#the way right after grandpa's heart attack he's lying on the floor and trying to talk

[cosmogyros]

Greendale is such an incredible album/concept. Every song is so good, but the story the whole album tells from beginning to end is so powerful it gets me emotional every time. Eternally grateful that I got to see this show live ❤️

[wanderingcas]

The Vampire and the Hunter  Commission for @castielrisingabove 2.2k words.

-

It’s because of Dean’s nightly walks that he finds him. 

The walks weren’t always a tradition of his. Walks are usually boring to him. But ever since Dean was assigned to the small town in Maryland, he’s been feeling oddly suffocated. It could be the tiny size of the church that he preaches in every Sunday. It could be the narrow-mindedness of the people around him. It could be the increased miles between him and his brother. 

It could be the murders in town that brought him to Maryland in the first place.

Whatever the reason, Dean had taken to going on a nightly walk to clear his mind and engage his thoughts. He was heading home, taking a shortcut through the forest, when he stumbled upon an unusually large log.

He caught his balance and squinted at the ground. Not a log. A person.

Dean knows he’s a priest and shouldn’t swear, but he also knows he’s not a very good priest, so when he sees the man lying on the ground in a fetal position, wrapped in tattered clothes, Dean breathes out, “Jesus Christ.”

He’s unconscious, as far as Dean can tell. Or dead; there’s dirt all over the man’s face and his lips are blue. Dean subconsciously pulls his coat around him tighter. 

Leaning down next to the man, he lightly pats at the man’s cheeks. The man flinches and moans. 

“We you’re not dead,” Dean says. “That’s good.” He pulls at the man’s thin shirt. “Hey. Buddy. Can you stand?”

The man groans again. Dean’s eyes track the movement of the man’s hands, where they’re pressed up against his stomach: dark red blood is blotting his white shirt. 

“Shit,” Dean whispers. “Okay. Okay, listen. I’m gonna help you, okay? But you need to do some of the leg work. My house is a mile from here, and I can’t carry you the whole way. You understand?” 

The man’s eyes flicker open; they’re a brilliant blue and hazy, but cognizant. He licks his dry lips and nods. 

“All right. Here we go.” Dean grabs the man by one arm, snakes his arm around the man’s waist, takes a steadying breath, and lifts him to the ground. The man cries out, scrambling his feet against the wet leaves, helping Dean put him upright. They find their balance leaning against each other. The man, barely conscious, lolls his head against Dean’s shoulder.

“What’s your name?” Dean asks. 

“Castiel,” the man says hoarsely. 

“I’m Dean. And I’m gonna get you help, okay?” 

Castiel says, in a gravelly voice, “If I die, burn me.” 

“Well. I dunno if we’re there yet, buddy.” Dean hooks Castiel’s arm around his neck, bears most of his weight on his injured side. “Let’s focus on getting you somewhere warm.” 

——

Castiel wakes up a few days later, when the fever breaks. 

Dean’s preparing his sermon at the kitchen table when he hears footsteps; his hand instinctively goes for the weapon concealed on his belt, but lowers his defenses when he sees it’s just Castiel, standing at the doorway, sleepily rubbing at his eyes.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Dean says, grinning. “It was touch and go with that fever you had for a while.” 

“I feel much better,” Castiel agrees. He looks small, hesitant. “Thank you for your help.” 

“Sure, uh—” Dean stands, his knees knocking against the table. “Do you want tea or water? Or food? I bet you’re starving.” 

There’s a ghost of a smile on Cas’s lips. “Tea would be lovely.” 

After boiling the water and giving him a teabag, Dean sits at the table across from Castiel. “So. Why were you in that forest? Who attacked you?” 

Castiel dunks the teabag in and out of the water. His lips twist into a frown. “I was robbed. And stabbed. In that order.” 

“Wow. Sorry, dude,” Dean says with a sympathetic grimace. 

“It’s of no consequence. What is, is.” Castiel gestures to Dean’s attire. “I see you are a priest.”

“Uh, yeah. I have a sermon in a few hours.” Dean pulls at his collar. “If I had it my way, though, I’d wear a tanktop. Church is always hot, even in the fall.” 

Castiel raises the teacup to his lips. “I’m sure that would be a distraction to much of your flock,” he says. 

Dean barks out a laugh. “Yeah, I suppose it would.” 

They sit in companionable silence. Dean fiddles with the pen by his papers. “Uh, listen. There’s rumors going around—well, there’s been a lot of murders in this town, and a lot of people are saying it’s a vampire. The guy that attacked you—do you have any reason to believe that he was one?” 

Castiel’s face goes blank. He sets his tea onto the table with a soft thud. “No. No blood sucking. Just a desperate man wanting my wallet.” 

Dean nods. “Okay.” He taps the pen on the table. “You know, you can stay as long as you want. Until you heal. Or longer, if you need to find a job or money or… whatever.” 

“Oh.” Castiel raises his hands. “I couldn’t put you out—”

“No, listen, it’s fine. It’s my job as a priest, anyway, you know? Take in the wounded, help the poor.” Dean shifts in his chair. “Besides, it’s kinda lonely around here. Wouldn’t mind the company or… whatever.”

Castiel blinks; smiles. “Thank you, Dean. I would love to stay.” 

——

It turns out that Castiel—Cas, as Dean was beginning to call him—is better than simply company. He’s great company. 

Dean now looks forward to going home and finding Cas in the garden, or the kitchen baking something that always smells amazing, or sitting in a chair reading. He doesn’t blink an eye when Dean is gone for long periods of time, or get suspicious when Dean says he’s going to the church but is actually looking for leads on the vampire instead. 

When he’s more healed, he begins to accompany Dean on his nightly walks. They even create their own traditions, like Dean making dinner for them nightly (which Cas never finishes eating, but always seems to enjoy) or Cas making Dean tea while he works on his sermons. And at the end of a long day, without fail, Cas always deposits his gardening gloves on the porch and joins Dean for tea as they soak in the sunset. 

The murders have stopped in town, and the trail to the vampire responsible grows colder, but Dean can’t even seem to mind when he comes home to find Cas sleeping on the couch, book in hand, or when Cas flashes him those infrequent but brilliant smiles across the room.

Domesticity is making you soft, his father would say. Dean can’t even bring himself to care.

Of course, it’s because it’s going so well, that it all has to come crashing down. 

It’s two weeks after he finds Cas that he gets an eyewitness description from a local about the vampire: black hair, piercing blue eyes, a strong build. 

“You’re sure?” Dean asks the man. 

“Positive. I saw him standing over my daughter. She fought back, too; I saw that he had a stab wound in his stomach as he was running away.” The man wipes errant tears off his cheek. “She was a fighter.” 

Dean feels wooden; his heart feels like it’s slowing to a crawl. “Thank you.” 

He gets into his car, and slams his hands against the steering wheel. “Fuck.” 

——

A vampire hunter inviting a vampire to stay in his own house. It’s almost a cliche. 

Dean pulls into his driveway and cuts the engine. He looks at the bright windows of his house. Cas is probably in there, dozing off already because it’s 9 pm and he’s an old grandpa, waiting for Dean to come home. 

Why hasn’t he just killed me? Dean thinks. He must know I’m a hunter. He found my weapons collection. 

Not killing him means something… doesn’t it? 

Dean shakes his head to clear it. He moves the short wooden stake from his boot to tuck into his belt. 

A vampire is a vampire. He learned that a long time ago.

The house is warm from the fireplace; the wood is charred, so Cas must have made it a while ago. Cas is sitting on the couch as he always is, back to Dean, a book in hand. Cas cranes to look over his shoulder and smile at Dean as he comes through the door. “Hello, Dean.” 

Dean nods, standing awkwardly in the foyer. 

Cas’s smile fades. “What’s wrong?” 

Dean’s hand goes to where the stake is; he can feel the outline of it. He squeezes his eyes shut, heart rate going a mile a minute. “Cas. Are you—” He huffs out a sharp breath. 

Standing, Cas takes a step toward him. “Dean, you’re scaring me.” 

Dean clenches a fist, stares at the floor. He can’t get the words past his lips.

Cas reaches out. “Dean…” 

“Were you the one murdering all those people?” Dean spits out.

Cas stops in his tracks. “What are you—”

“The vampire that was murdering all those people. That was you, wasn’t it?” 

Cas stares at him. His falls falls. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he says softly. 

“And to think I fucking trusted you.” Dean whips out his stake, holds it aloft. “You act all innocent, but you’re nothing more than a goddamn monster.” 

“Dean… please, let me explain—”

“No. You had your chance to explain. Two weeks of it.” Dean wills the stake not to shake in his hand. “Unlucky for you, you were living with a vampire hunter the whole time.” 

“I know what you are,” Cas says. He matches Dean’s steps as they make a wide circle around each other, like a caged animal. “I knew that you’re a hunter within days of knowing you.” 

“Oh, yeah? Then why the innocent act?” Dean snaps. He lunges at Cas; his stake catches air. Cas scrambles backward and crashes into a lamp, falling against the wall. Dean shouts, “Fight back, you bastard!” 

“I’m not going to fight you,” Cas says, calmly, although Dean can see his teeth poking through his gums, pointed and sharp. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“A vampire that doesn’t want to hurt someone?” Dean scoffs. “That’s fresh. You’ve probably been looking for an opportunity to suck all the blood out of me since you came here.” 

“I haven’t eaten human blood for years,” Cas says. His hands slightly lower, his eyes downcast. He adds, softer, “And the last thing I would want to do is hurt you.” 

Dean clenches the stake harder. “How the hell am I supposed to believe you?” he demands. 

“My brother was the one murdering the people in town,” Cas says. “He stabbed me when I was trying to help that woman, but then I killed him. Haven’t you noticed that the murders have stopped since you found me that night? That no one else has died?” 

Dean swallows hard. He says, hoarsely, “I don’t know what to think, Cas.” 

Cas’s eyes soften. He tentatively takes a step forward. 

Dean stiffens and holds his weapon higher. It doesn’t deter Cas, and he just keeps walking forward, hands outstretched. He walks into Dean’s space, past the stake; cups Dean’s cheek in his hand. Dean can feel his warmth, unusual for a vampire, unusual for anyone’s skin to be this warm. 

“You know me,” Cas says. “These past few weeks haven’t been fake, Dean. I’ve grown to care about you. How could I care about a human if all I saw them as was a blood bag?” 

Dean closes his eyes. “Cas…” 

“Believe me,” Cas whispers. “Despite what I was born as, what you think I am. Believe me.” 

Something in Dean’s chest loosens. He leans into Cas’s touch. Weapon lowering, Dean says, “I believe you.” 

——

They drink tea on the porch, because it’s their tradition, and because they’re not sure of what else to do.

Cas is curled into his wicker chair, tea in his hands. Dean is squinting into the setting sun, tea untouched on the small table beside him. 

“So,” Dean says, finally, when the crickets begin to chorus around them. “What now?”

Cas shifts in his chair and takes a sip of tea. “Well. If you are all right with it… I’d like to stay. Or travel with you on your hunts. Help you.” 

Dean grins. “A vampire helping me hunt vampires? That would be helpful.” 

Cas shrugs. “If you need it.”

“You’re not uncomfortable hunting your own kind?”

Shaking his head, Cas says, “I resolved to go against my brothers and sisters from the first day I decided not to kill anymore innocent humans for my hunger. Vampires have grown selfish, violent, and unncessarily gluttinous over the centuries. The decision is an easy one.” Cas tilts his head toward Dean. “Did you know that vampires only need to feed once every couple of decades? And yet some keep humans imprisoned for years, drinking them every day.”

Dean clicks his tongue. “Damn. You’re helpful already.” 

Cas smiles. “I endeavour to be.” His face falls into an uncertain expression. “I would love to stay by your side, Dean. If you’ll have me.”

Dean chews at his lip; frowns into the twilight. Holding out his hand, he takes Cas’s tentatively, his calloused thumb running against Cas’s smooth pale skin. “I think that’d be alright,” he says. 

Cas’s answering smile lights up the dark night around them.

[fairiesherefairiesthere]

Fraxus fake Boyfriend AU part 1/?

So it’s Fraxus day, but this isn’t finished yet so I decided to split it up. Here’s part one folks! (it’s a modern au)

"No Freed, you can't hack your father's bank account. The feds will get you and then I will be tragically best friend-less."

"No, you don't get it", Freed says and on the grainy computer screen, Laxus can see him shake his head. "If I go to jail, it'll probably be in Crocus, which means you can actually visit me instead of videocalling me at stupid o'clock in the morning. Also orange is an excellent colour on me."

A quick glance at the lower corner of his screen and a bit of mental math tells Laxus that it's indeed way too early in the morning for Freed to even consider to talk to him. "Justine it's three in the morning there, why are you even awake?"

Although it's hard to tell with the awful videoquality, Laxus thinks he can see the other man pout. "Talking to my bestie, duh", Freed replies and bashes his eyelashes obnoxiously, drawing a huff of laughter out of Laxus. "What are you, a fifteen year old schoolgirl? The lack of sleep is clearly getting to your head."

Smoothly ignoring Laxus' criticism of his horrendous sleeping habits, Freed continues the earlier topic. "Speaking of besties, made any friends yet?" Groaning, Laxus rolls his eyes. "My roommate is an actual nutjob and I don't know why I'm fond of him. He introduced me to his absolute bitch of a friend and I think I like her even more", he confesses and the pixelated image of Freed gives him a smug smirk. "It's because you like to be bullied, Laxus dearest. You won't say it, so I'll say it for you : bottom rights baby."

"I hate you and if you were here I'd smack you", he half-heartedly threatens and Freed replies "Kinky" without missing a beat. While the two of them are engaged in a staring match without actually being able to make out each other's eyes in the blur of colours on the screen, Bickslow throws open Laxus' bedroom door and yells: "Time to hide your porn blondie, it's time for reallife interaction with actual human beings!"

On instinct, Laxus does click away and as soon as the connection with Freed breaks he sees it fit to pout like a child. Their schedules matching (or one of them not sleeping for a day) and their wifi allowing them to see each other is a ridiculously difficult situation to stumble upon and now he's wasted his chance. Bickslow looks at least apologetic. Laxus was going to forgive him, until he opened his godforsaken mouth. "Dang man, the porn that good?"

"I hate you too", he says without clarifying to Bickslow who the other despised person is. He doesn't seem to mind as he plucks Laxus' computer from his bed, plops it down the nearby desk and sits himself down right in front of Laxus, legs in lotus position and bouncing with way too much energy. "I had a great idea", he announces and Laxus immediately doubts him.

"You see Ever and I, we thought you were a bit lonely and it might heal your soul to... Nah, scratch all of that, Ever and I were really fucking bored and we thought : Hey, let's set our absolute bestie up on a date! So here we are. Get dressed, you're going on a date."

"I can't", he says and desperately tries to come up with a reason. Uni work won't fool them, because they know that he's actually a good student, other activities won't work either because he's a social recluse and not even Makarov can save him because for some reason, the little shits he calls friends are all buddy-buddy with his grandpa.

"My boyfriend would hate it", he continues, cheeks colouring. It's because of the lying, not because he can only come up with one boyfriend-candidate in his mind. The statement is bland and straight to the point, which makes his words sound all the more true. Of course, Bickslow doesn't even buy a little bit of it. "Prove it", he demands.

While mentally apologising to Freed, Laxus digs up his contact information and futily tries to call him. After the third time trying, Bickslow looks even less convinced, which is an impressive feat considering he didn't believe Laxus from the beginning. Sighing, he goes to their chat instead and unlike their usual nonsense, he finds a sweet (?) message from Freed.

Damn, the wifi is really fucking with us huh? Wish we could talk more and I wish I could see your pretty face instead of a black screen and some smudges of colour here. X from the most beautiful man you know."

'Conceited brat', he thinks fondly and replies: Cymbeline (Act 3, Scene 4) Line 35-39, but replace 'slander' with 'you bitch'. They've adopted this weird system where Freed uses slang and Laxus literary references, just to meet each other's vibes somewhat. Sometimes it works, most of the times it really doesn't, but at least it's fun.

"Bro have you forgotten about my entire existence already? Stop smiling at your phone and admit that you don't have a mans!" Wordlessly, Laxus passes his phone to Bickslow who gasps. "Book quotes? Shit man, you're in deep. I'm gonna tell Ever." Without a warning, Bickslow disappears through the window, probably giving Evergreen her twentieth heart attack of this month by landing on her balcony. If the school thought a floor would seperate girls and boys, then they clearly hadn't met Bickslow.

Too late Laxus realises that Bicks has taken his phone with him and hopes his friends somewhat value his privacy and don't scroll too far up. There are the occassional way too deep talks around midnight but also a one time onceler x barry b benson bdsm roleplay (Freed had needed help with a creative writing assignment and Laxus had contributed a whole lot of nothing).

Barely five minutes later, Evergreen marches right into his bedroom, heels clicking snappily on his floor. "What", she spits and waves with his phone, "is this?"

"My cellphone."

Unperturbed, she continues her dramatic rant. "You have a boyfriend and you don't bother telling us?" Her tone turns sly and she elegantly flops down on his bed, rearranging her body to give herself a 'stern posture'. She looks like an irod rod trying to do yoga. "Or are you just making things up? Feel free to prove me wrong by showing us what he looks like."

"Why would I bring my photoalbums to uni?" he asks dumbfounded and Ever looks at him as though he just came down from Mars. "Laxus, honey, snapchat is a thing? Email if you're oldfashioned? Where are your boyfriend's nudes?"

"You're in a relationship."

"With a great guy who loves and trusts me and knows I ain't gonna cheat on him. Show me the dickpicks." Annoyed, he gives her a little shove. "I don't have any, I'm used to him being around. He's on another continent now and I just recently realised that all my memorabilias are at home."

"Convenient", Ever remarks dryly and Laxus sighs deeply and stretches out his hand. After she dumped his phone in it, he sends Freed a message ('Bro send me a pic of u ppl wanna know u exist') and shows it to both of his friends. "There."

Surprisingly fast, he gets a message back. 'No. The paparazzi and the FBI agent assigned to me will have to try harder than that to get a hold of ME (why is this man so ridiculous).' He shows it to Ever and Bicks and the former uses this opportunity to snatch his phone, typing a response before Laxus can properly register what's happening. "Hi I'm Laxus friend and I don't believe you're his boyfriend. Send a thirst trap to prove you exist. Or nudes", she reads aloud. Bickslow guffaws at that and Laxus sighs, resigning himself to face the consequences of his actions. What he does not expect however, is for Freed to send a picture back.

It's an awful photo of high school-aged Freed, complete with braces and a very unnatural smile. He's gangly, thin and looks like the walking embodiment of an awkward teen. 'This is a nude, as my soul has never been as bare as in this one picture', the caption reads and Ever laughs. "You know what, he passes the test." She purses her lips. "For now at least, I'm going to need more concrete evidence of this being an existing human being, because everyone can pluck a photo from the internet. Anyway, you're way too late for your date, so you get off easy Laxus."

After brushing nonexistent dirt from her skirt she opens her arms for Bickslow. "Take me home, spiderman", she orders and he gives her a salute. "Roger madame!" he yells before plucking Ever from the floor and leaping over the balcony railing. Their trust in each other is remarkable, but Laxus does think they're weirdos.

The very next day, Ever once again bursts through his door and Laxus mentally curses because he hasn't had the chance to discuss this whole thing with Freed yet. "Laxus", she says, voice dead-serious. "Evergreen.", he greets back as she half-crawls under the covers of his bed. "It's fucking cold", she clarifies before opening her laptop. That seemingly insignificant action makes Laxus weary, as Ever is holding her rickety laptop that's for illegal purposes only.

"I reverse searched that pic of your boyfriend and before I tell you the results, I'd like to know how exactly you met him."

He recognises her nosiness for what it really is (worry) and with a sigh, he gives her the sparknotes version of their history.

"We lived in the same town and we became friends because both of our fathers were absolute shit. They were friends so we became friends. At age thirteen he moved to Alakitasia and we reconnected because we matched on that stupid tinder profile you guys made me."

"Are you sure you weren't catfished?"

"Yup, because we skype regularly."

"Okay. Then certainly you're aware that he's a billionaire? Like, the heir to Justine Industries, the biggest technologie giant at the moment?"

He tries to see the whole situation from her perspective and has to admit that 'I have a boyfriend overseas, who's also a billionaire', sounds a bit too over the top to be true. "Yep, his pa's job is the reason he moved. I know this whole situation sounds like a huge lie to stop you guys' antics (probably because it is), but I swear it's true (it really isn't)."

"Okay then", she mumbles before putting her feet into Laxus' lap. The audicity of this woman, he thinks as he does absolutely nothing to move her. "I'm sorry for the whole 'setting you up' thing, it was rude of us. We just wanted you to have someone, you know? Because you deserve it and we can also see that you kind of want it and we wanted to help. We were too overzealous."

Ah, what a festive feeling brews in his chest. Nothing like a bucket of guilt to get your morning refreshment. The worst part is that Evergreen isn't even done yet with her sentimental speech. "Also, you get really happy whenever your man sends you a message, so all in all I'm glad our big plans didn't work out. I'm still going to be weary of  his actual existence until I meet him, I hope you don't mind." He shakes his head. "Nah, be weary all you want."  

After dropping Evergreen off at her boyfriend's, he rushes to his room to send Freed a message to update him on his situation (he even uses the actual sms-system instead of the internet, which is crazy expensive but he's in a bit of a panic). Unlike most of the time, Freed responds quickly. Laxus wonders why his wifi is absolute shit if he's rich enough to pay for intercontinential messaging. An agonising five minutes pass as the speech bubble ominously keeps showing that the other is typing. When it finally shows up, all it reads is :

"Lol"

"That's all you have to say?" he furiously types back, but before he can hit send, he gets another message. "Whatever man, I'll be the hottest boyfriend ever." After that, it's radio silence again.

The silence between them is broken a few days later. Laxus is trying to enjoy his lunch while Bickslow and Evergreen bicker over something or other, when his phone pings. Little gremlins that they are, they've already looked at the message as soon as it pops up. They read the godawful collection of words "Send me a pic of your feet" before he does.

"Romance at its finest", Bickslow dryly jokes and Evergreen turns to him with big worried eyes. "You're sure he's not a catfish? Or is this what you consider a raunchy picture?" Laxus would answer if he knew what the fuck is happening. Another message appears :  "With measuring tapes surrounding them, not in a weird, gross, fifty year old with a feet kink kind of way. I want to spoil my boyfriend (with my father's creditcard)."

"Aw how sweet, he's committing crimes for ya", Bickslow croons and Laxus grumbles. "I'm not about to give him anymore excuses to commit theft.", he says while typing "Absolutely not." At the other side of the table Evergreen collects her phone from her bag and opens Instagram. After looking for and finding Freed's profile, she sends him a selfie with Laxus and Bickslow in the background and adds a thoughtful message detailing Laxus' feet. "Honey, you need shoes that fit you. No stores have your size and if your insanely rich boyfriend's dad can involuntarily provide, why not take the chance?"

A few days later, the shoes do arrive. They're the most comfortable pair Laxus has ever owned and there's no obnoxious trademarked name smacked on it. He thanks Freed, but asks him to please not do something along those lines again. Knowing full well that Freed himself would never be financially bothered by it, he still feels guilty. Freed apologises (he really shouldn't, he's been nothing but an angel while Laxus is being bothersome) and drops the matter.

"Where are you rn?" The message feels somewhat ominous, but Laxus ignores his gutfeeling that tells him that today is going to be weird. "The western outside food court of Crocus' uni, why?" The response that he gets is a simple :  " :) ". Like a dumbass, he decides to not question it.

While he's chilling out, head resting on his crossed arms, he hears an unusual amount of chattering. Although he and his friends had chosen this place because of how little people came here, it seems like that peace is now gone. Rest in peace, piece. Vibrating bothersomely, his phone grabs his attention. "Got ya another present!" Brows furrowing, Laxus reads the new incoming message : "Kids and their phones these days. Look up darling !"

[ellebabywrites]

Judas Kiss 8 - Mark Lee

Type : Series // Angst // Fluff // Smut // Gang!au

Warnings : Violence // Character Deaths // Cussing

Summary : There’s only one rule. You protect your own. None of you had chosen this life, but sticking together was the only way to survive it. When one of you dies and things start going wrong, the boy that saved you once on a whim, might be the only one who can keep you together.

Author Note : Okay , the angst really begins here lads 😬 There’s a lot of feelings and so many LIES 🤧 I haven’t written detailed Smut in a while but I’m really proud of my writing this whole chapter and think I’ve improved a lot so please let me know what you think !!

The next few days were quiet, too quiet really, but being stuck in the apartment most of the time meant that there’s nothing you can do about it. Rikky heard from one of his sources on the street that Bangtan were making big moves on the other side of the river, so King had told you all to stay put. Ty being the only one, other than King, leaving the apartment on food runs. It was exhausting. Knowing that the people who took Johnny form you were out there, trying to take over your city, and you couldn’t even leave the building. Before you’d met Mark, there was nothing that could have stopped you from sneaking out down one of the fire escapes and charging head first at Bangtan; but now… now he was your person. You didn’t want him to find you lying dead in the street like you had to Johnny. You couldn’t do that to him.

“Nooo we’ve had pizza the last three nights,” Mark whines beside you, rolling his head onto your shoulder, pouting.

“Oooo can we get Burgers!?” You suggest, looking over at Ty with your best puppy dog eyes. Since the ‘house arrest’, as Rikky liked to call it, you’ve all been living off of various forms of take out and the occasional care package from Walt.

“Kids careful, you’re scaring grandpa TyTy with all these carbs!” smirked Rikky, elbowing Ty teasingly. That’s another thing that’s gotten worse since ‘house arrest’, Rikky has been doing anything and everything to wind you all up; but he’s always done that when things get bad, using humour to try and deflect. You just wished he’d wait till after Ty got back with the food because any longer and your stomach was going to eat itself.

“Okay 3 burgers and nothingforRikky yup okidoki, back in a bit,” Ty’s half way out the door before Rikky can protest, managing to shout out a quick order of fries before Ty slams the door in his face.

Half an hour later.. Ty still isn’t back.

It’s not unusual, it’s a Friday so the Burger place you all regular was probably packed. Ty was probably standing in line behind a million people, hating every second he’s surrounded by the smell of deep fried goodness.

One hour later..

Mark had decided to put on a film so you could watch while you eat when Ty eventually gets back. It’s started raining. The sounds of rain hitting the windows unconsciously making your stomach drop; but you ignore it. Mark’s arm around your shoulders and Rikky’s head leaning against your knee from his position on the floor, settles any anxieties that the rain pours in.

When the front door swings open, the three of you practically jump up, mouths watering, expecting to see a breathless Ty carrying boxes and boxes of food. Instead you see King, draping his coat on the rack and again, avoiding your eyes. Without more than a nod and forced smile in acknowledgement, he walks straight passed all of your slouched bodies on the sofa, and shut himself in his room.

Two hours later..

“It’s been hours Rikky, something is wrong!” you yell, trying to push your way past Rikky’s barricade in front of the door, “He should be back by now! It’s happening again, they’ve gotten him!”

“Y/N let’s just wait a little bit longer, I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” behind you Mark tries his best to calm you down, but it’s futile.

“No! It is happening again! They can’t take him! They can’t Mark!” Quickly before you can run out, Rikky lifts you over his shoulder and carries you away from the door, into the kitchen, trying to blink away his own tears at your outburst.

“What the hell is happening out here?” The shouting and screaming even drawing King from his room.

After wriggling out of Rikky’s grasp, you turn to face King, tears streaming down your face and eyes red with anger. “Ty went out for food over two hours ago and he isn’t back yet.” Nothing. “He isn’t back King.” Still no response, just a dead look without a single hint of emotion. “KING! Are you hearing me right now!?” Nothing.

You couldn’t believe it. How could he not care? How could he stand there in front of you and not care? But before you can even think of what to say back, Rikky is doing it for you.

“Listen to her for fuck sake!” He yells, getting right up in King’s face, towering over him and poking him in the chest. “Ty is gone and we can’t reach him! You know what happened to Johnny, hell isn’t that why we’ve been cooped up in here for this long?!”

“Woah woah Rikky, it’s okay,” Mark rushes forward to pull Rikky back just in time, by the look in his eyes he was ready to start throwing punches.

“Rikky please stop,” you try to plead with him but emotions are high all around and nobody is really listening. With Rikky nearly lunging onto King, who was still standing there unphased, you trying to keep yourself from breaking down completely, all while Mark was trying his hardest to stop things escalating.

“No! No! Why don’t you care?! Do you want us to die?! That’s what’s happening, first it was Johnny and now Ty! Who’s next King!?”

“Stop!” you cry, but he doesn’t.

“Me? Mark? Y/N? C’mon pick a name!? Who’s dying next!?”

“Stop Rik, look at Y/N!” Mark manages to pull Rikky away from King, enough for him to calm down and look over to see you in the midst of a panic attack watching the scene unfold - but the way King is still just standing there unaffected, while you’re right beside him struggling to breathe, that’s enough to tip Rikky back over the edge.

“I’ve had enough of this bullshit!” Shaking Mark off his arm, Rikky grabs his jacket and storms out of the apartment.

“No, please! Rikky, come back! Don’t go it’s not safe!” you scream out, tasting the salt of tears running down your cheeks; the sound alone breaks Mark’s heart. You look completely and utterly defeated as Rikky slams the door in your face, for all you know, the last time you’d ever see him.

“Let him go Y/N,” Finally King decides to speak, and that is what he say to you.

“Excuse me?” Swallowing the last of your cries, you turn to face the man who has ripped your world apart, mirroring his calm expression but pushing down the deep rage that would have you killing him in seconds. “Mark can you give us a moment please.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, let’s just take a moment…” Mark can see you digging your nails into your palms, he can see the waterfall that’s about to start flowing from your eyes. Truthfully, he’s scared. He’s scared for Ty, scared for Rikky, scared for you. He doesn’t want to leave you alone with King, especially like this - but somehow, you look at him with such a calm and pitiful expression, he feels himself give in. “I’ll be just in my room okay?”

You wait till you hear Mark’s door click shut, staring blankly at King as he stares right back. There’s something behind his eyes. Guilt? Grief? Pity? You’re not sure, but your mind is running a mile a minute and you can feel the way your legs start to buckle beneath you, so you ignore it. Trying to appear strong.

“What is wrong with you?” your voice eerily calm but you let the tears fall freely, silently, looking at him, begging for some sort of explanation. “Why don’t you care?”

He doesn’t respond, but for once he doesn’t look away and for a split second you think you spot a tear at the corner of his eye, but then it’s gone. For the first time in your life you stand in front of King, the man feared for towns over, the man who is known for causing pain and misery to anyone who dare cross him - not King, the man who took you in, raised you, taught you how to cook, built snowmen with you at Christmas. For the first time in your life you felt afraid of him.

“How could you do this…” your voice catches in a whisper but you refuse to look away from him.

“Get out of the city Y/N. Take Mark and run.” He takes a step closer, reaching out his hands for you, but you step back, “Run as fast and as far as you can. Please love…”

“Don’t call me that,”

“..Y/N, I’m begging you. Leave N.City.”

“Ty is missing. God knows where Rikky went. Unlike you, I won’t abandon my family.” With nothing left to say, you keep your head up high as you walk straight passed him and head towards the bedrooms.

You stop in the hallway, covering your mouth to muffle remaining sobs at the back of your throat, only letting them out once you hear the front door slam shut for the third time that night. Falling to the ground you cry.

—-

You don’t see Mark coming out of his room, or kneeling down in front of you, or helping you to your feet. You don’t see him at all, not till he gently places his lips to your forehead and brings his hands up to cup your cheeks, wiping them free of tears.

Everything is broken; everyone is gone; and you’re cold. Mark is whole; he is here; and he is so warm.

“Please don’t leave,” you quietly beg, holding on to his arms to keep yourself steady, “please don’t leave me.”

Mark leans his forehead against your own, looking you in the eyes as he whispers back softly, “I’ll never leave you.”

The look in his eyes tells you he means it, the way he holds you like he’s scared to let you go; but you’re scared too. You know he means it but you’re scared that won’t matter and he’ll disappear like everyone else. You brush your nose against his, hesitantly leaning in till your lips are almost touching. You need to feel him, know that he’s really there and he’s okay - maybe it’s selfish.

“Y/N…” he whispers but doesn’t step away, instead reaching to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer and closing the distance.

Mark tastes like cookies. His mouth is warm and inviting as he moves his lips against your own, each moment growing more intense than the last. You grab his hands as they hold onto you face, keeping you close, and use the leverage to push him up against the side of the hallway; swiping your tongue across his bottom lip and moaning into his mouth when you feel him open up to you.

Bending down, Mark grabs onto your thighs and lifts them up around his waist, pushing you against the other side of the wall, clearly preferring to be the one in charge. You wrap your fingers into his hair and feel yourself getting wetter at the sound he makes when you tug slightly.

You just want him, you want him in every way and want him to have you just the same. Reluctantly, you pull away just enough to swipe your thumb over his swollen lips, “I’m in love with you” you admit, not even caring if he says it back but just needing him to know.

“That’s good because I’m madly in love with you too,” he replies, kissing the pad of your thumb gently. You both feel so many emotions, with everything that has happened that night, the only thing that felt right was to be here, holding each other.

Steadily, Mark carries you into his bedroom and gently lays your body down on the bed. He takes his time kissing down your neck, slowly pulling off your shirt and continuing to leave kisses over your chest and stomach.

“So pretty,” he whispers between kisses, coming back up momentarily to kiss your lips again.

“Please Mark,” you whine, beginning to feel uncomfortable with the wetness between your thighs, and Mark doesn’t waste another moment. Pulling down your sweatpants, he sucks a dark hickey on the inside of your thigh, making your hips buck up in want. “M-mark, please,”

Quickly he pulls off his own clothes before hovering back over you. You reach up and press your hands against his chest, resisting the urge to leave a mark on his collarbone - but failing when he runs his fingers through your folds.

“Are you sure?” He asks, stopping his movements to make sure you really want this, but right now it’s all you want. When he gets the go ahead, Mark gently pushes himself inside of you, moaning into your neck about how tight you are and how good you feel. It’s a pleasure you’ve never experienced before, the way he starts off slowly before snapping his hips into you fast and deep. The whole time keeping his lips pressed to yours, conveying every piece of his heart in that one kiss.

When he feels you starten to tighten around him, Mark slows down and starts rolling his hips into yours at an excruciatingly slow place, reaching for your hands and interlocking your fingers, you both hold onto each other as you finally let go.

—-

The room is dark. Your naked body is curled up beside Mark in his bed, pressed up together so close that he’s startled awake by your movements.

He can hear you whimpering out and once he notices your body twitching he realises you’re having a night terror. In all honesty he’d forgotten about them, usually you slept with Ty and he’d be able to keep you calm through the night; but now Ty was gone and Mark had no idea what to do.

Carefully he shakes you awake, “it’s okay it’s just me, you were dreaming,” he says soothingly when your eyes shoot open and body curls in on itself in shock.

You’re embarrassed and so drained from everything that you can’t even try to stop the tears that fall; instead you simply roll over and try to hide your face away to save yourself from further embarrassment. Mark places soft kisses on the skin of your exposed shoulder, hoping his presence will be able to soothe you somehow - and it does. Eventually the tears settle and you find yourself turning back around and curling into Mark’s embrace.

“I’m here,” he whispers, rubbing circles onto your back gently, “I’ll protect you, just tell me how to help,”

“It’s embarrassing,” you whine, losing yourself under the feeling of Mark’s finger tips.

“It’s not,” he assures you, pressing another kiss to your forehead lovingly, “let me help you.”

“Could… could you sing to me?” You whisper, refusing to look him in the eye; but Mark thinks it’s cute and would do anything to make you feel better. So he pulls you closer and starts humming out a soft tune, brushing his fingers through your hair gently till he hears your breathing steady out and finally lets himself drift back to sleep.

[hungline]

be there when i fall

pairings: jihope, side yoonjin and vmonkook  genre: fluff, uni au, rated t  warnings: implied sexual content, promised sexual favors, boys falling on ice   words: 1600 

summary: Jimin hates ice skating, but he does love Hoseok, even if Namjoon is an Ice King and the two grandpas of their group are being assholes. 

At least Taehyung and Jeongguk seem to feel his pain. 

⇢ part two of jihope bingo 2017 

“Hey, come on. I got you.”

Hoseok’s voice is low and deep and all kinds of perfect to Jimin, but he's too busy panicking about falling on his assーor worse, his faceーto care about Hoseok trying to reassure him. It's cold and wet and Jimin’s knees are shaking but he's not really sure what the main cause of that may be.

All in all, Jimin hates ice skating.

Put him on the dance floor and he's like water flowing down a river. Put him on a stage and it's like he’s a bird soaring across the sky. Put him in a dance studio and it's like Jimin’s boneless, moving so smoothly across the hard surfaced floor that even he is left in awe.

Jimin can dance like no one’s business and his movements are always so fluid. He walks like he's on a runway, something that Jeongguk used to tease him about and something that Hoseok loves about him now. When one thinks of Park Jimin, clumsy is not something that comes to mind.

However, put Jimin on an ice rink, and suddenly he can't even stand.

Hoseok isn't much better either though. He's a dancer himself, just like Jimin, and that's how they happened to meet back in Jimin’s freshmen year of college. But the two have always been known for their elegance while moving. It's a trademark of theirs.

Currently, they've just entered the ice rink with Namjoon and his two boyfriends following right after him, but Hoseok has already fallen on his ass twice and Jimin hasn't let go of the side of the rink once. Seokjin and Yoongi sit atop the bleachers, holding hands and drinking hot cocoa that the eldest made while they laugh at the five men on the ice who can't even stand up.

All except for Namjoon that is.

Jimin half expects his hyung to skate a figure eight around them and then jump into the air before landing back onto the ice. Namjoon can't walk across a flat surface without finding something to trip on, but skating seems to have brought out the elegance in him. Taehyung and Jeongguk keep yelling at their boyfriend for being so good while they cling to each other to stay upright.

Maybe that's why Jimin’s so afraid of letting go of the side of the rink. He's almost positive that if Namjoon suddenly became an Ice King, then Jimin would be Bambi trying to walk across ice.

The two eldest of their group have refused to even consider renting a pair of ice skates, both claiming that falling on their asses was a total waste of their time and they'd rather be doing anything else other than skating. Jimin just now realizes how right the two eldest are and wishes he'd given heed to their warnings when the group had first planned to go ice skating.

Jimin hates ice skating. So much. It's cold and wet and dumb and it looks like it hurt like a bitch when Hoseok and Taehyung fell not too long ago. Jimin very much just wants to go back to his apartment and cuddle up with Hoseok on the couch and drink their gross hot cocoa while they watch some dumb Christmas movie.

Instead he's on an ice rink, struggling to stand and clinging to the side of the rink like it's his lifeline. Which, to him, it very much is.

Hoseok has one hand on his waist and the other beside Jimin’s on the rink’s border. Jimin wishes he could feel the warm, soft press of Hoseok’s fingertips on his skin, but they're both wearing gloves and padded jackets to keep them from freezing on the ice. Seokjin and Yoongi have a blanket around their shoulders, sharing warmth and occasional kisses and sipping from their thermoses of hot cocoa and Jimin feels threatened.

He and Hoseok are the cute couple, not Yoongi and Seokjin. They shouldn't be allowed to be so cute when he and Hoseok are struggling just to stand.

Although, Jimin reasons that the ice he's on is a bit more important matter at the moment.

“I'm going to die,” Jimin says, his voice hoarse and eyes on his hands instead of his feet.

Hoseok laughs behinds him and nudges him until Jimin’s forced to take a step forward, still clinging to the side of the rink. “Come on! I fell twice and I'm fine. Plus, you have more cushioning than me in case you fall.”

Jimin rolls his eyes and sighs as Namjoon glides past them once more with Jeongguk shooting daggers at his boyfriend as he does. “Don't be gross, hyung. This is serious.”

“You're being melodramatic, Jiminnie. How about we make a deal?”

“What kind of deal?”

Hoseok smirks and brings his lips to Jimin’s ear, pressing himself closer to the younger man as he does. “Every ten steps you take, I’ll give you a kiss. Every lap you make around this rink, I’ll give you a blowie.”

Jimin arches a brow, undeniably intrigued. “And if I fall?”

“Then I'll rim you for how ever long your ass is on the ice. Do we have a deal?”

“I don't know,” Jimin says, chewing on his bottom lip as he watches Taehyung try and stop Jeongguk from jumping onto Namjoon’s back when the eldest passes them as well.

Hoseok presses a chaste kiss to Jimin’s lips and nuzzles his nose into Jimin’s round cheek. “Come on, Minnie. Let's have some fun! Finals are over and all we've done for the past three months is study, study, and even more studying. I don't think we've boned in, like, four days!”

Jimin laughs and almost loses his balance, clutching onto the rink’s border even tighter as he rights himself. “Fine! We have a deal. But you have to hold my hand the entire time.”

Hoseok smiles and it's like the breath has been knocked out of Jimin’s lungs. “Deal.”

So Jimin lets Hoseok tug him along, taking slow calculative steps, counting up to ten before kissing Hoseok and starting all over again. They fall three more times, but watching Taehyung tackle Jeongguk to the ice to keep him from sabotaging Namjoon is much more entertaining. Jimin can hear Seokjin’s high and reedy laugh from where he stands on the ice as the two youngest of their group fall, but he doesn't dare look up from his feet. He's afraid that if he does, he'll take an even nastier fall than before and really hurt himself, or even worse, hurt Hoseok.

Namjoon skates past them again and Jimin can't help but scoff under his breath, a bit annoyed. “Show off.”

Hoseok laughs beside him, shaking his head in mirth before shooting Namjoon a thumbs up as he stares back at them. “Joon’s not the one who's going to be rimmed for a minute and forty two seconds tonight, now is he?”

Jimin looks behind him and locks eyes with Taehyung who’s still struggling with keeping Jeongguk from attacking their boyfriend. “I suppose not, but knowing Tae, it'll probably be longer than that.”

Hoseok smiles and guides them forward again. “Well, that's true. You and Tae are the kinkiest fuckers I've ever met. And I know Yoongi!”

“You talking shit?” Yoongi yells at them.

Jimin stumbles then, surprised that Yoongi had been able to hear them and takes Hoseok down with him. They end up in a mess of shaved ice, groans, puffy jackets and fluffy hair in their faces before Hoseok begins to laughs atop him. Jimin smiles then, his face flushed and a warm feeling settling into his gut as he watches his boyfriend laugh so carefree and be so happy, be himself.

They've been cooped up in their apartment for so long, always preoccupied with school and then work that Jimin hasn't seen Hoseok like this in some time now. He's missed it. His boyfriend’s laugh is like music to Jimin’s ears and the face he makes is so priceless that it never fails to make Jimin amused in return.

Jimin really loves him. He loves Hoseok so much.

And slowly, Hoseok’s laugh begins to fade, a smile radiating so much warmth taking its place and Jimin’s left breathless again. Hoseok is so pretty to him. The slant of his heart-shaped lips, the slope of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw, even the pimple in between Hoseok’s eyebrows that he only gets when he's stressed is endearing to Jimin. Hoseok is so pretty and Jimin loves him so.

Namjoon stops beside them, offering a hand to help them up. And then suddenly Jeongguk has latched himself to Namjoon and they fall forwards on top of Hoseok and Jimin. Taehyung comes right after, slipping just as he reaches them and falling on top of Jeongguk. Jimin feels his legs kick out, trying in vain to dislodge the four very heavy men that are lying on top of him.

In the distance, Jimin can hear Seokjin and Yoongi laughing uncontrollably on the bleachers as they watch the commotion below them.

But Jimin doesn't care too much that they resorted to a dog pile of limbs, jackets and cold ice. When Hoseok lifts him up and presses a kiss to his temple in apology, he thinks that makes up for it.

But hearing Hoseok whisper, “Four minutes and fifty three seconds,” is much more exciting.

In the end, Jimin gets a lot more kisses, takes four laps around the rink, and falls seven more times before he and Hoseok call it quits, taking the short way home.

[thenovelist101]

Wandered

Chapter 2

Wandered- Chapter Two

Once upon a time not long ago Vincent Rowan Merger was a hyper 7 year old boy that had dirty trousers and messy hair. He enjoyed making mud pies and tools out of wooden sticks, vines, and rocks. His one year old sister was not identified as a person with magic yet.

There was a specific event that changed Vincent as a person (as much changing that a six year old can get). It was when his parents dropped him and his sister off to stay with their grandfather. He lived by a lake and had a warm smile that Vince always wanted. The reason why they were with their grandfather was because their parents had been invited to a special burning of a magic being. Vincent always wondered what magic was...

One day the three were walking by the lake, Grandfather cradling Mirai in one arm and holding Vince’s hand in the other. His grandfather was talking about how he loved large bodies of water when Vince decided to pop up the question.

“Grandpapa, what’s a witch?” The old man showed a sympathetic smile and said, “People who have magic, which is like a special power.” “Really? Do I have powers? Am I a witch?” Grandfather’s smile faded. “Fortunately you’re not. Otherwise they would take you away from me.” Vince’s head tilted. “Who’s they?” Grandfather hesitated, looking for the right words. “People who don’t like magic.” Vince thought for a moment. “But it’s cool to have magic powers grandpapa! I find them people who don’t like magic very bad.” “Yes, very bad indeed.” There was a soft breeze. “So why don’t they like them?” Vincent asked. “Because people have issues. Sometimes people can’t handle things that are different.”

Mirai yawned softly, nuzzling into her grandfather’s chest. Vince observed the ground and kicked a rock.

“I don’t know about you, but I like things that are different.” Grandfather was elated to hear that. “Keep being like that my boy.” The two stopped to sit on a big rock that looked out to the lake. The sun was setting. There was a long silence.

“Did you know that I was the one that named you Vincent?” His grandfather whispered. Vince shook his head. “It’s a very odd name. I wish I was named something else.” He said. Grandfather ruefully laughed. “It’s the name of an artistic person. It’s from a different culture. I don’t know how, but an eccentric man was named that.” “Oh, that’s nice. I think.” Vince scratched his head. Grandfather looked fondly at Mirai. “Her name is very special. I convinced your father that I should name her. They weren’t very interested since she was a girl.” “Why weren’t they interested?” “People issues. Girls tend to be the ‘weaker sex’. Of course to me that’s not true. Your grandmother was always the ruler of the house.” “Oh, okay. You can continue now.”

Grandfather smiled, because he looked at Vincent with a shred of hope he wouldn’t turn into everybody else. That maybe, he’d have a heart unlike his parents. Grandfather spoke. “Somewhere else in the world, Mirai means miracle. Another place she means future. She’s a miracle to us and is your future, as weird as that sounds.”

Vince looked at her. All he saw was a baby. The young boy tugged at the old man’s sleeve. “Don’t you mean our future, grandpapa? And I don’t think she’s that special.” Another soft smile came onto Grandfather’s face.

“One day I won’t be here anymore. I’ll be up in the sky watching over you.” Vince’s jaw dropped. “Will you fly there?” “Yes. I’m going to fly away to be with your grandmother.” “Ah, okay. You’ll watch her too, right?” He pointed at his baby sister. The grandpa wrapped one arm around Vince. A part of the young boy’s face was buried into the side of the man’s body. His grandpa smelled like the sea and peppermint. This was the only moment in time where Vincent felt so secure in his life. “Of course, but that’s why you’ll be here Vincent. I know that you’ll protect her and make sure she’s okay. But for you, I want you to know that I’m always going to be there for you, even if you think no one is.” Vince smiled at this recognition. “I think I can live with that.” He said.

————

Saying farewell to someone is a very hard thing, and for Vince it seemed so difficult. When his Grandpa gave him a hug and his goodbyes, Vincent started to cry. He tried to choke out the words “I love you.” yet Mrs.Merger pulled his hand out of the house and into the carriage. He wiped his eyes on the seat and looked out the back window. He saw Grandfather waving. He waved back. The carriage started to move and the image of the person he loved most and the house faded away.

One year later Vincent’s Grandfather flew up to the skies. It was an odd notion to Vince, while he held his sister’s hand as the body rode off inside a carriage. His biggest regret was not running after it. Maybe, Vince thought, it was a huge mistake and he was still alive being suffocated inside the box. Perhaps, Vince thought, he decided to fly back because he missed us. Vincent wondered if he would ever come back to visit them. Children always had foolish thoughts.

——————

Vincent could remember the day his sister showed signs of magic very vividly. It was a day where he had no school, a day where he could do whatever he wanted. During the morning, he was fumbling with his tunic and trying to tuck it in his pants. He sighed in front of the mirror and looked at his nine year old body.

Then he head a sudden scream. It was his mother. He ran downstairs and saw Mirai standing in the corner of the kitchen while his mother had a broom ready for attack in her hands. “What happened Mother?!” “The devil is inside her!” Vince looked at the small child and then the adult in the room. “Mirai?” Her head nodded violently. Vincent stifled a half laugh. “Very funny, little Murray would never do such a thing.” He went over to Mirai, ignoring her Mother’s curses. She held out her small arms and Vincent scooped her up in his. “What on earth are you doing?! Put her down!” “Stop being such a fuss.” He said back. “VINCENT ROWAN MERGER PUT THE DEMON DOWN!” Vincent looked at her mother’s face, and she was ultimately terrified. Suddenly a wave of worry washed over him. He put Mirai down, who was now whining to get held again.

Now let’s rewind ten minutes from this moment: The woman who had a tight bun was known to be Mrs.Merger, was clambering on about some gossip she heard in the marketplace. It is good to know that in this time period, the tradition was that the men were income of money while the woman were in charge of the house and children.

Mrs.Merger did not get an education and had to do all the work for her father, since her mother passed when she was very little. She lived a life of harassment and neglect, and her personality only softened a little after meeting Mr. Merger. Only a little.

However, having a sad past does not make up for being a mean mother. Although Mirai was four, she was peeling oranges and separating them into bowls. The juice squirted in her eye and she started to whimper. Her mother turned around to her. “What’s wrong with you?” “Eye.” Mirai pointed one finger at her eyes while she rubbed it with the other. “Get over it and work faster.” Her mother snapped. She left the room to fetch a towel.

When she came back all the cupboard doors were open. The woman gasped, her pulse quickened. The towel slipped out of her hands. Mrs.Merger looked at Mirai, who had a red eye. She was continuing to put the peels into the bucket. The woman mumbled to herself. She closed all the cupboard doors and eyed the baby, and then left the room again. Mirai watched her leave. She looked at the cupboards for a brief moment and then shrugged. When Mrs.Merger came back she saw all the cupboards open again, and Mirai giggling. Before the mother could comprehend anything she saw oranges float around Mirai’s little head. Mirai tried to reach them like it was a game. That’s when she screamed. Mirai was so scared everything seemed to drop and roll onto the floor. Mrs.Merger took the mop and started poking her daughter. “Get off you urchin! Get in that corner!” Mirai—who was terrified of when their mother was angry like most children— ran off into the corner of the room.

Now that this is aware, Vincent now stood in between the two females in confusion. “This is a very sick joke mother...” “I’M NOT LYING! GET AWAY FROM THAT BEAST!” “Don’t call her that.” He said sternly. Vincent looked to the side of the kitchen to see all the opened cupboard doors. “So you’re saying Mirai opened all the doors...” “That’s right! And the orange!” “Right...the oranges.” Vincent peered down to Mirai. She was sucking her thumb and holding onto his loose shirt.

“What are we doing! I must call the Magic Hunters immediately!” Mrs.Merger cried. She flailed up her arms dramatically. The word “magic” rung a bell in Vincent’s head. He thought of his grandfather. She’s magic. He thought. Then he remembered something else. They’re going to take her away. Vincent’s head started to fog in terrible ideas. He didn’t know where to take his ship of thoughts. “No! No, no, no!” Vincent said picking Mirai up. He ran over to his mother who was grabbing her purse. “Put that thing down now! I know you’re scared sweetie, but they’ll take of her.” She made her way to the door. “No they won’t! They’ll do the complete opposite!” The woman stopped at the doorway and turned around. “How do you know that?” “Grandfather told me.” He said. The woman cursed. “That man always had a screw loose for telling children that. Stay here.” She left through the door. “Hey! Don’t say that!” Vincent yelled. The door slammed shut. “Um, let’s go.” He said. He grabbed Mirai’s arm and went outside.

They lived right in the middle of the village square, when horses, people, and carts were infested with. Mirai was being blindly pushed by many bodies, concentrating on not letting go of her older brother’s hand. She bumped into a boy who was the same height as her, who had dark blue eyes. He fell on his bottom. “Ow.” “Sorry!” Mirai called. She never got to make out the face of that boy. She hoped he was alright.

The young boy who fell to the ground scraped his hand. He could see little droplets of blood sliding off his hand. He sniffed. His father—who had a soft and gentle voice— suddenly picked him up. “There you are, I was so scared. Are you hurt?” “Yes dada.” He held out his palm. The father took him to the side of the busy street and wiped the red blood. “Huh, there seems to be no cut, but let me know if it hurts again, okay?” “Okay.” The cut was gone. Blood would mean an open wound, yet there wasn’t any. It puzzled him that he was not hurting anymore. Something about that girl with the wild hair was off, but he forgot about it and went on with his day.

Vincent was running in circles. What was the point of this? He picked up Mirai and found his father in the distance, shaking an old businessman’s hand. His father was a wealthy man that was good at bargaining. He ran up to him.

“Father! Where’s mother?!” The mans’ eyes widened. “Why on earth are you two here?” “They-they’ll take her away!” “Who? Mirai?” Vince nodded. Mr.Merger saw her sucking her thumb and his lips creased into a smile. Vincent’s father bursted into laughter. “You’re kidding me, the last thing I expect from your sister is becoming a fugitive. Oh lord help us all!!” He laughed again. Two big men in dark blue uniforms walked quietly behind him while the man was wheezing with laughter. Vincent gulped and squeezed Mirai’s small hand. “Why are you in despair?” he asked. Vincent pointed behind him. Mr.Merger turned around and stumbled backwards. The pale and serious faces of well uniformed men said enough to Mr.Merger. His family was no longer a normal family. To make things worse, his wife was right with them. This is when all chaos broke loose.

[newbienewby]

Task 1: Character Questionnaire

A character questionnaire answered in-character by Cooper Newby.

What is your full name; if you have any nicknames, how did you get them?

Cooper James Newby. Uh, my grandfather’s name was James and apparently my Mom got Cooper from a book. Most people call me Coop and my friends in college called me CJ or Newby, kind of a frat thing. I prefer Coop mostly, or Cooper. If I hear Cooper James then I know I’m in trouble, that’s usually something my Mom uses on me.;

When were you born? Have you always lived in Hawkins? What would you call home?

I was born on the 18th January 1962 in Boston Massachusetts. At the age of five I moved to Portland, Maine and spent the rest of my childhood there. I visited Hawkins a lot as my grandparents and Uncle lived there. We’d often come to Hawkins for Christmas but my Uncle would sometimes make the drive up to Maine. He and my Mom were rather close and he helped out a lot. I don’t know what I’d call home, I guess I’m still trying to settle and find it.

Describe yourself; hair colour, eye colour?

Physical description? Dark brown hair, brown eyes, strong jawline, fluffy hair. Uh, this is a little weird, I don’t like talking about myself like this. Personality is also tricky, I guess ambitious, kind, trusting, cheeky. I try and be good, do what’s best and all that but I can’t help being me. I love to wind people up. If they’ve given me good reason to then I’ll find every way possible to irritate them. Most people don’t see that side if we’re just doing pleasantries.

Do you have any distinguishing facial features?

I have a scar in my eyebrow where I face planted the floor after falling out of a tree. It’s healed but if you look close enough you can see a sort of diagonal line in my eyebrow; I think it’s my right, your left. Besides from that, I guess I have prominent cheek bones and jaw lines. I don’t know, let’s move on, this whole topic is just unpleasant.

Who are your friends and family? Who are the people you are or wish you are closest to?

Okay, let’s start from the bottom. There’s me, my Mom is Pamela Newby. Then if we go to my Uncle Bob and my Grandma and Grandpa. I have a friend in Boston that I’ve been friends with all my life, a handful of good friends in Maine and some college pals. Hawkins, I don’t really know many people as the time I did spend here was with family. I’m, I mean I was definitely closest to my Uncle Bob, he was always on my side against my Mom and then I am fairly close to my Mom, even though we’re apart now. I would like to find my father, I’ve never asked for his name and sometimes I wonder if I should. I don’t know, it’s a question I’m not sure I want answering. Kinda like the movies, getting your hopes up for disappointment?

Where do you go when you’re angry?

Anywhere away from what made me angry. I’m a classic case of storming out of the house when angry. I need to just leave or escape whatever is causing that distress. I like knowing where my exits are, just walk away from it all. That usually helps or I get quite heated. I have a hot-head, quite a quick temper. I’m not afraid to get into a fight so it’s best I just go.

Biggest fear? Have you told this to anyone?

Bugs and dirt. I mean, I don’t mind getting muddy and being outdoors, if I am expecting it. There’s nothing worse that getting muddy when you don’t want to be. I wouldn’t say it’s a fear just something I actively avoid. I need to wash my hands if I feel unclean. Bugs I can’t stand, they’re disgusting and tiny and just in your face all the time. Spiders are the worst. My friends know I’m scared of ‘stupid shit’ as they like to put it. They’ve seen me freak out over a fly enough times. Like, dude, just get out of my grill; leave me in my own personal space.

Do you have any secrets?

Anyone who says they don’t are clearly lying. Everyone has secrets. What makes you think I’m going to tell you them? They’re called secrets for a reason, dummy.

Have you ever been in love? Or had a broken heart?

Um, yes. My Uncle always used to say it’s part of growing up.

It’s a Sunday afternoon, what are you doing?

Sunday? Movie day. That’s always been a movie day for me. My Mom used to take me when I was young. Or even like a jazz bar. It would be a day for entertainment. Theatre is also something I’ve loved watching as a kid. So yeah, I’m usually watching movies.

Do you have a strong childhood memory?

I would have to go with the Moon Landing. Damn that was the coolest shit ever for a seven year old, space nerd. I watched it on the television with my family and I was obsessed with rockets. We went to the local bar because we couldn’t afford a television. It was certainly something to witness. I’m envious, I’d love to be an astronaut. The radio communication between the astronauts and Huston were partly what sparked my interest in radio.

Whats your ideal night out? Where are you going? With who?

Oof, good question. Okay... ready? Going to see Queen in concert with my best-friend, Ellie. The one from Boston? Oh man that would be a trip. It’d have to be London too. Apparently nothing is as good as a band in their hometown. Plus, it’s London, man!

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Completing university and surviving three years of independent living. Besides from that it’d probably be the piano recital I did in seventh grade. I worked forever on that song.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Wife, kids, dog.....maybe a cat? I don’t know, it’d just be nice to settle down.

Most treasured possession?

My father’s pocket watch. It’s always been in the family and my mother gifted it to me when I was twelve. Kind of always kept it and it’s been through a lot. I’d be besides myself if I lost it.

What/who is it that you most dislike?

I really dislike idiocy in people. That’s what I like to call it anyway. When people mistreat others or disrespect others for no reason. If you want to be a bully, then I have no time for you. I’d rather call you an idiot and hope that you’re just uneducated enough to make stupid remarks and comments like that, rather than it be intentional. I just can’t tolerate it.

Who do I dislike? I can’t really say that I dislike anyone. Y’know, your general douchebags, people who are arrogant assholes, the usual. I guess I do have a bad taste in my mouth about Joyce Byers, I just- I don’t know. My Uncle was so devoted to her and then suddenly he’s just gone of a heart attack and I’m at his funeral. I just, something doesn’t feel right.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

How much time do you have? Haha! I run my mouth off a lot of times. I suppose my most used word would be ‘dude’ though in the right company I’m terrible for swearing. I swear far too much and often get told off by my mother for it. I just ramble too much. Sorry in advance!

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

Ouch, tough question. It’s always the last question. I guess I’d like to give less of a damn about other people. Maybe without them I’d be on to bigger and better things. I’d take more risks, I’d care more about myself and my prospects. That damn Newby gene has me pinned.

[symphonic-scream]

Glitched Up Day Part 1 - TodoDeku

Midoriya Hatsuko is having the time of her life. With the sports festival coming closer, she and Sachiko have been training harder than ever against each other. Well, Hastuko was training against Sachiko. The other twin wasn’t getting very much out of the deal, and was probably getting their Papa to help her out on the side.

They’re standing opposite each other in one of the training facilities UA had, ready for another round. Hatsuko shifted on her feet, before Uraraka Machiko rang a bell from the sidelines.

Hatsuko immediately let her arms ignite, feeling the flames licking at her skin like hot, hungry snakes. She dashes forwards, hanging one arm just above the ground as she got closer to her sister before flicking it upwards, sending a wave of red hot flames shooting towards the taller girl.

Instead of dodging, Sachiko surrounds herself in water she’s pulled from the air, even going as far as to walk right through the fire towards a pouting Hatsuko.

“That’s so not fair, Sachi!” She whined, plopping onto the hard floor in defeat. “I had to work so hard to get that move right and you didn’t even try!”

“Water beats fire.” Is the only response she gives, offering a hand to help her twin up. Hatsuko almost wants to leave her hands hot as she grips her hand out of spite, but she knows that that’ll just end badly for both of them.

“That was so cool, Hatsuko!” Machiko cheers, running over from the wall. “I’ve never seen you control flames that weren’t touching you before!”

Well, at least she looked impressive to Machi. “Haha, well, they were actually still touching me. I just let them get bigger as I ran up, and swung ‘em forwards like a whip, y’know?” She mimed the motion, this time without fire, making swooshing sounds as she went. “Like that, see?”

“Still cool.” Machiko shrugged, glancing at the clock hung over the wall. “We’ve got time for one more run through before Ryoko gets here for our weekly spar, so make this one count, okay?”

The three girls jog back to their starting positions, and Hatsuko tries to think of a way to deprive Sachiko of enough water vapors to surround herself with. An idea that might finally work pops into her head, and she takes up an offensive stance, grinning at her twin across the battlefield.

After what feels like hours, Machiko rings the bell, and Hatsuko begins to charge, arms heating, outstretched. Then, she hears a chime, and everything goes black.

-

Midoriya Togai is having a wonderful day! UA has let the students out for the weekend to prepare for the sports festival, so he and his brother Toshinori decided to hit the town.

Despacito, his pet chicken, clucks quietly from his carrier, which just so happens to be Togai’s backpack slung over his front. Toshinori pats his head, smiling at the small bird. “Where do you want to go first, Togai?”

He thinks for a bit, before pointing to the park their fathers used to take them to a lot when they were younger. “How about the park? I wanna let Despacito out for a bit, and I’ve got a cool new move to show you!”

“It better not involve burning down the whole park.” His brother jokes as they cross the busy street.

The park is mostly empty, which Togai is happy for. He didn’t want a repeat of the last time he’d practiced his moves at the park. Police officers were still giving him weird looks when they passed him.

“You have nothing to worry about, Toshi.” Togai assures as he puts his bag on the ground, letting Despacito run free for a bit. “When have I ever done anything that would ever make you think I’d burn down a park?”

Toshinori looks like he’s about to start listing things, so Togai quickly fishes his lighter from his pocket. “Watch this!”

He creates a small flame using the lighter, quickly transferring it to his own hands. Togai lets it grow, letting it crawl across his skin carefully. Once he has enough flames to perform his trick, he begins to twirl.

As he spins, the flames begin to spread, eventually forming a flame vortex around him. Even when he stops spinning, they continue, and Togai sticks his arm out to wave at his brother. “Look! It’s like a whirlpool, but fire! It’s flame armor! No one is dumb enough to attack me while I’m surrounded by fire!”

Suddenly, he’s being shoved, as if someone has attacked him while surrounded by fire. They tumble, him and his attacker, before coming to a stop a few feet away.

Togai can hear Toshinori calling out to him, but all he can focus on is how the universe just won’t let him be. He opens his eyes, and is face to face with a freckled, blue eyed, pink haired girl.

The girl starts to scream, and Togai does to. They scramble away from each other, Toshinori pulling Togai away once he’s free from her. The girl is joined by another, with curly, light green hair, grey eyes, and thick glasses.

“Who are you?” Toshi shouts at the girls, standing in front of his brother, who’s chicken has run over to comfort him.

“I could ask you the same thing.” The second girl says in a cold voice, glaring at them from where she is still comforting the first.

“She’s got you there.” Togai chirps in, smiling at Toshinori when he turns around to glare at him.

“I’m Midoriya Hatsuko.” The first girl shouts, and the other is quick to pull her ear. “Ow ow, hey, we weren’t getting anywhere with your method, Sachi!”

“Midoriya?” Toshi mutters, squinting at the girl. She did kinda look like their dad, with the freckles, round face, and wide eyes. But that didn’t make any sense, the only relatives on that side of the family were Grandma Inko and Grandpa Toshi.

“That’s not possible!” Togai shouts back. “We’re the only Midoriya’s in this city!”

“You’re Midoriyas too?” Hatsuko asks, taking a step closer.

“Yeah! I’m Togai, and he’s Toshinori, and we’re Midoriyas!”

The still unnamed green haired girl looks just as confused as Toshinori, but Hatsuko meets Togai in the middle. “This is so cool! Sachi, do you think they’re our cousins?”

“Are you not concerned at all about how we got here?” Sachi scolds, scowling at the boys. Togai wants to shrink away from just how icy it feels, but he’s had enough hero training to fight against it. “Or he fact that Dad has no siblings or cousins? Doesn’t that bother you, Hatsuko?”

“Nope.”

Sachi sighs, muttering to herself. “How did she turn out to be such an ignoramus? Why couldn’t I have a normal, intelligent sister?”

Togai glances back at Toshinori, who still looked wary of the girls. “Toshinori, c’mon, they’re not going to hurt us!”

Hatsuko grins, waving at him excitedly. “Cross my heart!”

Toshinori flicks his eyes over the scene, taking his phone out. “I’m going to call Dad, to make sure they’re not lying.”

Togai cheers, raising a hand for Hatsuko to slap. “Wicked! Tell him to come on down, we’ll make it a whole family thing!”

“Yeah!” The pink haired girl cheers, and her arms start to glow red, before catching fire. She whirls to face the other, shaking in excitement. “Sachiko, call our Dad! Get him down here, too!”

“You have a fire quirk too!” Togai gasps, reaching out for the fire slowly crawling up Hatsuko’s arms. He pulls a bit towards himself, showing off by letting it dance around his frame a bit.

“Oh my god, you too?” She squeals, letting her flames glow hotter. Togai grins, pulling more fire from her, and soon they’re running around, lobbing fire at eachother.

After a while, it seams they’ve gone too far, and Togai has accidentally set a tree on fire.

“Fuck.” He’s about to try to pull it all back when suddenly half of the lake floats up before dousing Togai, Hatsuko, and the tree, putting out all three.

“Sachiko!” Hatsuko whines, wringing out her ponytail. “We had it under control! You didn’t have to do that!”

“Then stop almost committing arson.” Sachiko sighs, plopping down beside Despacito. “Cool chicken, what’s his name?”

“Despactio.” Togai responds, watching as the chicken who usually shies away from strangers lets Sachiko scratch around her neck. “She likes you!”

Toshinori slides behind Togai, slipping in the mud that has formed from the lake water. “Togai, Dad says we don’t have any cousins. We need to get away, they’re probably villains.”

“But Despacito likes them.” Togai points to where both girls are playing with the chicken.

“Togai. Possible villains.”

Hatsuko seems to overhear them, as she huffs and crosses her arms across her chest. “As if! We go to UA, and we’re both in the hero course!”

“So am I!” Togai grins, while Toshinori glares at them. “I’m in class 1-A!”

“Wait, so are we.”

It gets very quiet, the only sounds being Despacito’s light clucks as she struts back to Togai.

“That-that can’t be.” Togai whimpers, gripping onto Toshi’s shoulder, “I know everyone in my class, and you’re not!”

“No, you’re not!” Hatsuko shouts, standing up and letting her hands catch flame again. Sachiko gets up beside her, water rising from the muddy field to circle around her like snakes.

A loud bang rings out throughout the city, and the ground begins to shake. Togai tightens his grip on his brother, shutting his eyes until the tremors fade.

When he opens his eyes again, he gasps. The girls are gone, and the only things left behind to prove they were there is the mussy grass and the scorch marks on the tree.

-

Hatsuko opens her eyes, back in UA’s training room. She whips her head around, finding Sachiko doing the same. Then, grey eyes meet blue.

“What the fuck happened?”

@maidsonas sorry it took so long but here you go

[rungian]

Burns/Smithers, but it’s a rewrite

So ages ago, right, @hrgwin put up a picture and it utterly killed me, to the extent I wrote a drabble for it (picture and drabble together here http://rungian.tumblr.com/post/172003827747/hrgwin-they-got-kindnapped )

Turns out that I wasn’t satisfied with just that, so I wrote another ‘drabble,’ except this one is 3000 words long. Oops ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Some people are bad influences and forced persuaded me to post it. So, uh

Burnsmithers fic beneath the cut

The first Burns knew of it was when he opened the front door of his mansion to greet the morning and was instead greeted by a huff of bad breath and the business end of a handgun being waved in his face. Before he could even think of letting out an indignant “what the devil?” a young-ish, scruffy man with a scarf pulled up over his mouth forced his way across the threshold.

“Get in the truck,” snarled the intruder, waving the gun at him and gesturing back to a windowless Transit van, “or I'll blow yer fuckin' brains out.”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Burns, somewhere between taken aback and sneering contempt. “Are you actually trying to kidnap me?”

“Trying and succeeding, if you want to keep your face!”

In an instant, Smithers was between them, his hands held up disarmingly.

“We'll come quietly.” His voice was calm, soothing. Burns glared at him, trying feebly to push him out of the way, but Smithers glanced back with an expression that stilled him instantly. The gunman watched them, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Who said anything about we?” The tip of the barrel twitched towards Burns. “He's the only one of any value.”

“We'll come,” repeated Smithers. “No need for threats.”

“Poppycock, Smithers, I have no time for childish buffoonery!” Burns brushed past Smithers, staring down his nose at the gunman with an expression of detached disdain.

“Sir, please!”

“Release the hounds!”

“Do anything,” snarled the kidnapper before Smithers could move, “and the old man dies.”

Smithers froze as the gun was pointed once again squarely at Burns' head, but Burns did not seem in the least bit perturbed.

“You don't have the stomach,” he taunted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Smithers desperately shaking his head and waving his hands, but he was far too confident to pay his subordinate any heed. “Besides, where's the sense? If I were to die, who would you hold to ransom? Smithers? He's hardly worth anything to anybody.”

The ugly look that crossed their attacker's face caused even Burns' thin blood to run cold. “Or, if I kill you both now, grandpa, then who is there to stop me taking the money anyway?”

Suddenly, Burns realised he was staring down the barrel of the gun into the steely, determined eyes of a man who was not at all afraid to pull that trigger and snuff his life out. He swallowed nervously, bravado instantly gone.

“Now now,” he said, backing away a step or two, “let's not be hasty. I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement, eh...?”

He'd been shot before, he'd felt that pain before, ripping through his withered body – would he really die this time? Burns' voice died in his bone-dry throat as he watched the finger squeeze insistently against the trigger, slowly – slowly –

Burns instinctively threw himself to the ground as the shot rang out, but the bullet he expected to tear through his flesh never came. Instead, there was a loud grunting from above him, amid the sounds of a scuffle. Hesitantly, Burns dared to open his eyes and peek through his fingers, half expecting a second shot to silence him for good, but instead –

Smithers had leapt in front of him again and was trying to wrestle the gun away from the intruder. There was a smoking hole in the ceiling; it seemed as though the weapon had accidentally discharged during the struggle, or maybe Smithers had shoved against him as he fired and thrown off his aim at the last moment. Either way, his assistant's quick action had probably saved Burns' life again.

Even though the gunman was far bulkier than Smithers, Smithers definitely seemed to have the advantage as he twisted the man's arm around firmly and started striking both hand and gun against the wall in a valiant attempt to loosen the iron grip. For a moment, it almost looked like Smithers would overpower him. For one sweet moment, Burns could see an escape route for both of them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement. He barely had a chance to curse his own stupidity. Of course there would be a driver...

The second kidnapper brought the baseball bat down on Smithers with stunning force, striking him hard in the temple and shattering his glasses. With a soft groan and a brief stagger, Smithers lost his grip on the other man and sank slowly to the floor, clutching at his head. Almost immediately, taking the barest moment to collect himself, the gunman recovered and started kicking cruelly at Smithers, who curled up into a foetal position, arms raised desperately to shield his face.

“You nasty meddling little bitch!” Kicks rained down into Smithers' ribs and stomach, connecting each time with a sickening meaty thud and, occasionally, a quiet cry from the helpless victim. “I'm gonna beat the shit outta you! Didn't your daddy never tell you, don't be a fuckin' hero!”

As he aimed another kick, this time at Smithers' face, his companion grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back.

“Woah, woah, hold up, man, he's had enough. He'll die if you keep kickin' him like that.”

“So? No loose ends, right? Dead men don't snitch.”

“Yeah but that don't mean you should leave a stiff on the doormat. C'mon, let's get 'em shipped over for now, we can fret small shit later. He's not gonna cause any more trouble now, an' what's the old guy gonna do? Gum you to death?

“... right, yeah,” said the gunman eventually, though it took a considerable effort. He had paused mid-kick and now lowered his foot, but not before nudging the motionless Smithers.

“C'mon, let's go and get the truck ready. They're not going anywhere.”

“Right.”

With one final kick at Smithers, the two attackers disappeared, leaving a stunned Burns alone with his assistant, who was lying in a slowly-expanding puddle of his own blood.

Smithers had come out of his ball but was now lying so very still. Burns dropped to his knees next to him and, with shaking hands, carefully pulled the remains of Smithers' glasses from his face, gently brushing leftover shards away.

Smithers... was so pale. Blood was gushing from his nose, which was bent in a most unhealthy way, and was already crusting around his eyebrow from the head wound which had brought him down. A thick red bubble near the corner of his mouth rose and fell with each laboured breath and there was a worrying gurgling coming from his throat. Even now, Smithers' brow was swelling, and there was the start of an ugly bruise forming around his eye.

“Smithers,” whispered Burns, as though the quiet summons would wake him. “I... I'm so sorry. I'm... please wake up, Smithers...” he swallowed, licking his dry lips. “I don't – I don't know what to do!”

Smithers' body spasmed in a sort of retching cough, blood spattering from his mouth across Burns' hands and arms. Panicking, Burns strained to pull Smithers' head up on to his lap; it was all he could think of to stop his assistant choking on his own vomit.

Briefly, Smithers' eyes flickered open. Burns' heart rose with hope, but Smithers didn't appear to be conscious, and with another exhalation that sounded far too close to a death rattle, his eyes closed again, his body limp and lifeless. If not for the slight unsteady movement of his chest with each breath, Burns would have sworn he had died right there in his arms.

There was nothing to listen to but the rasping sound of Smithers' shallow breathing and the heavy footsteps of a returning kidnapper as a truck engine revved to life. Burns clutched at Smithers, refusing to leave him, no matter the cost.

                                                             oOo

Waylon awoke to the sound of birdsong.

Even without opening his eyes, he could feel the warmth of a sun shaft against his face, and the softness of pillows against his head and shoulders. For countless, seemingly endless minutes he lay there, content to listen to the sounds of spring.

Slowly, slowly, his eyes slitted open. Squinting against the onslaught of brightness after so long in the dark, Waylon blinked several times as his vision adjusted. Everything was blurry, out of focus – he didn't have his glasses on, after all – but from what he could tell, he was in... yes, he was in a hospital room. From the size, it was one of those small private rooms off the ward where they put the seriously sick.

Why was he here? Was he sick? He felt... weak, but he couldn't quite remember why...

Waylon rolled his head to the side limply and his breath caught in surprise.

Mr. Burns was sitting on a visitors' chair at his bedside, his head tilted back and mouth wide open as he snored his way through a light sleep. The very sight of him brought memories crashing back – the kidnappers, the gun, the fight, the white-hot pain in his chest as his vision started to fade...

But why was Mr. Burns here...? Come to think of it, how did he get here? The last he remembered, they were being taken away... had Burns managed to get them out?

Almost instinctively, Waylon moved his arm to reach for Mr. Burns, but the instant he moved his left shoulder his chest came alive with sharp, relentless pain, intense enough to take his breath away. A loud moan of discomfort escaped Waylon as he let his arm fall back to the bed and waited for the throbbing to stop.

“Ah – wha - ?” Burns shot bolt upright, woken by Smithers' whimper. He blinked once or twice, disorientated. His eyes were red and his cheeks sunken and hollow, but his gaze landed on Waylon's bed as though he barely dared hope. “Ah... Smithers...? You're awake?”

Slowly, Smithers nodded. Glancing down at himself, he saw that he was propped partially upright in his hospital bed. His chest and left arm both were swathed in bandages and fresh surgical gauze, a line connected his right arm to a medical bag filled with some unknown fluid which was slowly dripping in to him, and he was covered in bruises.  Ha. He looked like someone had tried to use him for a piñata.

“Oh! Smithers, you are awake!” With a note of clear relief in his voice, Burns sat forward. “They said it would be today that the anaesthesia wore off. They said they'd call me, but I don't trust those quacks to give you the attention you need, and I was right, wasn't I? They're nowhere to be seen at all!” His voice lowered a little. “Do you remember?”

“... a little...” croaked Smithers hoarsely. God, why was talking so exhausting? Why was he so short of breath? He tried to sit further up again, but sank back down with another groan as his shoulder screamed in protest.

Burns laid a hand on his chest, careful to avoid the bandages. Smithers could feel the thin fingers trembling against his skin. “Don't try and move, you idiot, you'll have the nurses sedating you again if you keep yelling.”

“Sorry, sir...”

Carefully, Burns picked up a pair of glasses and the world slid in to focus as he manoeuvred them on to Smithers' nose. “I found one of your spares in your work desk,” he offered by way of explanation. “Your other ones are too damaged to repair.”

“Oh.” Smithers paused, catching his breath. “How did you... how did we... escape?”

Burns made a face. “It appears that federal agents become involved in kidnapping cases, and they have, aha, a rather higher degree of competence than our local constabulary. You'd left quite a clear smear of blood on my doorstep. Apparently, it wasn't that hard for the cadaver dogs to track us after that.”

“... cadaver dogs?”

Once again, Burns couldn't quite meet Smithers' gaze. “... from the blood at the mansion, they were fairly convinced there'd be at least one body.”

For several dragging moments, they sat in awkward silence, the only sound the laboured wheeze of Smithers' breathing.

Finally, Burns' head fell into his hands. “I'm... relieved.”

“Sir...?”

“You had me... frantic, Waylon. You... you saved my life, but you so very nearly lost your own.”

“It was... that bad?”

Burns made a noise which could have been a strangled laugh, or possibly a cut-off sob. “That bad? Two black eyes, a concussion, broken nose, dislocated left shoulder, four broken ribs – one fractured, three cracked – punctured lung, ruptured spleen... God, Smithers, I'm – I'm so sorry. If I hadn't been such an uppity fool...”

Waylon was silent. Five broken bones and one dislocation... no wonder he felt as though he had been run over by a tank, and that was before he even touched on the organ damage and the bruising. A punctured lung! That certainly explained the trouble he was having catching his breath!

“You saved my life,” said Burns again. “... thank you.”

“Of course... I'd do anything for you.” Waylon managed what felt like a smile, though through his bruised and swollen face it probably came out looking more like a grimace.

“Yes, yes, because I pay you and it's your job. But for God's sake, Smithers, I don't pay you to die! What would I ever do if you left me?”

Smithers' chest hitched as he let out a shuddering, painful breath. Burns saw it and buried his face in his hands, eyes downcast toward the floor.

“I stood right by, Smithers... you jumped in front of that man for me as he was about to shoot me, and I just stood right by and watched you – I was too much of a coward to even tell them to stop! I know I've treated you ill in the past, but I have never been so in your debt...” his thin frame shivered in what might have been another suppressed sob. “Ask me, Waylon, ask me for something, anything – let me make this up to you...”

“Anything...?” asked Waylon softly.

“Anything,” said Burns, still staring  down at the polished linoleum.

Smithers looked up at the ceiling in silence, his brow furrowed as though he was trying to reach a decision, or possibly search for courage. As the seconds passed, Burns watched him keenly and, finally, those gentle eyes came back down to meet his.

“... a kiss...”

There was a dragging silence.

“Mmph!” Burns sat upright, no longer meeting Smithers' gaze. “I'll – I'm going to fetch the nurse, Waylon. There's – it's – you're still a bit confused.”

As he rose from the chair, however, Burns was stilled by Smithers' hand closing around his wrist. He looked back at his assistant, whose face was scrunched with pain from the movement but who still clung on gamely as though his very life depended on it.

“... please.”

“Anything,” said Burns again, almost desperately. He couldn't be hearing this right, Smithers must still be concussed, or disorientated from the anaesthetic – Smithers must think he was someone else – there was no way –

“Just... a kiss...”

“That's all?”

“Mm...”

Burns stared helplessly as Smithers' hand fell away from his wrist. “Don't you want money? Don't you – you don't want a new house? I can move you out of that poxy little apartment you still squat in! Don't you want a new car, or a – or a –”

He tailed off. Smithers was still watching him tiredly. Burns found he couldn't hold that gaze for very long. The guilt had gnawed at him for the whole while; he'd already been responsible for the death of one Waylon Smithers, after all...

“You just want me to kiss you?” he managed finally, his voice cracking just the smallest amount. The unspoken why? hung heavy in the air.

“Yes.”

Well, he certainly sounded sure. Burns grimaced. Maybe Smithers really was still reeling from that blow to the head? Why would he want to be kissed by Burns? Why would he want to be kissed by Burns?

“And you're sure there's nothing else you'd rather have?”

“Is it... that repulsive...?”

God, Smithers sounded so sad. Burns' hand hovered briefly over one of the bandages before he gripped the bridge of his nose.

“It's... damn it, Smithers, I don't know. I've never even thought about kissing you!”

Smithers closed his eyes. “I'm sorry,” he whispered eventually. Burns only just heard it. “I shouldn't have asked...”

Something ached inside Burns, right where his heart would have been if it hadn't shrivelled with cynicism decades before. What was he doing to this man? To poor Smithers, who had always supported him along the best path; Smithers, who quietly obeyed his every reasonable command and gently chided his unreasonable ones; Smithers, who unhesitatingly tackled a man with a gun for him...

“You're a damn fool, Waylon,” mumbled Burns as he leant over his assistant's bedside, “but I'll be damned if I'm not one too.”

Waylon's eyes flickered open just in time to see Burns' face, with his heavy-lidded eyes and slightly furrowed brow, in the instant before his mouth was captured and the taste of Burns' lips filled his world. Burns pressed a little closer and raised one hand to hesitantly brush his fingers against Smithers' cheek. In that moment, as he closed his eyes fully to commit as much of this wonderful feeling as he could to memory, Smithers knew that, despite the pain and the injuries and the worry, he was very much the happiest man alive.

[enixamyram]

Alice and girls having snowball fight but they didn’t let Robin play along because of her perfect aiming!!

   “AH!” Alice shrieked, ducking and avoiding a pair of snowballs that instead hit the fence she was hiding behind of.

   She quickly scooped up a ball of snow before standing and throwing it over the fence without looking. She heard a pair of shrieks and grinned as she ducked down, shivering at the snow that had gotten under her brown leather gloves and that was soaking through her shoes until her toes felt numb. In fact her whole body was cold, and at one point she’d lost the hat that had been holding her hair back, letting her blonde strands wave wildly around her face whenever she moved quickly to avoid the snowballs thrown her way.

   Alice heard the girls before she saw them. Despite Desirae’s talent for staying quiet, she was paired with Blessing who was unable to keep from stomping on the thick crunching snow under her feet. Alice turned and grabbed two armfuls of snow against her chest, crouching on the spot and waiting. A second later the girls appeared, snowballs in hand, but before they could throw them, Alice had launched the bundles of snow into their faces. They turned away with twin cries and Blessing slipped, falling face first. It might have hurt a normal child, even with the thick snow between them and the floor, but Blessing had never been normal and she instantly scrambled onto her hands and knees, beaming as she looked around with snow clinging to her face and the strands of short blonde hair that were peeking out of her winter hat.

   Before the girls could do anything else, Alice jumped at them. Blessing was faster and ducked and slid out of the way but poor Rae couldn’t quite keep up and Alice wrapped her arms around her dragging them both to the ground and into the snow.

   Rae began shrieking, loud enough to split Alice’s eardrums but she refused to let go. “Blessing! Blessing! Help!”

   A second later Blessing was back, shoving a handful of snow into Alice’s face and causing her to let go.

   “Run! Run away!” Rae called as the two girls dived across the front garden and behind the makeshift fort they had created earlier on.

   “Alice? You okay?” Robin called.

   “Yeah.” Alice gasped, sitting up and brushing snow from her face, grinning as she crawled back behind the fence. “It’s not over yet!”

   Robin laughed. She was settled on the porch, holding Alice’s hat from where she had lost it almost at the very start of their game. When Rae had come up with the idea of having a snowball fight to celebrate the first heavy snowfall of the year, she hadn’t even let Robin stand before demanding that her mother stay out of it. At first Robin had been confused, until Blessing said that Robin cheated when they played because she used her archery skills to hit them at impossible angles.

   After that, Robin had been too amused to be hurt. She’d tried explaining her archery was no different to Blessing’s speed but neither girl would listen. Insisting that they play their game with Alice (with whom they had a much better chance at winning). From there Robin had simply sat on the side, cradling a cup of hot chocolate and watching the girls tag team against their mama in ways that was so ruthless, she was more than a little proud of them.

   “Come on, Alice,” Robin called, taking a sip of her drink with Alice’s hand dangling from her fingers. “You’re going to let your own daughters beat you?”

   Alice stuck her tongue out at her before she began setting up a series of snowballs, piling them at her side and ready for use. Across from her, Robin saw Blessing and Rae doing the same thing. They wore twin coats (brought orange with pink fur) and were bundled into their usual winter gear, including their matching bobbled hats, scarves and gloves (yellow for Rae and pink for Blessing). Rae’s hair was missing its hairband and unlike Alice’s hat, Robin doubt she would be able to find it amongst the snow that had been kicked and thrown in every direction.

   Robin began stomping her feet on the wooden floorboards like a drum roll and calling out. “It’s down to the wire! Who will make the final move! The finishing blow! Who will win this snow ball showdown! The crowd can hardly contain themselves!” She half cupped her mouth with her free hand, making sounds like a roaring crowd.

   Blessing looked up and giggled until Rae grabbed her arm and forced her to pay attention to their snowballs. Unfortunately for them, Alice was faster and now carried her many weapons in her arms and she began sneaking around the fence and towards their fort. The girls didn’t have any time to even notice she was there when she bombarded them from above.

   They let out screams and began blinding through their snowballs back at her and after Alice ran out of her own, she tried to turn and retreat. Tried, being the key word as Blessing darted out and grabbed her leg, knocking her to the ground. Robin laughed, wondering what Killian would say if he saw how much they rough housed. He was such a protective grandpa. He nearly had a heart attack when he saw Robin throwing the girls into the air and catching them outside, sure she was going to miss and drop them. (Robin would have been insulted if she hadn’t also been laughing at the jerks his face made like back when he was cursed and dying.)

   With Alice on the ground, the girls began throwing handfuls of snow on her, no longer bothering with balls and instead just slapping what they could like it was water from the ocean. Alice shrieked and tried to crawl away but she didn’t try too hard and the girls easily kept up with her, continuing to throw move snow on top of her.

   Okay. Robin decided. That was enough. She’d let them have their fun. She placed her empty cup down on the side of the bench and tucked Alice’s hair underneath so it wouldn’t get lost. Then, while the girls were all distracted, she began making snowballs just like they did, piling them on the side of the porch fence with slow care.

   She took her time and still finished before any of them had noticed. After that… She took aim… And fired.

   She hit Rae in the back, surprising the young girl who looked around, wide eyed and confused. Then she caught sight of Robin just before she threw the second ball to hit Blessing’s back shoulder.

   “No fair, mummy! You can’t play!” Rae snapped angrily.

   “Mummy’s true love is in danger.” Robin said, smirking at her daughter. “She’ll save her.”

   “That’s cheating!” Blessing cried, standing and pouting.

   “Yup!”

   Robin threw the next one and hit Blessing’s feet. Despite her upset, she instantly giggled and that broke whatever anger the girls had. Rae squealed and dived back for their hide out, calling her sister to follow so they could regroup.

   While the girls ran away, Robin jumped the porch and ran over to Alice. “You alright, love? Need a knight in shinning… well an archer in a green hood, to save you?”

   Alice sat up, spluttering snow from her lips. She was positively covered now, her hair sticking to her face as much as the snow, and one of her gloves was missing, lying half buried a few feet away from her. But despite the fact that she was frozen blue in some places and pink in the other, she was grinning, almost as excitedly as Blessing and Rae.

   “What took you?!” She demanded, grinning and accepting Robin’s hand back onto her feet.

   “Hey, I was told I wasn’t allowed to play.” Robin shrugged innocently.

   Alice brushed the snow and hair from her face. “So what changed your mind then?” She asked breathlessly.

   “Like I said, my true love was in danger.” Robin said, leaning over and kissing her. Her lips were ice cold from the snow and in turn her own must have felt like fire. Alice grabbed her arms and squeezed, clinging to her and holding the kiss.

   “EW!”

   They broke apart to see the girls frowning at them. “This is war!” Rae snapped angrily. “No kissing in war!”

   “Are you kidding?” Robin asked. “Kissing’s the best weapon, don’t you think, love?”

   “Oh I agree.” Alice said, grinning.

   Rae realised what was about to happen before Blessing, so despite Blessing’s natural speed, she was caught first by Robin who pulled her into the snow, wrapping her arms around her and layering her cold face with warm kisses. A second later Alice appeared with Rae, dragging her back and doing the same with the two girls shrieking with laughter and struggling against them. By the time they were done, they were all breathless and tired, staring up at the grey sky, side by side in the snow.

   “I h-h-hope it never st-stops snowing!” Blessing said.

   “Okay. When teeth start chattering it’s time to go inside.” Robin said strictly.

   “Awwww! Mummy!” The girls and Alice all said together.

   Robin raised an eyebrow at Alice who grinned and shrugged, finally standing and brushing some snow from her clothes. “Okay, mummy’s right. The snow’s not going anywhere.”

   “But we never finished our game.” Rae complained, shivering even as she had a line of sweat on her forehead.

   “We’ll finish it tomorrow. Come on. Or else mummy and I will drink all the hot chocolate ourselves.” Alice said, linking her arm with Robin’s.

   They’d barely taken a step when both girls shot passed them to the door. “Hurry up, mama, mummy! Hurry up!” They called as they ran inside, not even bothering to kick the snow off of their feet.

   “They definitely inherited your energy. I can’t keep up you three.” Robin sighed. She purposely began dragging her feet, taking this moment to have a romantic walk through the snow with her wife.

   “That’s why we’re a team. I wear them down and then you tuck them in later.” Alice grinned, leaning over and kissing her cheek. Then she pulled back and winked. “You just save the extra energy for warming me up later.”

   Now that was something to look forward to. Robin paused, turning to give Alice another kiss when the girls heads appeared in the window. They knocked hard on the glass with their balled up fists. “Come on!” They called impatiently, their voices only slightly muffled.

   “Hey!” Robin snapped, her and Alice rushing inside. “Don’t bang on the window like that!”

[thought--bubble-blog]

Losing You (Short Story)

“You need to clean up your room.”

“Why? You don’t even go in there.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Makes sense to me.”

“Would you stop being a smart-alec?”

“Says you- King of the Smart-Alecs.”

“That’s Mr. Smart Alec to you.”

“Whatever.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“...Girl you ain’t right.”

“Well I haven’t left yet.”

“Always a smart-alec, ha.”

______________________________________________________________________

My grandfather and I had always had an extremely close relationship. Half my life had been spent living with him and my grandmother after my parents divorced. I was in first grade when I first moved in with them, so for the majority of my life, he was like a second father to me. He was someone I could always count on to be there for me. Whether it was petty complaining or panicking over a real life crisis, he was always there to listen. The majority of the time he never fully understood what exactly I was upset about or the extent of the problem, but he got riled up with me and was always on my side, and when you’re angry and no one else seems to listen to you, that support is better than any advice in the world. He supported me in almost all aspects of my life: school, parents, friends, self image, art, music. He was always there rooting for me, and a lot of times he felt like the only one.

Days spent with my grandfather were always full of laughter. I was his favorite grandchild from the day I was born. Being the only girl he had ever helped raise and being the youngest set apart our relationship from his “grand-boys.” Originally, he had been a truck driver, but even being on the road all the time never stopped him from being an amazing grandfather. He’d take me for rides, let me pull the cord that blew the horn, and even brought his truck to my pre-school for show-and-tell. Not many grandparents are capable of pulling that off, but he found a way.

Eventually, his body couldn’t handle the stress of driving a truck anymore, and he retired, meaning he and my grandma were present for more of my life. We spent my days there telling jokes, going back and forth, arguing over what to watch on TV, talking about our problems, and debating over what to have for dinner (or “supper” as he insisted on calling it no matter what) that night. Repeating the same antics over and over may seem tedious to some, but seeing that old man’s smile was enough to brighten anyone’s day, especially mine. He had been an especially bright part of my childhood, until his health deteriorated.

______________________________________________________________________

I was too young to remember exactly when his health problems started. The first event I remember specifically was when I was around twelve. I had been spending the day with my dad, and we had just sat down at a local restaurant/bar where my stepmom worked. We had barely started eating “supper” when my dad got a call: my grandmother, in a panic. Something was wrong with my grandfather. I remember the two of us dashing out of the restaurant and to the car, my father driving much faster than the speed limit allowed. It normally took us about twenty minutes to get home. We made it in about ten. My dad and I ran inside and into the living room. My grandma was hunched over my grandpa, trying desperately to calm him down. He was sitting in his chair, clutching his chest and breathing heavily, his face contorted in one hundred different levels of pain. Tortured groans and cries escaped him. I watched behind my dad wide eyed, unable to move. My grandma, informed us she had called 911 right before she called us.

I looked outside and noticed it was getting dark. I started thinking to myself, nobody ever got our address right on the first try. A lot of the times pizza delivery guys would miss our driveway in broad daylight, so how was an ambulance speeding down the road supposed to see it in time? Without giving it a second thought I sprinted out the front door, tearing across our yard with my hands waving above my head, screaming “Over here! Right here!” My dad was only a few seconds behind me. Right as I reached the edge of our front yard the ambulance lights came into sight through the trees. I kept screaming and jumping up and down, desperately trying to get their attention. Apparently what I’d done was enough, and the ambulance pulled right into our driveway. The paramedics ran inside with a gurney, and began asking him questions. Do you know your name? What day is it? Where are you experiencing pain? He was in too much pain to say “ow” let alone answer a bunch of stupid questions.

By the time they had loaded him in the back of the ambulance, with my grandma right beside him, my stepmom had made it home from work. All three of us piled in the car, riding behind the ambulance all the way down to the hospital in Columbia. I sat in the back, humming the tune to Basket Case by Green Day in a desperate attempt to calm down and block out the sounds of cars and the sirens of the ambulance. Funny. Singing a song about going crazy to stop yourself from going crazy. Classic comedy. Horrible timing.

We could see him lying in the back of the ambulance through the windows. Around the time we made it to downtown, we could see him sitting up, laughing, joking with the paramedics. A sense of relief flooded over all three of us, but I was still shaking slightly. He looked okay, but was he really okay? Was he gonna come home? My dad and stepmom told me he was doing better. I’m not sure if they were trying to convince me or themselves. Either way, nobody felt okay.

Seeing the man I had always seen as such a strong individual in my life, weak and in an indescribable amount of pain, terrified me. My dad was sure it was a heart attack. We were all convinced. The doctors said he was close to one. Close to a heart attack? The man was in a horrible amount of pain. If that was what “close to a heart attack” was, I never wanted to see the real thing.

Apparently he had stents put in years back for clogged arteries from smoking, but they were still backing up with plaque. I was then fully aware my grandpa had heart problems, but I didn’t quite understand how or why all this was happening now. He’d always been strong, resilient even, and now this? All I cared about was him getting better.

______________________________________________________________________

A few weeks later he went in for heart surgery. Something about bypassing his arteries. I didn’t understand much at the time, just that people we didn’t know were going to cut into my grandfather’s chest. I was scared, but he was more scared than anyone. He wouldn’t show it around the doctors and nurses. He would always joke with them about it and anyone else who would ask about it. But when we at were home, things changed. He wasn’t his normal joking-self. He kept a worried and tired expression on his face, and when I finally asked him if he was okay, he told me straight up. He was scared of getting the surgery. Even though I was young, he never lied to me, never tried to shield me from anything. He was blunt and honest, especially about this. But he stayed strong, and got the operation.

The months after his open heart surgery were labored. I got to know the hospital he stayed at pretty well after spending hours there with him. When he finally got home, he had to stay on oxygen tanks at first, and breathe into a tube where a ball would shoot up, to strengthen up his lungs. He had an extra one, so we would blow into them at the same time and see who could get the ball higher up into the tube. I always won. It was the first time I remember winning anything against him.

It was a difficult recovery for him, physically and mentally. Physically, his chest bones cracked from where they had been broken during the surgery, he had constant pain and a few broken ribs, his breathing was weak and he couldn’t do any major activity. He was always tired, not finding the motivation to get outside and go on walks like he was supposed to. He quit smoking cold turkey, so along with the repercussions of open heart surgery, he dealt with withdrawal symptoms. Mentally, he was stressed in the most intense form of the word. He was constantly tired and slightly groggy, my grandmother, who had been going downhill with dementia, constantly pestered him, asking him random, tedious questions that only frustrated him and made his blood pressure spike. She wasn’t able to help him the way he needed her to, and he could barely help her. He was miserable, so his care fell on the rest of us.

We would have talks about how he was doing or feeling. Most of the time the answer was “not worth a doodle”, my grandpa’s way of saying “absolutely terrible.” I was around thirteen when he told me he was in so much pain, he was ready to kill himself. Sometimes I wished he wasn’t so blunt and honest with me.

______________________________________________________________________

He eventually got better. He was more active, and was, to some extent, back to his old self. But that didn’t last long. His thoughts started getting cloudy, and he would just get dizzy, lose his balance, and fall over. A lot of times, in the middle of the night, I would hear a big thud and come out of my room to find him lying on the floor somewhere with my grandma trying her best to help him up. She couldn't, so it would be my job to call my dad and let him know when anything happened. I never asked my grandfather if he wanted me to call him. He would say no to going to the hospital and no to calling for help. He was trying so hard to stay strong, but his body couldn't keep up.

After some hospital stays we finally figured out what was wrong. He had non-alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver. Simply put, he had scar tissue on his liver that stopped his liver from filtering out toxins in his body. The build up of these toxins, would cause him to feel weak and confused, and would make him lose his balance. What we didn’t understand was how the scarring occurred in the first place. We found out later his heart medication caused it. His previous doctor he saw during his surgery, kept him on the medicine far too long. What he took to fix one organ ended up ruining another.

He immediately stopped taking his heart medication and his new doctor started him on medication to flush out the toxins. She also told him to stop eating sodium, eat only a small amount of meat each day, and to exercise. He did none of these things. My grandfather was stubborn, and continued eating whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. He never went out for walks to build up his strength. He did everything the same, including pushing himself too hard by working in the garden in the midday heat instead of taking it slow. We tried to tell him he needed to follow his doctor’s advice, but he never listened.

We ended up going back to the hospital every few months, which turned to every month, then to every few weeks and then once a week.The hospital became almost like a second home. We knew the nurses and the rooms and the halls. We knew that the gift shop was the only place to get non-diet soda and which vending machines had the best snacks. We knew more about the hospital than anyone should .

Because of his liver problems, he developed other health issues, on top of his previously existing medical conditions. The chance of him getting better seemed bleaker and bleaker by the day. The doctors said the only way for him to get better was through a liver transplant, but even the chances of that were slim because of his other medical conditions. Hope was more and more difficult to cling to. My grandma, due to her increasingly severe dementia, was barely aware of what was happening. My stepmother chose to pray for him. I was more of a realist. I knew that no amount of praying was going to heal my grandfather’s issues. His liver wasn’t going to magically become un-scarred. His heart wasn’t going to somehow become healthy. The damage was done, and we all knew that somewhere throughout our hopes and prayers.

______________________________________________________________________

Kidneys. They were our main concern now. My grandpa’s failing liver put pressure on his kidneys. His doctor told us to watch out for them. If his kidneys failed, it was over. Nobody seemed that surprised. It was just another development in his declining health, joining all the others in their deadly army set on taking over and destroying every cell of his existence. And nothing seemed to be able to stop them.

It was towards the end of January, 2017 when my dad told me, “He probably won’t make it to the end of this year.”  

“I know,” I said, the word ‘year’ sticking out in my mind more than anything.

One more year.

He died a few weeks later.

[therainroguefanfiction]

🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 005 [A Deal is Made]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂ Backward

Word Count: 2,216 ☁

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

〈“If I reach out, Can I trust you? Will you help me see the light of one more day?” We As Human, “Take the Bullets Away”〉

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

I stifled a yawn as I flipped through the channels on the TV. I was still lying on the couch, the blanket covering the lower half of my body. Blondie’s apartment was a one-bedroom and was originally made for one person, since he didn’t expect me to, quite literally, fall into his life. This meant that I got the pleasure of sleeping on the couch. He did offer me his room several times, but his weakened state made me believe that he needed it more, so I refused every time.

Today I was determined to get answers, but he was gone by the time I woke up. I paused on the news station when I saw his picture, turning up the volume.

“Just moments ago, a villain appeared at the Tokyo theater, threatening to destroy the building if his demands were not met. All of the pro heroes were occupied with a fire on the other side of the city, but the symbol of peace arrived just in time, delivering a powerful smash! The villain’s current identity and condition are unknown.”

I changed the channel, settling on morning cartoons before getting up and stretching my body. I made my way to the bathroom, doing my business and brushing my teeth. I glanced in the mirror, running my hand through my black hair, currently standing up in all directions. I’d need to get it cut within the next week, I can’t stand when it grows beyond my neck. It’s too much of a pain when it’s long. You gotta brush it all the time and it’s ten times hotter in the summer. Not worth it.

I headed back into the living room, finding Blondie sitting on the end of the couch. His angled face looked tired. It was obvious, to me at least, that he couldn’t maintain his hero form for long periods of time, but why? And why does he keep fighting in spite of that? “You want a soda?”

“Water, please.”

I stepped into the kitchen, pulling out a can of Dr. Pepper and a bottle of water. I almost threw it at him but reconsidered at the last moment, handing it over instead. I sat on the coffee table in front of him, folding my leg beneath me. “Today is answer day, Blondie.”

He sighed, tiredly, and took a large gulp of water. “What do you want to know first?”

“What’s your story?”

His eyes widened as they met mine. I guess he was expecting me to ask about myself instead. His hand grasped the hem of his t-shirt and he hesitated before sliding it up.

“Mother of fuck,” My eyes scanned his left side. The skin was badly warped and scarred. A large circle of scar tissue had formed under his breast, the skin purple and black.

He lowered his shirt, clearly self-conscious of the wound. “This is the aftermath of a fight five years ago. I lost my whole stomach and my respiratory system was destroyed. I’ve had various surgeries, but it can’t be fixed. I can only maintain my hero form for about three hours a day.”

I hummed, resting my chin in the palm of my hand. “Why keep fighting, then? It obviously fucks you up.”

“My work is not yet done,” he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Enough about me. You wanted to know what I meant when I said you were from this world, yes?”

I nodded, sitting up straight. “That’s right,”

“You were born in this world, young Jen, but your mother had a lot of enemies.”

“You knew my mother?” I could feel my heart picking up speed at the thought.

He nodded. “I met her nineteen years ago. I was facing off against a villain that was stronger than me at the time, and then your mother appeared. She was so strong and fearless…” he smiled sadly as he recalled the memory.

“She was… a hero?”

“Yes… yes, she was. She was also one of my best friends. Like I said, she had a lot of enemies, some she just couldn’t escape from even after retiring. Her biggest fear was for her child to suffer because of her mistakes. When she fell pregnant with you, she tracked down a man with a World Gate quirk. She paid him well and in return, he promised to open a gate to another world, a world without quirks. She wanted you to live a normal, happy life. One where you didn’t have to constantly look over your shoulder.”

What the fuck. My hands fisted around my shorts. I wasn’t even born yet and she was planning my fucking life out? I get that she wanted to protect me, but it makes me angry. And if she went that far to ‘protect’ me, then… “She’s the one that had my quirk sealed.”

“Yes…”

I stood up, pacing back and forth across the small living room. “She had no right to fucking do that!”

“She was trying to -”

“‘Protect me’, yeah I fucking got that. Sorry, but I don’t consider ripping away your child’s identity and abandoning them to be the best way to protect them!”

“She had no intention of abandoning you, Jen.” He stood up, gently grabbing my shoulders so I would stop pacing. I glared at him, but his soft expression didn’t waver. “She planned to go to this new world with you.”

“Then why didn’t she?” I demanded. “Why did she abandon me? Do you have any idea how hard it was growing up without parents? Poor Gramps had to break his damn back to provide for me! He had to play the rule of mother and father AND grandpa!”

“I don’t know what you went through or how you felt, but I can promise you that Alissa did not want to abandon you. She…” he hesitated, swallowing hard. “I was too late to save her life. When I finally found her, she was taking her last breaths. She died in my arms…”

My glare softened at the pained look on his face, bony fingers digging into my shoulders. I… I can’t imagine someone you care so much about dying in your arms. When I found Gramps… he was already… I lowered my head, tears blurring my vision. I bit down hard on my lips to try and keep them at bay. The reality of the situation was hitting me like a fucking freight train and I fell to my knees.

“Jen…”

“Gramps is… dead. He’s really… really dead… I…” Tears overflowed, falling to the wooden floor as I choked back a sob. It felt like my heart was being pulled apart in my ribcage. “Gramps, I… I’m so sorry!”

He pulled me into his arms, fingers running through my hair. I clutched onto his shirt, my body shaking as I sobbed. He felt so warm and, for a moment, I felt like Gramps was here with me again.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

After I had finally calmed down, Blondie said that the rat wanted to speak to us. I honestly wasn’t in the mood – I just wanted to sleep -, but he promised to buy me tacos on the way home. I’ve only known this man for a week and he already knows my biggest weakness. Fuck me.

The taxi pulled up in front of the tall school building and we stepped out after he paid, approaching a large metal arch. “Here,” he handed me a thick plastic card with my name and picture on it. At the bottom in bold was U.A. Visitor’s Pass with a barcode printed on the back. “If you try to pass through the gate without a school-issued pass, the security system will activate.”

“Bit excessive for a school of super freaks, don’t cha think?” I tucked it into my front pocket, eyeing the metal as he passed through it. It felt like those detectors back home that beeped loudly if you tried to walk out of the store without paying for something. Even if you weren’t stealing, there was still that anxiety in the back of your mind that it would go off anyway.

“U.A. High is the top-rated hero school in Japan. This is where our future heroes grow and blossom, it must be protected at all costs.”

I hummed as I followed him into the school and up to the rat’s office. He knocked on the door, waiting for a cheerful ‘come in’ before pushing the door open. Once inside, he closed the door and steered me toward one of two chairs that sat in front of the desk. I glanced at the tall man leaning against the left wall. His black hair was messy, falling in waves to his shoulders. His eyes were closed and he had dark bags under them, along with some scruffy stubble.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” The rat said cheerfully from behind the desk. “We have much to discuss.”

I wasn’t really given much of a choice here. I scoffed, earning a look from Blondie. He had been adamant on the way over that I be on my best behavior and be respectful toward the rat.

“Are you settling in well, Jen?” He asked, his beady eyes on me. “Are the two of you getting along?”

I could see Blondie shift nervously from my peripheral vision and I considered trolling him, but as requested, I decided to try and be at least a little bit civil. “It’s, uh, a lot to take in but Blond, er Yagi-san, has been very kind and helpful.” I glanced at him, sweatdropping at his watery eyes and proud smile. God, that’s such a dad face.

“That’s good to hear! Now, as for the reason I asked you here today. As it stands currently, you have no control over your quirk.”

I scowled at the comment, sliding down in my chair a bit. It was true, but he didn’t have to be so damn blunt about it.

“It’s understandable, all things considered, but it’s quite dangerous. We can’t just ignore this issue. So, I have asked Aizawa to train you!” The rat motioned toward the man, who was now looking at us with a bored expression. His eyes were bloodshot.

“W-Wait a minute,” Blondie stood up, looking concerned. “With all due respect, sir, I thought I was going to be training young Jen.”

“Yes, that was the plan, at first. However, a video surfaced of the day Jen appeared before you and Endeavor, and I got to see first hand her quirk in action.”

My body stiffened at the mention of that day. I hadn’t told Blondie about it, but I had found a forum thread on that very subject. Most of the posts were talking about the two pro heroes, but several people were discussing me and my quirk. They had used words like ‘cold-blooded murder’, ‘monster’, and ‘villain’. Now there’s a video of it happening? If people know my face, will I be attacked on the street? Arrested by the police?

“You needn’t worry,” The rat said softly, giving me a smile when I looked up. “We’ve taken care of the original video and any copies. There’s no record of who you are in this world. The police were quite adamant about taking you into custody, but I was able to make a deal with the commissioner.”

“Deal?” I don’t like where this is going.

“That’s correct. First, you are to remain under U.A.’s constant supervision, which is why you’re living with All Might!”

I raised a brow, leaning over toward Blondie. “You actually work here?”

He nodded. “It hasn’t been announced yet, but I start as a teacher next term.”

“What about your uhh…” I made a motion with my hand and he smiled warmly.

“You don’t need to worry about me, young Jen.”

“I wasn’t worried, you idiot.”

The rat cleared his throat before continuing. “The next condition is that you enroll at U.A. next term. As a seventeen-year-old, you should be in your second year, but I can not allow that. All of the information you lack will be provided as a first-year student, but we will withhold your age from the other students. It’ll be up to your discretion if you should choose to trust your classmates, but I would advise against this, though.”

A first-year as a super-powered high school… this should be fun.

“The final condition is that your quirk be trained and monitored. I was content giving this job to All Might, but after seeing the raw, untamed power of your quirk, I have decided it is best to go with Aizawa, who can erase your quirk if you lose control.”

“Erase it? Like, permanently?” I glanced at the man, who was rubbing the back of his head, eyes closed.

“No, it’s only temporary.” He assured me but didn’t elaborate farther on it. “From this point on, you are a member of U.A. High. What you do from here on out will reflect on this school, as well as on All Might. Please keep this in mind going forward.”

Yeah, no pressure though, right? I nodded, feeling my shoulders grow heavy as I glanced over at Blondie. He gave me a reassuring smile and patting my shoulder.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

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[cosmosogler]

man, i don’t want to write anything... i’m tired. i will write anyway.

i had a dream about being surrounded by people but being, sort of, for some unexplained reason, unable to communicate with them. like, i could talk and they might have heard me, there’s no reason they wouldn’t have, but they didn’t respond to anything i did. we were in a mall and the floor was glass. toward the end of the dream there was a blizzard and the glass had cracked. i tread carefully, but it never broke. 

right at the very end, someone asked me a question, and as i opened my mouth to respond i woke up because my alarm went off. i was so incredibly frustrated for about half a second and then i couldn’t remember what i had wanted to say any more.

oh! there were also zombies. and undead, but they were different from zombies. i had come to the mall to do something about them but i got sidetracked and then people stopped paying attention to me. that’s how i got there.

it was really complicated, but i don’t remember what exactly was happening. i was trying to bring the dead back to life? but the zombies were beyond help and converting the undead into the FOR REAL dead. i spent a lot of time in a garden shed and under a concrete ledge.

dreams aside, i woke up and got ready for the day and then sat at the computer for a little bit. i think i was checking tumblr? i was so hunched over the dang desk that i may as well have been laying on it.

then we went to gramma’s! before we left dad was being super passive aggressive and i’m not sure why. it was really confusing and also annoying. mom ended up leaving without him and taking us to gramma’s. i put on some music and didn’t think about it too much.

the easter celebration was good. i totally wrecked my cousins at batman dice. the score was 1 to 2 to 3 to 16. and i visited with gramma and her friends and neighbors a lot. apparently dad’s mom barbara was also supposed to attend but she wasn’t feeling well. dad showed up eventually and brought the batman dice game with him. after that it was lunchtime. i gorged myself on my aunt’s salsa and tried to also eat fruit and chips and potato salad and an apple cinnamon cookie... i got so sick i passed out on the couch. grampa woke me up to get me to go lay on his bed instead. it was a little warmer in there and i felt the room spin around me while i dozed. i heard my name one point and i think it was mom telling a dumb story about me, but i felt my muscles tense up for a few seconds anyway. an hour later my brother came to get me and i rolled on my back and my whole abdomen just throbbed and every single heartbeat was a wave of nausea.

i felt junky the whole way home but i tried to count the number of songs i listened to while we were on the highway and that helped. when we got inside i hung out with the dogs a while. i tried to brush some of the mats out of diogi’s fur but wiley and eve were suddenly very interested in standing directly on top of my lap and tipping diogi over. my brother and i fed them, and then after i coaxed eve into eating her food they were outside for a bit. and then i came upstairs until i got a little hungry. i went downstairs to reheat some rice from my family’s previous burrito adventure and had a tiny cup. dad left to go take barbara to the hospital. she spends a lot of time there. 

i mean, i don’t doubt that she is sick and needs to go. but... there are a lot of ways she could make this, easier and less expensive for my family? like one time she slipped and fell and hit her head on the bathroom door. she called our house in the evening and thought it was morning, so we went to check on her. 

if she’d had, say, one of those life alert things or a check-in plan now that she’s living alone she wouldn’t have been laying there for almost a day. and i think this inability to take care of herself is part of what led her to the decision to kill her dog, DESPITE THE FACT THAT WE WERE WILLING TO AND HAD PREVIOUSLY TAKEN CARE OF THE DOG WHEN SHE DIDN’T WANT TO/COULDN’T, AND ALSO THAT HE WAS NOT THAT OLD YET. HE WAS 2 YEARS OLDER THAN EVE, BUT HE IS A TOY POODLE. HE LIVES LONGER THAN 14 YEARS. THEY CAN BE REASONABLY EXPECTED TO LIVE TO 16-18.

like yeah, i’m sorry your husband died and you aren’t putting your life back together. i’m sorry you both suffered an addiction to nicotine that led to the disease grandpa developed. but when we are forced to take you to the hospital because you have no system in place to get yourself anywhere or alert people when you are not doing well, you don’t even take the doctor’s advice, and you refuse to stay in rehab because they don’t let you smoke when you’re hooked up to an oxygen machine! you had a heart attack and you walked out of the hospital a few days later when they wouldn’t let you smoke!!! you stole grandpa’s pain killers while he was alive! you tried to sell your house despite EVERYONE telling you that was a bad idea for many, many reasons!!! you ditched all your furniture in preparation for selling the house anyway and tHEN CHANGED YOUR MIND. you killed your dog and changed your mind the next day so you got a cat, AND THEN YOU DITCHED THE CAT A FEW WEEKS LATER. and then you got ANOTHER cat, and then moved to minnesota or wherever WHERE YOUR FAMILY ASKED YOU NOT TO BRING A CAT AND YOU BROUGHT IT ANYWAY, and then moved back a few months later because you didn’t like paying rent!!!!!!!!!!

i’m sorry life is hard. i’m sorry that bad ideas seem like good ideas to you??? but you’re hurting literally everyone you come into contact with. you’re not even nice to dad when he comes to do your chores for you. you’re just a jackass and you smoke when he’s in the house even though you know the smell makes him sick. and the new cat is too terrified to ever come out from under the bed.

i hate barbara. not as much as i hate craig, because she doesn’t seem aware of what she’s doing, but god it’s hard.

i did put on some bug spray before i went outside this evening. it helped. tomorrow i gotta go to the mental health hospital place. i am afraid that i am not sick enough for their help. because i am too sick to NOT get their help. but i might not be sick enough for them to give me a spot on their roster. like some kind of hellish middle ground.

do i play up my anxiety? would that be lying? am i really not that bad? maybe i should downplay it. but then i’m less likely to get help... am i not depressed/anxious enough because i know i need help? usually with depression it’s like “ohh it COULD be worse, i must not be bad enough for real help.” i know, the cognitive dissonance is making my head explode too.

being evaluated is horrible. what if they happen to catch me on a good day and get the wrong idea? what if they catch me on a bad day and i’m not good enough? standardized tests, medical evaluations, people watching when i say “hey look at this!” they’re just clouds, sammie.

my legs are miserably itchy. i can’t sit comfortably with the itching cream on. the texture of the chair’s fabric against my calves is irritating. the wood of the desk rubs my thighs wrong. my feet are rough and catch on fabric like velcro and they never seem to sit at quite the right angle. my back hurts. my stomach hurts. the skin on my fingers and knuckles is splitting because i wash my hands too much and don’t drink quite enough water. and my body is always telling me i need to go to the bathroom but when i try to go i can’t because there is nothing there. i just went 20 minutes ago. and if my eyes water for any reason something in them gets really dry and it burns and hurts. 

it doesn’t even help when i’m, like, outside and not on the computer. my abdomen starts really hurting when i’m out on walks and it only fades, doesn’t go away. my eyes hurt when the sun’s up. i’m tired all the time. eating is usually awful. the lawn is wet and muddy on my feet and i immediately get bug bites. nothing on my body is healing properly.

i’m just... really frustrated tonight. i saw my sister at the easter party. i asked if her childhood stomachaches ever went away. she said no, and it still usually hurts when she eats. i don’t know how she functions if it’s anything like this. no wonder she never wants to do anything and gets irritable if she can’t eat what she wants.

i’m afraid it’ll never go away. no one can even figure out what’s wrong. i’m not any more anxious than i was while i could go to school. the only thing i could think of with the doctor was that it was years of general anxiety that built up this problem. at least with depression there’s literally a chemical reaction happening in your head that can be changed with medication. but like, they can’t even find an ulcer or anything. there’s just... nothing wrong.

[bts-girl96]

Midnight Castle Part 9

A/N: Here is another part! Enjoy.

I break away from Jimin. I search his eyes, I know and I hope he is telling the truth. I don’t want this to be real. What just happened? Who was banging on the door?

“Jimin what’s going on?” I ask.

“We need to get to the throne room before we tell you anything… a secure location.” Jimin mumbles.

I look around for Taehyung and see him down the hall already and the security team has left too. What the hell is going on here? Taehyung and Jimin were together. A secure location? I want someone to tell me what is going on.

I think back to the papers I found. I still have the book in my hand. And the book of the family tree. I need to tell Jimin, anyone will do for me to tell. I need help, I want the help.

“Jimin I found something…” I begin.

Jimin puts his hand over my mouth, “What did I tell you? Don’t say a word Y/N.”

I nod and he removes his hand. He takes my hand and takes me to the throne room. Which is in chaos. Guard’s are everywhere. I see Taehyung standing by his father, and I see father looking displeased.

“Leave,” Father commands once is eyes land on me.

I begin to turn away when Jimin catches me and walks me toward father. I watch as everyone else in the throne room leave. Everyone except father, Jimin, Taehyungs father and Taehyung. The guard’s all exit and everyone else does as well. I look at father than I look down. I… I don’t know what is going on.

“Y/N, what happened?” Taehyung asks, breaking the silence.

“I was looking into a few things when someone started knocking. I thought it might have been… actually, I have no idea who I thought it was. But than they started banging on the door louder and louder. I hid behind my desk. But then Prince Taehyung and Prince Jimin came and saved me.” I explain.

I never look up. But I can feel all of their eyes on me.

“They tried something, they are starting to make moves father,” Jimin says.

“Even though our diversion didn’t work and have the eyes on you…” father trails off.

“They know, they got records to the family tree and they looked at them,” Jimin states.

“I planted the fake one in the room though, and made sure Y/N got a copy of the real one since she is the only one allowed in her study, I only got in there because you gave me a key to get in there and I gave it right to you sir,” Taehyung chimes in.

“That… when did this happen?” Father questions.

“The first day I was here, I knew you wanted me to snoop around and I made sure that everything was ready before anything else happened, even before I came and talked to Y/N,” Taehyung answers.

There is a moment of silence. What the hell is going on? A plan? Planting a fake family tree. Than… do I have the real family tree in my hands? Just what… I want to know but I don’t want to speak out of turn.

Who is making moves? Diversion? Jimin is the heir, why would they care about me? Why go after me? I look at the tile on the floor. I try to control my breath. There is no way that I should be in here, this is a matter between father and Jimin. And for some sick twisted way Taehyung and his family. After all I am only a peace offering between us. I should only be living in ignorance.

“Y/N,” A voice says.

I look up to father.

Taehyung walks up to me, “Y/N… why are you crying?”

“I should go,” I say, I begin turning away.

I have a hand on my arm. I turn and I see Taehyung. His eyes are soft, so soft I could sleep in them. No, he has lied to me and hurt me. I try to tug away but Taehyung keeps a hold of me. His eyes never have the darkness.

Who the hell is this man? What right does he have to ask me why I am crying? He is part of the reason why I am crying.

“Just who the living hell are you?” I finally manage.

“A friend,” is Taehyung reply.

“A friend?” I scoff, “A friend who lies and deceives me into thinking you hate my brother. How many lies have you told me Taehyung? How many? Do you think you have a right to ask me what is wrong and why I’m crying when I have no idea who I should trust right now? Some friend you are, and I thought…”

I trail off. What did I think? That I might actually like Taehyung. I did at one point though. And I feel my heart breaking because I liked him, before I knew he lied to me. I don’t like liars. I hate them.

“Y/N, calm down. I way trying to help…” Taehyung begins.

“HELP?” I yell, “You’ve hurt me. And Jimin! I thought you two hate each other! I was ready to try to help you guys so we could band together, but clearly you guys only wanted to play with me. I… I hate this feeling.”

I feel out of breath. Taehyung looks at me and I look at him. I don’t know what to believe anymore. Taehyung puts an arm around my waist. I feel my legs giving out under me. Taehyung lowers me to the ground.

I can’t breathe. Taehyung keeps his arms around me. He begins to hum.

“Let us explain Y/N, hopefully everything will make sense once you know why we did what we did…” Taehyung whispers.

Jimin’s POV the past:

Y/N needs to stop being so mean to An, I could hear her slap from here. And so did our guest Taehyung. I turn to him.

“Sorry dude, my sister tends to not understand how to treat others.” I say.

“So you think lying to her and giving her a hard time is a good idea? Maybe someone just needs to talk to her,” Taehyung counters.

He always wants to resolve things peacefully. But I shake my head. I’ve times him about the times father has sat her down. She never listens, no matter what and she skips lessons about everything because she thinks it is beneath her. She may be the heir to the throne, but she can’t be queen like this. All the peace that father has given over the years will be ruined by her. I asked Taehyung to hep me since I know he can act, treat her how she treats everyone else. The ball should be the first step to stop her.

At the ball she is infatuated with Taehyung, and I go to father to tell him that everything is in place. I need to go and tell him because she just blew me off to talk to Taehyung. And I know Taehyung hates doing this to someone, but he has seen how she acts.

But I over hear something.

“We need to take her out,” a voice whispers.

“But how? Taking out the heir? We don’t know if she even is the true heir to the throne. She could be the half princess. He brother could be the heir,” another answers.

“No way, she has to be.” The first one says.

“So we take out the royal family and then yours can take over again?” the other one clarifies

I run because I hear them approaching the spot I am standing in. I go to father and tell him what I heard. We look at Y/N with Taehyung. I know we need to come up with a plan to stop this. A killing of the royal family? That can’t happen. We thought there was a snake, but not that it would strike now. Father and I go to the throne room for the rest of the night rethinking our plans.

An found out about Taehyung and I being friends, but we kept her quiet. But she wasn’t someone we could trust. No one in the castle is since I have no idea who the two who were talking were. Y/N needs to marry Taehyung for protection. I am set to marry a girl form another kingdom to make peace, she will live here, so the king there has an incentive to not attack us.

Fast forward, word gets around I am the heir and Y/N has a panic attack. But that is where things get messy, An is planning something. She is too… in charge. And maybe because Y/N started treating her better.

But when Y/N started panicking in the throne room, I had to watch as Taehyung held her.

Taehyungs POV the Past:

I hear the slap. Down the hall, in what Jimin has pointed out to be his sister’s room. Jimin and I sit in silence, he was going over the plan with me again. And I asked the staff what Y/N was like. None of them had anything good to say about her.

“Sorry dude, my sister tends to not understand how to treat others.” Jimin says.

“So you think lying to her and giving her a hard time is a good idea? Maybe someone just needs to talk to her,” I counter.

Jimin shakes his head. He tells me about his sister throwing a fit and their father talking to her. But it never helps. I don’t want to do this to someone. She is pretty, from the glimpses I have seen of her. I can’t be doing something like this to her. Why can’t Prince Jungkook or Prince Yoongi do this? They are some of the coldest princes in the world. Why ask the warmest prince to do a job like this?

I don’t like the idea of it. While I do this he and his father are going to try to find a rat. Someone who has been spreading things around, false things about the royal family. Though they are just words they could grow into a problem later. And they want to avoid that.

If I fall for her, I might get my heart broken, or worse, I’ll break her heart.

Y/N POV:

I listen to Jimin in Taehyungs arms. Someone is trying to take out the royal family? Does that have to do with…

I loosen Taehyung’s grip and open the book with the family tree. I look through and find the section I was looking at before I needed to talk to someone. I open to the great aunt, the one blacked out. I turn to where her pages should be but they seem to be ripped out.

“Father… what do you know about grandpa’s sister?”  I ask.

[skycommasatdusk]

8-10-17

I gave myself permission to stay in bed today.  When morning came and the phone started ringing and the texts started pinging, I pulled the comforter up to meet the pillows and remained there for a very long time. Then I had to pee.

And, there was the bathroom scale.  What the hell.  A shriek escaped my throat and I shuffled on.

8 a.m. and I’m filling my vitamin supplement days-of-the-week tray and coffee is dripping over chocolate milk and sugar.  I’m not going to do this day.  But, as long as I’m up, I’m going to have my coffee. And, I’m going to have whipped cream on top of it.  

The whipped cream dispenser went ‘hiss’ instead of ‘splort’, but it hadn’t beaten me.  I’d bought a 3-pack at Costco. Hah! Take that Another-Day-That-Wants-To-Knock-Me-Down. I’m still here, though not fit for social consumption.

The coffee is delicious, and I am emboldened to check email.  See if there’s anything uplifting on Bored Panda.  There is.  Another whale rescued by a scuba diver from miles of line attached to an anchor.  Once set free, whale comes at rescuer like a speeding bus, but doesn’t knock him down. Just asks to be petted, like the family dog.  Good. Good. There is still good.

Scan through emails with trepidation and dare to review information on meeting right here in my neighborhood that I’d planned to sponsor and network for much needed new business.  It’s been moved. Of course. 45 minutes away. In a different county. Groan.

This day is not going to knock me down.

It’s not.  I will keep my head down. I will avoid the many piles of things that need doing.  Paper piles here for work.  Paper piles there, time sensitive for other work.  Files on my desktop, time-sensitive, waving hysterically to get my attention. Text from landlord to correct a slight breach of parking garage rules. It’s okay, I’d been expecting that.

I recall a dream from last night.  Mother had purchased a second home nearby, and had not used me as her realtor.  I was pathetically okay with that, I figured she’d gotten a better deal by writing with the listing agent.  But, she hadn’t even consulted with me, and then I came to learn that she didn’t even get an inspection of the property before closing the deal.  Was it closed?  Was it too late?  The property was clinging just above a canyon, and on the other side was a homeowner who overwaters his gardens.  How could she not listen to my urging that she needs to get an inspection done before she closed escrow?  And, why were there two washers, and three dryers in this house?  Spread out from kitchen to sitting room?  And, why was there a neighborhood party going on?  And a parking lot, and my son was attending to the parking kiosk? Why couldn’t I maneuver the grassy yard to get back to my car?  Why was there an open-air crawl-through bridge to get to the other side?

But, it’s morning.  On this day during which I’m backing away from the mania.  What to do?

A hike in this uncharacteristically steamy hot southern California day?  Sounds gross. Food?  Not hungry.  Make my bed and straighten up?  Well, duh.  I don’t want to die of a sudden heart attack and be found here with my home a mess. Best to put on clean underwear too.

Blinds open? Blinds closed? Music on? No. It only drags me to whatever mindset any particular song touches inside me.  News, God no.  Enough of that. Quiet. I can hear the plane flying across the sky taking people to vacations they eagerly anticipate, or dragging them on a heinous, nerve-wracking business trip in coach with their knees up to their shoulders trying to get comfortable, eschewing the flight attendant’s offer of coffee because they read that article about the water used for making coffee and tea on planes, and, of course, they would risk walking away with a large coffee stain on their white pants when they reach their destination.

Sounds. Cars. No horns yet today. No sirens yet.

Typing this. Chastising myself because I’m still learning to not put two spaces between the period and the next capitalized word since Lynda, the editor, taught me it should only be one space.

9:30 a.m.  Where does the time go?  

I’m still above ground. Not even lying flat on the faux wood laminate floor, my cheek pressed to the coolness. Not there. Sitting, on a stool. Resting my arms straight in front of me across the desktop to ease the aching of my arthritic arm and shoulder. Quick text to ask if my granddaughter was wrestled into day two of the school year.  No response. Many possibilities.

Europe is calling.  I signed on for it, and there’s no turning back. Heaven knows I need the break, to get away, to experience new. But, finances are worrisome. An understatement.  And, the task of making the plans so that, once there, I can relax, feel so very difficult.  Train schedules and hotels and currencies and tipping rules. Packing; 16 days + 1 tiny, manageable suitcase. Another immense chore. But, the clock is ticking down to departure date.  

Tick tock.

Calendar pages turning.  

But not in that annoying way shown on the Rachel Maddow Show or in the Target online ads. That annoying computer-generated swishing sound.

Traveling alone. Good? Bad? Will I make friends?  Do I have room for new acquaintances in my head? Safe?

Lovely twittering sounds from the lone dove that nests in the palm tree outside my door. Where is his mate for whom he’s built a nest of palm strands and lint and bits of paper? Perhaps she is nearby and he’s alone only because he’s bravely standing sentry.  Bold enough to stand his ground as I pass by within 30 inches of his beady glare.

Shoes on, sunscreen sprayed, hat chosen and adjusted. Keys secured in pouch carrying overpriced Epipen, tissues and loose change. Sunglasses ensuring a superficial wall between me and whatever, whoever, I may encounter. 10:04 a.m., facing the day outside of my cocoon because sitting still never sits well with me. Earphones on, attached to phone, but no station or podcast selected. The plugged-in visual is just a deterrent.

A body in motion tends to stay in motion.

‘Beep beep’, goes the UPS man at my neighbor’s door.  ‘Growl’ goes the garbage truck. ‘Whiz’ goes another airplane.

59 years old.  59 years old.  

Retirement age is 62?  64?  How much longer? When can I slip off these tap dancing shoes? Papers somewhere detail the financials if I retire in one year versus another.  Another. Another decision to be made.

Heel, toe, heel, toe, (lather, rinse, repeat?), heel, toe…

Car races me to the curb end of the crosswalk. Car wins, expresses with arms and eyebrows that she's sorry she cut me off.

But she's not.  She did it will full knowledge that I was striding there. In the crosswalk.  

Audi Honda BMW Toyota Chevrolet Prius GS Se E 320 Is Crv Mc250 Accord Accord

Paris accord.

No, no, it’s Paris Agreement.  Paris Climate Agreement. Paris Climate Accord. Whatever. Still holding, thanks to other fully conscious countries.

Snatch of a song in my head:

…they alive dammit, ' females are strong as hell…

Leaf blower.

Power tool humming.  What's that tool called?  It used to be so easy to access words. Names.

White female, 30s, stands on sidewalk with two police officers. Another patrol car pulls up and dispenses two more police officers, one male, one female. First police officers depart.

Carpenter: rap, rap, rap, rapping. Sun beating down on him leaning into building from the ladder.

Dog barks and barks.

I miss the sound of my dog’s bark. 10.4 years of love and seizures. I loved that dog.

Tall floor to ceiling windows look into doggie daycare. Dogs running and playing with each other. Dogs angling for human attention.  One tiny fluffy white dog stands away from the others, very still, legs nearly trembling, eyes searching the distance. For what?

Tears in my eyes.

81 degrees.

Powerball 356 million. MegaMillion 393 million.  No winners.

I'm not a winner.

59.

59 years.

59 years, segmented into how many parts?  

Part 1: Infancy, who loves me?  Who do I belong to? Mother? Papa? Grandma and grandpa?

Part 2: Childhood. Mother hates me, I'm a burden to her. Sisters play with me, but I'm too bossy, trying to be special. Papa loves me, but I’d better not anger my mother. Grandma and Grandpa love me, can we go see them today?

Part 3: School years.  Friends. Frenemies. Seated in my little chair staring out the fire escape door at the house and fenced in yard 3 stories below, wondering about my future. Losing my new crystal blue glasses on the day after I got them.  Summer, waiting beside the highway with my sisters for the bus to take us to swim lessons at the municipal pool.  A little money in my pocket for a treat at the shop across the street before the bus takes us home.  Knowing I’ll later spend that money on cotton candy as I get off the bus.  Spending the money on ice cream after I get out of the pool and wait in line under the Midwestern sun.  

Part 4: California. Jr. High and High School.  Mother keeps reminding us that we are so cool because we now live in California instead of dusty old Iowa.

Part 5: College. Yay.  I’m me.  Just me.  No old family stories weighing me down. Education. Singing on stages. Boyfriend. First. Writing, writing, writing. 4 more years to be safe while I grow up.  Wondering when it is that someone is grown up.

Part 6: First jobs. Insecurity. Successes. Failures. Finding my legs. If not my wings.

Part 7: Marriage. Writing, writing, writing.

Part 8: Children. Love, love, love for my children.  PTA, carpool lines, producing special events and haunted houses and children’s game shows to benefit the schools.  Accolades.  Fears of public speaking falling away.  Writing, writing, writing.

Parts 9, 10, 11, 12: Separation, sex, divorce, love, heartbreak. Writing

Part 13: Realtor®.  Hustle, research, learn, work, work, work.  No rest. Too weary to work, too anxious to sleep. Wine.

Heel, toe, heel, toe.

Music from the open door of the furniture store: 'you are so wonderful, to me.’ Changed from ‘you are so beautiful’?

Why?  What was the thinking?

PC? Feminism? Are you necessarily objectifying someone if you love their looks?  And, if that’s so, does that mean you don’t really love them at all?

Lightbulb: Write a book.

Second Bulb: Finish a book. Proud of book.

More bulb flashes: Shout out on Craigslist with my offer to pay anyone with access to a publisher to put my finished manuscript on a publisher’s desk? Book flight to New York, walk manuscript in to publisher’s offices and beg successive people until the doors are all flung open for me and someone has promised to read.

Optimism.

Brief.

Slow down.

Just today.

Today, I will not strive and grasp and claw and re-think and redouble my efforts until I collapse with aching body, weary mind, red eyes.  

Today.  I will just be.

Tomorrow.  Tomorrow.

Tomorrow: Welcome!  Can you sign in please?  This home offers 3 bedrooms 2 baths in 2,023 square feet, beautifully updated. Built in 1939. The kitchen features industrial grade appliances and marble countertops.  Master suite is quite large with original hardwood floors leading off to the latticework tile bathroom floor which holds a claw foot tub offering the bather a view of the canyon, separate rainfall shower. The exterior maintains the original Spanish style well-suited to this quaint Beachwood Canyon neighborhood.  The schools are highly rated…

No, no one died in the house.

Yet.