#something about graves and flowers. something about awareness of your own death. something about someone else’s continued life afterwards

[finleycannotdraw]

can anyone hear me

[jackalopes-pen]

Phone calls

Summary: Michael has been dead for a year now, and Pete is struggling with the death of his friend. He copes by leaving him voicemails, however he feels a wave or shock when someone returns his call.

Fandom: South Park ( aged up) | Goth kids (Henrietta Biggle, Pete Thelman, Firkle Smith, Michael ... Tall one)

A/N: First time writing south park fanfic! Lemme know if it is shitty or not, really trying figure out how to write these characters before I get a larger project under way.

Word Count: 1,281

Pete was well aware that this was not very goth. To leave voicemails on his friend's number that would never be heard was so stupid. He still did it, though. Still scrolled down to Michael's name and called waiting for the answering machine just to hear his voice. He still left some update on their lives and how the world still turned without him. He told answering machine about how that song he wrote hit the top 10. He told the machine that they were gaining popularity as a goth band, and that the name he suggested was the one they signed with. Sometimes he just cried after the tone, unable to process.

Today was so much worse then other days. Today it had been one full year since he died. He died to someone else's hand in a hate crime not even to his own. His tombstone read that he was a 'great daughter'. Fucking bigots. Pete kneeled down to the stone, and put a tapped note over daughter, reading now "A great son, friend, and unfortunate martyr." He would have apricated that, right? Pete stood back, on the path staring at the grave. He put the phone to his ear, staring down the flowers of someone who was supposed to answer.

One ring, two rings, three...

"Hey. This is Michael, I'm kinda busy so leave your name I'll consider getting back to you. Unless you're a conformist." the recording stopped with a tone. Leave a message... another message.

"Hey Michael, it's Pete. Just wanted to let you know that I came back to visit you," Pete could hear his voice breaking as he continued "Tried to fix that stupid mistake on your stone. Those conformists can't even let you rest in peace? They really are assholes. Anyway, call me back when you can. I miss you."

Pete slipped the phone back in his pocket. He wanted to stay at that grave for an eternity and hope something would change. It wouldn't though, he knew that. He talked himself into leaving, going to his car and driving to his shared apartment with Henrietta and Firkle. They'd probably get onto him for this and tell him to move on. It's hard to move on damn it. Give him time.. or more time.

"Hey, I'm back." Pete said as he entered their apartment.

"Went to visit him?" Henrietta said from the couch, writing something in her journal.

"Yeah, if you're gonna give me shit can you save it til tomorrow?" Pete responded, flopping down the couch beside her.

"Not today. I know it's hard and all. If this is how you handle it, then so be it." Henrietta said, clearly more focused on her lyrics.

"It's almost poser-ish is what it is," Firkle said emerging from his room with drum sticks in hand. "He's gone, let it go."

"It's easy for you to say! We were close, and I just-" Pete stopped his rebuttal when his phone rang in his pocket. He took it out and froze as he saw the caller.

"What's up with you?" Henrietta said, suddenly perking up.

"He's.. he's calling me back." Pete said, some mix of happiness and confusion and fear all churning in his stomach.

'Well, answer it!" Firkle said impatiently.

Pete did just that. He swiped to answer the call and quickly put it on speaker. He set the phone down on the coffee table, almost scared to hold it in case it was a dream or something. They all waited in silence, for whatever was on the other end of the call.

"Hey Pete, sorry I couldn't answer earlier. Whatever though. I'm at the good CVS on fifth, you need anything?" It was Michael's voice, loud and clear. The sounds of shitty drug store music were barely audible through the phone. It was him.. it had to be. "Hello? Are you about blast a chord again?"

"No, no. I'm here. How- uh... how are you?" It was pathetic but it was all Pete could muster. He wanted to say a million things to him, but couldn't find the words for any of it.

"Uh.. could be better, could be worse. You good, red? You sound like you're talking to a ghost." Hearing that old nickname was enough to break him a little on the inside. Only Michael called him that, and he still was calling him that.

"I'm- I'm good. Do you mind being on speaker? We're all here, about to start writing."

"Nah, I don't mind. Glad the band took off though, that's pretty fucking impressive."

"Your song helped us out a lot, I wish you could've written more." Henrietta finally spoke up.

"Yeah, you know.. not really my decision about the whole thing. I did hear you guys used my name idea. I thought it was pretty bad but, I guess if it works." Pete was so confused at this point. He seemed to know he was gone, but here he was on the phone. Pete almost wanted to run to the CVS and look for him, even though he'd probably find nothing.

"Hey, while you're there.. can you pick up some of those gummy bears? We're running low." Firkle said, tentatively. He was trying to play into the daydream.. maybe Pete should. Maybe this was the casual conversion they never got to have. That last talk.

"Sure, kid. Anything else? Hen, you still like those chocolate pretzel things right?"

"Yeah- yeah. I can pay you back for them." Henrietta was close to tears. It was rare that he called even them their actual names to their faces. These old nicknames.. it hurt to hear them again.

"You don't have to. Red, you?"

"Oh, can you see if they have Marlboro? I'm on my last pack." Pete felt the lump in throat grow. It was such a normal conversation, with a dead man.

"Sure, yeah. Okay, well I'll see you guys whenever. And, red?"

"Yeah?" Pete's voice broke on the ending constant.

His tone was suddenly solemn. "I miss you too, I miss all of you and I wish I was there. Thanks for the voicemails, I might try to leave you some."

The call was hung up. The silence was deafening, as they stared at Pete's phone until it turned to a black screen. It only reflected the popcorn ceiling of their apartment. In some ways, it was a relief to know he wanted to be here and in others a pull to Pete's heart that he wasn't. This could have been their everyday.

But it wasn't, and it never would be.

About 15 minutes later, the doorbell rang Pete almost prayed it was him but, it was just a CVS bag of what they asked for. One bag of gummies, chocolate pretzels, cigarettes, and a bag of the coffee that he used to brew before writing. Of course he'd pick that up, it was a writing session right? Pete noticed on the receipt, paid for with Michael's card, something else they asked for: more writing.

It was a complete song, and a that moment Pete was so glad CVS had insanely long receipts. It was a song about loss, comparing the death to crow that continued to follow the singer. The song went through the 5 stages as it continued, ending in accepting the crows presence.

It would take more time and thought then some lyric's on a CVS receipt, but Pete knew a hint when saw it. He picked up his guitar, and made a promise with it. This is honoring the death, because it did happen. It would only get easier to admit it, every time he played.

[vanishingreyes]

The Dead Come Walking || Metzli & Xóchitl

TIMING: Last month SETTING: At a cemetery. SUMMARY: Metzli and Xóchitl go to visit Xó's friend's grave. Unfortunately, someone else is there. :/ Metzli to the rescue! WARNINGS: Child death mentions

Cemeteries were bleak places. They were filled with the lingering tears of the grieving, haunted by the dead that couldn’t rest, and stained by those who could never leave again. Metzli was aware of the dangers, bristled at the thought of stepping foot in one, but Xóchitl had requested their presence. 

She was offering to share a painful piece of herself, hoping to spare herself some of the weight that came with losing a loved one. How could Metzli deny her? They couldn’t, not even if they wanted to. Agreeing to something so dangerous was easy when it came to someone you cared about, and  Xóchitl quickly settled into that small group. So, like a good friend, Metzli visited the edge of the cemetery’s perimeter thirty minutes early. 

Nothing came of their surveillance, predictably. It was too early for much to appear, but they’d stay alert. When they’d agreed to meet, the vampire had been clear they should visit before dark, and they’d decided on the moments before dusk. Just enough light to provide some form of protection, but not so much that Metzli would sizzle. It was as safe as they could make the visit, but with their presence, they were determined to ensure Xóchitl returned home safely. 

“Hola,” Metzli greeted from a few feet away, bowing their head respectfully upon reaching Xóchitl and speaking in their mother tongue. “I brought these for your friend. Did not know her favorite so I picked marigolds because of their meaning.” Eye contact, as always, was avoided, but they offered over the bouquet and pocketed their hand when it was free. Anxiety marched under their skin, dulling out slowly as they drank Xóchitl’s presence in. This moment was for her and her friend. Everything else could fall second so that they could be what she needed. “Are you ready?” With a few blinks, Metzli’s eyes fell back on Xóchitl and they offered their hand, giving her the option to take it if she wanted.

She wasn’t much of any sort of fan of cemeteries. Though if given the choice between them and playgrounds, she would choose cemeteries each and every time. At least the dead people there were supposed to be dead.

She’d gone by Mackenzie’s grave with relative frequency since coming back to town. Weekly, at least – which probably wasn’t what someone who claimed to be “over things” did, but Xóchitl supposed that if she were honest with herself, she really wasn’t over much of anything at all, not in the slightest. It was nearly dusk, which seemed to be her friend’s preferred time to hang out. It worked well enough, she didn’t have to take time off from work – though she would have, in a heartbeat – and it was cooler, calmer, now.

“Hola,” she responded to them, “I appreciate it.” She took the flowers, holding them in one arm almost as though they were a child. Xóchitl supposed that they were their own sort of precious cargo. Her gaze found her friend’s grave again, and she bit the inside of her cheek so that she wouldn’t cry. Because everything still felt so heavy, even if her grief was old enough to drink. “I guess so,” she shrugged, laying the flowers down and then quickly grabbed Metzli’s hand in her own. “Thanks. For being here, I mean.”

“Of course. It is an honor to be here.” Death was such a finite thing, or rather, it was supposed to be. The existence of Metzli alone was a mockery, laughed in death’s face. Their life before the bite was not much of one, but it was still a life, their heart was still beating. Unlike now. It almost felt wrong to stand there. They were some vile thing, looking at Xóchitl’s friend’s grave, seeing the place where her unbeating heart would remain at rest for as long as the earth would let it, while Metzli’s would continue until a final death eventually took them too.

Quietly, they squeezed Xóchitl’s hand, silently apologizing for their unnatural existence. That they could not bring back someone she had never stopped grieving. A mountain of love left inside her heart, with nowhere to go. “Are…you okay?” Metzli kneeled next to the stone, not daring to let go of Xochitl’s warm hand, lest she forget that she was not alone. “Will you tell me about her?” They looked up, finally managing to meet Xóchitl’s eyes with a kind stare, as they waited for an answer. 

Crunch!

Metzli’s brows knitted together at the sound, head whipping in a fury to find the source. Though they were alert, they remained quiet. The sound could’ve very well been nothing, and they’d be damned before they let their nerves completely interrupt Xóchitl’s time to grieve. It didn’t matter if decades had passed. Grief knew no bounds, it had no real cure. There was only dulling the pain.

“It is an honor to have you here, too.” Xóchitl responded in kind. Mackenzie would’ve liked Metzli, she decided. There was no concrete evidence to prove that, and there was always the possibility that Mackenzie would’ve turned into one of those mean girls the moment they hit middle school, but Xóchitlliked to think that something like that never would’ve happened. Metzli was kind and lovely and nice, and Mackenzie already had learned a lot of Spanish in the time that they’d been friends, so she would’ve been fluent by now and they could’ve all spoken in Spanish together and made Metzli feel safe and understood.

She shrugged in response to the are you okay, because she didn’t know. “Yes, I can tell you about her. She was my favorite person ever, we met on the first day of kindergarten and —” her voice cut off as she watched Metzli’s head move. Xóchitl grew quiet for a moment. “Are you alright?” She gave their hand the lightest of squeezes, a reminder that they were here, and they were with her, and maybe things might be okay. “She was full of sun and light and brightness – she never –”

This time, it was Xóchitl’s turn to grow quiet. “I don’t – do you hear that?” So long as no whistling started, she figured she could manage. Hoped she could, at least. For Metzli’s sake. That was what she told herself at least. All for their sake. It was easier to do that than to do it for herself.

“I am fine.” They replied simply, with a shake of their head. The squeeze from Xóchitl did well to pull Metzli’s attention fully back, forcing themself to move the sound to the wayside. “You two met very early, then.” Gently, slowly, the vampire nudged themself closer, carefully placing their chin on Xóchitl’s head so she could sink into them if she wanted. And maybe it was to put their body between her and any potential danger too, but she didn’t need to know that part. 

Embraces could do many things, protect in more ways than one. Metzli was just determined to use their skill as a shield to protect her at whatever cost, and do so quietly to prevent any unnecessary excitement. Though, it seemed, as always, Wicked’s Rest had other plans, and it was Xóchitl who heard the earth be disturbed by something unseen. This, combined with the vulnerable state their friend was in, Metzli bristled and tensed, red eyes narrowing at the shifting darkness. “Stay close to me.” Their voice was a hushed whisper, lips softly pressed against Xóchitl’s skull in an attempt to continue being a gentle shield while still remaining firm where they stood. 

Dirt was flung into the air, a nearby plot being dug into, but it was difficult to see who or what exactly was deep within the ground. For all they knew, the answer was easy and there was just a cemetery employee preparing the area for a funeral. Sadly though, Metzli was inclined to believe it was something sinister considering there was a noticeable crack of wood (most likely from a casket) and a stone with a death date from two years ago.  It was time to go. They couldn’t risk Xóchitl getting hurt. “We should leave.” Metzli urged, pulling their friend with them as they took a quiet step back.“Something is over there.”

“First day of kindergarten,” Xóchitl responded. “Would’ve loved it to have been earlier, but I’ll happily take that. We became best friends right away.” As if on reflex, she sank against Metzli, grateful for their height, for their presence. She hoped they could tell that, even if she didn’t quite voice it, but one thing she did know about Metzli was that they were good with silences. Thrived in them, even.

“What?” She twisted her head to look up at them, confused about their sudden change of tone of voice, of all they did. “I – of course.” 

Xóchitl chewed at her lip. “We – what? Like an animal?” She kept her voice quiet, barely noticeable, though she was confused – wondered, for a moment, if she’d been too open, if she’d made her friend uncomfortable. “I’m sorry if I said too much. We can – we can go, of course.” She nodded. “Where – should I stay like this?”

“You did not say too much.” Metzli cleared up immediately, feeling it important to let Xóchitl know that she couldn’t ever say enough about the friend she lost too soon. Sure, they hated when people spoke too much, but when it came to things like loss, Metzli felt inclined to listen, accepting the intimacy of what came with someone’s truth. Especially a friend’s. 

“There is something in a plot. I do not know if it is dangerous, so I want you to be quiet and close to me in case something happens.” Metzli reassured, all but lifting Xóchitl up from their grip on her hip. If they needed to get away, they’d be faster if she was in their hold. They were sure of it. And, as if fate wanted to test this, there was a breeze that rustled the flowers enough to cause a soft sound of shuffling, though it felt more like a boom when the creature whipped its head around.

Metzli planted Xóchitl on her feet, shuffling her behind them as they backed away carefully from the beast. It snarled and snapped its deadly teeth, wordlessly threatening an attack. The vampire scanned the area, tasking themself with finding the best course of action when Xóchitl had no idea what their nature was. “Run to the trees.” They whispered, fully prepared for an argument but not giving their friend the opportunity to say much of anything as they bolted toward the monster in front of them. With no prior experience with cemetery beasts, Metzli thought it best to simply go for an attack that fought against balance, sending the two rolling and battling for the upperhand.

“Okay. I just – I wanted to be sure.” Because she did always, with those she cared about, and Xóchitl did care about Metzli a great deal. She didn’t want to make them feel unsettled or unwanted. Not after she’d gained their trust – she didn’t want to make them think they’d been foolish to place trust in her.

Whatever they were saying didn’t make a lick of sense, but Xóchitl knew that she could trust them, and so whatever reason they were properly worried, she’d make sure to do as little as possible to contribute to that. “I’ll stay quiet and close, of course.” Said in a whisper, so quiet that she almost couldn’t hear herself.

Then they were telling her to run and she wanted to say no, wanted to put her foot down, but Metzli was off before she could even fully form a thought, and so Xóchitl did run towards the trees, but just barely, just enough to say she’d moved, yelping as she turned around and saw her friend and some other thing – some sort of animal, maybe – she didn’t know – and she yelped. “Metzli! Stop! You should – you run too, let’s both –” 

“I can’t run. Go!” There was no time. Was there ever, at a time like that? Whenever things went awry, making decisions became something that was instant to instant. Everything had to move faster than most could anticipate. But Metzli was not like most people. They were hardly a person at all, as far as they had known their entire life. From the moment they had become a vampire, any chance of that was taken, replaced by the evil they did and were capable of. It was why they couldn’t run. Why they had to stand their ground and do what good they could to balance it all out. 

Metzli sent the ghoul away from them, giving themself enough space to register their surroundings and retrieve their knife. Before they could make their next move though, the blade was knocked from their hand with a powerful swipe of the ghoul’s claws. Black blood oozed slowly out of their wound, but Metzli paid it no mind. They broke into a sprint to wrap their arm around what they could tell was a waist, squeezing tightly enough to send the creature screeching. There were a few crunches that accompanied the high-pitched wail, motivating Metzli to squeeze harder. Up until they felt almost too exerted. 

With an exhalation of force, they tossed the beast aside and grabbed for their knife in a blink. Metzli thrusted it quickly into its side and pulled down. There was another ear-piercing screech, accompanied with another powerful swipe of claws that sent Metzli far away. They landed in the trees next to Xóchitl, unable to feel the gash on their stomach, but bleeding slowly onto the ground. 

Her expression said more than Xóchitl could hope for her words to. Why can’t you run? Because that didn’t seem like an ideal sort of outcome for either of them, and she could already feel her stomach twisting around into knots of guilt if Metzli did get hurt. Because that would be her fault, even if she hadn’t been the one to physically harm them, she knew she’d still feel guilt – and that it would technically still be her fault.

Which was a deeply unsettling and unpleasant feeling.

Not to mention, it being coupled with the fact of her seeing something that didn’t make sense brought back a whole host of other unpleasant memories. Ones that had already come up given where the two of them were, but ones that she liked to at least think she was good at pretending didn’t exist. Except that right now, she was having a very difficult time of all that.

Xóchitl did run, finally, mostly because she could sense the desperation in Metzli’s voice and she wanted to follow through with honoring their wishes, always. She didn’t get too far away, huddled next to a tree, doing her best to not look at whatever was going on with her friend. Suddenly, there was a crash, and Metzli was on the ground next to her, and Xóchitl didn’t even pause to think for a moment before bending down, shaking their shoulder gently. They had to still be alive, didn’t they?

“Metzli?” She asked carefully, placing their head on top of her knees. “Can - can you hear me?” An immediate switch to Spanish, because that was what worked best with them, and what Xóchitl felt most comfortable with, too.  

The world was a blur, like a painting smeared across the canvas until a layer of black splashed against it. Pain swelled from their wound, keeping the color from being completely taken. “Hm?” Blinking the disorientation away as best they could, Metzli looked blearily up at Xóchitl, anxious to see if she was unharmed. Pure relief washed over them like a weighted blanket, giving them a moment of tranquil pause. But just a moment. The creature’s continued screeching finally registered in Metzli’s hearing, and they shot up from where they laid. 

“Stay quiet.” They whispered, a shaky breath trembling past their lips. The ghoul continued to thrash and exclaim, looking for Metzli in the shadows. One snap of a twig, and it’d likely attack the pair, so they remained still, their arm moving to hover just in front of Xóchitl protectively. After a few moments of silence, something in the distance broke it, sending the feral beast charging toward it and leaving the pair finally safe. Metzli sighed with relief, taking a few more beats before finally making a sound themself. Just to be safe. 

“Are you okay?” Eyes scanned Xóchitl despite knowing she had sustained no injuries, landing on her face to check her emotional state. It was hard to read, given Metzli’s lack of experience, but still, they tried. “I am very glad you are safe.” They smiled awkwardly, not paying their own wounds any mind. It wasn’t as if they’d suffer from blood loss. Hunger was hardly a visible pain, and Metzli was confident that they’d be able to hold their control until they were able to get home. “We…” They subtly covered their wound as best they could with their arm, continuing once they were sure no signs of pain could be visible on their face. “Should leave. Before it comes back.”

“Of course.” There was no reason to be contrary, and Xóchitl wasn’t often the sort to be contrary anyhow, unless the situation seriously called for it. Which this one very (very) obviously didn’t. Not to mention Metzli mattered to her, and she also knew that they didn’t appreciate lying, and would probably not appreciate a contrarian either. 

“I’m fine. I am glad you’re safe, too.” She sighed. Something felt off with Metzli, even if only slightly, but Xóchitl didn’t want to push anything – didn’t want to frustrate them – not that she was at all opposed to working with them when they were frustrated, but it seemed cruel to even begin to push the edges of what might have made them frustrated. “We probably should. Do you want to come by my place, or…?” She trailed off. “Whatever works for you.”

Metzli was relieved to find that Xóchitl was not only safe, but she didn’t argue with their decision to sneak away and go home. Not that there was much to quarrel about when both of their mortality was at stake and Metzli had sustained some injuries, but Xóchitl didn’t have to know about those yet. Or at all if the vampire had any say. “Your place is closer. We will go there and rest.” Slowly, Metzli rose to their feet and dusted themself off while they continued to survey the area in case the ghoul decided to come back. 

When no sound caused them any alarm, Metzli let out a breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding, and they trailed their eyes back to the grave they and Xóchitl had gathered to visit in the first place. They were unsure of what they’d see, if there was anything to be seen at all, but they were grateful to see it had been unharmed in the midst of all the chaos. A forceful sigh tumbled out of Metzli’s lungs, “I am sorry we did not get to finish our visit, but you can tell me much more about your friend at home.” They offered Xóchitl an apologetic smile that was a little awkward and rigid, but they knew she’d receive the message just fine. “Let us stop at the store and I will get things for champurrado.” At their own idea, the rigidity of Metzli’s flickered away, allowing it to form into a much more pleasant and genuine expression. “Leila always says hot chocolate can make anything better or easier. We will test that.” And Metzli was good at tests, always having to venture into new experiences blindly, but the next thing they did felt like something they’d passed several times before. Albeit just barely, without much time for studying. 

Their arm hooked with Xóchitl’s with ease, sending a happy buzz to their wrist. They could feel it, feel the way they’d done it right, and knew if things like physical interaction could be graded, they’d surely get those flying colors they’d heard so much about.  How did colors fly anyway? Metzli figured they could ask Xóchitl about it once they were home and safe, with cups of champurrado warming their hands. The image had them smiling and tugging Xóchitl along as they mused idly.

“Vamos.”

[yewsoup]

Being thought dead sucks actually (especially if you have a grave)

Words: 3356

Cherry Fleur is very much alive. But she has a grave. And by gods is she not going to pass up the opportunity to fuck with people by haunting her grave!

(Her grave sits next to two others. Just as empty as her's. And as far as she knows, the people they're for are very much dead. Maybe she's not as ready as she thought she was to confront her regrets.)

Unbeknownst to her, there's someone else with the exact same thought.

Can also be read Here on Ao3!

Being thought dead sucks actually. Especially if you have a grave. Because nobody's seen you in fifty-odd years.

Your loved ones grieved. Moved on. Died.

All without you.

The upside, however. Is that you have a grave! Which is the perfect hangout spot on Halloween in order to spook people. Maybe even start a rumour that the graveyard is haunted or something silly like that.

(When Cherry jokes about this to her wife, she mentions that the graveyard already is haunted- the stories of a ghost on Halloween, and only Halloween.) (This only makes her want to visit more. Because what if, what if-) (Also, this would be an incredibly funny way to tell people she's alive.)

Her wife gives her a ride near enough to the town to get there herself- but not too close as to be spotted, as dragons are quite large. And well. The town, once a village, only knows one dragon that comes for a visit every few years.

It wouldn't do to spoil the surprise.

(Neither of them are aware of a toon with the exact same idea as Cherry, multiple years in a row.)

The town's graveyard has been around for as long as the town's been around. A place for the people that live there to honour their dead however they may see fit. This leads to some... odd. Graves. In it.

Like one dedicated to three people. (Parents, the three of them. Lovers as well. They wanted to be buried together.) (Only one of the death dates on the grave is before their children's.)

Or the one which was once painted the most vivid of colours. (It had always loved rainbows.) Which have become faded and worn as it's inhabitant's family died or moved away. (He had painted it for them. Said it was the least he could do, really. He had loved painting, ever since he discovered the medium. So each spring, before Wally left again, he would touch it up with the greatest care.)

Or the three empty graves that sit atop the hill. Under that gnarled old oak tree that was once not quite so old and sturdy.

(She remembers when her little brothers would practice climbing in it. Small and light as they were. It was the perfect practicing spot in their eyes. Despite the fact it had been so close to the graveyard.) (How many times had he drawn and painted that tree again?)

(Her and her wife's initials are still carved in it. An declaration of love on a warm sunny day visiting her nephieces.) (Of course that's where-)

Cherry knows these graves the best. Knows completely and surely that they are empty despite being a declaration of death. A celebration of life. She helped erect two of them, after all. (Their parent's grave lurks at the bottom of the hill.)

As she walks through the darkened graveyard, her feathers begin to rise. Maybe this was a bad idea. As emotions stir in her gut, and memories, (ones only a few years old to her, and over fifty years old to her wife,) threaten to overwhelm her, she has second thoughts. Maybe she shouldn't go looking for her own grave.

But she is Cherry Fleur, and she won't be stopped by silly little things like regrets! (Regrets are why she-) Sure, she hasn't visited their graves in this long. But that doesn't mean she can't visit now!

(The flowers she brought, their favourites, are clutched tight within her paws. Nobody really visits their graves anymore. The sons and daughters that knew them now old. The grandkids barely remembering. The great grandkids knowing only stories.) (Maybe she can change that. Or at least tell them some more stories than they knew.)

(She had gone to pursue her dream of being an inventor when they were ten and twelve. Been married and set up a repair shop in a town far away by the time they were sixteen and eighteen and following her footsteps. Seeking bigger things than the tiny little village they grew up in.) (Unlike her, they always made it in time for Animas.)

Cherry places three flowers at the grave that rests at the bottom of the hill. Wondering if Dad's flowershop is still around. Even if it's almost certainly under new management.  

Their parents ran it together. Ma and Paw being the main ones taking care of it after Dad died, rather than retiring or passing it on. But they were never quite as good at arranging flowers as he was. (Percy's daughter, the youngest... she had been learning. Did she take care of it after...?)

(Everyone in the family knew how to take care of flowers. What they meant. How to arrange them to look pretty.) (Is that still true for their children's children?)

(She hopes the meanings the flowers still ring to them from beyond the grave.)

A sunflower, a dandelion, and a rose. Three yellow flowers entwined on a grave.

Dad's favourite were sunflowers. Paw had thought they were funny to give him- deeming them incredibly fitting for the peacock- alongside just being bright and joyful. And eventually they stuck as his favourite.

In turn, dandelions had been paw's favourite. Paw liked the tea they made. And, similarly to sunflowers, they were bright and fun. But smaller and easier to make a bouquet of than sunflowers. As well as just being sturdy little weeds. (Weed, in that the plant is small but helpful.) Which made them grow easy.

Ma liked roses. Not because of the romance, or how pretty they were. She just liked the way they tasted. Ma was funny like that.

Percy had liked roses too, because of how varied their meanings were. (They weren't quite as interested in eating them.) Their wife- then girlfriend- had thought their dedication to roses for wooing her was more out of tradition or something.

The face she had made when Cherry pointed the actual meanings out to her... that was the highlight of her first time meeting the gal. Good ol' Percy had forgotten not everyone knew the meanings of flowers. Even over teasing Percy over being in love. As is her duty as older sister. She loved the way his wife had softened over the knowledge of the flowers.

(Their wife didn't do too well, when Percy never came back from that walk in the woods.) (She wonders if she ever moved on. After Percy died. How long she lasted. Whether she stayed here or left. All the little things.)

She... She should go give Percy and Wally their flowers.

(She does not see the drawing tucked behind the grave as she leaves it. The same three flowers she left scribbled out on paper beneath depictions of the faces that have rotted oh so long ago.)

The hill is silent as she walks up. Nobody thinking to visit the graveyard at the moment. It'll be later, if kids want to goad eachother into visiting for spooks.

There are three graves on the hill. And she snorts at the text written on it- of course they would put that.

Charity "Cherry" Fleur We always knew you'd blow yourself up.

Ha... It had certainly seemed like she had, hadn't it... Wonder if kids tell stories about her ashes being buried beneath the grave?

Despite knowing about it beforehand, it's something else to actually see the grave. Wonder if they'll bury her here when she actually dies. Or maybe she can have another grave by her wife's cave. Start a collection. Ha ha...

Tears drip down her cheeks, rolling over her water-resistant feathers. She really... why did she...? It was so stupid.

She left them all.

Cherry shoves aside her thoughts (the regrets that threatened to drown her on bad days. Choking on what-ifs.) And averts her gaze to the graves she's really here to see.

One's "death date" only a year after the other's. (And she hadn't been there she hadn't been there for either of them. Always trusting he'd come back. Thinking Percy wouldn't try to find Wally if they thought they had a lead.)

She sets the second rose she brought down on Percy's. White, because when it wilts it will be brown. And brown was his favourite colour. (A withered white rose symbolizes death. Percy's voice, reading from a book, chimes in her head. She had thought that was funny, once.)

Percival Fleur Hopefully there's books wherever you ended up.

They all knew that Percy wouldn't have wanted his nickname on his grave. It was only family and friends that called them Percy. Otherwise it was too "unprofessional". And "If I'm restoring someone's book, then they're going to think Percival is FAR more competent than Percy." He was funny like that.

Now though... Does anyone know they were once called Percy? That just like his siblings sitting upon the hill, he had a nickname that he was called just as much as- if not more than his name?

Apparently people don't get lost as easily nowadays, like before. People don't accept death as easily. Don't give up- It was the first spring after Percy disappeared that they knew that he wouldn't be coming back for certain.

(There's always been stories of the fae lurking in the woods. Though they always knew what to avoid from their Paw's stories, and never saw anything when they were little. A peacock is a pretty bird. Exactly the sort fae would take interest in for pretty plumage and a handsome face.)

Of course, they never would of left- never had to go looking- if he had come back for Animas like he always did. Or sent a letter if he couldn't, for some reason.

Cherry turns to the last grave of the three. The first erected. The reason there's three graves on this hill.

Wallace "Wally" Fleur You live on in our hearts, and in the paintings you left behind.

Only dad was allowed to call him Wallace, really. Just like how only Dad called her Charity. Nicknames taking the place of proper names that were far too fancy or silly for their tastes. Ma and Paw did too, sometimes. But more often than not, it was "Wally Fleur!" Being called at the little troublemaker. Name long given way for a more fitting nickname. Just like her.

He would have groaned at them putting "Wallace" on his tombstone. But what was your sibling's job, if not to tease? They knew he didn't really mind it. It was his given name, anyways, it was supposed to go on his tombstone.

(There had been the suggestion, of putting that "adventurer name" he made up when he was little on the tombstone. To represent more of the life he lived.)

(But he was never "Rook Watterson" to them. Even though Watterson was ma's maiden name.)

(Wally was just... Wally. Their ridiculous little brother that never truly settled down. Other than to paint.)

It was the second animas without him that they really, truly, realized he wasn't coming back.

That they'd never hear another one of his stories. That they'd never have to drag him in from the cold to warm up again. That they'd never hang another of his paintings on the walls.

He never had any kids. Not one for romance. Certainly not somebody you'd trust to raise a kid! But he was a good uncle. ... more or less.

The kids loved his stories just as much as everyone else had. Whether they be ones he actually did, or ones he picked up from his travels. She's pretty sure he made some of them up, too. Just because they were fun. Or because the kids requested them.

Though they never knew which ones he did make up... Since when they tried to call him out on a tall tale during the holidays, he'd pull out proof of the most ridiculous of his stories. He was just that sort of person, she supposes. Not that he ever really learned anything from his escapades. He had the common sense of a turkey.

Then again, were she and Percy any better? Chasing after glimpses of their younger brother, when he's long gone? Leaving behind everyone and everything- not that they had meant to- for a man who had lived a good life?

Parents shouldn't have to outlive one child. Not if it's not sickly.

Their parents, Ma and Paw at least, had to outlive three.

(Realkind- Reelkind? The spelling is different, nowadays...) (Reelkind Peacocks don't live as long as toons.) (They all knew Dad would be the first parent to go, unless some disaster struck. Even if they didn't like to think about it.)

Wally's favourite flower was the forget me not. Not because of the meanings or anything, though. He just liked the colour.

(Percy had given him a coat, just the year before, that was the same blue, but brighter. Because they had tried to dye it themself, and accidentally left it to soak for too long in the colour.) (He had loved it.) (She wonders if he died in it.)

Cherry sets the stem of forget me nots she brought in front of his grave. The irony of the flower not escaping her. (She had considered bluebells, his second-favourite. But she could never truly forget him.) (None of them could.)

(Maybe that's why they followed after him. Disappearing without a trace.) (Can't be outdone by your little- and by little she means he was the shortest of the family- brother for mysterious deaths, after all. Ha ha...)

Cherry sighs, and walks over to her grave. Leaning on it. "You're such an asshole, Wally. Making Percy and I worry like we did."

Her bitter words aren't directed at anyone- there's no reason for Wally's ghost to linger here. There's no body in the grave. The name on the tombstone might be his, and he might have lived here once upon a time. But he wouldn't be happy lingering at an old grave in a single place.

The ghost rumours are probably just a prank by some punk kids, or it's some other ghost. Despite the descriptions of it being white. White is just ghost colour!!

So Cherry is surprised when, of all things, she gets an answer. An answer in a voice that she hadn't heard in years. An answer from someone who, with everything, should be long dead-

"Damn, Cherry Berry, youse really coming all the way to my grave just to tell me that?"

Like any reasonable person. Cherry jumps a solid foot in the air at hearing a dead person speak. Feathers fluffing up as she looks every which way.

"Wh- What??"

"Up here, sis." His voice calls from the tree. And indeed, there the little bastard is. Looking almost as she remembers him- coat and all.

His fuzz isn't as white as it once was, nor are his blacks as deep. They're closer to browns, really. Like when you left art out in the sun for too long, and all the colour fades from what it was. Even his coat is lighter. A true forget-me-not blue.

Is he seriously-?!

"Damn, your face... almost looks like ya saw a ghost!" He laughs, climbing down the tree with the ease she's familiar with, if not more.

Cherry's beak opens and closes. Truly flabbergasted at the sight before her.

"Have you been here this whole time without telling me?!"

Her ridiculous little brother at least has the decency to look a little sheepish as he nods. "I thought youse were a kid comin' t' muck about in the graveyard, so I hid behind a tree ta spook ya if youse came close. When I realized it was youse, well..." He snickers. The rat. "Can youse blame me fer wanting to prank my sister again?"

"Uh. Yes? Maybe? Are you %@€£^#$ haunting the graveyard? Did you seriously become a ghost?"

"Shockingly, no. But damn if ah'm going to waste an opportunity ta haunt my own grave on Halloween just ta spook people." He shakes his head, grin more than wide enough to poke out from behind his scarf. "An' I take it from that question that youse ain't a ghost either?"

"No, I'm not. Do I look like a pile of disintegrated ashes, Wally?" She pauses. "I did come to haunt my own grave though. I couldn't not."

His grin manages to grow wider, and he laughs. Lunging at her. (She catches him easily and wraps her arms around him tight. And he is real real real under her feathers.) "I missed you, Cherry." "I missed you too, ya dingus."

They stand there, holding eachother, for who knows how long. (She would swear he's lighter than she remembers.) But it doesn't take a genius to realize what Wally being alive means. And Cherry is quite smart.

She draws back from him. Holding him out at arms length, so she can look him in the eyes.

"Were you seriously alive this whole time?!"

He falters. Something he rarely did in her memory. (Her "death" year isn't too long after Percy's, but she had never spent as much time as she should have with him.)

"Er..." Wally looks away, rubbing the back of his head. "...Yeah. But-! Before youse yell at me! Ah have good reason fer going missin' like I did!" He puts his hands up, as it that would calm her, or like he was caught by the police.

"A good reason?"

"Well, maybe not good but ah was uh. Wrapped up in something bad fer a while alright? An youse'll get really mad if you hear it so instead maybe we's should go somewhere that isn't this cold ol' graveyard?"

He adds, quieter, mostly to himself. "Percy's never gonna believe this."

And doesn't that strike her through the heart.

"Percy's alive too...?" Are they all...?

Wally snorts. "Yeah, and youse'll never believe what happened to him either- what happened to youse anyways?"

"Time machine worked. Wrong direction. And I... well, I don't think I'll manage to fix it considering..." her grave. The lack of any note that she was alive. The joy and confusion on her wife's face when she saw her.

"Why in einquell were youse making a- ya know what? Nevermind. Tell me while we montage. Youse can give Percy his flower in person."

It doesn't feel real. Not quite. "An' I...!" But Wally wriggles out of her grasp and walks behind her grave. "Can give youse this!" He holds out a piece of paper to her. One of his little doodles.

She had had a little box of them back at home. Scraps of paper with drawings she thought nice. Alongside all the paintings he had made for her over the years.

Cherry can't help but laugh a little, as she takes it. Regrets weighing on her melting, just a bit. "Of course you left drawings at our graves." He had never been as interested in the meanings of flowers as Percy. Or their parents.

Paper, set under a rock, would last at least a little longer than a flower. So long as the wind didn't rip it away. (She knows, from his rambles, that he chose to use good paper for this.)

"An' o' course youse leave flowers." He teases back. Like he never left. Like none of them left. Like it isn't over fifty years after every death date on three empty graves. Like this is completely normal. Wally picks up the forget me not, and it's the same blue as his weather-worn coat. "Heh, we even match!"

And she can't help but laugh too. Laugh with relief that she hasn't lost all her family, other than her wife and descendants of the three of them. That Wally is still Wally.

And as the two of them walk away from the three graves. She knows they are empty. Not because the bodies were never found. Or because how they died left nothing to be found. But because all three grave's inhabitants are alive despite everything. And that. That is something which is a pleasure to know.

[forever-a-genius]

"Alchemy of Immortality" Completed | 5/5 chapters | 54k words | Rated Mature for violence, sexual themes, death Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood | Guardian/Goblin Korean Drama crossover

Summary: Kim Shin finally has his long, immortal life ended in Seoul, year 2016, but when he wakes up, he's in a world he knows nothing about, over 100 years in the past. It's different than the place he had come from, where Alchemists perform real transmutations that would be considered magic to people in his own world. Whether he's gained a new lease on life, or something is in store for him, he doesn't know, but he wants to make the best of it in the godless land of Amestris. That is, of course, if he ever manages to catch a break. (Brotherhood canon compliant.)

---

Preview:

Summer, 1904

The letter came too late. 

Shin walked through the quiet cemetery, a bouquet of fresh flowers clutched against his chest. He’d been so caught up with dealing with the Ishvalan uprising that he hadn’t been able to visit as much as he would have liked. 

Hohenheim disappeared from the village, and the Elric boy’s mother is sick. 

It was a simple note, but it didn’t make it to him before Trisha passed. He couldn’t imagine how quickly her condition deteriorated having to raise their two boys alone. Where did you go, Hohenheim? How could you leave them alone? 

In front of the stone labeled for Trisha Elric, her sons sat, as silent as death itself. 

Alphonse turned first, hearing the footsteps of someone approaching. “Uncle,” his voice came out softly, as if he didn’t believe it himself. He only knew him through the photographs on the wall, and the repeated message that he would be there for them when they needed him. 

Edward didn’t attempt to look. “Why are you here?” he asked, the malice softened by his grief. He was hugging his knees as he stared ahead. 

Shin knelt behind them and felt the wind as it picked up. Even in this new world, my emotions stir up the weather… He knew what Edward meant, however. He was too late. “I’m sorry, boys.” Their mother was gone, and he’d done nothing to help them. 

“Sorry…?” the older brother glanced at him finally. “She said you’d be here when we needed you… He left, and you never showed.” He stood, his small frame shaking. “She got sick… and even then she believed that one of you would come back…” He clenched his fists. “Tell me again that you’re sorry.” 

“Ed…” Alphonse got to his feet too. 

“She died using all her energy hoping for nothing!” He stomped past the man they were supposed to consider their uncle and headed for the path back out of the cemetery. “Don’t try to act like you care now!” 

Al shifted his focus between them quickly, unsure of what to do, but decided to go after his brother instead. “Wait for me, Ed!” 

I did it again, didn’t I? Shin stared at the engraving on the headstone. I took your understanding for granted… I told myself I was too busy… but you were suffering. He placed the flowers on the grave as the raindrops started to fall. I’m so sorry, Trisha. 

He followed the familiar road to the Rockbell house, where he found Edward, Alphonse, and their friend Winry all sat at the table having a meal. He bowed his head in greeting to Pinako as she appeared. 

“You’re soaked!” she chided, taking in his appearance. She’d been warned when the Elric boys arrived that he was in the area, but she couldn’t be sure that he would show up. “Get in here and dry off so you can eat something.” 

He did as he was told, not finding much energy to disagree. He waited until the kids were asleep to talk with her. “I’m thankful to you… I promised I would be around… and I abused her trust.” 

“I had hoped that someone would be around, with Hohenheim gone… but it’s not your fault. She was aware of what things are happening East of here. Trisha would not hold that over you.” Pinako was smoking a pipe while she spoke. “But you really don’t know anything about Hohenheim?”

“No… He really just… disappeared?” 

“She said he needed to go away for a while, and that he asked her to wait for him to return…” She huffed out smoke. “But she couldn’t keep that promise, though there’s no telling if that fool is dead or alive or not.” She shook her head as she rid her pipe of the ashes inside. “Don’t worry about the boys. They’re safe and well cared for. You don’t really have the kind of life that would allow you to have a couple of youngsters around at all times, anyway…” 

“I’ll send money… At least you all can live comfortably.” Shin couldn’t give up on the military. He had big plans, and for that reason, he couldn’t quit. “They’re not my sons, but they deserve a good life… and I’ll be sure to give Hohenheim hell if I see him again…” 

---

Listen to me I'm not good at most things but I'm pretty proud of this one. I promise that the plot of Goblin is so irrelevant to reading this story. Shin is basically an OC at this point. I SWEAR ON MY LIFE.

If you like or love Fullmetal Alchemist and want to experience the '09 version all over again from the POV of an immortal who doesn't belong there, read this fic XD It's GAY and POLY and SILLY and SERIOUS and so many other wonderful things. My partner, who is not at all obligated to say good things about my work, would agree!

On the flip side, if you like Goblin and wanna see Shin get into shenanigans in another world, you got it! Our immortal boy cannot catch a break! All of those great things from above still apply!

I'll quit rambling, but lemme know if you give it a try! Comment/kudos/like/reply etc! And you can check out the art/concepts I've done here: https://www.tumblr.com/forever-a-genius/745705959834468352/i-took-my-kim-shin-brainrot-and-re-watched-fmab-so

Lots of love~

[cesar-ramon]

Visibly annoyed, Cesar fidgeted with his hands, lobbing between picking the skin around his dry cuticles and scraping the stems of the flowers. He wouldn’t have thought much about it before, but as it turned out, ghosts were rather pushy and impolite. He made the mistake once of asking one why when they had all the time in the world, and the result was him no longer having a TV to watch. It was also the reason he hated poltergeists. Still, he took a breath. In the early days of realizing his ‘gift’ he had run the full gauntlet of terror and denial, screaming every time he was spoken to, asking others if they could see them, and even checking himself into a mental hospital and trying to accept that he was crazy and ignoring himself. Still, it turned out to be not the medication they gave him, but an old psychic woman who ended up convincing him all this was real. Of course, he had called her crazy too, but he’d gotten enough proof by now to realize that this was just to be his lot in life. It would also figure that his bad look would have a beautiful young woman trying to talk to him, only for her to be dead. 

“That’s what they all say,” He dryly joked, amused slightly at the fact that all these ghosts had sometimes lacked self-awareness. “Baby trust me, my ghost cherry was popped long before you got here.” He joked again, shaking his head as he placed one hand on the grave before plopping in the dirt. At least if he was talkinging to himself at a gravesite, passersby might not be so inclined to think that he was insane. It helped him, as the woman clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer. Ghosts were such creeps. 

“Most viruses can go away with a shot or something…” He muttered under his breath. “ There’s a bar and a gun store not far from here, so I just gotta pick which.” Cesar laughed at his own morbid joke a bit before clearing his throat and looking away from the spirit. He was fully aware how poor taste it was to joke about death to a ghost, but his sense of humor was much like the company he kept: dark, unforgiving, and macabre.

Looking up at the ghost after a long pause, Cesar took her in with a sort of pity, both for her and for himself. Her skin was not yet showing signs of a spirit barely clinging to this plain, as it had yet to turn gray and translucent, nor were under her eyes purple and her pupils milky. Her eyes, in fact, were a chocolatey brown and her cheeks adorned with deep set dimples that were actually rather charming. Cesar tsked. “ Oh yeah, how’s that?” He asked, chortling when he heard her proposition. “Tricks? Of what?” He laughed out loud, shaking his head. “How to live? Cause you were doing a bang up job before?” He asked bitterly. It was a poor taste comment that he instantly regretted, but his own anguish for living was something he was forced to face every day. He was a failed musician clinging to his last hope, had nothing to his name, and had lost just about everyone he held dear over the course of his lifetime only to now be cursed with the company of the dead. 

He was about to give her the same, practiced speech he’d given most of the others when something she said gave him reason to pause. “ A witch?” He echoed. “ For real? Like a real one?” He asked with an edge of hope in his voice that he didn’t think he had. He had often wondered if he could find someone who could somehow undo this curse or bind it, but gave up after a few tries, as he did with most things. “ If you were a witch, how’d you….you know. And how can you be so sure you can help me? You don’t even know me, what makes you think I need your help?”

“Riveting company.” Joss groaned, if he couldn’t even hear it on his end. She saw his elevens start to form, two harsh wrinkles between his brow like they had never left. She imagined he had to be fed up with his gift by now, plucked by poor spirits at every end. Just her luck that she’d find an unwilling party who wanted little to do with her. A karmic punishment, surely. She rolled her eyes at him, wishing she didn’t have to ask for it in the first place. “Actually that’s the thing, I need to get back on your side.” She could already imagine what he was thinking, the beginnings of the slew of rejections that would soon follow. She even watched him open his mouth to object, wishing she was made of flesh to close it herself.

“Oh you mean I’m not your first?” Joss held a hand to where her pearls would be if they hung along her neck, feigning a shock. “I could do that but I can stand in here or out there, two blocks from here.” She shrugged and smacked her hands at her sides, starting to form a sheepish grin. “It’s your unlucky day, I’m a lingering virus.” It had been a short while that she had been aimlessly roaming, knowing her fate but not much to the extent of it. She knew there were little things still tethering her to her body, perhaps the magic that still lived within her and extended through her, appearing in spurts. She wondered if she could command her power at any capacity, and if any of it might be helpful now.

“This has the potential to be beneficial for the both of us.” She led, trying to sweeten the deal. It obviously wasn’t going to be out of the kindness of his heart, no matter what she said. He didn’t know her, didn’t sympathize with her plight and why should he? Humans were just that. “I can show you some parlor tricks. We could dive into the heavy stuff.” she peaked an eyebrow, searching his eyes for a look lacking belief. It never left. “The human experience is to suffer, but I can make it easier…” Now she was being nosy, peeking around at all his things, at the scuffs on his shoes and the small hole that edged on the side of his guitar case. The first fight would be fought with honey, the latter being a more sour taste in her mouth. “I was a witch before this,” she motioned to herself. “Bend a few of your rules for me, see if I can’t bend some for you?”

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

Request idea: After feeding, the Boys are passing through the graveyard. To their amusement they see a drunk girl who is talking to a gravestone. They eventually realise that she is talking to her dead fiancé. Even though she’s crying and her words are slurred, they are genuinely moved, as her sorrow and pain are very raw and real. A small part of them feels sorry for her, but a selfish part of them see it as fate. If they hadn’t killed her lover, they would have never met their mate. *sips tea*

I'm in a goth romance mood so this is gonna be sad as shit

Apology Flowers (poly!lost boys x Fem!reader)

Warnings: angst, regret, sad shit supreme,

Word Count: 1.3k

The boys were making their nightly rounds. They'd eaten early in the night, and now they were just driving around the city to kill time before they went to bed for the day. The boardwalk had been dead, with nothing worthy of their attention going on that night. Marko had muttered something about how it must've been a weekday. But, a night drive was as good as a way to spend their time as any way else.

The boys sat back on their bikes and planted their feet on the ground. They were stopped at a red light, and the four of them looked around when David heard something. He glanced towards the cemetery, swiping at his nose as a smirk grew on his face. Perhaps they'd have a second course. But, as their eyes focused on the sight, they saw you.

You were sitting on top of a grave, a fresh one from the state of the soil. David's grin fell, and the boys quieted. They could hear your sobs, see the bottle in your hand. The glint of a ring on your finger. Your words were slurred as you said,

"Today," She hiccuped and wiped your face. "Today was 'upposed to be the big day." A sad smile crossed over your face, before it turned into another sob. You ran a hand over the grave. "You would've- would've loved my dress. Had lace and- and-" You were moving, changing how you sat and leaning your back against the stone. They watched as you took another swig from the bottle before you continued your drunken rambles.

Usually, they'd think someone like you was easy pickings, probably even make jokes about why you were crying. But, they couldn't deny the pull they felt. The pull they all felt.

You were theirs, and you were in pain.

The light in front of them turned green, but none of them moved. How could they? They'd found their mate and you were snivelling in a graveyard, possibly trying to drink yourself to death. And, when you exclaimed,

"God, why- Why did you," You paused to throw the bottle. "Why did you have to go get yourself killed!" The boys were nearly positive that they might've had something to do with it. They couldn't know for sure. Not truly. But, it was more likely than not.

David looked over at the rest of them. He could see the way Paul was tilting his head, staring at you. As if his brain was already coming up with ways to talk to you. If he'd stumbled onto you by himself, he probably would be already. Marko was staring at you the same way, but his expression was unreadable. Even to the bleached blonde. And Dwayne? Dwaynes eyes had shifted to him. They gave eachother a knowing glance, and, while David was revving his engine and pushing his bike forward, they silently agreed to come back.

They'd come back without their bikes, just to find you asleep on the ground. You were curled up in a little ball, the late night chill nipping at your skin. They'd flown down, and David had let out a sigh when he saw you. They couldn't just leave you.

All it took was a minor pat down and they'd found your wallet, along with your driver's license. Once they had your address, the only thing left to do was get you there. Dwayne had been the one to offer to carry you, and none of them had argued. They'd flown you back to your house, even going through the lengths to break in. Paul was good with a lock when he wanted to be, but Marko had decided time was of essence and used his strength to open your back-door instead. Marko whispered,

"I'll buy her a new lock later." As Dwayne carried you over the threshold. They'd looked around, taking in the sights of your house. It was nice, but they frowned when they saw that it was littered with funeral home bills, wedding plans, and photos of you with who they assumed was your fiance. Paul picked one of them up, looking down at the photo.

"Fuck." He said a little too loudly as Dwayne set you gently down on your couch. You made a noise and they all froze, only for you to turn onto your side and fall back asleep. They all glared at him, and Paul's only response was a mouthed, "Sorry." And then he held up the frame. And, there he was. Your Mr. Right. David sighed as he looked at the picture. Of course, he thought. They had, in fact, eaten him about a little over a week ago.

Nothing can ever be easy, David thought. He looked at the others, and then nodded towards the back door. They needed to leave, think about how they'd approach this. It was as they were leaving that Marko noticed a book on your table, and he swiped it without a second thought.

***

When you woke up on your own couch, you'd done a double take. Your bones were stiff and your head was swimming. You held your head, trying to remember how you got home. The only thing you could remember was that you'd gone to a liquor store, and tried to drink your body-weight in alcohol. Everything after that was a little fuzzy. You groaned as you sat up, and decided to ignore the dirt on your clothes in favor of getting yourself some ibuprofen.

You went about your week the same as you'd been ever since your fiance had passed. You forced yourself to eat breakfast, took a shower, checked a day off the calendar, and then went back to sleep. Anything else seemed like too much energy. Plus, you had the time off for your honeymoon. It was a glum thought as you looked out your bedroom window.

Things had been weird. You'd found that your back door lock was broken, but nothing seemed to be missing at first. It wasn't until yesterday that you realized you couldn't find one of the books you'd been meaning to return to your friend. The language of flowers book you'd been using to plan your wedding. You picked at your comforter, trying to think of where you could've misplaced it. When you looked at your clock, you let out a little sigh.

You'd been at home for days, and you'd finally decided to drag yourself out of bed. You didn't have anywhere you could go, anyone you wanted to see. So, the only place you could think of was the cemetery.

Your feet dragged as you walked through the rows, and you sighed as you walked a path that you'd almost memorized. Tears were already building in your eyes as you looked up from your feet, but you froze at what you saw. There was a bouquet.

It was a bouquet of purple-blue hyacinths and white lilies. You'd spent the past months studying flowers for your arrangements, and you were more than aware that lilies were a funeral flower but hyacinths? You kneeled, reaching out to touch the bouquet. Your brows furrowed together, a swirl of questions in your mind. Anyone could've visited the grave, so it shouldn't have mattered. It wouldn't have mattered if you could just remember what hyacinths were for.

You ended up going home to go through some of your notes, the ones that were scattered on your dining room table. You knew hyacinths had been put on your "avoid" list, but you couldn't remember why. It wasn't until you found one of your notepads that you remembered. A chill went down your spine as you read the words. There, in your own handwriting, was scrawled,

"Hyacinths - apology flowers."

[bellafragolina]

Okay, I’m tired of angst and I’ll fix this… Self-aware Warden Ingo still grieving for S/O death in the real world. Only to realize her soul went into the game, making an unique code as a character and now they can be together.

Yesssssss anon fix it! Fix everything! Let's get Ingo some love!

🍓🍓🍓

Your death had taken its tole on Ingo. He couldn't handle the thought of you being gone. There was no trace of you here. The hero had disappeared, and everyone assumed they just returned to their own time, but Ingo knew. You were gone, so the hero too disappeared.

Ingo needed something to grieve, a piece of you, anything. So he made you a grave, not far from his hut. Sneasler helped, bring him the rock he would use as a headstone. He spent days carving your name into the rock, then under it, his shining star, the love of his life.

Once he was done, he stood back, looked at his work. He'd get flowers to plant by the grave later. He knew the kind you liked, but he was unsure if he could find any similar enough here. For now, though, he stood before the grave and grieved. He told the headstone everything he told you, his love, how he missed you, how he's sorry he was too late to save you.

"You know," Ingo stiffened at the voice, "it's kinda rude to make a grave for someone that's still alive."

Ingo turned slowly, eyes wide as he took you in. It was you, alive, dressed in the Sneasler kimono with a Pokémon happily stood at your side. You smiled at him, and reached out a hand.

He tackled you to the ground. You, you, you. You were here, with him. He had you in his arms, you were laughing, he could kiss you. He kissed your cheek. Then your nose. Then your forehead.

"They're not that hard to miss, are they?" You joked, pointing to your mouth.

Ingo smiled broadly, then kissed you. Again and again and again. He'd do something about the grave later. For now, he had far more important business to take care of.

🍓🍓🍓

<3 I'm so happy for them. Finally together, finally free of sickness, finally happy. So sweet <3

Have a great day, love!

~Renee

[azucarian]

Second part to my idea of how Tokyo Revengers could possibly end (First part here)

MANGA SPOILERS(?)

TR ; mental illness, major character death

A world without Hanagaki Takemichi felt unnaturally bland - anyone would admit. It had only been days since he passed away and yet the impact of his death was so blatantly apparent.

Mikey and Draken had explained to each of their friends that Takemichi had passed away - but, by far, the worst reactions came from Hinata and Chifuyu. The moment the news slipped from their lips, Hinata asked them if they were joking and, if they were, it wasn’t funny. Neither knew how to react, and averting their gazes. Chifuyu just broke down into silent sobs - he could tell instantly by their pale complexions and the dark eyebags under Draken’s usually clear eyes.

Mikey whispered apologies, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry - I couldn’t save him, I didn’t save him— ” Hinata didn’t let him finish and simply cried, realising the severity - her boyfriend, her happiness, was dead. She embraced Mikey, and he held her tightly in turn.

The funeral caused agony for everyone involved - especially as Takemichi's mother collapsed to her knees, screaming "my baby" through her tears. As a mother, she felt as if she had failed - and no one would be able to convince her otherwise. Hinata approached the casket, hardly holding it together - but her hands shook as they pressed themselves against the wooden structure holding her late boyfriend.

“Come on, Takemichi... Now’s the time to tell me you’re joking—” Those words broke everyone else into an endless stream of wailing, tears and regrets.

I feel as if Hinata would never truly get over his death - especially considering she still loved him twelve years into the future. She would likely be placed on medication, or be consistently seeing a therapist, due to her claiming that she had “gone on days out” with Takemichi (which was obviously impossible).

Mikey would become Hinata’s support - he felt as if he owed that much to Takemichi. He would do an all-round trip to everyone’s graves every week - first to Shinichiro, then to Emma, then a small visit to Izana’s, then to Baji’s.

Then he’d finally sit down for a few hours to tell Takemichi about his week. How much he misses him “I wish you could see how everyone was doing, Takemitchy— We all miss you like crazy. Mitsuya made you this memorial blanket, look—” And he’d show the sewn fabric to the grave. There would likely be with something cheesy like ‘Toman’s Little Hero’ or ‘Crybaby Hero’ on the front, or stitched into the corner. Mikey would definitely be in tears by the end of it, blurting his regrets - and it always made him feel better (it made him believe that Takemichi was comforting him, even beyond the grave).

Chifuyu would always make it a habit to visit his grave weekly too - and (in the future), occasionally, he was joined by Kazutora (especially on days where the pet store was closed). He’d always bring a new puppy or kitten along, because he knew Takemichi would appreciate it if he knew. Kazutora always paid his sincerest respects, bowing so deeply that anyone would think he would break his back - he may not have known Takemichi very well, like, at all, but he was the boy who tried to save Baji from his bad mistakes. Kazutora could only hope they were looking after each other in the afterlife. Chifuyu would always light incense on his grave, and place his favourite snacks - jokingly saying how Takemichi couldn’t steal his food anymore. He’s another one who would cry, probably because of his own poorly timed jokes - but it was how he coped and no one judged him for it.

After the incident, Draken found it difficult to not scrub his hands raw - the staining feeling of his friends blood on his hands haunted him for the longest time (he only stopped when Mikey made him promise to, because Takemichi would feel upset knowing Draken was hurting himself). He didn't visit the cemetery often but, when he did, he came sporting a bunch of flowers and a few gag gifts (he wasn't great at gift giving, so he opted to be funny instead) "You're probably sitting up there worrying your ass off about us— Give it a rest already," although his words were harsh, a smile was on his face the entire time. He whole heartedly believed Takemichi was probably panicking and bothering Emma and Baji in the afterlife (if there was one, he wasn't too sure). He wouldn't cry, and he wouldn't rant - he'd just run his hand along the grave stone before he left with a "I'll see you later, Takemitchy". He didn't know how to appropriately express his sadness.

Mitsuya would always join Hakkai and Yuzuha on their trips to visit Takemichi's grave - mainly because Hakkai couldn't stand visiting alone. It hurt him to much to see his hero no longer living alongside them. The blonde had done a lot for Hakkai and his sister - but neither of them could escape that loneliness that came with his sudden death. The trio always sit and have a natural conversation and, occasionally, Mitsuya would pipe up with a "They're idiots, ain't they, Takemitchy?" in an attempt to involve him in their chatters. Oddly enough, Mitsuya always found himself sewing extra clothes - during the winter he'd bring a sweater to Takemichi's grave as a gift (although he was aware he couldn't never wear it) and always jokingly tell the tombstone how atrocious his fashion sense was "You dressed like a four year old had picked your outfit— Hell, even a four year old could dress better!". Hakkai and Yuzuha would always bring little trinkets that they found in the local markets - tiny figurines, poker cards, etc.

Other old members of Toman try as often as possible to visit the grave and offer their condolences - Smiley and Angry visit it together, despite not being overly close to the boy; they appreciated him and his loyalty to Toman and his friends. Pah-chin and Peh-yan visit with Pah's wife, bowing deeply and leaving cecelias on his grave before leaving. Inui occasionally asks Koko to visit with him but, when he's alone, he just quietly talks - knitting stupid scarves and wrapping them around his grave when he was finished (he was already used to grieving, especially after Akane).

Every year, on Takemichi's birthday, everyone gathers together for a celebration - over the years they've learned that, instead of remembering him for his death, they should honor his memory through celebrating his life. Everyone would get drunk, someone would cry, and many adoring speeches were made - a picture of sixteen year old Takemichi Hanagaki would be on the table, a drink poured for him as a sign of respect. As life continued, the ex-gang members started having families - and they all spoke highly of the blonde who had improved their lives. Their children adored Takemichi and his insane stories, inspiring them to be as courageous - even when they're scared.

Although he was no longer with them, he remained as a sacred memory to each of them - and they were sure he was happy with that ending.

FIN

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

A big mistake...but who made it?

Nekomaru, have you seen Uchui?

Alter Ego just contacted me and updated me on the situation. They were listening in while you were talking...

To think...Kamukura’s grandson...

We’ll talk more about it later. Do you know where he is?

He’s not in his lab. I already went to check. I asked around, and...Well, most people didn’t even know who I was talking about...

...

Still, I was able to track him down thanks to his description. He’s in the courtyard!

Thank you. We need to speak with him.

Hm?

*Chihiro and the others find Uchui in the courtyard. He’s currently examining his phone, when he looks up and swiftly pockets it.

Ah, Mr Fujisaki, hello!

Sorry, I was just checking my email. Did you need me for...something...?

*Uchui suddenly notices the entourage behind him.

What’s...going on? Are you planning some sort of event?

*Miaya wheels forward.

Uchui...Forgive me, but I looked into your past. After what happened to you recently, I was looking for a way to best help you, but lots of information about your life before this point was hidden away from me.

I tracked down the info I needed so I could help you.

...

I see...And what exactly did you all discover?

That you’re actually a Kamukura...

And that your family did some pretty messed up crap...

And that your father led the Hope Cultivation Plan.

Oh, wonderful. Now you’re all aware of the terrible crimes I’ve been associated with.

Not by choice I would imagine.

No, not by choice...But by being the grandson of that filthy old bastard...

*Uchui turns his back and looks up at the sky.

It’s his fault...The reason our world is like this is his fault...I can’t force myself to blame Enoshima for it, when he and the steering committee are the one’s who sewed the seeds...

*He turns back to the Foundation, with a grim and frustrated look on his face.

My father was a calculating man, and he knew there would always be a possibility someone would take advantage of Izuru. Which is why he approached the Hope’s Peak steering committee.

That way, he could get the resources, and if the experiment went awry...Well, he’d give them a taste of their own medicine. Something those rats couldn’t escape from.

So, when the riots started happening at Hope’s Peak, he travelled south to get away from all of this, abandoning me and leaving me with my wretch of an Uncle. From what I hear, the weather conditions gave him pneumonia, and he died long before they reached land. He didn’t even come and visit me when he left.

The irony is bliss...If only the steering committee members had survived long enough to actually serve as those fall guys.

Instead, they all died sudden, agonizing deaths...Heheh...There is a reason I always looked up to Mukuro Ikusaba. 

Which reminds me, I still need to bring flowers to her grave today. May I be excused?

What? No, we’re not finished talking yet! Heck, we haven’t even gotten started.

Started on what? Therapy? Psh...I’ve already told you my situation. You know the rest already.

What else is there to talk about?

Uchui...are you ok?

Why do you ask?

Something’s off about you. I’m sorry we approached so suddenly, but you’re acting very...

“Rude?”

Abrasive.

It’s true, don’t get so grumpy. We are trying to help you.

Then why does this feel less like therapy and more like confrontation? If you wanted to help me, then just bring Ms Gekkogahara. The rest of you don’t need to be here.

No, I know the real reason. You want to question me. Evaluate me. See if I’m not a threat.

That’s not it-!

I can’t say I blame you. You would never understand my situation...

You had talent, your own responsibilities, parents that actually love you; you have it GOOD! But me? The ghosts of the one’s who raised me are still watching, even my damn great grandfather. And they are judging me.

...

*Sakura clenchers her fist, ready to intervene.

Let him let it out Sakura. If this helps him.

You’re making a huge mistake, you know? Trying to help me? There’s no helping me!

I understand more than you know! Your father and uncle were worthy of being called Ultimate Despair with what they’ve done! And they got to you! I know what it’s like!

DON’T PRETEND! TO UNDERSTAND!

...

Everyone in life and in our universe lives for a purpose, EXCEPT for me! My research is in a fake science that no one cares about! My family were only ever concerned with making breakthrough after breakthrough, which is why they went so far with their experiments.

And the mistake you’re making is assuming I’m any different.

What is that supposed to mean?

...

You know what? Since you’ve already exposed most of my secrets, I’ll let you all in on one that you DIDN’T know yet.

I’m the one who brought the kids from Danganronpa V3 to our universe, INCLUDING Tsumugi Shirogane.

You...WHAT!?

Was it not obvious? I did tell you that I had developed a machine that would allow us to contact other worlds.

Shirogane was brought here by me, and then she founded Organization Zetsubou.

Ironic, isn’t it? My father was the root cause of the first tragedy, and now I am the root cause of the second.

Uchui, that’s not true. I don’t know if you’re telling the truth or not about you being the reason Shuichi and Shirogane are here, but if we work together, we can stop the world from ending.

I don’t give a rats ass what happens to the world!

!!?

My father and Uncle, and a few other members of the Kamukura family line were willing to break every law in the book to make a breakthrough, and now I’ve broken the laws of REALITY ITSELF to make mine!

My machine isn’t done yet, and I doubt I’d ever be able to finish it in my lifetime...I was so willing to just give up on life and return to the soil that birthed me...And that’s when I had a thought.

Even with a team of fellow scientists, we together wouldn’t be able to make that dream come true before I die...But...if I had a team of super talented and super genius scientists, we might be able to do it in days...DAYS!

Ultimate Hope...To think, that man and his disgusting research actually comes in handy for my own ends...And to think even more, my mistake of bringing that demon, Shirogane, into our universe, has come around full circle!

I’ve had to suffer so much to get here, but it’s all coming up Uchui! Now, I can kill two birds with one stone, by proving that I myself am worthy of Izuru’s name, AND preserving my father’s legacy in one fell swoop!

All I need...is that damn serum...! That’s the last piece of the puzzle I need...

Uchui, what the hell are you talking about!?

By “serum” you mean the Hope Serum that transformed Fujimori and Komaeda into Ultimate Hope’s right?

...!

*Munakata suddenly makes a connection, and strides forward, brandishing his sword.

You little rat...! YOU’RE THE SPY!

!!!??

!!!??

...

*Everyone’s eyes fall on Munakata, and then immediately dart back to Uchui.

The spy...!? H-Him!?

So that’s your agenda...! This whole time, you’ve been leaking whatever Foundation secrets you can get your hands on to gain Zetsubou’s trust, all so you can get that Hope Serum for yourself!

Then, you’ll sell the serum to people in exchange for them using their talents to make whatever this machine you want is!

Munakata, calm down! You’re jumping to conclusions, and people always get hurt when you do that!

I dunno bro...I’m not liking this kids attitude either.

I must agree...Uchui tends to fade into the background, so we never suspected it could be him for a moment...But now we have a potential lead.

Uchui...

Porosen, please, say something!

DON’T CALL ME THAT! That’s NOT who I am! I am UCHUI! KAMUKURA!

Let me say this much...I won’t confirm your suspicions, but I won’t deny them either. All I’ll say is I indeed have my own agenda.

If you want to investigate me...be my guest.

*Uchui holds out his arms

What are you up to now...!?

I’m turning myself in, formally. Better that than have any of you pounce on me and beat me to a pulp.

...

Chairman. I don’t know what to make of this, but remember, it’s your call.

And I implore you to make the right decision.

Don’t worry Taka...I will.

Sakura? Restrain him and take him to the cells. Uchui will stand trial for suspicion of being the Future Foundation spy.

As you wish.

...

*Sakura handcuffs Uchui, who retains a smile.

I told you Chairman. There’s no helping me.

...

*Uchui is dragged away by Sakura and Munakata. Nekomaru follows.

Um...I...think I’ll get going. Not gonna help much being here.

...

Um...Chihiro...What Uchui said, about you not understanding, because you’ve had a good life...

I’m...grateful he considers me a good dad, but...

I think he’s the one who doesn’t understand.

Taichi. If you have nothing else planned, could I ask you to assist me? I would like to investigate Uchui’s lab.

Yes, of course.

*Taichi pats Chihiro on the shoulder and then exaunts.

You’re old man’s right. If Uchui really is the spy, that ain’t something you gotta feel guilty about.

You are respectable Chihiro. I know how much you cared for that boy, but you made the right choice in the end to bring him in for questioning.

...

I don’t know about that Taka...

What? What do you mean?

Something doesn’t feel right...Assuming that he really is the spy, Uchui’s been hiding under our noses for a long time now...

That...was too easy...

[cathartidie]

(TW death, murder, suicidal behavior)

“There’s still time. I could get Caladrius.” “I’d rather you hold me instead, if that’s alright.”

The funeral is held on a Monday. Roje isn’t invited. He’s barred from going in fact. They’re a little disappointed about that. They have so little of Pasi. Fragments. Stolen moments. It will never be enough. But it never is.

He took the pack of cigarettes from Pasi’s pocket before they dragged him away from the body. He lights one, smokes it. When it’s burned to the filter he lights another. 

—

They move Pasi as carefully as they can, mindful of the wet, red spot on their stomach. 

“I’m sorry for getting my blood on you,” Pasi whispers against their collarbone. 

‘It’s alright,” they reply. “It’s yours.”

–

Isa wants to kill them. Magpie warns them of this fact the day before the funeral, voice clipped and carefully polite. Roje was already aware. She’d attempted to put a knife inside of him the night that she’d found them. Her face had been a jagged picture of grief and rage at the time. That’s not the kind that fades in a day, or even a year. She will hate them for the rest of her life. It’s likely that she’ll begin to hunt them very soon. 

She stays the longest, after all of the other mourners have left. Roje watches her from the roof. He smokes slowly through Pasi’s last pack of cigarettes. Her body is a distant speck beside Pasi’s grave. Even from here, he knows she is weeping.

—

“You’re sure this is what you want?” Roje asks, desperate. Their hands are shaking. “You could live. They could save you.”

Pasi reaches up then, their hand against his cheek. Small, cold. They’ve touched him like this before. Roje just wants to make them warm.

“Please.”

Roje settles then. Moves to take Pasi’s hand in theirs. “I’m sorry. I won’t make you stay.”Something in Pasi comes undone at that. They sag fully against them, the tense cord of their spine unknotting. “Thank you. I’m so sorry to ask you to do it. I would-”

Roje hushes them with a press of his mouth to their hairline. A mirror image of the moment they shared-

God, it feels like it was so long ago already. And it will only grow more distant from here. Roje kisses Pasi again for good measure.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to. I understand.”

—

They have no say in what is done with the body. That’s made clear to them immediately. One of the murder snarls to him that the only reason they don’t kill him is because they know it wouldn’t stick. Roje listens. He doesn’t speak. Pasi’s blood is still all over him. His hands and neck and mouth. 

They insist on burying them. Roje watches them put Pasi into a hole in the ground, inside of a box. 

They’d only ever wanted to be free.

Night falls, the moon bright and gray. Isa cannot stay forever. Eventually someone comes to drag her away. Roje waits until he is certain that they are gone, then he gets to work.

—

There’d been something tender and real growing between them since the moment they met. It stays between them still. It will be there even when Pasi isn’t. Roje knows this, lets the knowledge of that settle into their bones. 

They always knew this day was coming. Every meeting is just the precursor to a goodbye. They chose this grief when they chose to open the raw aching space of their chest up. They did it for Pasi. They’d do it again.

—

The dirt of Pasi’s grave is soft and damp. It crumbles apart easily in their hands. It’s feather light as they lift it out, shovel-full by shovel-full. By all accounts it is an exquisite burial site. Whoever arranged the funeral spared no expense. The headstone is marble and carved with images of flowers. The coffin is beetle black. The body inside is beautiful.

“I told you I would always come to find you.”

—

“Can I be selfish?” Pasi asks them, and their voice is very small. Their teeth are pink with their own blood. 

“I never told you that you shouldn’t be.”They smile at him then, but it’s not right. It’s not like the one at the beach. This too is so desperately sad.“Will you come find me? When it’s all over.”Roje cups the back of their head in his hand, tilts it so he can look them in the eye.

“I will never let you be alone.” —

It’s a quiet drive to the ocean. They took this route once before. One last bright spot before the world ended. Pasi curled beside them in the car, long fingers fiddling with the dials of the radio. They don’t do that now. 

By the time they reach the beach, the sun is nearing the surface of the horizon, washing the distant sky in gray and blue and lilac. 

Coming here is like walking on glass. Roje’s familiar with grief at this point. The memories will always cut them this way, these jagged, beautiful shards. Pieces of their life where Pasi was alive with them. Here is the sand where they sat side by side, watching the sun rise. Here is the place where Pasi turned inside the circle of their arms to face them, their laughter bright and crystalline. 

—

“Does it hurt?” Roje asks them. The signs of blood loss are growing worse. They’ve begun to shake.

Pasi looks at them and nods, mouth trembling. “I can withstand it.” “You shouldn’t have to.”

—

They swim with Pasi for a very long time. Roje belongs to the water as much as he belongs to the dirt but Pasi’s body drags behind him, skirts billowing. They’d been so nervous the first time Roje took them here, convinced they couldn’t even manage to learn to float.

The sun kisses the sky in an outpouring of gold. Roje holds Pasi’s body and watches it rise. The shore is a distant line behind them. They will swim back to it alone. “I do wish we had more time,” Roje says into Pasi’s hair. “I think I would have loved you very much. I think I will even if you’re not here to see it.”

When the sun breaks free from the horizon, Roje takes one final breath and he dives.

—

“Roje,” Pasi whispers. “You don’t have to either.”

“I think you deserve to not hurt anymore,” Roje says. It will take at least another hour for them to bleed to death. This will take markedly less time. 

—

There’s a point in diving when the weight of the water above neutralizes buoyancy, where the body can sit in place, not sinking, not floating. It is here that Roje stops their descent. They press one last kiss to Pasi’s face. Then another. Then another. They do not say goodbye. 

Pasi will become part of this sea. The sand. The coral. The endless, teeming life that pulses with every movement of the tide. He will come here often. He will miss them terribly.

—

He wraps his hands around the soft column of their neck. Pasi’s eyes are bright and wet with tears. They look at him as if he has given them the world. As if he has returned a piece of them that has been missing for an unbearably long time. 

Roje breaths. Tightens their grip.

— 

They return to the surface alone.  

@gcdhoods

[the-broken-truth]

Howdy! I was wondering if I could request some Yandere stuff from Resident Evil 8? I was thinking the reader is a 👩(female) 👻(Reincarnated), 🏠(Local) who was really close to Alcina before their death. Now back to life she wishes to leave the village and travel the world without Alcina becoming aware of just how similar the reader is to that person. But she gets caught attempted to flee in the end. If not thank you anyways!!

Broken Truth (Looks at the username and eyes widen): Isn't this strange? I was looking at your page when you sent me this ask and followed me. Thank you for both. Now, I shall make an answer worthy of a fellow yandere writer's eyes! Let the words weave together!!!

Broken Truth: Since - as it is told - When a soul reincarnates, they lose their memories of past lives but they tend to look or act the same. I think I can make this work. Also - The Reader Shall me named Antanasia due to the fact the name means 'One Who Will Be Reborn.'

SUBTITLE: Soulful Lavender Eyes

[In The Realm of Dreams]

"Floarea mea de lavandă?" The voice of the taller figure of the 2 sitting on a bench waiting to sunset called out as she turned her shrowd face towards the smaller figure to her right.

"Da, contesa mea?" The smaller figure questioned.

"I know you have said it before but I must know... shall we always be together?" The 'Countess' asked.

"Of course, My Love - not even time shall keep us apart." The smaller figure answered - causing what looked to be a smile on the taller figure's face. The two of them leaned in closer - as if for a kiss - but the light of the sun began to flare and consumed them both in its light, dissolving the dream into nothingness.

[In The Home of Antanasia Frost - Bedroom]

The eyelids that protected the lavender eyes opened - allowing the keeper these unusual color of eyes to gaze upon the ceiling of her bedroom. Closing those eyes again, she groaned as she face-palmed herself and lifted her upper body to sit upright in her bed - letting her head hang in her hands as they wiped the sweat from her face.

'That dream again... That's the 5th time this month. This damn village is driving me crazy; I can't wait to get the hell out of this deathtrap.' The young woman echoed in her mind.

This young was Antanasia Frost - a 35-year-old resident of the village who's dreamt of leaving the cursed village since the moment she lost her mother; who - against her father's wisdom - told her not to go out during the night but she failed to listen and lost her life when she was torn apart by a pack of lycans.

Antanasia's Father - Thomas Frost - worked as one of the village's best apothecaries; when your village is converted with death at every turn, a visit to them at least kept you alive along, giving you a chance to live. When her father died, Anatanasia took over the business and she's been working as hard as she can to save every last Lei so that she could leave this accursed place, and maybe the damn dreams will stop.

Little did she know - She was not the only one having a hard time sleeping.

[Castle Dimitrescu - The Catacombs]

The sound of water dripping through the creaks of the old stone that was illuminated by the light of the 3 candles perched upon the candlestick that rested in the hand of the golden-eyed woman that made her way through the stone tunnel. She walked until she reached a door but this door wasn't like all the others in his hall that were decaying away or already fallen apart into a pile of black wood - this door was fresh & made of fresh black wood with the golden Crest of Castle Dimitrescu right in the center of the door. The woman ran her free hand along the golden crest before she reached into her nightgown pocket and withdrew a small silver key that held her insignia as well. She inserted the key into the hole and turned, listening for the click, and pushed the door open, her long black hair - that would normally be in a black bun - was slight blown back as a cold gust of wind came from the newly opened room as she stepped inside.

The room was around a stone cell - the light of the moon that enter from the caged hole in the ceiling shined upon the crystals that were placed on burners around the room & in the center - was a large glass casket. The golden-eyed woman walked to the casket - her eyes beginning to water as she looked at the frozen figure that rested in the glass box, dressed in a lovely lavender silk gown, her skin ghostly white and her once silky brown hair was losing its pigment. The woman placed her hand on the glass box before speaking in a hushed voice.

"My Love... Forgive me for not coming to visit you for a while - the work with Mother Miranda has been rather time-consuming. She says that she is close to figuring out a way to return her beloved daughter from the grave...maybe she can do the same for you, my love. I've been dreaming a lot about you - about our time together. Could that mean...you shall return to me, My Beloved Flower?" She questioned the eternally silent woman in the glass box before her.

[The Next Week - Monday - The Awaited Day]

Map - ✔

Warm Clothing - ✔

All the chests packed onto the cart - ✔

2 Horses, well-fed - ✔

Horse food for 2 weeks - ✔

Small chests of Lei - ✔

Frost Herbal & Elixir Book - ✔

Lily's Locket - ✔

The Frost Family Photo Album - ✔

"That's everything." The lavender-eyed woman smiled as she checked off the last item on her list. She was finally ready to leave this place and never look back. She just closed the deal to sell her father's shop & her home for a hefty fee, it was the last little bit she needed to get everything she needed to the trip to the nearest major sit in Romania & buy a small home or a room at the inn.

Antanasia smiled at the cart of stuff before she walked over to her horse and stroked their manes - both of them snorting in glee.

"Don't worry, guys - packing took a lot longer than I thought but we still have some daylight to get to a safe place to get to before the sun goes down all the way." Antanasia looked at the setting sun with a smile, "We're gonna be free, guys. Now, let's get a move on; we've been here long enough." The girl said as she closed her eyes with a smile and began to board the carriage's driver seat when the horses began to freak out. Antanasia looked around with wide eyes to see what could have scared her horse when she saw 3 clouds of flies that seemed to be coming from 3 different directions - the bugs stood before her and gathered...into 3 bodies.

The Bodies of the Castle Dimitrescu's Heirs - The 3 Daughters.

"What do we have here, sister?" The eldest one - Bela - asked as she tilted her head like a cat.

"I don't know - it looks like a sheep is trying to leave the herd and we can't let that happen." said the middle child - Cassandra.

"Wait." The youngest - Daniela - said as she looked into the eyes of the woman before her & her sisters, 'Doesn't she look...familiar?" Daniela asked.

"What are you going on about, Dani?" Bela asked, confused at her sister's words.

"It's...I feel like I know her - something about her eyes making the back of my brain itch." Dani said without taking her eyes off the woman.

"You have a brain? When did you find it?" Cassandra chuckled - Bela was about to tell her off but something unexpected happened.

"Cassandra Dimitrescu - what have I don't you about disrespecting my dandelion?!" barked out Antanasia's mouth - causing her to slap her hand over her mouth when she realized what she said and the daughters - mainly Dani - got wide-eyed at those words.

"Dandelion? That's what... That's what Mama used to call me." Dani began to tear up, "I knew I recognized you... It's really you - you're back, Mama!!!" Dani yelled out with a smile but the woman before her shook her head.

"No, you have me mistaken for someone else! I am no mother of yours!" Antanasia barked out again as she backed away, bumping in her cart but it was for not when the daughters looked at each other, nodding and charged her.

[A few minutes later - Castle Dimitrescu - Alcina's Study]

"Mother, we have something for - something that you lost a long time ago," Bela said as she walked over to her mother sitting in her chair while her sisters held the struggling woman in their drip. The Lady of the Castle rose to her feet and turned to look at her daughters holding an unknown woman.

"What is the meaning of this, daughters?" Alcina asked.

"Mother, we have reason to believe that..." Bela began but Dani - in her excitement - her off.

"IT'S MAMA, MOTHER! SHE'S COME BACK BUT SHE WAS GOING TO LEAVE THE VILLAGE BUT WE CAUGHT HER BEFORE SHE DID!" Dani yelled out.

"LET GO OF ME! I'M NOT YOUR MAMA! I'M NOTHING TO YOU!" The woman yelled out.

'That Fury...'

It was indeed familiar.

"What makes you think she is my lost love when my beloved sleeps for eternity in a frozen glass box?" Alcina asked as she walked over to the struggling - looking down at her but couldn't see her eyes as they were closed in the struggling.

"Mother, she called Dani 'Dandelion' when Cassandra made fun of her." That name made Alcina's eyes widen and she looked at the woman before grabbing her face to keep it still but the woman still had her eyes closed.

"Open your eyes." Alcina demanded.

"Let me go!" Demanded the woman.

"OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES BEFORE I SLICE YOUR THROAT!" Alcina roared and her demand was met.

Gold Met Lavender.

Amber Met Amythest.

And the Dragon of Dimitrescu smiled again.

"MY BELOVED ANTANASIA, YOU HAVE RETURNED TO ME!" Alcina yelled as wrapped her arms around the woman and held her close, lifting her off the ground.

"Hey, let me down! How the hell do you know my name?" The lavender-eyed woman asked with a glare.

"My dear, are you well? Surely you remember your own wife?" Alcina questioned.

"I don't have a wife and even if I did, it damn sure wouldn't be you!" Antanasia yelled as she struggled - Alcina was stunned at her words but didn't let go.

"My love, what is the matter with you? Why are you like this?" Alcina asked.

"I'm not your love! I'm not their Mama! I just wanna get back to my cart and leave!" The woman yelled.

"Cart? What cart?" Alcina asked.

"As Dani said, Mother - she had packed a cart that was being pulled by two horses and was going to leave the village, she was going to leave us." Bela explained. Alcina looked wide-eyed as she returned her gaze to the glaring woman.

"Antanasia, my heart - does our daughter speak the truth? Were you really going to leave us?" Alcina asked.

'FOR THE LAST TIME - I'M NOTHING TO YOU, EITHER OF YOU! I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU KNOW MY NAME OR WHO YOU'RE CONFUSING ME WITH BUT I'M NOT HER AND I DON'T WANNA BE HER! I JUST WANNA LEAVE THIS HELLISH PLACE AND LIVE MY LIFE!" The lavender-eyed woman yelled and began panting to catch her breath.

"You are not going anywhere." Alcina's voice came out as a growl.

"What?!" Lavender eyes widened again at anger bleeding in gold.

"Do you know how long I have been waiting for you to come back to us? To make our family whole again? To light these dark halls with your love and life? Too long. Far too long. I lost you once - now your soul returns to me in this new form but I'm glad you retained your lavender eyes; the eyes I fell in love with." Alcina purred.

"I'm not the woman you fell in love with!" She pleaded.

"No, you're not, but give it time & you will be again. It doesn't matter how long I have to wait - your soul has returned to us and I shall rekindle that love. As you said before I lost you - Not even time can keep us apart." Alcina smiled a dangerous grin.

[End]

[elareine]

If you're still taking prompts maybe some JayDick but Catlad or Hemlock Jason? Robin or Nightwing is up to you. I just think it would be sweet. Merry Christmas btw

Thank you, and merry belated Christmas to you, too!

“Hey, mom. Hello, dad.” 

Every year Dick makes this pilgrimage. As he always does, Bruce has offered to come with him; the idea feels wrong, though, so Dick is here alone. 

Well. Not quite alone, he hopes. 

“I didn’t bring you any flowers this time,” he continues, “I’m sorry. There was an incident with the car, and, yeah. You should’ve seen how Bruce swore. Really, sometimes I think he forgets that I’m there…” 

He keeps talking like that—funny things, sad things, important things, all of them wrapped in codewords just in case someone is listening. And at the crunch of gravel behind him, he becomes aware that someone is. 

Turning around, Dick sees a boy standing there. He’s probably two or three years younger than Dick, and he’s holding flowers. 

“Hello,” Dick says, giving the word a questioning note. 

“Hi.” The kid nods towards the gravestone. “I’m sorry about your parents.” 

“Were you there?” Dick asks, a little exhausted. Sometimes it feels like his parents’ death belongs to everyone who watched, even everyone who had ever seen them perform, instead of the people who loved them. 

But the boy shakes his head. “Nah. But I’ve seen you return to them, so they must’ve been good parents, right? Most people, they stop coming after a few years.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, they were.” Dicks still confused, though, and it comes through in his voice. 

The boy rubs the back of his neck, looking faintly embarrassed. “… they’re for you. I noticed you, uh, didn’t have any this time.” 

He holds the flowers out for Dick. With their stems uneven and the leaves slightly dirty, they’re clearly wildflowers, a rarity in Gotham. Dick has no idea where the kid even found them. 

He smiles at the younger boy and takes them. “Thank you. What’s your name?” 

But the kid shakes his head and runs away. Dick looks after him, frowning. He wonders, just a little bit, what a child of that age was doing here. Then he shrugs it off—kids like hanging around graveyards. 

The flowers look beautiful on the grave, like they belong there. 

—

Dick doesn’t think about it again until the boy turns up again the year after. 

His name is Jason. 

They become friends or something like it. They meet in the park by the graveyard, and Jason doesn’t talk about his family, and Dick doesn’t talk about being Robin, but it feels like they know each other, nonetheless. 

And then, one year, Jason doesn’t come. 

Dick waits for him. He waits, and he talks to his parents, and he runs out of stories and sunlight before he stops waiting and goes searching. 

Too few people know Jason even exists—existed. Dick wonders how that’s possible—how a boy so obviously bright can just vanish with barely a trace. 

Finally, when he goes through police reports, he gets an inkling of what happened: An accident involving chemicals, two streets away from the graveyard. A tanker that flipped over and exploded, burning so hot they never identified all of the victims. There are no reports of a child being hit, but… it’s the best explanation he has. 

Dick makes sure to pay the transport company’s offices a visit, and then another one to the chemical plant where they’d decided that the cost of safety was higher than the value of human life. And he builds a grave. Just a small memorial on the plot next to his parents’, the one he had originally reserved for himself. 

They share their anniversaries, after all. 

—

Every year, Dick brings flowers. No carefully crafted bouquets anymore; no, he keeps his eyes open for beauty by the wayside: the daffodil growing between curbs, the snowdrops on the lawn, the dandelions and daisies between the weeds. 

He’s kinda surprised Poison Ivy hasn’t reprimanded him for his newfound habit yet. Sure, she seems busy with her new sidekick, and picking a few flowers is nothing next to large-scale environmental destruction, but she’s always liked picking on him for the smallest things as Robin before. Why would she stop now that he’s Nightwing? 

“Maybe she understands grief,” he tells Jason’s gave. “It’s… looking for the flowers has opened my eyes, in a way. Thank you.” He swallows. “I still wish you hadn’t, though.” 

—

Three years after Jason’s death, a stranger is standing by his grave. 

No, not a stranger, Dick realizes when he steps closer and sees green skin. Hemlock—a menace to Bruce, a wildcard as far as Dick is concerned. Unlike his mentor, the guy seems to be just as concerned with human life as plant rights. They’ve been on the same side in fights just as often as on different ones. 

“Uh. Hi,” is all Dick can think to say. After all, they’re not supposed to know each other in his Civilian identity. 

Hemlock jumps. “You—“ he says, but he’s already turning away, and then he’s gone, running toward the exit. Dick stares after him. What on Earth brought that on? How strange. 

When he turns back, he sees that his parents’ grave is covered in tiny, white flowers. 

—

Today marks fifteen years since his parents fell to their deaths. Dick is an adult now, with his own life, his own family. And still, he tells them: “I miss you.” He doesn’t think that will ever stop, even if it’s an adult’s grief now, mourning the chance to ever get to know his parents as people, to have them in his life as the solid wall of support he’s always known them at, but in the background. 

With Jason, it’s a bit different. The wound still feels so fresh, and Dick can feel the tears well up in his eyes when he tells the second grave: “Miss you, especially.”

For some reason, mourning Jason has just been so—so—difficult. That’s it. As if he’s not really gone. 

“Don’t think I’ll ever stop blaming myself for that,” he adds softly.

“You don’t need to,” someone says. 

Dick startles. What the fuck? 

Hemlock steps out of the shadows behind the graves. This time, though, he’s not wearing a mask. This time, Dick can see his face, and—

“…Jason?” 

“Yeah.” The younger boy—man—gives a little wave. “Surprise, I guess.” 

“But—“Dick realizes with terrible clarity what must’ve happened. The accident, the chemicals—and Jason clutching the flowers. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

Jason’s jaw shifts forward mulishly, and oh, that’s a much more familiar expression. “I’m telling you so you can stop with that shit. I’m a freak; that’s all there is to it. It’s fine.” 

You’re not a freak, is Dick’s first instinct, but he has been around metas enough by now to know that that won’t help. Besides, Jason is still talking. 

“I’m sorry, I never wanted to pull you into this world. You can do better than this. I just wanted to let you know that you can—you can stop with all this and go on with your life as normal.” 

…Dick can’t help it; he has to laugh. It’s more relief than amusement, but this is also pretty funny.

“Jason. We literally took down a drug ring together last week,” he chuckles. “I’m not—I’m not exactly normal, either.” 

Understanding dawns on Jason’s face. “Nightwing?” After a moment, he shakes his head. “You’re still human, though. Not… this.” He stretches out his vines behind if as if wanting to prove his point. “That shit is ugly.”

There is no hesitation. Dick reaches out his hand, smiling encouragingly when Jason hesitates. “Your vines are a part of you, Jason,” he says, and oh, how good it feels to say that name again and not be addressing a grave. “How could I ever think they’re ugly?” 

Slowly, carefully, a vine reaches back, curling around his hand when Dick doesn’t flinch. 

Between them, a beautiful flower grows.

(I’m taking prompts until the end of the year.)

[gangrenados]

Hey, I don't know if you are still writing for Peter Maximoff but I would love it if you done a headcanon about him coming back from a mission and finding out reader had died during their mission. He knew they were on another mission but he didn't know they had died until he came back. This can be gn and if it makes you to uncomfortable writing about death I completely understand! Thankyou!

You like to make me suffer don't you?

Warning: death.

You were supposed to encounter in the mansion after this long mission and Peter was barely able to hold back his enthusiasm. The entire group was low-key tired of his nonstop rambling about how good it would be to be by your side and do all that sappy things couples do.

Don't misunderstand them, they're happy Peter has someone who loves him, but hearing talk about that for 4 whole hours was enough for them to lose it.

Anyway, Peter smile slowly started to fade when he saw how beaten up your team were. All of their faces were gloomy and eerie, such a contrast compared to how sunny his team was.

" Bobby where's (y/n)?" The small smile that graced Peter's face and the naivety of his voice wrecked the young man, making his red eyes overflow once again with bitter tears.

Peter's heart sunk at this sight, it was the beginning of his entire world crumbling once again.

He couldn't accept it though, he wanted to hold on the that thin line of hope that maybe you were hurt...but not dead.

"Bobby?"

"I'm sorry Peter" Bobby simply said as he whipped his nose, training to keep it together." Something wrong happened, there was a surprise attack I-(y/n) didn't make it."

Now let's talk about what happens next.

•At first Peter couldn't accept it, he wanted to believe this was a complete lie and that you were alive just that your powers made you go cold and with low pulse and no breathing.

•It was hard for the others to watch him be in such deep state of denial, even when they tried to bring him out of it Peter would lash out and beg for them to leave him alone.

•Deep down Peter knew you were gone, he was fully aware that you will never come back to him and that your relationship is now erased from this earth forever.

•Reality hurts so he escapes by believing that you're just in a slumber recovering from that mission.

•"Maybe if I went on that mission everything would be different...I could have done something." Those kinds of questions tend to pop up on his head a lot, making his mood change almost drastically and drowning Peter in sadness and frustration.

•He's gonna daydream about the future you two could have had and the memories you have created.

•Also when insomnia kicks in Peter tends to imagine you there with him, comforting him with sweet kisses and cuddles. Assuring him you'll love him forever and that things will get better.

•This sometimes helps him to sleep, it's like you're there once again.

•Peter doesn't like to go to your grave, he hates it since the thought that your under that amount of dirt and stone makes him sad.

•However, he'll go when the day is particularly to difficult to bear on his own so he goes there to rant and clean your grave a little bit.

He always says goodbye with an "I'll love you forever".

•He prefers to hold onto your photos and tell stories about you since, to him at least, that keeps your memory alive

•Peter Maximoff will never be that carefree guy who seemed to be cool with everything again.

•In the future he might try to get better for you (and him when his mental health is in much better place that it is now) but that's gonna be a long hurtful journey he had to face in order to get his life together once again.

Marvel tag list: @nervousfandom @mukelovers @pretendthisusernameisgoodd @miliablr @gigi-is-confused @shadygoateeprincess @smol-flower-kiddo @ghost-bitch @lovelyartemisa

[angellesword]

SAVE ME | KTH (11)

Summary: You were determined to kill yourself, but what would happen when instead of ending your life, you ended up summoning the devil of death?

Alternatively:

The Devil: I’m here to ruin you, I’m here to save you.

Genre: Demon au, e2l, angst, fluff, roommate au

Pairing: Devil!Taehyung x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: mention of death, kissing, and blood.

SERIES:  CHAPTER 10 | CHAPTER 12

*unedited*

The sad thing about carrying the burden of guilt was that you felt as though you didn't deserve to experience good things.

"Who said you have to experience good things?"

The crease on Taehyung's forehead implied that he was looking for an answer, causing you to bite the inside of your cheek.

You honestly had no idea how to answer him.

"Let's just go home, Tae," you said after a long minute of silence.

It was better to give up when you were uncertain, sadly Taehyung was persistent. He wouldn't stop until you gave him an answer.

"You know you're being too hard on yourself, right?" His grip on your forearm was gentle, yet his tone was harsh.

"You know where I stand," your lips were pursed into a straight line. "I don't deserve to see him."

Him.

Him as in your father, or to be exact: your father's grave.

You and Taehyung were currently at Seoul cemetery to finally visit Cha Areum's grave. This was the very first time you went here.

You didn't have the courage to do so back then. However when things between you and Jeongguk started to get better, you realized that maybe it wasn't so bad to face your fear.

But fear was not the same with uncertainty.

Taehyung was suggesting that you should visit your father's grave as well. He said bringing flowers and trying to talk to him while you looked at his headstone might help you to somehow lessen the sadness caging your chest.

You answered him by saying that you were uncertain.

Uncertain if you deserve to experience good things.

Having the chance to talk to your father—even though it was only by pretending as if he could hear you from six feet under—was a form of redemption, like a way to free yourself from guilt of not trying to contact him when he was still alive.

You didn't want that because it would make you to feel better about yourself and feeling better about yourself was similar to experiencing good things.

Again, you felt like you didn't deserve to feel good things.

You didn't even think you deserve to mourn him.

You weren't like Jeongguk. You didn't get to be with your father and you most certainly didn't make him happy.

You didn't make your father happy so it was only fair that guilt was eating you alive.

Except you didn't think that. Deep down, you knew that it was unfair.

When the person you didn't get along with died before you did, other people would accuse you of being hypocritical if they saw that you felt bad.

You would also be left with a pang of regret because you didn't treat the now dead person better when they were still alive.

They didn't treat you better too. So why? Why were you the only one suffering? Why were you the only one left here to dwell on regret?

You hated that this was how the world worked. Couldn't bygones be bygones? Couldn't you really mourn your own father?

But most importantly, you hated that there wasn't any closure between you and your father.

You didn't get the chance to apologize.

And now that Taehyung was giving you the chance to say how sorry you were to your father, you were acting up—thinking that you didn't deserve to technically be 'forgiven'

It was all so confusing.

But you were more confused as to why Taehyung implied that you indeed didn't deserve to experience good things.

Was his reason the same as yours?

Well, it wasn't. Taehyung explained what he thought.

"You know what I come to love and hate about humans?"

You shook you head. You didn't know.

Taehyung pouted his lips, he was trying to light the candle placed on Areum's headstone.

You didn't see the point since the wind was blowing hard.

"It is their goal to always be happy." He groaned when the wind harshly extinguished the fire of the candle again.

He lit another match, refusing to give up.

"Humans are always striving to be happy," he repeated once more. Same thought, different words used.

He claimed that he loved this since he could use this unending desire to tempt them. But Taehyung also hated it because of the discontentment they felt despite having everything provided to them.

Humans didn't have any satisfaction, always aiming for better and greater things.

"Is that wrong?" You arched your brow.

"No." The devil lit another match. "I guess it's just tiring."

You felt like everyone around you kept on speaking things you didn't understand.

Were they complicated or were you just slow?

"Don't you feel tired? You always say you don't deserve good things, but really—" He momentarily stopped lighting the candle just to look at you.

"—it's futile. You associate good things with being happy, right? So what if you just stop." Taehyung dropped the box of matches.

"Stop trying to strive for good things. What if instead of happiness, you just simply seek what's tolerable?"

It was the first time you clearly understood someone without asking them to explain any further.

But he still did. He continued speaking his mind.

"You don't always have to be happy to say that you are living 'the life,' sometimes it's better to just aim for something that is not happy nor sad. As long as you can bear something, it should be enough, right?"

You honestly had no idea why such words were coming from a devil like him.

Was he possessed?

But wait—“Are you telling me to stop classifying things?"

"That's not what I said—oh." Taehyung smiled when he realized what you meant.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

If you didn't categorize what felt good and what felt bad, you wouldn't have to worry about the guilt you felt.

You would just do things because that's what felt right.

Visiting your father was something right.

You owed it to him, not to yourself.

You were apologizing for him and not for yourself.

"For someone who claimed to be the devil, you sure act a lot like you're human," you shook your head, a smile gracing your lips.

You appreciated the things he said even though you knew that he was only doing this to save himself. He probably learned all of this by reading books on how to deal with a suicidal person.

"Whatever," Taehyung rolled his eyes at you. "So what now? Do you wanna visit your father?"

"Probably. But not now,"

Busan was far from Seoul. You would need more than a day if you went there. That's not possible at the moment since you were aware that you had used all of your emergency and vacation leave.

It's about time you stop abusing your privilege as the niece of the owner of Cornelia Hospital.

Unless...

"You can teleport us to Busan, right?"

Taehyung's face crumpled.

"Yeah, about that..." He averted your gaze. "I can't."

"Why?" Was he lying? You had seen him teleport multiple times already.

"Because..." He was crossing his arms as if he was annoyed. "I'm powerless now."

Taehyung explained that it’s because he used all of his power to heal Cha Eun Hye and erase some of her memories from months ago.

"I thought you can only tempt people?"

You were confused. He said devils couldn't harm people without the permission of God.

"Yes, but we can erase memories of people when the reason why it happened was because of us," Tae caressed your left shoulder. "Cha Eun Hye isn't lying, you know? She isn't blaming you for what happened to Areum. She only said those mean things to you because I fed her with lies,"

Taehyung thought that it was only fair to erase those bad memories. This was the reason why Areum's mom kept calling you to make sure you were alright. She had been treating you as if you were her daughter.

She cared for you.

You didn't understand before why she was acting like that, but now you knew.

Mrs. Cha Eun Hye was a good person.

"The last time I used my power was when I teleported your brother back to your apartment. I considered erasing his memories because I know it isn't fair to drag him into my world,"

You agreed. All hell broke loose when Taehyung informed you that Jeongguk knew that the former was a devil.

You were so mad at Taehyung that day, luckily he convinced you that it would benefit your brother since he wouldn't be confused as to why Park Jimin was looking after him.

It all worked out in the end. Jeongguk called you yesterday to say that he was having a good time at Bangtan University. The presence of Park Jimin made his stay there even more fun.

"But I can't use my power anymore because—"

Taehyung wasn't able to finish what he was saying because instead of words, it was blood that came out of his mouth.

"Oh, my God!" Your eyes widened.

Your instinct as a doctor got the best in you. Panic and fear weren't in your system. You only did what you needed to do to help stop the pain he was going through.

"I'm okay," the devil said, stopping you from aiding him.

"This is okay." And then he gestured at his mouth.

You stopped to listen to him.

He explained that he had been going through this for months already. It was normal because he hadn't been back to hell for almost a whole year now.

Taehyung really spent his days by your side. Aside from this, he also hadn't collected any souls since his life connected with yours.

His power came from doing evil things, so now that he's acting like a good boy, his power was diminishing.

"So what should you do now?" You put your hands on your hips. "Do you need to tempt people? Or..." Your eyes dilated.

"Don't tell me you have to collect souls!?" This thought scared you.

You didn't think you could stomach the fact that he had to urge people to kill themselves.

"Nah," luckily Taehyung only let out a hearty laugh at your assumptions.

"It's true that I can just tempt someone, but I can also just give into one of the capital vices,"

The seven deadly sins were evil so it shall do the trick.

"Oh yeah?" The corner of your mouth quirked up. The worry you felt turn to mischief.

At least he didn't have to collect souls.

"What's your vice, then?"

Taehyung took in your appearance. He noticed your furrowed brow, your playful smirk, and the fact that you were just so...

...Beautiful.

"Greed." He simply said, void of any emotion.

You swallowed hard.

"Greed for?" You inched towards him.

Taehyung ran his tongue through his lower lip. Without a warning, he encircled his hands on your waist, pulling your body closer to him.

It caused you to let out a gasp, though he could tell that you weren't really surprised.

You wanted this.

You were playing with fire.

The look you two were exchanging was full of fire too, and this very moment made Taehyung smirk.

It was funny.

Funny that he had to associate bible verse and logic when he was trying to figure out why he wanted to save you.

But as it turned out, he only needed common sense.

What he felt towards you was simple. It was in his nature as the devil after all.

Greed.

Taehyung didn't just care for you.

Taehyung also wanted you.

It was proven to be true by his strong greed to hold your hand, the greed to be with you, the greed to see you, and the greed to...

"Kiss you,"

There was no time to process things.

Taehyung crashed his mouth against yours, finally giving into his vice.

You tasted sweet, just like he had expected.

You also tasted fire, something that was making his body felt hot.

You tasted like wine, making him feel drunk on happiness.

He was the hypocrite here.

He hated humans for always wanting more, but he was just like them—always craving more.

Taehyung craved you and boy he could only hope that you craved him too.

He didn't have to hope actually, at least not when you decided to kiss him back.

It was clear.

You were greedy too.

[cupcakemolotov]

Road to Ruin

I... have no idea where this came from. But hey, I’ll take almost 2K of story after a drought of words. SFW, character death, probably some angst. You can read it here on A03 if you prefer.

                                                            -

Caroline had missed the Memorial Service.

Finals at NYU had been brutal, her schedule packed and tangled tightly together after a truly unfair back to back testing schedule. She’d wanted nothing more than to climb into her lumpy dorm bed and sleep for a week, but she’d promised Bonnie she’d try to make it.

She hadn’t.

But that was the fault of May storms and erratic flight schedules, not her personal choice. By the time her mom picked her up in Richmond, five hours late and dragging with exhaustion no number of espresso shots could perk up, it was dark and raining. She’d fallen asleep in the car, dragged herself into the house, and had just enough energy to change before diving into her bed for the sleep she’d been missing for what felt like weeks.

Elena was dead.

The news had come five days before finals, and after sobbing her eyes out on her RA’s shoulder, she’d pulled herself together and buried herself in all night study sessions and endless equations. But the knowledge had lingered, that this friend of hers who had grown so distant the last year, more distant than any amount of school schedules and new friends could allow for when Caroline was a devout texter, was gone. She’d cried in the shower, for the girl who she’d once known and would never know again.

Shifting her weight on the damp grass, Caroline studied the freshly dug grave. The last few years before graduation hadn’t been good for their friendship, High School having been a roller coaster of drama and boys that was expected, she supposed. But if only that had been the only drama, she was certain they wouldn't have grown so far away from each other. There had been that weird mass grave that someone had found that had kept her mom busy for months dealing with the locals and the FBI, the weird way the old boarding house had been repaired seemingly to open up only to remain empty. Those strangers who her mom had not liked who had asked questions about a couple of weird gravestones in the museum. That series of petty thefts that had kept her mom even busier than the mass grave and its collection of weird historians and FBI investigations, that had finally culminated in some family heirlooms being stolen from the Lockwoods.

Tyler had bitched for months about it. Weirdly, it had been those complaints that had been the deciding factor that had her breaking up with him. Yeah, the sex had been good, but a girl did not need pillow talk about family heirlooms and how upset his mom had been. Any boyfriend worth their salt (and teenage hormones) should have been far too distracted by her being naked right there, not their moms.

She shuddered a little, thinking about it.

The second half of their junior year had been a mess, and been made worse when Aunt Jenna had died. Caroline’s fingers tightened on the bouquet she was holding, thinking of all the deaths that had accumulated that year. Aunt Jenna. Her Dad. Carol Lockwood. How terrified she had been that her mom would end up next, logical or not.

Then there had been the way Elena had gone all weirdly obsessed with finding her biological parents, the way it had driven her as if it was something outside of herself she couldn't control. Caroline studied the tops of the flowers she held in her hand, wondering if not for the first time if she could have done something different. Been a better friend, helped Elena in some way. Those long weeks that first Christmas when Elena had decided to spend it alone, how she had refused to answer a single text message until she’d shown back up at school, dark circles under eyes like an underfed anemic.

She’d been… different, after that. Less boy crazy and more… mature. And that summer, she’d gone to meet a family claiming to be hers. And when she’d come home, she’d been so happy. Bouncing, sparkling happy. Cousins, she’d said. Brother’s and a sister who said that her mother had been theirs and they’d been looking for her.

Family.

That was what Caroline wanted to remember her. The girl who sat with her for hours after Bill died, both of them quiet, legs tangled on Caroline’s bed. The girl who liked board games and pink lipstick and who had terrible taste in shoes. Her friend. Not the girl from their Senior year who had slowly become something else entirely. Pale and wane, short tempered and then so, so quiet. The girl whose new family moved into Mansion at the edge of town that had been empty for decades, who paid for an expensive car and clothes and who never came to a single game to watch her cheer.

Letting out a slow breath, she set the flowers she’d brought down on the grave and chewed on her lower lip. People usually said things at graves, didn’t they? But she’d never been good at that sort of thing. Not at her Dad’s grave, and not here, standing over the bones of her friend. She’d brought daisy’s because Elena liked them, and she briefly closed her eyes, hoping that Elena knew she was here, that she missed her, and that even if she reached the old age of one hundred, she’d remember the night she and Elena and Bonnie had laughed until they cried over the most ridiculous of conversations, until they’d had to scramble to pretend they’d been sleeping when her mom came home at dawn after her shift.

That would be the Elena she’d take with her.

Swallowing hard, she turned on one heel and jerked to a stop, heart slamming into her throat as she found a man she didn’t recognize lingering far too close to her. He was only a few inches taller than her, but something about the utter stillness of his posture, the way she hadn’t heard him walk up behind her, her usual excellent sense of people taught by her mother and perfected in the subway system having failed to ping at her, left her breathless with surprise. For a moment, Caroline struggled to get her pulse under control before narrowing her eyes. “Excuse you, creepy much? Most people have the decency not to loom in graveyards.”

A sudden hint of a smile played across a distractingly full mouth, and he reached up and pushed his sunglasses up into his rumpled curls, something about the way he was looking at her sending the faintest hint of alarm down her spine. “Spend a lot of time in graveyards?”

“That is none of your business,” Caroline said, letting her voice frost over in disapproval.

“Apologies, love.” He said, body shifting from that hair raising awareness to a soft charm she might have liked if she hadn’t seen him looking at her like she was a particularly interesting bug. “I didn't recall seeing you at the funeral, and I’m sure I would have remembered you.”

Something about him, the way his eyes never left hers, put her back up. She hadn’t spent the last two years in New York City to let some weirdo stranger intimidate her now. “I don’t recognize you at all,” she said primly. “So that means you were fairly new to Elena’s life. Do you make a habit of memorizing faces at funerals? That seems like the sort of thing that would alarm a psychologist.”

The curve of his mouth deepened, and to her despair, he had dimples. “You must be Caroline Forbes. Ms. Bennett was disappointed that you missed the service.”

Caroline shrugged, stubbornly holding his gaze though it was starting to bother her that he didn’t blink. “May storms are a bitch. And neither Bonnie nor Elena mentioned anyone who would match your description.”

He looked intrigued. “Do you usually ask for physical descriptions of their acquaintances?”

“And pictures of their drivers licenses,” she retorted. “So that if they go missing, I know where to direct my mother to find them, but you're definitely not either of their types, and since you think you have some claim on Elena, that must mean you belong to the Mikaelson family. Which one are you?”

She didn't do much to hide what she thought of his family, and it didn’t seem to bother him.

“Smart,” he murmured. “I’m Klaus.” And then he offered her his hand, something like a challenge lingering at the back of his eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Caroline.”

It was a dare. And she was terrible at turning those down, even as her instincts warned her that there was something about this man she wasn’t seeing. But she was also standing twenty feet away from a number of her own dead relatives, and Grandma Forbes would haunt her forever if she was rude to this man in front of her. Baring her teeth in something like a smile, she took his hand. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Laughter had lit his eyes a half moment before their skin touched, and something she couldn’t describe rolled down her spine. More sensation than feeling, she felt it down to her feet, and it left her pulse pounding. She pulled her hand back, too quick to be polite, but she didn’t care as she stared at the man who had gone still and so quietly dangerous, she was debating reaching for the pepper stray attached to her keys.

She could probably get it out and in his face before he lunged.

Maybe.

Klaus’ fingers had curled into his palm, as if he too had felt whatever that had been, and the blue of his eyes were doing something strange, and Caroline became intensely aware of everything around them. The buzz of summer insects, the shape of his stupidly plush mouth, the smell of fresh turned dirt. It was the near silent buzz of an incoming text that broke the staring contest between them. Senses hyper-alert, she pulled her phone out of her purse and saw that she had two missed calls from Bonnie. Glancing up from her lashes to find that Klaus hadn’t looked away, so she pasted on her best false smile and shrugged.

“Well, Klaus, I’m sure this is where I should say something polite about seeing you around, but that seems super unlikely,” Caroline said with a false shrug of disappointment. “So, I’ll just say bye instead.”

A lowering of his lashes, something behind his eyes that burned her skin. “Hmm, I suppose we’ll see, won’t we? The family has decided to stick around a bit longer, give ourselves time to mourn. You may be surprised how much you’ll see us.”

Caroline snorted and stepped around him. “History of your family’s willingness to grace the town with your presence says otherwise.” But because her grandma had raised her right, and was probably seriously judging her only granddaughter from the plot just a few feet away, she smiled and waved, just like her pageant days had taught her. And only when she was almost to her car, did she relax enough to look at her text.

And felt her heart drop to her toes.

I don’t think Elena is dead.

Brows tucking tightly together, she went through the motions of unlocking the car door, glancing back towards the man lingering in the graveyard. Klaus hadn't moved, except to slid his hands into his pockets and to turn to watch her. She could still feel the imprint of his fingers against hers, the heat and calluses of him, the shock of him down her spine. For a moment, she tried to remember what Elena had told her about her biological family, the people who went through all the right motions but never showed her friend the care she deserved. The brother’s who had been so considerate, and offered her anything money could buy but not a single ounce of affection. Lifting her chin, she narrowed her eyes, even though she knew he couldn't see her.

Let him think what he wanted. She was fairly certain she’d never see him again. Klaus, who stood in graveyards in pressed slacks and rosaries around his throat. Something was going on there, and the last thing she needed was for him to turn out to be some kind of serial killer.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, she started the engine and set her teeth, only then allowing herself to really absorb what Bonnie had sent her. Not dead? What was Bonnie thinking? And if she was right, why would the Mikaelson’s lie?

Why bury Elena, fake or otherwise, with the ghosts if she wasn’t really dead?