#i doodled stuff last time i dyed my hair pink so i felt like i had to

[maudiemoods]

Whoahg mini moon posting??

[dreamescapeswriting]

Midnight Diner [M] ~ MYG

WORD COUNT: 3.5K

PAIRING: Tattoos!Yoongi x Fem!Reader

GENRE:  Smut, AU, Tattooist AU, Diner AU, friends to loves, touch her and you die vibes, established friendship, protective Yoongi

An old fashioned diner was not where you had pictured yourself working but here you were dressed in a pale pink dress with a white apron around the middle to look as though you worked as a vintage waitress from the '50s. It used to be a small cafe but the new owner decided that he wanted to turn it into a '50s diner so that it would become a well-known truck stop along the highway. Lots of people stopped by all of the time but not just because of the diner but because of a famous tattoo studio right next door run by one of your friends. Yoongi. He had two full tattoo sleeves each tattoo was designed by him and put onto his body by him or someone else he trusted with his life. 

"I'll be right with you sir," You said as the bell above the door chimed to let you know that the first customer of the day had walked in, you cleaned up the desk and turned around to see Yoongi waiting for his morning cup of coffee. Every morning like clockwork he would be waiting for you to open, watching from his apartment above the tattoo studio to see if you'd been in yet and then he would make his way down. 

"Take your time." You rolled your eyes at him playfully, telling him to sit wherever he wanted to but he would always pick the same spot, the bar stool in front of the till. You figured it was so he could keep you company and make conversation while the diner wasn't busy but that wasn't it at all. 

See Yoongi didn't see you as just a friend, to him you were someone he had to protect and he was going to do that until his last breath. It wasn't that he thought you needed protecting, lord knows you could look out for yourself but there was something about you that intrigued him. You were someone that he loved and cared for deeply not that he would ever admit that out loud to you or anybody else for that matter. Whatever it was about you made him want to stay around you all of the time was relaxing to him, with you he felt he could be his true self instead of his persona that everyone seemed to perceive him as, the tattooist that hated everyone he met or came into contact with.

"The usual?" He glanced up when he heard your voice and nodded, it was still quite early so the diner was empty apart from the two of you and the chef in the back. 

"Jack? Yoongi's usual," You called out with a giant smile on your face, it was now that Yoongi realised you were wearing makeup, it was the first time he'd ever seen you with so much on. 

"Oh? The lipstick." You mumbled as you caught his gaze staring at you,

"Keith wants us to look more in the part," You grumbled as you did a small spin in the dress showing off everything you were wearing, Yoongi's heart practically leapt out of his chest. You always looked breathtakingly beautiful but today there was an allure about you that made it harder to resist you.

"But you can't say anything Mr bleach blonde!" You cried out running your hands through his blonde hair that was recently dyed, he was always doing different things with it. When you first met him it was long and up in a ponytail dyed bleach blonde, then he went black, green and one time pink. The two of you had been best friends for three years ever since you started working at the diner, every morning he would come in and order the same thing. Black coffee, pancakes and a second coffee to go with it. Then he would do the same at night after closing up his tattoo studio. A herbal tea with whatever dinner you got to pick out for him, the two of you would eat together every night. Even if you were on the late shift. 

"Any famous clients today?" You teased as you began to clean around the bar with a dishcloth and some cleaning spray, 

"We have a very special client," He laughed as he continued watching you clean, 

"Who?" You knew Yoongi would never give you details if someone famous was truly going to him to get a tattoo but it was always fun poking him for information. It was the best of the best in his industry and even though his studio was right out on the highway people still came from far and wide to get tattooed by him.

"Well it would be her very first, she said she was nervous but she's got nothing to worry about." As soon as the words left his mouth you knew that he was speaking about you and you rolled your eyes, throwing the rag that had been attached to your apron at him. 

"I'm not getting it done today, I'm on the morning and late shift." You whined as you thought about going over there to get a tattoo. 

Both of you had been planning it for so long, doodling ideas that you had for a tattoo on your arm but never fully committing to it until Yoongi designed the perfect design for you. It was your birth flower and birthstone fused together with a crescent moon surrounding them and Yoongi's artwork made it look truly magnificent.

"But I've already drawn it up, you have to get it done eventually," You knew it was true and you wanted to but it was hard with how often you worked. 

"What about after I've shut and you've finished, you're my friend I don't mind doing it after hours," He reminded you before blowing into the scolding liquid and watching you. 

"That could be good...This weekend?" You suggested as you glanced at him, the door opening to reveal more customers walking through the door, he nodded before you went off to greet the couple taking them to a table. 

Yoongi left not long after finishing his breakfast and a second mug of coffee, leaving his money and an extra-large tip the way he always did whenever he was served by you and you were left the enjoy the rest of the busy day filled with bikers, families that were travelling on holidays and regular customers that came in almost every day. It was finally near closing time which meant Yoongi would be in any second to have dinner with you before you would head home for the night. 

"Hey sweet stuff," You glanced over your shoulder to see truckers walking through the door, usually truck drivers were some of the sweetest people you came across but towards the end of the night was when the worst of the worst came to come into the diner. Tired from driving all day, testosterone high from not being around their partners and thinking they could groop and touch whoever they pleased without consequences. 

"Take a seat, I'll be right with you." You did your best to appear confident in front of the six men who were all larger than you and walking towards you. Slipping by them you carried a tray of plates through to the kitchen and tried to calm yourself down to go and talk to them. Reminding yourself that they were just tired and rowdy after a long day and just needed to cool off. 

The bell signalled and you relaxed knowing that the person who came through was going to be Yoongi, no matter what, if he was around you were more calm and relaxed. 

"Hey, do you want the usual or something special?" You asked as a giant grin appeared on your face as soon as you saw Yoongi sitting at the bar stool by the till but Yoongi wasn't smiling. He looked tired and pissed off, as soon as he'd walked into the diner he could sense that something was off, normally you would be on the floor waiting for him not hiding in the kitchen. 

"Something special? Does that involve you hot cheeks?" You ignored the man at the table who yelled out to you, his friends all whistling as you stood unamused in front of Yoongi. 

"Listen-" Your hand gripped onto Yoongi's arm as you sent him a silent signal with your eyes not to bother saying anything, it wasn't worth the effort since they would leave soon enough but that wasn't soon enough for Yoongi. He wanted them out now since he could see just how uncomfortable you were with them in the diner. 

"How come he gets something special?!" Another one yelled before you walked over to their table, smiles and graces plastered across your face as you tried to keep a good face-up. 

"What can I get for you all?"

Time passed and you served the truckers before having your dinner with Yoongi. The two of you sitting together at the till and sharing food and stories from his day had been a slow one for him. Only booked clients had arranged to come in with short tattoos and he was bored of not getting to show his creative side. 

"Which is why you should have come to let me do yours," He complained playfully as nudged you,

"Okay, I'm a little scared of the needles," 

"I'll hold your hand baby," A deep voice said from behind you as the main man from the group came up to pay for their meals, 

"Maybe if you're a good girl I'll let you hold something else," He moaned dramatically before making some inappropriate thrusting movements with his hips and then everything was like a flash. Yoongi was no longer sitting beside you and the man was on the floor bleeding from his lip. 

Just like that everything seemed to be moving quickly, Yoongi was punching two men when another grabbed him and punched him in the face. Panic washed over you as you didn't know what to do first, you grabbed a tray from beside you and bashed the man holding Yoongi around the head and he let him go. 

"You little fucking whore," He boomed out ready to throw a punch but you kicked him in the groin before slapping him across the face with the tray again, his nose splurting blood out on the floor. 

"Get the fuck out of my diner," You hissed as you grabbed one of them by the ear lobe and began dragging the whimpering man to the door. Yoongi smirked from where he was standing as the men stumbled over to their trucks not saying another word. 

"Yoongi." You breathed out as you saw blood dripping from a cut on his lip and forehead, 

"I’ve got a first aid kit in the studio, I’ll be fine”. He shook his head trying to pass it off as though it was nothing and that he would clean it up but you began shaking your head, telling Jack to lock up for you as you dragged Yoongi out of the diner and over to his store. 

"I can look after myself," He mumbled as he suddenly felt like a baby with you dragging him around, he'd been trying to protect you in the diner but now he felt like a failure when you began kicking them out instead. 

"Shut up and let me do this," You mumbled as you walked through the door, sitting him down on one of the tattoo chairs and waiting for him to tell you where the first aid kit was. 

"Sit still before I poke you in the eye," You ordered as you sat across from Yoongi, the both of you squished onto the tattoo chair as you forced him to let you clean up the wound on his forehead. 

"It would heal with a bandaid," He mumbled poking out his bottom lip as you cleaned it up with some alcohol wipes and then placed a bright pink band-aid on top, smirking to yourself as he gave you an unimpressed stare. 

"It's pink-"

"It's cute," You reminded him as you began packing up the kit, 

"You're going to have to stop defending me at some point, you can't keep getting hurt because of me," You whispered as you remembered the last time Yoongi jumped in when someone had been making inappropriate comments at you, it hadn't ended well for the first guy and Yoongi was left with bruises and cuts too.

"But I want to protect you," You heard the sadness in his voice and you turned to look up at him not realising how close your faces were to one another until you almost headbutted him.

"Y-You don't have to protect me," You stuttered because of how close you were together and sighed shaking his head, 

"You don't get it," He mumbled trying to slide off the chair but you took his hand in yours, begging him to explain what you didn't "get",

"I'm in love with you," As soon as he told you it was as if a weight had been lifted from his chest and he stared at you waiting for you to run off. That was what happened the last time he told someone he truly cared about them but instead, you didn't, you slid down from the chair and cupped his face in your hands. Running your thumb over his soft skin before leaning forward and connecting your lips together. He was hesitant at first but as soon as he realised what was happening he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. You were in love with him too and had been waiting so long to finally hear those words fall from his lips. 

Your lips touched yet again but this time he didn't hesitate against you, there was passion behind every peck and kiss he gave to you, his hands wandering up your sides as he picked you up, carefully placing you back onto the chair you had gotten off. As soon as his lips touched yours is like like your whole body became heated as if you were set on fire. The kiss made you feel as though you were alive and you pulled him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist to try and cause some friction between you, 

"I need you." You whimpered feeling needy as his hands touched your inner thighs, the skirt bunching up against your hips as you kissed him again, he grabbed fistfuls of your skirt and smirked as you let out a whine. 

"Say the word and I will stop," He whispered as he pulled away to look at you, you nodded before kissing him desperately wanting nothing more than his touch on your body. He kissed won your neck as he began to take off the dress you were wearing, throwing it somewhere behind him as you fought off the urge to hide from him.

"You're beautiful, you don't need to hide from me," He reminded you as his fingers trailed over every inch of exposed skin making you needier for his touch. Yoongi laid a gently kiss on your thighs and you cried out as you waited for something more. 

He worked his way down using his tongue to follow where his hands had touched, running his tongue over each of your nipples before kissing each of your thighs again. 

"Y-Yoongi," You whispered as he looked up at you, he had a wicked smirk on his face as he looked up at you, licking his lips as though he was about to eat his first ever meal. 

"Yes?" You whined at him as he blew cold air onto your exposed core making you whimper as he run his fingers through your folds your fingers dug into the leather chair as he used his tongue to glide through your folds. Your heartfelt as though it was about to stop as he continued to eat you out on the chair, growling against you as he heard your moans of approval at what he was doing. Every small flick of his tongue earned another moan from your lips, your head fell back against the chair and you were squirming and writhing around unable to keep your movements still has his tongue continued to work wonders on you. It wasn't long until the intensity began to build leaving you stunned and unravelled as you cried out his name cumming around his tongue. 

Yoongi smirked as he lifted his head his lips were swollen and glossy from your juices that were on him, you whimpered looking at the state of him. 

"F-Fuck," You growled pulling him onto the chair with you as you began to kiss him, his legs tickled your core as you ground against him, 

"Y/n," He breathed as his lips touched yours, kissing you all over as you began to whine for more from him,

"Touch me," You smiled as you kissed him, running your hands down to his trousers as you pushed them down, smirking to yourself as he let out a shaky breath. Kicking off his pants and looking at you as you run your hand over his hardness, running your thumb over his slit as his breaths became jagged and his body seemed to jerk. 

"D-Don't stop," He begged with his jaw clenched, fingers holding onto you tightly as you began to slow pump nim in your hand. Watching his face for all of the reactions he was giving you, his jaw pipped, lips parted as he let out moans. 

"Fuck," He moaned out as he rolled his head forward into your neck, biting down on your skin as you continued to pump him in your hand. 

"Your touch kills me," He whimpered as his hips began to move in the rhythm of your pumps, moaning out as you gripped a little tighter. 

"I-I need to be in you?" He asked it as a question wanting to make sure you were comfortable and you nodded, 

"I-I'm on the pill and I'm clean," You reassured him as you realised that neither of you was exactly prepared for this to happen, he kissed you softly lining himself up at your entrance. The tip of his cock made you clench around nothing as he slowly began to move into you. There was intense pressure for a moment and you weren't sure if he was going to fit, then there was a sudden sharpness as he sank into you holding himself deep as you cried out. 

"I-I'm sorry," He kissed you lovingly as he realised it was hurting you, but it wasn't a terrible pain it was just that the fullness was a little too much for you.

"I-It's okay, you're j-just big." You whimpered as he kissed you again, softly, and then he began to rest his head on yours waiting until you were ready for him to move but to be honest you would have been perfect laying there with him inside of you all night, it felt as though he was the perfect fit.

"Y-You can move," You promised him as you kissed him again, he began to move his hips slowly, you lifted your hips against him and it began to turn into intense pleasure, something you'd never experienced with anyone before. Your head was totally lost as he continued to move with you, the sound filling the room where your moans mixed together with soft sighs and whimpers as he pushed in and out of you passionately and lovingly. 

Yoongi worked his arm under your head and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he angled himself deeper inside of you, your stomach tightened as you felt yourself getting closer. He began to move faster, deeper his thrusts getting stronger as he looked into your eyes the feeling was intense. 

"Y-Yoongi," You breathed out as you could feel yourself trembling around him, it felt as though you were going to burst until you finally came undone around him without warning. Yoongi's features turned dark as his jaw tensed again, he lost control as his body pounded against yours making the chair move across the floor until his muscles flexed and his head rolled back, crying out and shuddering as he came undone inside of you. 

His head laid in your neck for a while before either of you began to move or speak, 

"I-I'll get us a hot bath." He whispered as he slid out of you, giving you his shirt to change into while he looked at you. 

"You're so fucking beautiful," He breathed out in a raspy voice as he looked at you, even after sex you were still just as beautiful as before. 

"Shut up," You whined following him up the stairs to his apartment so the two of you could clean up together and talk about what all of that meant. 

Tagline: @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @rjsmochii​ @taestannie​ @sw33tnight​ @sweeneyblue1​ @jin-from-the-block​ @acciocriativity​ @mwitsmejk​ @anxiousbobatea​

[salemwritesxx]

lycoris radiata

↳ pro-hero bakugou x pro-hero reader

summary: The myth around red spider lilies, lycoris radiata, is that, when you see someone you may never meet again, these flowers will bloom along the path. Thus, when Y/n and Katsuki depart on the morning of their 6th wedding anniversary to walk to their respective agencies and spider lilies bloom along the path Bakugou is walking on, Y/n gets an uneasy feeling, unaware that the legend surrounding these flowers may have a germ of truth to them after all.

w.count: 2k

content warning: angst, major character death, which leads to reader committing suicide, afterlife happy ending

“Okay, hey-“, you grinned and pulled him back one last time to peck his lips, “-don’t forget our rendezvous tonight, yeah?”, to which Bakugou only rolled his eyes – in a playful way though as he immediately pressed a soft kiss onto your mouth once more, not caring that you two stood in the middle of the streets.

“Don’t worry, I won’t forget.”, and with that, you finally let your husband go, though as he walked away from you, you couldn’t help but witness red spider lilies blooming along the pathway, hence you yelled after him, “Babe? Be careful, okay?”

“Ha?”, when he turned around and you pointed to the flowers, Katsuki only laughed and gestured a ‘whatever’ and saying a “Don’t be so superstitious, Y/n. It’s just a myth!”

Even though you both chuckled as he turned around and walked away for real this time, you still felt a slight uneasy feeling in your stomach, though you simply thought it was because you were excited to celebrate your 6th wedding anniversary with your husband.

--

“KATSUKI!”

You screamed as if you were the one being impaled, your knees were shaking, feeling like the ground was opening up underneath your feet and you fell into a dark, black hole any second.

Coughing up blood, he was hanging on the villain’s arm which was weirdly transformed to look like a lance – Bakugou hadn’t seen it coming, if he would have, he…

“Pathetic.”, the villain almost spit into his face before dropping him onto the pavement like some sort of trash, only to jump back immediately when other heroes already attacked him again.

You were rushing to your husband’s side who was coughing up more and more blood while squirming in pain, his “Y- Y/- Y/n…” being interrupted by his coughs, though you were already dropping to your knees to hold him.

“It’s okay, Baby, I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay! Don’t worry, everything will be okay!”, you cried and sobbed, tears already streaming down your face while pressing him against your side and one hand against his wound where the villain impaled him.

Bakugou knew though. It’s why he was clawing at your hand so much, both of them soaked with his blood that just wouldn’t stop – he knew he wasn’t going to be okay. As he almost couldn’t speak anymore, because his lungs filled with more and more blood, he still grasped your hands as tightly as he could, smearing his own blood all over your arm in an attempt to stay.

“Y/n-“, gasping for breath, he was almost completely over the bridge as his tight grip slowly softened.

“I love you, Baby. I love you so much! Katsuki please, don’t go!”, not being able to suppress your desperate sobs, you barely choked out a “Please.” again as his grip loosened more and more around your own hand.

“I … love… y..o…u…”, were his last words, a single tear trickling down his cheek as his ruby eyes lost that sparkle you fell in love with the very first time you looked into them.  

“Katsu… No….Kat… Nononono please! PLEASE!”, literally begging him to not go, you hugged his bloody, heavy body so close against your chest while you cried, not caring about the explosions from further back into the streets as other heroes still fought against the villains, while rescue heroes only gradually managed to get through the wrecked buildings.

You shouldn’t even be here. Bakugou and you had been in two different agencies, it only should have been a calm day at your respective work places, wanting to be done quickly so you could enjoy your wedding anniversary tonight, but then, all available heroes were called up when the villain went on a rampage.

How…? How did it turn out like that? A harmless villain turned out to be so strong? How… could have anyone guess that? How could have anyone seen that coming?

So, it was true. Walking along a path where red spider lilies bloomed meant you wouldn’t see each other again…

Rescue heroes tried to calm you down and get you to let go of Katsuki’s lifeless body, but you just yelled at them, your voice high-pitched and so full of pain, and cried and held him tighter, not caring that you were full of his blood as you still couldn’t process that this wasn’t a dream, but it was reality… Harsh reality.

Your husband was dead.

And with that, your soul and heart shattered into million little pieces, unable to be whole ever again.

-------6 weeks later--------

You sat in front of Katsuki’s grave.

It was a cold spring night, though to be honest, you hadn’t been warm in the last weeks ever since that accident – the coldness you felt was never going to leave ever again.

Your fingers were softly playing your guitar. Making music had always brought peace to your husband’s mind, whenever he felt angry, frustrated, anxious or any other negative feeling, he would flop beside you and make you play the guitar for him. It calmed him and sometimes, you would both sing crookedly to get him back into a better mood – very fond memories indeed.

Tears were blurring your vision, even though you shouldn’t have been able to cry anymore with how many tears you had shed in the last weeks, but it still felt surreal. Knowing he was never going to come back again – never.

Slowly, your fingers stopped as you stared onto his gravestone. There were red spider lilies planted around – how ironic. Though they weren’t blooming as it was now spring.

Was is really just superstition? Or should you have been warned that day? That uneasy feeling you had felt - it wasn’t excitement, it was a sense of foreboding, and you had ignored it…

Putting your guitar, that had stickers with his hero name and your own, as well as stupid little things like a dick doodle on it, to the side, you sighed and rubbed your red, swollen eyes. You did have this guitar since your middle school days after all. And you remembered when all these things happened oh so vividly. Still hearing the giggle and laughter of your, back then in high school, boyfriend, while you yelled at him for being an idiot. Being angry over a dick doodle seemed so petty now.

Taking your permanent marker, you opened the cap with your teeth, before leaning in and doodling a broken heart onto the surface with the date of your husband’s dying day on it. Spitting out the lid of the marker, you put the pen onto your guitar, before staring back at Bakugou’s grave.

“Please tell me.. Who should be my soulmate now? Who will hold my hand while I drive? Who will hold me when I can’t sleep at night? There is nobody like you out there, Baby…. so please tell me…”, you were crying again as you sobbed and rubbed over your face, “Tell me, who could possibly take your place? My first and last love. I won’t be able to do anything without you…”

Your heart was hurting so much, you couldn’t take it. You knew he was irreplaceable, there was no one out there that could ever give you what he gave you all those past years.

Bakugou was sitting beside you, though you didn’t know – of course you didn’t, was he a mere spirit now, never leaving your side as his translucent hand touched your own.

“Please, you need to go on. Don’t do it…”, tears were in the corner of his eyes, wishing he could talk to you, wishing you could hear his desperate attempts to keep you from committing suicide. Katsuki loved you, he wanted to be with you, but he couldn’t be selfish anymore – you couldn’t throw everything away just because of him.

Though, as he was a mere ghost sitting beside you, he couldn’t do anything but watch.

With a shaking hand you then reached for the gun you had purchased today on the black market – to think, at last, you were doing illegal stuff even though you were a hero – before coming here and sitting in front of his grave for hours. You couldn’t possibly be alive without him beside you. It just hurt too much. You didn’t care about anything, you had no one besides him. Katsuki was your everything and all you wanted to do was finally meet him again.

Sobbing quietly, you then held the end of the gun against your temple, your e/c still staring at his gravestone, before you whispered one last time, “I want to meet you again. Please. I miss you so much.”

“I promise, I’ll be there.”, Katsuki whispered.

For the first time in weeks, there was warmth surrounding your heart and with a smile you barely mumbled “I know you’re waiting for me.”

And then, a loud bang echoed through the silent night and the cemetery, cherry blossom petals, that were in full bloom now, swaying in the wind and slowly falling down and onto your lifeless body.

-

“Y/n…Y/n…”, the familiar voice made you gradually open your eyes – above you, it was an ocean of pink and white cherry blossoms. But then, as you looked further back, you saw directly into Katsuki’s face, his smile making you feel so warm and fuzzy instantly. It was in that moment you realized your head was resting in his lap.

“Katsu…”

“You should have lived a long, happy life…”, his voice was so soothing and calm as he combed through your hair, though you just shook your head, tears already welling up in your eyes.

“I was already dead inside the moment you were gone.”, and then, you finally sat back up to connect your lips, Bakugou immediately slinging his arms around your neck and pulling you in closer as you both fell back into a pile of cherry blossoms.

“I love you. I love you so much. And now we’re together again.”, you whispered against his lips, lacing your fingers together and Katsuki squeezing your hand tightly, the sparkle in his ruby eyes back as tears shimmered in them as well.

“And we will never be apart again.”, he barely mumbled back, before you hugged each other tightly as your lips melted together tenderly.

--

Katsuki and you were sitting on the gravestone together, it was the day your lifeless body joined Katsuki’s in the shared grave. Watching your family and Katsuki’s once more crying so much, it really did break your heart.

“I wish they wouldn’t have to go through that again.”, he said and sighed, though also squeezing your hand tightly.

“Mh… But it was inevitable… I know they know that, too…”, since you and Mitsuki were quite close, she, of course, knew how badly Katsuki’s death affected you, even though she tried to help, the moment you were alone, you knew you couldn’t take the loss of someone so precious to you.

“Y/n… I know your pain was immense… I just hope you are both happy now wherever you are…”, Mitsuki quietly cried as she stood in front of the grave with your coffin in it, joining Katsuki’s, Masaru holding her close by his side, both of them a red spider lily in their hands that weren’t blooming.

Looking at each other for a moment, you both stood up from the gravestone and walked towards his parents, softly touching the flower, making them bloom in their hands.

“Let’s go. We are free now. Let’s see the world - together.”, Bakugou smiled and you chuckled and nodded, “Yeah.”, only to pull him closer and softly kiss him and whisper, “Together forever.”, which earned you Katsuki’s soft giggle and him pulling you closer to connect your lips once more.

Mitsuki and Masaru were both completely astonished when the red spider lilies in their hands started blooming, as if it was your answer to their question if you were both happy now, making Katsuki’s Mom smile and cry a little harder.

Though, once she looked ahead, she thought it was probably because she was sleep-deprived and in so much emotional pain, but… she saw you and Katsuki holding onto and smiling at each other. His mind must be playing tricks on her and yet, it was bittersweet to witness you two like that…

“They are happy…”, she wiped away her tears and with a smile on her lips, Mitsuki threw the blooming spider lilies into the grave eventually, knowing that her son and son-in-law were now happily dancing in the cherry blossom trees.

@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

writer’s note: ya boy literally chickened out the last minute and made it a somewhat happy ending instead of leaving it sad… idk i kind of just want them to find their happiness again in their afterlives 💌 my first idea was to make Y/n sing his heart out on like a roof and then jump, then I wanted him to sing his heart out in front of katsu’s grave and in the end, we just have some soft guitar play and a gun… but while I listen to the song I had playing on repeat while writing this, I still imagine Y/n singing loudly for his Baby and grieving terribly 💔

[pastaaa-bird]

Day 4:historical

@aphrarepairweek2021

Sorryforbeingadaylate

Oh warning for very minor swearing(only happens three times) but other then that there is nothing inappropriate and also there is implied period typical homophobia in this

Summary: An 80s human AU where a stressed out Chiara (nyo Romano) is saved from going crazy by a hero(Amelia aka nyo America)

Basically this is just fluff, fluff and more fluff

Chiara Vargas was a second a way from flipping her desk and raging down the halls, or at least she would be if she had not possessed just enough self control to hold back on the urge.

“Fuck fuck fuck….” Chiara muttered, the sound coming out muffled from her face being squished against her desk in failure.

“OH, CHIARA” came a high pitch voice down stairs.

Reluctantly she lifted her head to the sound.

“WHAT?I'M BUSY”,she yelled back, mentally cursing her brother for disturbing her sulking.

“A CERTAIN SOMEONE IS HERE FOR YOU",

“WHO IS IT?”,

“YOU'LL HAVE TO COME DOWN AND SEE",

After managing to hold back a bitter protest she stood up then stormed down stairs.

“This better be worth my time, Feli or l swear to Dio l’ll-",

Chiara came to a halt once she saw the girl beside Feliciano.

“Hey!” a cheerful voice as usual from the smiling blonde with pink sunglasses in her hair, dressed in her demine shorts,  red t-shirt and long white socks with a pair of roughed up old sneakers.

“Amelia- uh hi there" She replied while awkwardly fidgeted with the sleeves of her jacket, embarrassed at the realisation that she had heard her yelling.

“Nice to see you calm down, anyway l’ll you two ladies to it”, he winked at Chiara who rolled her eyes at the look, not sure whether to love or hate that it felt the exact same to when her grandfather would make comments about her bringing a boyfriend home.

He disappeared into the sitting room to join Valentino on the couch.

“I was wondering if you would want to hang out, we haven't done that for ages”,

“Oh right, ugh l don't think l can”,

“Sure you can! You're not busy are you?”,

“l am, study”,

Amelia raised an eyebrow at that.

“Study? Our exams aren't till two weeks" ,

“I know, l know but l'm sick of revising everything on the night before the exam, besides l need as much of time as possible to understand this crap",

“Ah fair enough- how about l help ya with it? math l'm guessing?”,

Sighing at the memory of her many failed attempts at completing and understanding equations and formulas she nodded.

“Yeah, but are you sure?”,

“Definitely!”, stated Amelia with both hands on her hips and standing tall to her eagerness for the task.

“Alright then...",

A while later Chiara found her self back at her desk with Amelia standing beside her reading over her practice questions, nervously waiting for the results.

It felt like an eternity before Amelia finally looked up and spoke.

“And…that's like sixty five percent right!”,

“Sixty five?! Where did l go wrong this time?!”,

They had been at this for quite some time now. Despite Chiara’s frustration she stayed relativity calm for the most part thanks to Amelia’s encouragement and little jokes that made her either outright laugh or complain due to what she claimed was annoyance even if though she did find it humorous.

“Symbols, you forgot them again, there's supposed to be a measurement symbol at the end of this to say whether it's centimetres squared or cubed or meters squared- eh you get the point...", she paused then continued.

Miss Kirkland is your math teacher, right? She's real strict when it comes to small stuff like that so she takes off a lot of marks”, explained Amelia while doodling with the pen in the corner of the practice sheet of paper Chiara had used.

Miss Kirkland, certified smartass- even if it is technically her job to be one. Now, Chiara didn’t exactly hate her but she was far from a favourite in terms of teachers she was forced to put up with.

She hated how Miss Kirkland loved to call on those who she knew where not paying attention, there was a sense of snobbishness when it came to the way Miss Kirkland would proudly correct the unsuspecting student with a smile that more closely resembled a smirk.

“l hate this, I'm so close to getting this right but l keep screwing it up”,

“Come on it's fine! You've made awesome progress since when we started! It's only been like what….an hour? Give yourself some credit",

“…l guess you're right. But I'm also stuck for other things- like history and geography suck",

“ Wanna head to the library? They got good resources for both”, questioned Amelia now looking up from her doodling.

“Nah, I've had enough school for today. Let's do something else, anything in mind?”,

“Ooh! A few things-“,

Understandably Chiara was not surprised when they had arrived at the arcade on their bikes.

“Is this becoming an addiction for you?”,

“Ha-ha very funny, you have your obsessions and l have mine”,

“You even call it obsession, keep all this up and l'll be hosting an intervention for you",

This time Amelia genuinely laughed in response, Chiara savoured every second of the sound.

They were stuck there for a while, when it came to Amelia's great interest and Chiara’s competitive attitude it was easy to guess that there would obviously be competitions to see who could score the highest.

To Chiara’s dislike Amelia ended up winning proportionally more then she did followed by listening to the victory taunts from Amelia.

And it seemed that as quickly as they arrived they where off again.

“No, no, no, nah, no, nope, no”,

“Oh come on! l thought you weren't a quitter”,

“I have my exceptions, this is one of them",

Roller skating, she wanted Chiara to roller skate. Clearly Amelia wasn't aware of the fact that Chiara would likely crawl into the ground out of embarrassment if she would likely- no when, when she would end up falling flat on the floor.

“l'll help ya along! You'll be fine", urged Amelia tilting her head to the side with pleading eyes.

Upon arrival to the centre she instantly felt her heart sink knowing what would be expected her. After much convincing from Amelia and equally as much rants about what could go wrong from Chiara- she ended up agreeing to at least attempting to skate.

Chiara felt her chest tighten and face heat up once she suddenly felt the hand of Amelia intertwine with her own, guiding her into the skating area after they got their roller blades.

It was fascinated to see how effortlessly Amelia could move, practically gliding with ease although at a much slower pace due to guiding Chiara along. For this moment anyway, Chiara forgot how to feel anxious.

The last destination for the day was the local diner.

“Two milkshakes please, a double chocolate for myself and a strawberry and banana mix for her”,

“Coming right up, dear", replied the waitress.

“Oh and don't worry l'm paying, l owe ya for last time with the ice-creams” reassured Amelia after she placed their order.

It was the small things that Chiara adored about Amelia the most, how she remembered her favourite foods was one of them. Along with her passing small notes with funny faces on them to her whenever they shared a class and she had noticed that Chiara was dying of boredom.

They sat on the high chairs in front of the counter top as they awaited her drinks, Amelia flapped her hands with giddy excitement once they were received, Chiara couldn't help smile at the sight.

She thought about sharing the milkshake together, putting the straw in her drink like those shitty romantic movies Amelia loves so much. It would be cute wouldn't it? Cuter to see Amelia's reaction to the gesture! She smiled to herself at the idea.

Then her face dropped.

No, no they couldn't, not here, although her smile was brought back again by looking towards her girlfriend who had all her attention on blowing bubbles into her drink.

“Should you really be playing with your food like that?”, she questioned placing the straw into her own drink.

“Might as well make the most of it when my folks aren't here to tell me off ", Amelia shrugged in response.

Chiara found her self agreeing with that mentality and joined in with the childish behaviour.

They cycled back to the house, it was getting dark already.

Amelia was invited in and the two walked past the living room seeing Feliciano and Valentino with their eyes still glued to their precious TV.

At peace now they were sat together on the back porch. There was a small garden behind the Vargas' house, it was closed off by the tall fence( put there mostly so the neighbour's cat couldn't hope over and ruin the vegetable patches or flowers).

The air was humid all day and was beginning to cool down with the sun getting lower and the clouds moving in.

For what could have been anywhere from a minute to a thousand years the two spoke about anything and everything, the topics seemed to flow so easily, naturally changing with ease.

Finally the two sat in comfortable silence, looking towards the sky who’s colours had turned into oranges, yellows and pinks.

This is what Chiara so deeply enjoyed, how they could just sit together and feel so secure.

Routinely this what would be done for one another if the other was upset and asked for so, this time was often spent with their hand held or being hugged by the other.

 There would be times where Chiara in particular would wish to be alone, in cases like this Amelia would go prepare or buy a snack for whenever Chiara is feeling okay again, it gave her something to look forward to when she needed to be alone with her own depressing thoughts.

Sometimes when Amelia would be upset she would just want to vent and vent with no words of “it will be okay" or “look on the bright side of things", Chiara was there to listen and agree with the difficulty of whatever situation she found herself in.

Chiara's head was rested on Amelia’s shoulder, her arm wrapped around her in response to it.

Now it was getting cold, thankfully she still wore her jacket…but maybe…

“Amy?”,

“Yeah?”,she quietly answered back to the nickname.

“It's getting a bit…chilly don't you think? Would you, would you like my jacket?”,

“Oh...Uh sure.If you wouldn't mind that is”, a blush covered Amelia’s cheeks, she was rarely flustered or at least visibly.

The jacket was a gift to Chiara for Christmas from one of her relatives, it was given oversized to her but she kept it since it seemed more comfortable like this. On Amelia the jacket finally looked normal, it fit her well and looked quiet lovely.

They went back to silence until Chiara broke it again.

“Thanks by the way. I really needed today- to get my mind off of all this stupid fucking stress l've been trapped in lately",

“Of course. We all need a break now and then",

“You could say that again…l love you" Chiara looked up, her chin now on Amelia's shoulder.

Amelia glanced down at her and grinned.

“The feeling is mutual, sweetheart"

The end

Okay now for me rambling

Uhhhhh l read through this and l don't think l made any mistakes? I'll edit this if there are and sorry if you saw any, idk l'm bad at checking for mistakes and l don't have someone to proof read for me

Oh and Valentino is human Seborga and alsooo not sure if l made it clear but Feliciano does know about their relationship and also Chiara is Bi and happy to feel valid in her relationship with Amelia as if it were the exact same as when she is with a guy and not something taboo in this time period

ALSO damn, sorry this isn't that particular to the 80s- l did leave out things l was originally going to add in though! Like l was going to have Felicianio and Valentino have a movie marton but according to Wikipedia they werent common around then and the ones that did happen were anime soooo y e p

Also thought about adding in a house cord phone but eh idk it felt nicer to have Amelia visit instead of having Chiara call her or if l tried writting it as Amelia calling and then showing up it just felt forced and weirdly put in any way l tried to write it in

AH l am so worried that this is boring or cringy, like l honestly can't tell if it is or is this fine-ehh l guess l've written worse um yeah if you've read this far thanks :)

(I'm editing this for mistakes and wtf 90 is so high why would she be shocked- damn l think l know why l originally wrote that, l was thinking Amelia said ONE of the questions is 90% right but before it l said she was correcting multiple questions so it reads as multiple questions being 90% right all together ANYWAY l corrected it so it's fine again okay bye -AND it turns out l missed some mistakes yet again-editing this for the 3rd time rip)

[remywrites5]

           Remus looked at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He really needed to get more sleep, the bags under his eyes had taken up permanent residence there, and his roots were starting to come in. He spat into the sink and then rinsed his toothbrush off. When he glanced back up at himself, there was the same harrowing reflection staring back. He needed to at least re-dye his hair pink or else pick a different colour.

           He’d dyed it pink on a whim after his last breakup. He thought maybe going from his usual tawny curls to something else would make him more exciting, more cheerful, more something. “Why are you never smiling?” Benjy had asked Remus all the time. As if Remus should just constantly be smiling like some kind of insane person.

           Remus walked over to his desk and flopped into his rolling chair. He sat with one leg bent up towards his chest and hunched over his tablet. The thing was so old it was practically a dinosaur. The program he used to draw on was always crashing – causing Remus to do almost constant saving. Drawing web comics wasn’t exactly the most lucrative use of his art degree, but it paid the bills.

           There was some sort of ungodly sound outside and then the distinct clatter of something breaking. Remus jumped to his feet in surprise, wondering if someone had climbed up to his flat to murder him. Two shadows appeared at his door and then one of them knocked. Well, if they were murderers, they were of the polite variety.

           Remus walked over tentatively, his pen for his tablet still in his hand as his only means of defense. He figured at the least maybe he could poke a few eyes.

           “I don’t think anyone is home.”

           “He has to be home. I haven’t seen him leave the house in days.”

           “Hmm, paying close attention, are we?”

           “Shut up, Jamie.”

           “Ow!”

           Confused, Remus opened the door to find two guys standing on the other side. The dark-skinned one with glasses immediately smiled, while the pale one with long dark hair kept his face neutral.

           “Hiya! I’m James and this is Sirius,” James said, moving what was in his hand so that he could wave. “We run the bakery downstairs. We just came to introduce ourselves and bring you these!”

           Remus took the container when James offered it, still a little bit stunned by the whole thing, and opened it up. Inside was an assortment of baked goods. “Oh. Thank you,” Remus said, a little bit at a loss for words. “This is really nice.”

           Remus was suddenly struck by the fact that two very attractive men were on his doorstep and Remus was wearing the same hoodie he’d worn for three days. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d put on deodorant. Embarrassed beyond belief, Remus felt his cheeks flush.

           “Aren’t you going to say anything?” James prompted his friend, shoving at Sirius’ shoulder.

           “Hi,” Sirius said, running his fingers through his shoulder-length hair.

           Remus swallowed thickly and quickly put the container of goodies down. He didn’t trust his shaking hands not to drop them. “Nice to meet you.”

           “Whoa, are you an artist?” James asked, noticing the pen in Remus’ hand. “Do you think you could design something for us?”

           “James, don’t impose,” Sirius said, crossing his arms over his chest.

           “I’m not imposing!” James insisted, turning and shooting Sirius a look. “We’ll pay for the work. It’s just right now our menus are so bland! They don’t really say ‘Padfoot and Prongs’ Patisserie.”

           “That’s a fancy name,” Remus said, tucking the pen behind his ear so that he could shove his hands in his pockets. Suddenly they’d gotten all sweaty.

           “Yeah well, this wanker is half French, so he wouldn’t let me call it a pastry shop,” James said teasingly. “By the way, you haven’t told us your name.”

           “Oh,” Remus said, realizing that James was right. He shuffled his feet slightly and kind of wished James and Sirius would leave. He hadn’t had such a long social interaction in months. This was getting to be a bit much, and James’ enthusiasm was draining. “Remus. Remus Lupin.”

           “So do you think you can design something for our menus?” James asked excitedly, his hazel eyes big behind his glasses.

           “Um, sure, I’ll take a stab at it,” Remus offered, even though he kind of didn’t want to. He had deadlines to meet and he was already a little behind. But then James and Sirius had brought him baked goods without having even met Remus before. Besides, how hard could designing a menu be?

           “Great!” James said, slapping Sirius on the back. “Isn’t that great, Padfoot?”

           Sirius sighed. “Sure is.”

           Remus pulled out his wallet and handed James one of his business cards. It had been Benjy’s idea that Remus get them. This was only the second Remus had even given out. The first one had been given the Benjy. What a waste of money.

           “My email is at the bottom,” Remus explained, pointing to it on the card. “Just send me the details of what you want and I’ll work something up.”

           Sirius tilted his head to the side. “What are your rates?”

           “Um…” Fuck, Remus hadn’t exactly thought about it. He knew what he charged per page on his web comic but this was completely different. “How about you just, um, let me get a free baked good from time to time and we’ll call it even?”

           “Of course!” James said, nodding emphatically.

           “Hold on,” Sirius interjected, putting his hand up to stop James. “For the rest of time you want free shit from us? Just for a doodle?”

           “Sirius –“ James cut in, his face slightly aghast at his friend’s harsh tone.

           “I – I won’t abuse it or anything,” Remus said, feeling his face heat. Christ, the way Sirius was looking at him made him nervous. “It won’t be every day or anything like that.”

           Sirius huffed and turned his face away. “Fine. But I reserve the right to cut you off.”

           “Okay.”

           “Perfect,” James said, tugging on Sirius’ arm. “We should get back downstairs. We’ve still got a lot to do before we open. I’ll email you later, Remus!”

           “Sounds good,” Remus said, waving after them as they started down the fire escape. The moment he closed the door, he felt like he could breathe a little easier. He didn’t know what Sirius’ problem was, but the fewer interactions Remus had with him the better.

                                                           ***

           Remus finished up the latest update for his comic and sat back with a groan. It was already 10:30 at night and Remus hadn’t had any dinner. For once he had been in a good flow and hadn’t wanted to stop. Now his stomach was so empty it hurt. He couldn’t remember eating breakfast either.

           He walked over to where he had left the baked good James had dropped off and carried the container into bed. He sat munching on them as he scrolled through his phone. He had eaten about half of them when he remembered James was supposed to contact him. He pulled up his email and sure enough there was a message from James Potter.

           Apparently they wanted something kind of classy involving a buck and a black dog. Remus was intrigued, and popped a custard crème into his mouth. Their stuff really was mouth-wateringly good. Remus was glad he had asked for pastries instead of cash. While he could use the money, he tended to live on instant noodles and bacon sandwiches. Having something from the bakery from time to time would be a real treat.

                                                           ***

           Remus’ flat was on the top floor of the building and it meant he had almost exclusive rooftop access. He hadn’t done much with it except put out a table and two chairs. He really only went out there to smoke anyway. He stood by the side of the roof with his elbows on the ledge, watching the street below, his cigarette resting between his lips.

           Sirius exited the bakery and walked down the side alley of the building. He seemed to be having a heated discussion with someone on the phone. Remus felt himself tracking Sirius with his eyes, even though he didn’t mean to.

           “Damn it, Reg, I already told you –“ Sirius seemed to be cut off by the other person on the phone. “I don’t care if they cut me off. I’m not going on a blind date that my mum set up with a woman! I haven’t lived in that house for five years and she still thinks she can control me. Now she’s even roping you into it.”

           Remus felt a bit bad for eavesdropping, but the street was relatively quiet at that time of day, so it was difficult not to hear. Remus wondered why Sirius had said woman like that, as if he were offended by being set up with someone female. Remus didn’t want to get his hopes up that Sirius might also be gay. Thinking that was a dangerous route to go down. He tried to finish up his cigarette and go back inside before he was spotted, but it seemed Sirius was done with his conversation. He dropped his phone by his side and looked up at the sky. His eyes seemed to immediately land on Remus and Remus felt his cheeks heat up in response. He took a slow drag of his ciggy and let it out, letting his eyes drift away as if he hadn’t just been staring.

           He wasn’t wholly surprised when he heard footsteps making their way up the fire escape. He finished his cigarette and lit another one. He usually didn’t chain smoke like this, considering all the nicotine often made him dizzy, due to how little he ate most days. He turned when Sirius made it onto the roof and somehow managed to meet Sirius’ accusing stare.

           “How much of that did you hear?” Sirius asked, slipping his phone into his pocket.

           Remus scratched his cheek with his free hand. “Uh, the whole thing?”

           Sirius sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Can I bum one of those?”

           Remus opened the pack and shook one out towards Sirius. Sirius slid it between his lips and leaned in when Remus flicked the lighter to light it. Remus hadn’t noticed it the first time they met, but Sirius had grey eyes. Remus had never seen someone with eyes like that before.

           Remus had no idea what to say, so he just continued smoking, watching Sirius out of his peripheral vision. It was a little awkward, but not unbearably so, and it seemed Sirius was happy to smoke in silence. Sirius’ apron was covered in flour, and what Remus hoped was jam of some kind. not something more nefarious based on its red colour. The last thing he needed was a Sweeney Todd situation in his building.

           Remus and Sirius finished their cigarettes at the same time and both killed them in the ashtray. They were standing so close, should to shoulder, and Remus had no idea why that made his heart race. He turned towards Sirius in order to say his goodbyes, and suddenly Sirius was even closer.

           “Well, I should –“

           Remus didn’t finish that sentence as Sirius was leaning in. He was moving with intent and his lips just barely brushed against Remus’. Remus gasped, the sound getting swallowed up as Sirius’ lips pressed more firmly against Remus’. Remus let himself enjoy it for a moment, Christ, it had been so long since he’d kissed someone, before he brought himself back to his sense.

           “What are you doing?” he demanded, pushing Sirius away.

           Sirius’ eyes searched Remus’ for a moment and then he took another step back. “Fuck, I – I’m sorry. I don’t even have an excuse.”

           Remus grinned as he watched Sirius flounder for a moment. He decided to let Sirius off the hook. It was just a little kiss after all. “Hey, I’m almost done with the menu design. Do you want to see it?”

           The tension in Sirius’ shoulders ebbed at Remus’ offer. “Yeah, sure.”

           Remus told Sirius to sit down at the little table while Remus went inside to get his tablet. He brought it out and sat down across from Sirius. He opened up the menu design and placed it in front of Sirus. He was actually a little nervous as Sirius looked it over. It was a buck and a dog running through a forest surrounded by berry bushes. James had explained in the email that their homemade jam was a huge selling point for them and they wanted the menu to emphasize that.

           “It’s not too dark, is it?” Remus asked, chewing his bottom lip.

           “No, I think it’s perfect.” Sirius glanced up, and for the first time Remus had seen, Sirius smiled. “We’re doing a soft opening in two days. You should come.”

           “Will I have to pay?” Remus teased, resting his chin in his hand and looking at Sirius.

           Sirius laughed. “Fine, you don’t have to pay. What kind of pastry do you like best? I’ll make it for you.”

           Remus considered it for a moment. “Jammy dodgers.”

           Sirius’ grin widened. “You got it.”

                                                             ***

           Remus went to the soft opening, even though he hadn’t been around that many people in a while, and it put his social anxiety through the roof. He met James’ wife, Lily, and their son, Harry. He also met quite a few of James and Sirius’ closest friends. Even though everyone was very nice, Remus couldn’t help feeling a bit like an outsider.

           However, Remus didn’t miss the way that his jammy dodgers seemed to be the only ones with little hearts in the middle. That knowledge alone was enough to make him stick around.

                                                           ***

           Remus was in trouble. His web comic was about a werewolf and a vampire that fell in love with each other. The werewolf character struck a striking resemblance to Remus, although the character had Remus’ original hair colour. The idea had come to him based on his name. The vampire character, however, had short dark hair and red eyes. Yet, whenever Remus found himself drawing him, his hair seemed to be getting progressively longer for no discernable reason and his eyes seemed to be grey.

           It didn’t help that Remus saw Sirius pretty much every day. During his lunch break, Sirius would bring up something from the bakery, and they would sit together at the little table and eat and smoke. Remus had gotten to know Sirius, little by little, cracking away at Sirius’ shell to the gooey center underneath. Despite his first impression of Sirius, and his original cold exterior, Remus found the man himself was mushy and romantic and sweet.

           Remus told Sirius about the fact that he’d always meant to make a little rooftop garden, but as of yet hadn’t really gotten around to buying any plants. Sirius showed up the next day with a little tree.

           “It’s called Dogwood,” he’d said with a knowing grin. He had continued to buy Remus several flowers and plants since then. He’d even brought some herbs for cooking, even though Remus insisted he didn’t really cook. Every time Sirius and Remus found a place for the new plant, Sirius would get that same smile. A smile that had started to cause butterflies in Remus’ stomach.

           There was no talk about the conversation Remus had overheard or of the kiss they’d shared. Remus figured both topics were off limits.

           Maybe that’s why he couldn’t get Sirius out of his head.

                                                           ***

           Remus dropped his head back and groaned. “I told you if you didn’t stop me I would eat all six éclairs.”

           “An impressive feat,” Sirius said, grinning behind his wine glass as he took a sip.

           “I hate you,” Remus said, scrubbing his hand over his face. He was starting to sweat a bit from overeating. “I’m going to put on so much weight.”

           “You could use some more meat on your bones,” Sirius responded with a shrug. “You barely eat as it is.”

           “I was right, this is a Sweeney Todd situation, you’re fattening me up to put me in a pie,” Remus bemoaned, clutching his stomach. That last éclair had really done him in.

           “We don’t even serve meat pies at the bakery,” Sirius said in amusement. “I think you’re safe.”

           “I’m not buying it,” Remus said, staring at Sirius accusingly. “Why else would you bring me all these sweets?”

           Sirius glanced away, twirling his wine glass between his fingers. “For an excuse to come see you.”

           “Oh,” Remus said, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Really?”

           Sirius stood up and walked over to Remus, placing his hand on the back of Remus’ chair, and leaning into him. “So, I made a mess of our first kiss. Think you might let me try again?”

           “Um.” Remus stared up at Sirius and let out a shaky breath. “Yes. W-we can do that.”

           Sirius slid his fingers through Remus’ curls until his hand came to rest at the back of Remus’ head. Then he guided their lips together into a soft kiss. Remus opened his mouth first, and Sirius was quick to follow suit, their tongues meeting in a mixture of chocolate, wine and cigarettes. Remus eagerly chased the taste from Sirius’ mouth.

           Sirius pulled back after a few life-altering moments. Remus felt his eyes flutter open to find that Sirius was smiling at him. God, Remus loved it when Sirius smiled. “I could eat you up, I really could,” Sirius sang softly.

           Remus busted out laughing. “Do not sing Sweeney Todd at me when you’re trying to be romantic.”

           Sirius chuckled and pulled Remus up into a hug. “Noted. Should I just tell you I love you then?”

           Remus hugged Sirius back, burying his face in Sirius’ neck, ignoring the deep blush currently on his face. “I-I think that would work.”

           “Well?” Sirius asked expectantly, turning his face and pressing a kiss to Remus’ forehead.

           Remus hugged Sirius tighter. “I love you too.”

           Remus stood there, in a moment so like a fairy tale that he didn’t want it to end, wishing he could freeze time. He stood in the moonlight, embracing the man he had come to adore, surrounded by all the plants Sirius had bought just for him. It felt like more than Remus deserved, but he wasn’t about to let it go. He could only hope the next moment would be just as sweet.  

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Crucible (part two)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU 2]

Part 1

Word count: 9240

TW: Child abuse, blood, the r-word again, emotional manipulation, minor implied sexual content (as in: one paragraph and nothing actually happens), underage drinking, vomit

------------

-Eve Was Weak-

  “Jesus watches from the wall,

But his face is cold as stone

And if he loves me,

As she tells me,

Why do I feel so alone?”

Mulaney looked up from the notebook, which is studded with doodles of crosses and stars and hearts, and set his gaze on the teenager sitting across from him. Her arms are crossed over her chest again and she’s leaned back in her chair, jaw set thoughtfully. She’s got some sass, but was one of the easiest, most well-mannered people he’s spoken to for questioning before. Plus, she made the examination more fun with her snarky comments, which were even able to make his stoic partner who ran the camera, Madeline, chuckle or smile from time-to-time.

  “Any speculation as to who the author is?” 

  “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say Joan Seymour.” Katherine Howard said. That sass mentioned before slipped back into her voice, edging her words in a way that made Mulaney huff out an amused breath.

  “What do you suppose she’s trying to say?” Mulaney questioned.

  “Probably, ‘help me, my mother’s insane.’” Katherine responded.

  “Interesting.”

Katherine raised her eyebrows at him, sniffing. She’s poised and waiting.

  “Do you consider yourself anti-religious, Katherine?” Mulaney asked.

Katherine snorted a light laugh. “No.” She said. “I just think some people take it too far, that’s all.”

  “And you disapprove?”

  “Look--” Katherine uncoiled her arms and sat up straight. At Mulaney’s side, Madeline quirked a brow at her change in stance, intrigued. “I’m all for believing whatever it is that you believe, but you say ‘religion’ to me, and I’m thinking da Vinci’s Last Supper. Jesus looks sad. The apostles look miserable. I don’t want to go to that party!”

Mulaney blinked at her logic. Katherine looked back at him, then turned her gaze up thoughtfully. She drummed her pointer fingers against the tabletop.

  “Shouldn’t religion be more like Dogs Playing Poker?” She said.

  “Dogs playing…”

  “Poker.” Katherine finished for Mulaney. “I can’t tell you what any of the apostles are doing in The Last Supper. But I can tell you that the little white bulldog is holding an ace under the table.”

Mulaney unsuccessfully tried to smother a smile. Katherine caught it, grinning.

  “See?” She said. “That’s fun! I’m engaged! There’s wonderment and awe! That other stuff is just all ritual and punishment. And it’s way too weird and way too serious.” She leaned back again, studying Mulaney and Madeline’s expressions. “What? It is!”

------

Jane Seymour was a woman of many faces, and not in the mentally ill sort of way, although some people assumed she may have been harboring multiple personality disorder within her wretched brain. She had many masks to wear, some cold and stoic, others sinister and wicked, and a few that may have even been sweet and nurturing. When she was at the local laundromat she worked at in town, several customers reported how she would “look at them like she was assessing their souls”, like she was judging whether or not they deserved to go to heaven. She thought most of them were Godless and muttered about it constantly, regardless of if they could hear her or not. She simply did not care.

Many people thought she would never delve into the sexual world of intercourse, what with all her screws loose that warded away most men and her extreme devotion to Christ, so it was quite shocking to hear the screams that erupted from the Seymour bungalow May 13th, 2005. Police were called, but had to wait to get a search warrant, so they, along with several neighbors, sat on the curb for hours, listening to the piercing cries that split the street in two. By the time police finally burst into the house to locate the struggle, they thought they were too late when they reached the master bedroom, which was covered in blood. But then they saw the woman rocking back and forth on the soaked bed, holding a tiny red baby with tufts of whitish hair to her left breast and everything clicked into place.

Several believed this woman was not fit to raise a child for obvious reasons, but police had no right to take a baby away from its mother, so the infant stayed and grew up in the house she was born in. It wasn’t like there was any place she could go, anyway. Jane’s husband was nowhere to be found. 

Henry Tudor is--was--had been a mountain of a man. His arms were like truck tires, round and firm to the touch. He had broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and a huge body to go along with his already giant frame. Coppery gold hair framed his head and his bright sapphire blue eyes struck a stare that could put someone six feet under. Every single aspect of the man’s body boasted of an indestructible juggernaut.

And yet, he hasn’t been seen in fifteen years.

Rumors bubbled up. They always did. Some speculated he ran away to avoid the burden of taking care of a child or to simply get away from his insane wife. Others, mainly rowdy teenagers itching for drama, said Jane killed him and sacrificed his body to the Lord. Because of that, stories of the Seymour bungalow being haunted were created, although there was no proof of anything of the sort. Because they weren’t true. But Jane Seymour had been out to kill.

Her girl-spawn had barely been a few months old at the time. She laid in her homemade crib, gurgling and laughing, staring with strange blue eyes up at a mobile that was made for her. Jane crept up to her and aimed a knife for her throat.

Henry stopped her.

  “You shall name her Johanna,” He had rumbled, easing Jane’s hand back to her side. “Joan for short.”

  “Like Joan of Arc.” Jane had observed.

  “Yes,” Henry had said.

  “Hm.” Jane had peered down at the wriggling little beast. “I suppose that does make it slightly less Godless.”

  “Yes,” Henry had said again. “Wait and see.”

And then, he was gone, disappearing into the night and never coming back.

Jane should not have let him stop her.

The child, of course, did not know this.

Joan slipped through the front door, but not without noticing a few neighbors peeking avidly out of their own windows, ears pricked. The whole neighborhood, possibly even the entire city, was always so interested in every little detail of the Seymour family’s lives. At least a few of them actually had the decency to duck back inside when they saw her coming up the sidewalk. One didn’t even notice her, it seemed, because he was still staring when she disappeared inside, while another was only pretending to not snoop while she fussed unnecessarily over her rose garden. Joan shot the flowers a sharp look, willing them to burst out of the ground and bite the lady’s nose off, but the front door closed behind her before she could see if anything happened. From the silence outside, she assumed nothing did.

(damn stupid woman wish she’d just go blind)

The smell of cinnamon was drifting through the entrance hallway. Maroon and orange (never red) candles were lit up throughout the downstairs area; Mama always preferred their warm glow over the harsh fluorescence of the overhead lights. Mama’s favorite radio station, WORT Radio, could be heard playing from the kitchen, along with the sound of singing.

Mama’s singing.

  “Jesus, possess me!

Sweet savior, be my shepherd

Bless each endeavor

Till I finally join you forever”

A giddy tingling sensation zipped up through Joan’s spine. She always loved the sound of Mama’s singing. Her voice was so silken and honey-slicked, like the gentle croon of an angel. Joan said she should join a gospel, that she would be the best singer in the entire group, but Mama would always wave this off with a dismissive hand and a chuckle.

Joan ventured further into the house, feeling lighter and lighter with each step. She entered the lounge, where a Black Forest cuckoo clock clucked peacefully on the wall. There were many religious pictures and crucifixes in here, but Joan’s favorite was the photo of Jesus leading a herd of baby lambs through a beautiful flowered field. It radiated so much innocence, unlike all the other paintings of punishment and hellfire and sin. It was hung up beside the huge wooden cross with reddened edges over the unused fireplace. Joan did her best to never look at that decoration in particular.

Weaving around the brown felt couch and two moth-eaten velvet throne chairs facing each other, Joan glided into the kitchen. It was an old kitchen indeed, with an oven that squealed like a dying pig when opened and a sputtering gas stove, but everything worked perfectly fine for the two of them.

Two…

  “Fly me free of temptation

And the flames of Hell's devastation

Then He will take me

And wash me in the river

I will make celebration

In the joy of final 

The might of final 

The fire of final Salvation!”

There was Mama, singing along to the song playing from an old radio on the counter, her back to Joan. 

She was a moderately sized woman, but had a strong, corded neck and incredibly muscled hands from years of working at the local laundromat. Honey blonde hair framed her face, which was quite beautiful in a weird, overzealous religious way. Reaching brown roots slithered like snakes from her scalp, with only a few white hairs visible. Despite being in her forties, her complexion was more weathered by hardship and discipline than age. Piercing golden brown eyes flickered when she finally noticed her daughter standing there and a smile broke out on her pale pink lips.

  “Mama,” Joan said breathily, unable to bite back her giddy grin. 

  “Ah, Joan,” Mama said, “there’s my sweet girl.” And then she opened her strong arms out wide and Joan darted into them instantly, nestling into her embrace. Mama smelled like honey and laundry detergent. “You’re home early.”

Joan felt her lower stomach twinge and she leaned a little closer into Mama’s chest. She would keep her mouth shut about the incident at school for now. Mama was in a good mood; no need to go and mess that up.

  “School--ended sooner than usual.” Joan said, internally wincing. She hated lying, always fearing that she would be struck dead the moment the fib rolled off her tongue, but she would correct herself and tell the truth soon.

Mama hummed. “I see.” She pulled away and turned back to the counter, where she had been shaping bread dough with her wolf-like hands. “Dinner won’t be ready for awhile.”

  “That’s okay,” Joan said. “I can wait.”

Mama hummed again. Joan fidgeted anxiously behind her.

  “Is everything alright, my darling?” Mama asked, concern in her smooth voice.

  “Yes, Mama,” Joan answered. “Just-- umm-- may I go shower?”

Mama chuckled. “Of course, dear.”

  “Thank you, Mama.” Joan gave her another quick hug, then scurried up the creaky wooden stairs to her room.

Filthy. She suddenly felt so filthy. She had showered barely an hour ago, but grime seemed to be crawling all over her. Would Mama be safe from it? Was it bad that she touched her?

She tried to remember what Miss Aragon had told her. About this being…

  “Normal.” Miss Aragon said. “It’s perfectly normal, Joan. Every girl goes through it.”

Joan whimpered. The spattered mess between her legs had been wiped away by Miss Aragon, a humiliation she would never be able to live down, and she was now fully dressed again, but her clothes felt too tight, especially around her groin. It felt like there were eels alive and writhing inside of her. She squirmed on the grey couch she was seated on in Miss Aragon’s office, a place where most students were forbidden to go into.

  “My skin feels weird,” Joan whispered. “I-I’m hot…”

Miss Aragon frowned. Joan looked up at her with shiny, wet blue eyes and a glazed expression.

  “It hurts,” She croaked.

  “I know, sweetheart.”

  “What did I do?”

  “What?”

Joan shifted uncomfortably. Guilt surged through her, along with another painful sensation in her lower stomach. She whimpered again.

  “What did I do?” She asked again. “D-did I sin? Is this my punishment?” Miss Aragon looked baffled, and Joan wasn’t sure how she should feel about that. 

  “No, no, Joan,” Miss Aragon said quickly. “You didn’t--you didn’t sin.” She made a face, like those words tasted funny on her tongue, but it disappeared quickly. “You’re a very good girl. All women go through this, like I said. It’s completely normal.”

  “But--but I’m bleeding!” Joan cried woefully. She could feel drops of blood squeeze slickly out of her vagina and she cringed. “You shouldn’t-- it’s not-- I-I’m gonna bleed to death!”

Miss Aragon is frowning again, and Joan easily recognized it as a frown of pity. That’s the expression most adults wear when they look at her. 

  “You aren’t, Joan,” Miss Aragon said patiently. “It’ll stop in a few days.”

Joan squirmed again, wanting it to stop now. She looked up at Miss Aragon helplessly.

  “What did you do?” She asked. “To get yours? How did you sin?”

Miss Aragon sighed and Joan instinctively shrunk away. Instead of being struck, however, her coach eased an arm around her shaking shoulders and pulled her in close against her side.

  “Oh, Joan…” She murmured, stroking her wet hair. “You poor, poor girl…”

Miss Aragon had then gone on to explain the process of the strange word called ‘menstruation’, telling her how she would bleed for four to seven days at a time every month for basically the rest of her life. It sounded awful. How could God curse females with such a horrible bodily function?

The sharp ache in her lower stomach returned like a tug on her small intestines. She put her hand between her legs, but drew no blood (this time). A new feeling rose in Joan’s sore chest, a yearning, an ache. She felt suddenly cold, as if the sun could no longer warm her. This was it, then, the change was here.

Would she still be Joan after it was all over? When she shed the last of her “uterus lining”, as Miss Aragon had said, would she still be herself? Or would she be someone new?

Would being someone new be all that bad?

Joan swiped some looser, fresh clothes from her dresser and then scurried her way into the bathroom. She didn’t want to turn on the lights, so she lit a few candles instead, letting their warm glow fill the small space.

With muscles that were weak with fatigue, she slowly began to undress herself. First her overalls, then her white and baby blue flannel, her cream colored bra, and finally her underwear. The puffy sanitary napkin--a “pad”--that Miss Aragon had put in for her was spotted with large dark red, almost black stains that looked like gross bodily jelly. It was wilting already, so she carefully removed it and replaced it with one of the many others she had been given, remembering how Miss Aragon had told her to always change them whenever she got the chance or she may get sick.

After throwing away the pad she wadded up with toilet paper, Joan stepped into the bathtub and cranked the faucet handle.

Showering was agony.

Although the hot water had offered her a brief respite from the deep, otherworldly chill that had settled into her body, there was no escaping the pain. Each beating droplet against her limbs felt like a fresh wasp sting stabbing into her muscles and the flesh on her stomach, taut and uncomfortably bloated, pulsed and throbbed with agony every time she moved.

Like before a few minutes ago, like at school, she reached between her legs, and it came back sticky and red.

The smell of the blood was pungent and unnatural. It was nothing like real blood at all. It was more like the rot from her deteriorating insides as her sin caused her to rapidly decay. It made her feel sick, so she stuck her hand under the spray of liquid fire shooting out from the shower head and didn’t pull it back until all the blood was gone.

The smell remained on her hand.

Joan scrubbed vigorously between her legs, which seemed to be permanently stained. Crimson would smear across her pale flesh each time her vagina bled again and she did her best to wipe the trails away with an itchy sponge. By the time she finally gave up, her inner thighs felt chafed and raw.

Joan took to just watching the water and beads of soap run down the slightly rusted drain. Slowly, she sat down, knees bent up to her chest, legs spread slightly. Red drools down the floor of the shower to join the suds down into the pipes.

This reminded her of a time when she was eleven and was violently ill in the shower. She remembered looking up, slumped heavily over the rim of the tub, still in all her clothes, and seeing Mama in the doorway. She had been shaking her head, but had a morbidly amused glint in her eyes. Then, chuckling darkly, she was saying, “You shouldn’t have gotten--”

  “--drunk,” Said Joan, her fists clenched determinedly at her sides and her heart hammering in her throat.

The figure in the armchair in front of her turned to look at the doorway and squinted up at her for a moment as though trying to figure out who she was. And then it sagged back into the chair with an air of disappointment. Like it had been expecting someone else, someone better.

Joan stared back through the thick mop of white-blonde hair that had started to hang in her eyes lately because she’d been too lazy to cut it.

She was eleven and standing in the doorway of the house she’d grown up in, feet squared in her tattered shoes (she hadn’t gone and gotten herself a new pair in awhile, though she was long since overdue) and jaw set grimly.

  “...You're what?” Said the figure slowly, her weathered, thick-knuckled hands clutching a periwinkle embroidery and a shiny sewing needle.

  “I’m drunk, Mama,” Joan said again, feeling a thrill that was equal parts excitement and terror run through her from head to toe as she said the scandalous words. She watched those dark eyes apprehensively, dimly aware through the buzz of alcohol that she was shivering.

Later, on nights when she had nothing better to think about (there would be a lot of nights like that), she would dramatize this event in her head. She’d think about what might have happened if she’d been yelled at, or sent to her closet, or even slapped across the face and sent sprawling. It wasn't that she did this to feel sorry for herself, or to pretend that it had been worse than it actually was.

The truth was that all of those outcomes were things she wished had happened more than what actually had.

From the worn-out old armchair, the figure stared at her a moment longer, before simply shaking its head in silent apathy and looking back down at the embroidery.

  “This is why God has left you,” Said Jane Seymour, dismissively.

And then Joan had trudged off, disappointed by the lack of reaction. Usually her Mama would throw an absolute fit over the littlest things she did, but the night she drank alcohol was barren of any dramatics.

An hour later, she would violently heave up all the whiskey she ingested from her system in the shower. It burned more than it did on the way down and made her cry helplessly for her Mama, who knelt by the bathtub and stroked her hair like she was a dog while she threw up all over herself. Mama had cradled her head against her chest when she was finished, mouth and chin still dripping with vomit, and told her what an evil little imp she was in a voice like sweet caramel.

Joan shook her head, scattering droplets across the shower walls and curtain. She looked down and saw a small sea of blood rippling around her feet. Her nose curled in disgust and she backed up further against the back of the tub.

Minutes passed. Joan’s mind was fuzzy and blank for most of the time she sat in the water and her own blood. Her vagina began to hurt at one point and throbbed steadily with her beating heart. 

When it was eventually time to get out, she found that the heat of the water had soaked the energy right out of her, and it took everything in her to get dressed again instead of just curling up naked in a corner of the shower and passing out.

The cuts splattering her figure, those that hadn't scabbed over yet, were gooey and red, the flesh around their edges white and puckered from the water. They burned faintly as she stepped back out of the shower’s steamy shelter and into the cold air of the rest of the house.

The light from the candle flames cast her gaunt features in harsher contrast when she peered into the mirror. Her hollow cheeks nearly became empty holes and her sunken eye sockets were black caves. Still, the shiny blue of her eyes was visible even in the cavernous puncture. The fire’s glow reflected off the stygian liquid steel of rolling droplets over her emaciated frame. 

The sight of the deathlike girl would send anyone but Mama screaming into the night.

------

  “Good news, Kitty!” 

Anne came out of nowhere, flinging her arms around Katherine and causing her to jump. They staggered, nearly falling right over, but managed to stay upright in the crowd of students leaving the school. Katherine laughed.

  “What can it be this time, Annie?” She asked, shifting her backpack onto one shoulder after Anne pulled away.

  “It turns out we are going to college together after all!” Anne declared, smiling widely. “I just got the text last period!”

Katherine felt a surge of happiness go through her, but still couldn’t help but tilt her head. 

  “Wait-- I thought the Royal College of Music turned you down?”

Just saying the school’s name sent flutters of joy and excitement and awe through her. She still couldn’t believe that SHE, Katherine Howard, got accepted into THE BEST music school in England. Maybe even the entire world!! She couldn’t wait until she got to explore the castle-like campus and fulfill her dream of being a real performer, and although she had hoped that her dear cousin and best friend would be a part of that, she didn’t actually think it would have happened.

But here Anne was, shrugging nonchalantly with a radiant look in her dark brown eyes.

  “Yeah, well,” She waved a dismissive hand, “Daddy pulled a few strings and now I’m in.” 

Katherine couldn’t help but chuckle knowingly when her Uncle Thomas was brought up. She could only pray for the poor soul at the Royal College’s administration board that must have met the other end of his needle-sharp words.

  “We get to be roomies together!” Anne said. “Isn’t that great or what?”

  “It’s AMAZING!” Katherine declared, hugging Anne. “I can’t wait!”

The sound of a car broke their embrace and the two of them, along with a few other students in the courtyard, turned to look at the shiny dark blue Ford Mustang honking at the curb. The driver’s side door popped open a second later and a gorgeous young woman, probably twenty or twenty-one, with lush olive skin and curly brown hair came sliding out. She lowered her electric blue Burberry sunglasses and hickory brown eyes swept over the crowd of high school kids in disdainful amusement.

  “CATHY!!” Anne cried gleefully. She launched herself at Catherine Parr and the two immediately melted into a heated kiss. Katherine sputtered a laugh.

  “Classic Anne,” Maria said, coming up beside Katherine with Maggie and Bessie. “Always can’t wait to jam her tongue down her lady’s throat.” She’s elbowed in the ribs by both Katherine and Bessie for that, making her snicker. “What? It’s true!”

  “Come on,” Maggie said, and they all crossed over to the couple. “Alright, children! That’s enough PDA!”

Anne parted from her girlfriend to stick her tongue out at Maggie. Cathy chuckled and turned her gaze to the others.

  “Hello, kids,” She said languidly. 

  “Hey, Cathy,” Katherine smiled at her. The other three greeted the other woman as well. “How are you?”

  “Bitchin’ good,” Cathy rumbled, her lips twitching upwards. The lipstick coating them was a dark red color; Katherine believed it was called “Nibble” if she remembered correctly.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” Anne suddenly said. She perched on the hood of the Ford Mustang and spread her hands out in front of her like she was about to tell a grand fairytale. “Can you guys believe the stunt in the shower earlier?”

Like that, Katherine’s good mood dropped away and icy guilt slammed into her once again. It made her feel so stupid, as all her friends burst into giggles around her, enjoying the funny memory while she just felt sickened by them. Why couldn’t she be more like them?

  “What?” Cathy looked at all of them in confusion. “What happened?”

  “Oh, Joan Seymour happened,” Anne told her. “Sixteen fucking years old and that stupid retard just stood there having her very first period.”

Katherine winced at the use of the slur. Why did it suddenly hurt to hear? She hadn't cared when Maria said it earlier in the pool. Was she just now realizing that it was wrong to say?

  “I think she’s fifteen, actually,” She said.

  “Who cares?” Anne said. “Doesn’t change anything! I knew when I was 9!”

  “Wait--” Cathy said, and then she exclaimed, “Gross! In the shower?”

  “Oh yeah!” Anne nodded her head enthusiastically. “Blood was just dripping down her legs!”

  “All the blood ran into my stall!” Maggie joined in excitedly.

  “And she sat in it!” Bessie added.

  “All while squealing like a fucking pig!” Anne chortled. “WEE WEE WEE WEE!!!”

  “Anne, enough!!” Katherine shouted over all the laughter. “Stop it! It’s not funny!”

Anne looked at her and then said, “Hey, you guys! Stop! Stop! Kit is right. It’s not funny.”

All the giggling died away instantly. Katherine breathed out a sigh of relief--

  “It’s fucking hilarious!”

--that was quickly replaced with a sharp intake of breath.

Anne slung an arm around her shoulders. “Aww, sweetie!” She nuzzled her cheek with her nose. “There’s a runt in every litter! A nobody. And our nobody,” She chuckled darkly, “is Joan.”

------

The smell of freshly baked bread hit Joan’s nose when she walked down the stairs and her stomach growled so loud it caught Mama’s attention in the kitchen. Her face flashed dark red, her blush bright against the pale backdrop of her white-blonde hair, and Mama chuckled in amusement.

  “Someone’s hungry,” Mama said.

  “J-just a little…” Joan stammered shyly.

She really, really was, though. She skipped lunch because she had left school and hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which had just been two pieces of plain toast, but she felt like she was starving. Like it’s been a lot longer since she ate anything. She set her hands on her lower belly and wondered if hunger was another bitter side effect of menstruation.

  “Joan?” Mama noticed the way she was holding her stomach. “Is your tummy alright, darling?”

Joan felt an intense flash of fear 

(she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows)

lance through her and she inhaled sharply. She nodded, dropping her hands limply to her side.

  “I’m okay, Mama,” She said. “Just hungry.”

  “Dinner will be ready soon,” Mama told her. Joan could smell the casserole in the oven and her stomach growled again. “Why don’t you go wash your hands and set the table?”

Joan nodded and hurried to wash her hands off in the kitchen sink before retrieving the plates and utensils from various cabinets. She took them to the dining room, a dimly lit room filled with more crosses than anywhere in the entire house. A huge iron one hung above the table, where Jesus’ petrified face of agony could always leer down at her when she was trying to eat. The only other decoration was a wooden picture frame laying face-down on a small shelf. Joan glanced at it and remembered the last time it had been filled by...

...a photograph of Mama’s wedding.

It had been a bright and sunny day, with white clouds floating over the wedding ceremony. In the picture, the newlyweds were standing on the top of the stone stairs leading to the chapel. Above their heads was a tall arch decorated with beautiful white roses, handpicked by the maid of honor. The bride and groom held each other’s hands, the picture of matrimonial bliss. 

This was the first time Joan actually saw what Daddy Henry looked like. Mama didn’t talk about him very much, and when she did, it wasn’t ever in a good way.

But these two in the picture looked so happy.

Daddy Henry’s wedding tuxedo had to be one of the largest ever designed. He was herculean, with a behemoth body and golden blonde hair. Dazzling sapphire blue eyes stood out brightly in the photo, so much like Joan’s own. He had a massively wide smile on his bearded face, grasping his bride’s hands in his own huge ones. 

Mama was in a beautiful white gown gown that hugged her every curve, with sterling silver feathers sewn into the sleeves and into the frills of the wedding dress. Her lips were painted ruby red and were curled up into a blissful smile as she leaned into the wall of muscle that was her husband, her hands lost within Daddy Henry’s colossal grip.

...Were these really her parents?

Joan had found the photo hidden behind one of Jesus’s birth when she accidentally broke the frame while playing. She was ten at the time, and itching for mischief, so she hid the photo from Mama, despite all the questions she wanted to ask. 

It had been a complete accident that Mama found out she had it, when she saw it in her room after she forgot to put it away.

For a long time, Mama didn’t speak after she found the photo. She just gripped it tightly and stared at it with wide, bulging eyes.

  “Where did you find this?” 

Joan flinched at the edge in her voice. Trembling, she stuttered, “I-I broke a picture frame a little while ago. You didn’t notice, so I picked up the broken glass so that we wouldn’t get hurt. I found it behind the picture of baby Jesus.”

Mama took several deep breaths that did little to calm her. Joan swallowed thickly.

  “M-maybe it could help us look for him?” She said timidly.

Turning abruptly, Mama stormed out the bedroom and downstairs. Joan ram after her, crying, “Wait! Mama!”

Mama strode into the lounge and began roughly throwing firewood into the fireplace. Joan skidded to a stop behind her, her eyes wide.

  “Mama!” She shouted. “Stop! We have to find Daddy!”

But Mama didn’t stop. She just kept tossing in wood until the fireplace was full, then moved to dousing the logs with an alarming amount of lighter fluid. Joan lunged forward and grabbed her arm as she lit a match and flicked it in. The flames roar to life instantly, illuminating the cold look in Mama’s golden eyes.

  “No.” She hissed, and then threw the photo into the fire.

  “NO!!!” Joan screeched.

She threw herself at the fireplace, dropping to her knees and shoving her hands into the burning logs. Flames licked at her skin and she howled in pain, but didn’t pull back until she grabbed the smoldering remains of the photograph. It disintegrated in her fingers and she wailed in anguish right before Mama grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her backwards.

  “What are you doing?!” Mama cried. Her eyes are even wider now, and Joan saw that she was scared. The smell of burned flesh hung heavily in the air.

  “That was going to help us find Daddy!” Joan yelled, tears running down her cheeks. Her hands hurt so badly. Pink and scarlet criss crossed together over her charred skin. “We were gonna find him and he was gonna come back!!”

  “No he wasn’t, Johanna!”

  “WHY?!”

  “BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING KEEPING HIM AWAY!!”

In an instant, the scalding hot blood in Joan’s veins turned to ice-water. She started to comprehend the implication of Mama’s words, and the tears came out from her eyes faster and faster. She wilted like a daffodil, crossing her burnt hands in front of her chest and grabbing her arms, squeezing them tightly as she bowed her head and doubled over on her knees. The crown of her skull cracked against the hardwood, sprawling her hair like a waterfall of white-gold all over the floor. 

  “No… No… No...” She wept again and again.

  “He doesn’t want you, Joan,” Mama said ruefully. “He didn’t even want me.” She took a deep breath, sadness etched in the grooves of her words. “He doesn’t want either of us.”

Mama knelt and took Joan into her arms, rocking her slowly. Joan tried to grip onto her, but just let out a pained wail when she moved her hands.

  “Mama!” She cried. “Mama, it hurts! It hurts!”

  “Oh, my poor baby,” Mama said sadly. “Shh… It’s going to be okay, my darling angel. It’s going to be okay, Joan…”

  “...Joan? Joan?”

Joan jolted, backpedaling into her mother, who looked concerned. Mama gently cupped her cheeks.

  “My dear angel,” She murmured, “what’s wrong?”

(tell her tell her tell her)

Joan swallowed thickly. “S-something happened at school today. Something terrible...”

Mama frowned and brushed a loose strand of hair out of Joan’s face. “Terrible things are the Lord’s way of testing us, Joan.” She said wisely.

  “I know, Mama, but the other girls--”

  “You aren’t like the other girls.” Mama cut her off.

  “But I am, Mama! I am!” Joan said. “I never thought so, but--”

  “You aren’t, Joan. You aren’t. You’re special.” Mama’s lips twitched slightly. “Special.”

  “You aren’t listening to me, Mama…”

  “I’ve heard all I wanted to hear, now finish setting the table, please.” Mama said. She glided past Joan and went back into the kitchen to check on the casserole. Joan slowly laid out the plates, then looked over her shoulder.

(tell her tell her tell her)

  “Mama, in the showers today…”

Mama whipped around instantly, her eyes suddenly lit up like hot coals. Joan thought she might have seen a flicker of fear somewhere in there, too.

  “What have I told you about showering with the other girls?” Mama said.

  “I know, but--” Joan floundered.

  “What have I told you?” Mama shouted.

  “It’s a sin! It’s a sin!” Joan gave in.

  “And as such--”

  “But Mama--”

  “It is--”

  “I STARTED TO BLEED!!”

Silence.

Stillness.

The platter Mama had been holding slipped from her fingers and shattered against the wooden floor. White and blue pieces exploded out in every direction. A few chunks cut Mama’s slipper-clad feet and ankles, and blood slowly began to bud out like blooming roses in May, but Mama did not move. Or flinch. Or even blink. She just stared very intently at Joan like she was hoping she would burst into flames if she leered hard enough.

And then, her face did something strange. It twitched, like all her expressions were falling off one by one, so it looked like a mask for a moment. Then, the skin rippled and creased and wrinkled, and her soft features were eroded away by furious and sinister ones. A sick white light ignited behind her golden brown eyes, like twin lightning bugs of insanity inside the sockets. Joan backed up against the dining room table with a whimper.

  “Mama, I started to bleed in the showers and the other girls-- they laughed at me and called me names and threw things at me!” She said woefully. “I was so scared, Mama! I thought I was dying!”

Mama’s face twitched again, and this time her head jerked a little with it. The veins in her neck bulge out of the flesh and pulsed monstrously. Her eyes suddenly looked a lot less golden brown and a lot more brown-red.

  “Mama, why are you looking at me like that?” Joan asked softly, quaking.

  “The curse of blood,” Mama said quietly. There’s an awful, dry chuckle edging her words. Joan blinked like an oblivious pure white heifer about to be sacrificed to God.

  “Mama, you’re scaring me…”

Mama’s entire head twitched this time and then, a split second later, she’s striding across the kitchen with her right hand held high. Joan didn’t have any time to react before she was backhanded across the jaw by pointy, spike-like knuckles. She yelped out in pain and shock, tottering sideways and careening right into one of the dining table chairs. Her body unceremoniously crumpled into it, and she and the chair both crashed to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

  “You’re a woman now,” Mama said above her. Her eyes are wide and gleaming, but there’s no emotion in them. “Pray to heaven for your wicked soul.”

  “Wh-what did I do?” Joan stammered, rolling over onto her back. She could already feel her jaw welling up with a fresh bruise. “M-Miss Aragon said it’s something all girls go through. Even y--”

Mama hit Joan again, and blood splattered out in a bright red line across the floor. Joan whimpered sharply, tears of pain springing to her eyes. Her tongue instinctively flicked out against her newly busted lip and it stung in response to being licked.

  “And God made Eve from the rib of Adam,” Mama said like she was in a trance. “And Eve was weak and loosed the raven on the world. And the raven was called Sin and the first Sin was the Sin of Intercourse. So the Lord visited Eve with a Curse and the Curse was the Curse of Blood.” She leaned down to Joan and her words were suddenly washed with potent venom, “Say it, woman.”

  “No, Mama--”

Joan was struck a third time. Smears of her blood are left on Mama’s knuckles.

  “Say it!” Mama bellowed.

  “No!” Joan cried. She turned sharply and scrambled away, but Mama pursued her and delivered a kick to her ribs that sent her sprawling on her back.

  “And Adam and Eve were driven out of the Garden and into the World and Eve found that her belly had grown big with child.” Mama droned on. She lifted her foot and pressed it down on Joan’s stomach, pinning her to the ground. Joan yowled in pain when a cramp seized her at that very moment, deepening her anguish even further. “And there was a second Curse, and this was the Curse of Childbearing, and Eve brought forth Cain in sweat and blood.”

  “Mama!” Joan sobbed. The tears were flowing free without resistance, now, and creating small pools on either side of her head. “Mama! Stop it, please! Listen to me!!”

But Mama did not listen. She just leaned down, applying more pressure to Joan’s poor belly, like she was hoping to make all the blood come out now. Joan threw her head back and screamed in pain.

  “And following Cain, Eve gave birth to Abel, having not yet repented of the Sin of Intercourse. And so the Lord visited Eve with a third Curse, and this was the Curse of Murder. Cain rose up and slew Abel with a rock. And still, Eve did not repent, nor all the daughters of Eve, and upon eve did the Crafty Serpent found a kingdom of whoredoms and pestilence.”

  “Mama, listen!!” Joan yelled. “Stop! It wasn’t my fault!”

  “And Eve was weak,” Mama said flatly. “Say it.”

  “N-o!” Joan squirmed underneath her mother. Her hands, rough and scarred permanently from the burns she got five years ago, flew up and grabbed Mama’s leg. Two of her fingernails jabbed into one of the cuts on Mama’s ankle she got from the glass and Mama jerked away with a hiss.

  “You vile demon!!” She screeched.

Joan fled as quickly as she could, but Mama went after her, just like last time. Just like all the other times. 

(if i had a nickle for every time she made me cry in here...)

Her wrists are seized and they both fall to their knees on the floor in the lounge. The impact rattled Joan’s frail body and she could feel more blood drip out onto the sanitary napkin in her underwear.

  “Mama, let me go!!” Joan cried frantically. She struggled, but her Mama was much stronger than she was and was able to restrain her. Mama’s body hunched over her, her belly pressed against her rigid spine, practically crushing her frail daughter. “Please! Please, Mama! I’m sorry!!”

  “Say it, woman,” Mama whispered harshly in her ear, her words biting like serpents.

Joan sniffled and, with words that were thick with blood from her busted lip, choked out shamefully, “And Eve was weak.”

The grip on her wrists loosened slightly. Mama’s hot breath tickled her ear when she breathed out a dark laugh. A sloppy, halfhearted kiss was pressed to her temple.

  “Good girl,” Mama whispered breathily. She leaned back and twisted Joan around so they would be facing each other, but did not release her child from her ironclad grip. 

  “Mama, why didn’t you tell me?” Joan asked. Her icy blue eyes are filled with tears and sorrow, so much sorrow. “I was so scared, Mama. I thought I was dying!”

Mama shook her head and looked up ruefully. She squeezed Joan’s hands together and exclaimed hugely, “O Lord! Help this sinning woman beside me here see the sin of her days and ways!”

  “Stop it, Mama--” Joan squirmed uncomfortably.

  “Show her that if she had remained sinless the Curse of Blood never would have come on her!” Mama brayed on.

  “Mama--” Joan whined. “Mama, please stop! I don’t understand! What did I do?” She squirmed harder. “Mama, let me go!!”

Mama shook Joan violently, then drew her in close, eyes flashing. 

  “Ask for forgiveness of your sin.”

  “No, Mama.” Joan said, swallowing thickly. “I didn’t sin, you sinned. You didn’t tell me and they laughed.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Darkness overtook Mama’s features like the black clouds of a thunderstorm. Her face twisted with disgust, and she suddenly looked like she hated her child with every inch of her being. She dug her fingernails deep into Joan’s brittle wrists.

  “I did not.” She hissed lowly. “I did not--sin.” She carved off chunks of Joan’s flesh with her nails. “Go to your closet and pray.”

Joan stiffened, her eyes bulging hugely in her skull. She whimpered and shook her head, shrinking down into herself.

  “No, Mama,” She whispered fearfully. She could see her prayer closet from the lounge, the door fitted underneath the staircase. It was cramped and dark and hot in there, just how Mama liked it for her. “D-don’t wanna go…” She couldn’t look away from it.

  “Pray.” Mama said. “Ask for forgiveness.”

  “Please, Mama,” Joan begged, looking up at her mother desperately. “P-please don’t make me go. I-I don’t wanna go. I’m sorry!”

But Mama’s uncaring look of hatred did not change, and inky black dread poured out through Joan’s organs like a thick, dark oil spill. Her breathing began to hitch and pick up, but Mama didn’t seem to care about her worsening panic attack.

  “Please, Mama,” Joan wheedled hoarsely. “I-- I’ll bring the Stones again!”

This time, it was Mama’s turn to look scared. But then it morphed into intense enmity and she began to beat Joan senselessly towards the closet.

  “You monster!” She howled. “You spawn of the devil! Why must I be so cursed?!”

  “The Stones!” Joan yelled as she was kicked and hit and slapped. She rolled to the side, but Mama beat her back down to the floor, slowly getting her closer and closer to the wretched, evil closet. “I’ll bring the Stones, Mama! I’ll bring the Fire!” 

And then a powerful kick drove into her belly and her words pitched into a shriek of agony. 

  “MAMA!!” Joan screamed. “MAMA-- MAMA, STOP!! IT HURTS!! Y-YOU-- IT HURTS!!!”

Mama grappled onto Joan’s arms and began dragging her across the floor to the closet. Even with the sharp, unbearable pain in her stomach, Joan fought her, kicking and struggling and screaming bloody murder, but it was futile. Mama shoved Joan into the prayer closet and slammed the door shut, locking it tightly.

   “NO!!” Joan shrieked. She threw herself at the door, causing it to rattle heavily on its hinges. “Mama, let me go!!”

  “Pray, little girl!” Mama ordered. Madness curled from her lips like poisonous vipers. “Pray!”

  “Please, Mama!!” 

But Mama did not let her go. Her footsteps retreated somewhere into the house and Joan sunk to the floor, weeping. Panic started sticking to her lungs like black tar, making it harder and harder to breathe. 

Mama was so angry… What if she never let her out? 

Dread sped up her thoughts, racing through her veins, filling her with desperation. 

No one would even hear her screams, her last dying words, her final prayers…

She began to wheeze, the thick, musty air brushing against her lips. The oppressive stench of her own fear and blood and piss from other times in the closet burned her nose.

Would the neighbors notice? Would they even care? 

Pain lighted in her belly again as her chest contracted with her heavy breaths. 

Would her teachers, so quick to look away from her black eyes and limping figure, even call and ask where she was?

Joan began to scratch on the door, the frame, the hinges, scrambling to escape, her instincts pitching her action into a fury of movement. 

What would they say when her body was finally discovered, a rotting corpse hidden in the darkness of a closet made for holy purposes? Perhaps she would be the talk of the town, even more than usual. The poor Seymour kid, whose Mama went mad after her husband left and God could no longer satisfy her. Who killed her only child, slowly starving her tiny daughter to death one evening while she sewed a new blouse for a customer at the laundromat and listened to her religious music.

Joan’s fingernails scratched harder, grazing the wooden confines of her holy coffin. She could feel the warmth of her blood as the nails began to tear and break, smell the copper of her panic, leaving thin lines of crimson as she clawed frantically.

What if she didn’t starve to death? What if she suffocated? Could that happen? No, she’d read about that before. There was enough air filtering in here, probably. She’d die of dehydration first. Already she could feel her throat constrict, dry and callous, an arid lining of flesh. Spots of light pricked her vision. Tears ran down the side of her bruised face, mingling with the sweat now coating her skin. She felt clammy and cold, yet suddenly too hot, as if in a fever.

  “Mama, let me out!” She begged coarsely, the words scratching at her throat.

She could take the hitting or yelling or cursing. Anything but this. 

  “Mama…” 

Joan slumped to her side, shuddering. She looked up and gazed around at the horrors that littered the closet. There were so many paintings of Jesus’s death, all in great, graphic detail. When she was little, they used to give her awful nightmares about evil men nailing her to a cross or Jesus’s bloodied body chasing her through a ruined dreamscape, welding a wicked-looking crucifix made of barbed wires and yelling at her to join him on his cadaverous crucible.

They still gave her nightmares, she hated to admit.

The dead eyes of Christ bore down on Joan’s pathetic, shaking frame. Jesus’s face was contorted into the same expression of disgust and pain as Mama’s had been, like even he knew that she was the worst thing to ever grace God’s green earth. She curled into a tight ball on the floor, not wanting to meet his scornful gaze anymore, and began to pray through her haze of tears.

------

Moonlight cast silver streams on Anna’s smooth, glowing skin, making her look like a goddess of the night above Katherine. Her soft touch sent pangs of pleasure crackling through Katherine’s body like lightning bolts of lust, soothing her mind of all its worries with her warmth. Everything felt good and okay and wonderful again when Anna was with her, holding her, talking to her, loving her. She thought that nothing could possibly bring her down when her girlfriend was there by her side.

And yet, she still couldn’t get the image of Joan Seymour’s naked body covered in blood on the floor out of her head.

Katherine sighed heavily and Anna pulled back, blinking.

  “Am I really that bad?” She said, then looked at her fingernails, inspecting them closely. “I thought I got them down to the perfect length this time…”

Katherine managed to laugh. “No, it’s not you, you big silly,” She nudged her playfully. “It’s--something else…”

Anna tilted her head. “What is it?” Worry flashed across her expression and Katherine couldn’t help but feel a flutter of love flap in her chest. She loved when her girlfriend got like this, all concerned over her, even over the littlest things. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” Katherine said. She pushed herself up into a sitting position with a sigh. “It’s just-- I did something...not good today.”

  “Oh no,” Anna gasped. “Not good?”

Katherine shoved her. “I’m serious!”

Anna laughed slightly. “I know! I know!” She said. “Come on, tell me about it.”

They got dressed and stepped out of Anna’s red Jeep so Katherine could get some fresh air that would hopefully help her tell the shameful story. It was a warm spring night and they were parked on the side of a small grove that had a trail that led to a hiking trail and some camping grounds. Katherine ducked under a tree that was wrapped in blooming vines of pink-white dog roses, pale ghost petals shivering in the breeze. Anna came up beside her and they both sat on a low-hanging branch that was practically grown for the purpose of sitting and telling your girlfriend about the awful bullying you participated in today.

  “Did you...hear about the Joan Seymour incident today?” Katherine eventually choked out hesitantly.

Anna actually thought for a moment, as if a fifteen year old girl getting her first period and thinking she was dying hadn’t been the talk of the entire school.

  “Vaguely, yeah,” She finally said. “I don’t get into that kind of drama, though. I tend to stay away from it, you know?”

Katherine did know, and that sent fear ricocheting through her body when she remembered it. Of course Anna didn’t like discourse- she’s told her several times before! How could she be so stupid?

Anna peered at her closely, and she knew it was too late to turn back now.

  “What does Joan Seymour and her period have to do with you?” Anna asked her.

Katherine swallowed thickly. Fear pounded heavily at her brain, fear of Anna breaking up with her when she told her and leaving her all alone--but didn’t she deserve that? What she did was horrible. She didn’t deserve a girlfriend after harassing a poor little girl, ESPECIALLY when she herself was eighteen and technically an adult.

  “I--” Her words caught in her throat for a moment, but Anna’s patient, loving gaze made them all come tumbling out. “I was in there. With her. In the locker room.” She lowered her head in shame. “I--yelled at her with everyone…”

Anna just looked at her for a long time, moonlight glinting in her caramel brown eyes and making them look like they were glowing. Then, she sucked in an impressed breath and said, “You’re right. Not good.”

Katherine felt a cold slicing of fear slash through her, but then Anna’s grave expression shifted into a thoughtful smile. She ran a hand down an ivy-coiled section of the tree and mused, “I kicked a kid in the ribs one time.”

Katherine blinked at her. 

  “I did!” Anna said, then shook her head and chuckled at the memory. “Reed Mulligan. Big white kid who’ll probably grow up to be a robber or something. Anyway, he beat the shit out of me once in Year 7. And then, in Year 8, he picked on the wrong kid and got his ass handed to him. Everyone ran when he dropped to the ground, but first I gave him a good kick in the ribs. Felt terrible about it afterward.” She peered at Katherine closely. “Are you gonna apologize to her?”

Katherine snorted dryly. “Did you apologize to Reed Mulligan?”

  “Hell no!” Anna said. “But there’s a big difference, Kat.”

  “There is?”

  “This isn’t Secondary School anymore.” Anna said. A flurry of snowy pink petals swirled down from the tree and over their shoulders. “What did Joan Seymour ever do to you?”

------

The prayer closet lock clicked and the door creaked open after seven long hours. Joan stopped crying for her Mama after the first hour and fell silent for the rest, not even asking to eat or go to the bathroom. Probably because she was asleep, curled up into a little ball on the floor, pillowing her head with her arms. Mama knelt down to her, setting one hand on her shoulder and raking the other through her white-blonde hair. Joan’s eyes shot open instantly, and they seemed to glow in brilliant shades of blue in the candlelight.

  “Did you finish your prayers, little girl?” Mama asked.

Joan nodded.

  “That’s my good girl,” Mama cooed. She kissed Joan’s cheek, saying nothing about the dark indigo bruise bloomed on her jaw. “It’s time for bed.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Joan whispered. Slowly, she uncoiled from her position on the floor, shaking out her numb limbs as she did so. Mama watched her with a sharp eye as she rose to her feet.

  “Joan?”

  “Yes, Mama?”

Mama took a deep breath and stood up, practically towering over her little daughter.

  “I know I sometimes do things that I can’t explain,” She said, “but know that my feelings for you never change. Even--if you have sinned.”

Joan winced, but she shook her head and managed to smile wryly up at her mother. 

  “Mama, you don’t have to say that,” She said. “You love me. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness from me. I know you do what you have to.”

  “Yes,” Mama said slowly, nodding. “We have no one except each other, Joan.”

Joan shivered. Her heart ached fiercely in her chest, and she so badly wanted to believe that that wasn’t true, that there was someone out there who wanted her, but she knew that was just wishful thinking. Fifteen years, and the only person who didn’t throw her away was her Mama.

  “I’m the only one who cares about you.” Mama said. “No one will ever love you except me.” She cupped Joan’s cheeks and looked at her with maddening adoration and love flickering in her eyes. “You will always be a monster to everyone else.”

And Joan nodded, knowing this would always be true, and whispered, “Yes, Mama.”

[diarybutablog]

Yesterday I had an amazing day!

I’m sorry I didn’t post anything since May but I really felt like I didn't had time to post anything and many things happened and I'll try to write the most important things in the other posts and now I'll try to say what happened yesterday.

The day before yesterday my father told me and my brother to got to sleep before midnight so we could wake up early. He wanted to go with us on a trip to Brighton because i wanted a comic from a Graphic Novel Shop that was there near the train station and also go somewhere to eat. Yesterday I woke up at 11 AM and he wanted to go with us on 10 AM… ALRIGHT. He opened our door to our room (i live with my younger brother in the same room in UK) and just said "So we're not going to Brighton?". To which i responded "Hello :>"… I guess he didn't like that because he just closed the doors. I waited in my room scrolling through Reddit on my laptop and seeing the same jokes reused with different images. I saw a meme where someone said the if you add Mr Bean to anything it will automatically become funny. It was so stupid that I felt weird because I wanted to chuckle for a moment when I saw this stupid picture.

Suddenly 12 AM came on a clock and I decided to dress up. After I did that I went and washed my hair. I think I was washing it for really long because I came out of the bathroom an hour later. I decided to go to the main room.

It’s not living room because it’s too small.

My dad was as always on his phone on Facebook when I came out of bathroom and I told him that I am hungry so I made myself two toasts, one with butter and pate, and the second with pepper cream. I ate them and drank some soda. My stomach hurt because I don’t usually drink sodas. Anyways, my dad told me that we could go together without my younger brother because he's asleep, so we did. My dad bought 4 tickets for us. Each one of us had one for return and one for going onward. My dad was telling me to keep the tickets somewhere like my right back pocket so i won't lose it heh. When we were riding we discussed Poland and UK as well. After the gossip about horror and thriller movies we arrived. First we went on an expedition to find the Graphic Novel Shop to buy me a comic book but so we were walking and walking and… we found it.

(Kinda i did it because my dad was totally lost)

I was broke but my dad had some to buy me a gift up to 20 pounds. I was searching around and found some cool comic books like the ones about Scott Pilgrim and based on D&D. Also i saw the 13th volume of a series called Giant Days which chapters are called troubles.

(I don't know why they call them troubles heh)

After searching for a while i noticed the comic section called LGBT and i wanted to check if something interesting was there AND THERE WAS! I really liked She-Ra and the Princesses Of Power and I noticed a book written by it’s creator Noelle Stevenson which is called The Fire Never Goes Out: A Memoir in Pictures.

It’s basically her diary but she adds her doodles and thoughts to it. I highly recommend it to anyone and I think I might do a Twitter thread describing my day but that’s not important now and probably won’t happen. I also saw a little comic book that was about tweets from our lovely Donald J. Trump but ilustrated as satirical pictures.

Basically boomer humor.

I showed it to my dad and he told me kindly that he wasn't interested in buying that for himself or for anyone. After that me and my dad came out of the store and we went to get something to eat for dinner but… my dad wanted to buy a bag and something to put a gift in. We were walking around the stores and he was stopping like every 5 SECONDS to check the next store and see if they sell something to put a gift in. We entered the Pride Shop or something like that and I wanted to buy the mug that was on the exhibition which presented Batman and Superman kissing. Also I was looking at the pride flags and pride pins but I didn’t give any signs about them to my dad because I don’t want him yet to know that I’m trans, or I think I am. When my dad was coming to these shops, I was coming with him to some of them, but if I wasn’t I was just standing outside waiting for for. In one of them there was a Moomins Handbag which I really wanted but my dad told me that he only would buy it if it costed up to 3 pounds but it was worth 8 so I didn’t get it… When I left the Moomins Handbag store I heard and saw two goth kids coming right beside me and I only heard them say that the girl in this conversation had a Moomin faze and collected everything related to Moomins… 

Does that mean that I’ll become a goth kid as well?

We were looking for a place to eat for a couple of minutes and I noticed a place where last year I saw a dude that was playing drums very nicely and it was cool to listen to him. We didn’t stay there for long because we still went to the restaurant to eat something but before we went there a random lady gave FREE COOKIE ICE CREAM to us! While I was walking I held my book without it’s cover because it’s pink and I don’t really wanna go out with pink stuff because I feel like I am showing too much of my secret side with this color. Me and my dad ate these ice creams before we went inside the restaurant but my dad got angry because instead of physical menu to pick up we had to scan the QR code but he was too much NOT FRIENDS WITH TECHNOLOGY that he just came out of the restaurant and I went after him. We were walking and found a pizzeria that we went to last year and ordered two pizzas. Before we got our pizzas we got plates filled with olives, potatoes with onions and cream, eggplant parts and some weird green vegetable.

(Probably a zucchini slices)

Also I got apple juice with 4 ice cubes in it and my dad got one beer like a dad. We were eating our pizzas peacefully and suddenly something amazing happened. A obese young adult lady with red dyed hair FUCKIN’ stole my pizza and tried to run away… and she did, but one of the stuff workers chased her and saw her coming into another pizzeria and… did the same thing, but the whole thing wasn’t only STEALING MY PIECES but also taking someones pizza slice and throwing it at them, scratching one of the stuff ladies arm and when leaving this pizzeria blocking the exit doors and not letting the stuff member that was chasing her leave the restaurant. Instead of being sad because someone took my pizza I started to laugh under my nose quietly so others wouldn’t notice. My dad only saw my smirk and asked me if I feel alright and I said „I think it’s the most entertainment I had in UK so far”. I think I kinda understand why this woman took MY piece of pizza. It was probably because me and my dad sat on the seats next to the exit so it was easier for the crazy lady to take something that was near exit than at the back of the restaurant. One of the stuff members came and told us „I’m sorry but these FUCKING… I mean stupid people will not bother you anymore”. After that she left with the rest of my pizza and gave me a new one FOR FREE! I ate the one piece and we asked the stuff to help us pack the pizza to take it outside so they gave us a pizza box to take with us. My dad before coming out of the store with me asked the Scratched Girl if everything is fine and she said that it’s just a scratch and also asked where were we from, so my dad said „We’re from Poland” and she said „Well… I’m from Russia”. I have no idea what was the rest of their conversation but my dad made a joke that the EASTERN EUROPE was being attacked. If I was good from history I would make a historical joke or a meme now, but I’m not… so not joke for today. Before we left police came to check if everything was ok, but they weren’t stopping us from leaving so we… left. On the way back we were looking at the city of Brighton and right at the train station my dad checked if he had his train ticket and… IT WAS GONE! My dad started to panic but had an idea how to fix this problem. He took his ticket receipt and tried to show it to the woman that was standing next to the ticket receiver. Surprisingly it worked and we waited for our train. When our train came my dad wasn’t sure if it was the right one so he asked me to ask the conductor if we’re in the right one and he said that we were in a right one.

TONGUE TWISTER

When we were heading back to Hastings I decided to start reading Noelle’s book. It was very touching and nice to read. When we arrived to Hastings I was on the 132nd page and I had to close it for a moment and when we came back home I needed to use a toilet and also I used this situation so I could continue reading this amazing book. I finished the entire 194 paged book in a day but everyone probably would do that. After finishing reading it I wanted to tell my friends about my day because I think it was great. After telling some of my friends how was my day I decided to eat my supper and watch with my dad the second episode of Beastars. My dad did like this episode and the whole show. We watched it because we made a small tradition while I am in UK. One day I read one chapter of one of my Warrior Cats books, and the other day we watch a singe episode of Beastars. After all of that I decided to sit and write my day down as a Tumblr Blog post.

Thank you for reading my summery of my day. 08.08 was an amazing day I probably won’t forget because of this post and maybe because I told my friends about this. As I said I'll try to post tomorrow how my other days have been because there’s so much stuff I wanna get off my chest.

[hellishvu]

Doodles and Feelings;

— i really wanted to write about peter but i couldn’t think of anything good… like at all so i decided to check out this website where i got this prompt from the website <- link here, and yes i did write this so long ago but my account of peter parker is messed up somehow and tumblr hates me so im posting it here hopefully it shows up in the TAGS- 

彡 where peter draws doodles of you two together but things end up mixed up when you find them.

“You don’t have to help me study, Y/N I swear I got it.” Peter says getting his keys from his backpocket, you rubbing his hair telling him to open the door anyway.

“With all your superhero stuff, as a friend I want to help you catch up.” You slouched on his couch, seeing the living room clean. Guessing Aunt May cleaned it before leaving so you two could study alone.

“Yeah just go ahead to my room and I’ll bring us snacks alright?” Peter says in the distance already walking to the kitchen, you nodded grabbing his backpack opening his bedroom door. You saw his desk with a bunch of markers and an open notebook.

You looked down seeing a picture (badly) drawn but you could make out what it was. It was him doing the iconic spider man kiss that was written in all newspapers and movies. You snickered but seeing the person giving the kiss was another male, couldn’t tell who it was.

Peter walked in with the snacks in his hand seeing what you were seeing, you snickered to yourself seeing Peter drop almost everything to cover the drawing.

“Come on you could’ve told me you had a crush on someone.” Raising an eyebrow, Peter looked at you utterly confused. Okay maybe he was bad at drawing but he wasn’t that bad was he?

“What do— I mean yes! Crush on a guy, you know… just crushing on a guy named… John.”

“Well Pete the John must be really lucky.” Peter smiles at you but in the inside he was dying, how could he not know it was you in the first place? How could he leave it out in the open also?

“Well no more doodles about lovey boy John it’s time to study.” Setting down the stacks of textbooks and Peter taking his notebook closing it and seeing the title “Peter’s obvious crush on Y/N” written by the famous Ned. Setting it down so only the back of the notebook was shown, protecting his secret love doodles.

Study time went by quite slow, seeing Peter almost passing out on you when you started talking quantum physicals. You felt his head lean on your shoulder, small snores coming from the guy softly sleeping. You never admit it but you love moments like these, when Peter comes back to you after all this superhero spider man stuff to just be vulnerable.

Aunt May came in, knocking before she opened the door. Seeing Peter sleeping on your shoulder you waved trying to help him by still doing his notes for him. Aunt May saw the notebook on the doodle notebook faced down but she knew all too well of the heart stickers that it was the notebook.

“Oh you must’ve found his cute doodles of you and him.”

“Him and I? You mean I and Him? Us?” Turning to Peter the small drool beginning to form, the brown curls he had, and the beautiful pink lips he had. Aunt May covered her mistake by awkwardly laughing backing away till she closed the door.

Peter woke up, rubbing his eyes. The half eaten apple he didn’t finish on the desk and the open bag of chips. Peter saw no trace of you but saw the notes perfectly done by yours truly. He looked through them all seeing you had highlighted every important thing or what would be on the test. He got to the last page seeing a date, time, and place.

Peter walked to the place seeing it wasn’t too far and telling Aunt May that he was going to meet the boy of his dreams that could possibly connect the dots to the drawing… well it wasn’t a good idea. He walked in the place seeing art supplies and two chairs with two canvas.

“Oh you made it!” You jumped out causing Peter to scream, you laughed at him while he whines. Peter wearing his green hoodie looking like he was ready for bed since it was so late. At least he wasn’t in his hello kitty pants.

“What is this? Aren’t they closed?” Peter asks seeing the building lit by candles so people didn’t think it was open and interrupt your time with Peter.

“Well I got some connections and boom we are here!” You smiled grabbing a tube of paint showing off that you bought the supplies. Peter sat down on the stool seeing the blank white canvas.

“Y/N you know I can’t do anything artistic like.” Passing the paintbrushes to him and the cup of water to clean the brushes. You grabbed a glob of paint on your brush plopping some paint on his nose. The vibrant color on his nose, seeing Peter gasp.

“Just draw what first comes to mind.”

“Kissing you, god kissing you comes to mind.” Thoughts of just throwing all this paint and kissing you came racing through Peter’s mind.

You started painting almost immediately, Peter shocked at how you came up with something already. You played soft music to hide the quiet empty art store. The paint somehow mixing and half of the time you’ve spent asking Peter where a certain color was before realizing it was right in front of you.

Peter spent most of his time looking into your eyes, your gorgeous eyes. Doing slow progress on the canvas because he couldn’t shake off you, how he saw how your hands gripped the paintbrush. He wanted to know how it felt to hold your hand.

A new song started playing in your music collection, the soft melody and the lyrics about falling love. The lyrics hit too close to home for Peter. The song about having a crush on someone. The lyrics sharing the same struggles that Peter has, the thoughts about you all day, wanting you to take the hint, and the frustration of not making a move. Peter could literally start to cry, he hummed trying to stop the tears but once one dropped then another did and he was full on sobbing. You stopped painting, getting off your stool holding him close.

“Hey what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you tired?” Peter sobbed a little more into your chest his hoodie still up so you couldn’t touch his hair. God, did he want you to ran your hands through his curls though, you rubbed his back though drawing little circles with your fingers. The silent art store was now filled with soft melodies and Peter crying.

“Do you know how much you mean to me? How much you make my heart flutter? The nervousness when you’re so close to my face that I could just kiss you.” Peter looks up you embracing his face seeing the red puffy eyes.

“I like you so much. Drawing cute doodles in that notebook even if they were terrible, they were how I felt.” Peter’s weak voice from the crying grabbing the notebook from the backpack he brought along with him.

“Well funny you say that.” You rubbed the back of your neck, Peter sniffing when you turned around your canvas. The famous underside down kiss, but you had practiced a whole shit ton at home before this so the painting came out decent. The vibrant colors, the deep red of his suit and he saw you drew you embracing his face pulling him into that kiss.

He could tell who it was and that made him feel like cloud 9. You waited for a response of anything till Peter chuckled the weak voice slowly going away.

“I know I’m not a John but will you go out with me Peter?” Embracing him once again, rubbing his cheek with your thumb. The dry tears leaving marks and the bright smile coming from his face. It was worth the practice and the waiting.

“Of course. A 100% yes.”

[psychnerd47]

Monster College Part 2

Rating: G, warnings none. 

Characters: Jackson Jekyll/ Holt Hyde, Invisi-Billy, Deuce Gorgon,  Frankie Stein, and Operetta

Invisi-Billy pulled out his phone, and started to call Abbey.

“Um, hey Abbey, it’s Billy.”

“Why are you calling so early in the morning?” the abominable snowwoman asked abruptly.

“Heath, has an 8:00 class, but he is still asleep, I was wondering if I should awaken him?”

  “You are not his mother, but if you think it’s a good idea?” Abbey added.

 The disappearing boy walked over to Heath’s bed and gave him a slight shove. But Invisi-Billy soon realized that really didn’t think this through, as all of a sudden Heath jolted awake with a head full of fire, triggering the sprinkler in their bedroom. Billy pushed his now soaked, blue-black hair out of his face, he didn’t have time to change he was now going to have to meet Scarah all soaked. Heath sat up, totally unfazed by the large amount of water in the room.

“Oh, look at the time,” Heath said as he jumped out of bed, “I need to get to class”.

 In the meanwhile Holt ran down the hall towards Jackson and Deuce’s room. “I just need to grab my swimsuit, Holt’s headed to the pool!” the blue skinned monster announced. But since subtlety was not one of Holt’s greater talents, as he crashed the door open he awoke Deuce. Deuce who was actually a morning monster, immediately knew what to do after he saw Holt’s presence.   “Hold it there dude,” Deuce called out, “Jackson, has to get to class.” The gorgon boy grabbed Jackson’s headphones and put them on the head of the blue-skinned monster. Instantly turning him back into, nerdy human boy Jackson.

Jackson started to freak out, “Why am I only in a towel? Where are my clothes? I need to get to class.”

 “It’s ok dude, Holt showed up, probably while you were showering.” Deuce said calmly, “I’ll go get your stuff for you and then you can go to class, might save you some embarrassment,” Deuce said in a supportive voice.

“Thanks,” said Jackson sheepishly.

    Invisi-Billy made finally made it to the dying-hall, to meet Scarah. The Banshee girl was sitting at a table waiting for her disappearing boyfriend. “Are you alright?” she asked when she saw how soaked Billy was.

 “Heath had an accident this morning, and he set off the fire sprinkler,” Billy explained.

 “You poor dear,” Scarah said. Since Scarah was telepathic Billy always had to tell the truth, even if it was embarrassing.

       After Jackson got his backpack and clothes back, he started to run to get to class. He didn’t have time to grab breakfast so he just grabbed a Zombie Energy drink, since he didn’t want to fall asleep in class. When Jackson made it to Coding 101 he spotted Ghoulia Yelps. She was a zombie, who also had a prefect GPA in high school and was even valedictorian for their class, so it was not surprising to see that she also bypassed Introduction to Coding. Jackson grabbed a seat next to her.

The coding teacher was a middle age cyborg who looked like he had been working with computers since they first came out. The class was going well until Mr. Cybernik decided to share his favorite music video about coding with the class. Jackson spent that time hiding under his desk with his hands over his ears. The coding class ended with Mr. Cybernik assigning a whole caskets worth of homework.

 Billy went to find his Monster Anatomy and Physiology class, he had written that it was in room 235 of the Stoker Building of Natural History and Science. The disappearing boy spotted room 235. When he walked in he spied some fellow students he recognized from high school: Jinafire Long, Skelita Calaveras, Rochelle Goyle, and Deuce’s mummy girlfriend Cleo de Nile. Invisi-Billy was so glad he would be in a class with people he knew. He found a seat next to Jinafire. “I didn’t realize you were all taking this class,” the invisible boy started, “but I’m greatful.”

The Chinese dragon girl just smiled awkwardly. A pompous looking gargoyle walked into the class room. She was large and wore an expensive looking pink dress. Billy was confused, she didn’t look like the teacher on the My Campus page for his class. He had been expecting a skinny, mad scientist with a long beard.

The gargoyle teacher had a list she was starting to call off for attendance, when she got to Billy she asked him who he was in a voice that sounded like she did not have time for any nonsense. “Um, Invisi-Billy Mann,” the disappearing boy answered.

 “You are not on my list, you are taking Introduction to Monstropolgy aren’t you?” the instructor asked.

 “No,” Billy answered, “I’m supposed to be taking Monster Anatomy and Physiology.”

The gargoyle instructor rolled her eyes, “You supposed to be in room 235 ‘B’, this is room 235 ‘A’”.

Billy blushed, and then started to turn invisible from the embarrassment. The rest of the class watched as what appeared to be a hoodie, jeans, beanie and back pack walked out of the classroom.

Invisi-Billy quietly sneaked into the correct classroom. Luckily for him the professor Dr. Choppenguts had not begun to call attendance yet. The dark-blue haired boy spied Lagoona Blue and Gil Webber, and grabbed a chair next to the beautiful Australian sea monster girl. “Crikey, Billy. You were almost late for class, that is not like you at all,” Lagoona said.

Insvisi-Billy blushed again, “ I accidently went to the wrong class room,”

Gil laughed, “It’s ok, Billy that could happen to anyone. Yesterday I showed up to the wrong dormroom and I thought I was going to have to be roommates with Kieron Valentine instead of Clawd,” the river monster laughed.

Billy smiled, “I would never want to be roommates with Valentine, with his extra Southern Accent, and he’s so uptight you would think his underwear is three sizes too small.”

“That’s really funny,” Gil whisper laughed, “but you know who won’t be laughing? Johnny Spirit. Operetta says that he and Valentine were assigned to be roommates.”

 Johnny Spirit was a Rockabilly Greaser ghost, who played the fiddle and was Operetta’s boyfriend. Operetta was the sassy, high octane Rockabilly daughter of the Phantom of the Opera’s daughter.

Billy laughed again, but then turned to face Doctor Choppenguts who started his lecture about how even though how all monsters are very different, their bodies all function very similarly. Billy started to mentally drift off, he doodled in his notebook, maybe he shouldn’t have followed Mr. Rotter’s advice about being a doctor and followed his dream of being a stage tech.

Frankie Stien, the beautiful and sweet daughter of Frankenstein’s monster and his bride, invited Jackson to an early lunch with her at the campus Ick-Fil-A. Jackson still felt a little awkward with his relationship with Frankie because she had previously broken up with him, when his going back and forth between Jekyll and Hyde had gotten out of control, but he still harbored a crush on her, even if she just saw him as her best friend. “I actually kinda miss having my mom around,” Jackson admitted to Frankie, “she kept me company and helped me to remember the silliest little things I always forget such as clean underwear,” Jackson sighed.

Frankie put her hand on his shoulder, “It will be ok, at least you get to be roommates with two of your best friends. I’m sorry you are feeling discouraged by the ‘Holt’ episode this morning, but don’t give up yet.” The stitched together girl encouraged.  Jackson didn’t say anything a quietly sipped his soda, but the quietness was not going to last.

A lilac-colored skinned girl, with a bright red Victory Roll hair style waltzed over to the two of them, it was Operetta Phantom. “Hey, y’all,” she called out with her smooth, charming Southern accent, “Johnny and I are hosting a big ‘ol  rockin’ shindig tonight, we got permission to use the student union hall, which is just a floor above this here dying hall. So be there or be square,” she laughed.

“That sounds amazing,” Frankie said in awe, “what is going to happen at the party?”

 “Well,” the Rockabilly phantom answered,“ Johnny and I are going to play rockin’ live music for us all to dance too. I’ve even gotten Deuce to help me cook up some of my family’s dang famous gumbo recipe,” she turned to Jackson who looked super uncomfortable about going to a party with hot music, “you are going to come right?”

Jackson grew even more awkward, he jumped to his feet clumsily, “I just remembered,” he started awkwardly, “I really have to go to the bathroom.” suddenly the human boy shot out of the room.

*                       *                                   *

 Jackson sat on the floor of a bathroom stall crying and hoping no one would notice him. Why did people have to keep inviting him to parties, didn’t they understand that he couldn’t come.

From his hiding place Jackson heard someone else walk in, “Hey Jackson dude,”

Jackson recognized the voice to belong to Deuce, “are you alright? Frankie sent me to check on you. She’s concerned.” The Gorgon boy explained, “you need to come out. I know you have been having some setbacks with Holt. But you can’t keep avoiding everything,” Deuce continued, “you really need to get out more often. Frankie and I will look after you, even if you turn to Holt, we won’t let you get out of control,” the snake-haired boy assured his friend.

“Ok,” Jackson answered quietly as he started to leave the bathroom, he hoped that Deuce wouldn’t notice he had been crying.

 Meanwhile, Invisi-Billy sat alone in the dying hall with a very pathetic piece of cafeteria pizza, as he sat in his misery, a certain red-haired Rockabilly phantom waltzed up to him. “Why so glum sugar-plum? I bet ya haven’t heard about my party?”

Tags @queenofworry

[the-travelling-witch]

hiii! congratulations on 500 followers!!

could i pls request a romantic matchup w the tr boys? hehe

my pronouns are she/her and my mbti is infp

as for personality i’m quite bubbly and cheery! but i only show it to my close friends 😅 i’m kinda cold w people i’m not close with. i get told i look/act older than i am, probably bc i’m very motherly as i’m the eldest sister and eldest cousin 😭

my hobbies consists of drawing stuff such as portraits, sceneries or just random doodles. i like drawing my friends a lot. and i also really like reading hehe my current fixations is romance mangas tho. and i like listening to music a lot, my favorite genres are rock, city pop, r&b and just everything honestly.

my likes are: sour candies, strawberries (i even dyed my hair red bc of it), cats, and fashion.

speaking of fashion, i tend to dress myself very grunge-like but depending on my mood i’ll also dress preppy or lazy haha

my dislikes are: overly sweet food, open mouth eaters, bossy people, and weird textured food

yeah that’s all teehee

CONGRATULATIONS ON 500 FOLLOWERS AGAIN <3 MUAH XOXO

thank you!! you´re so sweet ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

this is one of my favourite characters, so i hope you enjoy being matched with...

CHIFUYU MATSUNO Tokyo Manji Gang First Division Vice-Captain

You had been browsing the bookstore for what felt like an eternity, trying to find the final volume of the manga you were reading. The last one ended on a cliff-hanger and waiting for the next instalment had basically been torture.

After searching through a couple more shelves, you at long last spotted a familiar cover. And it looked like you were lucky too because there was only one copy left. Ready to head home and get right into the story, you grabbed the volume. You didn´t make it very far, however, as a rather broad guy blocked your way.

“Give me that book. My girlfriend has been whining all week about it being nearly sold out and I can´t hear it anymore. Now hand it over.” His voice was rough, like someone was rubbing a cheese grater over pavement.

“Excuse me? Why would I do that? I got to it first, end of the story. Better luck next time though.”

“Didn´t you hear me, you little brat? I´ll be taking that.” With that, he grabbed the manga and pulled it out of your hands. Your protests seemed to fall on deaf ears as he just turned around to leave.

“Hey, what do you think you´re doing, asshole?”  The appearance of a new voice froze him in place. You tried to get a better look at who had been talking just now but you couldn´t see anything really. “You can´t just go around taking stuff that isn´t yours. Now give the book back.”

“Y-Yes, of course Chifuyu. Please, I don´t want any trouble.” Turning back around, he handed the manga back to you with an apology before hurrying off.

“Thanks a lot for your help but what exactly just happened here?” You mustered the guy in front of you. He wasn´t much older than you and he didn´t seem like the type of person people would usually run from. Rather the opposite, actually. “What did you do to him?”

‘Chifuyu’ sheepishly rubbed his neck and averted his turquoise eyes. “Nothing really and that was so long ago, too…Anyway, that manga, do you like it?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, it´s one of my current favourites,” you said, not quite letting him of the hook yet. “Did you read it, too?”

“Yeah! You should definitely check out this other series by Ai Yazawa, it´s really good as well, maybe even better!” It was as if a fire had been lit inside him, his eyes visibly sparkling. “I could lend it to you if you want. What would you say about meeting up and exchanging recommendations?”

First of all, I´d love to see you guys together, you´d look so cute I just know it

Like your grunge-like fashion next to Chifuyu´s superficial innocence insert black and pink house meme

But then, personality-wise, it´s the opposite; your bubbly and cheery behaviour and him being a gang member ready to throw hands listen, I´d kill for you guys

Anyway, back to the topic at hand—

You definitely have dates where you just read shoujo/ romance manga, recommending new ones or discussing series you both read

Chifuyu is absolutely ecstatic that you love cats, this means you can hang out with Peke J!

Although, he tends to get a little pouty if you pay more attention to the little fellow or if Peke J prefers your lap as his napping spot now

Not gonna lie, Chifuyu tends to be very enthusiastic about making a plan but oftentimes doesn´t think it through all the way, so having someone reliable and level-headed around has saved his ass more often than he´d like to admit

But that doesn´t mean you have to play mom in your relationship; there´s hardly anyone who is more loyal than him and he can get serious too if the situation calls for it

If you draw him, he´s so flustered but tries to act all cool and smooth (he´s not fooling anyone)

Takes you to scenic places on his bike, so you can sketch the scenery

Also lets you doodle on his hand and arm if you´re bored but will return the favour while you´re at it, teach him some design skills, those shirts were a fashion war crime

Your relationship is very easy-going and has that childlike wonder to it and I mean that in the best way possible; best friends to lovers vibes

There´s no pressure to do certain things, to act a certain way or to work towards a certain goal; it´s okay to just sit back and relax from time to time, living in the moment and appreciating the now instead of constantly worrying about what´s next

Runner-up: Mikey

It´s no secret that Mikey isn´t living as carefree as he pretends to be, so having someone where he doesn´t have to hold up appearances is a huge deal for him. In return, he helps you set boundaries for yourself, he´d hate to see people take advantage of your caring personality. Mikey also teaches you how to fight. He´d rather just always be there to protect you but he knows that´s literally impossible, that´s why he makes sure you can stand your ground on your own.

[kafeuka]

[1/1] of random doodles, sweet treats and bubble gum hair

▬ title: of random doodles, sweet treats and bubble gum hair ▬ wordcount: 5585w ▬ pairing: jeon jungkook/park jimin ▬ summary: Jimin works at a cafe as a barista and Jungkook's the son of Jimin's boss. Together, they're just two boys in love.

☆ note: this was requested by yunieusagi and it is A SHITLOAD different than the real request, i have to apologize for that. i know it's a lot different than what you had it mind, but i just can't seem to write it??? idk what the fuck's wrong with me and i am really really really sorry for that. i can't believe this took me a lot of time and the end product is... quite... unsatisfactory... but however, enjoy! thank you for requesting and once again, i am so sorry for how it turned out. (๑>ɷ<๑) read on AO3 here. request here.

▬▬▬▬▬▬

Jungkook had a strong urge to yell at his father to piss off and stop intruding with his life (just like any other kid on their rebellious phase) but he really did not want to irritate the man who provide him with food and daily pocket money. Especially not when Jungkook was dying to get himself the latest video game so he could lock himself in his room and boast to his friends how he managed to finish the entire game in one seating.  

He entered the café through the backdoor, greeting Somin who was on a break and nodded his head to Yien.

The smell of coffee wafted in the air, making him scrunched his nose delightfully as he took the nearest seat at the counter. While initially he hated the idea of him staying until closing time, he figured he might as well do something productive while he was at it.

In Jungkook’s dictionary, however, productive meant filling his sketchbooks (and textbooks) with doodles and sketches of random things and people.

His father was away for a business meeting and he was given the job to lock the café. He could have lied and given the keys to one of the workers but his dearest father had specifically assigned him to the task. Mingyu once suggested that his father was probably having high hopes that Jungkook would have taken the family business and Jungkook thought it was a crazy idea, but it seemed to make more sense now although Jungkook made it crystal clear that he wanted nothing to do with the café.

Breathing in the scent of coffee, he flipped open his sketchbook and took out a mechanical pencil from the pocket of his hoodie. His mind was as blank as the page of his book, and when the lead touched the paper, he began scrawling and doodling whatever he could. Sometimes he would draw people, at times he would draw animals. Half of his sketchbook was filled with drawings of people; they did not serve him as an inspiration, but rather something for him to work on.

He was not searching for perfection, but just a proof that he could bring an image of them to life.

Jungkook was drawing Minghao from memory – which he totally sucked at (and now Minghao looked like he got ran over by a lorry) – when he felt a presence in front of him. He looked up to find Jimin was smiling at him, small hands gently pushing the ceramic cup towards Jungkook.

Jimin was one of the new workers his father hired recently, the only one in the café he was unfamiliar with and he absolutely had no intention to, as Jimin had bright pink hair that grab everyone’s attention. He swore even trees would turn to look at him if he passed by one.

“Hey. Jungkook, right?” he asked, beaming as if he ate light bulbs for breakfast.

Too bright for Jungkook’s liking.

“Yeah,” he answered, drawing lines on Minghao’s hair.

“Somin told me to make this for you. She said it’s your favourite.”

Jungkook casted a glance at the ceramic cup which was filled with whipped cream drizzled with melted Nutella and topped with tiny marshmallows along with chocolate pocky sticks. Hot chocolate, just for Jungkook, just the way Jeon Jungkook likes it.

“You made it…?” he questioned, sounding sceptical.

The regular hot chocolates were different than Jeon Jungkook’s Hot Chocolate. Unlike the Regular Hot Chocolates for Basic People, Jungkook’s had extra whip cream, extra melted Nutella, extra tiny marshmallows and extra chocolate pocky sticks because he was that extra.

(And also because he was the boss’ son, and he liked all the workers who tried to kiss his ass and pamper him around.)

The bubble gum-haired man nodded, smiling once again.

“Don’t worry, it’s as good as Somin’s. She’s the one who taught me after all.”

“Okay…”

“Alright then, I’ll leave you to your work. You’re taking the university entrance exam this year, yeah? Good luck!” Jimin grinned once again, this time pumping his fist in the air before ruffling Jungkook’s hair and proceeded to work.

Jungkook muttered in annoyance under his breath, fixing his tousled hair.

Jimin was lying when he said it was as good as Somin’s because somehow, it tasted better. Not as sweet as Somin made and Somin’s always extra sweet when she made things.

It only dawned to him that the café was closing down when he heard Yien shouting a ‘bye!’ from the kitchen, exiting through the backdoor. Jungkook groaned, sitting up straight to crack the kink on his neck. He was slouching the whole time he was sketching and he was not proud of the final product. Not at all.

“I’m going home, Kook. Jimin’s still here so don’t lock him in, okay?” Somin sing-songed, patting Jungkook’s shoulder as she passed by. “Bye!” she chirped, waving a hand while the other pushed open the glass door.

“Bye.”

Just as he was about to pack his stuff, he turned to find Jimin was working on something behind the counter by the blender. He let out a sigh, wishing for the young barista to hurry up. From how concentrated Jimin was, Jungkook figured it would take him some time before he could close up the café.

The café was empty except for the two of them. All the tables were cleaned and chairs slotted perfectly on top of them. He was suddenly itching to sketch the empty place. The lights outside were still on, and the book shop across of them still had a few customers inside as they closed an hour later than them.

Jungkook sighed as he scratched his head, not knowing the right words to say to Jimin. He racked his brains to find polite version of ‘hurry the fuck up’ but instead, the only thing he could say was “Uhh…” making him sound like an idiot.

Finally, after struggling internally, he murmured, “Excuse me… but we’re closed now, just so you know.”

“Sorry,” Jimin giggled. He had his back turned to Jungkook, making it difficult for the boss’ son to see what he was up to. “I’m trying this new recipe and thought it’ll be great.”

‘What does that have to do with me?’

“And since Mr. Jeon isn’t here, I think you should try it.”

“Maybe some other—”

“And it’s done!”

Jimin turned to him with a huge grin, wiggling his eyebrows as he presented Jungkook a pink cupcake on a plate, frosted with swirly cream cheese and topped with rainbow sprinkles. Jungkook did not have the heart to tell Jimin that he did not trust any food that had the colour pink in it, specifically because it looked as if it was puked by unicorns and it was just plain weird.

“What do you think? Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Uh…”

“Cmon, give it a bite! You’ll like it.”

By then, Jimin had taken a seat in front of him, hands on his chin. Jungkook’s plan was to get the hell away from there as fast as his legs could. However, Jimin’s sparkling eyes caged him to stay seated and reluctantly, he reached out for the plate. Jimin batted his eyelashes excitedly, his big smile stretching to his pierced ears.

Jungkook gave him a fake smile, silently praying that he would still live after taking a bite. The cupcake looked wonderful, too wonderful to be true and sometimes, certain things that looked wonderful tend to have bad effects. Like that one game he downloaded last week for example. The previews looked neat, but turned out it was a ripped off of Candy Crush.

After a few moments of hesitating and cursing his father inside his head, he took a small bite and —

“How was it?”

— he took another bite again and again and again.

“Holy shit.” His eyes were wide open, gawking at the half-eaten cupcake.

“What what what?” Jimin bugged, eyes as wide as Jungkook’s as his feet tapped repeatedly on the floor. “Is it bad? Oh god, I knew I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no. This…” Jungkook swallowed. Oh god. “This is good. Jimin, this is the best thing I’ve had today. No, all week!”

A faint pinkness dusted his cheeks, tips of his ears burning red as he grinned again. “You’re flattering me.”

One bite later, Jungkook was only left with the paper cup and pink crumbs. He let out a sigh of content. “That was good.”

“You have something…” Jimin murmured, reaching forward to grab hold of his chin.

Startled, Jungkook stayed frozen in his seat, unable to move with Jimin’s eyes staring intensely at him. Jimin wiped the corner of his lip gently before backing away to his seat and licked the cheese cream clean from his finger.

Jungkook tried to suffocate a flush that was trying to creep on his cheekbones and snorted. “Could’ve just told me, could you.”

Jimin smiled again, this time it reached his eyes, making them curve like half-moons. “Wouldn’t wanna waste it.”

“Freak,” Jungkook muttered under his breath, looking away and pretended to be busy packing his stuff. “I gotta close down the café. Hurry up, will you? I have school tomorrow.”

  ♡

  “Are you saying that, that guy over there,” Khunpimook said, jerking his head towards Jimin’s direction, “Super cute uni guy, flirts with you?”

“Shh, not so loud!” Jungkook gritted his teeth, hitting Khunpimook on his arm.

Khunpimook winced in pain, rubbing on the sore spot whereas Mingyu only let out a chuckle at his friends’ antics. Seokmin came to their table after getting his orders and sighed dreamily, “Jimin is so cute.”

“What,” Jungkook deadpanned.

Mingyu snorted.

Khunpimook sardonically grinned. “Oi, bros don’t steal bros’ hoes.”

“He’s not my hoe. He’s not a hoe!”

“Nobody said anything about him being your hoe, you hoe,” Khunpimook shot back.

“Ooooh,” Seokmin wiggled his eyebrows, giving Jungkook the creepiest smile he had ever witnessed in his eighteen years of living. “Somebody has a crush~”

“That all make sense now! No wonder you’re eager to come here today!” Mingyu clapped his hands together. The others on the table gasped dramatically before smiling creepily at Jungkook.

A humiliated blush climbed up his neck and face, and as he opened his mouth to defend himself, Jimin came towards their table to serve Seokmin his latte.

“Latte for Handsome Guy?”

“That’s me,” Seokmin beamed proudly. “Thanks, Jimin.”

“More like handsome horse,” Mingyu snickered, earning a high five from Khunpimook.

Jungkook gagged internally at how cheesy Seokmin was being. And he gagged even more when Jimin smiled at him, as if he was enjoying all the attention Seokmin was giving him. Mingyu nudged on Jungkook lightly, just as he usually did whenever Jungkook had a crush on someone but it was unnecessary this time because Jungkook totally did not have a crush on Jimin.

No way.

He did not realise he was staring at Jimin until Jimin looked up to him and smiled. The same smile he had given to Seokmin. “Hi, Kookie.”

Khunpimook whipped his head to Jungkook in a speed of lighting, nose flaring and mouth wide open at the nickname Jimin was calling him. Jungkook had to pretend he did not see the ridiculous face Khunpimook was making, afraid that his dumb reaction would have implanted funny ideas inside Jimin’s head. Mingyu, on the other hand, snorted while Seokmin took a sip from his straw as he wiggled his eyebrows.

Jungkook faked a cough to hide his momentary loss of rationality, not looking at Jimin when he replied, “Hey.”

Jimin smiled again before walking back to the counter and as soon as he went away, the boys started to nudge Jungkook and teased him for his red face like the great friends they were.

“Somebody’s in love!” Khunpimook whispered, although Jungkook was certain the elephants in India could have heard him because Khunpimook was not given the ability to lower the volume of his annoying voice.

“Sorry, bro. I will give him up for you,” Seokmin said earnestly with a hand on his chest.

Mingyu chuckled rather loudly. In fact, it was so loud that the couple two seats away from them turned with concerned expressions on their faces.

“Give— give up? What are you talking about?” Jungkook exclaimed, flustered.

“Shut up, Kookie,” Mingyu interjected, imitating Jimin horribly by raising his voice an octave higher and prod his arm with his finger. “We all know what Seokmin’s talking about.”

“Yeah, now I just have to inform the others in the group…” Khunpimook muttered, fingers vigorously typing on the keypad of his phone.

“Oi, OI! DON’T YOU DARE—”

  ♡

  “You seem to be enjoying drawing a lot.”

“Hm?” Jungkook flushed, instantly covering the book with his arms. It was completely useless though, as Jimin had seen his horrid drawings of muscle bunny.

He was sitting in front of Jungkook with his chin resting on one hand, head tilted slightly as he smiled. “Are you applying for art when you’re entering Uni? You’re good at it. Although… I couldn’t really tell what sort of creature that was.”

“It’s Cooky,” he muttered, face scarlet with embarrassment.

The only people who had seen his drawings were his circle of friends and like the jerks they were, they made fun of it. Not that Jungkook really minded, it was not as if he was doing it seriously.

“Cooky…?”

He caught onto his confusion quickly and added, “He has a face of a rabbit and human body.”

Jungkook begged his mouth to stop betraying him. If his friends would not understand what Cooky was, how would Jimin? It was only the third time they ever talked, and they were not on that level of friendship yet (honestly, Jungkook did not want to be friends with Jimin) ((He wanted to be more, but Jungkook did not know that yet)), so why did he felt a little bit excited to talk about his child to Jimin?

Jungkook looked down on his art before closing the book.

A hint of smile glinted at Jimin’s lips, almost as if he found Jungkook to be endearing.

“And no, I’m not going to take art. Father would want me to take business. He knew I hated science.”

“Hm.” Jimin exhaled loudly through his nose, changing his other hand for him to rest his chin on. “Why would you want to take business? No offence to Mr. Jeon, but he’s not the one who’s going to study at the university, isn’t he?”

Jungkook twisted his lips to the sides a bit and slouched. “Father was right… art’s not going to bring me anywhere. Not here, anyway.”

Jimin smiled fondly and Jungkook hated the way he wore the smile on his face. It made his insides turn and his heart beat accelerating painfully as if he was running a marathon. He did not like how hard his heart pounded, how his mind blanked out when Jimin did that.

“You’re wrong. Your father’s wrong too.”

Jungkook was taken aback by his blunt statement, but made nothing to interrupt him.

“You love drawing and I can see that you’re good at it. If you really enjoy it, I think you should go for it. Perhaps you could take it as your minor subject,” Jimin suggested. “Besides, you can earn money by drawing too, you know. My friend’s a webcomic artist, I could ask her for help if you’d like.”

“Really?” He could not contain the excitement in his voice, only for the small light of hope he was holding to disappear completely in the darkness when it dawned to him that he had no time to be horsing around. “That’s nice of you, but I have exams to think about.”

“Yeah, and yet here you are, drawing half-man half-bunny and me.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise as he took a sharp intake of breath. After screaming internally, he asked with a shock, “W-what? L-look, no, it’s not—”

Jungkook’s face was as red as the apron he was wearing, trying his hardest to explain but he could only sputter indignantly which gave Jimin a spark of satisfaction as he smirked.

Seeing Jimin sardonically grin made him took a deep breath and berated himself to stop vomiting whatever words he could find inside his brain. Two deep breaths later, he managed to calm himself though his cheeks were still tainted red.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, okay. I drew everyone,” Jungkook explained, ears burned hot. His eyes skipped around the room; everywhere but not Jimin’s eyes. “I tend to draw anyone on my line of sight when I’m bored.”

“Does that mean I should get out of your line of sight then?”

Jungkook sighed exasperatedly, his cheeks turned a darker shade of red.

“I’m just kidding, Kookie. You’re so easily flustered,” Jimin giggled, getting up from his chair. “I was flattered for nothing then…” his voice drowned into a whisper, but Jungkook managed to hear it loud and clear.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he chirped. “Let’s go then. It’s almost eleven.”

  ♡

  The one-week Jungkook’s father had been gone, Jungkook learnt a lot of things.

Things like the courses Jimin took in Uni. (He was a math major while his minor was chemistry. Screams hell to Jungkook, to be honest.)

Things like how Jimin preferred strawberry over chocolate. (Jungkook found himself craving for the strawberry cupcake one night he was sketching comic panels about Cooky and Jimin happened to be making a batch on the next day.)

Things like how Jimin’s eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled. (It was the most beautiful thing Jungkook had ever seen.)

He did not mind closing up late if it meant he could spend a little bit more time with Jimin. Being five minutes alone with Jimin would already sufficed. His sketchbooks were filled with pink colours, all which belonged to Jimin’s hair. He was extra careful when drawing Jimin now, often turning onto the next page to pretend he was sketching Cooky whenever Jimin was nearby. Jimin always gave him The Smile as if he knew what Jungkook was hiding.

A part of him hated how easily Jimin made him open himself up. Jungkook was shy to begin with, although he appeared to be stoic during first meetings, but he found himself telling his ideas to Jimin and Jimin was always supporting and assuring Jungkook his ideas mattered. His heart always felt full when Jimin praised him.

Instead of laughing to his face about how ridiculous his ideas of Cooky was, Jimin only smiled endearingly and asked if he could see more sketches of Cooky.

And when Jungkook lied on his bed in the middle of the night, eyes wide awake as he stared at the ceiling and head filled with images of Jimin smiling like the pink-haired angel he was, this was the exact moment when Jungkook realised.

‘Shit, I’m in love.’

  ♡

   “You’re in WHAT?”

“Quiet!” Jungkook hissed, slapping the back of Yugyeom’s neck.

“Son of a bitch, it hurts!” Yugyeom whined, rubbing the wounded area before punching Jungkook on his arm.

“That’s what you get for being loud!”

Yugyeom rolled his eyes in annoyance and winced. “Motherfucker,” he muttered under his breath. He glanced at Jungkook before grinning and nudging his best friend playfully. “So, it was true, huh? What Khunpimook said in the group?”

“That was not true. Jimin was certainly not my—”

“You and Seokmin should fight to the death for Jimin’s honour.”

“Kim Yugyeom,” Jungkook sighed, stopping to place a hand on Yugyeom’s shoulder dramatically. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Yugyeom shrugged his hand off his shoulder. “What do you plan to do then? Just watch him creepily from afar like the King of Creep Land you are?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook whispered in defeat. “What do people do with their feelings? Puke their feelings out and flush them down the toilets?”

“If it was that easy, Mingyu would have been over Jeonghan now,” Yugyeom murmured.

“Unhelpful, Kim Yugyeom.”

“As if you have better ideas.”

“I think… I think I actually do.”

   Jungkook had never spent so much time and effort doing something before in his whole life. The pocket money he received from his father was spent on high quality pens now rather than the video game he was dreading to play.

Each stroke was perfectly thought of, and he was careful when choosing the colours.

It might seem stupid but he thought it will be worth it.

It had to be.

   ♡

  Jimin’s shift started a little later after six as his class ended around five. He greeted their regulars with the same smile and enthusiasm, and occasionally he glanced to the seat near to the counter to find it was empty. It had been days since Mr. Jeon arrived from his trip which meant it was unnecessary for Jungkook to be there as he was not in charge with closing down the café anymore.

Still, Jimin hoped Jungkook would stop by to say hi. Sometimes he would come by during lunch with his funny group of friends, but Jimin would be in Uni then. He gathered this information from Somin, who was more than glad to share anything Jungkook related to Jimin. He could not stand the teasing, but Somin might be right on this: he did like Jungkook.

(“He’s a kid, Somin,” Jimin protested with a pout.

“He’s eighteen, Jimin,” Somin countered back with an eyeroll. “Besides, he’ll be your junior in Uni next year.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Yeah? Then give my boy some love. I think he likes you too.”

“Somin!”)

Jimin turned red at the memory of Somin insisting that Jungkook liked him too. At the start, Jimin just wanted to be on the boss’ son good side but their little talks got a little bit more interesting as time passed by and Jungkook always made him smile more than he was supposed to. He loved Jungkook’s creativity, how he wanted to make another world of half-men and half-bunnies and he absolutely, terribly, deeply in love with how concentrated and serious Jungkook was when it comes to drawing.

Jimin was brought back to reality when he heard a familiar yet small “hi”. He turned to find Jungkook was in front of him, hands fiddling with what seemed like a new sketchbook. He would be lying if he said his world did not brighten up even the slightest.

(Because it did. Jungkook always made his day better.)

“Hey,” he said, a little too excited. He cleared his throat in an attempt to tone down his excitement and repeated, lowering his voice down a little, “Hey.”

“Uh, well, I-I’ll have the usual,” he stammered.

“Alright,” Jimin chirped. “Long time no see, Kookie.”

“I know, haha, I’ve been so busy.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Can’t drop by to say hi?”

For some unexplainable reason, Jungkook choked on air and struggled to let the words out of his mouth. Jimin chuckled, shaking his head at how flustered Jungkook became. “You know I was joking, right. You’re busy, I get it. I’ll get you your drink in a sec.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook murmured.

Just as he grabbed the ceramic cup, Somin came to poke Jimin on his side and squealed. “So, what did he say? Did he say he love your eyes or your beautiful smile? I always knew Jungkook was a romantic! That boy may look like a stone, but he’s cheesier than cheese. If that makes any sense.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, huffing. “No. He just came by to draw again, I think.”

“Draw you, you meant?”

“It was only one time, Somin. He only drew me once, I’m pretty sure he draws you too.”

“He does, actually. He draws everyone. I think that’s just creepy,” Somin shrugged.

“Nah, it’s cute.”

“Love makes us blind,” Somin sighed dramatically.

“I’m not—”

Somin cut his sentence of with feign enthusiastic “Talk to you later!” as she skipped to the register to take a customer’s order.

When Jimin brought Jungkook’s hot chocolate to him, the boy appeared restless. His foot was tapping vehemently while he was staring intensely on the cover of the notebook. He almost jumped in surprise when Jimin placed his drink on his table, making Jimin almost felt sorry for startling him like that.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks, uh, Jimin?”

“Yeah?”

Jungkook glanced at the wall clock and murmured, “I… I wanna talk to you.”

Jimin was bewildered at Jungkook’s sudden change of behaviour. It was always Jimin who approached Jungkook first, who struggled to make a conversation because Jungkook always replied with a word or two. He was elated that it was Jungkook who wanted to interact this time.

“Sure,” Jimin conceded, glimpsing on his wrist watch. Ten minutes until closing time. “Ten minutes, alright? I gotta work.”

“Okay.”

    It was the longest ten minutes of Park Jimin’s life.

He was excited and scared at the same time of what to come. From his observation (aka stealing glimpses of Jungkook through the break room’s window), Jungkook was only drinking his hot chocolate rather than drawing. He seemed to be staring at the clock a lot too.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jimin muttered to himself, excitement surging through his veins when it was only one more minute until ten.

What was Jungkook going to say? He could not come up with a reason to assure himself that it was nothing serious but from Jungkook’s nervous expression, Jimin’s head can only conjure the worst-case scenarios possible.

What if Jungkook chose to drop out of college because of Jimin’s talk? He knew he should have kept his mouth shut. Now, he was going to get fired for causing the drop out of Mr. Jeon’s son and he would have to find another part time job.

Or what if it was even more serious than dropping out? Maybe Jungkook wanted to run away to become a cartoonist and wanted Jimin’s help to find somewhere to live.

Or what if Jungkook had a terminal illness —

His freaking out session was interrupted when his watch gave a little noise, signalling it was already ten. He glimpsed through the window to see Jungkook was still there.

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself. “I’m going to ruin his and my life.”

“What the fuck are you muttering to yourself about?” Chanyeol interjected.

“Nothing,” Jimin answered, a little too quick that it raised suspicion and Chanyeol’s eyebrow. Chanyeol focused his gaze to where Jimin was staring and his lips quirked into a smile.

“Ooh, I see now. Go get it, lover boy.”

“Shut the fuck up, no one’s getting anything tonight.”

“Well, I do. I’m gonna get fucking la—”

“I don’t wanna know.”

   Anxious? Totally.

Scared? To the very.

While Jimin preferred for them to be talking alone, he felt relief that there were still customers around.

With shaky fingers, he pulled the chair and sat in front of Jungkook. “Hey.”

“H-hey.”

Jimin cleared his throat, shifting in his chair and hoped his nervousness was not evident when he said, “So… what do you wanna talk about?”

Jungkook sniffed, staring at his fingernails when he spoke.

“As you know, I’m terribly bad at expressing myself with words.”

Oh my god.

“So, I hope this would be enough,” Jungkook murmured, sliding the sketchbook to Jimin.

Jimin scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, slowly looking up to Jungkook only for to Jungkook look away when their eyes met. The cover of the sketchbook was dark blue, different from the usual black one Jungkook brought.

He was hesitant at first and when he turned to the first page, the worries dissipated into thin air.

Jimin’s eyes grew bigger, fingertips grazing lightly against the paper. On top of the page was written ‘First Night’ with a date written in smaller size underneath it. Jimin did not know what it was at first until his eyes travelled south to see four comic panels drawn by Jungkook.

The first panel was a drawing of the first hot chocolate Jimin made him. The text box next to it read:

Jimin snickered, not daring to look up to Jungkook. The next panel was a drawing of the strawberry cupcake Jimin made for him with a lot of tiny little red hearts surrounding it. Jimin could not help but cracked a smile at the adorable drawing.

He moved to the next panel which had a drawing of both of them sitting on the table. Jimin took his time admiring it, he knew Jungkook spent a lot of time trying to perfect it. He captured the colour of Jimin’s hair perfectly, although he exaggerated a little by drawing sparkles and flowers next to Jimin’s face.

Jimin could feel his cheeks heating up when he read it. He was not sure how he could look up to Jungkook now. In his defence, Jimin did not flirt, never did anyways, not to Jungkook. “That incident” Jungkook was referring to had to be that time Jimin wiped the frosting off Jungkook’s lip – he swore it was accidental, that it was just his reflex. He had no idea it had such an effect on Jungkook.

The last panel had a sketch of Jimin smiling. It made Jimin’s heart all warm and as Taylor Swift said it, all he felt “in his stomach was butterflies”.

His finger lingered on the drawing of him longer than it should and just as he was about to look up to Jungkook to say a few words, Jungkook panicked. “That’s not the end! Turn! Turn to the next page… please…” his voice drowned into a whisper and he coughed to mask his embarrassment.

Jimin could feel his heart on his throat and jaw dropped in amazement when he revealed the next page. The top panel was a drawing of Jungkook being flustered with two think bubbles drawn on top of his head. The first think bubble had a doodle of small building labelled ‘uni’ while the next think bubble had a doodle of pencil.

Jimin was smiling so much that it began to hurt but he did not care.

The bottom panel was much bigger than any of the panels Jungkook created. It was a drawing of Jimin’s backside view. This had to be Jimin’s favourite because of the radiant colours and little glitters Jungkook added to the pages; it was different than the others as this one had longer texts on the text box situated on the left corner of the panel.

“Wow… Kookie… I…” Jimin murmured, reading the words over and over again. He gulped and blinked to clear the mistiness from his eyes. To say he was touched would be understatement because the drawings were beautiful, the drawings of Jimin were wonderful and it dawned to him that this was how Jungkook saw him.

The next page had a doodle of Jungkook making a heart shape using his hands and the text below said:

“Holy shit,” Jimin muttered, bewilderment was evident on his face. He looked at Jungkook, whose face was scarlet in embarrassment.

Jungkook had to force himself to look at Jimin straight into his eyes, determined to make Jimin know how sincere he was. Clearing his throat, he spoke. “I like you, Jimin.”

“J-Jungkook—”

“It’s okay if you can’t return my feelings. Just as a reminder, I am Mr. Jeon’s son, which meant I can come here whenever I please until you like me back—”

Jimin erupted into fits of giggles, his crescent eyes appearing as his body vibrated.

“— I’m serious,” Jungkook exclaimed with a pout, face turning even redder than before.

At this, his giggles turned into laughter. Jungkook pouted, crossing his arms together.

“Are you done?” Jungkook asked scathingly as he watched Jimin wiping a tear away from his eye.

“You don’t- you don’t have to make me like you just because you like me.”

Jungkook frowned.

“The feeling’s mutual, dummy.”

Jungkook’s mouth dropped to the floor. His brain chose to repeat Jimin’s sentence over and over again and when he finally registered it, he clamped his huge mouth shut. “Oh.”

“Mmhm.”

“Oh. Uh. Really?”

“Really.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“I like like you. Are you sure you like like me too?” Jungkook asked slowly, emphasizing the like.

Jimin let out an exasperated sigh. “I do.”

“So…” Jungkook murmured, daring to look abashed as he scratched his nape. “Are we boyfriends now or…?”

Jimin giggled. “Sure, if that’s what you wanna call me.”

“You do know that means you’re mine right? Like, really mine. You can’t smile to Seokmin anymore, he always has the hots for you. No smiling at the customers either, that one regular was always eying you whenever she’s here. She’s so creepy, ugh—”

“As if you’re not staring at me either.”

“Oi.”

“I’m joking, chill!”

“What have I gotten myself into…” he sighed, staring helplessly at Jimin. Jimin only gave him a smile.

“Somin was right.”

“About what?”

“You’re cheesier than cheese.”

“What the fuck does that even mean…”

  ♡

  “Damn it, I really wanna see what’s inside that book!” Somin grumbled, tiptoeing to peek at Jungkook and Jimin through the glass on the break room.

“You’re such a weirdo, Somin. I should’ve called the police,” Chanyeol muttered.

“Is it okay for us to stare at them like this?” Yoonji fretted.

“Shut u— LOOK AWAY LOOK AWAY THEY CAUGHT US STARING.”

[prompt-master]

Fireworks Have Been Claimed By The Gays

[ecotone99]

[RF] Lovebug

LOVEBUG by Brandon Haffner

I’d been huffing model airplane glue for two years before I met Beef Gilbert, but he was the first person to make me feel stupid for it. The few friends I had couldn’t be counted on to look out for me; they could hardly look out for themselves. Those poor teachers at Woodland Acres Middle had bigger messes to clean up. And Mama—she was clueless. Too busy watching Golden Girls or The Price is Right or The Twilight Zone—didn’t matter what it was as long as it buzzed bright on that box of hers—and I couldn’t blame her, because Pops died in a freak accident when I was six, so she was all alone with me. This was another thing drew me and Beef together. His pops was dead, too.

By all accounts, Beef Gilbert was a maniac. He showed up at our school in August of 1987 and soon became known as “the kid who cut that cow open.” Like, if you were to see him for the first time, from afar, you might nudge the person next to you and ask: “Hey—is that the kid who cut that cow open?” Hence the name: Beef.

Around school he roamed the halls alone. Ate lunch by himself at one of those corner tables by the stage where the lighting wasn’t very good. He liked to remind people, loudly and half-grinning, that his mom worked at Wal-Mart and that he lived in a trailer park south of Jacinto City. Word spread that you could get him to do almost anything if you paid him enough.

I was on my second detention when I met him. Early September, the last breaths of stinky, sweltering Texas summer pouring in through broken window seals and cracked concrete. The air conditioning couldn’t keep up. During every lesson—x and y and z axes, power paragraphs, Ulysses S. Grant—we were melting.

I was fourteen and the only girl in detention that day. He was fifteen—he’d been held back a year at his old Houston school—tall for his age, slick blond hair, sweaty, and fat. His breath was a gargling wheeze. His too-big Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt sagged off him. His square, thick-rimmed glasses were the kind you’d find on a ninety-year-old man.

He sat surrounded by empty seats. The other kids huddled in the corners to sleep or draw or read comics. Beef was flipping through a porno mag. No effort to disguise the naked woman on the cover. I glanced at our detention monitor, Mr. Briggs, who was young and nervous, and my guess was, being a fresh fish, he didn’t want to bother with this notorious big boy.

If you asked me back then why I, a somewhat self-respecting girl standing on a fragile reputation built from hard-edged coolness and occasional witty jabs, sat next to Beef Gilbert that day, I would have shrugged and said I was bored out of my skull. Which wouldn’t have been a lie—I thought, as eighth graders do, I’d seen the whole world.

“Heard you cut up a cow or something, over the summer,” I said. “Why’d you do it?”

He put down his porno mag and glared at me. He wore dirty gray sweatpants and I saw under the desk he had a little hard-on.

“Me and that cow had a political disagreement,” he said.

I laughed. Then he laughed.

“Poor cow,” I said, joking now. “Was it still alive when you did it?”

“Check this out,” he said. He flipped the magazine around so I could see. On the page was a naked Asian woman on her hands and knees.

“I see the appeal,” I said.

“I doubt it,” he said. “They even got smut where you’re from?”

“Where I’m from? I live four blocks from City Hall,” I said. “I’m not some rich girl.” I thought about my bedroom the size of a janitor’s closet. Mama’s rusty Cavalier I could hear coming three blocks away. Frozen corn dogs, frozen fish sticks, canned noodle soup—our dinner rotation. Bedroom air conditioner that rattled and hummed all night.

But secretly I was flattered. All any fourteen-year-old girl stuck wearing off-brand clothes and cheap hand-me-down jewelry can hope for is that her sweet style and perfect makeup fool someone into thinking she doesn’t live in a run-down duplex.

Flatly, quickly, as if he’d said it before, he said: “Yeah, you’re not rich, and I’m not a lard-ass.”

I don’t know what it was like at other schools, but at Woodland Acres, teachers used detention on kids the same way I use duct tape to fix broken stuff around my apartment. Skipped a class? Detention. Late to school? Detention. Broke into a locker, tore down a poster, stole a kid’s pack of gum? Detention. Made fun of or disagreed with a teacher? Hit a girl, kissed a boy, spit a spitball, made a paper airplane out of a math test? Brought booze or weed or the wrong kind of glue to school? Didn’t stand up during the Pledge of Allegiance? Detention. Hell, if your parents called enough times to whine about your grades, you could go to detention for getting a D. Which meant some kids, God bless them, got detention just for being dumb.

With Beef and all his strangeness waiting for me, detention became something I looked forward to. Like the bell ringing at 3:15 every day, I could count on him being in that room when I got there. Same porno mag, same circle of empty chairs around him, the other kids keeping clear of his body odor.

“What’re you in for?” we started to ask each other, like new cellmates.

And he’d tell me the story, usually something like, “I threw my apple core at Miss Gracie. Ryan Bishop gave me fifty cents to do it.”

And when he asked what I was in for, I’d say, “Same as always.”

And he’d shake his head and say, “Stuff’ll fry your brain,” followed by, “Check out these titties.”

And I’d say, “You know I see titties every day. In the mirror.”

And he’d peer down at my chest, and when Mr. Briggs wasn’t looking I’d pull my shirt up to my collarbone, just for half a second, to show off how good they looked in my pink bra.

This, more or less, became our routine.

One afternoon in detention, I wrote Beef a note. Mr. Briggs had silenced our conversation with an urgent, pleading glance, and in the silence I stared at my notebook. Usually I would have drawn some crazy thing—a dragon with broken wings, an upside-down truck on fire—but that afternoon I was feeling chatty.

I wrote down some jokes about Mr. Briggs. Scratched some doodles of Mr. Briggs with various classroom objects up his asshole. I added, as a P.S., a suggestion that if Beef were to wear some clothes that fit him, clothes that maybe had been washed recently, he might look better. Not good, not handsome. Just better.

I passed it to him, and he gave me this look: anxious, embarrassed, confused. He seemed more shocked by this piece of paper than by my bra flashes. As he stuffed my neatly folded note into his sweatpants pocket, he coughed and asked, “You going to Ghoulish?”

The Ghoulish Gathering was the Woodland Acres Halloween Dance, the kind of mid-year, low-budget, cafeteria event that attracted only the school’s most desperate and dorky.

“No way in hell,” I said.

“Me neither,” he said.

I continued to write Beef little notes and to receive little notes from him. When he started calling me Lovebug—never in person, only on paper—I returned the affection.

“Dear Lovebug,” we’d start off.

His drawings were faceless stick figures with enormous penises, or terribly drawn motorcycles, or symbols of sports teams. Sometimes he’d draw abstractions, lines and curves and dark spots that had me searching for some deeper meaning. His letters were short and disjointed.

Dear Lovebug, one of them read. I ate like no food this week and am still fat. The universe is unfair. Please stop sniffing glue. It’s gross. One of these days you got to tell me how your dad died.

That was it. No sign off.

About a year before I met Beef, my best friend Mia—who was the type of girl who said “fuck” for no reason and dyed her hair a wacky new color each month and wore rings on all her fingers—walked me over to the gas station one afternoon to buy me my first tube. It felt weird in my hand, hard like a rock, only I could push the sides in a little. Testors brand. “Works the fastest,” Mia said. That same summer she showed me how to stuff tissues into my bra in a way that didn’t look lumpy and I showed her how to cut little slits into the front of her jeans to show off some thigh. “You bad little tease,” I said when she put the jeans back on.

At school I huffed straight from the tube. But at home I used the bag. To get the best high, you squeeze half an inch into the bottom. Place the bag over your mouth and nose. Inhale, exhale. Repeat, repeat, repeat, each breath deeper than the last, and soon you’re riding an escalator up a grassy, flowery hill, above the clouds, and if you’re lucky, it’ll be sunny up there, and if you’re luckier still, you’ll meet Jesus Christ. Boredom was never so beautiful.

Beautiful for about twenty good minutes anyway, and then I’d start finding myself in the bathroom wiping blood from my nose with toilet paper. I started buying tissues at the gas station every time I reloaded my supply.

I started looking for Beef in the halls between classes. One time, I stopped by his locker and asked him about the pictures taped to his door. Mostly cutouts of women in bikinis. A few photos of his Rottweiler.

“His name’s Ass Wipe,” Beef told me.

“Fitting,” I said. “He looks like shit.”

“And this one’s my dead dad.” He pointed to a young-looking, physically fit bald man wearing a collared shirt, clean white dress pants, and shiny dress shoes. He was sitting in a rocking chair, smiling at the camera.

“How’d he die?” I asked.

“Overdose,” Beef said, laughing and wheezing, then coughing. He looked at the photo and pressed his index finger against his dad’s head. “Yeah. He was a dumb bastard.”

And another time by his locker we were playing rock-paper-scissors to see who’d get the last piece of gum in the pack we’d pooled money to buy from Patrick Hutchins last detention. Beef threw paper and I threw rock, so he covered my little fist with his big hand, then said, “I don’t want it,” and handed me the last piece.

“Thanks Beef,” I said, popping the blue stick in my mouth. “What’s your real name anyway?” I asked.

“Dennis,” he said. I’d expected a war to draw it out of him, but he didn’t hesitate. “Dad used to call me Denny.”

“Denny? Like that breakfast place?”

“I told you he was a dumb bastard.”

I was only trying to play along when I said, “Well at least someone’s continuing his legacy.” I even elbowed him in the shoulder and winked big and hard to exaggerate the sarcasm, but I knew as soon as I said it I’d cut some place in him that was dark and bruised.

“Whatever. At least I don’t wear kiddie clothes and a gazillion layers of makeup,” he said, punching his locker shut. “You look like one of those creepy five-year-old pageant girls.”

Normally his lines about my dress weren’t so vicious. More like failed attempts at flattery. This particular year I wore a lot of pink. Pink fingernails, pink T-shirts, pink bobby pins, pink shorts. I even owned a pink watch. I didn’t wear all this at once, of course. Tasteful pink. “Your highlighter shorts are blinding me,” he’d say, or “My little cousin has a Barbie in that same outfit.” He’d gurgle and wheeze and laugh at his own joke and I’d roll my eyes.

But when he crossed the line—“I bet you got a whole dresser full of pretty pink panties,” for instance—I’d make a point, in front of whoever was watching, to demean him.

I’d say, loudly enough for a few bystanders to hear, “Give you two bucks to fall down these stairs,” or “Give you a buck fifty to slap Mr. Briggs on the ass,” or “How about you full-on sprint to each of your classes today, Beef? A quarter per class.”

Sometimes Mia was with us. She would help me find loose change to give him.

“He’s hilarious,” she’d say. “He’s something else.”

He’d do whatever I asked. Every time. Didn’t matter how many people were around to laugh at him, or how much detention it landed him, or how bad his coughing got afterward. He took the money up front. Usually he smiled about it, his dorky sad smile beneath those gigantic glasses. The kid was a walking cartoon character and he knew it. A clown. Almost everyone seemed amused by his act.

Sure, I stood and watched with the rest as he performed. But if anyone had glanced in my direction, they’d have seen how I felt. More than once I caught myself pressing my hands together and shifting my weight from foot to foot, hoping to God the poor idiot didn’t hurt himself.

Now that I think back, it wasn’t nervousness or even guilt. It was much more. It was that sick, stabbing pain in my gut, almost how you feel when your lover betrays you. Disgust. Disbelief. It was that he’d truly do anything. It was that, after a long day of shit grades and nasty looks from teachers and throbbing glue headaches, sometimes all I wanted was detention, his big dorky eyes looking at me and his sweaty notes making me laugh. It was fear that this poor fat boy loved me. It was fear that I could love him.

Tuesday after Labor Day I sat on one of those concrete benches overlooking the school’s brown front lawn, waiting for Mama to pick me up. She was late as always.

I pulled out my notepad and drew gargoyles and princesses. When detention got out, Beef walked through the glass doors and sat next to me.

“You got any pot?” I asked. “I been thinking about trying pot.”

“You know I don’t do any of that shit,” he said. He shook his head for emphasis.

“Just fooling with you,” I said. “Grump.”

We sat. An airplane ripped the sky open. Someone far away pumped some life into a lawnmower.

“When I first heard about you I thought you’d be some tough guy,” I said. “Some brute. A name like Beef. Beef who killed a cow. But I bet you’ve never even seen a cow in your life.”

No response.

“Sorry I missed you today,” I said. “What were you in for this time?”

“Wasn’t my fault. Just some assholes being assholes,” he said. “Like always.”

“You gonna beat them up?”

“Shut up, Emma.”

“I bet you never hurt anything ever.”

“How much?” he asked.

I looked at him.

“How much you want to bet I’ve never hurt a thing? For real,” he said. He was wheezing again.

“You should see a doctor about that chest problem you got,” I said. “Because that shit ain’t normal.”

“How much?” he asked.

“A buck,” I said. “Show me what you got.”

We went behind the school and into the woods, down a long hill on a foot-worn pathway, over a wooden bridge, and across a creek littered with beer cans and cigarette butts and candy wrappers. I’d never been back here before. After twenty minutes, the woods opened up into a green-yellow pasture, a few sun rays spotlighting the place, including, in the distance, an old blue farm house and its grey barn, and, just beyond the barn, the highway coming into the city.

Beef grabbed hold of the low wooden fence in front of us. Just a few feet away, like a joke, was a “No Trespassing” sign, accompanied by a bigger, handwritten sign that read, “I Will Shoot You.”

“Seems taller than it was before,” Beef said, running his hand along the fence. He lifted a heavy pale leg over the wood, made a grunting noise, and landed clumsily on the other side.

Then I climbed over. He watched me.

“Even I’ve got more grace than you,” he said.

I punched his arm. He pretended it hurt.

I followed him away from the house and down near an algae-covered pond. Mosquitoes swarmed.

“Here it is,” he said, pointing down at our feet.

It was so much a part of the earth it was hardly noticeable. But yes, indeed, there was a dead cow, or a pile of dried-up cow parts I should say, in fact not recognizable as a cow at all, except that I knew what I was looking for. There were no flies because the flesh was gone. Just a few bones, dead grass, and a big dark-colored spot on the ground.

“Tell me the truth, Beef,” I said. “You did this?”

“Fuck yeah, I did,” he said. “I’m a murderous cow-killing machine.”

“A true psychopath,” I said.

“A raging psychopath,” he corrected.

“Twenty bucks says you found this cow dead of natural causes.”

He kicked the small pile of fragile bones. Dirt and bone fragments everywhere. The mosquitoes were giving us both hell, and he swatted at them crazily, like each bite was a surprise.

“I like this dance you’re rocking,” I said.

Then he grabbed my wrist hard and he pulled me away from the bones. He led me back to the fence. My wrist started to hurt and my fingers were going numb, so I yanked my arm away.

“What’s your problem?” I asked.

“You don’t have to insult me every second, you know,” he said.

We walked through the woods without talking. The crunching leaves. His labored breathing.

When we got back, Mama’s brown station wagon was waiting for me.

“Want Mama to give you a ride home?” I asked him.

But he ignored me. He sat on the bench, took his glasses off, and set his chin in his hands as we drove away and left him there to wait for whoever.

I spent a lot of time in my room that year. I listened to Blondie and The Clash. I drew two-headed unicorns and tornadoes uprooting neighborhoods and man-eating plants. I threw darts at an old dartboard I’d found in a Pizza Hut trash bin when Mia and me were wandering around town one night looking for stuff to do.

And I talked to Beef on the phone. He was sometimes funny, sometimes stupid, sometimes sweet. But always surprising.

I’d ask, “What are you doing right now?”

And he’d say, “Taking a dump,” or “Training for the Olympics,” or “Waiting for you to come over one of these days so I don’t have to play checkers by myself anymore.”

And I’d make suggestions for the future, like the time I said, “Once you get your license we should go to the Cinemark. You like horror movies?”

“Nah,” he said. “My life’s a horror movie.”

I laughed. One morning later that week, though, I got the sense of what he meant. I found a note in my locker he must have slipped through the little vent:

Dear Lovebug,

Chase who is my asshole step-brother and me and my cousins went to that pond last summer and they gave me a knife and said stab that cow. They didn’t pay me so I said no way. But they got this syringe and stuck me with it. They pushed me down so I wouldn’t get away. They are doing all sorts of drugs all the time with my stepdad so I might have gotten some drugs in me. They said stab that cow or we’ll keep on sticking you. I didn’t do it on purpose.

It could have been my imagination, but that note changed us. I mean, we never spoke about it. I made sure of that. In fact I made sure the word “cow” didn’t even come up in conversation. But this secret, twisted story had an effect. We joked less. Maybe we were nicer to each other. At least until those miserable weeks after Ghoulish.

One late night on the phone, after Mama’d gone to bed, I told Beef how Pops died in a factory fire, and that I hardly had any memory of him, just a flash here or there from some tiny corner of my brain, his image fading more each year.

Beef asked, “Was your dad nice to your mom?”

I was on my knees on my bedroom floor and prepping a huffing bag. I brought the bag to my face and breathed in, breathed out, in, out, in, out.

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Don’t remember what you’re doing?”

“If Pops was nice to Mama. Too young I guess.”

Sometimes our conversations went so deep into the night we’d start to nod off, phones pressed to our ears. One of those nights, I was in bed with my eyes closed and the lights off. A long stretch of silence went by. Beef was breathing slowly, loudly.

“You awake?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“Me neither.” I said.

The rumbling air conditioner switched off. The crickets in the yard hissed and pulsed. A streetlamp buzzed.

“Why don’t you like your mom?” he asked. “I want to meet her. Decide for myself.”

“She’s lazy. Sits around the house all day. Gets her welfare check and goes straight to happy hour. And she hates me,” I said. “She hates everything. She’ll hate you too.”

“Well your taste in music is pretty terrible. And your drawings. If I were your mom I’d be disturbed by those drawings.”

“I don’t even think she knows I draw.”

“I’d send you to an institution.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if she did. Get me out of the house.”

“You should show her. Draw something not so gross. I’m being serious. You know, guilt her into putting it on the fridge and shit.”

“It’s a little late for the fridge. I’m not six years old.”

My ear was getting hot, so I switched the phone to the other side.

“She a druggie?” he asked.

I almost laughed. “Mama’s not cool enough to do drugs.”

A long silence.

“Did your pops?”

“Did Pops what?”

“Do drugs,” he said. “You know. Crack. Pills. Meth. Weed. Glue.”

“He drank a little,” I said. “I don’t know.”

I tried to picture Pops. Maybe it wasn’t my memory—maybe it was Mama’s complaining for years after he died that created the picture—but with my eyes closed, my brain all afloat on glue air, I could see Pops with a glass of brown liquor on ice, sitting on the orange couch in the living room, watching MAS*H. That couch was the one our old cat, Juniper, used to piss on, the one Mama and me took sledgehammers to a few years ago. Juniper—I’d almost forgotten about him. Raggedy gray hairball, always hissing at everybody but Mama. If you wanted to find him, you’d just look under that couch—two narrow yellow eyes and a low growl would be there to greet you. Mama loved that cat. Saw herself in him a little bit, I think. Not long after we tossed out the couch pieces, I came home from school to find Mama crying on the floor holding a limp, lifeless Juniper. I can’t say I was too upset about that cat’s passing, but for Mama it was almost like Pops had died all over again.

“Emma?” Beef said. I realized he’d said it several times. I was almost asleep.

“Oh,” I said.

“Goodnight.”

Two weeks before Ghoulish, a tall boy from my lunch table asked me to go with him and I said yes. In detention one afternoon I shamelessly told Beef all about him, hoping, I think, to see the hurt on his face. The boy’s name was Alfredo, he was from San Antonio, and he said corny shit like, “You’ve got a great Emma-gination,” his eyes were starry green, and his hands were that perfect blend of soft but firm on my hip in the lingering moment after a goodbye hug in the hall when he didn’t want to let go just yet.

“Sounds like an asshole,” was all Beef could muster.

But a week later Alfredo either forgot about me or changed his mind because he asked out none other than my Mia, and when I told Beef, he said, “Your Mia? Mia Mullins?” and I said, “That’s the one,” and Beef said, “What’s he thinking? She’s got more acne than you and me combined.”

As we parted ways, surprised to find my hand shaking a little, I handed him a note, which went something like this:

Dear Lovebug,

Have a hot date yet for Ghoulish? If not, want to go with? Don’t get ideas.

He handed me his response in detention that afternoon:

Dear Lovebug,

Hope you break dance cause I’m a champ.

That week on the phone, all he wanted to talk about was the dance. He said things like, “I’m going to bring a bag of sugar in case they play ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me,’” and “I bet you’ve slow danced with like a hundred guys.”

“I want to cut out like halfway through,” I said. And I told him I’d pictured the two of us talking in a corner, not dancing at all, maybe heading back to my room to listen to music and draw and talk, like Mia and me used to do.

“Your mama won’t mind?”

“Have you been listening to anything I’ve ever told you? Mama doesn’t mind anything.”

“Okay, but we gotta slow dance once,” he said.

“No promises.”

“Number one hundred and one, here I come.”

But of course we didn’t get that far.

Mama left me $20 a week. Every Monday morning there was one bill on the kitchen counter. Given that Mama had no job, I always wondered where this money came from. I found out later it came out of Pop’s life insurance. The poor man was funding my glue habit from the grave.

Back in 1987 you could buy a lot with $20. Four or five movie tickets. A new shirt. A Sony Discman. A decent dinner out. A shitload of ice cream.

Or a dozen eight-ounce tubes of Testors.

But the day before Ghoulish, when it came time to resupply, I found the Walgreens completely out. So instead I picked up some paint thinner—I thought I’d heard about one of Mia’s friends using it. Came in a plastic bottle a little taller and narrower than a soda can. I walked home and ran up to my room and stuffed the bottle under my mattress.

Then I went downstairs for dinner; I remember this dinner well. For some reason Mama’d cooked lemon pepper chicken and some type of stuffed pasta with actual dinnerware, not the plastic plates I usually took up to my room. It was the most impressive meal I’d eaten in months. Before sitting down, I asked:

“What’s the special occasion?”

I got this nasty look from her and some response like:

“Does it need to be a special occasion if I want to cook some damn chicken for us?”

“What’s up your ass?”

“If you’re gonna talk like that don’t talk at all.”

“Fine with me.”

We ate the delicious meal in dead silence, save for the smacking of our lips and the clinking of our forks against our plates. When I finished, I went upstairs, locked the door, cranked “Death or Glory,” stuck my hand under my mattress, pulled out the now-warm can, shook it, heard my liquid destiny sloshing around, and took, as they say, the plunge.

Dear Lovebug,

When I wake up to get ready for school in the morning and put my clothes on, I sometimes pretend my clothes are ancient armor. Many, many girls for hundreds or thousands of years have worn this same armor and now it’s mine. It’s all rusty and it’s got some holes because you know it’s so old, but for the most part it’s good trustworthy armor. Now that I write it down this seems dumb. But even though it’s pretend and I know I’m too old to pretend, the armor has got me through lots of mornings when I just didn’t want to go to school. You know what I mean? Do you know what I’m talking about?

Anyway I’m writing this note at the hospital so I won’t be at the Ghoulish and you’re probably not going to get this note in time but I thought I should write it anyway.

Yes, I’m in the hospital for the reason you’re thinking.

I guess that’s all.

Emma

At the bottom of that note was a drawing of my own face, frowning, a tear streaming down one cheek. The finished product—eyes way too big and wide, too many half-erased sketch lines around the edges, crazy hair, pointy nose—looked nothing like me.

As any idiot could tell you, huffing paint thinner isn’t anything like huffing Testors. Less like riding an escalator up through clouds than like riding a train that’s on fire and the cabins are full of smoke and the whole thing is sailing off the tracks down into a ravine and you know it’s just a matter of time before you hit bottom and blow up into smithereens, but until then your stomach is flipping and churning and you feel weightless and terrified at the same time as the whole world rushes past you at terminal velocity or whatever.

The instant I unscrewed the cap, my face a good foot from the bottle, the fumes filled my room. The smell swept me back to those lighter-fluid-drenched junk heaps in the woods. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I stuck my nose into the opening and took a huge sniff, followed immediately by another huge sniff, figuring I could skip a step—the bottle acted like a bag by way of concentrating and trapping those wonderful toxic fumes.

Who knows why we do these things to ourselves?

Imagine using two mortars to mash up some glass and habanero peppers, then jamming those glass-and-habanero-caked mortars up your nostrils. Even after I yanked my face from the bottle, grabbed a tissue, and began blowing, and even after those bloody chunks started falling out of my nose more thickly and rapidly than the tissues could contain—my khaki shorts and pink carpet were soaked with red by the time I passed out—the inside of my nose burned so bad I was crying.

If my life was a movie, I’d have woken up in the hospital bed. Peaceful and rested, surrounded by “get well” balloons and some doctor giving me a solemn but hopeful look. No such luck for 14-year-old Emma. No, I woke up in the ambulance, where the pain in my nose was still intense and burning. No way my nose survives this, I was thinking. It’s gonna have to be surgically removed. I’m gonna be noseless forever and they’re gonna make fun of me worse than they make fun of Beef.

Added to my nose pain was this unbearable headache, as if I’d banged my head on the ambulance door as they stuffed me in. I couldn’t stop coughing. My heart raged against my chest like a deranged gorilla. I was surrounded by fast-talking, stressed out, overworked strangers.

Other things I remember: Real bumpy ride. Blurry vision. Lights hurt my eyes. Cold as a freezer. Why was the air conditioning up so high in there? Where was Mama? Wet blood slowly drying on my face. Tried to open my mouth to ask for a Tylenol or something, but nothing came out but another painful cough. And no eye contact with the strangers. Not the whole way to the hospital. What I can’t tell you is if I was avoiding their eyes or they were avoiding mine.

After they got me all fixed up with tubes and oxygen, Mama walked in the room. There was no window, and everything was beige. She sat in the chair next to my bed.

Mama folded her hands in her lap and said, “Emma.” She’d been crying. It was obvious. Puffy red cheeks, wet eyes, that permanent frown of hers. Her half-gray,-half-black hair was a mess.

She put her hand on my hand. I was too weak to move it away.

I expected Mama to get up and leave after an hour or so. But I fell asleep, and when I woke up it was morning, and she was still there, asleep in the chair, her head leaning awkwardly on the beige wall. Later on it would dawn on me that this was the longest stretch of time we’d been in the same room together since Pops was alive.

Mama went and got me breakfast from the hospital cafeteria and came back and we ate together in silence.

“Are you depressed?” Mama said when we finished. When our eyes met I realized she’d been spending most of breakfast working up the courage to ask.

“No, Mama.”

“Did some boy hurt you?”

I laughed, then coughed.

“Well then what?” she asked, impatient. “What is it? People don’t do this for no reason.”

“Sure they do,” I said.

The nurse came in, drew my blood, and left.

“She seems nice,” Mama said.

“I don’t like her,” I said, which was a lie.

Mama stayed with me for the next day and a half.

“It’s no trouble,” she kept saying, as if I’d told her she was outdoing herself. “I’ve got nowhere to go.”

They rolled in a TV and we watched whatever Mama wanted to watch. I went in and out of sleep. The doctor told me I was a “perfectly healthy young woman,” but that I wouldn’t be this way much longer if I kept “poisoning my body,” and “brain damage” and “heart damage” and “sudden death” and this and that, and he handed me a pamphlet with the words “FREEDOM FROM ADDICTION” written at the top in all caps, which I threw in the garbage outside the hospital, and which Mama fished out of the garbage and clutched in her lap with her non-steering hand during the drive home and then studied at the kitchen table through her reading glasses for like a gazillion billion hours.

I must have called Beef fifteen times that weekend. On Sunday night, his mama answered the phone. She told me Beef—she called him Dennis—was resting up and wouldn’t be at school for a bit. Then Ass Wipe started barking and she said she had to go.

Mia told me the story at lunch that Monday. Turns out Alfredo had showed up to Ghoulish drunk. Slurring his words, not walking straight. Beef was there searching the crowd for me in his I’m-sure-ridiculous-looking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume. He found Mia and asked her where I was, and Alfredo, who was standing right there, asked Beef how he could be so stupid as to think I’d actually dance with him. Acted like I’d set the whole thing up as a gag. So Beef plopped down at one of the tables behind the crowd and just sat there like a lonely egg. But when Mia went to the bathroom, Alfredo tracked Beef down, acted all remorseful, told Beef I wasn’t worth getting all depressed over, that I wasn’t even that good a kisser—which is a lie—then offered Beef fifty bucks to sneak behind the cafeteria stage curtain, climb the spiral staircase to the catwalk above the stage, and jump off while hollering, “Cowabunga dude!”

So he did.

The stage exploded as if Beef were a human bomb. Broke his left leg and nearly his hip. But the worst part: this little shard of wood came up and stuck Beef right in the eye. Blood was everywhere. As Mia put it, “Everyone was running around screaming like it was the end of days.”

Monday of next week I finally saw him during my break between Spanish II and study hall. He walked toward me down the hallway on crutches, a black eye patch over his left eye. If I hadn’t heard the story first, I would have figured somebody was paying him a buck or two to act like a disabled pirate. When he came close enough to hear me, I took a risk and made a joke of it. I said, “Ahoy there!” But he didn’t respond. Didn’t even crack a tiny grin. Instead, from his right eye, he shot me this wild glare, kind of like the glare a horse—or a cow—gives you when you walk too close to the fence. Like they’re scared and pissed at the same time.

Then Beef lifted the patch to reveal a mess of purple and black flesh.

“Give me a dollar,” he said, “and I’ll let you touch it.”

I stood there like a dope.

“People been handing me money all day to put their fingers in my eye socket,” he said. He reset the patch. “Some people are so disgusting. Wouldn’t you say, Lovebug?”

I didn’t agree or disagree. I dug around in my rotten brain but the words were buried too deep. And after a few awful seconds, he limped off into the crowd.

At home that evening, in my bedroom, my paint thinner was nowhere to be found. My bed was made, too. And the next Monday morning, there was no $20 bill on the kitchen counter.

Weeks went by. I wound up in detention less and less often. The sweltering summer heat was replaced by breezy windbreaker weather. Beef and I still talked sometimes, in the halls. Not like before, but little stuff, like, “Does Mr. Briggs still pretend those ladies in your magazine aren’t naked?” and “Your mama got a new boyfriend yet?” Stuff like that. Then one day he told me he was moving to Louisiana over winter break to go live with his grandpa. Set to go to some high school in Baton Rouge. He’d already been out to visit.

“Best part is, everyone’s a lard-ass out there,” he said. “Even lard-assier than me. For real. I’m gonna be the hot jock.”

“The Hot Jock Cyclops of Baton Rouge.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

His mama’d had a heart attack or something, he said. Hence the move.

Christmas Eve. In my bedroom. Beef had been gone a week. “Train in Vain” blasting on my stereo. I was wrapping a present, believe it or not, for Mama. A pencil drawing of nothing special. A river, flowing down a canyon, and in the middle of it, this big zig-zaggy tree emerging from the water, branches reaching up toward the sky. It was pretty bad even by my standards—never was much of a nature drawer. Figured I might as well give it away. Plus once I’d finished and stepped back from it, that crazy tree kind of reminded me of her. Weather-beaten and old and strange. The type of tree all the tourists would come to see and snap pictures of while asking impossible-to-answer questions like, “How the hell did it get in the middle of the river in the first place?” and “Why hasn’t it fallen down after all these years?”

When she opened it on Christmas morning she cried so many tears it was like God had opened a bottle of champagne all over our living room. She gave me a hug—our first hug in I don’t know how long—and thanked me over and over. It was a little excessive.

After presents, we sat on the couch. She held my hand while her terrible Christmas music played in the background and we sipped the lukewarm hot chocolate she’d made. As she stared out the living room window—where there was nothing but cold, frosted lawn and a deserted street—she had this odd little smile. Her face was still wet. After a few minutes I cleared my throat, and she stood up and asked if I’d like her to reheat the rest of the hot chocolate. From her eyes I understood she wanted me to say yes.

I thought of a thousand smart responses. “Sure, nothing more delicious than chocolate water garnished with powder clumps,” or “But wouldn’t reheating mean it was once heated?” But when I practiced them in my head, none of my one-liners was the clever little needle I wanted. On this quiet Christmas morning, everything I thought to say was a jackhammer, a chainsaw, a blowtorch. So I gave it up.

Inhale, exhale. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

“Sure, Mama,” I said, handing her my empty pink mug.

Published on May 9, 2019

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