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marsbutterfly · 3 years ago

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Skyfall

Summary: When you are hired to kill the most dangerous mafia boss, things get a little complicated.

Wattpad Version! | AO3 Version!

|◁ II ▷|

“This is the end

Hold your breath and count to ten

Feel the Earth move and then

Hear my heart burst again”

7:34pm

The clock on your wrist tics quietly but in the silent room, it nearly sounds like bombs being dropped from above. Not a word is exchanged between you and the man sitting across the room but you know exactly what he wants.

In his hand rests a dark colored suitcase, you can barely tell until the light hits his belt ever so gently but you finally see the gun he’s been carrying.

You take a deep breath, getting up for your seat. The sound of your heels clicking on the floor fills the atmosphere as you walk towards him, the smirk on his lips is undeniable and you don’t understand what he has to be smiling about.

He stands up a second after you and walks in your direction, bumping against you and dropping his suitcase and the papers in his hand. In response, you throw on the floor the suitcase you once held.

The man apologizes profoundly as you help him collect the papers on the floor. You say over and over that it is ok, while all the curious eyes in the room land on you. As you stand up, you hand him the suitcase you once had in your hand and he nods, thanking you for the help and apologizing one last time.

You begin to make your way back to your car, the smirk on his lips still engraved in your brain as a chill travels down your spine. “Why was he smiling?” You ask yourself not wanting to admit it but you are a bit scared of knowing the answer.

Though once you open the suitcase, you understand why. Inside, rests the pictures and information of your next target, the millionaire leader of an enemy gang. Though you don’t enjoy taking sides, you’ve been paid a large amount of money to take her out, more than you have ever made.

The war between these two gangs has been going on for the longest time and you have killed enough people on both sides to earn a fair amount of enemies, but this time you couldn’t help but feel a sinking hole opening in your heart.

Hanji Zoe has always been the deadliest member of the underground group. Her kill count is even higher than yours, at least 500+ heads under her belt. They say her torture methods surpass even the ones they use in hell.

She’s known as the Devil herself.

“For this is the end

I've drowned and dreamt this moment

So overdue, I owe them

Swept away, I'm stolen”

8:15pm

Your keys unlock the heavy doors of your house and somehow the marble floors feel colder than ever. Your shoes rest in their designated spot by the coat holder and you throw the suitcase on the couch.

Two cups rest on the counter near the bar area inside your home. One of them contains what you assume is whisky, due to the color and the amount of ice in the cup, it has always been her favorite after a work day.

The lipstick marks are fresh meaning she has just now gotten home. Upon paying closer attention, you realize the shower is on and steam is coming out of the bathroom. You think about joining her but ultimately decide to have a drink first, trying to forget about your next target.

Gently, you take two rocks of ice and place them in the clean cup specifically placed out for you. Pouring yourself a single shot of whisky, you walk towards the balcony feeling as the cold air of the night hits your face.

You knew this day would come but you hoped it would take longer.

Deep in your own thoughts, you don’t realize the water has been turned off in the bathroom and wet footsteps approach your body.

It’s not until her wet arms wrap around your black dress that you realize you are no longer alone. Her face is buried in your back and you can see steam leaving her arms as the hair on her skin stands up.

The tattoo of your initials on her hand still brings butterflies to your stomach. The memory of the night she got it is still one of your favorite moments you spent together, especially since it was after your first date and she told you she knew you were the one.

“I missed you.” She says, placing a kiss on your skin. You can feel as her breasts are pressed against you and a gasp leaves your body.

“I missed you too.” You reply, a disobedient tear rolling down your face as you chug the contents of the cup in your hand.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, placing her hand on your waist as she turns your body around so you can face her. She is a few inches taller, nothing too extreme but enough to make you look up at her gently.

Her thumb brushes the tear on your cheek before rubbing it above your lips. You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to tell her the news you just received.

“You are my next target.” You say and Hanji nods, a sad smirk on her lips.

“Let the sky fall

When it crumbles

We will stand tall

Face it all together”

9:00pm

The brush goes through her hair with ease for the first time, as if she took care of the tangles in the shower already knowing what the news you were bringing would be. After shower moments were the ones where Hanji was the most vulnerable.

She would simply close her eyes and appreciate the attention she’s been given as she fades in the echo of your voice. You hum a melody quietly, Hanji’s favorite song in the hopes to bring her any comfort at all.

Your tears drip down your nose onto her scalp as you put her hair in a ponytail, attempting to help her get ready for the party she will be attending in an hour. At the highest floor of the second tallest building in the entire city.

“How are you going to do it?” She asks, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke up in the air while trying to make rings out of it. You giggle, touching her shoulders before sliding your hands down her arms.

You notice the goosebumps rising on her skin and can’t help but smile at how she reacts to your touch. “Must we talk about it?”

“I need to know.” She replies and you nod, sighing heavily while finally agreeing to talk about the elephant in the room.

“I’ll be on the roof of the Paradise building. I am pretty sure they will send someone to watch me do it.” You begin, spraying the bottle of perfume around her and noticing as the drops of liquid fall on her tan skin, masking the smell of the cigarette.

“But they might not.” She says and you shrug your shoulders.

“They might not.” You say quietly.

“I wouldn’t expect any less from this city’s top 1 assassin.” She says, taking your hand in hers and planting a soft kiss on your palm, leaving behind the red mark of her deep colored lipstick.

She stands up, allowing the robe to fall to the floor and reveal her naked body. You can’t look away from the perfect shape of her breasts, the line that goes through her abdomen from a previous surgery and all of her battle scars.

“Make me yours one last time.” You say, pulling your shirt above her head as you expose yourself to her and she nods, a devious smile curling up on her lips.

You see a few old bullet wounds, some healed while others are still healing. Every single one of them tells a story about who she is and how she has lived her life but your favorite story has always been the one of how she lost her eye.

It was three years ago, the day you met. How could you ever forget?

“Let the sky fall

When it crumbles

We will stand tall

Face it all together

At Skyfall”

Since you were a teenager, you’ve been good at killing. First your shitty parents and every family member who sided with them, including your own brother and sister. Finally being able to control your life, you decided to make a living out of it.

This career put you through college where you earned a chemistry degree, learning how to mix your personal kinds of poison, some of which no one has ever even heard of which makes it hard for the police to find who was responsible for it.

At first, you would go for basic targets: rapists, animal abusers, anyone who dared hurt another soul but word got out of how excellent and quick you were at your job and your number of clients tripled and your name was in everyone’s mouth.

One day, you got a call from a blocked russian number. A smile creeped on your lips as you heard a familiar voice over the phone, Erwin Smith. The man who gave you a chance to grow in this life and made you who you are today, your mentor.

“Y/N, I’m dying.” He says, his voice is faint and you notice his life force is fading away.

“I can tell.” You reply trying to lighten the mood and he laughs.

“Will you still work for the next boss?” He asks, coughing out a liquid which you could only assume was blood.

“If that is your dying wish.” You respond and he hums in agreement over the phone, “Then yes.”

Later that week, two men showed up to your house to escort you to Erwin’s funeral. The rain poured over his coffin, hiding away the tears of those who loved him.

Surrounded by at least five men sat a woman in a black coat, her eyes looking in your direction as she took the cigarette to her lips. The tattoos on her leg on display for anyone to see, you could’ve sworn she was silently flirting with you.

And in a moment of weakness, a car drove by shooting up the place completely. Of course they were received with a buffet of bullets as well, but nearly a third of the people around the casket were now dead.

As a bullet makes its way towards you, the brunette with danger in her eyes rushes forward to protect you only to receive the bullet with a glass platter. Needless to say, an uncountable amount of shards found their way into her eyeball.

While she bled in your arms, you tried to make sure she remained awake.

“What’s your name?” You ask and she smiles, bringing your hand towards her lips and licking your thumb with a palpable sexual energy.

“Hanji. Hanji Zoe.” She replied, “The new boss.”

“Skyfall is where we start

A thousand miles and poles apart

Where worlds collide and days are dark

You may have my number, you can take my name

But you'll never have my heart”

10:05pm

Once you are finished redoing Hanji’s hair, she stares at the closet before finally picking out a blood colored suit. No shirt underneath, she places the blazer right above her nipples, only enough to cover them while allowing the rest of her breasts to be exposed.

You on the other hand plan to dress yourself in a completely black outfit hoping to blend into the darkness of the night. Luck was on your side for there were no stars to brighten the sky, allowing you to take complete cover.

As far as you know, nobody is aware of your relationship with Hanji, not even her subordinates. Keeping business away from your private life has always been a priority, even before you committed your first paid killing.

She places a final kiss on your hands and one of your lips, though it does not feel like a goodbye and you sadly accept any kind of comfort you can find.

When her car is out of view, you decide to go up and take a shower by yourself. You wanted to decline this job, to throw everything away: your reputation, the money and simply run away with Hanji to a place where you could live your lives.

But you can’t. Before even knowing who your targets are, you are always made to sign a consent form and if broken, it would cost you your life.

The warm water hits your face and you can still smell Hanji’s strawberry shampoo in the air mixed with the fading smoke of her cigarettes. You begin to remember every shower you spent together, every kiss you shared at the most exquisite places around the world.

Hanji always knew how to make you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Eventually, you can no longer if the water streaming down your face comes from the shower or your tears.

As you finish your shower, you begin to get ready. The black outfit had never been colder and the unsettling feeling at the pit of your stomach still remains. While putting a mask above your face, you look at your rifle.

It has your initials and Hanji’s secretly carved on the side and on the other it has the date you started dating. A good luck charm, as she liked to call it.

Tonight will be a fucking awful night.

“Let the sky fall (let the sky fall)

When it crumbles (when it crumbles)

We will stand tall (we will stand tall)

Face it all together

At Skyfall”

1:53am

Hours have passed since you've been sitting at the top of this building by yourself, looking through the binoculars at the party happening not too far away. In the end, they decided not to send anyone to watch over your shoulder as you do your job.

The richest and most powerful people in town were all attending and, even though they wore masks, you could still tell exactly who they were. The years of analyzing and recognizing targets from afar has given you the extraordinary ability to identify covered faces.

By the bar, you see her as she rests her arm on the glass top. She looks beautiful. Her whiskey brown eyes match the liquid in her cup as the black mask covers her features. For a second, you could’ve sworn she looked directly at you.

The instructions were clear: at 2am, a single bullet should be shot directly to her head, killing her instantly. So you position your gun, looking through the lense as Hanji disappears in the crowd for a bit before returning to her usual spot.

You sigh, stopping the tears that attempt to cloud your vision. Your finger slowly moves towards the trigger, as if time itself is desperately trying to stop you from killing your loved one, but it doesn’t matter. No one could stop you now.

Counting the seconds, you make sure the shot to her head is clear and you pray she won’t suffer at all. “Goodbye, my love.”

Time nearly stops once you pull the trigger. You watch closely as the bullet goes through her brain and blood splatters across the clear counter causing every person in the room to desperately run for their lives, not knowing they are all safe.

Only one man stands in the room and he raises his glass at you for he is the only one who knows no more shots will be fired. The asshole who hired you to kill the love of your life. Fucking Zeke Yeager.

With every ounce of your body, you decide that killing him isn’t worth it. He deserves to live to suffer in the future.

You bring your body back up, beginning to disassemble your rifle. It takes you less than a minute to be on your way and you can hear as police sirens approach the building in front of you.

“Where you go, I go

What you see, I see

I know I'd never be me

Without the security

Of your loving arms

Keeping me from harm

Put your hand in my hand

And we'll stand”

Finally getting back to your house, you throw the bag containing the gun on the couch before plopping your body right beside it, a long sigh escaping your lips.

Your eyes then notice the packed bags, all ready to leave as soon as possible. The clicking of heels comes from the other side of the house and you smirk, rushing your thumb through your lips.

“I feel bad for the lady you hired to die in your place.” You say, turning around and propping your chin on the back of the couch.

“Would you prefer if I had died in her place?” Hanji asks, rushing her hand through her freshly shaved head in an attempt to get rid of any hairs that still remain attached to her.

“Of course not, love.” You reply, walking towards her before taking the glass of wine from her free hand.

“Hanji Zoe is dead and the witness to it is Zeke Yeager himself.” She says, a devious smile on her lips.

You can’t help but link your mouth with hers, tasting the delightful mixture of alcohols she has had tonight. Her hands travel through your body, exploring every inch of your skin before gently brushing against your inner thigh.

You gasp gently, nearly melting in response to her actions. God knows you want to melt but you don’t have time.

“It’s 4:25am, the plane leaves in 35 minutes so we should go.” She says and you nod.

You grab one of the packed bags plus your rifle and she grabs the rest before extending her hand to you, hoping to walk away from this life with you by her side but not before staging your own kidnapping and death, everything so no one would ever look for either of you.

Once done with arrangements, she smiles.

“So where are we going to make our new home?” You ask.

“My home is wherever you are.” She replies and you feel your cheeks getting warm before she continues, “But I was planning the Carribeans.”

“Fuck yes.” Is all you say and she laughs, squeezing your hand as you both say goodbye to the apartment you’ve shared for years. Leaving behind a life of danger to live together in the house of your dreams, far away from all the negativity.

Just you and Hanji. And maybe a few cats and dogs along the way.

“Let the sky fall (let the sky fall)

When it crumbles (when it crumbles)

We will stand tall (we will stand tall)

Face it all together

At Skyfall”

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fascination-street-writing · 4 years ago

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Somewhere to Begin | Pannacotta Fugo x Ghirga!Reader

He has always adored you, like the sun and the moon and more - but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

- 200 Follower Giveaway Piece iii for @idontlikerisottounlessitsnero -

Content Warnings: Not SFW Content, Post Break-Up, Emotional Hurt & Comfort, Regret, & Explicit Sexual Content (Aged-Up Characters)

You had promised your brother Narancia to never involve yourself directly with Passione; even the occasional stay for a meal at Il Libeccio made him antsy, yet you failed to see the harm in sharing a plate of bruschetta with Fugo, or a pot of hot tea with Abbacchio – two of his closest companions. It was only fair that you ought to spend time with the men who gave you unbridled protection at the behest of nothing more than goodwill and magnanimity. Not that you needed such security, but it kept street thieves from picking your pockets, at least.

You had promised him indeed, and now that he lies in the casket before you – clad in the suit from your mother’s funeral that you never thought to see him wear again – you intend to keep it. Giorno had offered to have an outfit tailored for your brother, but you refused him with consternation that your he would not be buried in something from the boy responsible for his death.

“No,” you had told him, cold as the wall of ice that has crept around your heart, while clutching the woolly material to your chest. “This one will do nicely.”

And so, the mortician severed the seam along the back of the jacket and draped a silk sheet over Narancia’s legs so that no one would be wiser to fact that his ankles stick out past the bottom hem of his trousers. It was bad enough that you could not afford the casket on your own. You knew better than to believe it when Mista told you that it and the headstone were paid for with the money yielded from the liquidation of Bucciarati’s assets. If that were true, then why not pay for a new suit, too?

Trish snatches a single white lily from the memorial wreath and tucks it between your brother’s still, clasped fingers. She hides her grief behind a pair of sunglasses that do not match the overcast weather that looms above your heads. You had not wanted to wait so long for the funeral – for two months, Narancia’s body had been left in the morgue to chill on ice, par Giorno’s insistence that the service must wait until his transfer of power over Passione has finished.

Thus, for two months, you had lain awake at night, shuddering at the melancholy and its melody that reminds you how you your brother died without saying farewell – his platonic little soulmate. Giorno may have his victories and suffer for them, but you would not let him entomb Narancia in the mausoleum with Bucciarati and Abbacchio.

“He’ll be buried next to our mother,” you said to the new Don with indignancy. “After everything you’ve taken from me, let me have this. Lascia che mio fratello torni a casa – let my brother come home.”

Your wish was granted, though you suspect it only so because he was growing tired of fighting with you over burial rights and passages. The congregation is kept small, consisting only of yourself, Mista, Trish, a tortoise named Jean-Pierre Polnareff, regrettably Giorno, and a handful of bodyguards, though the latter kept their distance from the immediate service; it would not come as a surprise to you, should you learn that the men in black suits were employed to protect their Don from the mournful sister of the deceased.

The handkerchief clutched in your grasp is damp with past tears. Not even your father had come, despite your pleading that he ought to pay his respects to his only son. Too preoccupied with his floozy of a new wife and her children from two previous marriages than to love his own – you never needed him in your life anyways, because you had Bucciarati. Now, you suppose that you must be a proper orphan.

You do not weep when the casket seals and cleaves the line of sight betwixt you and your brother forever. You do not weep when the mechanical apparatus lowers the coffer made of Osage orange wood into the steel vault that already holds your mother in oak. You do not weep when the gravediggers shovel the dirt mound back over the crest of opened earth.

You do not weep until Mista clasps your trembling hand, pulls you to his chest, and embraces you amidst the anguish that burns you alive. His is the consolation that you needed, but never thought to ask for, though it is not his touch that you long for. One by one, the attendees disperse for the train of luxury cars and you remain alone with the gunslinger who had been courteous enough to come without his oddly patterned beanie hat.

“Why don’t we get going?” Mista urges to coax you away from the gravesite – away from yourself and the suffocating agony. “Giorno’s having dinner for us all, back at the estate.”

You pull away. Rivets of mascara stain his white dress-shirt. “You can go on ahead,” you tell him, not quite liking the way your voice strains in your throat. “I’m not hungry.”

“Then, let’s go grab some coffee or something –”

“I’m fine, Mista.” He frowns and averts his gaze. “I have some things I need to take care of.”

“Oh?”

You tug your cardigan closer to your chest. “I’m going to collect Narancia’s belongings from our dad’s house. Not sure what I’ll do with it all, but I know it can’t stay there.”

Mementos of life, from when things were far simpler and your brother far more alive. Family photographs with tattered edges and holes of where your father should have been, wedged between unread and abused schoolbooks. Worn out blue jeans with patches of fabric scraps from your mother’s old dresses that you had sewn on for him. A collection of empty glass soda bottles. CDs and cassette tapes of Snoop Dog, Tupac, and whatever other American rappers had appealed to his tastes.

“Alright, I guess. Promise me you’ll call when you get there.”

Soon to be packed away in cardboard boxes and to be stacked precariously in the living room of your studio apartment – another gift from Bucciarati – with nowhere else to go. You simply cannot afford to rent a storage unit downtown.

“I will.”

Mista does not offer to help, because he knows you will refuse it. With that, he takes his leave of you in the cemetery. Left to your solitary devices, you clench your fists and stew on hatred and loathing for none other than Giorno Giovanna. You do not blame Narancia for his eagerness to trust the boy so quickly; his charisma, as appealing as it entreats to the willing, is an infectious disease.

If not for Giorno, your brother would have been buried two months ago. If not for Giorno, your brother might still be alive. And perhaps you must resent Fugo too, for what he has done – or rather, the lack thereof of doing; yet for everything, you are incapable of such feelings, as you have always been fond of each other. The optimistic heart within you stands that he has saved you from suffering more – that in his choice to stay behind in Venezia, it only meant you would not have to bury him, too.

Because surely, his unrestrained anger would have gotten him killed – if not before, then certainly after Narancia’s death.

With a quivering sigh, you turn from this dreary place and meet his illegible violet stare. A row of crackling headstones separates you from the boy whom you love more than life itself. Fugo clutches a pretty bouquet of daffodils wrapped with parchment paper and a white-string bow – your favorite flowers, though you wonder whether they are meant for you or your brother’s fresh grave.

You do not know, nor will you ever, as he sets the flowers atop the nearest monument and makes off, as if on sabbatical to you.

And it fills you with nothing more than bitterness.

“Everyone misses you,” Mista confesses between a sip of tea and a bite of strawberry cake. “You should come around sometime soon.”

Nearly a year has passed since the funeral, and you have yet grace anyone from Passione with your presence, with the exception of Mista for weekly sojourns to Il Libeccio to catch up on life – because, as you have learned, much can happen in seven days’ time. With each occasion of crossing the archway’s threshold into the private dining room at the back of the restaurant, you find yourself preening for two heads of black hair – one neatly combed and clipped, the other a sprawl held in place with an orange headband –, taut lips painted in black, and Fugo. And every time, you are left with the kind of disappointment that curdles your soul like sour milk.

“Who misses me, Mista?” you reprimand, pointing your icing-lacquered fork in his direction. “I barely even know Trish, and I have no interest in ever speaking with Don Giovanna again.”

You wish Giorno would call off the bodyguard who trails you every waking hour of the day; it makes you feel like a child who has proven herself untrustworthy to her parent. But you have done nothing deserving of such punishment. You suspect that his intent is an extension of the olive branch treaty that does not exist between you two – a reiteration of Bucciarati’s protection that should not have to be reiterated, because he should not be dead, either.

Or, alternatively, he wants to irk you so far that you might barge into his office one day – fuming with unspent determination to admonish him regarding his dominion over your life – just to trap you in a conversation wherein he might attempt to suspend your animosity towards him. Alas, you are simply not interested; you will scorn him, because it is all you can do.

“Forget I asked . . .” Mista trails off, swirling a dollop of whipped cream with his knife. “So uh, by the way, have you seen Fugo lately?”

Just the utterance of his name has you perking in your seat.

“No.”

“Hm, well, rumor has it, he’s working at the public library. Shaking people down for late fees or something like that.” It is not implausible to imagine Fugo in the position of extorting old ladies and young children for overdue fines – but, you know that it is only a jest. Regardless, he has always been the type of boy to surround himself with books instead of people. “Why not visit him sometime? He’s not affiliated with Passione anymore. Or, not now, at least.”

You stab at a strawberry. It bleeds beneath the weight of your fork.

“I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Mista’s question is one that you ought to be asking yourself, as you sit here at the scratched pine desk of the library – pretending to study for an upcoming exam on the history of art in Pompeii – though you look up from your scrawl of notes every few minutes to see if Fugo should pass you by; perhaps pushing a cart of books to be put away, or branding return cards with a plush red stamp to mark the date in two weeks’ time.

You have seen him only once more since his implied attempt of reconciliation at your brother’s funeral. It was by chance that you should wander into the same café as him that day; and by extended odds that – while you stood over his table with a sad smile and a cup of coffee – he stood abruptly and left without finishing his own drink. He had not even bothered to wish you well.

Today, you catch him on your way to the reference section. The look of hurt in his eyes – like salt instead of sugar on the tongue – brings a scowl to your face. “Please, Panni,” you plead, and though your fingers ache to catch his hand with your own, you refrain for you know the gesture is a crossing of the line between you two. “Can’t we just talk?”

“No,” he says, so dry and unrecognizable. “I’m not getting paid to do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Panni, I – Please, don’t do this. I already lost my brother: don’t make me lose you, too.”

A fuse switches in his head, and you have been the one to flip it. He clutches the encyclopedia in his hands with such fervor that his knuckles pale, and for a moment, you wonder if he means to hit you with it. And maybe he thinks it too, but he drops it atop the ground as soon as the thought crosses his mind. He takes a step back, as if you have scorned him – maybe, after all, you have.

The cover spills open, and the pages bend against the hardwood floor. You wish he would do the same to you – to disclose his grievances and let you in. Instead, it is the toxicity of acrimony “Don’t ever come near me again,” Fugo warns. “Haven��t you realized by now that I never want to see you again? Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.”

You will save the tears for when you stand in front of the bathroom mirror tonight before bed to wash away your makeup from the day, amongst other regrets. But you will never understand the guilt that suffocates him – a noose that is just taut enough to keep him breathing – each time he looks at you, and even when he does not. You are everything he has ever wanted and more.

And you are the emblem of everything he has ever done wrong.

“I still care about you,” you tell him with an affirmation that will not fix the desolation. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

He bites his lip and looks away.

“I know you’re hurting. I am too. So, can’t we heal together?”

“Are you stupid?” You grimace at his words. “I told you to go.”

There is no chance to dispute it, nor to bid him an aggrieved adieu, because he is gone again. Burying him might have been easier, after all; a corpse cannot remind you of what a fool you have become.

And so it seems to you that dying dreams are the best ones.

Adulthood is – as you have found in your years of treading its waters – a dreadful inevitability. You and your brother’s boxes have outgrown that compact studio apartment, though for years, you had made it work perfectly fine. When Giorno pulled the strings to terminate your lease and forcefully relocate you into a sizeable townhouse in the Chiaia district, you wanted to hate him for it – for his reminder that you cannot sever your connection to Passione. Yet, boggled down with university loans, you were in no position to turn down his assistance.

And he knew it, well.

A pretty townhouse located in one of the nicest regions of Napoli cannot bring Narancia back, nor can it attune for every bit of suffering incurred since his death; but if it is a strain upon the aging Don’s wallet, then it is all the better.

On the day of your fourth birthday spent in solitude, you treat yourself to a tub of gelato and a dress from the costly boutique across the street that you will never wear because you have no need to. It will hang in your closest amongst other unworn gowns, still pinched with price tags, that you have impulsively accumulated over the years – a hereditary habit of your mother’s that had caused more than a few spats between she and your father. You know your vice, but there is something so gratifying about it.

You sink into the tweed couch that does not quite match the architect’s vision for the living room – with its crown-mould white walls and hardwood floors the color of wenge; too clean and proper for what furniture you have kept from your former residence. Silver spoon clenched between your teeth as you page through television channel after channel, you balance that melting gelato on your lap. Perhaps you should have grabbed a straw from the kitchen as well.

The evening passes by, uneventfully so. You have spent it spoiling yourself and replying with fabricated enthusiasm to incoming text messages from study mates, who wish you well on this happy day – as if you have a reason to remember your twenty-first beyond the accomplishment of finishing the entire tub of would-be-frozen lemon curd without incurring a single regret or twinge a of brain-freeze. You have gotten rather good at knocking back shots without needing to stop for breaths, too.

At the ringing of the doorbell, you are torn from the real estate program that you have invested so much time these past few hours. Mista, no doubt – come to deliver a gift and takeout because he knows you have not eaten properly tonight. You have no room left in your belly, but whatever he brings will make for a decent meal tomorrow.

You do not bother to tidy up, and when you open the door, you wish you had. Illuminated only by the balcony light stands Fugo with a bouquet of daffodils, a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and a remorseful, sheepish smile upon his handsome face.

Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.

“Uh . . . “ He trails off before he has even begun, perhaps taken aback by the widening of your eyes and the disheveled appearance that, despite your own judgement, he thinks to be the most beautiful vulnerability in life. He speaks your name with the kind of tenderness that you have not felt since you were teenagers. “Buon compleanno.”

You need not ask how he found you, because you know without question that either Mista or Giorno had told him. “Why are you here?” you ask.

He clutches the flowers a bit tighter. You do not move to take them; however, you have already decided on which vase you will place them in. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. And give you these.”

The bottle of wine feels far too heavy in your arms – and the daffodils, as if they might float off in an unforeseen gust of wind. “And, to apologize. For too many things that I can’t ever make right; although, if you’ll let me, I’d like to try.”

“Fugo, I . . . I don’t know.”

“Please, [Y/N]. That day in the library, all those years ago . . . I never stop thinking about the horrible things I said to you. It killed me – it ate me alive; I thought for all this time and before that you hated me, because of what happened to Narancia. Because I wasn’t there to save him.”

“It hurt when you told me to get out of your life, but I listened, and I did it.”

He brings the heel of his hand to swipe at the tears in his eyes. The curling of his other fist is a gesture that terrifies you – although, not for your own sake. “I couldn’t face you. I was scared to look you in the eye, because I thought you hated me,” he mutters like a broken record as his voice cracks with agony. “I thought you hated me, because of him.”

He stops, throwing his head back with a groan. The apple of his throat bobs up and down as he chokes down a sob. He refuses to look at you when he speaks again – too afraid to come undone before he has made his peace with you, his greatest loss. “We were young. Probably too young to even understand what love really meant. But, dio dannazione, you were the most important thing to me, and I understood that more than love.”

His words have always held the capacity for swaying you, as if they replenish the empty spaces within. It is why, as you open the door wider, you let him fill you once again. Fugo contemplates the crannies of your living room, hovering above the couch that you insisted he take a seat upon – he remembers when you bought it, because you had dragged him to the furniture outlet that day. He pretended to be annoyed, though in truth, he was beyond elated that you had chosen him over Mista, or even your brother.

“I guess I should put these in a vase,” you say about the bouquet of flowers. “They’re beautiful, Fugo. Thank you.”

He nods, suddenly entranced by a photograph of Narancia that sits atop the fireplace mantel. You do not notice his unease.

“I’ll grab us some glasses, too.”

You find your vase in the kitchen cabinet niched into the alcove above the refrigerator. Its emerald swirls glisten under the twine of the recessed lights that add no character to the room. So much for a birthday spent in reclusion, you chide alone. Deep within you sits a fire that longs to ignite – to send Fugo away in some thwarted act of retribution for the very loneliness he inflicted upon you years ago; as if to say that the rejection suits you well.

Of course, you cannot deny that your heart leapt into your throat when you saw him standing before the front door, a vision of a man who still held those inklings of boyish charm that you fell for in your adolescence. They say you should not dote over the first person beyond your mother and father to call you pretty; it is weakness to complacency. Your life has never been one of convention – and so by that right, who there is to insist that you must abide?

Bearing a content grin, you trim the stems one-by-one to better fit the vase. In synchronous rhythm to the next, the green stalks bounce from the cluttered countertop to the floor. You have only just stuffed the flowers back into the vase when the shattering of glass resonates its way into the kitchen.

The photograph of Narancia lies amongst bits of broken frame and wreckage. Face buried in his palms, Fugo crumples until his knees meet the ground; he shakes, as if smothered by a chill. When his hands fall to smack the coffee table – baring his grief, in all its pandemonium – you catch them and force his arms around your waist instead; his fingers lock together, holding you in place. He whimpers against your stomach. Already, you can feel the wetness of tears through the fabric of your overstretched shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry, [Y/N]. I’m sorry.”

Your own fingers curl through his strawberry blonde hair – a means of stability as you too have begun to cry. “It’s just a picture frame,” you promise, and it is the grandest thing he has ever heard. But it is more than a box made of wood and glass – it is an impossible longing. “I’m not upset at you.”

“I . . . Okay.”

Mindful of the mess, you rock him backwards until he is lying down. You join at his side, take his hand into your own, and wait in silence for the moment when his misery will dissipate for clarity. Regardless of the circumstances that have brought him here tonight, you are grateful for it – even if your birthday is spent wallowing in irrevocable regret.

Above all else, you know that he has always adored you, like the sun and moon and more – but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

Your thumb coaxes over the back of his knuckles. “There’s a crack in your ceiling,” Fugo announces, nonchalant and monotone.

“Where? I don’t see one.”

He raises an unoccupied finger, and you follow its gesture to the corner of the ceiling, just above where the moulding meets. It is no longer than the length of hair from his head, and quite honestly, not an underlying issue of foundational complications. Still, you indulge him. “Oh, wow. I never noticed.”

In this hasty repertoire of patterns, you fall into stillness again. “Panni,” you whisper with the utterance of his endearing name. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He squeezes your hand.

“But it’s getting late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Truthfully so, you cannot send him on his way in such a state of disarray.

“I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please,” he murmurs.

However, you do not make it far because he has – inspired by a need to express his devotion and apologia – pulled you atop himself, hands braced on your hips as you balance on bent knees and grasp his shoulders. Tenderness is becoming of the boy – no, the man – who looks up at you as if you are the embodiment of everything good that exists in one life to the next. It is a side that he has never shown to anyone other than you.

You covet it like a piece of cherry-flavored candy, even when you lean down to capture his lips and nip at his tongue that likewise explores the long-forgotten caverns of your mouth. It is a distraction of meaning and not; from the broken frame, loss, and perhaps everything in between. Every attempt to catch a breath of air is met with resilient protests of needier touches and not before long, you lie on the couch – shedding your clothing like the skin of the woman you no longer wish to be – and let him in.

Bare chest to bare chest, you cup his hardness as he places his fingers to your untouched folds. You mean to tell him that you love him, but the penetration of unpracticed digits to your core stifles the very thought from your scattering mind. In dark closets and empty rooms, you two have had your share of imprudent experimentation with one another’s bodies in the past – and nothing more than warm, tentative touches that lead to girlish giggles and boyish huffs.

Fugo pinches your nipple, drawing a plush gasp from you; it urges him to do it again until at last you are throbbing with need from your lower half, your pelvis jerking upwards to meet his for the stimulation of wanting. His breath ghosts your face, and you think you smell wine – a drink for good luck, you think, because despite the distress manifesting in his soul, his mannerisms are otherwise as habitual as you might recall from moments of normalcy.

It feels wrong – to be filled with such wanton, salacious desire within the very hour that you have both spent in mourning of your brother and everything else that has been discarded to the wind, to be picked up by someone else. Yet tonight, you will not sleep with Fugo to forget your blue heart, nor for celebration’s sake as you embark upon another year of being – you will sleep with him, because you have grown tired of learning how to end your days without him.

“I haven’t . . .” You trail off, mesmerized by the way his violet eyes look at you; though puffy and stained red from crying, you take them in as he cocks a brow, imploring you to finish your thought. “I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

“Good,” he sighs, and you think he is trying to hide a smile. “Me neither.”

Braced by his arms, you are flipped onto your stomach. The tweed upholstery bites into the soft flesh of your breasts with each jostle elicited by the curling of a finger within you. You push backwards until you swear you can feel his fingers against your cervix.

“Oh my god,” he groans, flexing out as if to move deeper. “Ti senti così bene.”

“If it feels good, then do something,” you whine, hands dug between the cushions for support.

But, to your chagrin, he takes his time to admire the way your folds pulsate around just two fingers. You glisten like a gem – his gem. Indignant with petty annoyance, you pull away and straddle the lithe, albeit toned, legs that dangle off the edge of the couch. Arms thrown around his neck, you sink down until you have reached your fill of his manhood.

“I did tell you to do something,” you sigh at Fugo’s displeasure, biting your lip as you adjust to the size of his shaft. “Didn’t I?”

He kisses you once and moves grasp your backend. You savor the feeling of him ingulfing you. “I was distracted.”

You would laugh if not for the anticipated bulging inside you as Fugo buckles into your heat. The sight of your jostling breasts with each bounce of you on his cock is a page of some heavenly doctrine – one that he should study and commit to forever. He moves with strength that he reserves for moments of rage, and even his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave bruises for the days to come. You do not mind; they will help you to remember the best night you have had in years.

With a cry that blossoms into a moan that tells him that he has treated you well, you ride out your orgasm and slump against his chest in your own exhaustion. When he reaches his peak, he slides out; you reach for him – dampened with your slick – and finish him until white pearls bead at the tip and trickle over your working fingers.

Foreheads pressed together, you flash tired grins before settling against the cushions, your head pressed to his chest and his arm braced around the small of your back while his fingers trace shapes against your perspired skin.

Panting, his heart skips every few beats – like a song, sung only for you. Content with that which has returned itself to you, you fall asleep to the sound of this lovely little love affair.

| 4966 Words |

#pannacotta fugo x reader #fugo x reader #pannacotta fugo #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader

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wannabemobwife · 4 years ago

Text

Guns, Glamour, and Goodfellas - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Sucker for Pain

Dad!Mob!Tom Holland x Mom!Mob!Reader

Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield

Warnings: Guns (its in the title lol), grief, a minor mention of blood, fighting, always angst (what I consider angst)

Words: 4.1K

Author note: Totally cried while writing this. Feel free to leave comments or message me directly your feelings while reading the chapter. Always love hearing from you guys.

Chapter 5: Sucker for Pain

Words: 4.1K

Word of Charlotte’s death had spread like wildfire, especially at school. Only Rosie was attending the past fews days. Parker set to join her in two days time, after the funeral, he was scared of what lied ahead. Parker was discharged from the hospital a few days ago, under strict instructions to rest. He started to go a little stir crazy, watching the days pass.

Most of the student’s attended the funeral. Charlotte’s demise was widely publicized which made Parker’s blood boil. No one knew her like Parker did. Who Charlotte actually was the complete opposite of the persona she put on in public and at school. Charlotte was secretly funny and enjoyed really cheesy corny jokes. Her sense of humor was one of things that made Parker fall in love with her.

All the Hollands attended. You, Tom, Rosie, and Parker, and hoped to pay your respects. Parker was exhausted, he had been going through the stages of grief. How could his life get so screwed in a matter of a few weeks. A couple weeks ago, he was a kid planning his promposal for his girlfriend and now he is a protégé of the biggest mob in London who was about to bury his girlfriend.

This was the final stage, the one he was dreading the most, acceptance. He didn’t want to let her go. Charlotte changed his world for the better. She was the first person he ever loved and loved him in return.

The denial didn’t last long. It was unfathomable how she no longer existed. How the world wouldn’t be blessed with her beautiful smile anymore. Or her corny sense of humor and gracious presence. How could someone so perfect just leave the world so suddenly.

Bargaining followed next, coupled with anger. Parker was angry at the world, God, himself, and the bastards that killed her. If they had only driven home when he wanted to, she would still be here. If he hadn’t gotten grounded and not overslept and cleaned up quick enough. If he hadn’t thrown that stupid party. If his dad never gave him an ultimatum. If he never turned 16. Even if he never existed in the first place, Charlotte would still be alive.

There are 5 stages of grief as if you move on from one to the next but no, they stick with people. Especially, depression and anger. How does anyone ever really get over death. Losing someone you love is greatest pain ever felt. Someone you held and protected. Losing Charlotte, in that moment Parker wasn’t good enough. Not enough to protect her or love her.

Bringing us up to date, acceptance. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye but since when did he start getting what he wanted. Parker stood like a statue as he watched Charlotte’s casket lower in to the ground. He knew he had to be strong not just for himself, but for everyone else, especially Charlotte’s parents. At the reception, Parker tried to speak to them but, he didn’t know what to say. How could he lie to them saying it was an accident when in reality he was the reason.

“You have some real nerve showing up here,” Mr. Owens said as Tom walked up to the grieving parents. “I was so sorry to hear about Charlotte, Mrs. Owens,” Tom explained. “You daft prick, you were there. You could’ve protected her,” screamed Mrs. Owens to Parker.

“Mrs. Owens, I just came to offer my condol—“ Parker tried to say.

“Fuck your condolences!” She yelled, throwing her daiquiri straight on Parker. Coating him, from head to toe, in a very potent alcoholic drink.

“I think what my son is trying to explain is that if you need anything, money or a favor, it would be our pleasure. Our family business has some important ties.” Tom exclaimed, hoping to bring them some peace. “You and your son end lives. That’s your family business. I want no part of it. Now if you don’t mind, please get out of my fucking way.” Mrs. Owens said, pushing her way past Tom.

“You people have too many strings. I just want my baby girl back, and you can’t do that,” screamed Mrs. Owens as she left the premises.

“Sir, you want me to take care of her?” asked William, Tom’s capo. “Leave her alone, she’s grieving. Parker come on, let’s go home and get you cleaned up,” Tom explained.

“She’s right. If it weren’t for me Charlotte would still be alive.” Parker said solemnly. Tom hated seeing his son like this, it was eating him up inside. Tom couldn’t do anything to stop it, it was up to Parker to face his inner demons.

The Holland household was starting to return to normalcy, at least what they called normalcy. Parker refused to leave his room for awhile. Staff and you would bring food up to his room each meal and take the untouched one from before. He was a shell of a person after the night. All the while Parker was getting over Charlotte, Rosie was getting under someone new.

Henry had been coming over frequently for two reasons. To comfort Parker in his time of need and to be with Rosie. Their love for each other blossomed rather quickly. Rosie was not one for big romantic gestures, but made an exception from Henry.

The day had come where Parker was to return to school. How could face all of them with the judgements and accusations. Charlotte’s death shook everyone to their very core, everyone was taking the news differently. It wasn’t common for the school community to lose on of their own. Maybe a teacher but never a student.

There were a multitude of mourners that ranged from the fake asses who say they knew her but didn’t, her former conquests who only saw her as a good fuck and her actual friends who were devastated. Posters were hung up and there were candles, teddy bears and “We miss you cards,” displayed all over her locker.

You drove them to school that morning, since Parker was still grounded. Arriving at school, all voices ceased to exist as the black Rolls Royce pulled up. Out jumped Parker and Rosie and all eyes shifted to them as they walked through the halls.

“Glad to see you are back Mr. Holland. You missed a few projects, you can make them up at a later time,” Ms. Erikson, Parker’s chemistry teacher, said. Parker just nodded in response.

Walking to his seat, he perfectly heard all the rumors being spread or was he supposed to. “I heard he was the one who killed her.” “I heard they were both at a gang bang” “I heard she died in his arms”. How could people be so insensitive to make snap judgements like that.

Charlotte’s parents’ opted for the cause of her death to remain hidden. But they were teenagers, they couldn’t help but, gossip. Rumors are just rumors, Parker would tell himself. They weren’t entirely wrong. He was the reason, he was there when it happened, and he held her as she died. Being in those hollowed halls was brutal. Parker was basically the new social pariah.

The student’s weren’t oblivious to the Holland family. They knew what most people knew. That Tom Holland owned one of the largest exporting companies in Europe, Holland Exportation and Luxuries. And they knew not to mess with the Hollands.

Once class was over, now came the hard work. Tom called it “Mobster Bootcamp,” Parker was currently taking lessons with his dad to carry on the legacy. Tom had a few tricks of the trade up his sleeve desperately wanting to pass on to his son. They had met in the Tom’s office to begin.

“Lesson 1: Always wear black or white.” Tom started with as Parker took notes, like the perfect student he is.

With one, blood will alter it completely and the other remains unchanged. It was a common theme, with the Holland legacy, wearing black or white. It was sleek, dangerous and classy all at the same time.

“The one big perk is that blood doesn’t show up on black fabric.”

“Lesson 2: Wives must be treated with respect, girlfriends are fair game."

“If you’re a good man, the only describable difference between a wife and girlfriend is that one has an unnecessary symbol on her ring finger. They both mean the same and don’t you forget it,” Tom concluded.

And Tom was a good man. Never has Tom even thought about cheating on you. Porn was pointless and strip clubs bored him. Why throw away the best thing that ever happened to him, you.

“Lesson 3: Someone brings a knife, you bring a gun” “Never be without a weapon. Anything can become a weapon with the right skill set, but always be prepared.”

Tom was a big fan of improvisation. Sometimes using what he had on hand, like his tie. Strangling wasn’t his most favorite method of killing but he liked to mix it up.

“Also find finesse in your kills. Your mother is a big believer in gun to the head, execution style. Me on the other hand, I prefer to roughen up a guy a bit, but you will eventually develop an M.O. (modus operandi). Another lesson, make sure you don’t always use the same M.O. mix it up a bit, otherwise they could trace it back to you,” Tom elaborated.

“That bring me to my next lesson.”

“Lesson 4: Blackmail is your best friend.”

Tom has had a few close calls in his day. Everything about running a mob had to be sneaky. Bodies couldn’t be found by any random person, they needed to be cleaned up and dealt with. The witness’s in a meeting were sworn into secrecy, he had enough dirt on them that he could get someone to fake their death if need be. Cops were never a problem with the Hollands. They were his puppets and he was the puppet master.

“Killing someone in a public place you risk being caught by an innocent bystander. Then one things leads to another and you are cleaning up two bodies instead of one.That’s why I have the warehouse and the police Captain in my pocket. Just remember everyone’s got a price,” Tom explained.

“Lesson 5: Have as little weaknesses as possible.”

Tom hated referring to the one’s he loved as weakness but it was the truth. He couldn’t be weak if he desired to be top dog. The moment you and Tom started a family, his liabilities increased. From that day, his only goal was to protect you and the twins.

“I would never call your mother a weakness, but I would die for her. Also for you and your sister. This makes me vulnerable. In the past, people have put her in danger situations for leverage against me.” Tom said, rubbing his temples. Parker just nodded in return. A long silence ensued.

“Dad, are you okay?” Parker questioned.

“Yeah. I’m sorry son, I have more for you but, just have a lot on my mind,” Tom apologized. “It’s alright. Any luck with finding Charlotte’s killer?” Parker asked, his voice tainted with hope.

“No, but I do have a meeting at the warehouse with a contact would you like to tag along?”

“How could I say no,” Parker said, kind of excitedly. They made their way out of the mansion and drove to the warehouse. Parker had never been here before. It was dark and cold looking. The walls were pure metal sheets and the floor had stains of blood scattered everywhere. “Good to see you, Jazz,” Tom said walking up to the mysterious woman tied to a chair. Jasmine Ramsey, a contract killer Tom was friends with. A little more than friends at one time, predating you.

“Fuck you, Tom. What’d I do to be graced with your presence,” questioned Jazz. “Nothing to piss me off, yet,” Tom chuckled. “Then why the fuck am I here,” she said a little peeved.

“My son, here, needs to ask you a few questions,” Tom said, pointing towards Parker who stood in the corner. “Aww a baby Holland. Following in your daddy’s footsteps, huh?” “Shut it, slag,” Parker yelled as he melded his fist with her jaw.

“Jesus. What the fuck was that for?” Jazz screeched. “Woah. Sorry Jazz, should’ve told him you were an old friend,” Tom says, holding his hands up in defense. “Oh, I’m so sorry miss. Could I get you some ice or something?” Parker exclaimed, surprised that he just punched an assassin.

“Its fine didn’t hurt that bad. Gotta work on your punch,” she said adjusting her jaw. “Really. Hurt like a bitch to me” Parker whispered, holding his aching hand. Blood began to seep out of the broken skin, staining his knuckles red. “Tommy you gotta tell your son to grow tougher skin” Jazz exclaimed. “What the fuck were you thinking Parker?” Tom said, grabbing Parker by the collar of his polo. “Sorry I just assumed with her being tied up and all” Parker exclaimed. “That’s how we do business boy. You’ll soon learn”Jazz explained with a shit-eating grin across her face.

“Anyway, I need info on a murder at The Luxe on the 11th. A young girl was involved.” Tom turned to Jazz.

“Oh I heard about that, poor girl, she was pretty too. What’s it to you, Holland?”

“That’s not important,” Tom hissed. “She was my girlfriend,” Parker interrupted.

“Sorry lover boy my hands are tied, literally,” Jazz said, rolling her eyes. “If I untie you will you talk?” Tom replied.

“Yes, you know me. I don’t appreciate being threatened.” “Alright Jazz, just spit it out.” Tom said as Parker untied her restraints. “I was downtown at pub, called Harmon’s. Heard of it?” Jazz expressed. “Yeah, a big hotspot for Shaw’s men,” Tom said, nodding his head as he followed along. “Well, I was searching for my target and overheard some men saying “It’s going down tonight, word from the Merchant is that he should be there, with his little whore.”” “Fuck. The Merchant. Where have I heard that?” Tom said, puzzled. “Short for Merchant of Death. Surely, you’ve heard the old mob tales.” Jazz elaborated.

“Of course.”

“Well if it is him, I’d stop looking you don’t want to find him,” she warned. “Please, everyone knows I’m fucking top dog,” Tom asserted. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Tommy. You are now, but he used to be and if he is returning, watch your back. All he craves is power. If that’s it I’ll be on my way.” Jazz explained, asking for permission to leave. “Yes of course, Jazz. Thanks.” Tom muttered. “Give my love to your wife,” she said, pressing a cheek to his kiss as she strutted out. “Seriously dad?” Parker asked with a side glare. “Parker stop it. I love your mother and I would never cheat on her. Jazz and I are just friends.” Tom explained creating a “I’m watching you” look on Parker’s face.

“Jesus, one punch ripped open your knuckles. You're the one telling mom. Now come on or we’ll be late for dinner,” Tom said, inspecting Parker’s hand. Being the new mob boss was in Parker’s blood, but you were always against it. You loved the mob and being part of it but you wanted your kids to have a choice, unlike you and Tom.

Meanwhile at the manor, you and Rosie were making dinner. You appreciated all the staff to clean and cook but, enjoyed the satisfaction when doing it yourself. Secretly loving your independence. While you were dating Tom, you would try to ditch your security much to Tom’s dismay. You were a junkie for thrills.

Rosie and your relationship is what ever mother desired. You treated Rosie like a daughter first and a best friend second. As long as Rosie’s life was never put in danger you would keep her secrets. The major one being Henry.

“Hey honey. Since it’s just us here, how are things going with Henry?” You asked curiously. “Wait, where’s dad and Parker?” Rosie questioned cause nobody else knew. “Taking care of some business. Now spill, I want all the details.” “Well things are going really great. We kissed.” “Really? When? Where?” You have always wanted to have this conversation with her daughter. “At the hospital when Parker was hurt. I had a panic attack and Henry comforted me. He is really great, mom. I don’t know I’ve just never felt this way before,” she explained. Rosie had boyfriends in the past, never long enough for anything serious to perspire.

“Roo if you’re ready to take that step, I’m here for you. You can tell me anything.”

“I’m okay, right now, considering”

“Considering what? Did something happen? Has Henry been pressuring you?” You grew concerned of your daughter. “No. God no, nothing like that. On the night of the party, I got drunk and remember that boy Connor?”

“Yes, go on.” “Well he… he tried to rape me.” Rosie murmured, trying not to cry. “What? Roo why didn’t you tell me,” you whispered, your heart breaking on behalf of Rosie. “Henry was there to stop it and I just want to forget about.” “Roo, I’m so sorry you had to deal with this. I’m always here for you ok? I love you so much baby.” “Love you too, mom” Rosie replied. Their conversation soon quickly ended as Tom and Parker came barging through the front door and Rosie excused her self to the restroom.

“Ooo, something smells good. What is my beautiful wife cooking?” Tom asked, coming up behind you and kissing your neck.

“The only thing she knows how to cook, spaghetti and meatballs,” you replied, jokingly.

“How was your guy’s day?” You asked. “Great, Parker really showed them,” Tom said, kissing your forehead and pulling you into a warm embrace.

“Jesus Parker, does it hurt?” you questioned as he showed her his battle scars.

“What the fuck happened to your hand?” Rosie said, walking back into the kitchen. “Oh nothing,” Parker said, trying to change the subject. Rosie just gave him a puzzling glare as she dropped the subject.

“Dinner’s ready,” you announced as they all made their way to the dining room. There they sat at the long table, Tom at the head of course and you to the right of him. You all talked about your day, of course, avoiding any mob talk.

“So what really happened to your hand” Rosie asserted breaking the silence. “Drop it. Will you?” Parker barked annoyed at her persistence. “Fine,” she said staring at her plate until her phone buzzed. That noise put a smile across her face because it was always the same person, Henry. “Roo, you know the rules. No phones at dinner,” you remarked. “I know mom, just give me one second,” replied Rosie, holding up a finger. “Rosie, your mother asked you to put it down. Who’s got you so giddy anyway.” Tom said, defending you.

“Oh nothing” Rosie muttered, putting her phone down. “Ten bucks it’s a boy” Tom said directed towards you. “Deal” you responded, shaking his hand. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss, theirs loving way of shaking hands.

“I’m done. Dinner was great, thanks mom. May I be excused?” Parker asked and Tom nodded in response. Rosie cornered him on his way upstairs. It had been a while since they had talked. Sibling to sibling. Twin to twin. They tried not to keep secrets from each other. He hadn’t of told her about the mob and she hadn’t told him of her and Henry.

“Now tell me what the fuck you did to your hand,” Rosie barked, cornering him.

“Why the fuck do you want to know so bad?” Parker responded. “Umm, I’m your sister.”

“Rosie I don’t have time for your bullshit,” Parker yelled. “What the fuck happened? There’s something you aren’t telling me,” Rosie accused.

“Dad wants me to be the next him.” Parker explained. “I’m not following. What like run the company?” Rosie asked, confused by his statement.

“No. Dad is a mobster. He runs a mob and he wants me to succeed him.” “What the fuck? When did this happen? Why the fuck haven’t you told me?” Rosie exclaimed.

“Our birthday. This is what I was trying to tell you at the party!” Parker yelling causing Rosie to yell back. “Sorry, I was a little preoccupied and so were you!” Rosie hinting at Charlotte. “Don’t turn this on me. What the fuck are you doing with Henry, by the way? You think I don’t see the two of you sneaking around.” Parker quipped, in reality he had never seen their antics. “Nothing, it’s none of your business,” Rosie said, shying away from him. “Of course, it’s my business he’s my best friend.” “Well he is mine too and the world doesn’t revolve around you. If you weren’t so busy breaking curfew and sneaking out, you would see that Henry is really good to me, ever since that night.” Rosie explained stopping herself before she said something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge herself.

“Rosie, what happened?” Parker asked noticing her quick change in demeanor.

“You won’t care,” Rosie quipped.

“Try me,” Parker said softly.

“That night… someone slipped something in my drink and tried to take advantage of me, but Henry stopped it.” Rosie explained, trying to avoid the brute of Parker’s rage.

“Who? Tell me who right fucking now!”

“Connor.”

“I’m gonna kill him” “No, Henry already took care of it. You already have enough blood on your hands,” Rosie chuckled, surprised Parker cared that much. “Thanks,” he said with sarcasm.

“Roo, I’m so sorry. I should’ve known.” “It’s ok. I’m just trying to put it behind me”

“So what you are a mobster now?” “One in training. I need you to know I’m doing this for one reason only, to avenge Charlotte, okay. Not looking to kill for sport like mom and dad.”

Rosie’s suspicions grew over the years that her parents did enjoy living above the law. It didn’t bother her, she actually hoped the mantle would be passed on to her. She had a more fiery spirit than Parker, he was just a big softie on the inside much like his father. Appearances can be deceiving.

Tom was currently in his office, finishing up work for the night. Buzz, buzz, buzz. The last person he thought would call him, his dad.

“So are you going to say thanks?” asked Dom.

“For what? I don’t time for your antics, dad. A hit was hired on Parker and I have to figure out who did it.” Tom sighed. He was frustrated he was getting no where, who was the Merchant of Death. “Umm, hello. Like I said you’re welcome,” Dom quipped.

“You fucking mean that was you.”

“Duh, told you he needed a push in the right direction. I wasn’t the one to pull the trigger but I knew where he was.” “I have a crushed kid over here wanting revenge on the bastards who killed his girlfriend.” “Problem solved, glad he is joining the family business.” Dom said and hung up. How the fuck was Tom going to explain to Parker that his grandpa arranged the hit?

“FUCK!!” Tom screamed smashing everything in sight.

Meanwhile, Parker made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water when he saw you sitting on the couch, consumed in your book.

“Hey mom?” Parker asked, needing to get something off his chest. “Yeah, honey,” you responded, drawing your eyes away from your book. “I need to tell you something.”

“I’m listening… wait what the fuck was that. Hold that thought.” You hesitated when you heard a large crash come from Tom’s office.

“Let me go check on your father,” you said, getting up from the couch. Parker couldn’t help but be curious. He followed her before she closed the door and listened in, pressing his ear against the door.

“Tommy, what happened?” You queried. “It was him,” Tom spoke with an unchanging expression. “Who, Carson?” “No, Dom. He arranged the hit,” Tom said.

Parker’s heart sunk to his stomach. His girlfriend was dead because of his family. He really did kill her.

Maybe he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger but she was seen with him. As far as he is concerned it painted a huge red target on her back. What kind of life was he born into? He never wanted any of this and now all he is, is this.

Guns, Glamour, and Goodfellas Masterlist

Taglist: @thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @dummiesshort

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland series #tom holland fanfic #tom holland mob au #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland blurb #mob!tom #mob tom #mob!tom holland #dad!mob!tom holland #mob!tom x mob!reader #mob!tom x reader #mob!tom holland x reader #dad!mob!tom

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believinghurts · 4 years ago

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To Lose, But to Gain Part 1

Requested: No

Warnings: Death, anxiety (Y/N) has been friend with James Potter since she was a little girl. His parents considered her their daughter. She moved into the Potter residence after her family joined the Dark Lord, much like Sirius. But what happens when Fleamont and Euphemia dies, leaving James broken? (Y/N) helps to comfort James in his time of need, while trying to battle her own feelings. **Lily is in this, but I have portrayed her as kinda mean. Jealously is an evil thing. I am not sure when I’ll the next part up. Hopefully soon. Feedback welcome. Request open!*** March 12th, 1979 was seemingly the worst day of your, but it was nothing compared to how you know James felt. It was only four months; four months since James cried on your shoulder after his parents told him that they both had contracted Dragon Pox. The doctors said the potions wouldn’t help much, but they took them anyway in hopes of sending just a little more time with James. Four months was seemingly a decent amount of time, but she could only wish for more as she stood next to her friends in a room full of strangers.

(Y/N) pressed a gentle kiss to Sirius’s cheek before passing him off to Remus. She weaved her wave through the throngs of people till she reached James at his mother's casket. (Y/N) pressed her hand into James’s back causing him to turn towards her. His cheeks were sunken in with dark bags under her eyes, and tried tear tracks running down his face. He grabbed her hand to pull her into his side. She leaned her head onto his shoulder as the onslaught of memories that lead to this spiral of grief crashed onto her.

Sirius, Lilly, Remus, and (Y/N) have all been staying at the Potter residence, with Peter joining every now and then, after Euphemia got bedridden on March 8th. Although James was their only child, Fleamont and Euphemia considered all those currently staying in their house their children. The Potter house was a safe haven for all those who came, something that all of them, especially Sirius and (Y/N), knew and loved. But that all seemed to crack when Sirius let out a gut wrenching cry for the woman who had taken (Y/N) and himself in when their own parents kicked them out.

He was the first to notice when Euphemia stopped breathing. Tears fell down (Y/N)’s face as she turned to watch James breakdown at the sight of his father kissing his mother one last time. He didn’t utter a word as his father brought him into a hug, crying with his son over the woman they both loved. (Y/N) took Sirius’s hand to pull him, along with Remus, and Lily out of the room to give James and Fleamont some time with Euphemia. She wiped her tears knowing that it was going to be a long and hard couple of days for everyone, and that she needed to stay strong.

When she reached for the door handle, but halted when she heard Fleamonts voice, “(Y/N), princess stay. You are just as much a part of this as James and Sirius.”

She looked up at the man who had loved her as his own since she showed up on their doorstep at the age of seven asking to play with James. She glanced up at Remus who nodded at her, “Go, I’ll take care of it. James needs you. They all do.”

No one seemed to notice the look of jealousy that passed on Lily's face when she saw James bury his head into (Y/N)’s neck. The trio plus Fleamont stayed with Euphemia till St. Mungos came to take her body. Shortly after Fleamont pressed a kiss to their foreheads, before retiring to the guest room down the hall since he almost collapsed from exhaustion. The time James hadn’t released his hold on (Y/N). They moved to join the others in the living room where Peter had joined Lily, and Remus. The latter had set up mattresses on the floor for everyone already expecting that they all would want to be close.

(Y/N) gently untangled her hand from James’s, but the look of panic in his eyes made her quick to explain, “Stay here. I’ll be back soon. I’m gonna go check on dad, okay?”

James nodded his approval. (Y/N) would have to talk to Remus if James didn’t speak sometime soon. But she quickly decided that it could wait till at least tomorrow since she currently didn’t feel like talking very much either. She squeezed his hand before looking at Lily who had stepped up next to James. Lily grabbed his hand and pulled him to the mattress on the end.

When she was sure James would be okay for a little bit she made the trek down the hall to Fleamont. She knocked softly before pushing the door open when she heard an entry call.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Fleamont greeted the young girl who he had grown to consider his daughter and his son's happiness.

(Y/N) forced a small smile onto her face, crossing the room to sit on the edge of his bed to get a better look to see what he had in his hand. The forced smile on her lips quickly turned into a real one when she saw what it was. The picture he was holding was a wizard photo that played on a loop. It was taken their 4th year when Sirius had moved into the Potter's house. The family, James, Fleamont, (Y/N), Euphemia, and Sirius, were gathered at a Christmas tree farm on a snowy day. The older couple was laughing while Fleamont dipped his wife back to kiss her as the group of teens made gagging noises. It was easily one of (Y/N)’s favorite memories.

(Y/N) hadn’t noticed the tears leaking from her eyes till she felt a hand on her cheek wiping them away. “Don’t cry. We will all be together again someday. She wouldn’t want the sadness instead remember all the happy times we had, and I want the same when I’m gone.”

That caused her head to snap up, “Wh-what?”

“It won’t be long now. Especially now that I know that all three of the kids will be taken care of by each other and Remus. All parents want for their children is that they are supported and loved. You and James do that for each as do Remus and Sirius.”

The sobs that had been stuck in her throat came out full force. She begged him not to leave them so soon, that they needed him. Fleamont pulled her into a hug, “All you need is each other and you have that more than you realize. Hold on to one another, love each other, don’t let things go unsaid. And remember the ones that love us never really leave us, you can always find them in here.” He placed his hand over her heart before kissing her forehead. “Now, go. Hug my boys for me and Mia. Tell them we love them just like we love you.”

(Y/N) nodded softly before pressing a kiss to his cheek, and helping him get comfortable in bed. Unbeknownst to the two Lily had heard all of the conservation after she was sent to get (Y/N) when Sirius asked for her.

Rest was not seen very well for the group. Peter had taken the shorter sofa, and could be heard tossing and turning. Remus took the larger sofa, but instead of sleeping he was reading Mrs. Potter had given him for Christmas. James and Lily had taken the mattress furthest from the sofas; James was curled in on himself pretending to be asleep, but couldn’t actually sleep too afraid of nightmares he knew would come. Lily had fallen asleep a little bit after she thought James was, but kept moving every couple of minutes. Sirius had curled up in between Remus' sofa and the girl who he considered a sister. His head on her chest while she played with his hair while he played with Remus’s free fingers. The hours passed slowly, but no one dared to speak. The emotional exhaustion seeped into their bones and finally they fell into a fitful sleep.

When (Y/N) woke a few hours later the first thing she noticed was the second body on her other side. James had woken up from a nightmare and quietly left his bed to join her and Sirius. Sirius had tucked into her shoulder so James had laid his head on her stomach with his body in between her legs. Her hand was tangled with his much like all the other times they had done this while talking about nothing yet everything. She looked out the window to see the light beginning to rise. Knowing that she wouldn’t be going back to sleep, she slipped out of the boys grasped and tip-toed down to where Fleamont was staying. She wanted to see if he was awake before she woke James and Sirius so they could spend the day with him. But those plans came to a stuttering halt when she noticed the bluish tint to Fleamont’s skin.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she prayed to whoever was listening that he was breathing. He wasn’t. Her tears dripped down onto his cold skin as she kissed his forehead. She sank to the floor in the corner of the room sobbing quietly, while she tried to gather herself to go wake the others and break the news. She buried her head in her arms as she pulled her knees to her chest crying as if it would be her last. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, but when she felt arms wrap around her, and tears hit the top of her head causing her to jump.

“I’m so sorry, Jamie,” she whispered.

James sniffled, “It’s okay. He’s with Mum now. I-I talked to him this morning. I wa-was with him when he….I waited to tell everyone. I wanted some time with him and I figured that you and Sirius would want to say goodbye.”

(Y/N) understood where he was coming from. And although these were his parents he was still thinking of his friends who loved his parents as their own. She was glad that James got to see his Dad one last time. This would be the first time that James had ever faced a loss as big as this one. “This maybe a stupid question, but are you okay?

She raised her head to look at his face, wiping his tears with her thumbs. He smiled pitifully, “Okay? No. Will I be, eventually? Yes.” He shifted them so that her legs were over his with her head on his shoulder, and her playing with the fingers of his left hand while his right ran down her back. “He, um, told some stuff before he…..” James couldn’t bring himself to say the ‘D’ word, but (Y/N) understood what he meant. “He said that I was a great son, and that he and Mum were so proud of me. And that the only regret they had was that they wouldn’t be able to see me marry the woman I love.”

(Y/N) tried to keep her face as blank as possible while she remembered the words the Fleamont had told her last night while processing what James had said. Was Fleamont talking about her when he said those words to James? (Y/N) had been battling feelings for her Best friend since their sixth year, but had been working her hardest to get over them knowing that James loved Lily. “Yeah, they always loved Lily.”

(Y/N) missed the look of longing in James’ eyes as she turned towards the doorway after a creek came from the floorboards. Remus, Sirius, and Lily were all there looking at the cold body of Fleamont Potter. Sirius turned, shoving passed the others, storming into the kitchen.

Remus gave the two on the floor a sympathetic smile, “I’ve got him.” Before following Sirius out.

Lily made her way over to James as (Y/N) kissed Fleamont’s cheek one last time before heading towards the door, “I’ll send word to St. Mungos, so you can have a little more time with him, Jamie.”

“Thank you, but can you come back once you're done? I-I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’ll stay, James,” Lily said, grabbing onto his hand.

James kept his eyes trained on (Y/N) who was looking at Lily. “Please, princess? I just need someone who-who understands. Please?”

The nickname sent a pang of hurt straight through her heart. Fleamont was the one who gave her it, but the boys quickly picked up on it. Being the only girl in the Mauraders meant she was the princess of the group even when Lily entered. Despite the hurt it sent her, it also made her incredibly relieved that James was talking. She knew that she would do whatever it took to make sure James was going to be okay. (Y/N) locked eyes with James, nodding softly. She noticed that beside James Lily was glaring softly, but was smart enough to make sure that James didn’t see it. “I’ll send an owl, and the we can stay as long as you want.”

****************

She blinked back tears as she was brought back to the present by James tugging on her hand to move to his father's casket. The duo stayed even after people started moving to where the drinks were. (Y/N) noticed James looking around the room slightly, “We can stay here as long as you want, you know?”

“I know, but I-I said my goodbyes already. I just needed to look at them a little longer, but I think I’m ready now.” His voice hoarse.

“Whenever you know you’re ready is when we leave. Not before that.” (Y/N) whispered into his shoulder where her forehead was resting.

“I just want them to be at peace with each other.” James linked his fingers through hers. (Y/N) nodded before guiding him to where everyone else was. The room was packed with people who knew the Potter’s. She spotted Remus, who had Sirius buried in his shoulder, in the corner of the room. She began to pull James towards them, but was stopped by multiple people who were giving James his condolences, and letting him know that they were there for him. From the look on James’s face she could tell he had no clue who half of these people were. One particularly old wizard didn’t seem to notice the look on his face, and kept talking about something she didn’t catch. She could tell that James was getting close to losing it.

“I’m sorry, sir. But you’ll have to excuse us.” She didn’t wait for a reply before leaving with James in tow. She pushed James into a chair beside Remus, loosening his tie slightly so he could breathe a little better. “I’m going to get you some water. Do you want anything else, Jamie?”

He shook his head. On the way to the drinks, (Y/N) passed Lily who was talking with Marlene and Docras. The latter sent a small smile when she noticed her while the other two just looked at her. (Y/N) grabbed some water for both James, and Sirius, knowing that Remus would share with Siri if he wanted some, as well as a chocolate chip muffin hoping that she could get James to eat at least a couple of bites. Upon arriving back to the boys, she was greeted by the sight of Minevera McGonagall who was talking to James. She was still too far away to hear what was being said, but whatever it was caused James to smile despite the tears running down his face. Leave it to Minnie to be the one who makes him smile for the first time in days, (Y/N) thought.

McGonagall hugged James before moving to speak to Sirius and Remus. Minnie gave her a hug as she walked past, letting her know to contact her if she or any of them needed someone to talk to. Although they had all graduated over a year ago, they all still kept in touch with their favorite professor.

(Y/N) handed a water to Remus before going to James. Lily stood beside his chair looking down at him. “Do you want or need anything else?” James shook his head before leaning onto (Y/N)’s shoulder as she perched on the arm of his chair so she could quietly talk to Remus. Without thinking about it (Y/N) started to run her fingers through James’s already messed up hair making the boy relax into her side.

Remus noticed James' position on his other friend. He was worried about his three best friends. They had lost the only parents they had ever known within days of each other. He knew that (Y/N) was trying to stay strong for Sirius and James, but was forgetting herself. Yes, she had cried some, but she hadn’t talked about any of it. Truthfully Remus knew that she had feelings for James. It became obvious when she turned slightly red faced in their sixth year when James cuddled her on the Common Room couch, but she never told anyone. Remus loved (Y/N) like the little sister he never got to have. Besides Sirius she was the one he was closest too; she was his person. Just like he knew he was hers. This only made Remus want to make sure that she was going to be okay since she wouldn’t do that for herself. “How are you doing, (Y/N)?”

“Uh? Oh, I’m okay. Just trying to keep an eye on Jamie the best that I can.” She glanced down at the brown eyed boy noticing that his breaths were starting to even out. Remus also noticed that James was essentially asleep on (Y/N), prompting him to ask how James was sleeping. They all, minus Peter and Lily most nights, had been staying at the Potter residents, not leaving one another alone for more than a few minutes at a time. “He keeps having nightmares. We’ll try to go to sleep in our own rooms, but either I’ll wake up to him kicking the wall or him crawling into my bed. I think they are getting a little better, but not much. He slept a little more than two hours before he woke up. Granted we just slept in my bed last night not even trying to sleep alone.”

“I know that you are trying to make sure that he is okay or is going to be okay, but you need to take care of yourself too. We’ll take care of James tonight. You need some sleep, I can tell. Sirius usually sleeps through the night if he takes the Draught of Peace, right Siri?” Remus said looking at his lover.

Sirius nodded, “I do, but he won’t let you take over Rem. He won’t be able to go back to sleep if he wakes up with a nightmare, and that’s if he lets her go long enough for her to even get into her bed.” He tilted his head towards James showing the other two the tight grip James had on (Y/N)’s waist with one arm, and her hand with the other.

“He’s right, ya know.” James’s voice startled the trio. “You keep the nightmares away, princess. Always have. I know you need sleep too, and you can just please stay with me? All I need is your presence, I promise.”

(Y/N) nodded softly at James, squeezing his hand. James looked at his friends, “Can we please leave? I can’t be here any longer.”

They all stood to make their way to the apparition point. Remus leading holding onto Sirius’s hand with (Y/N) following holding onto James. Someone caught James’s other hand, he looked back to see Lily. “Where are you going, James?”

“Oh, um, home. I can’t- I can’t be here any longer.” He stopped to talk to his girlfriend causing the other three to wait on him. “Um, you can come over later if you want. I just need some time.”

Lily nodded, “Okay, I will. Are you sure you’ll be okay alone for a while?” Lily already knew that James wasn’t going home alone. She knew that at least (Y/N) was going to be with him. And she tried to look past it. Thinking that they were just best friends who were leaning on each other in a time of need, but she couldn’t help to notice the touches, and some looks passed between the two.

“I won’t be.” He tilted his head in the direction of Sirius, (Y/N), and Remus. “They’ll be with me. Just come over later or something. I have to go.” He was getting overwhelmed at all the looks of sympathy getting sent his way. He didn’t wait for Lily to reply before walking past his friends, and apperating home.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #james potter #james potter x reader #remus lupin x sirius black #sirius black x platonic!reader #mauraders x reader #Lilly evans

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ace-ace-attorneys · 2 years ago

Note

AA Ask game: 50, 51, 52

sorry that it took me a bit to get to these! i should have anticipated that i’d be indecisive ahah

- 50: Fav moment?

it’s honestly impossible for me to choose a single favorite, i doubt i would even be able to narrow it down to ten favorites lmao, but here’s a moment i really like that was the first one to pop into my head: Edgeworth’s objection in 1-3 in order to prolong the trial. (“I was hoping to come up with a question while I was objecting, Your Honor. …I didn’t.”)

i like that moment so much because, especially in hindsight, it’s incredibly significant character-development wise. it’s one of the turning points of Edgeworth’s arc. it’s the first proof we get that the noble man Phoenix believes he is is still in there somewhere, and Phoenix is slowly starting to drag that deeply buried conscience out of him. in that moment, he just wanted to know the truth, and it hits hard knowing that a year or two later, he’s made finding the truth at all costs his whole philosophy. this was really the moment that started him on that journey, and by his own admission, it’s almost entirely because of Phoenix.

(also, it’s hilarious)

- 51: Saddest moment?

this question made me realize that there are a lot more really heartbreaking moments in AA than you would expect from the silly anime lawyer game lmao. again I could never really choose just one, but a plotline they use a few times that absolutely destroys me every time is when a character thinks they may have accidentally killed someone when they were little. they do it with Edgeworth, Ema, and Athena (am i forgetting any?) and while they all emotionally ruined me, I think there’s something especially compelling and awful about Athena’s. even though it turns out it's not actually what happened, the idea of a child "taking apart" her mother without understanding what she was doing is unspeakably sad and disturbing. for a specific moment, I’m torn between her “did I kill my mother…?” and the mood matrix segment where Simon takes the stand and lies desperately to try to protect her. it’s also been a while since i played DD and i only played it once, so I can’t remember all the specifics but that’s one I still sometimes lie in bed and think about lol

- 52: Funniest moment?

(DGS2 spoiler warning!)

in the first investigation day in DGS2-3, Ryunosuke and Iris go to Van Zieks’ office to ask him some questions. while they’re there, examining various things around his office leads to a series of very funny dialogue as they criticize and muse about Van Zieks and the decor… while he stands there within earshot, exasperated but unwilling to actually make them leave. this exchange in particular had me in stitches:

Ryunosuke: Look at all those ancient casks lining the wall there.

Iris: Casks in the Reaper's chamber... ...Or are they caskets?

Ryunosuke: You, you don't think... ...all those p-people who escaped c-c-conviction in court are lying inside them...d-dead, do you?

Van Zieks: What ridiculous notions are going through your head, man? This is my collection of fine vintages!

Ryunosuke: Oh...yes, of course. Thank you for clearing that up...

Iris: Runo and I were just musing to ourselves. Don't mind us, Mr Reaper.

Van Zieks: I wouldn't, if you hadn't invited yourselves to my office to talk nonsense within my earshot.

all the TGAA escapades (especially the iconic Asoryuu tongue twister one and the one with Kazuma and Sholmes on the boat) are also absolutely hysterical to me, but they’re technically non canon so idk if they count.

thanks for the ask!!

#ace attorney #miles edgeworth #phoenix wright #athena cykes #simon blackquill #ryunosuke naruhodo #iris wilson #barok van zieks #skye speaks

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foreverwcnter · 4 years ago

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cardigan / p.p

pairing: peter parker x stark!reader

summary: “you thought i was dead?” after you go missing with no leads to what happened, you are presumed dead and peter writes letters addressed to you, to help with his grief

word count: 3k

requested: no

warnings: semi character death, heartbreaking angst :( , fluff

a/n: this is for @ariistotles lovely writing challenge! i am using prompt 9 for my fic and i hope you guys enjoy!

two days. forty-eight hours. two thousand eighty minutes. one hundred seventy-two thousand, eight hundred seconds. that’s how long you had been missing. the team of avengers, including desperate peter parker sat around a table, staring at the very little evidence they had of your disappearance. it was only two nights ago when you and peter had been cuddled in bed and you had left to go home.

evidently, you never returned home.

peter ran his hands through his hair with frustration, eyes bloodshot red from crying. he was terrified and guilty, knowing if he had just walked you home, he wouldn’t be staring at the picture of you on the screen in front of him.

“we have no leads,” sam wilson stated,” the only evidence is this cardigan.”

peter knew you were wearing it when you left. he recognized the cute patches of stars scattered on the knitted sleeves and the oversized buttons along the ends. it was always so big on you, he didn’t think you would have bought it from that thrift store, but the moment you laid eyes on it, you fell in love with it. you had fixed up the holes and messed up seams, it looked like something someone would shove under a bed. but you took it into your care.

“she was wearing that after she left my apartment,” peter explained, voice cracking. the entire time he had been silent as they investigated your disappearance. “she almost forgot it but i reminded her.”

peter took a glance at the cardigan, instantly taking notice of the blood-stained sleeves.

“we have to find her,” he finally added, one tear slipping down his cheek. tony hadn’t spoken at all, and peter knew why. peter understood what it felt like to lose someone. there was a chance you’d be found again, but it was slim. you were just gone.

the next few days were hell for peter. they hadn’t found anything and all he wanted to believe was that you were at least alive. everyone around him seemed to be giving up already. peter had even overheard tony talking with the other avengers, thinking that you weren’t alive and he’d have to plan a funeral. peter refused to give up, he couldn’t believe the idea that you were dead. there was only a glimmer of hope left in some of the avengers. every day that passed, the more likely it was that you were dead. it wasn’t until two months of searching, they finally gave in.

tony kept the funeral private. it took everything in peter to just crawl out of bed that early morning and may had to help him tie the tie for his suit. his hands trembled too much to get it straight. he didn’t want to believe you were gone, but by this point, he was giving up himself. everything at the funeral was dark, the opposite of what you were like. you always had the brightest of smiles, your hair would always smell like fresh daisies from a meadow. everyone who gathered around was silent, staring at an empty casket, watching it get lowered into the ground.

peter found himself alone after the casket was six feet under and collapsed to his knees in front of the gravestone. tears openly fell down his face, as he stared at the name written on the stone. y/n stark. he wanted to stop making events like this so familiar. first his parents, then uncle ben. now you. the love of his life, the person he dreamed of marrying. some people see this as an unattainable fantasy because when you are young, they assume you know nothing. but peter was sure. you were supposed to be the one. his endgame. but you were gone.

a hand tapped his shoulder revealing the familiar face of tony stark. seeing him made peter fall apart as tony pulled him into a tight embrace. peter finally let it all out. with his shoulders shaking with sobs and soft cries leaving his breathless lips, peter parker was finally showing his grief.

grief was a fickle thing. it constantly changed. peter had been in such disbelief for the past months you were gone, but now he was trying to bargain with what happened. he gave his suit back to tony, he moved on from being spider-man, and tried living normally. he was trying to change himself for you. but it was hard. it took every amount of effort to bring himself out of his bedroom. the only thing that kept him going was the desire to do things you would want him to do. it didn’t take long for aunt may to take peter to a therapist. they could help him sort out the pain he was holding onto.

“tell me about her.”

“y/n was the perfect example of joy,” peter admitted with a desolate tone. “she was always looking to help anyone before herself. something she got from her dad. her hair always smelled amazing, like a garden almost. she liked to braid it, and stick flowers in it. y/n got the idea from tangled…” he paused, staring at the ground. he had planned a date before you went missing. he was going to take you to a lantern festival. where you could recreate the scene from tangled. peter knew how happy it would have made you. but you were gone. you’d never see the lanterns, you’d never live that dream.

“she had a cardigan… something she found at a thrift store, on the ground without a price tag. it had holes in the sleeves and she chose to patch them up with little stars. it was always too big on her, y/n always wore it with everything. i never saw her without it. she once forgot it when we left for a road trip, made me turn around to go get it for her but i was happy to,” a rare smile came onto peter’s face as he thought about the dimples on your cheek when he had put the cardigan around you. the smile faded,” it was the only thing they found when she went missing. it had blood on it and i know something bad happened.”

“i couldn’t stop it. i couldn’t save her.”

the woman in the chair across from him said nothing, just stared at peter as he avoided her gaze. after a couple moments, she began speaking,” you need to figure out a way to say goodbye to y/n. i understand how hard that may seem, but there are ways. i want you to write letters addressed to her. just start with something normal, you don’t have to address her death in the letter, just make it between you and her. the more you write these. the easier it’ll get to let go. “

peter stared at a blank piece of paper for hours that night. he didn’t know how to start. every time he picked up the pen his hand started shaking and he was too scared to write your name. with a frustrated groan, he jumped onto his bed, face buried in his hands. normally, peter would go to you to talk out his stress, to feel your arms around him but he couldn’t have that now.

that’s when he took notice of your cardigan hung on the corner of his bed frame. he took it into his hands, letting out a sigh. it was the only thing he had left out you. the only part of you that was left behind. so peter put it around himself, pulling his arms into the sleeves. it felt like you had your arms around him again and gave him the boost he had been looking for.

so he wrote:

my love y/n,

i don’t want to talk about you being gone yet, just let me have this moment to tell you the things i didn’t say. you were perfect. you are still perfect. i know that sees unbelievable to you, but every moment i shared with you, i cherished like a child would cherish a new toy.

except i never grew tired of you. you always came with new surprises. whether it was the time i thought you had never watched star wars and you admitted to being one of the biggest star wars nerds there is or the time i caught you crying to rom coms when we were friends, wishing you had that kind of romance. you were a hopeless romantic. mj said you were always looking for a disney prince of your own. i hope i was good enough to earn that title. i hope i gave you your dream love story. because every moment i spent with you was something exhilarating and i ever wanted to pass it up.

i just hope i was enough for you.

peter knew the letter was short, but he couldn’t bear to finish. tears marked the page with scratched out words and messy handwriting. he was supposed to write a letter every day. every day until he was able to say one word. goodbye.

slowly he started getting there. very slowly.

every day he wrote a new letter. they consistently got longer, but there were days it got short. he tried his best to avoid talking about you being gone. sometimes the letters were simple, saying i went to the grocery store for the first time in awhile. i saw your favorite snack and ended up buying it. i never liked it until now. i guess you influenced me so much.

there were harder days though. these days the paper would be stained with tears and may would come into his room and would find him crying. those letters always had the words “i miss you” and questioned why you had to go so soon.

there was only one thing he always did when he was writing these letters. he was always wearing your cardigan. he even began wearing it just around the house or to school. may never failed to notice and would wash it for him to wear the next day when peter forgot. having the cardigan around him made him feel comfortable and safe. almost like you were right with him. he even wore it to his second visit with the therapist, four months after your disappearance

“it’s getting easier to write the letters,” the brunette boy admitted, fiddling with the ends of the sleeves. “i’ve wrote so many already. it’s almost like i can still talk to her, even when she’s gone.”

the woman smiled. “that’s good peter.”

“but remember, the goal isn’t to hold on, you have to let go. you have to say goodbye.”

peter hated the sound of it. he couldn’t imagine a life without you in it, he couldn’t imagine moving on from you because every day he still missed you more than anything.

it took another six months for him to finally write a final letter. ten months after you had disappeared.

my love, y/n,

this isn’t an easy one to write. these past few months have been hell but i’ve rolled with the punches. i just left flowers at your gravestone. chrysanthemums, your favorites. it’s always been hard seeing your name on that stone and not seeing you next to me.

i miss every inch of you, y/n. i miss the feeling of your lips on mine and the tender kisses you’d press on my neck. i miss watching you fall asleep, i miss running my hand over your back while you snored. i miss seeing your beautiful face, the one that never failed to make me smile. every time i see a star wars movie come on, i’m reminded of your constant rants about padmé and anakin’s romance and how badass all the women of star wars are. i even still think about the day i met you. we were just kids, and you pushed over some other little kids for me. i think that was the day i knew you were important. it only just now dawned on me.

and the best part about you was when i felt like an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you put me on and said i was your favorite. just like the one you used to always wear.

but i think the one thing i miss the most is just your voice. you always talked me to sleep on rough nights. it’s the same voice that got me through the trials of being a hero, the one that comforted me after hard patrols and nightmares. it was the one that sang ‘i can see the light’ from the lantern scene from tangled everytime we watched it. it’s the one i miss the most and i’d do anything to hear it again, y/n.

but for now, it’s your turn to listen to me. and listen closely. i love you. you were my soulmate and i still think you are. i loved you then. i love you now. and i’ll love you forever. we’ll see each other again, because you always come back to me. you’re my angel. my love. my dream. my soulmate. my darling. the love of my life. we’re meant to be together. i know one day we’ll find each other. and when we do… i’ll never let go of you again.

y/n stark, just do me a favor. keep on being you. wherever you are. i’ll keep on being me. i’ll carry on for you.

so now i just have to say one more word. one more word that isn’t forever because i know i’ll be with you. you’ll come back to me. i’ll come back to you. because loving you is like being drunk under a streetlight. it’s the thrill of living life and some kind of light near you. even without the light being right beside you. being in love with you is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

so here it is, y/n. here it is.

goodb-

peter was interrupted as he wrote, a hard knock from the door of the apartment. for a second, he waited, but it came again. it sounded urgent by how heavy it was and how frantically the person was knocking. he stumbled out of the chair, leaving the open letter on his desk as he fumbled with the lock. once it opened, peter had begun thinking he was dreaming.

because the person standing in front of the door, was you.

with his jaw slacking, peter rubbed his eyes trying to process what was in front of him. and to think he was about to write the word goodbye, and here you were, back from the dead. his eyes watered slightly as he opened his mouth to speak but no words came. he couldn’t comprehend the fact you were alive. “ y/n… no… how? how are you here? you were dead… this can’t be real.” everything hit him like an oncoming train, he was convinced he was dreaming or hallucinating. was this a test? was this testing him to see if he was actually prepared to say goodbye?

“you thought i was dead?”

this was what brought peter back to reality. he fell to his knees so fast in front of you, the tears falling down without a doubt as sobs left his thin lips, the ones you used to kiss. everything from the past few months came pouring out. “you were dead. everyone gave up and i didn’t want to but i did. i gave up, i failed you. i did the one thing you told me not to do because i was weak. and i couldn’t hold myself together at your funeral…” you knelt down as he sobbed and choked out every word, pulling him to your chest. “i wanted you to be the one to help me, but you weren’t there. you weren’t here to hug me before and i tried holding on for you. i tried and i thought i was never going to get over it and move on and i never did. i never did, y/n ,because i love you and you are the only person who will be constant in my life even if you were to fall out of love.”

“and i wrote you letters. i wrote you so many letters. i was writing one… just before you came… it was the last one, y/n, the one where i was going to say goodbye and now here you are,” peter’s arms wrapped around your waist pulling you closer.

“you don’t have to say goodbye anymore, pete,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his head before he finally got a clear look at you. you looked no different than before. you had a a few bruises here and there, but you were alive. peter couldn’t believe just how much time passed and you were still the embodiment of beauty in his eyes.

a smile formed on his face, a dimple showing on his cheek,”i knew you’d come back to me.”

with that, he pressed his lips against yours, a hand moving up to cup your cheek as yours moved to his hair, running your hands through the messy brown curls. your lips were soft, just like they used to be and they tasted just like your favorite cherry chapstick that you used to always use. peter relished in the tender moment, butterflies coming alive in his stomach as he pressed his other hand on the small of your back. you both pulled away gently, eyes still closed with foreheads resting against each other.

“i love you,” you said gently, pressing a kiss to the tip of peter’s nose.

he returned it with his own, murmuring,” i love you more.”

his heart fluttered in the comfortable silence and the air still held the same amount of love and adoration for each other as it did before. peter never wanted to give it up and he never wanted to let it go. with the cardigan still wrapped around his shoulders and your arms around him, for the first time in months, peter finally remembered how it feels to be secure and safe.

you both finally stood up, fingers interlocked and right before you both headed inside, you glanced at peter and asked with a laugh:

“is that my cardigan?”

permanent taglist — @ariistotles @saturnpeter @skymoonandstardust @hey-its-grey @pufflypuffle @uglypastels @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @simi11 @abby-blxck @pxterbpxrker @euphoricmads @neverlandparker @fairytaleparker @dahliaspidey @thegirlwiththeimpala @pterprkr @cosmicholland @theamazingtomholland @xoxohollands @screamholland @beiroviski @sunflowerhollands

peter parker taglist — @myslightobsessions

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vincentferard · 3 years ago

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Sebastian x Reader (Old)

Dead. That was the only word running through your head at the moment. You had just been told that your adoptive mother, Madame Red, had died. You had never found out what her first name was. Just that.

She had adopted you when you were little, around the age of three or four, and had raised you as a child of her own. When you were eight years old, Madame Red’s sister had a child. A baby boy, named Ciel. When he was little, you would babysit him.

At the age of ten, his parents died in a fire. The whole mansion ended up burning down. He rebuilt the mansion and was then made the master of the house.

His butler, Sebastian Michaelis, helped him around the mansion along with the maids, butlers, and the cook. Altogether, there were five people who lived in the mansion, other than Ciel (all there to help).

You never thought the day would come when Madame Red would die. She had been a mother figure to you for six to seven years and just the thought of her death made you want to cry. But it was the cold, hard, truth.

Hot tears pricked your eyes and you fell to your knees. Your whole body felt numb with what you had just heard.

Ciel and Sebastian were standing in front of you, a sad expression painted on Ciel’s face. “I'm sorry. The funeral is tomorrow.” With that, they left you alone, your thoughts consuming you.

The next day, you wore an (F/C) dress with a matching pin holding up your (H/L), (H/C). You had never really cared for the rules of wearing black to a funeral. It made everything so dull. But then again, dullness made things numb, so maybe it was better that way.

You had chosen a seat closer to the back as to avoid being seen. Yes, she was your adoptive mother, but no, you didn't want to be noticed.

As the priest droned on, the seconds ticked by. Pulling out a pocket watch, you looked at the time. The funeral was almost over and yet Ciel was nowhere in sight.

“You would think that he would that he would at least have some respect for his last blood relative but maybe not…” You thought angrily. You sighed and put your pocket watch away in a pocket hidden in your dress.

Just as you put the pocket watch away the doors were flung open, Ciel standing there. He was holding Red’s favorite red dress.

He walked up to her casket and lay her dress down inside of it. “She always hated the color white…”

Just then, a strong wind started to blow and millions of red rose petals blew in. It looked like something out of a fairytale and altogether looked absolutely beautiful. You watched as the petals floated by on the breeze, a smile on your face. She would've loved this.

When the funeral was over, the casket was closed and taken to be buried in the cemetery. Everybody then waited a few seconds before filing out. You came out last and was about to head home when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You let out a sigh. “Yes?”

Sebastian smiled softly. “We would like to offer you a place at the mansion. You wouldn't have to be a maid or a cook and you would have all the same privileges as the young master, other than dealing with his clients, of course.”

You frowned and thought about it. “I don't know…”

“I promise that you will be treated as equally as everybody else.”

You let out a sigh and shrugged. “Sure. What is there to lose?”

Sebastian then turned to Ciel. “I'm going to take Miss (Y/N) to her house to pack her things.”

Sebastian led you to a waiting carriage and headed, with you, back to your house.

When you arrived at your home, Sebastian helped you pack everything and take it to the carriage. You put all of your boxes and bags into the back of the carriage and got in.

It was a short drive to the Phantomhive Mansion. The whole trip you spent looking out the window, watching the trees and bushes rush by.

As the carriage hurried by, you spotted a bush of bright red roses which made you think of the funeral. A few brave tears made their way down your face as you remembered it.

Sebastian frowned and looked at you. “Are you alright?”

You sniffed and wiped your eyes. “Honestly? I don't know.”

He placed a gloved hand on your arm as a gesture of comfort. “It'll be okay.”

You didn't respond. You didn't need to. He knew how you felt.

Soon after, the carriage stopped in front of the mansion. “Well, here we are.” He smiled, happily.

You got out and looked at the building. The last time you had been here was to pick something up for Madame Red a few weeks ago.

You couldn't remember exactly what for. Maybe it was a letter or something of the sort.

“Let's head inside. I'll grab your bags.” Sebastian said, breaking your thoughts.

“I-I can help.” You stuttered.

He frowned. “I can lift it all by myself.”

You nodded. “Yeah, well, it's my stuff so I should help.”

He sighed and shrugged. “Alright, grab a bag or two. I'll show you to your room.”

He then picked up most of your boxes, you following close behind with the rest of your boxes.

As you walked down the hallway, you realized just how many doors there were.

“What's with all the doors?” You asked.

He looked back at you and smiled. “Well first, we just have a lot of rooms, and second, well, I can't say that.”

“Why not?”

“The young master ordered me not to.”

You continued to follow him down the hall and to your new room, eventually stopping at a door.

“This is it. My room is right next to yours.” Sebastian said, opening the door.

Inside the room was a soft bed with (F/C) satin sheets, an oak dresser, and a bathroom. You couldn't see inside the bathroom.

Sebastian then walked in and set down your bags, you following suit.

“Well, I'll let you alone so that you can unpack.”

You nodded. “Thank you. I'll get right to it.”

He held up a hand. “You don't need to rush. Take your time.”

He then left the room and you started to unpack. It took you about an hour or two, tops, to unpack all your bags and boxes. Looking around, you suddenly realized: this was your home now.

~Time Skip(2 months)~

It had been about two months since the funeral and moving to the mansion. During that time you had realized two things. A. you had undoubtedly fallen for Sebastian and B. you still hadn't gotten over her death.

You made sure that you didn’t cry in front of the others, you would wait until everybody else was sleeping to cry.

One day when you were in your room, you broke.

You couldn't take it any longer.

You just broke down and started to cry.

You sat with your back to the wall, facing the door, your face in your hands.

As hot tears stained your face, you suddenly felt a hand on your head.

Looking up, you saw Sebastian looking down at you. He gently put his hand on your cheek and wiped away your tears.

“Shhh, it's okay.”

You closed your eyes and a few more tears slipped down your cheek.

He slowly ran his thumb across your cheek, causing you to open your eyes and look at him. He smiled gently at you.

“It'll be okay.”

As you looked into his eyes, your faces slowly drew closer until they were only inches apart. Gently, he pressed his lips to yours.

His lips were cold and soft yet hot and rough at the same time.

He pulled away and looked at you. “I promise it'll get better.”

You smiled and whispered, “I think it just did.”

#sebastian michaelis #Sebastian x reader #black butler #black Butler x reader #x reader #OLD #geez #this is so old #i am so sorry 😂#unfortunately #my writing #SO SO FUCKING OLD

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alexandrablake · 4 years ago

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love, jj

Prompts: 88. “I never meant to fall in love with you, I just did” from this prompt list! Pairing: Jemily, technically Word Count: 2,456 Warnings: Mentions of death. A/n: Red (@hurricanejjareau) picked this prompt. thank you, ily. that is all.

April 29, 2011 Emily,

Hey. It’s me. I’m sure you can tell by my handwriting. I’ve had you look over enough of my reports that I’d honestly be kind of disappointed if you didn’t. And before you say anything, yes, I know we play Scrabble, but that doesn’t count. I need to talk to you. God, Emily, I just need to talk to you. To see that you are alive, that you are well, and, honestly, to see that you are real.

These past few weeks without you have been awful. Everything is different. I’m spending more and more time around the office. The way we all skirt around your name like you never even existed is just painful. For a while there, I almost started to believe you weren’t real. And that’s a big fear of mine- to wake up one morning not worrying about you, because I know that’s all you have right now. You have Hotch and I thinking about you, and that’s it.

Depressing. And nothing I need to tell you, but it’s not like you’ll read these anyways. It’s nearing two months since you “died.” I don’t think Rossi has processed it yet. Penelope is a shell of her former self coping. Even Ashley seems distraught. Spence has dealt with far too much trauma, and yet, I’ve never seen him like this. He’s been at my house everyday this week, crying and then sleeping on the couch. It’s heart wrenching, and it takes everything in me to not tell him you’re okay. That you’re alive. But I can’t, not with Doyle still out there, always being a danger to you.

But, my God, is Morgan the worst to be around right now. Second to only Penelope Garcia, you were Derek’s favorite person in the team. No point hiding it, you’re all profilers and I spend way too much time around you guys.. He’s gutted. Honestly, I think he’s the one person here who has really “accepted” that you’re gone. Even Hotch is off. But not Morgan. And that’s the horrifying part. He’s the exact same person that he was before you left, but now his smiles are a little too wide and his gestures are a little too exaggerated. It’s terrifying to be around.

I guess that leaves me. I’m doing okay. Miss you everyday, but I feel bad every time I do because I know the truth. I know where you are (kind of) and I know that you are alive. They buried you. They know where you are, too, but for them, that’s six feet under.

Love, JJ

March 1st, 2011 Emily,

Me again. Today was better, I think. I know we like to say that the serial killers never take a vacation, but they seem to be on one right now. It’s just a bunch of consulting on relatively low level cases. Thank God, because I don’t think any of them could handle a case right now. Reid didn’t sleep at my house last night, which is improvement, I think. He definitely didn’t sleep, but I’ll take what I can get. Derek is almost worse.

It’s lonely here without you. Penelope isn’t herself, and I find her sitting at your desk all the time. She’s stopped staring at your photo constantly and now avoids the hallway with all the memorials so she doesn’t have to walk by you. She’s in her office even more than she normally would be. There’s boxes of cupcakes being brought in all the time. She’s an absolute and utter wreck.

You remember that feeling we all felt when Haley was killed? When we all stood around her casket and watched with teary eyes as Hotch and Jack said their final goodbyes? The feeling that nothing would be okay again? Yeah. That’s about what’s happening now, but now it’s not just Hotch feeling like his life is over. It’s all of us.

And God, you must be so lonely.

Love, JJ

April 10th, 2011 Emily,

Today was an all-time low. Everywhere I looked, there you were. Oh, there you were grabbing coffee after an all-nighter spent at my house. Oh, there you are, legs dangling over the side of the chair you’re lounging in because you don’t know how to sit properly. Oh, there you are, smiling at Hotch as you talk animatedly in his office about God knows what. Oh, there you are, downing shots with Rossi.

Your ghost was everywhere over this office, over my life. You were this office, you were everything. I can’t go anywhere to escape you. How can you have a ghost when you aren’t even dead?

April 11th, 2011 Emily,

Another crying Spencer night. They’re off on their second case, a spree killing in Tampa. I don’t know. At this point, I’m kind of lost. I’m spending far too much time at that office even though I don’t work there because it’s one of my last connections to you. I just… miss you, I guess. No, I know I miss you.

I just can’t stop feeling guilty. I’m causing all this pain in the team and in all your loved ones. I was the one who told Hotch you survived, I was the one who suggested you “die.” This is all my fault.

Hotch told me he was doing assessments of the team. That shouldn’t be happening. You should be there. I’m not going to ask for the results, and I don’t think I would be allowed to if I asked. I just don’t want to face the reality of what I’ve done.

Love, JJ

May 15th, 2011 Emily,

Hey, it’s been a while. Not much has changed. I haven’t been to the BAU since my last letter. I can’t face them anymore. I can’t sit within those walls that seep of you. I can’t face you.

God damnit, Prentiss! Why did you go after Doyle? You knew we could have helped! This could have all been avoided if you would have trusted us!

May 15th, 2011 Emily,

I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I just miss you. A lot.

May 22nd, 2011 Emily,

With you being gone, I’m starting to realize how much I depended on you. You were my person. If I had a problem, I came to you. If I wanted to get drunk, I came to you. If I wanted to get a break from the overwhelmingness of the testerone of our workplaces, I came to you. If I just wanted to escape, I came to you.

I’m still avoiding the BAU as best as I can. Even Hotch and I haven’t been talking. Spence is still coming to my house, though. Still crying. He misses you so much, Prentiss. We all do.

When Elle left, I didn’t think any of us would recover. She hadn’t been there for the longest time, but she was an integral part of the team. But we recovered. Then, when Gideon left, some of us were fine, but Reid? I genuinely thought he would never be the same. And I guess he isn’t, but he still recovered. And now you left. So if the pattern continues, we’ll recover.

But I don’t think I will. Because every waking minute of every day (and even some of the sleeping ones), the thought that we will never catch Doyle haunts me. The thought that I will never see your beautiful face again. The thought that I will never actually get to talk to you again.

They don’t have those thoughts. To them, you are dead, under the ground, declared dead on the table. To them, there’s no chance they’ll ever see you again. So, for them, if we don’t catch Doyle, yes they’ll be irrationally angry because the son of a bitch who killed you is still out there, but catching him never had any more reward than revenge and putting another bad guy in prison where he belongs. They won’t realize that not catching him means they’ll never see you again because they don’t even know that’s an option.

I love you, JJ

June 1st, 2011 Emily,

The worst part of all this is that I know you’re out there, lonely. I would say afraid, but I know you. Emily Prentiss doesn’t get scared, I know. But you’re alone, in a place that isn’t here. All I want to do is help you. And I can’t because if I do, there’s the possibility that I’ll make everything worse.

So, I’m trying to focus on positives: happy memories and good things to happen. Like, the other day, I walked through a market and, when I passed a flower stall, all I smelled was that expensive perfume you used to wear. The stuff you stopped using because it made Reid sneeze? The stuff you still use when we would go out on the town? Smelling it made me want to go out and buy a drink and dance the night away.

And when I was shopping for new shoes for Henry, I saw a pair of boots that I knew you would buy the instant you saw them. They were lace-up, black with a bit of heel (I know your never-ending goal is to get taller), and there was a slight rose decal on the top. I could hear you shouting, “These are men squashing boots!” because you’re never embarrassed in public. I could see the smile you give me, a flash of blinding white teeth. And I knew the smile I would shoot back because happy Emily is my favorite Emily.

I love you, JJ

June 18th, 2011 Emily,

You missed Morgan’s birthday. 38! It was a pretty somber occasion because we all knew that something was missing. And it was the day before your 3 month anniversary of being dead. Garcia tried as best as she could to fill the gap, decorating the bar that Rossi rented out very extravagantly. Material items could never make up the lack of you. We all just ended up getting drunk.

I think it’s really starting to hit Hotch. When I take Henry to hang out with Jack, Aaron’s quiet. Granted, he’s always quiet. (Not around you, though. You always bring out the best in people) This is a different quiet, though. He’s almost silent. I think he’s beating himself up. You know Hotch, anniversaries hit him hard. I think he hoped you would be home now, Doyle staying in the maximum security he belongs in.

But the rest of them are moving on. Spencer isn’t having the breakdowns he used to have. Penelope and I can go out for coffee without there being this heavy weight sitting on us. Ashley even joined us once, and it didn’t feel like she was replacing anyone. Rossi is smiling much more. Morgan is still acting a little fake, and he pulls sleepless nights every now and then, obsessing over the case. But he’s better. He can focus on cases, and Penelope tells me that they can go hang out without him being too absent-minded.

Hotch is the one I’m really worried about. We both remember the aftermath of Haley’s death. The grieving, the silence, the sleepless nights, the constant fidgeting so he could keep his mind of it. That’s what’s happening now. He’s just as worried about you as I am. We both know the possibility of never seeing you again.

That leaves me. Three months later and I wouldn’t say I’m much better than I used to be. I still have trouble hanging around them. I still find myself grabbing my phone to text you something before remembering that I would never get an answer. I still find myself longing for you, for your smile, for your touch.

I love you, JJ

July 17th, 2011 Emily,

I think this will be my last letter. I’ve come to a few realizations, and, even though I still desperately need to talk to you, writing these are one of them.

One: This isn’t healthy for me- nothing about this is. 5 stages of grief. We both know them, they have to do with the unsubs all the time. These letters are classified as denial. And I need to get through all five. Yes, you aren’t dead, but you may as well be. I can’t see you, I can’t talk to you, I can’t know where you are. There’s a death certificate. You were “buried.” And I need to get to acceptance. I need to accept that I may never see you again. I can’t just exist in this state of limbo forever.

Two: You are okay, and you can care for yourself. I guess this goes under the first one, but I don’t really care. You don’t get as close as we did are and not have an ever present worry of “what if she’s not okay? What if I’m not there to protect her? What if she needs my help?” But that’s where the denial thing comes in. I think that I’ve been doing that to myself because it keeps you near to me. It keeps you alive. Because if I can worry about you, there is still a you to worry about. Therein lies the issue. There is no you to worry over. To the world, you are dead. And I need to accept that. Because the you that does exist is perfectly capable and doesn’t need my help.

Three: Not having you here is the worst part of this all. Technically, you were gone before you left because I left, but we still talked and hung out. We still went to bars on alternating Saturdays. But we can’t have any of that anymore. And I think that’s what made me realize the last thing.

I am completely, utterly in love with you. And that’s terrifying. Unrequited love stories are the worst to read, but here I am, writing one. I loved how hot you looked when you tied your hair up. I love the way you carried yourself. I love the way you smiled at me when Reid went on one of his tangents. I love the way you looked at me when I delivered the profile. I love our hushed talks on the plane when everyone else is asleep, talking about everything and nothing.

The worst part? You are the missing piece in this puzzle. You, Emily, were the one thing I never took into account when planning my life out. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, I just did. Yet, here we are- me, writing crappy letters admitting my feelings, and you, halfway across the world, completely unaware of the havoc you’ve wreaked on me.

I love you, JJ

#if this is the second time you saw this #no it isn't #jemily #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #jj x emily #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #eva's 25 days of christmas #advent calendar of fics (ACoF)#eva writes occasionally

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voicedheadcannons · 5 years ago

Audio

Midoriya: We are all here today to remember our dearly beloved Kacchan who tragically died at the age of 15 today Bakugou: I’m not dead! Let me out of this fucking coffin! Todoroki: Sometimes I still hear his voice. Midoriya: Regardless. We’d like to take a moment to remember his best features, and his worst features, and how despite his flaws, we had so much to love with our favorite angry pomeranian Bakugou: The moment I get out of here I’m going to choke you Midoriya: We’d like to start by remembering the things that made our Kacchan so special. For example, his, uh. His, ah… I’m doing this without rehearsed lines guys somebody back me up here Kirishima: We love the way that Bakugou… Sometimes he would… Uh. Todoroki: His abs wer- Midoriya: Things we love about Kacchan include his. his. Strong personality. Todoroki: I fuckin’ hated it Midoriya: We loved how driven he was, how he’d stop at nothing to be the best at anything he does in life, uh, did in life, he’s dead now. Bakugou Let me the fuck out of here! Todoroki: I can’t believe Bakugou is fucking dead Midoriya: And that extended to his never say die attitude. I’d bet if he was still with us, he’d be scratching and clawing away at that coffin trying to get out, refusing to let his time on earth come to a close so early *aggressive scratching noises* Bakugou: Get me out of here! Midoriya: You never really appreciate what you have until it’s gone. Kirishima: How did you even get him in that box? Todoroki: What do you mean? He’s dead. He can’t fight back Kirishima: And how come he can’t get out? Bakugou is really strong. And he could just explode the casket Todoroki: Not when he’s dead Midoriya: We tied him up Kirishima: That’s impressive in itself Midoriya: Bitch won’t be #1 pro hero any time soon if he can’t stop himself getting kidnapped by a high schooler Kirishima: What’s the plan anyway, why are you doing this, you’re not gonna just bury him alive Todoroki: I might Midoriya: I was just thinking of getting Todoroki to set fire to it. Viking style. Kirishima: He’s still in there! Todoroki: And dead Bakugou: Let me out you little side characters! Midoriya: Do you hear that? Kirishima: Kacchan turned into a zombie! Bakugou: I’m not dead! Midoriya: Quick, Todoroki, burn the coffin Todoroki: On it All Might: Oh you kids these days, with your murder and your, uh, murder? Hey wait a sec.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugou #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #kirishima eijirou #bnha #mha #all might #voice acting #audio

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malcolmhclland · 3 years ago

Text

02: SIX FEET UNDER

tagging → n/a

location → saturday, 9pm. a hole in the ground.

notes → y’all putting my baby in the ground. that’s highkey wild

Malcolm had just had the pleasure (or displeasure, he’d definitely say it was the latter) of watching a casket lid be closed on him. He thought things like this only happened in the WWE when you got your ass whooped by the Undertaker but no, they also happened in Rosewood. Again, this town was unlike anywhere else he’d ever lived and that alone made it hands down the coolest place to live.

He struck up the lighter that he’d been given with ease, because well... we all know why— taking in what would be his surroundings for the next couple of hours. Or at least what he hoped would be the next couple of hours. Yeah, he’d jumped off of the cliff that first round but like that was light work compared to this particular challenge. Adrian, Leland and himself did stupid shit like that all the time, just ask Dove.

But being buried alive? Well, none of their ridiculous antics had prepared him for this.

Malcolm shifted slightly, already finding the coffin to not be all that cozy. But again, this was just straight up wood against his back. He could only imagine some of the more privileged competitors complaining about the fact their coffins weren’t lined with velvet or satin, the mere thought causing him to laugh a little.

‘This is wild.’ Malcolm said to himself as his laughter began to subdue but as insane as it was, he was doing the damn thing. He looked up at the wood above him, the silence in the coffin deafening. This had to be the most silence that Malcolm had ever had to endure. The guy was never in silence. From the fact that he lived with Dove and Leland, two of the loudest and rambunctious ( a word that Jamie had recently taught him ) he knew to him working at a literal music store, Malcolm never had to deal with silence.

It was high-key uncomfortable, especially when all he could hear were creaks... surely from the weight of the dirt on his coffin.

The thought of the weight of the dirt on his coffin, that began to make him a bit freaked out. Like what if the top of the coffin gave in and he died? Like that could happen, right? Malcolm took a deep breath, before he remembered that wasn’t a good thing.

“Shit.” He told himself, nodding to himself as he found his fingers tapping against his sides. Tapping to the beat of his favorite KAYTRANADA song, which was then followed by him humming the lyrics of the song. Yeah, this wasn’t the easiest challenge by a long shot, but he had to just forget about the fact that he was literally six feet under the ground.

Rather, he’d go through his favorite playlist via taps of his fingers and hums in hopes that it’d make this go all the faster. Because he would make it out of this, regardless if he lasted the longest or got eliminated. He would make it out, he would.

Or at least he’d keep telling himself that.

#chwpanic

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bee-kathony · 5 years ago

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Walking the Tightrope - Jamie and Claire AU

The year is 1919, and a 13 year old Claire Beauchamp has just lost both her parents to the Spanish Influenza. Alone in the world, and out of options, Claire runs away, stumbling across train tracks. When she wipes away her tears, she discovers a train, and is welcomed aboard.  

What happens when Claire finds out that the train is home to the Ringling Brothers & Barnum and Bailey Circus? Luckily, she meets a family – The Fraser’s, who help her learn the circus life. But, will she always want to stay? Or will she eventually grow up and realize it’s time to leave the circus and her best friend, Jamie… behind? 

This is the first 3(ish) and only chapters of this fic. I will also add the outline for what this story was going to be at the end. I hope you enjoy it and I was excited to get into the twists of this story. Moodboard by @beaauchamp xx

Chapter One

Boston, Massachusetts 1919

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp was 13 years old when she ran away to the circus. Normally, young girls don’t run away to join circuses — especially not young British girls who had just moved to America.

Claire and her family were originally from England, the beautiful city of Oxford, and had relocated to the United States for Henry Beauchamp’s job. He was a veterinarian, and had been offered a position to teach the subject at Harvard University, an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Their family packed up their small home and moved across the Atlantic. Claire found it was rather easy to leave her home country, she hadn’t always been the best at making new friends. And besides, she had her parents to keep her company. Henry’s brother, Claire’s Uncle Lamb, was an archaeologist and had traveled with them to stay for a few months in between digs.

They had only been in Boston for eight months before the sickness came. It was 1919 and the Spanish Influenza was spreading rapidly throughout the country and throughout the world. Claire felt helpless as she watched people around her die.

“You must stay with Lamb, darling,” her mother said, voice barely above a whisper. “He’ll take good care of you.”

“But I want to stay with you, mum,” Claire gripped her mother’s hand, aware of how hot her skin felt against her own. “I want to stay with you and papa.”

Julia Beauchamp had woken up that morning with a chill that rapidly turned into a fever. It was a miracle that Claire wasn’t ill. Her father, Henry hadn’t been so lucky. He lay in the bed next to Julia, chest rising and falling slowly, skin moist with fever.

“We won’t be here much longer,” Julia said and did her best to squeeze Claire’s hand. “You must make a good life for yourself. I know you can.”

“Mother!” Claire weeped as her mother’s grip loosened. Bent over the bed, she threw herself on top of both her parents, desperate to give them all the life that was in her.

“Oh, Claire, dear,” her uncle Lamb raced in and pulled her off the bed, his own eyes filled with tears as he watched his brother and sister-in-law leave the earth. “You mustn’t look, child.”

“I want my parents!” Claire cried against her uncle’s chest, her body shaking and not able to contain the grief she felt. There was nothing that could have been done — nothing that anyone could have done.

She had just lost both of her parents, what could have been worse?

It was barely twenty-four hours later that her favorite Uncle Lamb had fallen ill and died of the Spanish influenza. Claire Beauchamp was now an orphan with no one to turn to and nowhere to go.

An orphanage was the only suitable place for a girl like her. The thought of being stuffed into a house with tens of other children without a family made her stomach twist into knots.

Claire stood by herself, hands clasped firmly in front of her, trying not to cry as she watched her parents and uncle’s caskets be lowered into the ground. It took everything in her not to throw herself down and demand to be buried along with them. What did she have to live for?

Alone in the world and with nowhere to go, she ran from the funeral with nothing but the black dress on her body and the Oxfords on her feet. She thought she could make it on her own — survive all by herself.

There was no particular destination in mind, but the air around her was suffocating and every look of sympathy shot her way made her want to scream. So Claire turned, tears streaming down her face and began to run even faster.

The wind whipped past her face, salty tears flying behind her as she pumped her arms and legs to carry her as far away as possible. No one stopped her. No one knew her.

It wasn’t long before her chest began to burn and the tears filled her eyes to the point where she had to stop. When she looked up, she saw iron train tracks and followed them, only hoping that soon something would come and take her away.

As the sky darkened and the night grew cold, Claire shivered and wished more than anything for her family to be alive. But wishing wouldn’t bring them back. So with every step, Claire pushed out the memories she had of Henry, Julia and Lambert Beauchamp — because thinking of them only brought pain.

Stumbling along the tracks, her feet aching and stomach rumbling, Claire knew she needed to find a place to sleep. Lifting her head up, she saw lights in the distance — lights of a train. A train would have food and people, surely someone would be kind enough to help her find her way, or perhaps they would let her ride along.

With careful steps in the dark, Claire made her way to the last car of the train and stepped off the tracks to peer at the side of the boxcar.

Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus

A circus.

Claire’s eyes went wide, wondering what kind of animals lived inside the small confines of the boxcars. She had never been to the circus, but had always wanted to go. Claire loved animals and was always quick to make friends with them in whatever country they were visiting.

Voices came from further down and Claire walked forward into the light.

“Psst,” came from behind her and she whipped her head around, back into the dark. Not seeing anything, Claire shrugged her shoulders and kept moving forward. “Psst,” she heard the sound again.

“You!” A voice said quietly from above her. Claire looked up and gasped, jumping back to see a head sticking out of the boxcar. “I’m talkin’ to ye lass!”

“Me?” Claire pointed at herself.

“Do you see any other little girls around here?” The man said in a thick Scottish accent.

She shook her head and before she could do anything else, the man stuck his hand out, offering her a way up. With no other option, Claire reached up, grabbed it and was pulled up into the boxcar.

“Yer a wee thing,” the man said and for the first time, Claire got a good look at him. He was tall, with wide shoulders and had jet black hair. “What are ye doin’ out here so late at night?”

“I—“ She stammered, suddenly wondering if she made a mistake running away.

“Where are yer parents, lass?” The man said and when Claire met his eye, it hit her, the fact that she would never wake up to the smell of her father’s chocolate chip pancakes again or hear her mother sing along to the radio every evening. Tears fell down her cheeks and her chest caved in. The man with the jet black hair caught her in his arms as she began to fall to her knees and he held her against his chest.

“Shhh, I didna mean to upset ye,” he spoke softly. “Tis only it’s no every day young lasses come walkin’ beside the tracks.” The man ran his hand gently over Claire’s head, smoothing down the unruly curls.

“I have a lad about yer age, maybe a couple years younger. My daughter is probably near yer age though,” he said, trying to soothe her with conversation. “Usually the brothers dinna take a family on the road wi’ them, but they’ve allowed it this time.”

“Y-you have children?” Claire stammered as she wiped her face on her sleeve and looked up at the man. He released her, making sure she could stand on her own two feet.

“Aye, two of them, the wee numpties,” he laughed. “And my wife, they’re all part of the act, ye ken.” Claire raised her brows, unsure of what “act” he was talking about. He saw the confusion on her face, “Och, have ye never been to see a show before?”

“No, never.”

“My wife Ellen and I are lion tamers,” he said proudly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall of the cart. “My son and daughter are what ye could say cub tamers in training,” he laughed.

“You tame lions?” Claire asked, eyes wide for the second time that night. “I’ve never even seen a lion!”

“Ah, I thought I detected an accent,” he smiled. “That makes this even more curious. What’s a Sassenach like ye doin’ here?”

“A Sassenach?” Claire asked as she took a seat on a cot nearby, her legs unable to hold her up after a day of running and walking along the tracks.

“An English person, just a wee nickname,” the man smirked.

“I moved here with my parents about a year ago, we’re from Oxford.”

“Ah, Oxford,” he smiled. “I went there once as a lad, beautiful place. Yer parents, ye say? Where are they? Do they ken their daughter is runnin’ away from home to join the circus?” He laughed and then the laughter died as he caught sight of her face.

“My parents are dead,” she nearly whispered and the man dropped to his knees in front of her. “My uncle is dead. I have no one.”

“Oh lass,” he took her small hand in his. “I’m sae sorry, I— I’m sorry for yer loss.”

“Their funeral was today, it’s why I’m dressed like this,” Claire pointed at her dress. “I did run away, but I didn’t know where to run to.”

“It’s every kids dream to join the circus is it no?” The man put his thumb under her chin, lifting it up. “Ye’ve a place here, if ye want it.”

“But I can’t join the circus!” Claire laughed, her emotions running on overdrive. “I’m just a girl and a circus is no place for me.”

“Try tellin’ that to my daughter Jenny, she’ll be sayin’ the opposite,” he smiled. “She loves the animals, helps take care of them when she’s not performin’. She’s wi’ her Mam and brother up in the car ahead eatin’ dinner.”

Claire didn’t know what to say at this offer. Join the circus? It all felt like a fantasy. No one really ran away to the circus and certainly not young girls like her. But she didn’t exactly have a lot of options — no family, no house, no money.

“I’m Claire Beauchamp,” she offered her hand to the man.

“Brian Fraser, lass. Pleased to make yer acquaintance,” he kissed the back of her hand. “So is that a yes? Are ye runnin’ away to join us?”

It could’ve been much worse and as Claire looked around the small train car, she thought she might as well give it a try — the least she could get out of it was a hot meal and a night’s sleep.

“Yes. I’m running away to join the circus,” she smiled for the first time in days.

“Tha!” Brian smiled. “Ye’ve just made the best decision of yer young life, lassie. Now,” he stood up, taking her hand. “We need to feed ye and then find ye some place to sleep. I expect ye’ll be needin’ a wee nap soon.”

Claire followed Brian through a small door and through another into another train car. They walked through several others, past people with curious eyes and hushed tones, wondering who she was no doubt. Claire had never seen so many people crammed into such a small space before. They finally came into the train car Brian was looking for and he let go of her hand to walk over to a red headed woman, kissing her on the mouth.

They seemed to be in a train car where people ate, the place was lined with small tables and chairs, plates of food in front of everyone. Brian motioned for her to join him and she stood shyly next to him while he introduced her.

“I found a young lass outside,” Brian smiled, placing his arm around her shoulder. “This is Claire Beauchamp, she’s from England and she’s run away to the circus.”

“Run away?” The girl who must be his daughter Jenny said from beside her mother. “I didna ken anyone like ye would want to come and live here.”

“Who wouldn’t want to live here, Janet?” A young boy said beside her, looking at her with the bluest eyes Claire had ever seen.

“Claire will be joinin’ us for dinner tonight,” Brian smiled and then pulled up a chair for her. “Jamie, Janet, say a proper hello to the lass.”

The young girl stuck her hand out over the table, “I’m Janet, but you can call me Jenny. I’m fourteen. This is my younger brother, James.”

“But ye can call me, Jamie,” the young boy offered her his hand from beside her. He had a mop of curly red hair and mischievous glint in his eye. “Did Da tell ye we tame lions?!”

“He did,” Claire nodded. “I’ve never seen a lion before though.”

Jamie gasped, frightening Claire and he grabbed her arm, “Ye’ve never seen a lion? Jenny, did ye hear the lass?”

“I heard her fine well, Jamie,” Jenny rolled her eyes, but then smiled at Claire. “We can show ye them tomorrow when we unload”

“Unload?”

“Aye, when we unload to set up for the circus, we’ll be in Boston for the next two nights and then it’s on to another city,” Jenny smiled.

A plate of food was set down in front of Claire and her stomach made a very loud noise at the sight of it. She hadn’t eaten all day — she hadn’t eaten much of anything since she found out the news about her parents. She grabbed the fork and began to eat quickly, not caring if the food was too hot.

“Slow down lass,” Ellen smiled from across the table. “Ye need no worry about it disappearin’.”

“Sorry,” Claire said shyly, her cheeks turning bright red.

“Dinna fash, lass. I just dinna want to see ye gettin’ a belly ache. My Jamie gets those when he eats too fast,” Ellen smirked.

“Mam!” Jamie shouted. “Dinna talk about my belly in front of her!”

Brian snorted over his food, which only made Claire blush harder. She took her next bites a bit slower, savoring the taste.

“I never asked before,” Claire said to Brian once her plate was clean. “You’re from Scotland. You all are,” she looked around. “What are you doing here then?”

Brian glanced around at his family, then finally his eyes focused on Claire. “I suppose ye can say that we ran away too.”

Ellen took her husband’s hand, squeezing it so tightly her knuckles went white.

“We still need to find ye a place to sleep, lass,” Brian said a moment later. “There’s probably room for ye to join in our car tonight.”

“I can show her, Da!” Jamie said beside her and he nearly jumped out of his chair.

Laughing, Brian smiled, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Aye, son. Take her to the car, we’ll be there in a minute.”

“Follow me, Claire,” Jamie smiled, offering his hand to her. She took it, following the boy back through the train cars she had come through. They found themselves in the same car Brian had pulled her into. As she looked around now, she saw that it was rather cozy — as cozy and nice as a train car could get she supposed.

“This is where I sleep,” Jamie said as he pointed up at the top bunk. “Then Jenny sleeps in the middle and there’s actually an empty bunk on the bottom. I guess that’s where ye can sleep.”

“You all sleep in here?” Claire said.

“Aye, Mam and Da take the cot in the corner, tis small, but it’s enough,” Jamie smiled. He couldn’t have been but a couple of years younger than her, but he was just as tall as her, if not taller. He seemed kind and not for the first time, Claire wondered what an entire family was doing joining the circus.

“My Da said ye were runnin’ away…” Jamie said to her as he came to stand in front of her. “Why, Sassenach?”

“Oh you too?” Claire smirked. “Your father called me that earlier, I suppose I better get used to it.”

“Och, I didna mean any offense!” Jamie put up both his hands. “Yer English is all.”

“No, it’s alright,” Claire smiled and tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

“Ye didna answer my question…” Jamie said softly.

“I—“ Claire felt her chest tighten and her eyes water. “I’d rather not talk about it just yet.”

“Oh that’s fine, Claire.” Jamie reached for her hand, squeezing it tight. “Ye’ll see soon enough how great this place really is. It’s like a dream!”

“I’ve just woken up from a nightmare of my own,” Claire said, her shoulders drooping. Jamie lifted her chin with his fingers.

“Ye’ve nothin’ to be scarit of, Sassenach. Not so long as I’m wi’ ye,” he smiled, squeezing her hand again.

“You’re very kind, Jamie. Much kinder than I deserve,” Claire smiled. She had to admit that Jamie was rather cute and very charming. Perhaps this circus thing wouldn’t be so bad after all. “I’m feeling rather tired.”

“Och, of course,” Jamie smiled. “As I said, the bottom bunk can be yers.”

“Thank you, Jamie.” Claire let go of his hand and climbed into the bottom bunk, sighing as she slipped off her shoes. She winced as she felt the blisters, but tried to keep quiet as Jamie climbed up to the top bunk.

“I’m glad yer here, Sassenach,” he said a few minutes later as they both lay quietly. “I was wishin’ for a friend.”

Claire didn’t know what to say so she turned over on her side and let herself weep. Only hours before, she had buried her family and said goodbye to the life she knew and now she was lying in a bunk on a circus train.

Her eyes grew heavy and soon the tears stopped as she slipped into a deep dreamless slumber.

Chapter 2

Claire woke to the quiet whispers of Brian and Ellen Fraser. She didn’t want them to know she was awake just yet, so she kept her eyes shut tight and face buried in the pillow.

“What is she going to do here, Brian?” Ellen said softly and glanced over at Claire lying still asleep on the bottom bunk. “Ye ken fine well that this is no’ a proper life for a girl like her.”

“Jenny’s here is she no’?” Brian said.

“Aye,” Ellen clicked her tongue. “But she’s our daughter, and she didna have much say in the matter at the time if ye recall.”

Brian rubbed his hands over his face, sighing as he looked at the young girl.

“She’s got nowhere else to go, Ellen. Her parents and uncle died of the influenza,” he said softly and Claire realized that his own children must still be asleep above her.

“Christ,” Ellen muttered under her breath. “So she really did run away to the circus, the poor lass.”

“Ye ken just as well as I do what that grief feels like,” Brian said to his wife. “The poor lass is heartbroken, I’m sure we can find somethin’ here for her to do.”

Ellen leaned against her husband, silent for a moment before nodding. “We must help her.”

“Aye,” Brian kissed his wife’s forehead. “I’ll go and talk to the brothers. Let them know about our newest passenger. I’ll find ye and the bairns at breakfast after setup.”

A sliding door opened and closed and Brian Fraser left the small boxcar. Claire could hear sniffling from the corner and opened one eye to see Ellen wiping away tears that fell down her cheeks. Compassion stirred Claire to rise from her bed and she sat down beside Ellen on the small cot.

Without saying anything, she took Ellen’s hand in hers and squeezed it. The older woman smiled down at her, squeezing back.

“I’m glad that yer here, Claire,” Ellen smiled and ran her fingers softly over Claire’s cheek. “We’ll do the best we can to take care of ye, and make ye feel at home.”

Claire’s throat felt tight, and she knew that if she spoke she would burst into tears, so she wrapped her arms around Ellen and buried her head against the woman’s chest. There was nothing quite like a mother’s embrace — warm and soothing, like being wrapped in the arms of an angel.

The two of them sat there for a moment longer, quiet as they both grieved for their own loss. Claire looked up and finally released her arms from around Ellen when Jamie and Jenny both started to wake up.

“Morning my darlins,” Ellen said to her children.

“Morning mam,” Jenny said, wiping her eyes as she jumped out of bed, landing on her feet.

Jamie yawned and jumped down as well, rubbing his hands over his eyes. He blinked and looked at Claire, as if remembering that she was there. “Morning Mam, Claire,” he smiled softly.

“Are ye ready for yer first day at the circus, Sassenach?” Jamie asked, a grin spreading across his lips. It was infectious, and Claire found herself smiling too.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

++++++

“So, what exactly do you and Jenny do all day?” Claire asked as they walked over to where the large tents were being setup. It looked like quite a job to do. Men and women were lined up in a circle, each holding rope, and tall wooden beams were on their sides, ready to be lifted. Claire didn’t envy their job.

“We help wi’ anythin’ that needs to be done,” Jenny said. “I usually help wi’ the cookin’ and feedin’ everyone. Well, as much as our cook Mrs. Fitz will allow me to since I’m only fourteen. She’s Scottish as well!”

Jamie bumped against Claire, “And I help with the animals! No’ the big ones though. Mam willna let me near them.”

“That’s cause you’re a wee ten year old,” Jenny smirked and winked at Claire.

“I’m turning eleven next month!” Jamie scowled and kicked at a nearby rock. He hated to feel like the odd one out. “I usually just walk around and see who needs help. Since I am ten…” he sighed. “I can only do so much. The circus is a tough job, ye’ll see soon enough, Sassenach.”

“It sounds like it,” Claire agreed.

They found the food tent, which had already been set up the night before. The smell of fresh eggs and bacon made Claire’s stomach growl and they got into line. Claire looked around the tent and saw mostly women there, as the men were still setting up the larger tent that would house the main event.

“Are you the only other kids here?” Claire asked the Frasers. She hadn’t paid much attention to anything when she boarded the train last night.

“Aye,” Jamie nodded, scooping a large helping of eggs onto his plate. “We’re also the only family here too. The circus is no’ exactly a life most people choose to raise bairns in.”

“But, we havena been here our whole lives either,” Jenny added. “We were both born in Scotland. Ye see, we moved here five years ago.”

They found Ellen sitting at a table, a plate of food already in front of her.

“Good to see ye, Claire,” Ellen smiled gently. “I hope my bairns havena been tellin’ ye too many wild stories?”

“No,” Claire shook her head. “Jenny was just telling me about when you moved here.”

At that, Ellen froze, her complexion going pale and she looked over at her daughter who shook her head slightly.

“Ye’ll have to forgive me, Claire,” Ellen said. “I dinna like to talk about our life before the circus. Those times are better left in the past.”

“That’s all right,” Claire nodded. That was certainly how Claire felt now. She would much rather leave all of her pain and grief behind her, and try and start a new life. Granted, this wasn’t what she had in mind, but it was better than living in an orphanage.

A few minutes later, Brian Fraser came over with his own plate. He was sweaty from putting up the tent, but didn’t seem to mind. Most people here were covered in a thin layer of sweat and dirt. Living on train wasn’t exactly all that clean, Claire realized.

“After ye eat, Da, can ye come wi’ us to show Claire the lions?” Jamie asked his father.

“Aye,” Brian nodded, chowing down on piece of bacon. “But ye kids ken the drill. Dinna stand too close while we feed them.” He turned to look at Claire, “The lions will be hungry this mornin’ and it only takes almost gettin’ yer hand bit off once, to practice extreme caution around them.”

“I don’t want to get too close at all!” Claire squeaked. She had been around animals all her life, her father had been a veterinarian. But, he had never worked on a lion before — only house cats and dogs, with the occasional horse.

Once Brian was done with his breakfast, Ellen and Jenny stayed behind to help with the food and cleanup, while Brian, Jamie and Claire went to see the animals. They were still in their cages, but would be unloaded into their own tent before the show.

“We have the lions of course,” Jamie said excitedly, almost bouncing as they walked. “Then we have the horses, pigs, giraffes, one elephant, monkeys, zebras —“

“Zebras?!” Claire gasped.

“Oh yes,” Jamie grinned. “They’re my favorite after the lions. A bit like horses, really, which I also love, but the stripes are the best!”

Claire could immediately tell when the reached the animals cages, as the smell was quite strong. As was the loud roar that one of the lions gave as they approached. Another man was already there with a bucket full of meat, which the lion was eyeing and trying to get through the bars.

“Stay back here,” Brian instructed them before going to join the man.

“That’s auld Alec,” Jamie pointed. “He’s in charge of takin’ care of the animals.”

“All of them?” Claire said, awestruck.

“Aye, I help sometimes, but he does most of the work,” Jamie said. They watched from the trees as Alec and Brian began to feed the lions. Brian distracted the lions, moving them to one side of the cage, while Alec opened it up and set the bucket of meat inside. Then the lions pounced on their food and ate it ferociously.

“Wow,” Claire gasped, grabbing onto Jamie’s arm.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach,” Jamie grinned. “They’re no’ as scary after they’ve eaten. Later, I’ll show ye how to pet one. They can be quite friendly.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Claire laughed.

Brian returned to them, and auld Alec followed closely behind. “This is young Claire Beauchamp who has come to join us,” Brian introduced her.

“Tis nice to meet ye little lass,” Alec offered her his hand and she shook it.

“We need to find somethin’ for the lassie to do,” Brian quirked his brow.

“My father worked with animals,” Claire said shyly. “All kinds, but not any lions or elephants.”

“He was a veterinarian?” Alec asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, perhaps some of his skills rubbed off on ye lass,” Alex grinned. “How’d ye like to come wi’ me and see the rest of the animals? I could use all the help I could get!”

Claire looked over at Jamie who nodded encouragingly, as did Brian. Jamie stayed back with his father, leaving Claire to follow the animal carer. The thought of being around animals was a small comfort, at least she had vague knowledge of their needs.

She would never forget one warm afternoon when her father was seeing to a pregnant dog. Claire had stayed up with her father all night, comforting the dog as she gave birth, and making sure the puppies were seen after.

“Is she in pain, papa?” Claire asked, petting the head of the golden Labrador.

“A bit, my dear,” Henry Beauchamp replied. “Giving birth is no easy feat. But she’s a strong girl,” he stroked the dog’s bulging stomach. “It should be within the hour.”

Claire and her father had stayed up late into the night, watching over the dog. She belonged to a woman from town, but all Claire wanted to know was who would keep the puppies.

“How many puppies will she have?”

“I think perhaps four,” her father said as he moved his hand over the dog’s belly. “But we won’t know until she has them. Why are you asking my love?” He cocked a quizzical brow at his daughter.

“Oh, you know,” Claire grinned. “Maybe Mrs. Wilcox doesn’t want four new puppies. Maybe she only wants three!”

Her father laughed, “That’s something you can ask Mrs. Wilcox tomorrow. And of course, you’ll have to ask your mother.”

“I will, papa,” Claire smiled and went back to petting the dog’s head. “When I grow up, I want to do what you do. Being around animals all day must be fun.”

Henry rose to his feet to check that he had everything he needed — sutures for after the birth, plenty of towels. “It is rather fun, my dear. But, I will warn you, that it can be quite hard too.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s never easy telling someone that their pet is ill,” Henry frowned, coming back to join Claire on the ground. “Or feeling like you can’t do anything to help. Not everything can be solved with medicine, I’m afraid. But I try.”

At this, Claire felt sadness wash over her. As little girl, they had a pet cat, but he had passed away before they moved to Boston. She knew all too well what it was like to be told that your animal was sick.

“Well, you can still be there for someone and try and make them feel better,” Claire replied. “I think I still wanna do what you do.”

Henry reached out and smoothed back his daughter’s unruly curls. “Then you shall, my darling. You shall do whatever your heart desires.” He bent and kissed her forehead. “Your mother and I will always be here to support you.”

Auld Alec showed Claire all the animals. Claire was gobsmacked seeing so many creatures she had never seen before. She had heard about the circus coming into town, and thought about asking her parents to take her, but that was before…

“I bet yer Da never worked on zebras, aye?”

“No,” Claire shook her head as they approached one. “A few horses, but never a zebra.”

“They’re a lot like horses, of course,” Alec said and reached his hand through the bars. “Go ahead and reach yer hand in, she willna bite.”

Slowly, Claire approached the cage, trying to be careful as she reached her hand inside. The zebra nodded her head forward against Claire’s hand, letting her pet her. The zebra made a snorting sound, and Claire laughed.

“Does she have a name?”

“Zoe,” Alec smiled down at Claire. “Zoe the zebra.”

“Fitting,” Claire nuzzled Zoe’s nose.

As the morning rolled on, Claire stayed with Alec and watched as he interacted with every animal. Treating them with such care and gentleness, as if they weren’t really animals at all, but humans.

Finally, they got word that the animals were set to be moved into their proper tent. Men came to unhook their cages and wheeled them into the tent. The horses were let out to walk and stretch their legs, and Claire immediately gravitated to them.

She was barely half the height of the horse, so she came up to it carefully, not wanting to disturb it. Alec had tied them up to a nearby pole and they were munching on a trough full of hay.

“Here,” came a voice from behind her, making her jump. She turned to find Jamie, holding a bright red apple. “Donas loves these.”

“Thank you,” Claire took the apple from Jamie and walked around to the horse’s head, and held out the apple. He snorted, looking her up and down before placing his wet mouth on her hand and snatching the apple up. “He did like it!”

“Aye, told ye,” Jamie grinned. “I love the horses.” He came to stand beside her, reaching out a hand to rub over Donas’ nose. “Tha thu nad bheathach math,” Jamie said in a foreign tongue.

“What did you say?” Claire asked.

“Oh,” Jamie’s cheeks blushed. “I didna even realize I was speakin’. Twas Gaelic. Just callin’ him a fine creature. I find that speakin’ to the animals in Gaelic helps to calm them.”

“Would you teach me some then?” Claire asked. “It looks like I’ll be helping auld Alec with the animals!”

“That’s great!” Jamie smiled. “What I say to the horses is really just gibberish. No’ meant to even mean anythin’, but try sayin’ what I did — tha thu nad bheathach math.”

It was a language Claire had certainly never heard before. Her mother spoke a bit of French and had taught Claire a few words and phrases, but Gaelic was very different.

“Tha thu nad,” she said slowly. “Be-heath-ach math?”

“Let it roll off yer tongue,” Jamie said the phrase again.

“Tha thu nad bheathnach math,” Claire said again, this time getting it as closely as she could to how Jamie had said it. “Well, with practice, I think I’ll get there.”

“Aye, ye’ll do great,” Jamie smiled. “I’m glad ye found yer place, Sassenach. It’ll be nice to have ye here.”

“Yes,” Claire rubbed her hand along the side of Donas’ neck. “I think it will be rather nice here after all.”

She hadn’t even been at the circus for a full twenty-four hours, but already it was beginning to feel like home. The animals would be her new companions, as well as the Fraser’s who had welcomed her in as one of their own. Running away to the circus was the best idea Claire ever had.

Chapter 3

7 years later… New York City 1926

Claire thought often of her first night on the train — how alone she had felt and like she would never belong anywhere. It had been nearly seven years since then and the circus was now her home.

She wasn’t properly educated, but her love for animals kept her with a full time position with the Ringling Brothers. Jenny Fraser was her best friend, along with her younger brother Jamie, of course.

They traveled from city to city, amazing people with the greatest show on earth. Wonders and mystery surrounded them and Claire felt she was part of something truly spectacular.

There were times she thought she should find proper work, especially on her eighteenth birthday two years ago. Jamie had set up a picnic by the horses, Claire’s favorite of the wild menagerie.

“I think I need to leave, Jamie,” Claire said as she took a bite of a strawberry. They were sitting under the tent where all the animals were kept and it was rather smelly, but Claire had grown used to it over the years.

“Leave? Why would ye do that?” Jamie said as he reached for a cracker.

“I don’t know,” Claire sighed. “I’m an twenty year old girl, traveling around with a circus, surely I can find a real job out there.”

Jamie grew quiet, his brows knitting together and he crossed his arms over his knees. “If you want to then you should.”

“I didn’t think you would want me to go,” Claire said.

“I don’t,” Jamie looked up at her. “But if ye want to go…”

Sighing, Claire laid back on the blanket, followed by Jamie. They had grown close over the years, able to tell each other anything and everything. He had always been there for her as he said he would be. On the anniversary of her parents death, he always made sure she was alright and was there to distract her if she needed — or to be a shoulder to cry on when she needed that.

“It’s not like I want too… I just feel I should. Make a proper life.”

“Ye have a family here, Claire,” Jamie turned onto his side, lifting his head up on his elbow. “Ye ken that.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “It was just a silly thought, Jamie. Nothing more.”

“I hope so,” Jamie said as he brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. Something in Claire’s stomach fluttered whenever he touched her and she wanted him to do it again. Jamie was much taller than her now, and had grown into handsome young man.

“Sassenach,” Jamie said. “I dinna want ye to leave.”

“I won’t,” she whispered and then his lips pressed against hers. A small sound left her lips in surprise, but then she relaxed, wrapping her arms around his neck. Before she could really taste his lips, Jamie pulled back, rising quickly to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Claire, I dinna ken what came over me,” his face was bright red and he was turned away from her.

“It’s alright, Jamie,” Claire sat up, her heart hammering. She had always wondered what it would be like to kiss him, but he apparently regretted it.

“I shouldna have done that,” Jamie cursed in Gaelic and before Claire could say that she liked it, Jamie had stormed out of the tent, leaving Claire alone, sitting on the picnic blanket.

++++++

Neither of them had spoken of the kiss since then and that was two years ago. Claire wondered if Jamie even remembered it had happened or maybe it had been so bad, he had forgotten it.

Claire thought he liked her, but clearly he didn’t and things had gone back to how they were before. Claire knew she fell in love easily — she always had a crush and for a long time her crush had been Jamie.

She would watch him nearly every night in the show, holding up hoops for the lions to jump through, admiring the hard muscles of his body. He was just two years younger than her, but already he looked like a man.

It came to no surprise, however, just how fast she fell for a man one night when Claire was introduced to a young investor by the name of Philip Wylie. He was in New York to see the show and was interested in becoming a partner with the Brothers.

“You’ve been with the circus for seven years?” He asked her over a drink one night. The show had just closed and people were still loitering around. She knew he was an important man by the fine material of his suit. Claire wanted to impress him, and help the circus bring in more money.

“Yes,” she smiled, “Joined when I was just a young girl.”

“That’s quite impressive,” Philip smiled, his hand resting lightly on her knee. “What is it that you do?”

“I help with the animals. Taking care of them, checking that they’re alright to perform for the night,” she placed her hand over his. Philip was at nine years older than her, and already she was smitten.

They talked for the rest of the evening and he escorted her back to her train car, kissing her on the cheek and promising to see her soon.

Blushing, Claire placed her hand over where Philip’s lips had just been, sighing as she leaned against the wall. Just then, Jamie came through the door, still wearing his costume from the performance.

He glanced over at her, his fingers deftly unbuttoning his coat. “Ye look happy.”

“I am,” she smiled. “I’ve just had drinks with a man who wants to invest with the circus.”

Jamie stopped undressing and stared over at her, noticing the glossy look in her eye and the red tint to her cheeks. “Ye mean that stuffy old man I saw ye wi’?”

“He is not stuffy! And he is not old!” Claire picked up a shoe nearby and tossed it at him, narrowly missing his head. “He was kind and charming, much nicer than you,” she rolled her eyes.

“Och,” Jamie grunted and finished taking off his coat. “Just be careful wi’ him. Next thing ye know, he’ll be wantin’ to take ye away.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Claire crossed her arms, becoming annoyed with him.

“Well ye said ye wouldna leave,” Jamie turned to her. “Not for a proper job as ye say so I wouldna like to think ye’d leave for a man either.”

Claire’s mouth dropped open in shock and she crossed the small space to stand in front of Jamie, having to look up at him. “I’ve had a couple of drinks with the man, Jamie! Not accepted a proposal!”

“Forget I said anythin’,” Jamie ran his hands back through his hair, turning to leave to another car.

“Fine,” Claire huffed. “I’ll do just that, Jamie Fraser.”

He glanced at her, his eyes full of something Claire didn’t quite recognize before sliding the door closed and leaving her there on her own.

She knew it was important for Philip Wylie to want to invest in the circus, so perhaps she had flirted a bit too much and let him place his hands a little too high on her leg. But nothing would come of it, and besides… Claire would never leave the circus. Not for a real job, and certainly not for a man.

Outline for this fic:

Chapter 1: 1919. Claire’s background. She runs away to the circus, meets the Fraser’s

Chapter 2: 1919. Claire’s first day at the circus, she helps the Fraser’s and then Brian asks her what she’s good at. She tells him that her father was a vet and she was always around to help. He tells her they have a vet but she can be his young apprentice.

Chapter 3: 1926. Claire meets Philip Wylie. Two days later one of the animals gets sick and she stays overnight to keep it company. Jamie finds her and stays with her, on the other side of the train car. They talk more about what Claire would do if she left. Jamie tells Claire about Willie and how he died of the Spanish influenza when they came here. Claire asks him why they came to America, but he won’t talk about it.

Chapter 4: Jump forward two weeks later, and Claire has drinks again with Wylie. She kisses him and he puts his hands on her. Jamie sees them kissing and thinks that Wylie is trying to hurt Claire so he goes over and punches the guy. The next morning, Wylie shows up with a black eye and forgives Jamie, and says he’ll invest in the show on one condition - that Claire marries him.

Chapter 5: Claire feels like she has to marry Wylie to save the show and also she tells herself she loves him. Jamie is jealous, because he’s been in love with Claire since he first met her. That night he gets distracted at the show when he sees Wylie whispering into Claire’s ear and the lion scratches him. Jamie is rushed into the medical tent and the show continues. Claire helps tend to him and cries over him. Hours later as he is recovering, Claire tells Jamie that she’s going away with Wylie.

Chapter 6: Two weeks later, it’s Claire’s last day of the circus. Jamie tells her why they came to America. His father owed his uncles money, and after a time when Brian couldn’t pay, Colum wanted to show him a lesson. So he told one of his men to set fire to the small chicken coop, but a wind caught and it ended up burning down their house. They all escaped. Finally, she won’t have to be a girl on the run anymore. She will live with Wylie in New York City, and still be able to come to some of the shows on the east coast.

Chapter 7: Two months later. It’s two days before Claire’s wedding to Wylie, and she hears from him that the train crashed. He’s angry about losing money that he just invested and Claire keeps asking him if anyone is hurt. He finally tells her that six people died in a fire. Wylie tells Claire that she can’t go back to the circus, she left that behind and she belongs to him now. “I belong to nobody.” Claire leaves in search to find out if Jamie has died.

Chapter 8: Claire makes it to where the train car is. There’s still smoke from two days before and Claire finds Jenny who is crying. Claire thinks immediately that Jamie is dead, but Jenny is crying because one of the animals died. Claire cries with her and then asks about Jamie. Jenny tells her that all wounded men and women are at the hospital and so she takes her there. Claire finds Jamie and he’s badly wounded. Burns on his arms and legs. She sits with him and while he is asleep she tells him that she loves him and that she isn’t with Wylie anymore.

Chapter 9: Jamie starts to recover. He admits his feelings for Claire. He says they don’t have to get married just yet since they’re both young. He knows now that with a few of the train cars damaged, it’ll be weeks maybe months before they get back on the road. Jamie says that he wants to go to school and become a vet. Women aren’t allowed at school yet. They make plans to one day open up their own vet clinic.

Chapter 10: Once Jamie is out of the hospital, they walk back to the site of the crash. He tells Claire just how horrible it was. They both feel sad that this part of their lives is coming to an end. Jamie’s parents tell him that they will stay with the circus as long as they need. Jamie takes Claire back to the small hotel room and they make love for the first time with each other.

Epilogue: nine years later, Jamie has graduated from vet school and they have their first clinic open. They already have two children and live in the country, where Jamie travels to work. They have a whole farm of animals.

#walking the tightrope #alternatively titled rewrite the stars but can't use that name now can i #unfinished fics #outlander fanfic #outlander #outlander fanfiction #what could never be

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thegreatestofheck · 4 years ago

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Do Not Stand { Outer Banks }

word count - 4.8k warnings - death (cancer related), characters dealing with the aftermaths of death, swearing synopsis - One of the Pogues passes away and leaves a message for her friends. Each of them take it a different way. a/n - Here’s another story I have that is similar to one I’ve read. The work Bury A Friend by pogue-writings is amazing and you should check it out! This one was actually inspired by my favorite poem “Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep” by Mary Elizabeth Frye. I may or may not have cried a few times while writing this. Stay safe, healthy, and groovy, but don’t forget to give the people you love a tight hug. Love you guys.

Do not stand at my grave and weep

Kenna knew she was dying. She had known she was dying for a long time. Diagnosed with cancer in her freshman year of high school, she knew that she was living on borrowed time. And there was no way she was going to waste a single second of it.

Partying, fishing, boating, and hanging out with her best friends, Kenna never let a day pass that she wasn’t bound to remember. John B, Pope, JJ, Sarah, and Kie lived it up right along with her, never questioning, never slowing her down.

So, when they saw her lifeless body in the hospital room, it felt so wrong. She was always dancing, always smiling, always cracking jokes, even when she was hooked up to a machine. They had seen her in the hospital bed before, but not like this, never like this.

Kie was already gasping through sobs, tears running down her cheeks. Pope was going to throw up, his face paling and stomach twisting. Sarah clung to the wall for support, her legs unable to keep her standing. John B couldn’t even step inside the room. He had lost too many people to lose her too. JJ, for once in his life, was dead silent. He didn’t know what words to say to make anything better.

Kenna’s parents held tight to her younger sister, trying to stifle tears as their only remaining daughter sobbed uncontrollably.

I am not there, I do not sleep

Kie remembered the last time she saw her friend before the cancer took a turn for the worse. Kenna had been so alive, so fierce, dancing on the HMS Pogue without a single care in the world. Knowing that her best friend was dying was different than living in a world without her in it.

Seeing her body, pale, blue, cold, made Kie shiver. The coffin wasn’t black like one you would expect to see. It was hand carved out of red wood. Kie’s mom and dad helped pay for it. The inside was lined with a jade green, Kenna’s favorite color. She wore her favorite white dress, her nails painted a pretty pink. Hair curled perfectly, cheeks a rosy red, she looked nothing like the girl that Kie knew.

Pope was the first to lay down a flower. He had picked them out. Holding the light purple daisy in his hand, he couldn’t help his trembling body. The preacher had gone silent, the congregation no longer singing. Setting the flower inside his friend’s casket, Pope fought back tears as he remembered the day she made him a daisy chain flower crown, claiming it made him look majestic.

He brushed his hand over hers one last time as he stepped away, shocked by how cold she felt.

JJ walked up with Kie, a hand on her shoulder to keep her steady. They had tried to make Kenna smile, but it looked so fake, so forced. He had seen a thousand fake smiles on her face before as she smiled through the pain, but she somehow always managed to make them look real. He remembered how she used to give him a soft, kind smile whenever he went over to her house after a fight with his dad. How, even though her body was actively trying to kill her, she worked her hardest to make everyone else around her happy.

A tear rolled off of his eyelashes, landing on her cheek.

Sarah hadn’t known Kenna as long as the others and she would regret those lost years for the rest of her life. She hadn’t stopped crying since stepping out of the car that morning. The girl in the coffin had this ability to make Sarah laugh even when she felt like dying on the inside. Sarah wondered if she was ever going to be able to smile again.

Without Kenna, the world was so much darker.

John B was the last to walk away. His flower was crumbling in his tight fist as he watched friend after friend place a purple daisy in the coffin. But John B couldn’t do it. He had lost his mom and then he lost his dad, he couldn’t handle losing his best friend too. He couldn’t walk up and look at her, couldn’t see the lifelessness in her eyes. He just couldn’t do it.

A pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders. He jumped, startled to find JJ’s arms around him. Pope was next, and then Sarah, and then Kie, until they were all standing there, staring at the still open coffin. Everyone else had gone, even her parents and sister. Not a single eye was dry.

When John B finally lay his flower in Kenna’s coffin, she was nearly covered in her favorite flower. The smile on her face looked suddenly real.

I am a thousand winds that blow

“This is for you,” Kenna’s mother said, offering the Pogues a letter as they sat in a small circle back at her house. Tears ran down the woman’s face, dragging her make up along with it. Kie lifted a trembling hand to take the letter. She opened it slowly, all eyes now on her. She coughed, trying to clear the thickness out of her throat.

“My friends,” she read and then coughed again. Sarah put a hand on Kie’s knee, trying to pass on what little strength she had. “My friends, we knew this time was coming. We knew our time was short. Thank you for every memory, every joyous moment. The last few years have been hard, but they would have been impossible without you. Promise me two things; first, look out for each other. Don’t neglect each other. Stick by one another as you have always done. Second, don’t cry for me. My time here was short, but it was sweet and epic and so full of love like a never ending song. Find me in the things you love and I will never leave you. Find me in the simple, mundane things and my memory will live on. I love each one of you. Kiara, Sarah, Pope, JJ, John. I carry your names with me where I’m going, so please, carry mine.”

She didn’t sign her name.

Kie let the paper fall from her hands, dropping to the coffee table like the last leaf fall of autumn. None of them said a single thing, silent tears running from their eyes.

This time, it was Sarah who stood first. She couldn’t take it any more, the heavy weight that pressed against her shoulders, her chest, her stomach. She wanted to scream, to pound her fists into the dirt, to march back to Kenna’s coffin and demand that she wake up.

Stepping out into the cool summer air, Sarah felt a breeze brush against her skin. At first, she wrapped her arms around her stomach to protect herself from the cold. But then the wind blew again, rustling her hair, pulling at the edge of her dress. A quiet wind chime sung from the neighboring house. It sounded like Kenna’s laugh.

The first time Sarah had met Kenna, there was a tropical storm coming on fast. Sarah and her dad were running around trying to board things up so no windows would break when she spotted Kenna riding her bike out in the wind.

“Hey!” She called, running over. Kenna stopped the bike and turned to face Sarah.

“Hi!”

“What are you doing? A storm’s coming in!” Even standing a few feet away from her, Sarah had to shout for her voice to be heard of the gusts.

“Just wanted to go on a bike ride,” Kenna said, a smile on her face.

“Come inside! You’ll get stuck out here.” Sarah gestured for the girl to follow her.

“You sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Seriously! I doubt you’ll make it anywhere with how fast this wind is coming in.”

“Well, alrighty then.” Kenna rolled her bike after Sarah. By the time they made it back to the house, the rain had started to pour and they were both soaked to the bone.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Kenna said as Sarah led her toward the fireplace.

“I couldn’t leave you out there in that storm.” Sarah picked a blanket off the couch and draped it over Kenna’s shoulders. “What were you doing out there anyway?”

“Oh, you know, we only get so many of these kinds of storms in our life,” Kenna told her with a smile. “Don’t want to miss a single one.”

Astounded, Sarah excused herself to go get a fresh set of clothes for the both of them, plus a few blankets off her bed. They spent the rest of the storm in front of the fire, talking, getting to know one another, drinking hot cocoa. By the time the rain stopped and the wind died down, both girls knew they had just found a new friend.

Now, the wind grazed against Sarah skin and it no longer felt like a cold chill, but a gentle hug from her friend. Wrapping her arms even tighter around herself, Sarah closed her eyes, trying to stifle her sobs. Between the wind rustling the leaves and making the wind chimes sing, Sarah could almost hear Kenna’s voice once again.

I am the diamond glints on snow

Kie had gone to the Mainland only a few times in her life aside from day trips to Chapel Hill. Her parents took her to Minnesota once in the winter for her grandpa’s funeral. Kie didn’t want to go alone, so she took Kenna with her.

It was the only time Kenna ever went to the Mainland. It was the only time Kenna had ever seen the snow.

Kie and Kenna ran throughout the backyard, laughing in their layers and layers of clothes as they threw clumps of wet snow at each other. They made drooping snow men and snow angels. They slid down snow covered hills on pieces of cardboard and went ice skating on the frozen over pond without skates. In a span of only a few days, they must have taken at least a thousand pictures.

Sitting on her bed late that night, Kie was scrolling through those same pictures on her phone, tears rolling down her cheeks. Stuffing her blanket into her mouth was the only way to keep her sobs from carrying.

She tried to remember what Kenna said. Don’t cry for me. That was impossible. She must have known that while writing her letter. How was Kie not supposed to cry for her best friend, her ride or die? How was she supposed to not cry when the ache her chest was burning her alive?

Swiping through the pictures, Kie tried to recall what it was like to see Kenna smile. The smile was there on her phone, but it wasn’t anything like the real thing.

The snow glistened beneath Kenna in one picture as the girl rolled over from laughing so hard. Kie promised this picture of Kenna that she would never take advantage of the snow again. Every new experience that Kie had, she would live for Kenna. No more lounging around doing nothing. Kie was going to take every risk and she was going to take it with a smile on her face. She was going to fight for what she believed in, fight for what she wanted, harder than she ever had before.

And no one was going to stop her.

But despite her new determination, her sobs would not stop. There was a quiet knock at her door and she didn’t have the strength to pretend that she was okay. Her mom peeked the door open. As soon as Mrs. Carrera saw the distress her daughter was in, she walked inside the room and sat beside Kie, pulling her into a hug.

Kie held her phone limply in her hand, the picture of Kenna still smiling up at her as she fell into her mom’s arms. At the sound of her cries, her dad came running in, pulling both Kie and her mom into a solid hug, hoping that he could squeeze the pain right out of his daughter’s heart.

I am the sun on ripened grain

They were supposed to be working, but the music was playing over the speaker and they couldn’t control themselves as they danced to the beat.

JJ had Kenna by her hands, the two of them hopping back and forth, spinning, waving their arms around, whatever they felt the music pulling them to do.

It wasn’t uncommon for Kenna and JJ to find themselves doing odd jobs together. It was kind of their thing. Kenna was usually able to keep JJ on task, but on a warm, sunny day like this, with the fresh, green, Kook grass beneath her feet, even Kenna couldn’t resist taking a break to dance along to the party music.

It was some Kook kid’s 7th birthday. They were all out in the pool, their music blasting for what seemed like miles around. Because the parents were busy doing party things, they left JJ and Kenna to tend to the outside garden.

The sun was beaming down on them from above, the wind just strong enough to keep them cool. Flowers bloomed brighter in the light of the sun, making the garden look more like an oasis.

Once Kenna finally convinced JJ to get back to work, he picked up a hose claiming to go water a tree. Little did she know, as she picked up her watering can, that his intended target wasn’t the tree, but her.

The water was cool against her skin. Welcome, but surprising. With a gasp and a smile, she called out for JJ and their play began again. She chased him around the garden, threatening to shove the hose down his throat or up his ass. He simply laughed as he ran away from her.

By the time their work was finally done, all the flowers were in full bloom. The sunlight glistened off the water droplets, making the entire garden look like a light show. Dropping into the grass, Kenna let her laughter roll through her until it died down. JJ plopped himself onto the ground beside her, laying back to soak up the sun.

JJ couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing at a mile a minute, wondering how he could have let this happen. There must have been something that he could have done to stop this, something that would have saved her life. If he could, he would have taken her place. She didn’t deserve to die, not when so many people cared about her so much.

But he still heard her words in his head like his own thoughts.

“You matter, JJ,” she whispered to him as he paced through the darkness outside. “And you have people who care about you, too. Don’t undermine yourself. Don’t regret something you couldn’t fix.”

JJ slammed a closed fist into a tree before he could stop himself. Once the dam was broken, the flood came rushing out. Again and again he pounded his fists into the same tree, blood running down from his knuckles.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” JJ cried into the night. Pain splintered through his hands, but that didn’t stop him. It wasn’t until his cries of rage dissolved into desperate gasps for air the he actually dropped his hands back to his side. He still didn’t feel the pain.

Dropping to the ground, he brought his knees up to his chest, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Ken, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” If she was there, that’s what she would have told him. “I’m right here.”

I am the gentle autumn rain

Pope swept the floor of his dad’s shop, his eyes blurry with tears. He could barely see what he was doing, but doing something was better than doing nothing. He gave up on sweeping and started to pack the deliveries he would have to run tomorrow.

The island didn’t care if his best friend had died. People still needed their damn groceries.

Kenna danced through his mind; her smile, her laugh, her silly faces, the way she pouted her lips when she fished.

He swallowed a strangled cry as he remembered the day they went on a hike through the woods last fall. The skies were clear when they had started their journey, packs filled with sandwiches and chips and water bottles. They were half way through their hike when the first cloud rolled over them.

“Think we should head back?” Pope asked, watching the cloud above him warily. Kenna laughed, glancing back at him.

“Absolutely not,” she said.

“What if it rains?”

“I didn’t realize you were the Wicked Witch of the East, Heyward,” Kenna said in her teasing tone. Pope rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his face. “A little water never hurt anyone.”

It started to rain not a few minutes later. It wasn’t heavy, large drops like the rains they got in the winter and spring. It was soft, like a thousand petals falling all at once. Kenna didn’t even flinch. She lifted her face to the sky, smile growing wider as the tiny droplets landed against her cheeks. Pope simply watched her.

She started to turn, raising her hands ever so slightly. Pope’s cynical side couldn’t help but think about whether or not this was the last time she would feel rain against her skin and that’s why she relished in it so much. As if sensing his bad vibes, Kenna turned to look at him.

“Come on,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “We’ve got a hike to finish.”

They never had a chance to go on another hike. Her health declined steadily after that day in the autumn rain. Pope couldn’t bring himself to wonder now if that really had been the last time she felt the rain. Thinking about it was too much to bear.

“Son, what are you doing?”

Pope looked up, the sudden sound of his dad’s voice startling him out of his memory. Heyward stood with his keys in his hands. Behind him, the barest hint of dawn peaked over the horizon. Pope had been here all night.

“Just wanted to get ahead on deliveries,” Pope said, conscious of the fact that his voice was breaking. He could feel the tickle of a tear on his cheek, but he fought to keep the others swarming in his eyes at bay.

Heyward let out a heavy sigh and set down his things, walking toward his son. With every step, Pope felt his walls start to crumble a little bit more. Until his dad reached him and enveloped him into a strong hug. Only then did Pope broke completely.

“She’s gone.” His cries were muffled as he buried his face in his dad’s shirt. “She’s actually gone.”

“I know, son,” Heyward said, looking up at the ceiling to keep his own tears in his eyes. “I know.”

When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight

John B didn’t even try to sleep. He sat on the dock the entire night, doing nothing other than watch the horizon and drink a beer. At least, he held the open bottle in his hand and pretended like he was drinking it.

He couldn’t bare to go inside his house, not when she was everywhere he looked. The kitchen still smelled like her turkey sandwiches. The bathroom was still stained from her hair dye that she used to dye her eyebrows.

“I don’t have any hair left, so my eyebrows can be any color I want, right?” she said with a laugh. John B watched her from the bathtub, an amused smile on his face.

The pictures of her still hung on his wall. She was in every crack, every crevice, every squeaky floorboard, every rusted nail.

Kenna had stayed over when Big John went missing. She sat up with John B until he fell asleep, which usually wasn’t until early in the morning. She made him breakfast, no matter how many times he told her he was perfectly capable. She helped him look for his dad, hand made flyers, talked to the police when John B couldn’t stomach it. She was there by his side through it all.

And the morning that Ms. Lana came by the house to tell him what had really happened, Kenna was there too. She stayed up with him, holding him as he cried and emptied his guts. He had always held out hope that Big John was alive. Without him, John B wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do. But every anxiety, every fear, every worry, Kenna quelled just by being there.

When the sun rose in the morning, the rooster crowing and the birds flying between the trees, Kenna was still there, asleep by his side.

John B couldn’t go back inside and sleep because when he woke up, he would expect to see her there and he knew she wouldn’t be. He remembered that morning feeling all too well when he could almost forget that his dad was gone for good. He couldn’t go through that again, not without Kenna there to help him.

So, instead, he stared at the horizon, watching the sun rise higher and higher, flooding the marsh and the Chateau with light. The rooster crowed. The birds flew back and forth between the branches. But Kenna wasn’t there to enjoy it with him.

The dock creaked as someone walked toward him. For half a moment, John B let himself hope that it was her.

But it wasn’t.

JJ sat beside him with a sigh. John B looked down and saw the bruises and cut skin of his knuckles. He didn’t need to ask what happened. He knew well enough. Finally taking a drink of the beer, he looked back out to the marsh.

“I had an idea,” JJ said, his voice gravelly.

“Yeah?”

“We should give her a proper Pogue send off,” JJ said, slipping the beer bottle out of John B’s hand to take a drink from it himself. “Go out on our boards, lay her to rest in the ocean.”

John B’s eyes had been dry the entire night, refusing to accept that she was gone. But hearing JJ’s words made it seem so real. The tears came fast and they came hard. He nearly doubled over as sobs shook his body, pressing the sleeves of his sweatshirt against his mouth.

“Come on,” JJ whispered, putting his arm around his friend and pulling him closer. John B put his arms around his friend. Both of them were grateful for the comfort of another.

The birds started to sing.

I am the soft stars that shine at night

They all met at the beach that night. There was a bonfire, s’mores, music. Kie brought her ukulele. Sarah sang a song, the others mumbling along with her.

“Did you bring it?” JJ asked Kie when the singing died down. She nodded and reached for her backpack. With shaking hands, she pulled out a small, metal box.

“It’s safe for the ocean environments,” she murmured, her lower lip trembling as she looked at it.

“It’s perfect,” Sarah said, reaching out and putting an arm around Kie.

“Everyone bring their thing?” John B asked, poking at the fire with a stick. Each of his friends answered in turn, reaching for pockets and bags to pull out what they had brought for Kenna.

JJ pulled one of his woven bracelets off of his wrist, rolling it between his fingers like a blunt. For half a second, it looked like he was going to toss it into the fire. Instead, he looked up at Kie.

“She made this for me when we were kids,” he said, his voice thick with feeling. “Never took it off.”

“Shouldn’t you keep it? To remember her by?” Kie asked. JJ looked at the bracelet and shook his head with a heavy sigh.

“No. I think she needs it more than I do now.” Without another word, he leaned forward and placed the blue and black bracelet into the metal box.

Sarah held a little ceramic bird in her hand.

“We went thrifting this one time,” she said and gave a small shake of her head. “Kenna and I got these matching birds, but mine broke so she gave me hers.”

Placing the small bird into the metal box, Sarah blinked back a heavy downpour of tears. Kie plucked a guitar pick out of her pocket. She looked at it with a small smile on her face.

“We were gonna make a double album together,” Kie said, her voice breaking as she fought off tears. “We got some stuff recorded but, I guess the rest will just have to come with her spirit.”

She dropped the pick into the metal box and it hit the bottom with clunk.

Pope stood, clearing his throat. He walked over to Kie, who held the box in her hands. He fiddled with something, looking down at it as if he wasn’t ready to part with it quiet yet.

“Ken...she used to held me study. She and I had a bet that I wouldn’t be able to one single pencil until I couldn’t sharpen it anymore and, well-” Pope lifted up the small pencil, barely more than a nub. He looked up the stars above. “Guess I won.”

He put the pencil nub into the box and returned to his seat. John B was next, he knew as much. Kie and Pope watched him carefully, expectant. But JJ and Sarah looked away.

“Kenna told me once that she wanted to be an astronaut,” John B said after a long silence. JJ looked over at him. “She wanted to fly among the stars.”

John B felt tears start to gather in his eyes and so he looked up, met with the beautiful expanse of the universe above. Kie leaned over and put a hand on his knee as it bounced up and down. John B let out a teary gasp as he dropped his head back down, eyes closing.

“We found this once when we were out here,” he said after a while, holding up a small, shiny rock. “She said it looked like a fallen star. Said there was a wish locked inside of it. When my dad went missing, she gave it to me and told me to use it whenever I hit my lowest. So, Kenna?”

He looked up again, closing the rock into his fist.

“I want to wish for you to come back. I want to wish for you to beside us again, beside me again. But I won’t.” He brought the rock to his lips. “I wish that you’re at peace. I wish that you know how much you meant to us. I wish that you know we’re going to be okay. Yeah, we’re gonna be okay.”

John B dropped the rock into the box and Kie closed it shut. JJ stood, plucking his surfboard out of the sand. One by one, the others did the same. Kie held the box close to her chest as they rode out to the water beyond the swells. It was a calm night, the moon watching over them as they floating in the water.

No one said anything as they sat. Kie planted a kiss onto the top of the box and then handed it to Pope, who did the same. Around the circle it went, receiving a small kiss from each of Kenna’s friends. Once it was back in Kie’s hands, she held it over the water, hands still shaking. She was supposed to drop it, to let it sink beneath the water and into the depths below, but she couldn’t do it. Not alone.

John B reached out and took some of the weight. JJ was next, then Sarah, and then Pope, until all of them held onto their last bit of Kenna. They gave no signal, but when Kie let out one, steady breath, they all let go together.

Kenna’s box sunk, disappearing into the dark in moments. Sarah tried to choke back a sob.

Now, every time they surfed these waves, a piece of Kenna would still be there, watching over them.

Do not stay at my grave and cry

They made it back to shore, tears drying on their faces. And they spent the rest of the night reminiscing, laughing, drinking Kenna’s favorite lemonade, eating s’mores in the way she liked best.

Not a single tear more was shed.

The stars twinkled above them, the night owls calling in the distance. Wind blew gentle through the trees, the sand below their feet glinting in the moonlight like snow. Sounds of rain pattered somewhere in the distance, the plants around them rustling.

I am not there; I did not die

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