Just give me a little time, okay? I need to say goodbye to Dean.”

“I understand. I am sorry, Ava. I wish I could have met you under different circumstances.”

“Me too, Cas. Take care of the boys, okay? Dean is going to blame himself...please don’t let him.” Ava gave Cas a sad smile, then wandered back to Dean’s bedroom. It was disconcerting to see her body lying in bed, unmoving and pale. She realized that if she couldn’t touch Sam, she probably couldn’t touch anything else, but she looked around the room for the one thing she thought might help her. She had no idea where Dean may have hidden it, but she knew it was her only chance to finish this.

Her plan was a simple one, but it would involve deceiving Dean, and she wasn’t sure she could do it. After everything he had done for her, stealing away in the dead of night was the last thing she wanted to do. She knew that if he caught her, he would not let her go. Part of her wanted to just fight it, to prove there was always another way. But the other part, the part that could feel the darkness eating away inside of her, knew that wasn’t the case. She could feel it as it traveled her veins, a burning ache that had become manageable, but was always there. She was exhausted, and, despite not knowing Dean for that long, she couldn’t bare the thought of putting him through this any longer than necessary. There would be no happy ending for them, which is why she had to keep Cas from doing what he thought needed to be done. Sam and Dean needed Cas, and neither of them, especially Dean, would be able to look at him without thinking about what he’d taken from them.

She sat on the edge of the bed, disappointed that she couldn’t find what she was looking for. Dean must have taken it with him. She would have to wait until he got home. She looked down at her body, her face peaceful and carefree for the moment, and felt a wave of sadness as she thought about what she was getting ready to do. No matter what had happened to her, she had always found a way. She guessed that, eventually, you ran out of options. She had just run out way sooner than she’d anticipated. She laid back and settled back into herself, the feeling a strange one, and closed her eyes.

How do you tell someone goodbye when you can’t tell them you’re leaving?

Forever Tags: @trexrambling @pinknerdpanda  @wheresthekillswitch @emilywritesaboutdean @arryn-nyxx @emptywithout @escabell @charliebradbury1104 @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes  @deanssweetheart23  @canadianjelly @super-not-naturall @aubreyreadsstuff @dean-winchesters-baby @melissaj616 @fandomismyspiritanimal @keepcalmandcarryondean @assbutt-still-in-hell @owllover123 @rosie-winchester @amionthetumbler @duubaduu @hiimaprofessionalfangirl @goldenolaf25 @authoressskr @nanie5 @mrssamfuckingwinchester @zincomms @kathaswings @crazynerdandproud @barbedwireandbubblegum @sandlee44 @boxywrites @justanotherdeangirl @smalltowndivaj @captainradicalpassion

[teacherunicorn]

Opposites Attract (Chapter 74)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15  Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24  Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74 Chapter 75

Tag List: @the-chick-with-the-best-fandom, @does-it-matter129, @dcgoddess

*Trigger warning: cutting, mentions of suicide.*

If It was possible, things in Gotham got worse. Fish and Strange’s other experiments had moved on from pharmacies to Strange’s assistant Ethel Peabody, who had been found mummified. Something was up; Alyssa knew Fish, and she seemed to be getting desperate. The question was, what had made her this way?

Things weren’t looking too good on other fronts either. The media circus had settled down for a long stay, and Valerie Vale was extremely stubborn in her desire to get a juicy article out of the mayor’s office. It was becoming more and more clear that she was new to her industry; still chasing her first big break.

Alyssa never thought she’d say it, but she missed Vivian.

If that wasn’t enough, she couldn’t find Ivy. Granted, she had been getting a tad sloppy at keeping track of her kids, but no one seemed to know where the red head had gotten too. It wasn’t like Ivy to just up and disappear; something was wrong.

Then there was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Perhaps it was her frazzled state that allowed her to miss it for so long.

“What do you mean he’s not here?!” Alyssa shouted at the poor man who’d been made the new warden of Arkham Asylum.

“H-He was unaccounted for after the incident, I-I assumed he’d escaped with the others.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?!”

“M-Madame Mayor, we’re facing enough bad press as it is --”

“Shut up!” she cut him off, turning her back to him and leaning both hands on his desk. She took a deep breath and tried to steady her heartbeat.

Okay. Okay! It wasn’t that bad, he was still in his state, what could he do?

*******

*Twenty Years Ago*

Alyssa Connors would not know what kids were supposed to be like until age ten. Growing up her life was about two things: staying alive, and denying reality.

She was used to taking her sister to school every day, to lugging a bag of newspapers that weighed more than she did around town, to hiding money from her parents because that was all she knew. It didn’t occur to her that things could be different. That was where denying reality came in. She was aware that there were better people out there than her parents; the Wayne’s for example we’re very well off. They didn’t have to worry about keeping warm and having food on the table.

So on nights when it was quiet, though such nights rarely came to pass, she imagined a life like that. One where all her worries, all her troubles were nonexistent. It was a nice thought, but only a thought.

For as long as Alyssa could remember, it had always been her job to protect people from the big, bad world. There were lots of reasons why the world was bad, but a lot of them tended to be parents. Whether they were overbearing, abusive, neglectful, or just plain not there.

That was where the Tetch family came in. Their dad was one of Kurt Connors’ drinking buddies. They didn’t have a mother.

The younger child, Alice, was just like Jamie. Innocent, naive, unaware of the terror of the world around her. It made Alyssa want to protect her too.

Alice’s older brother was a different story however. Jervis didn’t talk all that much, in fact she could count the number of full conversations they’d had on one hand, and they’d known each other since age four. No, Jervis liked to keep to himself; he was often fiddling in a corner with whatever he had brought home. A watch, a radio; he loved nothing more than to take things apart and see how they worked. He was rather good at it too; he’d made his sister an animatronic rabbit that could hop around the table from all the odds and ends he’d come across.

Alyssa didn’t really give the boy much thought until age six. The night had started off rather average; Mr. Tetch had passed out drunk in the Connors’ living room, consequently leaving his children to spend the night with their friends. Alyssa, having been unable to sleep, had gotten up to see if there was anything edible left in the fridge. She never made it to the kitchen however, noticing the light on in the bathroom as she passed it. Usually she would have ignored it, but the faint sound of tears awoke her motherly instincts and made her open the door.

What she saw would haunt her forever; Jervis sat on the bathmat curled up against the tub a razor blade in hand. The wrist of his opposite hand was bleeding.

“Jervis!” Alyssa’s breath came out in a panicked whisper as she grabbed the hand towel and attempted to stop the bleeding.

The blonde boy yanked his arm away, but Alyssa was quick to grab it back, keeping a tight hold.

“Lemme go.” Jervis’ quiet, barely used voice rasped.

“No.” Alyssa said stubbornly. “Why would you do this to yourself?! What, you don’t get enough scars bein’ slum trash?”

Jervis choked and fresh tears began to pool in his eyes. Alyssa sighed, setting aside her own feelings for the moment. “....You wanna talk about it?” he shook his head, and Alyssa nodded, silently going for the first aid kit that was kept fully stocked. Removing the towel, she got to work dressing his wound properly. Jervis winced when she sprayed him with disinfectant, but stared at her with an strange look as she wrapped a bandage around his arm.

Once she was done, they sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, Alyssa took his hand, making him look up at her. “It’s gonna be alright.” the look he gave her said that he hardly believed her. “Really. You just gotta stay alive.”

******

Alyssa couldn’t sleep. She could barely sit still. Usually when her anxiety and paranoia kept her awake, she channeled her excess energy into painting or her work. Tonight however, she was finding it impossible to focus.

Ugh. She needed a drink.

Making her way to her apartment’s kitchen, she had just finished pouring herself a glass of the strongest chardonnay she had when she turned around to come face-to-face with a man in his mid-twenties with sandy brown hair and leaf green eyes.

Letting out a startled screech, Alyssa dropped her glass and scrambled back into the counter. The glass shattered on impact with the floor, and the alcohol splattered across the floor.

Now sitting with her feet up on the kitchen counter, Alyssa looked back up again to see the man gone. A faint ticking sound remained, and she was very aware of the fact that it was not coming from anything in the apartment.

“Oh god, no....” she said to herself, choking back tears. “Please no, not again....”

******

Alyssa’s world had always circled around her sister Jamie. It was a strange sort of co-dependency that wasn’t like anything else. While Jamie depended on her sister for things like clothes, food, and protection from their neglectful and abusive parents, she lived in a fantasy world. In her head, the four Connors were a happy family, albeit a poor one.

On the flip side, Alyssa depended on her sister to keep her hope alive. She had dreams of her own; a real house in a nice neighborhood, but most days such a thought seemed hopeless. She had been doomed from the moment she was born. Jamie though....Jamie made her feel like there was good in the world. Like there was still a chance things could turn out alright.

Jamie and Alice had their own world, and their siblings lived on the fringes of it. They could admire the simple innocence in a world they knew was unkind, but they could not participate in it.

For the first time, Alyssa found herself approaching Jervis while their sisters were playing.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Things...” the boy said in a small, barely there voice. He was using a screwdriver on what Alyssa was pretty sure used to be an alarm clock. What his end game was however, she doubted even he knew.

She frowned and studied him a moment, trying to figure out how to get this odd boy to open up to her. “...I’ll race you to the corner store.”

That got him to look up. “What?”

“If you win, I’ll buy you a cookies and cream Hershey bar.” she recognized the look of desire in his eyes; those were his favorite treat. “But if I win, you have to teach me about all this.” she gestured to the array of odds and ends in front of him.

“W-Why would I wanna teach you?” he frowned.

“I dunno.” Alyssa shrugged. “What does that matter? I’m the one who’s going to win.”

His eyes lit up a little at the challenge and his screwdriver suddenly hit the grass. “Hope you’ve got enough money!” he said as he took off.

“Hey!” Alyssa shot to her feet and ran after him.

The corner store was only two blocks from the Connors’ family home. It was a lousy convince store that smelled like chewable tobacco, but the prices were low and the owner took food stamps.

Jervis had gotten there first, but only because he had had a head start, which Alyssa was quick to inform him of as they entered the store. True to her word, she bought the candy bar, which Jervis was eating quickly on their way back before it could melt in the summer heat.

When they returned to the yard where Jamie and Alice were playing, Jervis looked over to his work space with uncertainty.

“Y-You know, if you want.....I can still teach you some stuff....” he said, his gaze firmly on his shoes.

Alyssa beamed. “Awesome!” grabbing his hand she yanked him forward. Her back was to him, so she missed the look in his eyes that would have been very unsettling.

[taekwonduh]

Don’t Forget, Pt. 3

Summary: “It is okay if you do not remember me, I can do the remembering. But in a world where I hold absolutely no place in your life, not even as the girl who knew your name before your face, I think it would be a place too cruel to live in.”

Characters: Jungkook, (she/her) Reader, Taehyung

Tags: Angst, romance, food for thought

Memo (Prologue), Pt. 1, Pt. 2

There is a certain lucid quality in the way time ticks while on commute, the idea of leaving behind a neighbourhood so faithfully occupied during the past years of your life for a territory beyond breeds a sense of detachment in your system. Your body remains bound by the ropes of reality, yet your spirit wanders with no desire of  ever returning.

Perhaps it is in your best interest that you cultivate the habit of breaking away every once in a while, though admittedly, the prospect of retreating into the dreams that afflict you so for comfort, be they night or day, is terribly ironic. But you cannot help it. You suppose it is to do with being born a dreamer. Trodding through life with no solid plan, the tiles behind you crumble with the lifting of each foot, and the path ahead is formed in the space where your feet land next, a future made of earthquakes that threaten to pull you under.

Nothing is ever clear to you. Not reality. Not dreams, certainly not the days ahead. And you question why you continue to go through with such uncertainty, why you have not yet called it quits with the world and cross into the other side when the boundaries that separated each half have long blurred and blended together.

You like to think that up until last night’s events, you have lived a life in search of answers to questions you did not know to ask.

His name is Jungkook.

“Y/N… You okay? Who was that guy?”

His name is Jungkook.

“Hey- hey, look at me. What’s wrong? Did he say something to you?”

His name is… his name is-

“Taehyung… I can't… I can’t remember his name.”

You remember barreling back to your bedroom, nearly ripping the drawer off its hinges with the sheer force of desperation. After all that has happened, the deja vu sensations, inexplicable memory loss, and the very bizarre but definite swap in places between you and Taehyung’s incident at the pier, you are hit with the sudden fear that perhaps in the time you spent away, the mysterious book might have disintegrated into nothingness. Another mind trick. Another surefire step towards irreversible insanity. 

But you are immensely relieved to find the item still within the confines you thrust it, grasping the book and locking your door. You finally work up the courage to discover its’ contents. To learn the answers which you always believed you worked tirelessly towards, but in actual fact have been going around in cowardly circles, feigning ignorance and hoping the misaligned pieces of your memories will somehow adjust themselves and find their rightful place. 

The reason why you have put the book off for as long as you have is the underlying rejection of everything you have believed in, everything you live for. The book, expectedly, throws your entire world off its axis. 

There are photos of you. Photos of Taehyung. Of a boy named Jungkook. The pier. Your neighbourhood back home. Alongside these polaroids are penned memorabilia, in a recognizable style of writing belonging to a single person— it is yours.

taehyung died three years ago, on graduation day. you were supposed to meet at the intersection at 8, but he had gone to the pier instead. he died by suicide. he did not leave any note. on this day, you met with an accident trying to look for him.

please do not call mrs. kim anymore. 
- 23.04.16

“Why were you at the pier?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Why would you be looking for me at the pier? We promised to meet by the school gates at eight-thirty sharp. You said if I were even a second late, you would pretend to not know me even if we managed to get into the same class in high school.”

“Taehyung?”

The train doors shut, carriage picking up speed as the now empty station is gradually left behind. There is a boy beside you. There is always a boy beside you.

He looks up from his phone. “Hm?”

The eyes you spend your entire life looking into appear foreign today. The disparity is not in its physical qualities, for the pools of liquid chocolate remain crystal clear, a reflection of the light that pours in from the glass panels adjacent your heads, it is perhaps in what lies beneath it— in what he holds within.

when you finally move on, the first thing i want you to do is pay more attention to taehyung. i feel like this all started because of his incident. if you can, save him, if you can’t, just keep waiting at the school gates. keep waiting until someone calls you and tells you the news of his demise. that is how you will keep your memories.

Even though it might not have been this life in which you lose him, you cannot help but feel as though there is a dormant element of sorrow that he locks up in a place so deep you cannot hope to find unless you sink your own two hands between his ribs and tear up whatever’s inside, destroying all that is good along with all that is bad. That is a resort you never wish to turn to, and you may only take comfort in the fact that you have somehow managed to save him. That he is here with you. 

He is here.

“Do you believe in a parallel world?”

The boy cocks his head, corner of his lips elevating into a lopsided smirk that gives away intrigued amusement, curiosity of why you might suddenly pose such an uncharacteristic question. He first decides to answer it. “I could be convinced.” The shift in his gaze to meet yours sparks electricity upon your skin, and you find that although your bodies are pressed against each other’s sides, though you can feel his heat radiating towards your profile, you are beginning to think that much like the dreams you lose track of each time you awaken, you might, on a day you least expect, lose him too.

“Why do you ask?”

“Imagine that there are little doppelgängers that live on a planet and follow a timeline that is linear and parallel to ours. They live a similar life to us, except sometimes the decisions we make aren’t always one and the same. So that results in certain… branches that lead to outcomes different from the ones that happen here, in our world. Imagine, there is a whole new world created for every choice we make and didn’t make. In those worlds… do you think we are still friends?”

Taehyung shifts in his seat, his shoulder leaving yours in his act of turning his entire upper torso to face you, a position that is no doubt awkward in the limited space of his seat, but sufficient in indicating that there is something he wants to find out.

“Where is all of this coming from?”

“I dunno.”

“Okay, let’s start small then. Is this about last night? I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but it keeps bugging me. You just ran, Y/N.” You suppose Taehyung must have known the somberness he was portraying would push you further into discomfort, and as concerned as he was, he does not want to guilt-trip you into divulging anything you were not ready nor willing to. And so he contorts his features into one of his signature unsightly yet comical frowns, shape of his mouth forming a drooping rectangle, eyes slanted outwards with the pull of muscle, his eyebrows tilted at an angle to match. With that face on, he proceeds to whine in a small, child-like voice, “You ditched pier night.”

And you burst. Uncontained, heartfelt laughter tumbling from the back of your throat out your mouth, shattering the early morning daze that hung over the rest of the train car. A few eyes shift towards you. But you could care less. 

“Stop making that face!” Your palms fly up to cup his cheeks, thumbs pushing and molding the flesh to rid that ghastly expression from his otherwise handsome face. Taehyung, relieved by your joyous reaction, eases back into his usual laidback demeanor, his own hands coming around yours to bring them down. 

“Well?”

“Well…” You answer his prompt pointedly, sighing into your next words, “I’m still figuring things out. But what I can tell you is that ever since that coma… things haven’t been the same. I don’t know what’s different, I just- I just feel.”

“Do you think we should pay another visit to the hospital? Maybe they might’ve missed something—”

“No, it’s not that. Don’t worry, Tae, I’m working things out. And when I actually have the answers to my own questions, I’ll gladly answer yours. Hmm?”

The mystical qualities of a train ride away from home dissipates into a familiar sensation of emptiness the moment a warm hand is wrapped around your wrist, and you are lifted from your seat towards the car doors, merging with a disarray of early morning commuters on their way to offices, schools, workplaces. The crowd is thick like wet cement, your senses held captive to an atmosphere so hot and humid that instantly all bearings are lost, and you rely solely on Taehyung’s lead to get you out. If this is what ensues a commute, it has become apparent that you detest it.

“Thank God we’re not late,” your companion huffs as he straightens the quality of his pristine new uniform, smoothing out wrinkles and dusting off lint. Though you don garments that are entirely alike, only tailored to suit each gender, you have found that from the time a communal code of wear was first introduced to you both at the age of seven, your dearest friend has always managed to find ways to look starkly superior in his clothing in contrast to you.

Maybe it is in his physique, broad shoulders and filled chest to match his tall and still growing height; perhaps it was in the choice of hairstyle, kept simple enough to abide by conventional school dress codes, yet presenting a tasteful styling in the way his bangs fall in a voluminous arc down his forehead, parted just over the the arch of his left eyebrow, a classic boyish look. Today, he sports his new pair of eyeglasses, an accessory he had showed off generously earlier in the morning when he came to pick you up. The look probably would not have been considered anything special if pulled by anyone else, a sight that blends into the surroundings and is easily skimmed over. You suppose that is the leverage over you he possessed by birth. 

In your trek from the train station towards your school, you are joined by many other youths sporting outfits identical to yours, and surprisingly enough, it is quite easy to tell freshmen apart from more senior students. Like yourself, they carry crisp new backpacks, bulky with the weight of brand new textbooks possibly packed inside, style their uniforms strictly in line with the specified guidelines, and in their eyes, they hone the same glint that currently shone in Taehyung’s— excited for a new start, anticipation of the new experiences to come.

Even as the school compounds gradually come into view, marked iconically by a domed roof atop a massive brown-brick structure, you find trouble in drawing out a sentiment to match your peers. To say that it feels as if you have done this before would not be a stretch; the transition from middle to high school in terms of routine does not feel all that drastic. Aside, of course, from the hour-long commute-from-Hell you now have to make. It continues to follow the same monotonous regiment of rise, work, sleep, repeat. What sort of new start could one possibly hope for? You have not the slightest clue. 

Upon your arrival to the parted steel gates, beyond which is an expanse of a yellow dirt field, at the core of which is a lush, green quad where wooden benches and umbrella-like trees are spread for the students’ lounging convenience, you discover a handful of senior-looking students, supposedly part of the welcoming committee, ushering in the students with smiles much too bright for such an early morning.

Amongst them, a particularly sharp boy catches your attention with his refined posture, herculean-shoulders and tightly wound school tie; his aura alone sets him apart from the rest of his comrades, exuding sublime confidence and ultra authority in his greetings to fellow students. Supposedly having been aware of this quality, the intimidation he knew he would surely evoke in students is neutralized by two lovely crescent-mooned eyes, his plush, pink lips curved into a matching smile, displaying prominently that despite the richness of his features, he too, remains a teenager like the rest.

You observe him keenly throughout your passing through the gates, leaving the sidewalk and entering at last the compounds of your new school, and you cannot help but be tinged with disappointment when the celebrity-esque boy misses the chance to offer you one of his well-rehearsed introductory phrases. Instead, you are merely shuttled along with the rest of the crowd around the perimeters of the quad, ascending a short flight of steps to pass through a set of warm, red wood double-doors, propped open by two rubber stoppers to facilitate the heavy stream of students arriving for the school day.

Officially within your new school quarters, you and Taehyung unite with other fresh-faced students towards the completion of the first step at getting yourselves oriented— finding your class registers.

At the end of the broad, linoleum-floored hallway you now stand within, lined on one side with display shelves of trophies, medals and framed certificates, and the other, with various club announcements, colourful nutrition posters, advertisements for upcoming school events, was a large whiteboard clipped with sheets of rolling paper dictating which student was assigned to which class. You and Taehyung would refer to this whiteboard, find your classes, and disperse. Albeit due to the sheer amount of people herded around it, Taehyung suggests that you wait at the outskirts for him to come back with the necessary information. You are much too small to be pushing through a crowd like that. 

“Bad news, Y/N, we’re separated,” Taehyung announces, looking evidently dejected by the conclusion of your once unbreakable nine-year fate as classmates. “You’re in one-four, I’m in five. Good thing is all the first year classrooms are on the same floor. At least that’s what I heard. Let’s get going?”

You nod affirmatively, angling your body towards the stairs. “Yeah.”

Once on the third floor, the lot of students on the way to their assigned classrooms spill into yet another boxy hallway, this one significantly less decorated, walls lined with chunks of metal lockers waiting to be taken up. The rooms are relatively easy to find, from the left of the stairway are classes one to four, and to the right are five to eight. Ultimately, this is where your and Taehyung’s togetherness reaches its momentary end, and the boy parts with you after an affectionate clap on your shoulder, wishing you good luck and a promise to meet for lunch. 

The subsequent absence of his warmth beside your shoulder is larger than you ever thought it would be, and though there is the assurance in knowing Taehyung is only one room away, the fact that you now go solo licks a hot flame of nervousness up the back of your neck, your footsteps grow significantly heavier as you trudge to class.

You are amongst the final few to enter, and like any sizable crowd trapped inside a room, it is no surprise to find that the seats towards the back have all been filled, and you very barely snag a desk at the furthermost column from the door, seating yourself between a girl in front and a boy behind. As the last remaining desks are filled, a man appearing to be in his early-thirties strides into the room, obliterating every decibel of conversation with his preppy entrance, now becoming the center of utmost attention.

He dresses himself rather casually, in a blue knit vest over a white dress shirt, khaki slacks and brown boat shoes. And upon assuming position between the presentation desk and the whiteboard, he lifts his spectacled gaze to size up the class of twenty, nearly thirty-odd students seated in their neat five by five, single-file organisation of desks, all poised and perked. 

“If this is the class environment for the rest of the term, we are going to breeeeze right through it.”

The stiff silence in the room is punctuated at last by the hearty chuckle that the man proceeds to let loose, joined only a second later by the harmonious laughter of the other students. The man, introducing himself as Mr. Nam, then begins to break down the events for the rest of the day— first of all going through administrative matters, sorting out the issue of lockers, handing out class schedules for the semester and recruitment pamphlets for various school clubs and sports teams. He goes on to guide you all verbally on the expected movement throughout the day: after the thirty minute homeroom, the entire school would gather in the main hall for a welcome (and for the returning students, a welcome-back) ceremony that would involve recapping last year’s achievements, laying out the expectations for this year, and the introduction of new faculty members.

Seated amongst your new classmates, some of which you have already broken ice with, you delight in the chance to catch Taehyung in his own plastic chair some rows behind you, already surrounded by a hefty group of male friends. You suppose at this stage the girls are still too shy to make advances, but surely they will come— they always do.

And at last, to conclude the two-hour long ceremony, the dean invites up a student whom he addresses as the student body president, handing over the podium to the sharp-looking student you were all but disinterested in just moments ago. The boy skips up the steps at the side of the stage, bowing slightly to the senior figure before assuming the now vacated position at center-stage. 

“Good morning everyone, this is student body president, Kim Seokjin.” The cheers that erupt following this brief introduction hails mostly from the returning students seated towards the back, according to their years. Firsts being at the very front. Seokjin allows them, and perhaps himself, a moment to revel in the applause, before promptly continuing with his speech, “I’d just like to say a quick welcome to all our new students, our prestigious members of faculty and my own committee extend our warmest regards. We promise you’ll have a splendid freshman year ahead. And to all my returning juniors, friends, classmates and seniors, a great big welcome back to the grind after a wonderful two-month vacation that I am sure was well-spent.

“Now, to get on with business, I am pleased to announce that our highly-anticipated homecoming night will be held two weeks from now, on the 14th July, Friday evening. Details will be posted on the student portal, so as always, visit the site to register your attendance. No one wants to show up to a party uninvited. Following that, we will be kicking start our week-long of sports tryouts and club recruitment for our lovely freshies, there will be a fair held in the quad by your seniors to try and rope you into an extra-curricular you don’t always actually need… but will enjoy nonetheless.

“And just before we close the semester with finals, the school will be having our annual Arts Fiesta month, during which all our arts teams will hold concerts, guerilla performances, exhibitions and more. You may find all the information on the respective extra-curricular notice boards located in the main hallway on the ground floor.”

Like his professional predecessor, Seokjin continues to lay down the events for the rest of the school year, albeit his tone is laced with a code of humor much more appropriate for the audience that it keeps everyone’s focus on him. At the bell, the ceremony is concluded and you, along with the rest of the freshmen, are shuttled into the cafeteria while the seniors return to their classrooms. 

The massive movement traps you amidst a bunch of unfamiliar faces, and it despairs you to know that you can no longer spot Taehyung in the crowd, having lost him to the taller bodies around you. Hoping to meet him outside the hall, you resign to the crawling pace of the crowd, one tiny step at a time until you finally pour out of the entrance like a drain unclogged.

The hallway outside is a clutter of frenzied traffic, some heading one direction towards the cafeteria, the others going another to hang out in the quad, and then there are little cliques blocking up space by the notice boards, the water coolers, chatting and waiting for their friends. You find an empty space against the wall and press your back into it, standing on your tiptoes to screen the crowd for the familiar black-rimmed glasses set against healthy golden skin. 

It turns out that when put in a crowd as big as this, it is near impossible to distinguish Taehyung from literally hundreds of other people following the exact same trend. Since when did so many people start wearing geek specs?

As the last of the herd trickles out, the hallway significantly clearing and decreasing in activity, all having gone on to spend their lunch break with friends, you are stuck in the same spot, no sight of Taehyung whatsoever.

You do, however, come across a rather peculiar scene taking place inside the emptied school hall. With the bulk of students gone and faculty members returned to their classrooms or the lounge, only a handful of council members remain, busying themselves with the stacking up of plastic chairs and pushing them to the back of the hall. Amidst the myriad of floor-scraping screeches, light jokes tossed around to brighten up the otherwise mundane task, you recognize the taller of a pair of figures to be Mr. Nam, and the other to be that of a fellow student. 

The humbly slumped posture of the student gives off an impression of apology, guilt, perhaps, and you can only assume the student must have done something to warrant a light chastise. As your mind wonders what could possibly have been the reason for it, you notice a bright red backpack still slung over the student’s shoulders, a hint that he could possibly only have just arrived, and therefore missed his chance to leave his belongings in the classroom. 

Right at that moment, the conversation appears to be concluded by a friendly thump on the boy’s shoulder, and their bodies turn towards the doors, towards you. 

That is when you see him. 

Chestnut hair. Round, curious eyes. Lightly tanned, troubled skin.

He sees you too. But you are well aware of the fact that the recognition flashing in his eyes in that moment is not at all aligned with yours. You remember each other from a different time. Different memories. There is the thought of how this is even possible at all, yet he is now standing before you, gazes locked, lips pursed. 

“Oh? You look familiar!” You’re certain you must not have looked anything less like a deer caught in headlights, and suddenly you are questioning why you have foolishly left yourself in plain sight, in the direct line of conversation with a teacher who looks particularly eager to be addressing his new student. “Let’s see… Y/N, right? What are you still here for? Not joining your classmates at lunch? The school food is really good, scout’s honour!”

“H- Huh?” The response comes out astray, obviously distracted. You are forced to avert your vision from a set of smoldering charcoal eyes to the kind (yet insensitive) teacher standing before you. “Yes, I plan to. Was just waiting for someone.”

“Is that so?” The man begins to smile, his larger, veiny hands coming upon the younger’s shoulders, the whites of his knuckles evident of a light squeeze being delivering from his fingers to the muscles beneath. For a first meeting, the two seem rather friendly. “Don’t tell me you know Jungkook over here?”

The focal point of your shaky vision once against resumes on the boy, who openly watches you, keenly awaiting your next response. 

“Jungkook…?”

“How do you know my name?”

who… are you? his name is jungkook. he sings at the bar. he says he doesn’t want you to remember him. when you wake up tomorrow, decide what you want to do with this information. 
- 22.04.16

“N- No, no I don’t.”

“Ah, is that so? Well, there’s lots of time to get friendly. He’s the last one to join us in class. Super, super late, but forgiven since we go way back.” Mr. Nam turns to the boy beside him, grin stretching even wider as his tone takes on one of affection, “See, Kooks, a whole lifetime of perks await you if you have me for a teacher in primary school!” The boy amiably joins in laughter, though the poor, ignorant man remains clueless about the massive elephant trapped between you and him. “Anyway, there’s no one left in there other than the student council. You’re better off checking the cafeteria to see if your friend’s already waiting. Go with Jungkook! He’s about to head there anyway.”

Your heart leaps from between your ribs, lodging itself in the back of your throat, and you find yourself stuttering, garbling, nearly choking, as the words struggle to gather on your tongue. “I- I- I was going to… to the washroom first, a- actually. Seeyouaround, Mr. Nam!”

And you spin curtly on your heels, ninety-degrees towards the path of escape, muscles cramping up from the restrain on your legs from bolting out of the conversation.

You are unsure if it is the heat of embarrassment earned from your display of conversational skills, or lack thereof, that burns the skin on your back with hot, white flames, or if it is the mystical properties that inevitably surround a daylight rendezvous with the very embodiment of all things you cannot explain, the equation that you are unable to make sense of that has come to mock you in the flesh.

The muscles in your leg lose strength the moment you round the corner, your entire frame doubling forward, chest heaving, breathing laboured. No matter the volumes of air you take in, the exhaustion does not recede, it instead grows in magnitude, transitioning from mere breathlessness to a frame-splitting ache blooming in the center of your chest, a sadistic twist-and-wring rhythm taking over the once steady beats resonating within ribs.

This is a feeling not at all foreign to you. In fact, it is so familiar that it is akin to a homecoming. The only thing that registers beyond the rapid pumping of blood and the hammering in your chest is the vague echoes of a paragraph that you think your mind will never be fully rid of. Not when the very subject of it has broken the chains binding it to dreams, and is now present within the realms of your reality.

my last request is this: apologize to jungkook. he says that you are someone who has suffered enough, but your pain does not nearly amount to his. you are able to forget, but jungkook remembers- he carries everything with him to the next day and the next. but let’s say you meet him and he does not recognize you- just leave him be. i think he deserves to live without you, because all his memories of you are laced with suffering. i do not want that for him in his next life, and i am sure you do not want that either.