#casket! sans

[touhoutunes]

Title: Tí bagho le

Arrangement: Escarmew

Album: Keeper/San

Circle: Casket

Original: Let's Live in a Lovely Cemetery

[makeitmingi]

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 1]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.1K

(Chapter warning(s): Character death, grieving/ funeral, injury, recollection of previous argument, Hongjoong is in a weird place with his feelings.)

"Thank you for coming." Hongjoong had a stoic look on his face as he deeply bowed to the people that came to pay respects. The people bowed back, reaching out to shake his hand with a comforting smile on their faces.

"She was a good woman. Kind." They patted him on the shoulder. All he could do was stiffly nod in reply.

"Please help yourself to the food and refreshments." He forced a small smile and gestured to the buffet spread where the other people were all seated.

"Should we ask him to take a break?" Yunho leaned over to ask Seonghwa as the older collated the beoseom money together.

"You can try but he's not going to like it. Just let him do what he needs to do." Seonghwa replied.

"Hyung loved his mother. They didn't have the best relationship but I know he always missed seeing her and talking to her." Yunho sighed with a small frown. Seonghwa hummed in agreement.

"But this is for him to figure out. We'll just help him where he wants us." Seonghwa said.

Hongjoong recognised all the people that came. All friends of his late father and now, mother, or his own allies. They were men that worked for him or with him. Although they didn't know his mother at all, he knew that Wooyoung had gathered all their men to come and support him as the leader.

"Oh, coming." Hongjoong noticed some people going to pay their respects and went to his post as the son, keeping his head lowered as they bowed to his mother's casket.

"You have our condolences, Hongjoong sshi. If you need anything, let us know." The leader of a small gang shook his hand.

"Thanks." He nodded. Hongjoong knew their motive, it was to create favours and forge loyalties with Ateez.

"Umm, excuse me." Hongjoong looked up at the sudden entrance of a light, tinkling voice. He eyes fell on the girl that entered, she looked so different, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Who are you?

"Here you go." You took out an envelope of money and handed it to Yunho and Seonghwa, who received it with a bow.

"You can head that way." Seonghwa gestured to where Hongjoong was standing. From the looks of it, Seonghwa seemed just as entranced and/or curious about you as Hongjoong was. You nodded and headed to him.

"You must be Hongjoong sshi." You looked at him with familiarity, still cradling the small bouquet of flowers in your arms. All Hongjoong could do was nod.

How did you know him? He, for sure, didn't know you. There wasn't an inkling of recollection seeing your face or hearing your voice.

"If it's okay with you, can I place this bouquet by the casket? It's our favourite flower." You asked politely.

"Go ahead. Thank you." He nodded. 'Our' favourite? His eyes followed you as you placed the bouquet of white tulips by the casket. The bouquet was simple but elegant.

"I'll miss our afternoon chats. Take care of yourself and rest easy." You prayed softly as you bowed to his mother's casket.

"Thank you for coming." Hongjoong said to you when the both of you stood up from your kneeled positions.

"S-Sorry..." Your bottom lip quivered and tears streamed down your face as you struggled to wipe them all away. There was so much grief and upset on your face, you probably felt more grief than Hongjoong did. Hongjoong held his handkerchief out to you but you hesitated, you didn't know him to take it.

"It's okay." He whispered, trying to convince you. With a shaky hand, you took the white cloth and dried your tears. All this time, Hongjoong was trying to study you.

"Thanks." You smiled awkwardly.

"How do you know me? Did you know my mother?" He asked, even if the answer was obviously yes.

"She comes by my shop almost every afternoon to chat with me. She'll even bring tea and snacks with her. I recognise you from the photos she shared with me." You giggled.

"I see... Well-"

"Hongjoong hyung, there are more mourners. Do you want me to take over?" Someone came over.

"No, it's fine, San ah." Hongjoong assured his brother and bowed his head to you before going back to where the casket was. You tucked the handkerchief into your pocket.

"There are snacks and refreshments." You were directed to the area where the other mourners were chatting, eating and drinking. There were barely any other women around, all men dressed in suits. It almost felt like a business convention, not a funeral.

"Who is that?" Wooyoung asked San when he came back to where they were seated.

"No idea." San shook his head. The 7 Ateez members watched you with curiosity. You sat in the corner by yourself, you didn't take any food or drinks.

"Do any of you know her or recognise her?" Mingi blinked.

"I think she genuinely knew my mother." The boys looked up to see Hongjoong standing behind them.

"Really?" Even Seonghwa was shocked too. They all knew that everyone who came didn't know Hongjoong's mother. How did someone like you befriend Hongjoong's mother?

"She's definitely not from underground." Yeosang said. You were still wiping stray tears that escaped your eyes.

"She's... really grieving the lost of my mother... Even more than me." Hongjoong observed.

"Her name is (y/n)." Yunho said, reading from the mourners book of those that came. The others didn't even notice that Hongjoong left them, going over to where you were seated alone. When Hongjoong pulled out the chair next to yours, you blinked, breaking out of your reminiscing moment.

"Apologies." He said.

"Don't apologise, you must be busy having to do this on your own, on top of the fact that you're mourning and grieving too." You shook your head with a soft smile.

"I have a good support system." He nodded over to where the other Ateez members were.

"You must haven known my mother well to know her favourite flower." Hongjoong brought the conversation back.

"She always came to buy them from me, along with other flowers. That's when I learnt that we both have the same favourite flower. I'm a florist actually." You informed.

"Oh... And here, I didn't even know my mother had a favourite flower." He chuckled.

"Hongjoong sshi." You shocked him and frankly, yourself too, when you placed a hand over his own in comfort.

"I'll miss her too but it'll be okay. From the way your mother spoke fondly of you, I could tell that you both had a great relationship. At least you'll still have your good memories of her with you." You smiled softly. Suddenly, Hongjoong retracted his hand.

"Excuse me." He stood up, buttoning his blazer. He watched as your face fell.

"Hongjoong sshi. I-I'm sorry." You stuttered, realising what you just said to him and how your words crossed a boundary. Hongjoong clenched his jaw and walked back to where Ateez was.

"Woah, hyung. You okay?" Jongho asked, noticing the sudden change in Hongjoong's mood and expression.

"I'm fine." Hongjoong replied through gritted teeth.

Despite what happened, you still stayed until the final standoff. Hongjoong was unexpectedly hypervigilant of where you were, standing on your own at the back of the crowd.

"Hang on." Before the Ateez boys could load his mother's casket into the back of the hearse, he stopped them.

"Captain?" They were confused. Leaning down, Hongjoong grabbed a stalk of flower from your bouquet and placed it on top.

"Carry on." He cleared his throat, side eyeing you. You were watching the entire time as you cried softly to yourself. All the mourners that hadn't left bowed to the hearse as it closed. Hongjoong, still holding his mother's picture, walked to the front seats where he would follow along to the burial site.

"We'll follow behind, hyung." Wooyoung said to him. Hongjoong nodded and entered with Mingi closing the door behind him. The 7 entered their respective vans that were prepared.

As the hearse began to pull out of the drive way, Hongjoong spotted you walking along the streets, arms hugging yourself.

"Who are you?" He whispered as you walked further away.

When the news of his mother's passing first came until this moment, Hongjoong hadn't shed a tear. Was he cruel or unfilial for not doing so? Or were tears just a sign of weakness?

"Good memories?" Hongjoong turned to his mother's picture, remembering what you said to him.

You sighed as you made your way into your apartment. After you removed your shoes, you fell back onto the couch.

"I can't believe you're gone." You said, feeling tears well up in your eyes again as you thought about Mrs Kim and her not being around any longer. Maybe because you grew up without a mother, she was the closest thing to a mother that you had.

"Can I help you?" The doorman asked when he saw how confused you were upon entering the building.

"Oh, good morning. Sorry to bother you but I'm looking for Mrs Kim? I hope I have the right address." You scratched your head, bowing to the older male.

"Do you mean the Mrs Kim that stays in the penthouse? I'm sorry but she passed away yesterday." He informed.

"W-Wait, what?" You couldn't believe it. The flower bouquet slipping from your hands.

"Are you okay, agashi? Yes, unfortunately, Mrs Kim passed." He picked up the bouquet, placing a hand on your shoulder. It was so shocking you couldn't even cry.

"Are you family?" He asked. It took you a while to answer as the news was still sinking in.

"N-No... I'm not but I knew her..." You tried your best to form a coherant answer in your head but it was too difficult.

"I'm sorry, agashi." He said sadly. You bowed your head and turned around, leaving the building. When you reached home, you searched funeral homes online and there it was, her name and her picture. It only solidified that what the doorman said was true, the closest person to a mother that you've had was gone.

"I can't believe I said that. (y/n), what did you do?" You facepalmed when you remembered what you said to Hongjoong. Who were you to tell him that?

"He's her real son, you're not." You scolded yourself, holding Hongjoong handkerchief in your lap.

Mrs Kim always spoke about Hongjoong with such a sad smile, indicating that their relationship wasn't amicable.

There was love, of course. But you could hear the regret and guilt in her voice. All you knew was that if you were to run into him again, you'll definitely apologise for overstepping.

Hongjoong seemed cold but you were grateful that he placed one of your flowers on top of her casket before the hearse left. Whether it was done for you or for her, Hongjoong's gesture warmed your heart.

-

"Where's he?" Seonghwa asked as he climbed up the stairs to the second floor. The younger ones nodded over to Hongjoong's back. The captain leaned against the banister of the terrace, a glass of whiskey held by his fingertips.

"He's still there. Been there since we've come back." Yeosang informed.

"(y/n) (y/l/n). She's a florist in Hongjoong hyung's territory, studying botany part time. Practically as normal as it gets." Jongho walked over, closing a folder. Seonghwa took it and read it.

"As long as she isn't a threat." San shrugged.

"Far from. If there was a motive for her to get close to Mrs Kim, it's not in the file." Jongho said, pouring himself a drink.

"But damn, she seemed to be closer to Mrs Kim than Hongjoong hyung was." Mingi stated and Seonghwa slapped the back of his head for being so direct.

"What? It's the truth..." Mingi rubbed his head. Yunho sighed, patting his best friend's back.

"Hyung will be fine, right? He has to be. He's our captain and our leader. Let's just give him some time then he'll bounce back like always." Wooyoung said with a small frown. Seonghwa nodded in agreement. Although Hongjoong suppresses his feelings and emotions, he always puts Ateez first.

"Yes, Hongjoong will be okay. He just needs space now. And don't bring up the girl anymore, okay?" Seonghwa said. The younger 6 nodded their heads obediently.

"Hyung, what happened between Hongjoong hyung and his mother?" San asked.

"No idea. Even if I did, it's not my story to tell." Seonghwa shrugged.

He is Hongjoong's best friend and second in command, but he didn't know what was Hongjoong's relationship with his mother. It was almost a love-hate relationship, for Hongjoong at least.

"Go back to work. Give Hongjoong a few days off, I'll be taking over his duties in the mean time." Seonghwa informed.

"Sure, hyung." All of them split up to go back to work. Seonghwa cast one more worried glance at his best friend's back before leaving.

Hongjoong sighed as he took another sip of whiskey. Even as he shovelled the dirt over his mother's casket, he didn't shed a tear. The heartache was there but he couldn't will himself to cry. He watched as the flower he placed on top got sullied by the dirt.

"She's really gone." He breathed out.

"You're really gone." He repeated as if he was speaking directly to his mother, clenching the glass in his hand.

You, the girl that appeared out of nowhere, seemed to have a much better relationship with his mother than he did. You cried while Hongjoong was emotionless.

"Damn it." Hongjoong must have channeled all his frustration to his hand because before he knew it, the crystal shattered into pieces.

"Hyung!" Yeosang rushed out, having seen the whole thing.

"I'm fine, Yeosang." Hongjoong hissed, cradling his now injured hand. Yeosang gently took it into his own hands, looking at how bad is was. Blood began to drip on the tiles.

"No, it's not fine. There's crystal shards in your hand now. Come." Yeosang frowned and brought Hongjoong in.

"Get someone to clean the terrace." Yeosang said to a passing butler, who nodded with a deep bow. He brought the captain to his office where his medical supplies were. Thankfully, Hongjoong didn't protest and sat down, patiently waiting for Yeosang to get what he needed to treat his hand.

"Don't move." Yeosang said as he took forceps and tried to remove the crystal pieces from the cuts. Luckily it wasn't too deep that he would need stitches.

"Are you not going to ask me anything?" Hongjoong asked as Yeosang took a magnifier to look for any smaller pieces.

"No. What's there to ask?" Yeosang asked back. At that, Hongjoong sighed and just leaned back in the seat.

"This is going to sting. Bear with me." Yeosang took the antiseptic and spray it over Hongjoong's hand, causing the leader to let out an onslaught of curse words and winces.

"I saw the butler cleaning glass on the terrace. What happened?" San came in.

"Just a small accident." Hongjoong sighed again, watching Yeosang use gauze to wrap up his hand.

"We're done. If it starts to bleed through the bandages, you have to get them changed. If not then I'll check on them in a few days." Yeosang said as he used clips and medical tape to secure the bandage. Hongjoong nodded and stood up.

"Thanks, Sangie." He left Yeosang's room. San stared at where their captain disappeared to.

"Everyone deals with grief differently, whether they want to admit it or not." San said and Yeosang let out a hum in agreement, clearing the bloodied gauze and area.

"He'll be okay. Hyung is strong." Yeosang assured.

When Hongjoong went upstairs to go back to his room, he walked past the second floor lounge and saw a file there.

'(y/n) (y/l/n)'

So, the boys went to search up on you and who you were. Reaching down, Hongjoong took the file and tucked it under his arm, retreating to his room.

"Florist... Studies botany... That's it?" He read the file as he walked. If there was anything else, even secrets, he knew Jongho and Yunho would have found it by now. No piece of information escapes those two. They can source information about a person's entire life on their computers, it's why they're the best.

"Oh?" Hongjoong paused, eyebrows raising when he saw the location of your shop. It was in the territory that he took care of, which was also the area where his mother's house was.

Despite that, Hongjoong has never once visited his mother nor has he spoken to her in years.

"How could you do this? How could you do this to me?! To us?!" Hongjoong yelled, seething with so much anger.

"I know... I'm a horrible mother, I'm sorry Hongjoong ah." His mother shook her head, tears in her eyes as she faced her angry son. She didn't even bother to give an excuse.

"Why?! Why would you do this?" He faced her, his own tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I couldn't just standby and watch. I couldn't." The woman wrapped her arms around herself pitifully. This time, Hongjoong didn't hug her.

"After everything, you'll still side with him. After knowing what he did to all of us, including you, you still..." Hongjoong shook his head, unable to finish his sentence. He was just filled with so much rage he couldn't even breathe properly.

"Get out. I never want to see you again." He turned away, hearing her soft footsteps leave his office and disappear.

"Seonghwa." Hongjoong called out, knowing that his second in command was standing nearby and most probably overheard the entire exchange that happened.

"Yeah?" Seonghwa walked in.

"I want her out of here now. Buy her a house or whatever, somewhere I don't have to see her." Hongjoong ordered.

"Sure, Hongjoong." Seonghwa bowed his head and exited the office. Hongjoong let out a yell, angrily swiping everything off his desk. Papers flews and things broke but he didn't care.

Seonghwa ended up buying his mother a penthouse apartment in the territory that Hongjoong managed. Although Hongjoong didn't like that idea, Seonghwa gave an excuse that at least Hongjoong could keep an eye on her.

He didn't know that Seonghwa did that so if he ever wanted to see his mother again or let her make amends for what she did, he'll know where she is.

But it was too late anyway. Hongjoong's mother was gone, there were no more amends to make, no more apologies.

"Great relationship? Good memories?" Hongjoong bitterly scoffed once again when he remembered your words, throwing your file aside and going to take a much needed shower.

He needed to get out of his head.

~

Series masterlist

[apoemaday]

Red

by Ted Hughes

Red was your colour. If not red, then white. But red Was what you wrapped around you. Blood-red. Was it blood? Was it red-ochre, for warming the dead? Haematite to make immortal The precious heirloom bones, the family bones.

When you had your way finally Our room was red. A judgement chamber. Shut casket for gems. The carpet of blood Patterned with darkenings, congealments. The curtains -- ruby corduroy blood, Sheer blood-falls from ceiling to floor. The cushions the same. The same Raw carmine along the window-seat. A throbbing cell. Aztec altar -- temple.

Only the bookshelves escaped into whiteness.

And outside the window Poppies thin and wrinkle-frail As the skin on blood, Salvias, that your father named you after, Like blood lobbing from a gash, And roses, the heart's last gouts, Catastrophic, arterial, doomed.

Your velvet long full skirt, a swathe of blood, A lavish burgundy. Your lips a dipped, deep crimson.

You revelled in red. I felt it raw -- like the crisp gauze edges Of a stiffening wound. I could touch The open vein in it, the crusted gleam.

Everything you painted you painted white Then splashed it with roses, defeated it, Leaned over it, dripping roses, Weeping roses, and more roses, Then sometimes, among them, a little blue bird.

Blue was better for you. Blue was wings. Kingfisher blue silks from San Francisco Folded your pregnancy In crucible caresses. Blue was your kindly spirit -- not a ghoul But electrified, a guardian, thoughtful.

In the pit of red You hid from the bone-clinic whiteness.

But the jewel you lost was blue.

[six-eyed-samurai]

DEATH MARKS AND SOULMATES

SUMMARY: Distancing himself from you was really hard, but Genya had no doubt as to what his coffin soulmate mark meant for you. A/N: Funny enough this is not angst WARNINGS: Set in the Kimetsu Academy AU. Fem reader.

In this world, you find your soulmate not by a red string or a name tattooed on your person, but rather a symbolic little picture imprinted on your shoulder that symbolised something special between you and your soulmate.

The world has seen the ordinary sort (a coffee cup for a cafe meet cute, a book for a library study session), with some unique types (a cross to represent a hospital visit)...but surely no one else on earth save for one Genya Shinazugawa had one of a grave.

It was a plain, unexceptional thing really. Just a simple brown casket underneath thin lines of grass and soil and a tombstone standing sentry over it.

Yet how could it NOT symbolise anything not related to death?

Did it mean he'd die before meeting his soulmate? Did it mean whoever they were, were already dead? Did it mean they were both going to die upon meeting? God, it drove him crazy.

And fearful.

Which was why Genya had long sworn off finding his soulmate. They were both clearly better off never meeting.

So he contented himself with dating around people occasionally who had yet to meet their soulmates. Sure, he knew it wouldn't last long, until they met their one and only at least, but it was fun while it did and at any rate it kept his mind off his own dark, depressing mark.

It still hurt though. Hurt to watch everyone, family and friends and colleagues - hell, even enemies - get together with their soulmates.

Inosuke and Aoi going out after she tripped on his loose shoe he lost running to class identical to the one on her arm and smacked him for it. Iguro-san and Mitsuri-chan shyly confessing their undying love when they pieced together his mark was an old pizza box and hers was a Bunsen burner and test tubes. Kanao and Tanjiro got together after their dropped wallet mix up and discovering the missing halves of their coins literally.

For fxxk's sake, even that Agatsuma kid and Nezuko started dating when they saw the lightning and the loaf of bread on each other's shoulders.

It was really making him feel...slightly left out.

But getting together with his soulmate was a bad idea. So for years Genya could've won a Grammy award for his acting like it was fine, that he never did actually want to meet his soulmate.

Until stupid, lovable HER waltzed back into his life.

He vaguely remembered her from his childhood, but when they both started talking it was like he had known her all his life. Even the gloomy way of how both of them had first met - at some services for a relative of hers and a great god aunt of his - did nothing to dampen their childhood recap chatter.

Was it her charming, if not idiotic humor? Was it the way she complimented him so naturally? Was it the way she just stared at him across the ground and smiled when he turned around?

Whatever it was...she was really making it hard for him to keep to his promise.

"Hey, Genya?"

God. This was it. No, no, no...

"Hmm, yeah?"

"There's something I want to tell you...We've been really good friends for a while now. I was thinking...something more?"

"AND I TURNED HER DOWN, ANIKI, WHY THE HELL DID I DO THAT?”

Genya groaned into his pillow and banged his head against his bed while an irritated Sanemi sat at the other end with a disbelieving expression and handa in the midst face palming himself and bringing it down on his little brother's skull in despair and rage.

"GENYA, WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!? I'M FXXKING TIRED KF SEEING BOTH YOUR PUPPY EYES AND MOONING!” Sanemi bellowed, then took a deep breath to calm himself and wake his already asleep siblings. “Dammit, what did she say?"

"She was so nice about it, that's the problem!!! She even said we could still be friends if I was fine with it but I just feel even more guilty! WHY ARE GIRLS JUST SO - UGHHH."

"Genya, is this about your soulmate mark thing again?" Sanemi sighed, suddenly serious, and yanked his brother up. "You do know plenty of people don't wind up with their soulmate right, stupid idiot? It doesn't decide everything."

"Yeah, but what if she finds her soulmate and they're a better match? She showed me her mark once - something like a black umbrella lying in a puddle."

"Black umbrella?" Sanemi frowned (well, even more so than before) and leaned back. "Well, well, you don't see that many of that colour around. What are the odds of him finding her soulmate?"

"You found yours! Besides, it's really common, it's the sort of umbrella you bring to a funeral."

"Funeral? Damn, kinda like yours huh, tough luck - hang on a second."

"Yeah?" Genya peeked from the mound of pillows in surprise.

"Tell me how you guys met again." Sanemi snapped his fingers impatiently. “Get on with it, dumbass, I'm not gonna sit here all night listening to you moan about being a wimp.”

"We were at dad's funeral, remember? Her dad was his drinking buddy or something. I dropped the umbrella I was carrying and since it was raining it nearly blew off but she caught it-"

His mouth dropped open when Sanemi let out a loud groan and slapped the mattress. "What?"

"Genya. Funeral. Your mark is a coffin. You guys met at a funeral. You dropped your umbrella. She caught it for you. Her mark is an umbrella. Any bells RINGING YET, YOU GODDAMNED FOOL?"

"...oh god."

Sanemi barely had time to shout after Genya with the speed he was barging out of the room and running off. "DON'T COME BACK UNTIL YOU GET HER, OR I'LL LOCK YOU OUT!”

It wasn't that hard to find her house, having been there so many times. Genya tore through the storm and down the streets like it was nothing but a leisurely walk in the park, barely avoiding slipping on the puddles, until he arrived in front of the garden you and him had spent so many days messing around in. She was standing so obviously, miserably in the pouring rain holding the umbrella like he did so many years ago, a quiet moment from the accepting facade she had thrown up before.

Something about just watching that made him regret every single dead he had had before. She was a beautiful, serene, sorrowful painting.

And he'd be a fool to auction such a treasure like that off.

He called her name, once, twice, panting and desperate.

She whipped around almost at once. "Who - Genya-kun? Genya-kun! You'll catch a cold!"

She rushed forward at once to cover his dripping wet self with her umbrella, concern written - scrawled - over her features.

"Doesn't matter - look - uh -" Genya faltered, then took a deep breath. "I said no because I was afraid you weren't my soulmate. Or if you were... let's just say my mark wasn't the most auspicious. I was...scared of what would happen, so it was worse."

"Is that - is that it? Genya-kun, I - I don't - you know I don't care - care about the marks -"

"No, listen, please. Then I talked it over with Aniki and he kinda made me realize some things."

"Oh - uh - yeah? What?"

"That the grave on my shoulder was because I met you at a funeral, that I love you mark or not and...that yes, I want to be something more."

"We - we can be more than more. We'll be most - I - I promise!"

She held her umbrella over him all those years ago.

Now both of them threw it away to laugh and dance in the rain as newfound lovers.

[jo-harrington]

TW: Death and Catholicism

Eddie as someone you meet at a funeral.

You’re a great-niece, he’s a grandson’s friend. You both really only knew the deceased distantly but in different lights.

To Eddie she was the lady who pinched his arm, fed him too much food, asked if he had a girlfriend, and said she knew some nice girls if he was having trouble dating. To you she was the lady who pinched your arm, fed you too much, asked if you had a boyfriend, and said she knew some nice boys if you were having trouble dating.

Nice to him. Rude to you. That’s just who she was though. To everyone. She had her favorites.

But you’re both there for your cousin more than you’re there for yourselves.

He ends up sitting near you at the funeral home, dressed in black. Well, everyone is. But it’s how you wear those black clothes. You both wear a comfortable shroud while everyone else shuffled in dresses that don’t fit and shoes that pinch and rented suits with ties that choke.

Funeral homes have formative memories for both of you. You bond over it in those drawn out minutes…hours where you connect with strangers only to probably never see them again. For him, it’s his mother and in return he gained a love of heavy metal and the inexplicable need to March to the beat of his own drum just like she did. For you, a grandma you were too young to really know.

“You and Danny have that in common then,” he tries to lighten the mood. “Dead grandma’s.”

“I think everyone gets a dead grandma at some point. Sometimes even two.”

“That’s fair.”

“Mine died on my 5th birthday though,” you tell him truthfully. “So I think I had it worse off than he does.”

“Gotta hold him to that then. He’s a cocky shit.”

“Yeah he is. He still holds some Mario Kart victory over me from when we were 7.”

You both fumble at the church as you seek out a familiar face—although for you it’s a sea of familiar faces you wish you didn’t have to see—and you guide him through, to you, partially forgotten prayers and the sitting and standing and you even hold his hand during the Our Father. He doesn’t let you go because he feels you shake with the uneven ground of your faith.

“I don’t do church anymore,” you whisper.

“Me either,” he whispers back. “Would you believe me if I told you people used to think I worshipped Satan?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I might currently worship Satan?”

“No shit.”

“Meh, anything that isn’t Jesus might as well be Satan to my mom so it’s not that much of a stretch.”

He doesn’t ask where your mom is. Where the rest of your immediate family is. And it’s nice for that to be the first time not to have to answer that question.

You continue to hold hands as the casket is sealed behind a stone wall, as your aunt and her secrets get locked away forever. Eddie remarks that it’s weird to bury people behind walls instead of in the ground. You think it’s weird that he thinks it’s weird; it’s all you’ve ever known.

You offer to show him around the big mausoleum if he plays his cards right.

It’s a joke. You both know it’s a joke.

But after Danny approaches the two of you once the service is over, and thanks and hugs are shared, he stands there with his hands in his pockets and stared at you expectantly.

“So?” He shrugs. “Grand tour?”

You’re speechless but you nod.

“And I know a place that does a good eggplant parm san—”

“Eggplant Parm Sandwich,” you nod. “Cue’s. Off Wolf Road? Yeah it’s my favorite.”

“Mine too. We can get some lunch?”

“Sure.”

And you both think as you walk around the silent cemetery.

You think your aunt must not have been so bad, and he thinks she must have been as good as he always thought she was.

Because she filled her promise of introducing you both to someone nice after all.

[popatochisssp]

Assuming this isn't something all of the boys find weird/creepy, what do they think about humans not dusting after dying and instead leaving their whole body behind? What are their thoughts on the fact that their human s/o is going to one day die and leave their dead body behind?

TW for death mention/discussion below:

I think for most, it’s not something they’d dwell on, filing it under one of those weird things humans just do, like have blood and organs, and use the bathroom.

They don’t do any of that, and it’s a little weird and maybe a little gross that their human s/o does but hey—they’re (literally) only human, and it’s normal for them, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Plus, not all humans want to just stay as the dead body, a lot do the cremation thing and then they’re ashes, and anything after that would be very similar and very familiar to monster dust and what tends to be done with it. Not so different, at least!

Broadly speaking, it might come up at some point and maybe they’d try to find out if their s/o has any particular preferences for what they want to happen to all the physical stuff they leave behind—body included—when they kick it, if they so happen to kick it before their skeletal beau and leave him in the position of handling that stuff…

But other than that, probably not something to think about overly much. The ideal is not having to worry about any of that for a good long while, after all!

There are maybe a few exceptions, though, who do have some kind of significant, stronger-than-typical opinion about the subject of humans (or their s/o in particular) leaving a corpse behind instead of dust…

Paps (Underswap Papyrus) isn’t a fan of the concept. He’s a little squeamish, generally unnerved by blood and severe injuries, and a lifeless, rotting, empty shell—especially of someone he cared about—is pretty morbid and upsetting. He definitely wants to think about it and deal with it as little as possible, so his s/o better not die too soon! And if they want him to go to a wake or funeral, they better be prepared for him to have to psych himself up to approach the casket of the deceased, or take a moment outside for a breather.

On the other hand, Mal (Swapfell Sans) is explicitly glad for the longevity of the human body. He doesn’t really care one way or the other for any other humans, but if he somehow manages to outlive his human, he thinks he’d very much appreciate that their body stuck around awhile after they left. He loves hard and digs in deep, and whatever extra time he can have for a private goodbye, to look at his s/o’s face and commit everything to memory before letting go…he’ll take it, gladly.

Slate (Horrortale Sans) is liable to dissociate around a dead body and risks the same just talking about it too much. He’s made dealt with plenty of corpses already and doesn’t want to have to deal with any more, it brings back a lot of guilt and bad memories… If—stars forbid—it ever has to be his s/o that he’s confronted with, he would just… try to hold it together and do whatever needed to be done to honor their wishes, on full autopilot if it came to that. He can have whatever breakdown he needs to have after ensuring everything they wanted for their remains has been done, they deserve that.

His brother, Papy (Horrortale Papyrus)…well, he tends to get panic attacks when humans die and their souls leave their bodies as just an empty husk. It’s a distressing concept for him that everything that makes a (human) person themselves can just…go like that, and then all they are is dead meat. …Meat which he has availed himself of in the past, and fed to others, and that was circumstantial and desperate but still very distressing to reconcile with any new occurrences. He’s giving himself a lot of immersion therapy with his choice of career, and maybe by the time his s/o passes on, he’ll be ready to cope with it…but who knows?

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus) may be a bit abashed to admit to it, but he’s not uninterested and finds it (somewhat morbidly) fascinating. The human body itself is fascinating with all its physicality and moving parts that keep everything functioning like an organic machine, and the body remaining behind even after death—for study or investigation or just as an idol of mourning—it’s…kind of cool? In fairness, though, he wouldn’t be able to muster up much of that opinion if it was his s/o’s body no longer occupied by the person he loved. Too personal, very different…

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans) is a soulless machine. He won’t age and may never die, but if he does, he might leave some sort of corpse behind himself…or maybe not, if enough magic has soaked into his metal bones to make them dissipate when the consciousness piloting them leaves. Still, he can’t really be sure, and the way humans die is a less foreign a concept to him since he’s considered that something similar could happen to him eventually. …He would rather it not happen to his s/o, though. (He’d never ask it of them, but he would want them to stay.)

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus) would have no trouble asking it of his s/o—they should stay! Just don’t die. Or, well, die, obviously, but stay anyway, like he did! He finds the concept of a body in general troublesome and limiting, so he’s pretty cavalier about humans leaving theirs behind when they die—can’t blame them in the slightest!—but he won’t be as cavalier about his human trying to shuffle off their mortal coil without a digital backup first. How are they supposed to be ‘together forever’ if one of them is trying to escape to some kind of unknowable Great Beyond?! Sheesh…

Kohl (Descendtale Sans) is…a bit of an asshole, most of the time but also when talking about human corpses. It’s one of his preferred off-color jokes to say that the dead ones are his favorite kind of humans since they’re quiet and don’t bother him… totally irreverent, but as far as his actions go, he’s actually considerably more respectful. He’s defensive and wary around most live humans because he knows what they’re capable of and the harm they can do, but there’s no danger in the empty shells they leave behind, just signs of personality and the life they once lived—laugh lines, tattoos, scars, painted nails… It cuts his venom a bit to see that, and to have the time he has with peoples’ bodies; to be entrusted (however peripherally) with sending them off to whatever final rest they’d chosen. …If his s/o decides to let him outlive them, he’d like to do the same for their shell.

And lastly, Bram (Descendtale Papyrus) is a slightly odd case. He has a bit of trouble conceptualizing the way non-magical beings die…which isn’t to say he doesn’t understand the concept of death, he’s got that down fine! But to die and not disappear into dust seems to him like something must still be there, some integral part of the being who’d inhabited the body left behind—a human residue, if you will! And as such, even if that person’s soul is gone and they’ll never move or breathe or speak or do anything else ever again, their remains should be treated as if they were still occupied, because a piece of them is still there and probably always will be. So when it’s his s/o’s time to go, he’ll see their body off to its new accommodations—the earth or a nice vase or whatever else they wanted—and then visit often to talk and hang out, like nothing had changed! …Almost.

[compacflt]

if you're open to angsty prompts - tgm mission goes bad and Ice gets to accept Bradley and Mav's flags at their funerals? (but only if you're feeling angsty. if not, feel free to ignore!)

San Diego, California. November 2016.

It should not be surprising that the complicated politics of a funeral like Mitchell’s supersede even the national grief of losing him, but of course it is. The Defense Department and the new administration (loudly Tweeting out of their asses because the President-Elect hasn’t yet been sworn in) want to hold it in Arlington. Do it in D.C., show American unity, show how proud we are of our fallen aviator, who sacrificed himself for America’s national interests, bury him in Virginian soil next to Kennedy’s eternal flame… It’s not a terrible idea, geopolitically speaking. But the Republican leadership of the state of Texas wants a piece of him, too. Why not bury him in the National Cemetery in Dallas? That’s where he’s from. Lay him to rest in the soil of his forefathers, as all good men should be. But the entire Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy, it is argued by people who aren’t Kazansky, also has a stake in this. Bury him at sea. He gave his life for the Navy. This is how it ought to be. Bury both Mitchell and Bradshaw at sea the way we buried other American Navy heroes like John Paul Jones. (When he hears this argument, Kazansky also remembers that we buried Osama bin Laden at sea, too.)

The whole political clusterfuck is put to rest at last in mid-November, when someone bothers to ask Kazansky what he thinks, and Kazansky says, “I’ll remind you that there’s absolutely nothing left of him to bury. But Mitchell lived in California for the last thirty years of his life. He told me he’d want to be buried in San Diego. I don’t really care where you put him. But that’s what he said he wanted.” And after Pacific Command leadership hears this and communicates it to the White House, everyone all of a sudden bends over backwards to organize a joint funeral in San Diego, where Bradshaw’s parents are buried, anyway. Maybe it really is fitting. Okay.

It’s a funny thing, ritual. The military’s full of it. A funeral: that’s a ritual. So, too, is promotion, retirement, commissioning in the first place. So, too, is the everyday ritual of getting dressed, donning battle gear, which today is dress blues, the way it was the day Mitchell died. Medals instead of ribbons. The President posthumously gave Bradshaw and Mitchell Medals of Honor. Their bodies would be wearing them, if there were bodies to bury. The President prehumously gave Kazansky and Seresin Medals of Honor as well. Kazansky’s is sitting around his throat like a noose. He feels like nothing but a body himself, no soul, already passed-on. They’ll lower Mitchell’s empty casket into the ground this afternoon and Kazansky’s already thinking about climbing inside it before they do. He’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t see the absurdity in that thought. But he’s also not so self-aware that he isn’t having that thought.

It’s the highest-profile funeral Kazansky’s attended in a few years. The Secretary of State is here. The Secretary of Defense is here. The Secretary of the Navy is here. The Vice President is here. He, too, has only recently lost a son; he, too, has already lost someone he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with. They don’t talk, but when they shake hands, it feels like stronger solidarity than all the Sorry for your losses Kazansky’s received over the past couple weeks. Everyone here knows about him and Mitchell, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare; now, his actual worst nightmare having been realized, he can’t bring himself to care, and no one’s making a big deal out of it. When they say, Sorry for your loss, they don’t mean in the “loss of two highly strategic assets for the U.S. Pacific Fleet” sense, they mean in the “loss of the only two people you cared about more than your career” sense. Sorry for your loss. It’s not so bad. And because everyone knows, in a way that had once been Kazansky’s worst nightmare, no one bats an eye when Kazansky realizes his actual worst nightmare and accepts Mitchell’s folded flag. No, they weren’t legal family. But everyone knows they were close enough.

He tacks his own Naval aviator wings onto Mitchell’s empty casket. Twenty-one guns fire. He salutes. They lower two empty caskets into the ground and he’s still standing. It doesn’t really mean anything. It’s not really a goodbye, because neither Mitchell nor Bradshaw are actually inside. He watches Seresin struggle not to cry. He stands before a few hundred people and makes a short boring speech about service and sacrifice that he did not write. This is all political. This is all just for show. Most ritual usually is. So who gives a fuck.

He disappears before anyone can pin him down to apologize again and again, but finds that his intended hideout location has already been claimed: by the time he makes it to Goose’s grave, Seresin’s already standing there alone, his hands in his blues pockets, his cap tucked under his arm.

“I just,” says Seresin stupidly. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face is sallow. They’ve never really spoken, the two of them, but Kazansky’s heard the rumors about him and Bradshaw. And he’s sure Seresin’s heard the rumors about him and Mitchell. They’re in the same leaking boat, here. “Bradley talked about him all the time.” Gestures down to the grave. “And about you. And about Maverick.”

Kazansky says, “Would you want to have lunch with me? I’m not very hungry. But maybe we can talk.” He’s trying. Too little too late, but he’s trying.

He exchanges his jingling blues coat for a regular suit jacket in the armored Suburban. Takes the Medal of Honor off as he does. Seresin, still only a lieutenant, doesn’t have the luxury of a general staff who will carry around a wardrobe change on his behalf. He’s gonna have to make do with his dress blues. He’s nervously fingering the Medal of Honor around his neck, and will continue to do so long after they’ve taken their seats in a restaurant downtown where Kazansky used to take Mitchell out for dinner, not so long ago. He can hear his chief flag aide kindly whispering to their waiter: Somewhere in the back. Where they won’t be bothered. Everyone’s being so kind.

“I could kill him,” Seresin says after a few minutes.

“Who?” says Kazansky incuriously. He’s been running his fingers over the condensation on his water glass. Now his fingertips are wet. Actions and consequences.

“Cyclone. He’s the one who refused to send me. And he didn’t launch search-and-rescue, either.”

Kazansky blinks, then looks down at his menu. “No, son, that was me.”

Seresin’s Then I could kill you goes unsaid. It’s quiet for a long time, long enough that Kazansky’s read through the menu—every word—twice. Then Seresin says, “Why?”

“You would’ve searched for the rest of your life and rescued nothing, and blamed yourself.”

“I blame myself for not going anyway. For not disobeying orders. —Maverick would’ve gone.”

Yeah, he probably would have. Kazansky remembers, in a split second, a story Mitchell had only told him a few years ago, lying next to him in the dark, a little tipsy after dinner and touchy-feely as he always was lying next to Kazansky in the dark: I don’t think I ever told you the story of how I saved Cougar’s life. His warm hands, gentle and unhurried, sliding up and down Kazansky’s abdomen: it’s so funny the details you choose to overlook at the time, and only remember when you lose them. / Well, I never wanted to ask. You hate telling those stories, I thought, Kazansky had said. Because it was true. At any party, Mitchell could tell the stories of how he saved Cougar’s life and how he ejected out of a flat spin at TOPGUN and how he shot down three MiGs not two weeks later—but he’d always have nightmares about all of it the night after. He hated telling those stories. He’d only do it if people asked, so Kazansky never asked. / You’re here in bed next to me, Mitchell said, so I’ll sleep just fine. Let me be a hero for you for once. —It was the day I saw that first Soviet MiG up close. Remember that? Negative four-G inverted dive? That was real, baby. Scared the shit outta Cougar. Messed him up bad. I mean, he thought we were all cooked. He wasn’t gonna land, I mean. Or if he tried, he was gonna plow right into the side of the boat. Couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? He was dipping his wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving his Tomcat, I mean, it was freaky. So I touch-and-goed my F-14. / Against orders, surely, Kazansky’d said. / Oh, of course. You’ve met me, haven’t you? Of course, against orders. We were both outta gas. But I took off again and circled around to find him, and guided him in, you know, level off, call the ball, there you go, Coug, you got it, you got it. Don’t know if he ever told you this—he probably did ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up the landing gear and snapped off his tailhook and ground up into the fuselage. / But he lived. / But he lived, Mitchell said, and that’s how I got sent to TOPGUN. And that’s—with a soft sweet kiss—how I met you. / My hero, Kazansky’d said.

“Yeah,” he says noncommittally. “Maverick would’ve gone. —But he’d have searched for the rest of his life and rescued nothing, and blamed himself.”

Seresin says, “Is that what happened with him and Bradley’s dad? Is that what happened with Goose?”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for another while. The waiter comes by to take their orders. Kazansky’s not hungry and orders a beer. Seresin’s starving and orders a burger and a side of onion rings and a glass of wine.

“Can I ask you a question?” Seresin says after another few minutes. “Are you, like, a coward, or something? —That speech you gave was pretty neutered, sir. You loved him and you can’t even say it at his funeral?”

It’s a stupid, immature question. The Navy doesn’t deserve to hear that out loud. Nor does Mitchell’s empty casket. Only Mitchell did, and too late now. Kazansky shrugs. “If I were a brave man,” he says, “do you think I would have let him go?”

“I’d like to think I’m a brave man,” says Seresin. “I let Bradley go because I trusted him to come back. —Honestly, I’m kind of fucking pissed about it, to be honest. Sorry for the language. But it’s the truth. The night after he died, I mean, I went apeshit. Tore up our photos, punched the wall, cried myself fucking dry, that kind of stupid shit. I was so mad. I trusted him to come back, and he didn’t. Thought he was a good pilot. —Sorry. Is that sacrilegious to say? We aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, are we? I don’t care. I’m still mad about it. I know I shouldn’t be. But it’s the only thing I know how to be, is angry. Does that make sense?”

“It makes sense.”

“Are you angry?”

“Yes, but not at Mitchell. You know that saying, we have old pilots and bold pilots, but never old, bold pilots? Maverick was an old, bold pilot. We both knew he was living on borrowed time. That’s how he lived.”

“Pretty fucking defeatist.”

Kazansky shrugs again. He is a man defeated.

Seresin says, “Are you gonna be okay?” Then, in the resulting silence, he says, “Sorry, stupid question. Sorry. It’s just—“ He hesitates. It’s only now that Kazansky sees the dark circles under his eyes, the tremor in his hands, the desperation in the stiffness of his shoulders. “Look, it’s just that I don’t think I’m going to be okay, and you’re a lot older than me, and I keep thinking you have, like, the answer. Some wisdom, you know what I mean? How am I gonna be okay? You’re the Commander of the Pacific Fleet of the United States Navy. Aren’t you supposed to know what to do? Aren’t you supposed to give me orders? What do I do?”

“If I were a wise man,” Kazansky says, “do you think I would have let him go?”

Seresin is quiet. His food comes. He immediately launches into it, eats ravenously and silently for a few minutes.

Then he says, around a bite of his burger, “You know, I was gonna ask him to marry me.”

“Bradshaw?”

“Who else?”

Kazansky blinks. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah,” says Seresin. “You know, fucking everyone is.”

“Lunch is on me,” Kazansky says.

Home, afterwards, is silent and lonely. Of course it is: Mitchell’s not here. Of course. Kazansky’s settling into it. Life so rarely gives you a choice, when assigning you ritual, routine. There’s still legal paperwork to fill out. That he can do. And there are still letters of condolences to respond to: Thank you for your kind words. Maverick was… figuring out how to end that sentence will give Kazansky a way to occupy his time for a while. And there are flowers to throw out—no one wants flowers after someone they care about has died. They stink up the house and permeate everything with their reminder of grief and mourning, and you’ll find the dried petals even months later and grieve and mourn all over again. Kazansky throws them all out before they can start shedding. There are friends to call and thank for coming. “I don’t know what to say,” Slider says over the phone. / “Yeah, neither do I,” says Kazansky, so they sit in silence on the line together for a while, and that’s pretty nice. / “He was the best of us,” says Sundown, and Kazansky thinks about what Seresin had said a few hours ago: Thought he was a good pilot. It’s a cruel thought, but sometimes the only thing you can be is angry: if Maverick really was the best of us, he should’ve come home. / “You know, I’m still in his debt,” says Cougar. “He saved my life thirty years ago. It’s so fucking stupid, you know what I mean, this idea that I should’ve saved his in return? Feels like it’s my fault that he died. Maybe I’m too superstitious. I’m indebted to a fucking dead man. I’ll never be able to pay him back. —Sorry, Ice. Sorry. I don’t mean to make it all about me. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s okay,” says Kazansky. “Don’t, um—look, I’m just curious. How did he save your life? Would you mind telling me?”

“I don’t remember too much of it, to be honest,” says Cougar. “That’s why I quit, isn’t it? Something wrong with me. I was so scared I couldn’t see straight. You ever been so scared you couldn’t see straight? I wouldn’t have landed if it weren’t for Maverick. Or, if I had tried, I think I would’ve plowed into the side of the boat. Dipping my wings, power too low, basically drunk-driving my Tomcat. There was something wrong with me. You know, they could’ve kicked him out for that stunt, touch-and-going his F-14 like that. We were both outta gas. It could’ve killed him, too. But he guided me in. Saved my life. —I don’t think I ever told you this. I probably did about ten million dollars of damage to that plane. Fucked up my landing gear, snapped off my tailhook, ground up into the fuselage.”

“But you lived.”

“But I lived,” says Cougar. “And I came home to my family. Only ‘cause of him.”

“He was a hero.”

“He was a fucking hero,” says Cougar. “To the very fucking last. Sorry you had to go and fall in love with him. They advise against that, don’t they?”

“What, falling in love with heroes?”

“Yeah. —Sorry. Not funny.”

“A little funny. In a cosmic sense. Means it’s my own fault.”

Cougar pauses. “It wasn’t your fault, Ice.”

There’s still a Fleet to be run. Still work to be done. Kazansky can do that. People will laud him for the rest of his life for his professionalism under duress. He works when he should be grieving. Work is a ritual, too. Take some time off, sir, one of the Chief of Naval Operations’ aides had begged him. You need time. But he can’t. Only thing to do is keep working until all the work is done. The geopolitical situation after the mission, which was still classified as a success, is quite bad. They knew it would be. A bombing mission on Russian territory right near the American general election? Yeah, that’s bad. Russia’s Foreign Ministry has openly stated that if they find any remains of Mitchell and Bradshaw’s bodies, they will not extradite them home to the United States. I’m sorry you had to hear that, the President e-mailed him personally. But it’s fine. Kazansky likes the chaos. Means there’s work to do. He works.

When he can’t work anymore, because he’s done all the work that needs to be done, he takes care of another ritual. Life assigned him this one without giving him a choice, too. It’s past 2200. He turns no light on. He’s not sleeping in their bed, which is pretty cliché, and maybe he should be stronger than that, but you do have to make some concessions to your own grief when something like this happens. But he’s strong enough to sit on the side of it that had been his and open his phone and dial the number of his only favorited contact and hold the phone to his ear. It gives the dial tone five times, as is routine, and then Mitchell picks up the phone, as is routine. Hi! Captain Pete Mitchell here! Unfortunately I’m not able to come to the phone right now. Leave a message, or if it’s Navy business, you can shoot me an e-mail at C. A. P. T. dot P. dot Mitchell at navy dot mil. Thanks! Bye. Maybe Mitchell’s just busy. Maybe Mitchell’s somewhere without cell service. Maybe Mitchell’s just out flying.

Kazansky considers leaving a message, as is routine; realizes he doesn’t know what to say, as is routine; and hangs up, as is routine.

He takes all his medals off the rack of his double-breasted blues coat, packs them back into their clear-plastic-velvet boxes. He considers, momentarily, throwing out the Medal of Honor with the flowers. But he’s too self-aware to do that. He hangs up his coat on its felt-lined hanger, steams it straight, does the same to his slacks, slips the ensemble back into its garment bag, hangs it up next to Mitchell’s in their closet. This is a ritual, too. He takes a shower. He eats something. He answers a couple e-mails. He climbs into a bed that is not his own. He holds one of Mitchell’s college sweatshirts over his face and breathes in. He takes stock. His fuel gauge is reading pretty low. He knows his wings are dipping. If he really thought about it, he’d say he’s so scared he can’t see straight. And the truth is—he’s not so un-self-aware that he can’t recognize this, however numbly—Maverick’s not coming home to guide him in to land. Maverick’s never coming home again. Thought you were a good pilot. He closes his eyes. He tries to sleep.

[thatlovinfeelin]

Where Do You Go? | one | Bradley Rooster Bradshaw

Your husband died in a training accident, unexpectedly. So what happens when you find yourself leaning on his best friend and wingman, Rooster Bradshaw?

You never imagined you’d be a widow at twenty-six. Never did you think you would actually get the news that your husband died during a mission, unable to eject properly. Your knees hit the floor so hard they could’ve cracked but you didn’t feel it at all. Not as you cried and screamed and begged. 

The house felt so empty after the reality that your husband was gone set in. Kurtis Chapman was a hell of a man, an even better pilot. He should still be in the house with you, laughing at some reality TV show, or helping you cook dinner. 

You weren’t sure how, but you called your parents and managed to tell them. They promised to take care of letting the rest of your family know. There was suddenly a funeral to plan, suddenly you had to bury your husband, the man you promised to love for your entire life. 

Somehow you found yourself dressed in black, seated in front of a bunch of people. Your eyes never left the wooden casket that held Kurtis, the love of your life. You hardly reacted when you were handed a folded up flag on behalf of the United States Navy. Flinching only when the twenty one gun salute was started. Tears rolled down your cheeks. All you could think about was the fact that he was gone.

Maybe some people would find it tacky to hold a wake in a bar. But the Hard Deck was the only place you could fathom having everyone gather together after saying goodbye to Kurtis. He loved it here. The two of you came almost every weekend to drink with friends and play pool together. It seemed like the only place that was even somewhat appropriate, because he would’ve loved it. 

You moved around the bar as if on some sort of autopilot. There was no loud music or the thunderous sounds of voices filling the bar. Everyone spoke in hushed tones and the jukebox was either off or the volume was turned way down, you weren’t entirely sure. 

As you stood there, all alone, you seemed to come back to yourself and the weight of the day fell onto your shoulders. So, you made your way towards the bar, in search of the only thing that made sense to you. 

“What do you need me to do?” Penny asked softly.

You took a deep breath, “I need a shot of something, anything….just not his favorite.”

She nodded and slid a shot glass towards you. You loved Penny like a big sister or a fun aunt. She looked after you when you first moved to San Diego and was the first person to introduce you to Kurtis. Now, looking at her, made tears burn in your eyes again. 

Giving a stiff nod, you slammed back the alcohol and walked away. You let out a deep breath and made your way back through the crowd of people. Each one of them gave you a sad look or apologized for your loss, as if that would make it any better. 

In the corner near the pool table stood all of Kurtis’ aviator friends from Top Gun. They all looked just as lost as you felt. For a moment you wondered who was in the air with him when he died. Whose voice was the last thing he heard before he died?

Suddenly you felt like the walls were closing in on you. Ducking out of the side door, you took a deep breath, trying to fill your lungs with air. Your chest heaved as you leaned over the railing. This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be your life anymore. 

How were you supposed to go on now? Logistically yes, you would be okay. You had more than enough money set aside, thanks to Kurtis being smart with your finances, and the life insurance plan. You would be able to keep the house, everything would be okay when it came to things like that. But how could you sleep in that bed knowing the other side would stay empty?

“Are you okay?” 

You turned around to see Bradley Bradshaw, better known by his callsign, Rooster. His hands were in his pockets as he stood just outside of the door, watching you carefully. Kurtis always liked Rooster, so much so that Rooster was the best man at your wedding. 

“No.”

“I’m sorry,” He replied.

“Were you with him?” You questioned, needing to know. 

He nodded slowly, which was all you needed to know. At least Rooster was in the air with him, he wasn’t alone. That made you feel better, or at least as much as anything could today. If anyone had to be in the air with him when it happened, you’re glad it was Rooster. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat before moving forward and wrapping your arms around the aviator. You just needed to be held by someone. But then it dawned on you that Rooster went through this with his dad. He lost him in a similar way. 

“I’m sorry if this brings back bad memories,” You whisper to him, holding onto him tightly. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” He replied, voice gravelly, “Are you going to be okay?”

You nodded and stepped away, “The house is taken care of. Kurtis had plenty of money stashed away too,” you let out a little laugh, “We were saving up to start a family.”

“He told me,” Rooster admitted. 

“Of course he did. He thought of you as a brother.”

“He really really loved you, for what it’s worth.”

“I love him,” You whisper back, “And it hurts like hell and I don’t know how I’m going to get through this.”

“You will,” Rooster promised, “We’ll all be here to help you, if you want us to.”

You nodded, leaning back into him for another hug. If you closed your eyes, you might think it was Kurtis hugging you, making that deep ache in your chest and belly go away for just a moment. You always felt safe with Rooster. He looked after you when Kurtis was deployed the last time. 

He felt like the calm in the middle of the storm that was your life now. 

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to go,” You admitted, “Nowhere feels like home.”

“My mom said the worst part was the house without my dad,” He told you softly, “You’ll get through this, I promise.”

You nodded, stepping away from Rooster and taking a deep breath. You just needed to get through today.You could figure everything else out later. Like packing up all of Kurtis’ things, or how you were supposed to keep living in the house that you planned on growing old together in. 

“I need to go back in there,” You announced, looking towards the door, “It’s rude for me to hide away.”

“Take all the time you need,” Rooster replied, “Everyone will understand that you need to hide for a little while.”

The weeks turned into months. Slowly creeping by as you cried yourself to sleep in an empty bed and looked at Kurtis’ things every day. By the third month, you couldn’t stand it anymore and went out to buy boxes. Even still, you couldn’t bring yourself to pack anything away. Part of you kept waiting for him to come back home, even though you knew he never would. 

You sat on the floor in the middle of your bedroom, looking at the closet. You didn’t know where to start, or if you even could start. Would he be mad at you for trying to move on? Would he hate you for trying to get on with your new life? Even if it was hurting you to do it?

A knock on your front door made you stop completely. No one came by anymore. Your house used to be like a revolving door of Aviators and other members of the Navy, but now everything was quiet. So quiet it almost hurt.

You slowly made your way to the door, not expecting to see anyone of any importance. Who would bother to come now that it was just you? Kurtis was the fun one. He was the one that had the parties and made all of the jokes. You were always quiet and fading into the background. 

You were sure you looked awful. Greasy hair piled on top of your head and eyes red and swollen from crying so much. But you didn’t care, you couldn’t bring yourself to even try to look presentable. Why would you? The man you loved was dead and gone. Buried in the cold ground.

You pushed your glasses up your nose before unlocking the door and swinging it open. You were more than shocked to see Rooster standing in civilian clothes on the other side. He looked the same as the last time you saw him, three months ago. 

“Hey,” He spoke carefully, “I just wanted to come check on you. We haven’t seen you in a while.”

You nodded, “Can’t bring myself to go out.”

“I understand that,” he replied, “Look, if you ever need anything, you know you can call me, right? I promised I’d take care of you.”

You nodded again, and for some reason took a step back and opened the door the rest of the way, “I’m trying to pack up some of his things….. But I don’t know where to start. I’m not even sure if I can start.”

He swallowed a thick lump in his throat. Rooster remembered how hard it was on his mom to pack up after his dad died, “Do you want me to help?”

You nod once more, “I can’t do it alone. I’m too scared of what I’m going to feel when I do.”

“Okay…show me the way.”

So, you let him into your house. All the way to the bedroom you kept trying to ignore all of the pictures of you and Kurtis on the walls. Your wedding photo hurt more than anything to look at. You were only twenty three, he was twenty five when you got married, Kurtis was still in flight school. 

As you led Rooster into your bedroom, you wondered if Kurtis would be okay with him being here. They were best friends, had been since school. If anyone was supposed to be here to help you from the Squadron, you hoped Kurtis really did pick Rooster. You felt comfortable with him. Standing in the middle of your bedroom, surrounded by empty boxes, your strange grief induced friendship with Bradley Rooster Bradshaw began.

[eljeebee]

Winter Postlude: Pity

“I’ll be out for a bit, Father.”

Shit. Bloody shit. I can’t keep him inside that makeshift casket for long. I need to find her.

Amelia noticed her hand. They were shaking. Surprised, she let out a breathy laugh and a “shit”.

She’s nervous? A vampire like her? Preposterous.

Amelia takes a deep breath. She can’t find Teresa Williams because she’s been dead for centuries. How is she going to proceed with her plans without her?

I know those Watcher imposters chose another person to be a Pupil. The question is who?

Amelia wandered around, from Newcrest, to the Promenade, to San Myshuno, deep in thought. She needs to find Teresa’s successor to find the woman. The High Priestess. But she’s having difficulties looking for the new Pupil. On top of that, her father’s whining like a little runt.

Just then…

“What are you looking at?” She can see me. That shouldn’t be. My spell is strong…

A woman whose neck was covered (Amelia almost clicked her tongue with this) with thick colorful scarf was walking and was looking straight to her.

She opened her mouth as if she was gasping, as if she was surprised that she saw Amelia, shocked, at the sight of her, but she sneezed and turned away. The woman entered the apartment beside them, presumably her home. Her actions were a little…odd…though. It seemed like her sneeze was forced.

Strange.

I thought she could see me…her eyes looked straight at me. I might need to see her again…just in case.

Amelia finds herself sitting on a picnic table in the middle of who-knows-where in San Myshuno. The sun had already set, and the streetlights illuminated the city. If this was under normal circumstances, she would have enjoyed exploring what the modern world could offer, but she’s stuck with her father, and they must stick together, because they’re the “only ones who have each other”.

Or whatever her father said. He has plans.

Amelia knows he’s not going to accept unfulfilled plans. She knows her father – as spoiled as his sons. Whatever he wants, he gets. Whatever his plans are, it happens. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t get the Overlord’s friendship when another vampire maiden was chosen to be his bride.

I just know if I was the Overlord’s wife, I wouldn’t be stuck with him…

I don’t want to be his wife though.

Amelia let out a loud exhale.

When she got back to their refuge, she saw her father sitting on her stool. The candle was lit.

Is his dark vision waning?

“You left the candle lit, Amelia. What if I was burned?”

“I didn’t,” she restrained clicking her tongue, or even sighing. “You won’t burn, Father. That’s an ordinary fire.”

“Why do you keep this thing?”

“I like it. Why did you light it?”

He didn’t answer. Of course he won’t. Since when has he admitted things? Is he getting weak? Should I be worried?

“Did you find her?”

“No.”

“Amelia, you useless child! How long are we going to be like this? I need to find the Pupil now; I want to get my hands on Straud right fucking now!”

She tries her best not to snarl. With practiced patience, she replied, “It’s not easy looking for mortals in this cold, Father. They want to keep warm. Once the ice melts and the flowers bloom, it will be easy.”

And she wants to investigate this girl she saw earlier. But of course, she’s not going to tell him. If she did, he’d do everything himself, and her plans might fail.

He huffed. “A lord like me shouldn’t be stuck in this dump, feeding on rats.”

Her fangs gritted together, her head pounding. With a hiss, she angrily said, “That’s all I could give you without people suspecting us! Do you want to alert the Overlord? While you’re at this state?” She knows he might hit her for this, but it would be like an ant’s bite. He’s weak. He’s no longer as powerful as before. She doesn’t fear him anymore.

“It’s not enough, Amelia.” It was almost a whisper. But her sharp hearing picked it up.

His shoulders slumped. He mumbled, “Just this once, dear. Let Father have one mortal blood. My body just needs one more push…”

Amelia took a moment to let her golden eyes wander around her father’s body. She could feel his dark energy pulsating weakly, its tendrils barely enveloping his body. It no longer reaches her. He’s no longer frightening. It’s like it’s fading. Waning. The Overlord struck him well.

“I…”

She sighed.

“I’ll go look for a poor urchin. You’ll have to help me get rid of the body though.”

“I will…thank you, my dear.”

She turned on her heel and left.

A glance, before she went down the stairs, and she saw him returning to the makeshift casket.

Amelia sometimes pities her father.

[marinettesaltprompts]

Marinette Salt Prompt: In which Hawkmoth was just a bit more smarter

Bit of a different idea from the norm, but I've noticed that when it comes to choosing heroes, Marinette tends to be rather biased towards choosing her friends. Not to mention it should really be Fu giving out the miraculouses so that neither hero can be tracked. Given that Hawkmoth is trying to figure out who the heroes are, I wanted to create an idea in which Hawkmoth was just a bit more aware of whom Ladybug chose as heroes....

When the other heroes came onto the scene, Hawkmoth took his time to investigate the other heroes. While he didn't require their miraculouses, he did want to take note of any potential allies Ladybug had, especially if it meant he could either find out who Ladybug was or located the guardian. He took any notes where possible, documenting any noteworthy traits the heroes had and when they appeared.

However, it was not until Miracle Queen that the notes all came together, as Gabriel was pondering in his lair near Emilie's casket.

Gabriel had realised that all the heroes Ladybug had chosen (sans Ryuko and Viperion) well all school kids that went to Adrien's school. More importantly, most of them were kids that were in his class as well. Given the lack of any other heroes outside of the class, this meant that it was extremely likely Ladybug was familliar with them.

More importantly, Gabriel knew that Alya was the first new hero Ladybug had chosen. Given how these auxillary heroes had appeared following Ladybug disappearing from the battle (and the lack of the Guardian's appearance), this meant that Ladybug was likely the one who had choosen Alya, meaning that she would have had to trust her in some way outisde of being the lead reporter of the Ladyblog (which should have been unlikely in any other circumstance given that the Ladyblog had an interest in exposing her identity, one that Gabriel himself kept note of in case it would reveal Ladybug's identity).

Hawkmoth took a mental tally and realised that out of the entire of Adrien's class, he had akumatised all of them. All of them except for two. His own son Adrien and ... Marinette. The only one who he hadn't akumatised. The only one who was close friends with Alya and thus would trust her enough with anything. The only one who could have possibly trusted her class enough to become heroes in the first place because she was ... Ladybug.

Hawkmoth grinned. Then laughed. It all made sense now. Though he was still unsure to who Chat Noir could be, one thing was for certain. Marinette was Ladybug.

All he had to do now ... was prove it.

[still-fatemeh]

That idiot ghost

Letters to be Put in a Coffin

Warnings: suicide (It's dazai, what were you expecting?) ooc writing

I want a casket.

I've always wanted a casket as a birthday gift but no one ever gave it to me, the closest was Mori-san telling me that he'll teach me how to mix medicine so I could finally kill myself.

But he didn't, he lied.

He lied.

Mori always lies.

I just want a casket to lie down and fall asleep in, maybe that way, I could finally have a sound sleep. Maybe that way, wraiths won't hunt me anymore.

Wanting to die painlessly is a hassle. I might never admit it but over the years, I've discovered that dying hurts. No matter the method, how delicately you execute it or how eager you are, it'll still hurt. There's no such thing as a painless death, we're all just bound to suffer. The thought of dying has never bothered me, but getting hurt, losing blood, becoming crippled and the like—no thanks. Maybe I don't want to die, because if I wanted to, I would've made sure the noose was secure enough the first time I ever tied it.

I don't want to die.

But I don't want to live either.

There's no reason for me to keep on living. I can't find a reason to live, I know I won't. I can't even justify my existence...

"Someone loved you enough to give birth to you."

Chuuya was wrong, he's always wrong.

If she really loved me, then why am I like this? Do I look like a product of love to you? Do I look like I was brought up with love?

Dear, chuuya

I miss who I could've become.

I don't miss being a fetus.

I miss not feeling anything.

I miss not knowing anything.

I miss not existing at all.

Maybe if my mother had slept that night I wouldn't have been here suffering all this years.

If someone ever thinks of me after I died, if you saw the remains of the one dead to shame, please spread me in the ocean. I want to be food for the crabs, it'd balance out my life don't you think?

[bayisdying]

Imagine being Iceman's daughter:

You are the youngest and only girl. So the prized little girl.

You were kind of an "oops" baby. They had your two older brothers back to back and decided two was enough. But a couple years later, here you come throwing yourself into their crazy lives.

The 5 of you are extremely close knit as a family. Your older brothers are protective of you and definitely teach you how to defend yourself (by practicing their WWE moves on you in the living room)

Whenever your Dad is home you are glued to his side. Unless your Uncles Slider, Maverick, or Wolfman were around. Those three love to dote on you the MOST. Want a Teddy bear from a carnival? Those three legit compete against each other to get you the biggest one.

You are the only child to follow in Iceman's footsteps by joining the Navy and becoming an aviator. Your brothers chose different paths but are super proud of their baby sister.

Ice totally gives you your wings at graduation and no he totally didn't cry (yes, yes he did.)

You got your callsign pretty quickly. Your entire life you had been called "Princess" but now that you were grown up? You were "Ice Queen" or "Queenie" for short

You finish 2nd in your Top Gun class, being beat only by one point and by one Mr. Jake "Hangman" Seresin.

Speaking of Jake. You hate the guy. He's cocky, arrogant, and an all around jackass. You probably gave him the callsign after him leaving you hanging too many times.

But really you two care about each other because you two work well together and get stationed together a ton.

Friends with Benefits? Yes. It happens a couple times.

When your Dads cancer comes back strings are pulled and you are reassigned to San Diego to be closer to your Dad. You spend as much time with him as possible. Mostly in the study.

Getting called back to Top Gun was scary for you. You knew you were one of the best but you didn't want to leave your Dad in case something happened.

When you enter the Hard Deck? Jake notices you immediately. He hugs you so tightly and asks how you're okay. He knows why you were reassigned and why.

You get introduced to the others that you don't know yet

Then Rooster walks in and you can't help but smile. He's been your best friend forever. You definitely sing Great Balls of Fire very, very loudly alongside him.

When it was your turn to dogfight you went up with Phoenix and Bob. You know most of Mav's moves from growing up with his wingman. You get close to shooting him down until he bests you instead.

Dogfight Football? You owned that shit. You grew up with two athletic brothers. You can throw a football better than some of the guys. Jake playfully tackles you and yall get a little *too* close.

When you get word that your father had passed, you are the one to walk into see Mav and Bradley fighting. You hate it. These two idiots that are your family are fighting and your Dad just died

"Mav..." he turns around and notices the tears threatening to fall. And he knows.

Rooster figures it out quickly too.

At the funeral you are in your dress whites standing next to your mother. Hand in hers until she is handed his flag. You don't cry during the service, you flinch when Mav pounds his wings into the casket but no other emotion showed on your face. You were strong for your mother.

Back at the house, you lock yourself in the study and sit in his well-worn leather chair. You breathe in his scent and that's when you allow yourself to cry. You start typing on the computer through the tears hoping that wherever he was, your Dad could read it.

You were not selected for the mission. You can't even be upset. Rooster is the man for the job.

When Mav and Rooster go down? You have a mental breakdown. You just buried your father. Now you would bury two more men you loved. It wasn't fair. You run and find a quiet place in the overcrowded, cramped ship to lose it.

You don't hear them get a signal from Rooster, or hear Jake defy orders to go after them. (Which he does partly for you. He knows how much they mean to you. And he may or may not have realized he loved you during this whole thing)

You don't know until you hear Jake whisper your name, and look up to see 3 of the very special men in your life looking back at you.

HUGS. SO MANY HUGS.

And Hangman also may or may not kiss you in front of everybody (he does.)

You know the pain of losing your Dad will never go away, but with Mav, Rooster, Hangman, and the rest of the Daggers by your side? You know you'll make it through it.

No I'm not crying from writing these. Not at all.

Tagging the besties: @kloofspeaks @itzyogurl92 @callsignthirsty @callsign-milano

[oskea93]

Keep it to Yourself (1)

✶ Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC ✶

Warning: This story will contain scenes of drug/alcohol use, sexual content, mentions of death, overdose, physical and emotional abuse. Please read at your own risk. I do not own rights to Motley Crue or any other famous person mentioned. Portions of this story will be pulled from Motley's book and film The Dirt as well as The Heroin Diaries. There will be parts that are complete fiction as well.

Taglist: @fancywasmyname1, @kaitieskidmore1, @xxisxxisxxis, @sparxx27,  @cruecifymesixx, @tempt-ress, @a-sia-san, @x-xinenas, @casualcomputerarbiter-blog​, @makaelahdelvalle

Author's note: Hello everybody! It's been a while since I thought about this story but now I want to bring it back to life. I think I rewatched The Dirt about 20 times in the past couple of days (Thanks snowstorm!) and i've been thinking about this story and all the other amazing Crue stories that are on Tumblr. So, with that being said - I have decided to rewrite Keep it to Yourself. I went back and read the original version and I want to revamp it in a way. I've changed a couple things and I hope to make it better than before. If you were tagged in the original version, I went ahead and just tagged you for this new update. If you would like to be removed, just let me know and I will take you off. If you aren't a part of the taglist and would like to be, just let me know and I will get you added. I hope you enjoy the new and improved Keep it to Yourself!

“Bryant –“ He paused. “I know I’m probably the last voice you wanna hear on your answering machine, but I desperately need your help right now.” A breathy sigh blew through the speaker. “I’m at my wits end and I have no idea what to do with him.”

I stared at the device – my hand curled against my mouth as his words flowed through my living room. “The drugs are constant – he’s high 24/7 – Half the time I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead when I get into his room. It’s not just him – they’re all fucked – but he’s the only one with one foot in the casket.”

How he got my number remained a mystery. They made him millions of dollars – more money than the man could even count – yet he was calling me about his issue. From the beginning, I told him that it would only get worse. The guy had issues way before he formed Motley – way before the money and fame came into the picture. Sure - he dabbled in drugs before hitting peak stardom, but the money was there, and he was a kid in a candy store.

“I know the two of you ended on such a sour note, but I feel like you’re the only one that can truly help him get out of this fucking mess. He needs you – I – we all need you, Bryant.” He went on to leave the number to the hotel they were staying at for the night. Begging one last time for my help. I must’ve played the damn message 10 times – each time making my anger rise. Doc was the one who let it get to this point – he fueled the fire when it should’ve been sprayed out years ago. He pushed the drugs in their direction – Nikki was always a step ahead though. He attracted the slime that had the harder, faster drugs. The drugs that would make him feel nothing when in reality his whole fucking world was crumbling down…

I continued to move the spoon around the cup, the sugar long dissolved by now. I was so lost in my own thought – Doc’s words swirling around in my brain.

“You’re thinking about going, aren’t you?” The brunette in front of me asked. “I know that look and that look tells me that you’re giving in.”

Hannah Hastings was the first person I met when I moved to South Carolina. She was an event planner – a free spirit in a Dynasty like world. She would spend hours on my couch, a bottle of wine being shared, as I spilled my entire life story into her lap. She knew all about my history with Nikki – how we met – our marriage – and the demise of our relationship.

I let out a sigh, “I don’t wanna go but something’s telling me that if I don’t –“ I paused. “If I don’t go, he’s gonna end up dead and then I’ll be blaming myself. At least if I go and say I tried and I don’t succeed, I won’t beat myself up if something does happen to him. Like – It’s not even a matter of if – it’s a matter of when.”  

“He was such an asshole though, Bryant. The man was toxic to you-“She reached across the table taking my hand in hers. “I don’t want to see you get hurt or worse. You know how drug addicts are – he could get violent and not even realize it until it’s too late.”

During the three years we were together, he never laid a hand on me. I was the one who had the heavy touch. Sure, we had awful arguments that pushed me to the point of slapping and pushing him away, but he always stormed off before touching me. The drugs at the time weren’t as hardcore as they are now though. I could walk in his house and come back out with a bullet hole this time. Hannah was right – drugs fucked with people’s brain – I’m sure Nikki was already there.

“Are you gonna tell Wyatt?”

I slumped back in my seat at the thought of telling my Uncle Wyatt. To say he hated Nikki would be an understatement. He warned me from the beginning that Nikki Sixx would be nothing but trouble, but I didn’t listen. He was used to guys like Nikki – being a kid from the wrong side of the tracks himself. He made a promise that he would do everything he could to protect me from men like Nikki. We only had each other and when Nikki came into the picture, the worst type of thoughts ran through his head. He knew what guys like Nikki did to girls like me – innocent until proven insane. It happened to my mother – her infatuation sending her straight to the grave.

“I figured I would just call him when I got to California-“Her eyes growing large. “You know so he can’t talk me out of it or worse come and get me.”

She shook her head in disbelief, “You know I love you and I’ll support you in any way –“I felt a “but” coming along. “But –“She smiled. “This is one decision I’m very wary about, Bryant.”

I felt the same way. I had multiple scenarios playing like film reels over and over in my head. Some pretty good while others resembled horror movies. Even I knew that Nikki’s reaction to seeing me would not be a good one. He broke my heart, and I broke his even worse. Besides the band, I was his only true constant. He barely had any family – his grandparents living states away – not even aware of their grandson’s antics. Sure, the art of touring and going to different states brought about groupies and so-called friends but he didn’t have anyone to call or return home to. I was that person for him.

“You and me both, sister…”

I waited for the line to connect – the operator being nice enough to connect me straight to his room. Doc and I didn’t really have a relationship. He was Motley’s manager and at the time I was just a wife. I was glad the guys had him at first – their success was growing like a wildfire but that was because of their drive for stardom – Doc was just there lending a helping hand. He was extremely pissed when I ended things with Nikki. His own mouth spewing curse words my way once Nikki was served with divorce papers.

It makes the band look bad when a member gets divorced.

Nikki refuses to get out of bed and it’s all your fucking fault.

Girls all over the world would stay with Nikki no matter what – cheating, drugs – Learn to turn a blind eye.

“Hello?” I sat straighter as Doc’s voice sounded – my thoughts suddenly escaping me. “Hello?”

“It’s me.” My voice cracking. “I – uh – I got your message.”

“Oh, thank God, Bryant.” He sounded relieved. “I was worried that I would miss your call –“He paused. “Or if you would even call at all.”

I stayed silent – not really up for conversation.

“Listen, I know this is a bit of a tall ask, but I really do need your help. Nikki – hell all the guys for that matter – are ticking fucking time bombs. Nikki’s clock is etching closer to midnight ever second the fucker breaths – and I pray every night that he’s still doing so. He’s high ever second of every day. He shoots up when he wakes and right before he passes out for the night. I have no idea what he’s even taking anymore. Shooting up, snorting, smoking – he’s the walking picture of Nancy Reagan’s campaign.”

My grip on the phone tightened as he spoke – realizing that he was more far gone than thought.

“I need you to come out here and help us deal with him. I think Doug and Fred can deal with the other three, but we can’t get through to Nikki. Fuck, it’s not even Nikki anymore that we’re dealing with. He’s so mean and terrible to be around. His moods go from zero to sixty – it’s even worse when he’s coming down. Poor Tommy’s getting married, and I can’t even imagine Nikki standing up there with him when he’s high off his ass. You’re the only one that I think can get through to him – he still loves you, Bryant.”

He still loves you, Bryant.

Maybe the old version of Nikki was still in love, but I can assure you the drugged-up version was only in love with his high. That was Doc’s way of trying to lure me in – telling me that Nikki still loved and cared about me. I still loved and cared for the guy too – the Nikki I met at a 7-Eleven almost 6 years ago. Pre-Motley Crue – before the fame, drugs, egos, and women.

“I’ll pay for your ticket out here and everything if you agree, Bryant.” He stressed. “I’m desperate – he’s gonna die if we don’t do something.”

I let out a sigh, closing my eyes, asking myself if I really wanted to do this. It was a constant battle with my head and my heart. My brain was yelling at me to tell Doc to fuck off, but my heart couldn’t deal with the thought of Nikki no longer being here. “You think seeing me will snap him out of this spiral?”

“I think seeing you will probably piss him off more but at least I know you’ll be there and have the chance to stop him.”

My brows furrowed at his comment, “You’re making it sound like I’m gonna be with him at all times?”

His silence confirming my question. “You can’t expect me to stay in the same house, hotel room, or wherever with Nikki –“

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do, Bryant.” He cut me off. “I need that man to have constant surveillance – can’t put a bodyguard in there with him. He needs to have someone that he’s familiar with – someone that’s gonna remain sober and not give into his advances.”

“Then why don’t you stay with him then?” My attitude starting to come out.

“I’d end up killing him and then all of this would be for nothing.”

I shook my head as I pulled the phone away from my ear. I could hear Doc’s voice as he continued to talk. “Listen-“ I spoke up, cutting his sentence off. “I will come out there but I’m only there for a week. Once that week is up, whether he’s getting help or not, I’m going back home.”

“That’s not gonna work, Bryant.” He huffed. “He gets more fucked up when he’s out on the road than he does at home. These fuckers waiting in back alleys and backstage – knowing that he’s looking to score – that’s where I need you the most.

I’d been on tour with Motley when they were first getting their feet wet. I watched as they performed their first gig at the Starwood and then when they were opening for bigger acts like Ozzy. Going on tour with four men – the four Motley men was not for the faint of heart. I saw more body parts than I cared to see. Drugs, alcohol, and women were being pushed in their direction – more so as their popularity grew than before. Nikki and I shared a bunk and even that got old after a while. Living with four men for months on end would cause any woman to eventually lose it. Nikki and I were constantly fighting. Hell, I was fighting with everyone, even Mick at times. This was their dream, and it was my absolute living hell.

“I don’t th-“

“What do I need to do so you will say yes? Walk on water – swallow arsenic? Please, Bryant. I have never been so desperate in all of my life.” His voice wavering. “You were in love with this man at one point – I believe you may still love him. Just remember the reason why you fell in love with Nikki and do it for that reason."

[kallikrein]

[ 15:16 ]

Wakasa couldn’t recall the last time he had told you he loves you.

Between his business and, well, other more pressing matters, he has no room to ponder whether he had said those words to you this morning or whether he had whispered it in your ears last night before going to sleep.

After all, he was the kind of man who believed that actions speak louder than words. Plus, he liked to think he’s a simple man. And simple men settled for simple, mundane gestures; with time simply spent together rather than saying what they lavishly feel out loud.

Out of the blue, he thought of the first time you had said those words to him.

It was one of those lazy days. You stood beside his bike. A handkerchief in hand and covering the giggles you got from his driving. While he sat still on his seat, revving the handle before him that made his engine proudly roar, as a slow, gentle smile form across on his lips.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, but you do.”

Your eyes crinkled in the corners, and you giggled at him once more. The delicate sound filled Wakasa’s chest with warmth. Then it started to envelope around his heart — so swift and careless, that the muscle inside his chest rampaged so wildly. Yet, it didn’t feel bad at all.

In fact, it felt pretty amazing.

“Do I have to kiss it out of your mouth?” He teased.

Gasping at his boldness, you playfully hit him with a gentle fist to the shoulder. “You don’t need to do that,” you protested. “With a fancy bike like yours, well, it was funny how you were speeding below the minimum speed.”

He shrugged, “Just felt like it.”

Maybe his words turned out to be an inside joke, or maybe he was an idiot in love who didn’t fully understand what he’s saying. But, if anything else, you became more beautiful when you belted out a full-on laugh. The brilliant smile you wore. The tears of laughter you got. The easy acceptance of his stupid reasoning. It made him lowly chuckle alongside you.

“You’re something else, Waka,” you said. You shyly tugged his wrist so he’s properly looking at you, and when he did, you softly planted a kiss on his cheek, “Thank you for driving slow.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled. An embarrassed flush creeping up his neck. “You should get in,” he pointed at your door.

“Fine. So grumpy.” But before you could get ten steps further, you came back skipping with an unreadable look on your face. “Drive safe, alright? I love you,” you rushed to say in one breath before bowing 90-degrees, and went back again to foolishly barrel your door.

“What the hell,” was all he could mutter while he shook his head from the shock. Then a silly grin blossomed on his lips.

“I will,” he said to the cold air, “and I love you too.”

Now, he couldn’t exactly remember the times he was the first one to say it. Perhaps he did say it first on a few occasions and he only didn’t keep count. Maybe he did say it back last night and this morning because he could still remember the way you had smiled at him, with that bashful flutter of your lashes when he gazed at you.

However, this time around, he was absolutely certain he’s saying it first.

With springing tears in his eyes and a gaping hole in his chest, Wakasa whispered ‘I love you’ for the first and ironically the last time as he traced your face’s outline through the casket’s glass.

“Imaushi-san,” he suddenly heard someone speak, “they found the driver. It was reckless driving.”

this ain't proofread. dunno what i was doing. excuse the wonky timestamp and grammatical errors. i’ve been (( r u s t y )) lolol. i just wanna write down this shit. i missed writing for waka. anhywHey, hru guys :') oh wait, hi @mochi-coffee bshshjsjd

taglist. @baji-san and @gwynsapphire.

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.113 Respect your elders

Since we were right down the street, we walked to the cemetery to lay fresh flowers on my grandparents' graves. As soon as we stepped outside, a chilly wind brushed past us, and snow began falling. Summer was just days away. Newcrest wasn't the warmest city I'd lived in, but the cold and snow should have been over a long time ago. I expressed my desire to see Gammy again, but knew it probably wouldn't happen in the middle of the afternoon. But Sophia, my sweet Sophia, was a great cheerleader.

"You'll see her," she said.

"But it's daytime. I don't think they come out in daylight."

"She'll come out as soon as she hears your voice. She loves you so much."

"Well...I hope you're right. I won't hold my breath, though."

"While we wait for her...it's still Love Day, and I love you," she said sweetly, inching toward me.

My eyebrow went up.

"You look like you're looking for trouble."

"Trouble?" she asked, cocking her head to the side. "I don't know her."

"Mmm hmm. I love you too. You and your trouble."

No sooner than she planted a kiss on my cheek, mist poured out of Gammy's headstone.

"Oh my Watcher," I shouted. "You were right! She's coming!"

The mist spilled onto the plot and swirled around our feet. Gammy's ghost popped as orange as a sunset.

"I know y'all not trying to get busy in the graveyard," she shouted. "I'm not mad, though. Come here, my baby!"

I laughed and threw my arms around her.

"Hey, Gammy! Happy Love Day!"

"Oh! Is that what day it is? Happy Love Day to you!"

She squeezed me tightly, and just like Mama did when I announced I had proposed, she pushed me aside and turned her attention to Sophia. Pope women. I shook my head lovingly at her.

"Let me see that ring!"

Sophia extended her hand and let Gammy ooh and ahh.

"Okay, Luca," she said. "You did well! Let me see some pictures! I want to know everything!"

Sophia whipped out her phone and scrolled through the wedding pictures she was tagged in.

"Oooh a beach wedding," she shouted. "That dress was perfect! Awwww look at my baby! You were so handsome, Mr. Cute Face!"

Now I had to know. Did Mama name me that, or did she steal it from Gammy?

"Oh, look at my child," she said with a tremor in her voice. "She was always so beautiful. I miss her so much. Hmph...I see she's still messing with that ol spineless...let me be nice. Oh! You had Ali officiate? That's so special. And there's my other baby, looking like a model! She probably doesn't remember me. That venue was perfect! Was that Tartosa?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sophia said.

"I would have loved to get married there, but we eloped at the romance festival."

Sophia's face lit up.

"Really? I always heard of sims doing that but never met anyone who did."

"Now you have! It was magical...but oh so cold! That fool has us out there in a blizzard! Speaking of, let's get you out of this cold."

We went inside the building, but it didn't provide much warmth. It was eerily cold in there, and I thought I saw a figure floating around the casket in the font.

"Gammy...are you okay? You don't seem like yourself. And you're orange."

"I am," she said. "Don't worry about me. Tell me about you. How's married life? Are you trying for babies yet?"

I glanced over at Sophia, who nodded at me, giving her blessing to share our story with Gammy.

"Married life is amazing. I've never been happier. We're moving to a bigger house in San Sequoia tomorrow. And...uhhh...we're still working on a baby."

"Oh noooo. Are you..."

"Yeah."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. That kind of thing can knock the wind out of your sails. I personally haven't gone through it, but I'm familiar with wanting something really bad and not getting it. Don't give up, you hear? It'll happen! Just be good yourselves and don't get stressed out. You'll see!"

"Thanks, Gammy. We're trying to stay positive."

"Good. Well, you two should get out of here. It's Love Day! Take this young lady home and blow her back out until you pass out! Put THREE babies in there, ha ha!"

"Gammy!!"

I'd always been one to respect and listen to my elders...

[toxicruins101]

Too much for the soul to take.

(commission, feel free to ask in DM's or pinned post for a commission)

Tag: @wishlist022

Carmen Sandiego and Gn! Reader

Tw: character death, angst, hyperventilating, existencial crisis, funeral.

Rear at your own risk.

Everyone knew it was a risk.

That it might be too much this time around, yet they pressured on.

And look at the consequences.

Carmen yelling and crying, player trying to comfort her over the comms.

The twins stayed silent while tears fell, not saying a single word.

Chase and Julia hadn't been told yet, granted they wouldn't have such a heavy reaction as the others, but it still hurt.

And you? You stayed silent, saying nothing as Carmen yelled at you.

You should have done more she exclaimed, her hurt voice booming around the bases walls as she did so.

It all started with a simple stealth mission, get in, get the information, and get out, but the universe has a tendency of messing up things that aren't supposed to be messed up.

The alarms blared, the white walls stained with red from the flashing lights.

Carmen and you ran as fast as possible to get out of there.

The yelling of urgency from everyone was almost too loud to hear and understand, but the fear in their voices was more than audible.

Carmen managed to run out the gates as they were being forced down, you weren't as fast as her, guards running after you.

You heard a gun shot, missing you just by an inch of your hair. It took you by surprise, your feet stumbling on each other, making you fall to the ground with a harsh thud.

The sound of rapid footsteps and someone helping you up was the only thing audible to you right now, your vision blurring in and out.

You blinked a few times, you were so close! So close to the outside.

Just as the person who was helping you stepped foot outside the barrier, you both came crashing down.

Gasps surround you, slowly blinking your eyes open at the feeling of a warm runny liquid staining your skin and clothes slowly.

Your vision un blurs.

"Shadow san.."

You whisper shocked, the gate had closed down, leaving you and the team alone in the silence.

There he laid, dead, in a pool of his own blood and it was all because of you.

A month had passed, yet the tension was obvious.

It was a shiny day on the wrong occasion, you watched as they carried out the casket, and put it underground.

Player even flew out to the team in order to mourn Shadow san properly, guilt clouded your heart and sadness your mind.

Nobody said it, or mentioned it, but they didn't need to. Their cold looks told you everything you needed to know.

That if you had been faster, quieter, more skilled, Shadow san wouldn't be buried 6 feet underground as you mourned.

People dressed in black surrounding you, familiar and non-familiar faces alike surrounded you.

White roses, each slowly but surely dropped into the casket until it was finally Carmen's turn.

She walked up, her steady pace slowed down with hurt. She took the only red rose and laid it with the others, right in the center.

The casket was covered up again, and it was done, everything was done. Shadow san was officially gone.

Carmen broke down, falling to her knees but refusing for anyone's help except Players.

You felt so bad, so so bad.

To know the death of such a loved person was caused by your recklessness, your stupidity. If you had known you would've never tagged along for this mission.

Yet you did, and not even a God could fix this now, if you repented for all your sins and found the holy light, nothing could fix this.

Nothing.

"you have to understand, Carm is..."

One of the twins start out, trying to help out like they could.

It had been two months since the funeral but everything was just too cold now, to empty.

"Mad? Yeah I figured as much. I killed her only family. There's not much I can say to make it better."

You say with a sigh, looking down at the ground.

"Just give her some time yeah? Maybe she'll understand eventually. This is hard for her like it is for all of us, let's go inside, mate. It's freezing out here."

Their voices ringed in your head, lies, all lies.

"they are useless! What happens when they screw up another mission huh?! When more lives are lost because of their idiocy!!"

Carmen yells angrily, her voice booming off the walls as she yelled back and forth with a nervous Player on the comms.

Tears brimmed your eyes and you ran, not knowing where to or when to stop, you just ran.

You panted, looking around at the secluded part of the city, you looked down at the floor and your knees buckled under you.

You held in a sob and wrapped your arms around yourself in an empty embrace.

You just wanted to be reminded what it felt to be loved again, to be part of a team, but then it got messed up, and there's nobody to blame but yourself.

You sobbed on the ground, desperate to scream and yell.

Breathing un-tense and useless as you wailed on the lonely ground, slamming your fists down in sadness and anger until you bled.

You doubted your existence, if not even Carmen could see your use, what were you good for?

Maybe she was right, you think.

You shouldn't be on the team, more death will surely follow your unlucky path and anybody that crosses it.

Your tears ran cold against your face, the on-coming cars seemed almost invisible as they edged ever closer to your shivering frame.

It isn't anger or happiness that makes the soul breakdown, most of the time it's pity for oneself or the pity towards others.

At the end of the day,

Sometimes guilt is just..

Too much for the soul to take.