#i remember looking up out of the moving truck and seeing big trees and grass everywhere on the property. and sunlight coming through

[themadscene]

February by James Schuyler

A chimney, breathing a little smoke. The sun, I can't see making a bit of pink I can't quite see in the blue. The pink of five tulips at five p.m. on the day before March first. The green of the tulip stems and leaves like something I can't remember, finding a jack-in-the-pulpit a long time ago and far away. Why it was December then and the sun was on the sea by the temples we'd gone to see. One green wave moved in the violet sea like the UN Building on big evenings, green and wet while the sky turns violet. A few almond trees had a few flowers, like a few snowflakes out of the blue looking pink in the light. A gray hush in which the boxy trucks roll up Second Avenue into the sky. They're just going over the hill. The green leaves of the tulips on my desk like grass light on flesh, and a green-copper steeple and streaks of cloud beginning to glow. I can't get over how it all works in together like a woman who just came to her window and stands there filling it jogging her baby in her arms. She's so far off. Is it the light that makes the baby pink? I can see the little fists and the rocking-horse motion of her breasts. It's getting grayer and gold and chilly. Two dog-size lions face each other at the corners of a roof. It's the yellow dust inside the tulips. It's the shape of a tulip. It's the water in the drinking glass the tulips are in. It's a day like any other.

[whumpurr]

Adrien and Sawdust part 1

cw: pet whump (and everything that comes with that), whump recovery, past whump, emeto, disordered eating, unreliable narrator, 'it' as a pronoun

part 2

--

Adrien didn’t know what possessed him to show up to that sale. Maybe his house was finally too big for him, with it’s cold, empty, dark corridors and uninhabited bedrooms. He knew that he wasn’t looking for any sort of uncouth company, and he wasn’t searching for something to keep his bed warm. The days had blurred together enough that he’d decided to find something to space them apart, to mark each day from the next and to make life interesting again.

And he wanted to help someone.

So he wound up getting in his truck and driving away from his house, the skyscrapers of his fencing fading off into the rest of the woods that surrounded it as he put the wheels to the dirt and headed out.

Adrien was shocked to see that there were only a handful of cars and trucks pulled up to the sale. It was a lot less formal than he had expected as well. He had anticipated more of an auction type setting, in a building with rows of chairs and someone bringing the pets up to the stage to parade them around. He wasn’t too experienced in the matter, but he wasn’t thinking that it would just be the equivalent of a yard sale. The pets are mostly in cages, arranged haphazardly in the mud and grass. Some of the pets are curious, scarred fingers picking at fallen leaves or pebbles that they can reach through the bars of their dog cages. The pets that were not left in cages were either standing or kneeling down in the dirt. There were maybe eight pets, give or take. Adrien couldn’t account for ones he might not be able to see past people’s cars, boxes, and empty crate kennels.

The air had a little bite to it. Adrien was in a heavier jacket- not a full on winter coat- but the majority of the pets were dressed in tattered t-shirts and shorts, kneeling on the hard cage floor or on the cold ground. Adrien couldn’t help but feel his gut wrench as he looked on while people did their deals, talking to some of the ones Adrien could only assume were the sellers. People in simple black polo shirts, scattered about the scene, talking to customers who came in their casual clothes. It really was no big event to many of these people, but for Adrien, this was something he would likely only see this one time.

Welp.

Time to pick one.

Adrien shoved his fists into his jacket’s pockets, trying to look comfortable and blend in with the other patrons. He had been stuck at the entrance just staring for long enough to see a good number of the pets get snatched up by other customers. Adopters? Future owners? He didn’t know what the right word for it was. As dirty as this all felt, leaving a bad taste in Adrien’s mouth, he had only found the event through an ad on his social media. The fact that it would be pushed so casually made him feel even worse about being here.

He approached a cage that had a seller standing near it. The cage had been looked over and passed by a good number of times by the other patrons, and that piqued Adrien’s curiosity, as uncomfortable as he was.

“So,” He cleared his throat, glancing at the opaque plastic dog crate and the worker, “What’s wrong with this one?” He pointed his chin to the crate, trying to sound as gruff and uncaring as he thinks everyone in this event does. The worker looked down at a small clipboard they were carrying.

“This one was a rescue from a previous owner.” The worker stated. Right, rescue. Adrien remembered that the people running this whole even claimed they were ‘rescuers’ of pets. That being said, Adrien still recalled having seen a couple articles exposing them for being viciously cruel to pets while they were in their care.

“Right… And that’s an issue because?” Adrien pushed. The seller looked at him, first like he was stupid, but then with a sense of respect.

“That could mean the previous owner could want them back, at some point.” They put a hand on their hip, “Either you’re dumb or you’ve got a maximum security prison for a house. Speaking of, the old owner was arrested. Something about a dog fighting ring, and the pet’s here now. Got surrendered to us by the cops, they even gave us all it’s shit.” With that, they pointed a finger to a dirty blue duffel bag set next to the crate. “You want it or not?”

A quick look around the venue let Adrien know that most of the pets had been bought already. He hadn’t even gotten to look at this one, but he knew that if he waited much longer, it’d be snatched out from under him.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll take it.” He extended a hand and the paperwork was shoved into it. Listed were places to sign his name, and fill out his information, legally putting the pet under his name. He got to work on signing it. “How- how much is it?”

“Forty five bucks.” The worker said, nonchalant. Adrien’s seen dogs sell for more, much more. He pulled out his wallet and took out forty five in cash, putting it on top of the clipboard as he handed it back. “Thanks. Need someone to help put it in your ride?” The seller must have been asking as a courtesy, they looked like they already knew the answer as they looked up and down Adrien’s muscular body.

“No, thanks.” Adrien picked up the duffel bag first, putting it in the car before returning to grab the pet. Warily, he held onto the handle at the top with two hands, preparing to heave it up. With one solid pull, he almost sent himself flying backwards as the crate weighed maybe a third of what he was expecting. As he stumbled, he heard a small gasp from inside the crate.

Hurriedly walking over to his truck with long, striding steps, he put the crate down on the back seats, pressed against the back of the passenger seat. The metal grate of the front door was facing him as he peered into the dark cavern behind it.

In the cage was a small person, a pet, as he had expected. It had long, matted, brown hair, and deep brown eyes that stared wide at Adrien before diverting. The pet had on at least a shirt, from what Adrien could see. It was cramped in the crate, but even so, the pet pressed itself against the back wall to get away from Adrien.

“Okay,” Adrien sighed out, “I can see that this is all scary for you.” He shut the side door as softly as he could and got in the driver’s seat, turning the car on and turning the heat up. “I’m gonna take you home now. Might be a bit of a rough drive over the dirt, road’s not paved.” He didn’t know if he was talking to himself or to the pet. He didn’t know if the pet could even understand him, or if his voice was possibly freaking it out even more. He drove with the radio off, not wanting to spook the pet.

The drive home felt like it stretched on for ages, but Adrien was eventually greeted by the metal of the gate that surrounded his house, rising up like a series of spears from the earth, glinting in the sunlight that cut through the tree canopy. The worker wasn’t wrong when she assumed he must have some pretty extreme security around his house. He’d had an issue with a stalker before, and with the help of some heavy fencing, a handful of cameras, and some other measures, he intended not to repeat that experience.

The truck came to a stop in front of the house, having cleared the long driveway. Adrien shut off the car, hopped out, unlocked and propped open the front door of the home. He once again brought in the pet’s duffle bag first, then returning for the massive- but light- plastic crate. As he moved it, he could feel the pet trembling so hard that it rattled the cage.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay. I’m just taking you inside. It’s nice and warm in there.”

The cage was put down with a soft thud, Adrien leaving it in the entrance hallway, just before the hall opened out to the kitchen and living room. He undid the latch on the cage’s door, swinging it open.

“You can come out now. You’re safe.” He said in a soft voice. The pet simply trembled, eyes squeezing shut and backing up more against the back of the cage. Adrien took a few steps back, sitting cross legged a little ways away from the pet’s cage. The creature inside it shivered, keeping itself as far into the kennel as it could. Adrien couldn’t even get a good look at it.

“You must be hungry.” He sighed, standing up and taking the few steps he needed to to get into the kitchen. “I’ve got something, here.” He pulled out a box of colorful, fruity, sugary cereal, pouring some out into a bowl and sticking a spoon in it. Next, he went to the fridge,

“Do you drink m- ah.” He quickly came to realize that the pet probably wasn’t going to speak. Rather than risk it, he shut the fridge and set the bowl of dry cereal down in front of the cage, backing up again. A few minutes of frustrating stillness later, Adrien chose to give the pet some space, standing and moving out of the foyer and going into the living room.

“You can come out. That cereal is for you, I hope you like it.” He sat himself down on the sofa. ‘Would it- they? Would they be more comfortable with some background noise?’ Adrien wondered. He took up the television remote from the coffee table and put on a random channel, some kind of reality show. The volume was low, but it was enough for a soft chatting to fill the quiet. Adrien tried to keep himself busy with his phone, scrolling through social media, but he couldn’t stop himself from glancing back at the cage every now and again.

Slowly, gradually, Adrien managed to keep his attention focused on his little device, knowing that if the pet finally did decide to look out of the cage and caught him looking back, it would most certainly panic and retreat again. The room was relatively quiet, save for the sound of the television.

The pair of people on the show were speaking to one another. One man and one woman, and at their feet was a black dog. Adrien wasn’t really listening to what they were saying, but the dog barked. The only reason that that sound suddenly caught Adrien’s attention is because he heard it be repeated.

From behind him.

A dog’s bark came from behind him in the house, from the direction of the foyer. It was almost identical to the one on the television, and as soon as Adrien heard it, the very next thing he heard was a thunk and a rattling from the cage as he assumed that the pet must have moved too quickly or lurched back and hit its back or its head on the ceiling of the crate. Adrien spun around, throwing an arm over the back of the sofa to look back at the crate.

Back in the foyer, Adrien tried to not look too obvious as he stared as the pet inched out of the crate. It kept it’s head low, ever so slowly creeping out of the crate. He watched as he saw pale skin littered with marks and bruises, and light brown eyes, and long, matted brown hair that’d gone too long without care. Around its neck was a bright red collar with a golden tag. The pet’s skin was stretched tight over his body, the raised ridges of bones showing easily.

The pet was dirty, old mud caked on its body, smears of something all over its body, Adrien didn’t know if it was blood or more dirt. Despite that, there was something strange. Sat atop its head in pristine condition was a pair of fake dog ears on a hairband. They looked awfully realistic, but Adrien could see the black band that they were attached to. As the pet fully left the cage to investigate the food, Adrien could see something else, too. Its shorts were filthy and ill fitting, but around its waist through the beltloops of the shorts was a long piece of string. Hanging from it, over the pet’s rear, was a short, fake dog tail, again in perfectly clean condition.

Looking down to the pet’s hands, he saw that they were balled up. Over the small fists was layer after layer of duct tape, dirty and loose from sweat. If the pet wanted them off, Adrien’s certain it could easily pull them off with its teeth, but it makes no move to do so.

The pet lowered its- his, Adrien could see that now- head to the small ceramic bowl filled with colorful cereal. He sniffed it, then quickly pulled away, making a repulsed face. Immediately after his rejection of the food, his eyes went wide and he looked at Adrien, then instantly looked down, trembling.

“Hey, hey,” Adrien lowered the volume on the television and got up, going to the pet and kneeling down. The pet drew back, lowering his head down to the floor, forehead pressing against the wood. “You’re, ah, do you speak?”

“Wruf!” The pet let out another eerily realistic dog bark, though he kept his head on the floor.

“No, no, like… Words? English?” Adrien was kind of at the end of his rope, not quite sure what he should do. “And uh, you can sit up.”

The pet sat back on his legs. Adrien caught sight of the golden tag hanging from the red collar. ‘Sawdust’, it read.

“Sawdust? Is that your name?” Adrien asked. He wanted to reach out and hold the dangling tag so he could make sure he read that right, but he was certain that if he tried that, the pet would get even more scared. The pet glanced over to the side, nodding its head. “Okay, you understand me at least. Can you speak with words?”

--

“Y- Saw- Uh…” Sawdust stammered out, voice rough and looking as though he was on the verge of tears. “Sawd- dust can speak, sir.” He wanted to know why his new master would want his pet speaking to him, but he knew better than to question his owner.

“Okay, good, good. That’s good.” Master sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Is there something wrong with the food?”

What little color was in Sawdust’s face immediately drained as he went pale. He couldn’t let his master think that he was ungrateful, lest he took away the food altogether. Sawdust looked down at the bowl of rainbow colored cereal.

“N-no, no, Master, thank you for the food.” Sawdust dropped back down onto his paws and knees, lowering his head and chest to the floor. He sniffed at the bowl again. It smelled sickly sweet, sugary unlike any dog food he’d been given, but the sound it made when it was poured and moved did sound like dog food. Hard. Crunchy. That was familiar at least. Maybe it was dog food after all?

“There’s a spoon in there,” Master spoke, his deep voice rattling Sawdust’s bones. “You can use that if you want.”

Sawdust’s breath caught in his throat. Was Master mocking him? Pets can’t use things like that, especially Sawdust with his paws. Was Master testing him? Sawdust hiccupped and swallowed down a whine, not wanting Master to see how upset he was. Instead, he buried his face in the bowl of dry, colorful dog food. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore how fruity it smelled, it smelled like things dogs weren’t allowed to have. He took some into his mouth. It crunched, but it was far easier to eat than dog food. It wasn’t as hard, it didn’t hurt his wounded mouth to chew.

Sawdust trembled. Did Master want him to be sick? That must be it. He hiccupped, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks as his stomach turned. He chewed and swallowed as quickly as he could, resorting to panting and breathing through his mouth to try to not taste the cereal as much. He took another bite.

He gagged.

“Buddy? Sawdust?” Master called. Master’s voice was soft, but Sawdust knew that he was faking it. Sawdust swallowed the bite in his mouth. This wasn’t dog food. He couldn’t eat this. Dogs can’t eat people food. His mouth was filling with saliva that he tried to swallow down, but his body wouldn’t let him. He panted, drool dripping down onto the floor as he pulled away from his Master. Goosebumps erupted across his body and he shivered, body rejecting the people food. With a heavy heave, he turned away from his master and threw up onto the hardwood floor.

#whump #whump blog #whump recovery #whump story #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #my writing #adrien #sawdust #pet whump #pls let me know what yall think!! #thank u for reading!

[bestiesenpai]

skate rat choso

This is just a little drabble for skate rat Choso, I got inspo from a cute ass pic of him holding baby Itadori :) no content warnings for this, although I must say it might get cringe? I tried to be wholesome, so let's see how that worked out. Gender neutral readerrrr and idk if i need to say this but choso and reader are 18+ lol

It was finally the first warm sunny day of the season. Birds were chirping, sparse clouds dotted the sky and there wasn’t any pollen in the air to make Choso sneeze. It was the perfect day to go to the skate park.

“Got your helmet?” And of course he was going to bring his little brother Yuji along with him.

“Mhmm!” The excited six year old nodded, nearly falling over as he held up his little helmet covered in sparkly Kirby stickers. Heading out of the house, Yuji ran down the steps, leaving Choso behind to carry his bike and his own skateboard.

“Your backpack, don’t forget this!” Holding up the tiny bag, Choso shrugged his own bag on. Yuji’s didn’t have much in it besides a few bandaids and a bag of chips. Holding his arms up at the bottom of the steps, Yuji waited for Choso to put it on him.

“This is gonna be great!” As soon as he could, Yuji ran down the street with Choso taking longer strides behind him. The walk to the skate park wasn’t far, and they got there in no time to see a couple other people Choso’s age riding around.

“What do you want to do first, do you want to take off the training wheels right away?” Setting Yuji’s bike down, Choso dug in his back for the screwdriver he brought.

“Yeah!” Hopping on the bike, Yuji bounced up and down impatiently, already dreaming of how he was going to fly through the air on the bike. Tossing the now useless wheels to the side, Choso pressed his hand to Yuji’s back.

“I’m going to hold onto you for a little bit to make sure you don’t fall, okay?”

“I’m not a baby!” Yuji shouted, trying to shake off Choso’s hand.

“You’re my baby and I want you to be safe.” Gripping the back of his shirt, Choso stilled Yuji. “Now try to push off.”

Lifting his feet off the ground, Yuji let out a short yelp as he began to sway side to side. Nearly falling several times, he refused to give up and with an almost angry pout on his face he was able to push the pedals and get the wheels spinning forward.

“I’m doing it!” He gasped, looking down at his feet and the way he wasn’t falling over anymore.

“You’re doing great!” Choso jogged a bit behind him, ultimately letting go and watching Yuji ride around in a wide circle.

“Did you see me? Did you?” Coming to a shaky stop, Yuji leapt off his bike and grabbed onto Choso’s shirt, tugging on it.

“I did, you were awesome.” Scooping the young boy up, Choso gave him a big hug. Squirming out of his hold, Yuji picked up his bike again.

“Ride your skateboard with me!” Yuji didn’t wait for Choso to respond, already stumbling to a start on his bike. Tucking their things underneath a tree with a couple other people's belongings, Choso let his board clatter to the ground and stepped on it, pushing off and meeting up with Yuji in no time.

As they rode around, avoiding any big dips or curves, Choso let his eyes wander across the park. There were a fair few people here, a couple that he recognized doing tricks in the bowl and sitting on the sidelines. Later, when Yuji was tired from riding on his bike and he didn’t have to pay attention to him too much, Choso would do some tricks as well and see if he could do anything new.

“Look Yuji, another kid your age is here.” With a little mop of messy black hair, the scowling child had a tiny little skateboard in hand. His helmet was strapped to his backpack that no doubt carried all his protective gear as well.

“I know him, he’s a new kid! He just joined last month.” Stopping slowly, Yuji stared quite obviously at the other boy. “His name is Megumi.”

“Why don’t you go over and ask if he wants to ride around with you?” Choso pushed Yuji towards the boy, finding himself intrigued with the adult that was following him. Riding over to the Megumi, Yuji leaned forward on his handlebars.

“Megumi?” He called out and the boy turned, his eyes widening upon seeing Yuji and Choso. “D’ya wanna ride together?” Megumi was silent, his lips forming a tight line on his face. Glancing at Choso, Megumi scrambled behind the person with him.

“Sorry, he’s a little shy.” You answered, trying to tug him off your pant leg. Smoothing a hand on his back, you leaned down to Megumi. “Is this a boy from your school?” Megumi nodded silently. “Do you want to ride around with him? I bet he’d let you hold onto his handlebars to balance.”

Megumi mumbled something indistinguishable to Choso, but apparently you heard it and understood. There was a quick back and forth and a rushed promise that you’d stay close by, and then Megumi was slowly tiptoeing out from behind you.

“Okay.” Clutching his board to his chest, Megumi looked at Choso and his own board.

“How long have you been skateboarding?” Choso asked, smiling at him. Megumi held up a five and you giggled.

“He’s been doing it for five months now.” Answering for him, you unclip his helmet and plop it on his head. “Show him your board, baby.” Flexing his little fingers, Megumi turned it around, showcasing the underside of the board.

“Cool!” Yuji gasped, stepping closer and pointing at the large wolf painted across the bottom.

“Thanks.” Megumi whispered, smiling softly despite himself.

“You wanna see mine?” Bending down so both boys could see clearly, Choso flipped his over. The deck was horribly scraped and scratched from grinding on metal and concrete and so were the trucks, but you could still make out the dragon design that was once there.

“That’s really cool.” Running his hand along the bottom, Megumi’s eyes gleamed with wonder.

“I can teach you some skating stuff later if you want.” Standing up straight, Choso flicked his eyes over to you. He really wanted you to accept the offer, he wanted an excuse to try and talk to you.

“Y-yes please!” Bouncing on his toes, Megumi looked over at you. “Can he, (Y/N)?”

“Of course!” Giving him a big thumbs up, you fished out his pads from his little backpack. “You have to put your gear on first though.”

Megumi rushed to put his gear on and in no time he and Yuji were riding around the flat parts of the park, both wobbly and slightly unsteady on their feet. Choso sat next to you on a bench and watched them, letting the sounds of the other park goers fill the silence between you.

“I never introduced myself! I’m (Y/N)!” The abruptness of your voice surprised him, but Choso was glad you broke the silence first because he was too nervous to. Waving and smiling at him, you didn’t seem to notice the blush beginning to coat Choso’s cheeks. “I’m Megumi’s older sibling, we just moved to the area not too long ago.”

“Oh uhm yeah, Yuji said that Megumi was a new student.” Nodding dumbly, Choso smiled nervously.

“Yuji is your brother's name?”

“Mhmm! And I’m Choso.” He quickly tacked on, almost forgetting to tell you his own name.

“It’s nice to meet you, Choso. I hope our brothers get along well.” Taking a look over at the two of them, you smiled. “Well actually, I don’t think I have to worry about that.” Pointing over to them, you and Choso shared a soft laugh at watching Megumi and Yuji chase each other around, their wheels lying forgotten on the grass.

“I’m not surprised, Yuji is really outgoing.” Choso had to bite back the stupid grin he had wanting to bubble to the surface. His little brother's ability to make friends with anyone was unexpectedly starting to pay off. If Yuji could make a good bond with Megumi, Choso had no doubt he’d be seeing the two of you again.

“Have you been skating long, Choso?” Your hand skims the edge of the board resting on his lap.

“I started when I was Yuji’s age.” He could remember clearly the very first time he rode a skateboard and the first time he fell off it too. “Do you skate or anything, (Y/N)?”

“I could never!” Rubbing the back of your neck, you laugh, feeling embarrassment come over you at your next words. “I tried to ride Megumi’s little skateboard one time and fell right on my face!”

“Ouch, really?” Laughing a little as well, Choso fiddled with the wheels. “If you want, I can teach you too. It’s not that hard, you just have to balance a little and-”

“(Y/N)!” A sharp wail cut Choso off and you both looked over to where it came from. Clutching his knee, Megumi had tripped and fallen over a ramp. Walking over swiftly, it was a relief to see only a few drops of blood on Megumi’s knee.

“It’s okay, it’s just a little scrape.” Running your hands through his unruly hair, you pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Do you want a bandaid?”

“I have one!” Yuji shot up, running past Choso and grabbing his backpack. He had a handful of bandaids and laid them in Megumi’s lap. “I have spiderman and hello kitty!” Picking up a sparkly one with strawberries, he held it out to you. “This one’s my favorite!”

“Thanks.” Meguim’s voice wavered slightly and he sniffled a little, but he took the bandaid out of Yuji’s hand and gave it to you to put on him.

“Okay, you’re all better. Go play some more.” A few minutes later Megumi was back on his feet, making sure to stay away from the big structures sticking out of the ground. Sticking around a few seconds longer, you exhaled sharply and turned to Choso.

“So, what was that about teaching me how to skate?”

Choso had never been happier about his decision to come out to the park today. While he loved spending time with his little brother, more than anything else in the world, getting to know you was something that was beginning to rival it.

With his helmet slapped on your head, you looked adorably scared to step on his board. Choosing a corner where no one would skate by, you gripped a concrete column tightly and put a tentative foot on the board.

“I’m scared.” You whined, glancing up at Choso and then back down to your foot.

“Let go of that thing, put more of your weight on the board.” He beckoned you closer, holding out both hands for you to take. Pressing your foot more firmly, you slowly inched your way off the column.

“Oh shit!” Just as you were going to take your other foot off the ground, the board began to slide underneath you. Flailing your arms, you jumped off and a few feet away. “I almost died!”

“It’s okay!” Choso laughed at your dramatics, stopping the board before it could slide too far away. “Take my hand and step on again.”

“You better not let me fall!” Pointing threateningly at him, you took a deep breath and put your foot back on. Bypassing his hand, you gripped his shoulder tightly and shuffled both feet on.

“Bend your knees a little.” Choso’s hand was hovering near your waist. He wasn’t sure if he should grab it or not to help you balance, but you quickly made that decision for him by nearly falling as you leaned too far forward.

“Choso!”

“I got you!” Saving you from certain death, Choso hugged you close to him, putting his foot in front of the wheels to stop it from sliding back and forth. Your fingers were clutching his t-shirt tightly, leaving deep wrinkles in the fabric.

“I don’t think I can do this.” Shaking your head, you forced yourself to stand up straight.

“You haven’t even pushed off yet.” Keeping his hand on your back, Choso let you squeeze the life out of his other hand.

“I don’t know if I want to, you saw me almost die just now.”

“Emphasis on almost.” He chuckled when you swatted at his chest. “Just try it once and then you can say you did it.”

“If I break a leg my mom will be pissed.”

“Don’t break a leg then and you’ll be fine.”

“Shut up.” Giggling at his comment, you squared your shoulders and looked forward. “Okay, I’m going.”

Choso talked you through pushing off, telling you where to put your foot and how to balance on the board while you pressed against the ground. He pulled you along as well, trying to help build up enough speed.

“You’re doing it!” He shouted, trying to let go of you as you started to cruise. You laughed loudly and breathlessly, heart pounding in your ears and legs shaking terribly as you fought to control your body.

“I-I am!” Letting go of Choso’s hand, you slid up to grip his arm. The tiny breaks in the cement were nothing, barely making a dent as you rode over them. What did make a dent, however, was when Choso fully stepped away from you right as the wheels met resistance on a big crack in the ground.

Luckily there was grass in front of you that you could fall into, and you did so with a loud shout accompanying it. With your hands outstretched to break your fall, your knees met the dirt hard and the whole ordeal knocked the wind out of you.

“You okay?” Choso was hunched over you, eyes wide as he knelt down beside you. Taking a moment to roll over and catch your breath, you sat up on your elbow only to be knocked down by Megumi tumbling into you.

“(Y/N)!” Wrapping his arms around your neck, he smooshed his cheek against yours. “You fell!” Nodding at the obvious statement, you wheezed as he squeezed you a bit harder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, baby.” Blinking hard as you tried to reorientate yourself, you saw Yuji with his bandaids out.

“Do you need one?” Holding up a large yellow one, he looked you over with the seriousness of a doctor.

“No Yuji, I’m good, not bleeding anywhere.” Patting Megumi’s back, you sat up straighter and eventually made your way back on your feet. “But I think I’m good for now on learning how to skateboard.” Brushing the dirt off your clothes, you glared at the crack you had tripped over.

“That’s fair.” Choso nodded, taking his helmet back from you.

“Don’t get hurt again.” Megumi chided, patting the parts of your body he could reach.

“Promise I won’t.” Hooking your pinky with his, you shook your hands together.”

“Hey Megumi, do you want to skateboard with me?” The question from Choso made Megumi immediately turn away from you, forgetting all about his fallen sibling and nodding so hard he almost fell over.

“Yes!” Megumi ran to grab his things, rushing to put his gear back on and meet Choso at a small ramp. You and Yuji trailed behind, choosing another ramp close by to play with. Yuji had gotten more familiar with his bike, only needing help stopping and staying balanced at times.

“(Y/N), do you and Megumi live close to the park?” He asked, doing circles around you.

“Mhmm, we do.”

“We live close too!” Yuji gasped, taking a second to look at you before going back to his task. “We come all the time, you should come too. And bring Megumi.”

“I have a feeling we’ll be coming by a lot.” You snorted, looking up to see Megumi going down a tiny ramp with Choso right beside him. Megumi was utterly enamored with the older man, completely focused on what he was saying and doing.

Hours passed of the four of you playing together in the park. Megumi showed off his ability to go down a ramp without falling many times, and he and Yuji raced on their respective wheels from one end of the park to the other. You also ate lunch together, Choso chatting you up when he could and ignoring the tingle of nervousness at the back of his mind.

“Ice cream!” As the sun began to set and the clouds were dyed a pastel orange, the shout from another kid alerted Yuji and Megumi, and the distinctive melody of the ice cream man flowed through the air.

“Choso!”

“(Y/N)!” Both boys gasped, looking between you with wide, hopeful eyes.

“I’ll buy.” Choso already had his wallet out and was getting up from the spot in the grass you’d chosen to take up residence in.

“Are you su-”

“Yay!” Jumping up as well, Yuji and Megumi ran to get in line for ice cream.

“Be back in a sec.” Choso didn’t give you the chance to argue about who would pay, already walking over to join them. In just a few minutes time, they were back with big smiles on their faces.

“Look, we got the same one!” Yuji announced to you, holding up the spongebob ice cream he and Megumi both got. “It’s got gum for eyes.”

“Here, we got you one too.” Choso handed you a frozen treat, munching on his own. “Megumi said you liked ice cream sandwiches.”

“You didn’t have to.” Taking a bite, a delightful shiver went up your spine as the treat came in contact with your teeth.

“I wanted to.” He shrugged, eating his ice cream quickly and crumpling up the wrapper. Choso was itching to skate a bit, try some new tricks and potentially show off to you, and now was a good time: there weren’t as many people left at the skatepark, most tired out from a full day and going home.

“I’m gonna skate around a bit.” He announced after gathering up the courage. Picking his board up, Choso made a point to put his helmet on. He wanted to set a good example for Yuji and Megumi and cracking his skull open on the concrete wasn’t the way to achieve that.

“You guys have to watch! Choso is really good at skateboarding!” Yuji was the best wingman Choso could ask for and he didn’t even have to tell him to do anything. Moving closer to the bowl, as you sat down on a bench, both Yuji and Megumi cuddled into your sides.

Choso started off slow, cruising and going over smooth inclines. He’d done many dangerous stunts before in front of a lot of different people, but having you here was making him a bit timid and as he did a kickflip he could only hope you found it exciting.

He refused to look at you as he did a few tricks, grinding down a handrail and popping his board up. A few times he fell or stumbled off and an embarrassed blush overtook his face, contrary to how he would normally brush off any mistakes he made.

“Choso go down there!” Yuji shouted, pointing at the large bowl encompassing the middle of the park.

“Okay!” He yelled back, riding over to it and dropping in with no hesitation. There wasn’t anyone else in with him, so he had full range to do whatever he wanted. Going as fast as he could, his shirt clung to his body from the force of the wind passing by.

“Woah!” Megumi shouted, lurching forward to see Choso carving across a curve and popping up, flipping his board in the air a few times before landing back down and skating away. “(Y/N) did you see that?!”

“I did.” As impressed as you were by the trick, Megumi was ten times that. Every single move, Megumi was inch further and further off the bench until he was right at the edge of the bowl and bouncing up and down in excitement.

“C’mere.” Hopping out, Choso lifted Megumi under his armpits and put him on the board. Setting his feet around Megumi, Choso dropped back in, holding the boy around his waist as they pumped up and over curves. Megumi let out happy squeals as they rode up ramps and along the railing of the bowl.

After both Yuji and Megumi had a chance to ride in the bowl with Choso, they were properly exhausted. Flopping onto you once more, they were almost too tired to watch Choso finish his run.

When it was time to leave, Choso was pleasantly surprised to learn that you lived in the same direction as him, getting the chance to walk you home.

“So uh, what’d you think?” He asked as you headed out of the park, Yuji half asleep in his arms. “Of my skating.”

“It was really cool.” You flashed him a smile, your own little brother walking slowly next to you. “And I know Megumi loved it too.”

“Awesome.” Letting out a quick sigh of relief, Choso rushed out his next words. “I should give you my number so our brothers can hang out again.”

“Totally! Yuji was saying earlier that he wanted me to bring Megumi back to the park.” Choso would seriously have to thank Yuji later. He quickly got your number, already trying to cook up a reason to text you that wasn’t related to his brother.

“You live here?” Coming upon your house, Choso’s brows rose. “We live just down the street, at the end of the block.” It makes sense now why there were moving vans here just a few weeks ago.

“Guess that makes us neighbors, huh?” Ruffling Megumi’s hair, you gestured to Choso. “Say goodbye, baby.”

“Bye Choso, bye Yuji.” Megumi waved, already shuffling toward the front door. Yuji barely waved back, snuggling closer into Choso’s shoulder.

“I’ll text you later, okay? Maybe we can get frozen yogurt or something?” You said, beginning to slide your feet across the pavement after Megumi. Choso was probably just projecting his own emotions but he could have sworn you looked a little nervous asking.

“That’d be awesome.” A light blush dusted his cheeks and he nodded like a fool. “I’m free whenever.”

“See you later.” Giving one last final wave, you closed the door behind you, leaving Choso on the sidewalk. Turning abruptly, he walked down to his house, keeping his head down to avoid anyone seeing the large, uninhibited smile on his cheeks. He was really happy he went to the park today.

#jujutsu kaisen #choso #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

[bees--in-my--bones]

Sunset

Character: Natasha x gn!Reader (please note I did write this with a female reader in mind, so I'm sorry if there are unintentional biases but there were no pronouns or indications of gender at all)

Note: soulmate AU where you can only see color when you look at your soulmate for the first time. i hate to admit it, but i did get this idea from tiktok.

Warnings: canon typical violence, angst, major character death, no happy ending

Word Count: 1,859

A/N: This is my first fic ever! I'm actually really proud of how it turned out and I hope you like it and stick around for more! :)

You had never seen your partner.

It was just protocol. The nature of the missions you two worked, it was safer if you couldn't identify each other.

You had been near her, of course, and heard her voice whispering to you in the train station or over the phone. But you had never once laid eyes on her.

You were an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, and one of Natasha Romanoff's most important and most trusted contacts.

Over the years of working together, you two had become the closest of friends. Fury had no idea that you two were that close, but what Fury didn't know couldn’t hurt him. If it was any pair of spies operating at your level, a close personal relationship would be a problem, but you two were the best in your field, and more than capable of handling it.

It had taken a while for the two of you to talk, really talk, the extent of your interactions being whispered conversations back to back on a set of park benches, or a flash drive set subtly on a table next to an untouched coffee, but one day, probably the best day of your life, you had asked the question and she had answered.

Every phone call with her, you would ask the same question before hanging up.

"How are you doing, Nat?"

And every time, without fail, you would receive the same, gruff, "Fine."

She clearly wasn't one to talk about the touchy-feely stuff. Which was fine by you, you didn't open up often either, most spies you met didn't, but you still gave her that chance, every time.

Until one day, much to your surprise, she responded, "Not great."

It wasn't much, but it was something different. It was an invitation to keep talking. Containing your excitement at the change in conversation, you kept your voice steady. "What's the matter?"

She sighed, the sound crackling faintly over her phone's mic. "I'm back in a place I haven't been in for a long time."

You had no way of knowing exactly where she was- S.H.I.E.L.D took plenty of precautions to be sure of that- but you could make an educated guess. The information you had passed along to her a few days ago had been about a weapons smuggler currently in Russia.

"You know what?" she said, "I don't really want to talk about it. I'll check in with you when the mission's over."

"Natasha, wait!"

Silence from the other line, but she was still on the call.

"Let's just talk. About something else. I think we could both use some casual conversation."

She let out a small chuckle. "Sure, why not? This is a burner phone and I've got time to kill."

It was a bit awkward at first, but you soon fell into a natural conversation. That night you talked about many things. Small things, like favorite foods, and big things, like plans for the future if you ever left S.H.I.E.L.D.

That's when you learned that she couldn't see color.

You weren’t surprised. You couldn’t see color either. It wasn't uncommon for S.H.I.E.L.D to hire people who hadn't met their soulmate. It was a lonely job, and soulmates were a liability.

It was a small moment in your conversation and you continued talking about all sorts of other things late into the night.

Unfortunately, though, all good things must come to an end.

"I'll have to talk to you later, Nat. I've got a big job tomorrow I need to get ready for."

"Goodnight Y/N, and thank you."

"Let's make a habit out of this, okay?"

"Gotcha, Agent."

You smiled and hung up the phone.

From then on, you always lingered on calls. Never quite as long as that first call, but the two of you were quickly becoming each other's closest confidantes.

Soon you began talking in real life, too. You never turned to face each other, never broke that boundary, but you relished the feeling of her shoulder brushing yours as you watched the pigeons in a park.

You called each other before and after every job to check in on each other. You had drop spots outside of Fury's radar where you left each other small gifts. Your life was lonely and cold, but she gave your days warmth and light.

-----

Around a year and a half after your initial conversation, you met in a smokey French cafe, sitting in nearby booths.

“Nat.”

“Agent.”

“Whaddya got for me?”

“No intel on the current mission, but I’ve got news from HQ. Fury’s pulling us from the field.”

You felt your blood run cold. Spywork was dangerous, but it was what you knew. You were good at it. If you were fired, you would be thrown into suburbia with a fake name and fake past- maybe even fake memories, if Fury deemed you untrustworthy- and you would live the rest of your days out in the rat race.

And worst of all, you would live out the rest of your days without Natasha.

“What did we do?” you asked her, putting a massive amount of concentration into keeping your voice from betraying your panic.

“We did good,” she said, a smile in her voice. “We’ve been selected for an elite team to protect the entire world. You and I, Barton, and if we can convince them, Tony Stark, Steve Rodgers, and Bruce Banner.”

“That gamma radiation guy? Do we even know where he disappeared to?”

“We never lost tabs on him.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “You scared me, Nat. I thought Fury had benched us.”

She laughed. “No, we’re still in the game for now. And when Fury gives the word, we’ll head back to New York and hang out like normal people for a change.”

“That would be nice,” you said, your voice quiet.

You heard her move around a bit, then swear. “I have to run," she said. "If I don’t make this drop Fury'll kill me.”

“I’ll talk to you later Nat,” you said. “Hopefully face to face.”

You waited for a response, but heard only silence. You turned and her booth was empty, like she had never been there.

------

"Hey there, Agent," came her warm voice over the receiver. You couldn't help but smile, remembering how cold her voice had been when you had first been partnered together.

"Hey there, Black Widow," you said, using the alias that some younger agents had been whispering behind her back.

“Very funny,” she laughed, “but I’m no Tony Stark. I don’t need a fancy code name.”

“You never know,” you said, your voice still light and teasing. “We should probably both come up with some cool code names for that team Fury was talking about. I think Black Widow suits you.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“No, it means you’re badass. How did your drop go?”

“Good,” she said. “Pretty standard, didn’t run into any problems. How are things on your end?”

“Not bad. I’ve got one thing to finish up this evening, and then I should be good to go. I’ll meet you at the airport at around 5:45 tonight?”

“I’ll be waiting for you, Agent.”

“I’ll be there, Black Widow.”

-----

You snuck around the corner of the warehouse. It was supposed to be one guy. Take him out, take down the whole operation, but apparently, the whole operation was being run out of here. You glanced at your watch. 5:42. Shit. You were gonna miss your flight. A guard passed by, and you froze in place.

You thought he hadn't seen you, but suddenly the sound of his footsteps stopped, then became louder as he ran back towards you, brandishing a weapon. Ducking under him, you grabbed the gun and twisted it away from you, and knocked him over the head with your own pistol.

Suddenly, a loud sound blared over the intercom. Shit. He had sounded the alarm.

You grabbed his gun and made a break for it.

-----

Natasha glanced anxiously at her watch. 5:50.

She glanced around nervously. You hadn’t answered a single one of her calls. She picked up her phone and dialed Nick Fury’s number.

“Fury? Yeah, I know I’m supposed to be getting on a plane, but Y/N isn’t here. Yes, I tried calling. No, Y/N told me 5:45. A good agent is not late, and Y/N is the best agent I know. Where was the mission at? I’m going in. Fury! Tell me now or so help me God... Thank you, that wasn’t too hard, was it?”

She snapped her phone shut. You weren’t too far from where she was.

------

Natasha pulled up to a worn down warehouse with boarded on one side with a forest. Truck after truck pulled away from the building, and she grimaced as she realized what had happened. This was not a simple job like you had thought. Whatever operation you had infiltrated was now fleeing after being busted, and they were likely on shoot to kill orders.

Suddenly she saw you figure limping towards the woods, and before she even knew she had moved, she was racing towards you.

-----

Pain tore through you.

Your abdomen was on fire. You had been shot before, but this hurt. You struggled to get to the cover of the woods. Suddenly a firm hand was on you back, arms were cradling you, and lowering you down to the ground.

“Shh, don’t move,” came Natasha’s voice. “They aren’t worried about finding us, they’re too busy running.”

You looked into her face, making eye contact with your long-time partner for the first time ever, and the world exploded in color.

The grass and trees became vibrant with life, and you turned to look at the new world around you. When you turned back to look at Natasha, her eyes were filled with wonder.

“You hair…” you said weakly, your voice trailing off.

“They tell me it’s red,” she said, her voice wavering.

“Red,” you said, relishing the word on your lips, the feeling of knowing what it meant. “Red is my favorite.”

She smiled, but tears trailed down her face. “Shh, don’t talk. Save your energy, we’ll get you somewhere where they can fix you.”

Ignoring her, you shook your head. "I'm not gonna make it."

You reached up your hand to touch her face. She grabbed your hand and pressed it against her cheek. “I’m glad it was you Nat. I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N”

She pressed a gentle kiss against your lips and cradled you against her chest.

“Look at the sky, Nat,” you said. “It’s beautiful.”

The sun was setting, and the myriad of brilliant colors spread over the horizon.

"As far as ways to go out," you said, "it could have been worse."

Nat said nothing, only held you tighter

The two of you sat like that until Natasha saw the sunset fade to black and white and the tears blurred her vision.

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

Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you liked it! @love8loki here's one of the reader death stories I was talking about. thanks for your advice lol

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #marvel imagine #x reader #soulmate au #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanov x you #gender neutral reader #major character death

[kingsuckjin]

Ungodly Beast 3- epilogue

✞ Pairing: Devil! Jungkook x reader

✞ Genre: horror, fluff idk anymore

✞ Synopsis: You need to end this hell on earth.

✞ Warnings: death, gore, mention of burns, blood, talk of heaven and hell, the earth is on fire (I have to say that your child dies but it will all be okay, I promise it’s alright and it’s not as bad as you might think, just trust me.)

✞ Words: 2.3k

✞ A/N: I would put links here for the past two parts, but lately tumblr has been doing this thing where it wont let this fic show up in the tags if I put in links or tag anyone. They're on my masterlist though, I’m just very sorry for the inconvenience.

"Go my child, end this. Take all the power you need, and if you succeed I'll return the favor."

The flames around your bare feet had to be searingly hot, but they didn't hurt you, it didn't even singe or dirty the white you wore. 

The grass of the park was no more, and what lie under the flames was dry, scorched earth. The leaves had been burned from the trees, the trunks of which still smoked and trailed upwards towards the starless night sky. Glowing orange embers and ash fell all around you like some kind of twisted blizzard.

As you walked you saw the melted remnants of the playground you use to take your son to.

So this was hell on Earth.

It was just a shell of familiarity and home.

On your walk you could hear the sounds of police sirens and fire trucks, but it was much too late for them, everything was on fire.

Buildings, shops, offices, either up in flames or ash on the ground. You saw a car in flames explode, thankfully no one was in it.

There were people. People lined the streets, crying, confused, scared and burned.

An old man was laying on the street, his wife crying over him. She was so hysterical she didn't even see you approach, but when she did her jaw dropped at the sight of you, she begged you for help in another language, one you knew only bits and pieces of before and studied in your free time, but you now fully understood.

You said nothing as you looked over the man's burnt face before placing your hands over it, covering the freshly burnt skin. You closed your eyes and let your head fall slightly.

"My child, I will let you heal him, I will let you give the people hope. But you must hurry to find him before he causes anymore irreversible destruction. Stop him, and put the rest in my hands."

You nodded in agreement and opened your eyes and moved your hands. 

On lookers had gathered around you, both the woman and the man thanked you, but you had to go.

"Don't worry, just pray." You told them. You knew they were looking at your wings folded against your back as you walked on.

As you passed Namjoon's burning church you could see him clearly in your head, on his knees on the floor between the pews on prayer as he realized who was just outside right before it went up in flames.

You didn't go inside, it was too late for him, but you knew Jungkook and your son had to be close, you could feel it. You could see their trail of death, torment and destruction.

You closed your eyes and you brought on the rain.

The crack of thunder rolled through the sky before the downpour started, and though it rained around you, you remained dry. It was all you could do in an attempt to end the suffering of the people at the hands of this fire for now. You also wanted to prevent the risk of them making things worse when you found them.

To attract them you began to sing quietly, you sang the song in the language that Jungkook had sang to your son when he was just a baby. Though the lyrics didn't translate well, it was a song about peace and silence and it was in the world's first language. Even back then, you supposed, that parents just wanted their babies happy and they wanted to do right by them. You remembered Jungkook saying when you first met him that that was something he never understood, and still seemed not to.

You couldn't bring yourself to be mad at him, you pitied him. You pitied his lack of understanding towards humanity even with all of his new emotions. He didn't get to grow from a child, he didn't have surroundings or figure to help shape him. He couldn't never be a parent because he never had a parent figure, he was never a child, Jungkook just was. He had just been Jungkook all at once since the birth of time. He only knew being cast out of heaven, he only knew lies, he only new bitterness, revenge, and power. Jungkook only knew destruction and couldn't handle when you had created something for him, given life to something that was partially made from him. Jungkook wanted to own you and your children just like he owned the souls in hell. Even if you give a person emotions who wasn't taught right from wrong or how to be there for people, or how to not be selfish, they might feel guilty. However, they've already become set in their ways seeing as it's all they've ever known. It wasn't Jungkook's fault that he was given this eternal cold life, he never asked for this.

You understood vastly more than you did before, there was no fooling you now, you saw absolutely everything but one way you saw before never changed.

You loved Jungkook. You knew he would've loved you if he could've from the start. You were his soulmate, His Lilith, his reason for not being allowed to have emotions in the first place in fear of producing the Antichrist. Nothing could stop destiny, you knew this now. No matter what god took or gave to him, nothing could've stopped this. Even now as you found Jungkook holding your son's hand as he burns someone alive, this was destiny. Just like Noah's ark, god can cast out and call forth, he can teach lessons or make people forget.

So here you were, and here he was, in the middle of this burnt street. Neither of them saw you yet, but they were doing what destiny called for.

"Jungkook." You spoke his name for the very first time, catching both their attentions. 

"Mommy!" Your elated son tried to run to you but his father stopped him as he was stuck staring at you.

"You're…" his voice was almost inaudible with the roar and crack of the fires that were too big.

You unfurled your white wings from behind your back and stretched them out.

"You're home." 

"Mommyyy! Mommy back!” Your son yelled happily with a big smile on his face as he began struggling against his father and slipped out of his grasp. Your son ran the half of a block down the street and you could now see his horns were much larger now, and his eyes were black. His father screamed for him and began to run after him, telling him not to touch you.

You knelt down and let your child run into your open arms. You wrapped them around him and let him fall limp.

"I love you, everything will be okay." You told him as you picked him up and laid his body on the sidewalk. Much like a cross or holy water, your body itself could destroy anything Unholy, you were blessed from god himself, you were an angel.

"No… no! What did you do to him?! What did you do to our son?!" Jungkook screamed at you making the fire around you only burn more angrily.

"He felt nothing, God will return him to me." You stepped closer to him. "I came for you too."

"No. You're home, bring our son back and come home!" He demanded but you were no longer easily swayed.

"This isn't my home anymore, look what you've done to it." You answered calmly.

"I made this for us, I did this for you." 

You watched as blood began to leak from his eyes and mix with the water from the rain. 

"I know, I know you did. I know that there's no length you wouldn't go to for me, even your son. You mean well, you just don't understand. Just know I would go through any length for you and our family, and that's why I'm here. We both went through great lengths, we've both been through a lot, so come to me."

"You're tricking me, you're going to kill me…" he with his narrowed eyes aimed at you.

"You're in pain, Jungkook. It doesn't have to be that way. God still has time to fix this little isolated incident." 

"And hell? What happens to hell when I'm gone?" He asked. You felt he was about ready to give in, you knew it took everything in his power right now to not come to you and hold you.

"I think that's what destiny wanted all along,  no more hell. We were meant to be together Jungkook, and it's finally time. I'm not tricking you, I could never do to you what you did to me. Let's go get our daughter and son, let's be a family let's-" 

He began to walk towards you, falling to his knees at your feet and looking up at you.

"I don't know where I'll be going, but I'll follow you anywhere" you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously. "I just want you and my family, I want everything to be okay." 

You lifted your hand to his cheek as you looked down into his black eyes and brushed away the bloody tears from his cheeks only to leave red marks of your own. You had burned him with your touch, and he had flinched but didn't outwardly complain.

He stood and his face came just millimetre from yours.

"Just do it." He whispered before pressing his lips softly to yours.

You brought both of your hands up and placed them on his face and in a split second he went limp against you.

You struggled to gently lay him down on the pavement.

"I'm done. It's done. Fix it, please." You spoke out loud.

"Rest now my child. You've been through so much."

The sky began to grow brighter and brighter until it took over everything and you had to squint to see anything at all.

You were struck with the sudden urge to pee, but you were just too tired underneath your warm sheets. You groaned as you tried to go back to sleep but the feeling became almost unbearable.

You moved the blankets, sat up, and swung your legs over the bed, immediately feeling your back hurt. This action must've woken up the baby inside of you because you began to feel the heavy kicks from inside of your belly.

"I'm going, I'm going." You nagged at the unborn baby as you waddled towards the bathroom. "You better not kick me in the bladder again, girl." You warned.

When you were done you headed to the kitchen with new priorities, you smelled food. Lately just the thought of anything food related had you salivating and reaching for anything edible you could get you hands on, but that's just what being seven months pregnant did to you.

You walked through the doorway just in time to see a few pieces of scrambled egg fall onto the floor.

Your son looked down at it from the stool against the counter he stood on and so did his dad.

"Uh oh." You son said as he looked at you, holding a plate of the eggs.

"Morning darling. We're definitely not making a mess in here." Jungkook lied with a smile as you assessed the damage the boys had done to the kitchen.

"As long as you both clean it up I see no mess." You joked.

"Mommy! Breakfast!" Your son held the plate up proudly, spilling more eggs onto the floor, lucky Jungkook decided to take the plate away from the tiny little version of himself before picking him up with the other arm.

"Tell mommy good morning!" He placed the plate on the table before bringing your son over on his hip. Jungkook knew it was hard for you to bend over now a days.

Your son gave you a wet kiss on your cheek before his father knelt down with him.

"What about baby sister?" His father asked him.

The boy was careful as he gave your belly a hug and pat and told it good morning.

"Morning." Jungkook gave you a quick kiss on your lips before wrapping his arms around you.

"We missed you." He whispered into your ear. "You slept in late, must almost be time for her." He let you go so you could all sit at the table.

"I'm excited, but dreading having to through giving birth a second time. We missed church again because of me, didn't we?" 

"Father Namjoon understands you're too pregnant to function at the moment." He jokingly assured you. "I'm excited for her to get here already. I'll be right there with you, and little bub gets to spend time with his grandma. It's all planned out and you have nothing to worry about. Oh, by the way, I finished putting the crib up in the nursery finally." Even as he spoke about mundane things, there was a sparkle in his soft brown eyes as he looked at you, there were so wide with excitement and wonder, a trait he passed to your son. You would never get enough of him, you hadn't been able too since you met in grade school. You even found yourself missing him deeply to the point of tears during college. When you saw him again one night at a bar, the two of you just couldn't help it. You were confident that was the night you made your son together. You were once again inseparable as inseparable gets. He just stayed over every night after that night, which was good because you didn't want him to leave anyway. You were married just three months after that night at the bar. He wanted everything you wanted, he was the man you had always dreamed of, you had never loved any other person the way you did him. You had always had a connection with him, one you felt went far beyond when you met him as a little wide eyed boy asking to be friends. You knew, both of you did, that you were soulmates.You had always had been and always would be, in this life, whatever lives came before this, and in the next.

#jungkook #jeon jeongkook #Jungkook Series #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook au #bts thriller #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic

[jellyfishloveletterghosts]

How to Catch a Boyfriend Part 2

Part 1

Warnings for Child Abuse 

How to Catch a Boyfriend Part 2

Billy finds the flowers after a hot meal and an even hotter shower and quickly hides them away even as that giddy almost hysterical feeling wells up because it is just more proof that it was real, that his little fairy Steve was not all some hallucination brought on by head trauma or toxins. Billy hides his flowers before skirting around the family as he heads out, Neil is thankfully already gone for the morning and Billy does not have to explain his miraculous good health. He heads for the woods with determination, he wants to find his Steve.

 Billy looks for hours and finds nothing, nothing but cold plain Hawkins nature, just brown trees and drying grass. There is no ethereal heat, no strange little puddle surrounded by glowing toadstools and most importantly no tiny fluttering fairies. Billy is tired and dirty and disappointed, kicking at stones and twigs, flailing at low hanging branches. Why can Billy not find him? Billy gives up for the night with a pout and a small sniffle he will blame on allergies even though he only has them seasonally and it is nowhere near spring.

 He scrubs over his face with his hands when he leaves the woods just on the edge of the little neighborhood he has been forced to move into. There are a few kids still out on front lawns, a few biking home for the evening and distantly he hears some mother calling one of her children home. Open windows with a big thing around here, family and dining rooms spilling out golden yellow light to cookie cutter images of normal. It makes Billy ache a little looking into one and seeing no one being screamed at, no flinching or scared family members but he knows that is an illusion, that at least some of these homes hold darker secrets then the tiny previews reveal.

 "You were definitely supposed to be home before now." Billy says an edge to his voice when Max comes skating up to him. She skates in the road while he walks the curb shoulders tense because if Max is late he knows that means he is going to get blamed. Max shrugs and rolls her eyes and Billy swipes an aimless hand in her direction knowing he will miss but kind of hoping she fails to doge because he thinks she would deserve it just a little but it is not like she would understand why he is angry anyway, kept ignorant as she is. She does dodge and Billy just sucks his teeth as they get to the house dread making his skin prick with nervous sweat.

Max runs inside with no hesitation and jealousy curls in Billy’s belly, he cannot remember ever being that carefree with Neil's truck in the driveway. Billy slinks into the house, shoulders hunched up around his ears hoping Neil will be distracted, if he is in the bedroom with Susan he will not notice Max or Billy coming in. He is in the living room hollering for Max to put her skateboard up and that her dinner is on the table, and then his eyes turn on Billy.

 Billy stops in his tracks like a scared deer knowing he has been caught, just waiting for the snide comments, Max is still up so he knows Neil will not hit him, not in front of her not when he is sober, no he will wait until she goes to bed. "Susan left you dinner on the table, it's cold now." Billy blinks, the words are said plain and simple, no tone implying a threat, no comments on Billy’s responsibilities. 

 Billy stands there staring until Max knocks into him on her way to the table. “Can I have your mashed potatoes?” Max asks when she gets to the table fork already poised to steal them and it gets Billy moving hurrying over to the table to protect his food, he loves mashed potatoes, it is the one thing Susan never messes up.

 “Eat your own food shitbirtd.” Billy hisses low enough to not be heard by anyone but her as he drags his plate out of her reach, sitting down and quickly eating. Max just takes her own plate with a roll of her eyes and a stuck out tongue and they lapse into silence just the sound of the television playing from the living room and Neil muttering about things happening in the world.

 Billy eats quickly, worried at any second that Neil will realize he has missed a chance to dig into Billy and proceed the way things normally do. He barely even tastes his food before rinsing his plate and disappearing to the safety of his room. 

 Billy wants to bring the flowers out, he wants to admire them but he will not, not while Neil is awake. Instead he turns his music on and digs out an old tattered paperback he is half way through. 

 Despite hours passing he does not make it very far into his book, mind too worried about Neil and too curious about the flowers and his little fairy Steve. He turns his stereo off at nine sharp knowing better than to leave it on. His skin pricks, fear and dread welling up when he hears the telltale sound of Neil moving around the house locking up. He tosses his book under his bed, hoping to keep it from being destroyed. 

 Billy listens to the click of the front door lock, Neil doing his nightly check and then the creek outside his door but then the footsteps keep going. There is a lump in his throat and a sting in his eyes as he waits for Neil to turn back, body tense with anticipation. The steps do not come back though, they fade to the other end of the house and Billy hears the closing of the back bedroom door signaling Neil is going to bed. Billy waits, the sound of the clock ticking and Max on her walkie muffled but discernible through their shared wall. Billy waits until she drifts off as he counts the minutes from the ticks of the clock, it is long after Max has gone quiet that Billy finally relaxes knowing enough time has passed that it is not a trick, Neil really is not coming back for him, down for the night.

 He lets out a shuddering breath and creeps form his bed careful to avoid the squeaky floor boards as he moves over to his closet. He drags the door open slowly wincing and tensions shooting back through him so fast it hurts when it gives a creek. He holds his breath standing stalk still for a long minute before letting a breath out and pushing the door open the rest of the way. Billy plucks the little bushel of flowers and its holder up, carefully going over and locking his door before placing it on his night stand.

 Billy cuts the light and climbs back on his bed, curling up on his side arm tucked under his head and just stares at the flowers in the low light. There is a sliver of moonlighting coming in where the blinds do not quite meet the edge of the window frame, falling over the flowers and making them look even darker. Billy wonders why his fairy left them, wonders if maybe just maybe they have something with why Neil did not take the excuse to teach Billy a lesson tonight.

 -

 On Monday morning Billy’s eyes find Steve in the parking lot at school, not that Steve notices him, too busy talking to Nancy as a chipmunk scurries over his shoes and climbs half way up his leg before darting away when Nancy notices it. It comes back again just a few moments later and does it over and over, scurrying away each time anyone startles it, going just as unnoticed by Steve as Billy’s attentions. It is weird, it is definitely weird but no one else seems to think it is all that strange, not even Nancy bats an eye at the overly bold creature, Billy has never paid enough attention to Steve in the early mornings to know if this happens often.

 Billy is paying attention now though, watches as the man finally acknowledges the chipmunk, catching it around the middle with an exasperated look. The chipmunk just lets Steve walk him over to the edge of the parking lot where there are a couple of trees and despot it by them. After the creature is on the ground he pulls what looks like a few nuts or maybe seeds Billy cannot tell from this distance, from his pocket and scatters them on the ground before heading inside the creature trailing Steve a few steps before scooping up its spoils and stuffing them in his mouth.

 Billy is going to keep his eyes on Steve, sure there is at least a connection between him and the little fairy with his face in the forest.

Part 3

#harringrove #jellyghostfic #fanfiction #st fic #Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington #Fairy Steve Harrington

[five-rivers]

Oooh, I just saw the big about prompts!

“Blessings of rot and petrichor, my prince. May you have a home in the dark, and may the distant stars you reach for never fade.”

(Can be inspiration or an actual quote; do what ya want! :P)

The world ended on a Saturday, and it wasn’t Danny’s fault.  Even if that Saturday happened to be his sixteenth birthday.  

Okay, maybe that was a bit overdramatic.  But, honestly, neither he nor anyone else he’d ever spoken to knew why or how things had turned out this way.  Just that, one morning, reality shook, shuddered, and took a few steps to the left.  

Humanity woke to green-streaked skies, a rainbow sun, and a lot more universe than they were used to.  So did ghosts.  

This was a problem.  It might even be deemed the problem.  Humans and ghosts didn’t exactly get along, and even when neither the ghosts nor the humans involved particularly wanted to fight, the new laws of nature and the few who did want to fight tended to ruin things for everyone else.  (Cough, GIW, cough, Walker, cough.)

Hence the end of the world.  Or, at least, most large-scale governments.  

It could have been worse.

Amity Park stopped being a city that day, fragmented with Ghost Zone wilderness, landscape and spatial dimensions shattered in a spiderweb centered on Fentonworks, the portal a wellspring of wild power and unpredictable translocations.  Danny had worried that the portal had been the cause of the whole thing, but Amity Park was far from the only place with similar issues (look at New York), and Danny eventually was able to accept that not every bad ghost-related thing that happened was on him.  

(Probably.)

Honestly, once everything calmed down a bit, the new world was much more comfortable, physically and mentally, for Danny to live in.  Which was weird, but made sense.  The new world was split between human and ghost, just like him.  It was everyone else who was uncomfortable, now.  

Which, again, he felt guilty about, but, yeah.  He couldn’t do anything about that, so feeling guilty was counterintuitive.  Thank you, tiny Jazz in his head.  

It was Saturday again.  Time for the market fair.  

“Mom and Dad are already out?” asked Danny, leaning over the banister.  

“Yeah,” said Jazz, not looking up from her work transcribing an old ghost text into something more palatable to human eyes.  She adjusted her green lenses to sit closer to her eyes.  “An hour or two ago.  Some guys from Chicago came in last night, apparently, and they wanted to get a head start.”

“Okay,” said Danny.  “I’m going, too.  You want anything?”

“Nope.  I’d be going myself if I did,” said Jazz.  

“You sure?  Nothing for dinner?”  

“Nope, I’m all set.”

“Cool,” said Danny, padding towards the door.  He pulled his nice, dark coat, the one he’d gotten from Dora, off the hook, and shrugged into it, pulling up the hood.  

“No shoes today?” asked Jazz, who had finally looked up.  

“Eh,” said Danny.  “I guess not.  Doesn’t really feel like a shoe kind of day.”  He flexed his toes.

“Well, avoid blackberries, then,” said Jazz.  

“They should avoid me,” joked Danny.  “Good luck with that book!”

“Thanks,” said Jazz, waving as Danny left.  

Fentonworks was the same tall, brick-and-UFO building as it had always been, but now it stood alone on top of a small hill rising from a distinctly purple forest.  The dark grass waved back and forth like the tentacles of a sea anemone.  Bright green portal streaks, cracks in reality, stood out against the foliage, along with a few other buildings that had once belonged to the Fentons’ neighborhood.  The sun was blue today, but Danny predicted it would be green by nightfall.  

Danny walked down the path, the dirt on it declining to adhere to Danny’s feet.  He hummed, quietly, a tune he half-remembered from before the apocalypse.  He would not be walking all the way to the market fair, it was too far.  His parents had taken the Speeder.  

Danny, on the other hand, had a shortcut.  

He reached one of the portal-fractures and passed through to a part of the forest where the trees whispered to one another.  He took a moment to reorient himself, and continued to the next portal fracture.  

As far as he knew, he was the only person who could reliably travel like this.  He could have flown, but the market fair was busy, and he preferred to maintain his peaceful life.  Phantom was still a celebrity in Amity Park.  Even more so now, than before, as ghosts were no longer shot on sight.  

Some ghosts even came to Amity Park’s market fair.  

He walked through a wider-than-usual fracture which deposited him just outside the main fragment of Amity Park, near the erstwhile mall.  The mall and its attached parking lot being the place the market fair took place.  

It was busy.  There were trucks stamped with the seal of Illinois parked on the edges, presumably belonging to the delegation from Chicago.  There seemed to be more ghosts than usual as well, enough of them to make Danny shiver.   Had they come from Chicago, or was it just a coincidence?  If they had, that would be nice.  Chicago had a lot of local influence, and was one of the places that was still trying to hold together something like a national government.  If they accepted ghosts, others would follow more readily.  

Peace between the two worlds in places other than Amity Park would be very nice.  

Danny wandered down the paths of the market fair, not in any particular hurry to get to his parents’ booth.  He was always more interested in the other things at the fair.  Even if he rarely bought anything.  

People seemed to be mostly moving in one direction.  No, they were being drawn in one direction, with people tugging their companions onward.  Danny, not having anything better to do, went with the flow.  

Which led back to where the Chicago delegation was set up.  Several people were standing in front of the trucks, arguing.  

“How can you lose an entire bevy of ghosts?” demanded the man who appeared to be in charge.  

The target of his ire merely shrugged.  

“Can’t lose people like that, bub!” shouted someone from the crowd.  There was a titter of laughter.  

“Didn’t you have a big, fancy announcement, fed?” 

More laughter.  

“Yeah, what did you want to say?”  This voice had an echo to it, and the the man looked extremely aggrieved.  

Nevertheless, he took a deep breath.  “We were led to believe,” he said, cheek jumping, “by certain ghosts, that there was a way to negotiate with the ghosts and... reverse this nonsense.”

Wow.  So, Chicago got scammed.  That could have repercussions.  Danny hoped Amity Park wouldn’t see too much of the fallout.  

“Wouldn’t you jump on any chance to stop this?” demanded the man in response to the jeers, gesturing at the sky and its pulsing bands of light.  

“Tell us a better story!” shouted Ember, who had struck up a much more cordial relationship with Amity Park after the apocalypse.  “One that we’ll remember!”

The man turned away, throwing his hands in the air.  “Go find them!” he shouted, presumably to his subordinates. 

The crowd broke up.  

Danny was curious.  It was one of his defining characteristics, both as a human and as a ghost.  He followed one of the Chicagoans as they walked into the market turning this way and that.  

“So,” he said, “what story was your boss fed?”

The woman jumped and looked down at him, disconcerted.  (Yes, he was short.  That wasn’t his fault.  Except that it probably was, via the portal accident.)

The woman sighed.  “Why not, it’ll be out before too long.  We were told that the rightful king of ghosts was in hiding here, or something stupid like that.  I don’t think they ever said he could fix the world, even.  Only that he could be negotiated with.”  She kicked the ground.  “This is so stupid.  There’s no ghost king.  This is never going to get fixed.”

“It’s not so bad, is it?” asked Danny.  

“How old even were you when it happened.  Ten?” asked the woman.  

“Excuse me, I was sixteen,” said Danny, crossing his arms.  

“That’s cute,” said the woman, dragging her hand down her face.  “You’re like thirteen, tops.  Not nineteen.  Jesus.  Go bother someone else, kid.”

Danny rolled his eyes.  “Well, you aren’t wrong that there’s no ghost king.  Last guy who called himself that got beaten up and locked in a sarcophagus forever.”

Then, just to mess with her, because she’d been rude, Danny turned invisible and left before she turned around.  

Now...  He should probably try to warn people about the scam artist ghosts.  Or would they know from the other people watching?  

Danny flicked back into visibility and continued perusing the various stalls, making small talk with the owners, bringing up the Chicagoans when it was appropriate.  

He was passing by the covered entrance of the mall, one of the most crowded spots in the market fair, when his ghost sense went off, indicating an unfamiliar ghost was nearby.  He scanned the crowd for the ghost.  He didn’t have to look very hard.  Strange ghosts tended to draw eyes, even in Amity Park.  

Especially ones that looked like this.  Inhumanly tall, cloaked, and moving smoothly.  Glimpses under their hoods showed faces riddled with decay- or at least the appearance of decay.  The three of them held instruments.  Flute, drum, and summoning bell.

Danny stood to the side to let them pass.  After all, they weren’t doing anything bad as far as he could see.  

They did not.  Instead, they stopped in front of Danny.  Typical.  

Then they started playing their instruments.  And kneeling.  

Aaaand the crowd was getting bigger.  There was the person from Chicago, too.  Could he escape without turning invisible with all this attention on him?

Probably not without showcasing his ghost powers.  There were people who knew him in this crowd.  Like Paulina.  And Star.  

“Um,” said Danny.  “Hi?”

The leading ghost looked up as the sun’s light turned emerald green.  

“Blessings of rot and petrichor, my prince. May you have a home in the dark, and may the distant stars you reach for never fade.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Danny saw the Chicagoan’s jaw drop.  

“I think you might have the wrong guy,” said Danny.  “I’m not anyone’s prince.”

The ghost grinned, sharp and white.  “We came to give our blessings, my prince.  You do not need to accept them for them to exist.  We offer, also, our service and our hope in this new world that you are so suited for.”

Yeah.  This was going to be a problem.  

#danny phantom #ask #answer #prompt #prompt fill

[tt0bu]

Periwinkles

Originally posted at AO3

Fandom: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: GiyuuTan

*

The first time Kamado Tanjirou met Tomioka Giyuu, he was eight years old.

His Ma and Pa came out of the back door, away from their old oven where the last batch of the shokupan was left to sit, maybe to burn, since little Tanjirou thought something must be wrong. There was haste in his father’s steps, hurried and careful. His mother’s strides were stiff, nervous, unsure. Nezuko, his little sister, was pulling on the grass where she sat, streaks of bright sunlight bouncing off her giggling face.

Tanjirou watched his parents trek up to the end of the street on that little hill in the middle of a city they call home.

He saw every adult from the neighborhood walk the same path, disappearing behind the gates of Nishida-san’s house.

Except for one unfamiliar uncle.

The said uncle, who looked too western, who looked like those uncles from foreigner spy movies his father loved watching, stood unmoving under the waiting shed just across the Kamados’ home. He was looking towards the end of the street too, where all the adults had disappeared, but made no move to follow. He was holding a black book close to his chest, and little Tanjirou couldn’t see anything aside from three blue lines on the cover of it.

New neighbor? “Uncle!” he called out to the man, jumping on his feet and waving his little palm enthusiastically. His young mind wouldn’t have noticed, but whenever Tanjirou would look back to this moment, he finds it weird how everything just disappeared – no adult to reprimand him because he was talking to a stranger, no chirping of the sparrows perched on the wisteria tree behind their fence, no sound from the nearby train station.

Maybe he dislikes being called uncle? The unfamiliar man with raven black hair and pale skin didn’t heed his call, not sparing a glance at the curious boy trying to catch his attention. Tanjirou took the man’s cold demeanor as a sign of discomfort, probably because he may be new to the neighbourhood. But it did not stop him from crossing the street, diligently looking to his left and right, twice to be absolutely sure, just like how his Pa taught him.

“Uncle,” his tiny hands pulled at the hem of the coat the pale man wore.

Tanjirou saw how the most beautiful pair of eyes, blue like the noon skies and the periwinkles he picks behind the hill where the Hashibiras live, looked down on his little self with disbelief. The man continued to gawk on him, gaping and frozen in his place. He clutched the thick book closer to his chest, tightening his grasp on its spine. The blue lines seemed to shimmer, a quick flash of shine running through the three lines, but Tanjirou thought nothing of it. After all, it’s almost naptime, his eyes may be playing tricks on him at the moment.

“You-“ the pale man with the clothes of a spy and the eyes of the sky swallowed, eyeing little Tanjirou with hesitation. “-you can see me?”

“Uhhh,” Tanjirou looked around, but neither his parents nor the neighbor uncles and aunts were in sight. “Am I not supposed to? Are you hiding from anyone?”

“How, how is this possible?” the boy heard the pale man whispered, his own burgundy eyes examining the leather shoes he wore. Those are pretty shoes, but he never saw his father wear one. Maybe, when he gets a little bigger, he will get the same pair for his Pa. “You never saw me before. Not even once, not even when you d-“ the man with blue eyes bit his bottom lips and stopped muttering to himself. “What’s the difference this time?”

“Uh-oh, no,” Tanjirou shook his head, the hanafuda card earrings swaying along his movement. “Are you new here, Uncle? Are you lost? My Ma and Pa went to Nishida-san’s house but if you’re hungry I can get you these anpans my Pa made! They sell out really, really fast and I’m lucky Ma keeps some for me and my little sister before taking them to the store-“

By the time Tanjirou realised the lost uncle was never really listening to him in the first place, he could already hear the faint wailing and sobbing from the house at the end of the street. However, before he could ask, he heard the lost uncle take a shaky breath, pinching the base of his nose in annoyance, Tanjirou wasn’t sure, before carefully opening his book to a certain page. The pale uncle traced what the little burgundy-haired boy could only imagine were words, before softly uttering the name he knew very well.

“Nishida Sora. 58. Lung disease.”

“Oh!” Tanjirou bounced on his feet at the idea. “You know Nishida-san? Are you here for him? If you don’t know where he lives, just walk to the end of the street. You’ll see a really huge wooden gate with crow carvings. That’s where he lives!”

The pale, blue-eyed uncle didn’t even acknowledge his words.

“If you want, I can walk with you. I just need to take Nezuko with-“

The lost uncle gently tugged on his collar to stop him from running back to their home. “I know where it is, tiny human.”

“Owwkay, big human!” The man visibly grimaced at his words, yet Tanjirou beamed. “Are you his doctor?”

The big human seemed to be ignoring him again.

“Sensei?”

“Uncle?”

“Sir?”

“Grandpa?”

“Grandpa? Do I look that old?” Blue eyes met tiny burgundy ones again, offended, making Tanjirou giggle on the back of his hand. The little boy just shrugged, rocking back and forth on the heel of his feet. He saw the uncle sighed once more before shaking his head. “Cheeky tiny human.”

Tanjirou pretended to know what cheeky meant, tilting his head to the side to get a proper look at the man who was ignoring him a minute ago. “Are you Nishidan-san’s relative? I can introduce you if you want?”

“No. I am here to collect.”

“Collect? Collect what? Stones? Bugs? Ohhh! I know a great spot to catch emperor beetles! Inosuke-chan always catches the biggest ones though and Zenitsu-chan’s just a scaredy cat so we don’t have to worry-“

“No, not that. Not beetles. Look-” This time, the man crouched to the little boy’s eye level, and with the close up view of his blue eyes, Tanjirou thought he was staring at the sky itself. “You shouldn’t be seeing me. You shouldn’t be talking to me.”

“I can see you though. I have eyes, Uncle. Ma said they’re very pretty.”

“That’s true – uhum.” The big human coughed to his fist, hiding his face. Tanjirou wanted to ask if he was alright and should he fetch this uncle a glass of water? But the man faced him again, gone was his coughing fit. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to talk to strangers?”

“They did.”

“And?”

Little Tanjirou tapped his finger against his chin, pursing his lips, deep in his childish thoughts. “You seem lonely, and Ma said if one of my classmates smelled lonely, I should do something to cheer them up!” He tugged on the hand of the pale uncle, jumping slightly at how cold his palm felt. “What’s your name? I’m Tanjirou!”

“I don’t have a name.”

“Boo! Don’t be silly!” Tanjirou giggled like a child on a swing flying into the air. “Everybody has a name!”

“Not me.”

“But I told you mine!” Tanjirou stomped his little feet on the concrete pavement of the empty street, throwing a tantrum. His father would give him a good scolding, maybe a little spanking, should he see the burgundy-haired boy giving others troubles. Remembering his father’s words, Tanjirou decided to attack from a different angle.

“Hey, hey – hey, oh, come on.” The blue-eyed man crouched again, meeting teary, burgundy orbs and blushing cheeks. “What now? Why are you crying?”

“Because you wouldn’t tell me your name!” Tanjirou wailed louder, acting like a spoiled little kid which is nothing like him, all because he wanted to befriend this uncle who has the bluest eyes, who looked like a spy.

The big human exhaled, evidently troubled, while Tanjirou beamed. “Fine. You can call me Yuu.”

“Yuu-chan!”

“Not Yuu-chan. Yuu. Yuu.”

“Yuu-chan!”

“Why am I even trying,” Yuu-chan whispered mostly to himself, and Tanjirou’s grin grew wider. “I need to go. Nishida Sora will be here any moment. Is that your house?”

Tanjirou followed where his Yuu-chan was pointing. Red, wooden gates, unlit house lanterns, an old service truck with Kamado Bakery hand painted on its back. Yep. That’s their house. “Yes, Yuu-chan! I live there!”

“Come.” The little burgundy-haired boy tilted his head slightly to the side, confused. Uncle Yuu-chan seemed to understand his unspoken question. “I’ll walk you back to your home.”

Years later, when Tanjirou would look back to that moment, he would laugh at the memory of what he would always fondly call as his first brush with death. But his little self wouldn’t realize that, enjoying the coldness of Yuzu-chan’s palm against his own, celebrating his newfound friendship. He wouldn’t catch how Nezuko, as young as she was, got confused about him laughing on his own, hand raised in the air like he was holding something invisible.

Later that night, delirious from a high fever, Tanjirou dreamt of blue skies and periwinkles and spies invading Japan in crisp suits.

-

“I heard you spoke to humans today, Giyuu.”

“Human. A tiny human, Shinobu. So what of it?”

“You know what I’m trying to say.”

“He has the gift of Sight!”

“Just be careful, Giyuu. They may let this slip up pass, but we both know consequences are harsh. There’s a reason we never interact with living, breathing humans.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure you do.”

-

Tanjirou would always look out of his room’s window, ceremoniously, watching each and every adult passing on their street. He was lucky enough to have his room on the upper floor, albeit slightly hating the room during summertime when the sun would burn through the roof. But it was the perfect place, for he can spot Yuu-chan from the crossing.

He mentioned Yuu-chan one evening at dinner, and even when his Ma and Pa was glad he made the new neighbor feel welcomed, they expressed their interest in getting to know the blue-eyed man. He even overheard them talking about it when he went for a pee and his parents were in the living room watching old spy movies again.

“Tanjirou said he’s a new neighbor. But we didn’t hear anyone moving here.”

His father’s kind voice cut through his mother’s worried one. “I’m sure he’s just a passerby.”

“But what if...”

“Don’t worry, if anything, he may be talking about an imaginary friend. Yuu-chan seemed harmless.”

Imaginary? He’s pretty sure Yuu-chan is real! But even if he wanted to defend his ‘not-imaginary’ friend, he would hear his Ma’s voice reminding him to never eavesdrop at adult conversations, Tanjirou. So he let them be, did his business, and went back to sleep. He decided between dreams that he would invite Yuu-chan to his home one day.

But Yuu-chan never showed up at his street again for a long time.

It was snowing when Tanjirou saw him once more. Not the harsh, unpleasant winter, but enough to color the world white. He was clothed from head to toe, layers over layers of protective shirts, mittens and socks. His Ma had always been careful, reminding him that it would be awful to catch a cold during Christmastime.

He was permitted to accompany his Ma on her trip to the local hospital to drop their freshly baked breads and pastries, a Kamado tradition during the holidays. His parents would wake up really early to prepare for it, kneading doughs and cooking fillings because it would mean the world for the health workers if they can get savoury curry pans or their bestselling anpans in between shifts.

Tanjirou watched as his mother dropped the box on the counter, the hospital guard behind her bringing the second one. From the corner of his eyes, on the far-end of the long, white, empty corridor, stood a man who seemed too familiar to him. Before he could even think, Tanjirou let go of his mother’s dress, walking hastily to catch up, sprinting into a full run when the figure headed for the door.

Yuu-chan?

Tanjirou really did his best to catch up, but his tiny legs could only do so much, the stranger who bore resemblance to Yuu-chan got further away even when he pushed against the floor with all his strength. He did not hear his mother’s faint cry, calling his name, wondering where on earth would his first born go and who he was chasing after. But Tanjirou only had one thing in his mind.

“Yuu-chan!” He pushed the heavy glass door open with his little hands, no guard to hold it for him since the man helped his Ma haul the box of pastries inside. But the stranger, with the same black hair cascading below his shoulders in a loose bun, the same crisp gray suit, the same lonely, closed off scent, didn’t acknowledge the pet name. So he tried, hoping to get a reaction, his young heart clenching in sadness because why wouldn’t Yuu-chan want to talk to him? How did his collection go? Would he know if Nishida-san was really gone? “Yuu!”

The man continued walking, past the gates, leaving no chance for the boy to catch up. Tanjirou watched as Yuu-chan turned right to the sidewalk, disappearing behind the brick wall. He wanted to run and give chase even when his lungs felt like it was shrinking in exhaustion, his legs numb from the sprint, his head aching from the lack of oxygen. But  before he could move, a gentle yet firm hand grabbed him by his left shoulder, spun him around and before he even realized, his Ma’s comforting and worried scent enveloped him.

“Don’t you dare do that again, my boy.” His Ma whispered in his hair, running her palm up and down Tanjirou’s back to let him know he wasn’t in trouble. “You scared me Tanjirou. What was that about?”

“Sorry Ma,” he was suddenly sobbing, partly because Yuu-chan ignored him like he was a stranger, but mainly because his Ma’s scent was so distressed, anguished, and he never wanted to make his Ma feel that way again. “I-“ a hiccup. “I saw Yuu-chan and I wanted to say hi but-“ another hiccup, and he reached up to wipe the snot dribbling from his nose with the back of his hand. “-but maybe he didn’t like to be my friend anymore.”

“Oh Tanjirou,” his Ma cooed, embracing him tightly against her chest, occasionally wiping his son’s face with her handkerchief. If she noticed that there were no fresh footprints on the snow, no signs of another human being around, she never said a word. Even when she saw his son calling out Yuu-chan to an empty corridor, running after a formless person, she never mentioned a thing. His son doesn’t need anymore heartbreaks on Christmastime, and doesn’t need to hear about how this Yuu-chan is only a fragment of his imagination.

-

Year: 1945

Month: April

Day: 26

Battle of Okinawa

Giyuu stood in the middle of the dense foliage, on the isolated island of Okinawa, as he watched soldier after soldier fall to their death at the hand of the enemy. Bombs would go off in the distance, their detonation shaking the earth. But he stood unmoving, completely in displeased awe, because this was a scene he had witnessed numerous times before.

“I will never understand humans and their obsession with war.” Makomo stepped quietly to the ground beside Giyuu, and he knew his fellow collector shared his facial expression. They were tired of humans killing each other, hurting each other, to satisfy their greed and hunger. “It hurts Them, these pointless endeavour of humans to best each other.”

“How many have you got?” He chose to ask instead, because even if they wanted to do something, they’re merely collectors. Humans and their dumb ways of dying were out of their duty; they were just sent to collect their due.

“Considering the numbers of soldiers on this island and the guarantee that not even a fourth will come out alive?” Makomo opened her book, flipping several pages. “A lot. You?”

“Thinking about the cups of tea I have to prepare for Choosing already wore me out.”

“Don’t worry, Giyuu. Kyojurou, Mitsuri, and Tengen are here too. Who knows, maybe the numbers are off and we won’t have to collect these much considering the collectors present?”

“When was the book ever wrong, Makomo?”

“Don’t ruin my optimism!”

Their little banter to pass time came to an end when a young, bleeding soldier ran towards their way, a group of foreign forces hot on his trail. He hid behind the trunk of a fallen tree, crying and clutching his jammed rifle to his chest. Giyuu only saw a part of his hair, black like his own, peeking under the helmet he wore on his head. Soot and mud dirtied his young face, but what caught the blue-eyed collector’s interest was his fierce, burgundy eye.

Eye, because his right was shut close, blood covering the half of his face.

“This is what I hate the most.” Makomo opened her book again, tracing the names under her watch. Once she located what she needed, she clicked her tongue in frustration. “Beautiful, innocent souls like him who get dragged to a war he did not wish for. Do you think he cries because he knows he’ll never see his family again? Or perhaps, because he killed another human even when he didn’t even want to fight this war?”

“I think he’s praying.”

“Should we listen to his words?”

“What? No, that’s private.” Giyuu looked at his companion with slight horror in his expression. “He prays to Them, and we can’t disrespect this young soldier’s last minute on this land.”

“I’m just kidding!” Makomo poked him on his cheek, but immediately turned when footstep grew nearer. When they saw the group of soldiers who gave chase surround the praying man, Makomo tucked her book in her arms and whispered. “It’s almost time, little soldier. I’m sorry your family will never see your beautiful eyes again.”

Giyuu decided to leave and do his part of the job too. He gave one last glance at the praying soldier, only to see one of the enemy hammer the heel of his rifle down to the wounded soldier’s forehead. Said soldier slumped against the trunk, but Giyuu thought he saw enough and turned around in haste.

A blunt force like that would likely scar, and he hoped it won’t seep through the soul. But it had been a traumatic experience for the young soldier with burgundy eyes, spending his last minutes alive surrounded by unfriendly faces. That wound would be a birthmark in most cases, but Giyuu hoped this soldier wouldn’t carry the wound to his next life should he choose to be reborn.

-

Tanjirou reached for the towel as he straightened his back, wiping away the droplets of water on his face. He absentmindedly traced the birth mark on his forehead as he brushed his teeth, his mind going over his plans for the day. He will meet Inosuke and Zenitsu at the latter’s grandpa’s house for a group study in preparation for their high school entrance exam. On his way back, he has to buy cough drops for his Pa who refused to see a doctor and will always counter their arguments with all I need is a good night sleep and plenty of water.

There’s nothing much to do for the day but to study, he figured, so he stuffed all his textbooks and notes into his bag and rode his bike to the Hashibiras to collect his friend. Inosuke thrashed like a bug lying on its back, complaining about why he always gets to sit and not pedal. He said he bets he’s a much better rider than Gonpachiro.

“It’s my bike, Inosuke. That’s why.”

“You’re just afraid I’m better at bikes than you, Monjirou.”

Zenitsu once told him, back when they were young, that Inosuke would actually get their name right after seven tries. I counted, his blond friend would say, because he kept yelling at me and shoving worms and beetles and acorn nuts in my face. Tanjirou tried to keep track the first few months after knowing the dumb fact, but eventually grew tired counting the wrong names before he could hear the right one.

The burgundy-haired teenager squeezed on the breaks, the rubber tires squeaking against the asphalt. He then got off, and gestured for Inosuke to take the handlebar grip. “Pedal away, Inosuke-sama.”

“Ha!” His loud friend thumped his back, with the aggressiveness that would match his excessive energy. Tanjirou had to step a foot forward to stop himself from toppling over. “I knew choosing you as my favorite friend was the right decision!”

Tanjirou shook his head with a little laugh. “Oh, what an honor!”

“Stop daydreaming and get on already! I can’t wait to run Monitsu over!”

“Don’t do that Inosuke.” Tanjirou transferred his backpack to his front, facing the opposite direction, watching the hills roll as his friend pedalled vigorously downhill. He only realised his mistake when they zoomed past the gate of Zenitsu’s home. “Inosuke, stop! Don’t go too fast –“ Tanjirou looked back to see his blond friend getting smaller and smaller until he was just a tiny dot of yellow. “ – we’ve passed by Zenitsu’s house! Turned around!” He shouted over his shoulder, closer to his friend’s ear. “Inosuke! TURN AROUND!”

Without a warning, Inosuke swiveled a hundred and eighty degrees, not knowing he had almost threw Tanjirou off. The burgundy-haired miserable back rider yelped in surprise and fear for his life. But before he could complain, Inosuke started pedalling again with the same intensity, Tanjirou thought he would die on the ride back to where Zenitsu’s home is. Good thing his friend waved and jumped, catching Inosuke’s attention, and the boy squeezed on the break so hard they almost did a cartwheel with the bike.

Never again, Tanjirou thought, as he combed back his hair. I refuse to ride a bike with Inosuke ever again.

“Wow,” Zenitsu stared at the two of them from head to toe. “I’m surprised you didn’t get into an accident.”

“He’s a walking accident.” Tanjirou pointed at his friend who wore his favorite boar shirt. “I am not getting on a bike with you again.”

“Just admit I’m better than you!”

Zenitsu pushed the two of them inside before their pointless discussion lengthened, the three greeting grandpa Jigoro along the way. Soon they fell into a series of question and answer, index cards and flashcards flying across the room. Inosuke would constantly complain about math and why did he have to learn such useless things. Zenitsu would also complain about Inosuke’s complaints, but would snatch away the problem, solve it for the boy, and explain how he got 12 as the value of X.

“Uhhhh,” Tanjirou stretched his arms, arching his back to pop the joints as he stood from their table. “I’m going for a quick konbini run. Anything you guys want?”

“Didn’t you bring any snacks from the bakery?”

“We didn’t open today. Pa’s sick.”

“Onigiri and Nissin for me, Tontaro!”

“Same, but I want tamago sando instead of onigiri.”

“Then it’s not the same, stupid butter head!”

“Bold of you to call me stupid when you’re the walking definition of the word!”

Tanjirou didn’t want to witness the inevitable wrestling match to which Inosuke would mercilessly hug Zenitsu from the back to squeeze out his oxygen, so he excused himself without saying a word. He checked for his wallet before mounting his bike. He didn’t spot any konbini on the way, so he decided to try the opposite street so see if there’s a nearby store. To his luck, he saw the green and red signboard a couple of streets away.

He parked his bike on the sidewalk as he repeated his friends’ choice of snack over and over again to make sure he wouldn’t forget. He opted for a katsu sando and a bag of potato chips, carrying all the food he picked to the counter. Just as the girl behind the register dropped the change to his open hands, he caught a hauntingly familiar figure, through the glass walls of the konbini, with the identical black book held against his chest.

No way.

Yuu-chan?

He quickly grabbed the brown paper bag after throwing a hurried sankyu to the cashier , pushing the doors with his shoulder. He then left the bag on the basket of his bike, before taking off to run after his Yuu-chan. Why didn’t he take the bike instead, Tanjirou could no longer think rationally because he couldn’t believe he’s about to see Yuu’s after all these years.

Was his eyes playing tricks on him again?

Because there’s just no way the person he was made to believe wasn’t real and was just a part of his childhood imagination was actually there. He looked exactly the same; charcoal gray three piece suit, light blue dress shirt, and a navy blue necktie. Just like the spies from his Pa’s old movies he often dreamt about.

“Yuu-chan!” He could no longer contain his excitement, jumping on the back of the man when he was an arm length away. But Yuu quickly turned around, reached for his wrist, effortlessly twisting it in a quick, practiced movement. Tanjirou didn’t manage to introduce himself because his wrist hurt and was twisted in a very awkward way, he thought he might snap it any second. “Ow, ow, ow, ow! It’s me, Yuu-chan! It’s me! Ow!”

As quick as Yuu grabbed him, the man immediately let him go once recognition dawned on his face. “Tiny human?”

“Wow, you remembered me!” Tanjirou beamed, the same wide smile he wore the first time he met Yuu. He almost forgot about those periwinkle eyes and snow white skin as he tried to bury the memory of the day when Nishida-san succumbed to lung cancer. “I almost thought you weren’t real, like a story of make believe I came up with in a desperate attempt to make friends.” Yuu-chan looked away, and Tanjirou wished he could read whatever was on the man’s mind. “It’s been seven years, Yuu-chan.”

“I owe you no explanation, tiny human.” Yuu-chan continued to look away, his blue eyes never meeting Tanjirou’s burgundy ones. “I never agreed to being friends.”

“But you remembered me, big human.”

Yuu-chan flinched. “My work involves a lot of names, and a mistake would result in grave consequences.” The man tucked his book in his arm again, turning around to walk away. “Go home and stop following me.”

“You sound like you’re just making excuses!” Tanjirou continued to annoy the man, hoping to make him talk more because his voice was somehow calming. He didn’t know where the boldness came from, but before he could think, he reached for Yuu’s hands, cold as ever, and pulled him towards the empty bus stop across the street. It should have been strange, with the absence of people on the street and the silence in the air, but Tanjirou didn’t notice. “Come with me! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“What are you doing?” Yuu-chan gently freed his arm from Tanjirou, keeping it inside the pockets of his pants this time. “This is dangerous. Please keep your distance.”

“Why do you talk so formally, Yuu-chan? Come sit beside me!”

Tanjirou watched as the man glared at the innocent bench, burning holes in it as he considered his options. All the while Tanjirou’s wide grin never wavered, choosing to observe quietly as Yuu-chan argues with himself. The man looked like he never aged at all, like the past seven years were merely a week for him.

“You won’t stop until I indulge you, would you?”

“Nope!” Tanjirou bounced in his seat, grinning triumphantly.

“Fine.” Yuu-chan finally took a seat, a meter away from him. “But you shall not cross this distance.”

“What? Why? I’m not sick!” Tanjirou whined but immediately shut his mouth when Yuu glared at him. There was no hostility, but Yuu-chan has the ability to disappear from his sight, like how he did the past years, so Tanjirou chose not to push his luck further and truly anger the man. “Alright, no need to kill me with you eyes. Very pretty eyes I must say.”

Tanjirou’s throat tightened, and if he was standing, his knees would have buckled from the intensity of Yuu’s eyes. At first he thought the man didn’t like praises, didn’t like talking to him, but he continued staring. Tanjirou, unsure on what to do, chose not to meet Yuu’s eyes as he tried his best not to crumble because the weight of his stare makes the burgundy-haired boy melt.

To his surprise, Yuu, who was so adamant to observe distance, pushed against the metal bench and stood in front of him. Tanjirou raised his head to look at him, but Yuu-chan’s cold fingers brushed against his forehead. Chilly wind blew past them, causing strands of burgundy hairs to fall, but the cold fingers were there to brush them back up. Tanjirou couldn’t help but shiver, due to the wind or the cold skin, he couldn’t tell.

“Is there something wrong?” He managed to ask even when the chill he felt crept up from his lungs to his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe.

“This,” Yuu ran the pad of his thumb over the mark, twice, before tracing the outlines. “Was this always here? I didn’t – “ He stammered, as if he couldn’t make a sentence out of his train of thought. “ – seven years ago – “

“Oh, this?” Tanjirou instinctively reached up, not expecting a cold hand meeting his own where his sturdy forehead should be. “It had been there as far as I can remember. It just got bigger as I grew older. Seven years ago, it was just this tiiiiiiny thing, you could have mistaken it for a scar.”

He heard the blue-eyed man, who was acting so strange that day, mumbled something under his breath. It was so soft, Tanjirou could have heard three different languages, because even when there were no cars, no people around, he still didn’t understand the incoherence mumbling. Tough luck, for he has lost his gift of keen nose after turning ten, so he has absolutely no idea what this strangeness was all about.

“Does it hurt?” he heard Yuu-chan ask as he pulled his cold fingers away. But he didn’t step back to create a meter of distance again, much to Tanjirou’s delight. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really, no,” he bit his lip, recalling a stupid myth Zenitsu recounted once when they were nine. “They said birthmarks were signs of how a person died in his past life, but that just sounds silly to me.”

Tanjirou looked up, hoping to see Yuu share his opinion about the absurdity of the myth. But he only saw anxious eyes which couldn’t meet his, lips flattened into a straight line, brows furrowed. “Sometimes, old stories passed down with words of mouth would hide a truth or two.”

“Are you telling me - ” Tanjirou’s voice climbed a pitch higher, trying to suppress his laughter after considering that he had a life before this. “ – that I died from a blunt force trauma to the head in my past life? Was I murdered?”

“Don’t be silly,” Tanjirou wanted to scoff because Yuu-chan dared call him silly when he was just spouting nonsense about old stories and hidden truths a minute ago. “Besides, is that your only birthmark?”

Immediately Tanjirou crossed arms over his chest, balling the shirt he wore with his hidden palms. He wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t spooked at Yuu-chan’s question, because he sounded like an honestly curious man, but his instinct pushed him to cross his arms over his chest where a different set of marks hide. “How did you know about that?”

“Know about what?” Yuu asked back, and Tanjirou couldn’t determine if he was feigning ignorance. “I was just asking.”

Tanjirou gulped the knot on his throat, suddenly feeling stupid about his fascination with his own birthmarks. Science has explanations for these, there must be, so he shouldn’t be bothered by Yuu-chan’s vagueness or Zenitsu’s old stories. He was about to ask the man where he went and why he didn’t see him again, but Yuu was suddenly flipping a page of the book he was carrying over and over again. “What are you doing, Yuu-chan? Looking for something?” Tanjirou tried to peek at the pages, but Yuu-chan pivoted his body around to keep the book out of his sight. “I can help?”

“This is strange.” Yuu flipped the page again like he was trying to see if flipping back and forth would make a change to what was already written in the book. Tanjirou wanted to laugh at Yuu-chan’s endless turning of the page, but the man seemed troubled. “How did this happen?”

“How did what happen?” He was never proud of his nosiness, but it was harmless, he thought. He just wanted to help and stop Yuu-chan from tearing the poor page out of the book. The same book, with three blue lines spreading out horizontally, he was carrying back then.

“I was here to collect, ” Yuu shut the book close, tucking it under his arm once again. “But it seemed I was mistaken. I need to go.”

Collect? Like Nishida-san? Tanjirou wanted to ask, but such things weren’t easy to explain, and he wasn’t even sure he was ready to accept Yuu-chan’s secret, if there is one. He chose not to define who Yuu is, all that matters is that he was there again, talking to him, no longer ignoring him.

Tanjirou knew Yuu was going to disappear again. To where, he had no idea, but at least now, he was sure Yuu wasn’t just a part of his imagination. He felt him, his cold touch, his intense stare. Yet he couldn’t help but feel lonely for no reason at all. “Will I see you again?”

“Perhaps,” was Yuu-chan’s answer which offered no comfort to the boy. Perhaps could mean another seven years, or never again. Perhaps isn’t a guaranteed yes, sounding more like a gentle no. “These meetings wouldn’t benefit the both of us, and could put you in danger. Think of it as breaking the law, tiny human.”

Because more spies will be watching. This he knew, after seeing crisps suits blending in the crowds, peach hair and platinum, purple and aqua eyes. Yet he pulled Yuu to an embrace, burying his face on the folds of his three piece suit. “I stopped dreaming about you. For reasons unknown to me, I kept seeing you in my dreams when I’m running a fever. But when you disappeared, the dreams went away too.”

Yuu removed his arms around his waist, Tanjirou already missing the coldness that seemed to come from every part of Yuu’s skin. He couldn’t read his expression again, but he didn’t expect anything more from the strange man. He speaks vaguely, dresses the same, never aged, so his expressionless face was the least of Tanjirou’s concerns.

“Stay healthy, tiny human.”

Tanjirou snorted at Yuu’s choice of response, turning back to where he left his bike at the konbini. He didn’t want to say goodbye, even when he knew that perhaps he wouldn’t see Yuu-chan again. So he continued walking even when he didn’t hear the man move from his place, because he has his hungry friends waiting for him.

He looked back, hoping to see Yuu watching him leave and walk away.

But like how he disappeared seven years ago, the man was suddenly gone, like he wasn’t even there a minute ago.

He rode his bike back to Zenitsu’s home in a bleary state. Thanks to the numerous trips he made to his blond friend’s house, he found his way even when he didn’t even remember pedalling. He couldn’t feel his legs, his head buzzed, his fingers numb. He recalled grandpa Jigoro asking him what’s wrong and why he looked so pale, before seeing Inosuke’s worried face rushing to him as he slumped against the nearest wall.

He black out a moment after that.

-

I kept seeing you in my dreams when I’m running a fever.

“That’s not it,” Giyuu sighed, finding it hard to breathe as he watched Tanjirou stumble out of his bike, pushing the gate of his friend’s house with all his strength. That was his fault, for he couldn’t help himself, even when he promised not to bring harm to the beautiful soul again. “It was the other way around. You get fevers because of your dreams.”

“Who are you talking to?” came a voice behind him, but Giyuu didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Instead, he walked towards the gate of Kuwajima Jigoro’s humble home. He pushed it open, stepping into the other side where his office was. Sabito came in after him, shutting the metal door. “You were supposed to collect a soul today, Giyuu.”

“Who are you, my assistant? So what’s my next schedule?” Giyuu dragged a chair to the table in the middle of the wide room, the only furniture present. His office, much like the others in his line of work, was a high-ceiling room, with a tiled countertop where he prepares teas, coffees, sometimes even sodas, for the souls he brings to the Choosing.

Sabito hauled a tea bag at him, hitting Giyuu on his head, flakes of the dried leaves scattering in his suit. “I wish your brain was sharper than your tongue!”

Giyuu clicked said tongue, wanting to agree because he admits his earlier actions were not well thought out. How could he let a human touch him? How could he not say no, only because those burgundy eyes kept haunting him?

“Kuwajima Jigoro should have died today.” Giyuu pressed his fingers between his eyes, already feeling the early signs of migraine, still wondering what and how it happened because he wasn’t mistaken; he never made mistakes in his job. “I saw his name. It was cardiac arrest.”

“Were you on time?”

He shouldn’t be answering such silly questions. “You know I was never late, Sabito.”

“Were you,” His peach-haired friend sipped on the tea he brewed, holding Giyuu’s periwinkle eyes in an intense stare. “on time, Giyuu?”

Okay, so there was no use lying, and he sincerely believed the slight delay couldn’t hinder death that was already written in the book. He would be guilty if Kuwajima Jigoro’s name was there and that death had simply taken a detour due to his tardiness, but the name was completely gone. Erased, with no sign that it was there before Giyuu left his office, which it definitely was. “I may have been late by a couple of minutes. But it shouldn’t matter because the time of death is absolute even when no collector is present to – “

Sudden realization dawned on Sabito’s face that he was momentarily stuck with his jaw dropping to the floor, and a look of complete disbelief in his eyes. “You talked to a human again, did you? What were you thinking? Were you even using your head like you’re supposed to?”

“He jumped on me from behind! He recognized me-“

“Oh no,” Sabito took the chair opposite him, his shoulders sagging in defeat. He catches his head in his hand, murmuring curses at Giyuu’s stupidity. “It was the same human back then. The human with the gift of Sight. Oh no.”

Giyuu nodded, feeling incredibly frustrated with his inability to follow the rules. “Seven years ago.”

“That was already seven years ago? Yet he still remembered you?”

Giyuu nodded once again, not finding the words to defend himself from Sabito’s unabashed judgment. He couldn’t blame his friend and fellow collector for reacting the way he did, because they weren’t Divines with blessed holiness, nor humans with free will. They were just reapers, tasked to guide souls to the afterlife where they could exercise their freedom to choose one last time and help them decide what they want their fate to be.

He wasn’t human, therefore he doesn’t have the same freedom.

Even if he wanted to see Burgundy Eyes again, not only on the times he was dying, he simply couldn’t choose to do what he wanted.

The clanking of the Sabito’s teacup on the saucer shook Giyuu out of his silent dilemma. His peach-haired friend frowned, the scar on his face more prominent as he pursed his lips in frustration. He once asked the man about his facial scar, which they both agreed seemed to be a birthmark, but Sabito couldn’t recall how and when he acquired it.

“You can’t keep doing this, Giyuu.” Sabito sighed, tracing the patterned yellow and green lines of his own book sitting on the table. “We didn’t know, we may never know, how our presence affects living souls. I’m sure you’ve heard of the myths.”

“I have, but they’re just myths.” Like those about birthmarks, and Giyuu suddenly found himself with the realization that if the myths of men were real, then there’s a chance the myths of the reapers of the old were real too. “No,” he hunched over the table, burying his face in his folded arms. “I messed up. What if – “ Giyuu raised his head, the frantic look in those periwinkle eyes making Sabito flinched. “What if Kuwajima Jigoro’s death took a turn and – “

Sabito reached for his head, shaking it vigorously in an attempt to rattle his brain. Giyuu groaned at the harshness, but was thankful for the distraction. “Don’t think too much of it, Giyuu. If something was indeed wrong, you should have heard from Yorichii-san by now.”

“I swear the name was there!” Giyuu flipped his book open again, trying so hard to prove he was simply mistaken so he could step out of his door to collect the soul. But he couldn’t find the name, couldn’t find the reason why it would just disappear when death was something no one could hinder. Not even the Divines could defy death if They deemed it to be the right time to take back the gift of life They bestowed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Tan – “

“Don’t speak of his name!” Sabito abruptly stood, his chair tripping over. His booming shriek effectively stopped Giyuu’s string of apologies. “Don’t make another mistake, Giyuu. Remember who we are, and what we bring. Don’t.”

Giyuu understood, for there is a reason souls should only see them after passing.

There is a reason he should never let Tanjirou see him again.

For he brings nothing but death.

-

Tanjirou should have known.

He tried to whisper, sometimes in his pillow before he sleeps, a wish to see Yuu in his dreams again. But he never had bad fevers again, never got the chance to see the man turn his nightmares into sweet stupor.

He tried to whisper, against the glass pane of the train as it whirred and swayed, words of intercession and petition, begging for a chance to see Yuu once again.

He tried to whisper his name, trying to call for him to come and explain, to let him know that he doesn’t care what he is, to finally understand why he can’t get Yuu out of his system, even after trying to make himself believe the man with the sky in his eyes isn’t real. He wanted to ask him why it felt like Yuu knew him longer than he should have, the same way he felt strangely familiar even when he only met him twice.

Tanjirou should have known that perhaps meant an empty promise, a parting word disguised as an assurance that he will see Yuu again.

For after he touched him with his cold fingers and reached for the scars he was born with, he never saw Yuu again.

#giyuutan #kny fanfic #grim reaper au #reincarnation au #demon slayer #tomioka giyuu #kamado tanjirou

[vintagedolan]

mixtape | track thirteen

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

Sean died in January, and it was cold. That much Grayson remembered. The funeral was fuzzy apart from a few very vivid memories, including one of sitting outside on a bench, the wind cutting through his slacks and freezing his legs. His arms were so cold he couldn’t even feel the wind on them through the numbness, seeing that his suit jacket was wrapped around Cameron’s shoulders. He’d borrowed one of his dad’s ties - it was a tacky pattern but subtle in color. Sean had worn it to the twin’s 8th grade night for football when he’d walked them proudly across the field with the biggest smile on his face. He shivered. But it was still better than being inside, looking at the casket that had his dad but not his dad inside. 

That suit was gone. He hadn’t been able to look at it after that day, so he’d donated it, despite his mother’s qualms that he may need a nice suit again someday. 

That day was coming much quicker than he expected, and that’s how he found himself in the back of a department store sifting through racks of jackets. But there was one bright spot in the scenario, and she was looking through ties on a table to his left. 

Indy held one up with a soft smile, the most she’d been able to offer him in the last day.

“She liked blue.”

Grayson could only nod, the knot in his throat stealing his voice. He took the tie, running his thumb over the silky fabric. They were quiet as they went through and found him a few suit options to try on. Indy had to hold them up high so nothing dragged the ground as they headed to the fitting rooms. 

She sat in a hard plastic chair outside, crossing her legs and fighting her emotions. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. After all, there was no reference, no textbook on the expected emotions of preparing for a funeral of a 15 year old with your ex. If he even was an ex. They’d woken up that morning in bed together after all, with his warm breath on her back, arm around her, hand tucked under her rib cage like it used to be. 

And she felt warm. And safe. And guilty. 

How could she have a flicker of happiness in a world without Bekah? How could she be grateful, or glad that Grayson was just two doors down fiddling with suit buttons when her being gone was the reason he was there? 

It was a blessing, the hold he still seemed to have on her. Because as soon as he walked out her mind went blank for a moment, only able to process him, and his broad shoulders and strong arms that she could still see under his jacket. 

“This is the best of the three. What do you think?” 

It took her a minute to find her words. “Yeah, it looks nice. Very… funeraly.”

Grayson looked in the mirror. “Funeraly. Well, that’s the idea I guess. Works for me.”

He disappeared again, coming back out in his nice pants and crewneck. He looked good, but the look of worry in his eyes made Indy uneasy. She didn’t like when people worried about her. 

“Let’s go find you a dress.” 

She’d been dreading that part. She wasn’t much of a dress girl most the time, but she wanted to look her best for Bekah. She deserved that. So with a sigh she led Grayson across the store to the women’s section, looking for anything black she could find. 

He was patient, offering his hand out to hold any of the options she found to try.  She only found three that didn’t look like they were meant for a night out, and Grayson took the spot in the plastic chair while she tried them on. They all fit, but her favorite was the long sleeved number she’d found - tight enough to be flattering, and long enough to be modest and warm, with a long metal zipper that she couldn’t quite get all the way up on her back.

She reached and stretched as far as she could before she huffed in defeat, unsure of whether she should ask him for help. Was that weird? Or was she just making it weird. 

After another moment of contemplation, she stepped out in it, stomach fluttering against her will when she saw Grayson look up and catch his breath. 

“Can you…” She moved her hair out of the way, revealing her back. He stopped breathing for a second, chair clanging against the wall as he rushed to stand up.

“Yeah, yeah of course.”

He moved behind her quickly, finger delicate against her spine as he moved to the zipper. It sat right below her bra clasp, and he recognized it as the one with a bent hook, a casualty of the dryer that he’d accidentally put it in back in November. He realized he was taking too long and zipped it up quickly, patting it lightly at the top to let her know he was done. 

He met her eyes in the mirror, and realized she’d been watching him the whole time. 

“Do you think this will be warm enough?”

“We’ll probably be inside most the time, so it should be okay.”

She nodded at him, disappearing back into the dressing room and taking a few deep breaths. Nothing felt real for some reason, and it took all her effort to settle herself, keep herself in the moment she didn’t want to be in. She stripped out of the dress quickly and slid it back on the hanger. It wasn’t worth the argument when Grayson held his hand out for it when they headed towards the counter. With her inability to work shifts her bank account was grateful for his that seemed to always be overflowing. Surely a $50 dress wouldn’t break the bank, but she still thanked him when he swiped his card. 

They walked into the parking lot in silence, and she climbed into the truck when Grayson pulled the door open for her. He sat the bags in the backseat once he climbed in, starting it up and cranking the heat up. The air was still cold, cold enough for Indy to shove her hands under her thighs in a bid to keep them warm. Grayson frowned and grabbed his jacket from the back, passing it to her. 

“Thanks,” she said, laying it over her lap and smoothing out the wrinkles. She was rigid in her seat, especially when Gray reached his hand over to the back of hers so he could back out of the parking space. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath till both his hands were back on his side of the console.

She hated it. Hated feeling like he was watching, waiting for her to fall apart at any given moment. But she loved it too, because if he was there to look at her with pity it meant he was there. Her mind was exhausted with the constant battle of trying to put a word to her emotions, to guide them into whatever box they were supposed to be in. 

To Grayson, it just looked like she was numb. Her eyes were trained on the New Jersey roads every time he glanced over to her, either out the windshield or through the passenger window. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to know what she was feeling, wanted to grovel on his knees and beg for forgiveness. Instead, he held his tongue and continued down the road, 10 under the speed limit just to buy a few more extra minutes with her close enough to reach. He wasn’t sure what would happen when they got to the house. If she wanted to go upstairs, to avoid him until the funeral, he’d understand. He’d let her, even if it hurt. He deserved that. He’d sit at the bottom of the stairs and wait, and listen, and hope she didn’t need him but also hope she did. 

The two played their own games of tug-o-war, parallel to each other until they made it to the house. Ethan was on the porch with Gizmo’s cage in his hands, holding it up and talking to her as they walked in.

“See Giz? It’s too fucking cold out here.”

“Brrr,” Gizmo squawked. 

“Yeah, fuckin brrr. So you gotta stop screaming to come outside before Ma loses her mind.” 

“You sure you aren’t the one losing your mind?” Grayson asked with a smirk aimed towards his brother. 

“Outside!” Gizmo yelled and Ethan clenched his fists. 

“Did you all find outfits?” Ethan asked to distract himself, looking at Grayson’s empty hands. 

“Shit, yeah I left them in the truck though. I’ll grab em Dee, go get warm.” 

Indy nodded and walked inside slowly, taking her shoes off and sitting them neatly by the door. She walked to the living room, sitting down carefully on the couch with her eyes trained on the woods. Even the squirrels seemed to be grieving, moving slow through the grass at the tree line. She watched them anyways, envied their oblivion of all the tragedy of the world as Grayson hung up their clothes in the coat closet and watched her from the foyer. 

Her shoulders were slumped forward, and it pained him to see her literally curled in on herself in a way that he hadn’t seen before. He ran through a million different things he could say, but none of them seemed good enough. There were never words for times like these, and he knew that. Sometimes, it was better to just sit in silence. So he gave it to her for a few minutes longer, disappearing to the other room where his conversation wouldn’t be overheard. 

When he reappeared, Indy was watching a robin, feathers bright red against the dreary gray of the sky outside by the bird feeder. He stepped into her gaze, offering her a soft smile.

“C’mon. Let’s get you some warm clothes and get outta here for a little while, hmm?”

“Where are we going?” Her tone was flat, and it made his chest feel tight.

“You’ll see. Just trust me.”

Those words hung heavy in Indiana’s mind as she followed him upstairs, let him pass her an old pair of boots that were too big for her and his thickest jacket to fight off the cold snap that seemed to follow the warm air that had brought the thunderstorms. 

Just trust me

She did. Or at least, she wanted to, and she willfully climbed back into the passenger seat of the truck, let him drive them down the road on the route that was familiar now. They made it all the way to the tiny homes without seeing another car. Indy felt like the universe was sad with her somehow, and she was grateful for it. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing someone smile as if the world was still the same happy place it used to be. 

She blindly followed Grayson until she realized they were going around the house instead of inside of it.

“Where are we going?” She asked again. Her voice echoed off the trees.

He simply held out his hand. She took it without question, ignoring the tirade of contradicting emotions it stirred in her gut. He still had his callous where his pinky met his palm, but it was softer than usual against her skin. 

They walked through the trees slowly until they reached the cliff that Indy recognized from the first time she’d been out to Jersey. It felt like lifetimes ago that she’d been there, but the water still flowed and she still clung to Grayson’s arm the closer they got to the edge.

“Come sit over here,” he coaxed, leading her towards the middle and helping her sit down slowly. Once she was settled he sat down beside her, ignoring the cold that seeped through his pants from the ground below him. He could see his breath in front of him, but he kept his eyes on the water running far below his feet. 

“Gray.”

He tried to ignore the way his heart sung - she said his name better than anyone.

“Why are we here?” She asked. 

He was quiet for a moment, and he picked at his fingernails before he spoke.

“I used to come out here a lot when I was younger and got overwhelmed. I don’t like being around people when I need to feel something, you know? Well, I can only be around certain people anyways.” 

The fact that Indy seemed to be one of those people wasn’t lost on her as she listened to him.

“I just thought coming out here might help.”

“Me or you?”

“What?”

“Is it supposed to help me or you?”

“I was hoping both,” Grayson said.

To his surprise, Indy chuckled under her breath and shook her head.

“Well, I’m fine. I’ve done this before after all. Should be pretty good at having people I love die on me by now.” 

Grayson couldn’t find the words for a response, and his cheeks flushed from her tone. She’d never been so short with him before, and he felt embarrassed to think that somehow he’d be the one who could help her when it seemed no one else could. But he swallowed hard and looked over to her. 

“I’m not fine. And you knew her longer than I did. And I know something about losing people too. That doesn’t mean it ever gets any easier.”

Something in his words seemed to pull her out of her defensiveness, and she took in a shaky breath, eyes brimmed with tears. 

“Sorry.”

“S’okay. You can have a redo, if you want,” he teased, bumping her shoulder gently just to see her try to smile. 

“I know you get it, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Nobody knows how to do this Dee. No one knows how to lose a 15 year old that was supposed to be here for a lot longer than she was,” Grayson said, clearing his throat when it tightened. Indy sniffled and rubbed her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. She was quiet for a moment and they listened to the wind rustle the trees until she spoke again.

“Her mom wants me to write her eulogy.”

“Fuck, Indy.”

“I’ve never done one before. Charlie did mom’s.” 

“Do you want to do it?”

“I want her to have one,” Indy sighed, picking at the grass. “A good one though. Not the one that the preacher does where they pretend like they knew her when they really didn’t.”

Grayson reached for her hand and waited for her to look up at him.

“Maybe Charlie can help. I called her, when we got back to the house. She’s flying out tomorrow.”

Indy froze, then turned so quickly that Grayson put a hand on her hip to keep her steady on the cliff’s edge. 

“Really? She’s coming?”

Grayson nodded. “I know that things are… hard, with us right now. And I know that things are always better for me when Ethan is around so I figured it couldn’t hurt. I think her flight comes in at -”

Before he could finish Indy threw her arms around his neck. He wrapped her up as best he could without pulling her over the edge, scooting them back slightly to keep her safe as he held her as tightly as he could through all their layers. 

“Thank you,” she whispered over the trees. She couldn’t find any other words to express what it meant to her, so she left it at that and breathed him in in secret while he held her. He turned his head to press a kiss to her temple but stopped himself, squeezing her tighter instead before they untangled.

She pondered her next question for a moment, then decided she truly had nothing left to lose.

“Can we stay out here tonight? At the house.” 

Grayson paused for a minute, stopping himself from immediately saying yes, reminding himself not to take advantage.

“You wanna stay at the tiny house?”

She nodded, fingers going back to the grass, and she kicked her legs so the heels of her boots bounced slightly off the rocks. 

“The funeral is tomorrow. I need to write the eulogy, and I don’t want a bunch of people around while I do that.” 

Silence hung heavy until he gained the confidence to ask. 

“Am I… one of the people that can be around?”

For the first time in a long time, Indy smiled. 

“Did you think I was gonna kick you out of your house?”

Grayson chuckled and shook his head.

“I mean you did break my heart, so it would be fair though.”

He froze.

Indy laughed so hard it bounced off the trees, made a few birds take off on the other side of the water.

“I’m fucking kidding,” she said, nudging his shoulder so he’d let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Jesus fuck Indy, don’t do that! Too soon!” He huffed, but he was laughing too, heart light as he saw the first glimpse of the girl he’d fallen in love with since he’d gotten home. It was easier to breathe with her around, even in spite of everything else going on. He looked at her, tried to take her in, but he stopped short with a frown when she tried to hide a shiver.

“You’re cold.”

“Just a little,” she mused. 

“Ma is making dinner, we’ll go home, eat, pack some stuff then come back out here.” Indy only nodded and let him help her to her feet. She held onto his arm until they were off the cliff, and after that too. Over top of his jacket, she traced 333 on his bicep, eyes on his tattoo that was barely visible under his growing hair. She wondered if he’d gotten any more while he was in LA.

She wondered a lot about what he’d done while he was in LA, whether she wanted to or not. But she wanted to know if he’d been up every night thinking about her. If he’d cried in the shower as many times as she did. 

She wondered if he’d hurt. 

And she wondered how much she would hurt when he decided it was time to go back. Her mind was screaming as she clung to him, wary that she wasn’t keeping him at an arm's length like she had swore she would. 

Her heart drowned it out, singing quietly deep within her at the familiar firmness of his muscles under her hand, the warmth of him beside her. 

She’d take whatever hell was sure to follow with open arms if it meant she could be back in his, even for a little while. 

Grayson played Cudi on the way back to Lisa’s and tried to hide his smile when he heard Indy singing along quietly beside him. He used the time to think of his pitch to Ethan, his plan for how they could split time on each coast, or even manage most of it from offices in New York. It wasn’t his top priority - that was getting Indy through the funeral. But he couldn’t hold off for long.

The house was warm when they arrived in more ways than one - cozy and filled with the smell of spaghetti that had Indy’s mouth watering for the first time in days. Grayson breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her fill her bowl, happy to see her appetite had returned. 

Still, when they sat around the table, Ethan and Lisa were cautious to start a conversation, worried they’d say something that could trigger the wrong emotions. After listening to the scrapes of forks against porcelain for too many minutes, Indy cleared her throat. 

“I think we should do something a little different tonight. Something to help everyone’s spirits.”

Everyone breathed.

“Yeah?” Grayson said.

“I say we eat on the couch and watch Emperor’s New Groove in true Bekah fashion,” she proposed, standing with her bowl. No one questioned her - they simply followed into the living room with their dinner in hand.

They laughed at all the right times during the movie, and the world was okay for just a minute. Indy still ached deep within herself, guilt punctuating each smile she let creep up, but she fought it like she’d learned to after Nicole had died. 

Grayson was asleep before Kuzco made it back to the castle, exhaustion catching up with him quickly. He was heavy against Indy when he leaned onto her, one arm going over her waist. She felt Ethan’s eyes on the two of them but she ignored it until he came closer, speaking in a whisper.

“Charlie’s flight gets in around 7, I’ll go get her so you all have time to get some sleep,” he offered.

“Thanks E. And thanks for coming with him.”

“Of course. And hey, anything you need Inds. Literally anything, just tell me. We’re all here for you.” 

She bit her lip and looked down at Grayson.

“Is he okay?” She asked. 

Ethan gave her a small smile. 

“This is gonna sound fucked up, considering what we're all doing tomorrow, but… this is the best I’ve seen him since we left actually. I mean, he feels like shit for not being here for, well for either of you. He just wants to take care of you as best he can.”

“He’s always been pretty good at doing that,” she murmured, brushing some of Grayson’s hair back from his forehead. He stirred, curling up closer to her. 

“Get some sleep Indy. Love yah,” Ethan said, leaning over and giving her a peck on the top of the head. 

She sat with Grayson for a bit longer, let him rest until her arm went fully numb and she knew she’d fall asleep with him unless she got up. 

She coaxed him up and made him give her the keys, let him climb in the passenger seat as she packed up a bag of pajamas and their clothes for the morning. He was asleep against the window by the time she got back in the cab, and she was happy to let him sleep. She figured he’d be happy to climb into bed when they got to the tiny homes, but he shook himself awake on the walk inside, cranking the heat up once they cleared the threshold.

“I’m okay bub, you can sleep.”

“You’re not gonna sleep?” He said instead of conceding.

“I need to write the eulogy.” 

His eyes saddened in understanding, and then he was rummaging through the bag for the paper he knew she’d packed. He sat it down on the small table and then returned to the kitchen. 

Indy watched him as he pulled two mugs down from the cabinets, the clay ones with tiny “I” and “G”’s stamped into the speckled surface. They’d found them at the craft fair they’d stumbled across back in November and picked them up, but Indy realized it was the first time they’d used them as Grayson made them a cup each. 

“Gray.”

“What do you need,” he asked quietly. 

“Um… space, I think. Just so I can think clearly for a little bit. It’s not anything you did, I promise, it’s jus-”

“Dee, you don’t have to explain. It’s okay. I’ll be upstairs. Take your time, okay?”

She nodded and took the cup he offered with a grateful smile, turning to the table to work. 

As much as it went against every instinct in his body, he left her sitting there and moved up the stairs to the loft. Even without the coffee that he downed, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Especially not when he heard Indy’s pen clicking against the table, followed by her sniffles that seemed to amplify in the high ceilings. 

He stared at the slats of wood and tapped his fingers against each other as he fought to stay still, give her the space she asked for. He was sure it was just part of the process, and he didn’t want to interrupt her. It could have been minutes or hours, he wasn’t sure, but when her sniffles turned to sobs, he didn’t have the willpower anymore. 

She heard him coming down the stairs and broke down even further, burying her face in her hands. 

“Hey, baby hey it’s okay. You’re okay,” he whispered. “Take a break.”

She knew she shouldn’t. She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn’t want to. But the need for comfort was too strong, and she broke. She stood from the table and walked over towards the small bench seat. Grayson sat first and she didn’t hesitate to climb into his lap. She buried her face in his neck and let the misery have her, let her body shake with the force of her pain and let him absorb it too. She let him hold her, let him love her the way she always thought he had. And it felt good there in his arms. The world was lighter with him there to split the weight. She knew it would crush her when he was gone, but she didn’t care. She wanted to believe Ethan’s words, that Grayson was better there with her, and it was just enough to make her feel like maybe she wasn’t a terrible person for giving in. 

Indy fell asleep in Grayson’s arms. He didn’t care whether the eulogy was finished or not - he picked her up and moved slowly across the room, carrying her up the stairs carefully. She woke up just enough to grab for his hand, a silent invitation that he was happy to take. He climbed into bed beside her, let her curl up into him as he set an alarm he didn’t want to wake up for. They slept peacefully despite it all.

The next morning felt like a dream in the worst way. Nothing seemed to really be happening as they woke up and got dressed in black. Grayson looked good in his suit, but that was about the only thing Indiana noticed. He helped zip her dress and put her eulogy in his jacket pocket. 

“You ready?” He asked as she fixed the lapels on his jacket.

“No,” she sighed, but she walked out the door anyway. He drove to the house as the sun rose over the Jersey hills. They were quiet, and Indy watched the trees go by, watched the world spin as if nothing was different that day. It made her angry, the same way it had the morning of Nicole’s funeral. But she’d learned that day that the world had no consideration for anyone, no matter what you gave her. So she swallowed it down and kept herself as numb as she could until they pulled into Lisa’s driveway and she remembered where Ethan had gone that morning. 

“She’s here,” Indy said, her voice strained. It was the most emotion Grayson had seen out of her that morning, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. But he didn’t get a chance to ask, because Indy was throwing her door open and bolting for the house. 

She found what she was looking for in the living room.

Charlie was sitting on the edge of the couch in a black dress, and as soon as she saw Indiana she was on her feet, rushing down the hallway.

Indy was sobbing before she reached her, but Charlie caught her and wrapped her up in the hug that only she could give, and Grayson watched as his girl went to pieces. Charlie held strong like big sisters do, shushing Indiana and coaxing her over to the couch, helping her sit down as she cried into her shoulder. 

“You’re okay, hey, you’re alright. Breathe,” she said, but her eyes were on Grayson.

“She’s gone,” Indy blubbered, and Charlie winced at the pain in her voice.

“I know. I know.”

Grayson stood with useless hands in his pockets and tears in the corner of his eyes. He hoped that giving Indy her sister, even just for the day, was enough to help more than he could on his own. When her tears finally stopped, it seemed his plan had worked, even if it was only marginally. She ate a muffin that Lisa had made, and made everyone coffee just the way they liked it to keep her mind and hands busy as everyone got ready to go. She didn’t bother with makeup. It wouldn’t survive the day, that she was sure of. Lisa hovered, made sure everyone had enough to eat before they climbed into the SUV. She waved goodbye from the porch as they pulled away, the funeral home in the GPS. 

It was a somber drive. No one even tried for conversation. Charlie sat in the backseat with Indy, privy to the fact that Grayson glanced back at her every few minutes to check in. Each time she was staring out the window again, chewing her cheek. 

Indy didn’t know whether the ride was long or short. She didn’t know much of anything other than she felt like she was going to be sick as they parked. Cold air rushed in as Grayson opened her door and helped her down.

“You okay?” He asked, just for her.

She nodded, but they both knew it was a lie. 

They passed car after car in the parking lot - almost every space was filled it seemed. Somewhere in her mind, Indy hadn’t processed how many people probably knew Bekah. How many people cared. 

Still, she felt alone in the world when she walked inside of the building. The carpet was dark, with swirling patterns of gold and roses. The entryway felt gold, but the parlor to the left was colder. It was marked with a sign. 

Bekah Andrea Newcomb. 2pm.

Indiana couldn’t breathe. She reached to her left, finding Grayson where she knew he would be, holding onto his arm like she had in the hospital room.

“We can wait as long as you need Indy. There’s no rush to go in there.” 

Her voice failed her and she only nodded. Grayson didn’t move an inch until she did a few minutes later, gathering the strength to step inside. It was fragrant, both in the way an unpleasant place is and in the way a floral shop was. There were enough bouquet arrangements around to fill a house. It was overwhelming, but not so much that Indy didn’t notice the photos. She couldn’t look at them - she’d go to her knees if she let herself even process a single one. So she kept her eyes forward as they walked to the opening of the door on the right.

There was a wide middle aisle, lined with pews on either side full of people.

At the end was Bekah. 

Even from afar, she looked cold inside her casket. Indy’s mouth tasted like metal as she forced herself to walk forward. Grayson walked tall beside her, but she could hear him sniffling above her. The Newcomb’s were beside their daughter, and they offered sympathetic smiles as they noticed the pair headed down the aisle. Luckily, they didn’t say anything - they simply stepped away to give them privacy as they made their way towards the casket. 

Indy held her breath as she got closer, eyes blurry as she looked down into the casket, her hands finding the cold wood when she reached it.

“Oh,” she whispered. Grayson coughed out a sob, wrapping his arm around Indy’s waist and turning his face into her hair. 

Bekah looked like herself, but didn’t. Her hands were folded neatly over her stomach, above her hoodie pockets. It took a moment for Indy to realize what she was wearing. A purple hoodie, her favorite leggings and her thunderbolt headscarf.

Her lungs tightened. 

“No, no that’s not right. It’s not right,” she whispered, shaking her head as her hands fluttered above Bekah. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Grayson asked.

“Her hoodie, she wanted her blue hoodie, that’s the one she asked for, that’s what we told her they were gonna find her in. She needs her hoodie, Gray she needs her hoodie, get her hoodie.” She couldn’t get a breath through her throat as she choked on her words, looking to Grayson for help. His face was twisted up in pain as he guided her away from the casket. 

“It’s okay Indy, it’s okay,” he cried.

“She needs her hoodie,” she sobbed, holding onto his lapel to keep him close to her and to hide her face. All he could do was hold her and cry. No one looked at them and he was grateful as he led her back out of the room, back to where Ethan and Charlie were waiting. It took her a few minutes to catch her breath, even with Charlie’s hand on her shoulder. The eldest Cross put herself between her sister and Grayson, her protective instincts taking over. Grayson couldn’t be angry. He’d step aside happily if it helped Indy. 

Her sister seemed to help to calm her down enough to catch her breath after a few minutes. 

“Sorry, I don’t know what happened in there,” she whispered eventually, looking over Charlie’s shoulder to find Grayson’s eyes.

“Hey, no apologies today Dee. It’s okay.”

She tried to believe him, tried to accept that it was okay. Something about the sincerity in his voice made her trust him. 

“I wanna go look at the pictures,” she said quietly, wiping her eyes and standing up to smooth out her dress. “Get some new images in my head.”

Grayson stepped closer to her, offering her his arm as they headed back to the parlor. Things were calmer as they started to look at all the frames. Grayson smiled at the first picture he saw of Bekah with hair, her afro tall and proud as she stood with a small soccer trophy and a smile so big it closed her eyes. 

“She taught me how to do twists once,” Indy smiled, leaning her cheek on Grayson’s bicep. “I sucked at it I’m pretty sure but it was better than nothing.”

“I’ve never seen her with hair before.”

“It made her so sad to lose it every time. She always said it was the worst part.”

“My dad hated losing his. Can’t imagine.”

“Oh my god, look at this one,” Indy smiled, moving to the next frame on the table. It was Bekah in the pool as a toddler, with round pink sunglasses and a purple floaty, with her dad behind her, pushing her along it seemed.

“She always told me she hated water.”

“She did.”

Indy turned to see Martina behind her. Her eyes were puffy but she had a small smile on her face.

“When she was four she fell off a pool float with her cousin, almost drowned. Ever since then she never even put a toe in,” she explained. She stepped up next to Indy, putting an arm around her shoulder. 

“Thank you for coming. It means the world to us that you’re here, and that you’re speaking later.”

Grayson realized quickly he wasn’t part of the conversation, and he excused himself with a reassuring look to Indy. Charlie was still where she’d started out in the entryway, eyes darting around nervously. It was obvious she was uncomfortable, and whether it was because she didn’t like funerals or didn’t know anyone, he wasn’t sure. Either way she hid it well when Indy needed her, but she didn’t bother with the facade when Grayson approached. 

“She okay?” was his greeting.

“She’s talking to Mrs. Newcomb. She seems alright, considering.”

“Considering,” Charlie laughed dryly. “Yeah, she’s been through hell and back. But you know that.”

It stung, even though it was deserved.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Well. In my experience what you meant to do doesn’t matter nearly as much as what you did.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad you’re here, but I’m scared to see what happens when you leave her again.”

“Charlie, I’m not gonna le-”

Suddenly, Charlie stiffened, eyes trained over his shoulder on something outside the front doors that made him cut his explanation short. 

“Fuck,” she hissed.

“What? What is it?” Panic rose in Grayson’s throat as he followed her gaze. 

There was a man in a navy blue suit walking through the parking lot. It wasn’t someone Grayson recognized, but nonetheless the hair on the back of his neck stood up. On instinct, he side stepped in front of Charlie, blocking her from the door.

“Who is that?”

“Our fucking dad.”

“What?“ Grayson whirled. “How the fuck did he even know about this?”

“I told him I was coming into town, he asked why, so I told him. Jesus, I didn’t think he was gonna show up! Indy’s gonna freak if she sees him, she can’t see him.”

“Don’t move,” he said, darting out of the entryway to peek into the viewing room. Indy was towards the front, talking to some of Bekah’s relatives it seemed. He caught sight of Ethan and moved to him quickly, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to make it seem as casual as he could.

“Keep Indy busy and whatever you do, don’t let her go outside.” 

Thankfully, Ethan didn’t ask for an explanation, and he simply started to move towards the front of the room as Grayson exited out the back, just in time to get to the front door before Kenneth made it in.

To his surprise, Charlie was right beside him when the heavy wooden door closed behind them.

He was shorter than Grayson expected. It was obvious his hair had once been blonde, but it was gray now, badly managed with box dye that he could still see remnants of by his ears. 

Charlie’s breathing sped up and Grayson took a step closer to her, just barely in front of her.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Kenneth, who stopped short at the bottom of the three brick-layed stairs. 

His eyes were blue when he looked up. They skipped over Grayson’s broad frame to Charlie and softened just a fraction. 

“Char.”

She stiffened, and Grayson held his ground. 

“Sir, this is a funeral. A funeral I don’t believe you were invited to.”

Kenneth’s eyes went cold the way a father’s do when they’re threatened, and he fixed them on Grayson. Gray enjoyed the fact that he had to crane his neck to see him.

“And who exactly might you be?” Kenneth spat.

“I could ask you the same question sir.”

“The fuck are you, a funeral bouncer?”

Grayson flexed his knuckles.

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call me. Either way, you aren’t welcome here and you need to go.”

“Look, I’m here to see my daughter, alright? Now get out of my way.” 

“I can’t do that.”

Kenneth narrowed his eyes as it clicked.

“Ahhh. So you’re the boyfriend then.”

Grayson stayed quiet, but his stomach turned at the smirk that creeped across the man’s face.

“Get out of my way, boy.” 

“I can’t do that,” Grayson repeated himself and set his feet.

Kenneth moved up another step, but he stopped, eyes on Grayson’s elbow where a hand had appeared. 

Charlie.

“What’s her name?”

Kenneth laughed. It was an ugly sound.

“Are you kidding me Charlie? You think I don’t know your sister’s name? Give me a fucking break.”

Grayson saw the tears brim in Charlie’s eyes, and he clenched his fists.

“No. I’m talking about the 15 year old whose funeral you’re using for your own personal gain. What’s her name?”

Kenneth didn’t have an answer. Charlie stepped in front of Grayson, standing toe to toe with her father as she took a deep breath. 

“Leave. You aren’t welcome here. You aren’t welcome anywhere near my sister, or me for that matter.”

“Charlie.”

“What type of piece of shit do you have to be to show up when your daughter is hurting like this? Hmm?”

“I just knew she’d be here-”

“You also know her address, Dad. You chose here because you want her weak, you want her to need you and she doesn’t. Get out. Leave. I’m not playing this game anymore.”

“Charlie c’mon.” Grayson could see the panic in Kenneth’s eyes as he realized what his eldest was really saying. 

“Indiana has always been so much smarter than me. And I should have listened to her when she told me to not give you the time of day.” She shook her head, a few tears slipping past her eyelashes, taking mascara with them.

“Charlie, you’re all I have left.”

“Yeah, and you did that to yourself. Now, I have a funeral to get to, and if you try to follow me I’ll let him beat you into the ground like you deserve.”

With that, she turned and walked back through the doors.

Grayson stared at the broken man for a moment longer, and then he turned to follow her. She was sitting in one of the big chairs by the table by the window, hands shaking slightly as she brushed her hair behind her ear. 

“Hey, you okay?” He squatted down beside her to get to her eye level. He saw Indy in the way her lips shook while she breathed, trying to pull it together. 

“Do you want me to call Dev?”

She shook her head with a dry laugh.

“No, he’s already worried enough about me. I’m okay. Thank you for that, by the way. Pretty sure he would have just walked right past me if you weren’t out there. I shouldn’t have even told him about this.”

“You didn’t know he was gonna show up. I’m just glad he didn’t make it inside,” Grayson sighed, eyes flickering over to make sure Indy couldn’t see them. Charlie knew what he was looking for. 

“Well, you’re the hero of the day Dolan. I’m sure deflecting the dead beat father counts for some brownie points in winning her over,” she said. 

Grayson’s brows furrowed when he looked at her. He reached to the table and pulled a tissue for her to wipe her mascara with before he spoke.

“I wasn’t gonna tell her. No need to stress her out more than she already is, you know?”

Charlie looked at him for a moment, her head cocking to the right just barely, and she smiled just barely.

“Yeah. Right,” she agreed. 

“I’m gonna go find her, but come get me if you need me okay?”

She nodded, smiling when he patted her knee and moved back into the parlor. Ethan was walking around with Indy, looking at all the floral arrangements that had been sent. Grayson slotted himself beside her.

“Are the blue ones different flowers though? Like what makes them purple?” Ethan asked.

“They’re all hydrangeas. I think it has something to do with the soil, that’s what makes them different colors.”

“Acid. The soil has to be acidic, Ma always adds stuff to get the blue ones at the house,” Grayson chimed in, subtly relieving Ethan of his duties. Indy relaxed when she felt him next to her.

“The blue ones are my favorite,” she hummed, rubbing a petal between her thumb and finger. 

“Noted,” Grayson said. “Let’s get you some water, it’s almost 2.”

She didn’t protest, nerves buzzing with dread as she realized it was almost time for her to speak in front of so many people. 

“You have my speech right?”

He patted his chest pocket where he’d tucked it that morning.

“You’ve got this. I’ll be right there the whole time, okay?”

She nodded, following him to the small kitchen to grab a water bottle from the fridge.

Time flew, and before she knew it everyone was seated in the parlor as quiet music played and the service began. There was a preacher who spoke, read some scripture. Indy could only hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Grayson’s hand anchored her, squeezing hers just barely. He traced over knuckles with his finger. B-R-E-A-T-H-E.

She tried, but her lungs felt tight when the preacher gave her the cue. She stood and smoothed out her dress, took the paper from Grayson. It quivered in the air as she carried it to the podium. There were too many eyes on her, too many red and bloodshot from tears already shed. 

She looked at Grayson. He only nodded at her, a silent reassurance. She smoothed the paper out on the wood, inhaled through her nose, and spoke.

“Hi. For anyone who doesn’t know me, my name is Indiana Cross, and I was a friend of Bekah’s. I’ve never done one of these before, and to be completely honest with you, I’m not really sure how to do one of these. So, I thought about what Bekah would do when I asked her a question - she’d tell me we were living in the 21st century, and that I should ‘just google it’. So that’s what I did. But it wasn’t helpful, because eulogies aren’t designed to be told about 15 year olds. Because 15 year olds are supposed to turn 16, and get their driver’s license and go to prom and grow up to be 17, and so on. So, I don’t think any of us know how to do this -” she waved around the room with a broken exhale - “but that’s okay.”

“I’m the type of person who believes that there are reasons for a lot of things in life, but I’m struggling, like I’m sure many of you are today, to understand what the reason for Bekah being taken from us so soon is. Maybe it’s beyond our understanding. Maybe it’s the cruelty of the universe. All I know is, it isn’t fair, and it isn’t going to make sense to me for a very long time. But all we can do is work to remember Bekah for the light that she was, and will continue to be. So, I’m going to share a few stories about Bekah, and the people that loved her. 

She could hear the sniffles, both her own amplified in the mic, and those from the crowd. She locked eyes with Grayson, who was sitting in the third row. He only nodded his head, willing all of his strength up to her somehow.

“I first met Bekah in a place where you generally don’t want to meet someone. The hospital. But, as anyone could guess, Bekah made a hospital seem like the best place to be simply by being there herself. We played pranks on the nurses, and then got said nurses in on our team and ganged up on the other ones. We ran the halls on good days, we cuddled up and watched movies on bad days. We snuck extra pudding and ice cream from the kitchen once when she was thirteen and got caught, and let me just say, I think that girl could have talked her way out of any trouble she ever got herself in. But the most important thing about that first hospital stay with Bekah was what she told me when I met her. She looked me right in the eyes and she said ‘don’t treat me like I’m sick and I won’t act like it’. I had never met a kid with so much strength and bravery in my life. But that’s what we did, and by god did she keep that energy until the very end. 

“Bekah went into remission 3 times. And when I found out she was back for this next time, I figured it would be just like her past rounds. She would beat it, because she’s Bekah, and she always beats it. I don’t know where her strength comes from, but I know some of it is from her parents. But in all honesty, I think she was just a special person with something special in her. She was kind, and loving and strong and hilarious and witty and smart and beautiful and special. I would give up just about anything to get to see her grow up, to see the woman she would have become if - if she’d been given just a little bit more t-time.”

Indy’s voice began to falter, her breath hitching in her throat on the way out. She grabbed onto the podium, her notes blurry with tears. Grayson twitched in his pew, moving to stand up, to go to her. She saw him and moved her hand to the top of the wood, tapping her fingers subtly. Somehow, he knew what she meant. Wait.

“But I can find some peace in knowing how Bekah’s last days went, and I hope I can share some of that with you. She wasn’t scared to die. She went peacefully, and I don’t have a single doubt that she’s up in heaven watching us right now, probably making fun of me and also thanking me for not telling you all some of the stories of things we got up to. So to end it, I’ll quote a lyric from one of her favorite people, who she claimed would ‘totally be her boyfriend if he knew she had cancer’, Harry Styles. He says “remember everything will be alright. We can meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here.” For now, Bekah is far away. And that’s a hard reality, for all of us, because she deserved more time here. But I know we’ll see her again someday, and I’m going to hold onto that until this starts to make a bit more sense, if it ever does. So, I love you Beks. Always have, always will. And I’ll see you again someday. Promise.”

Her voice cracked at the end as she stepped back from the microphone, fingers numb and cheeks hot and stiff from the salt of her tears. Grayson stood as she walked back down the center aisle to him, reached out to take her hand and help her to her seat. With the pressure gone and everyone’s eyes elsewhere, she crumpled into his chest, grabbing onto the lapel of his suit jacket as the sobs began to break free.

“Shhh, you’re okay. You did so good,” he whispered just for her, his own tears disappearing into her hair. Charlie ran a hand along her back to soothe her as the preacher returned to the podium to speak again. She didn’t hear much of what he said. Everyone cried as the service moved on, sounds of rustled tissue boxes and quiet sobs behind fists made the soundtrack to the show no one wanted to see. 

Everything moved too quickly, and suddenly everyone was lining up to pass by and give their final goodbyes. Indy clung to Grayson’s hand as Ethan and Charlie excused themselves out of respect. 

Indy blinked away her tears to get one more look at Bekah when it was her turn. Grayson reached to adjust her head scarf, and Indy rubbed her hand, willing herself to pretend it was warm. 

Grayson was a pallbearer, eyes red and puffy as he carried her much too light casket to the back of the hearse. It gave Indy comfort, knowing she was safe with him.

She held it together on the walk to the car, head held high the way Bekah would want it to be, and she noticed Charlie scurry to take the front seat, forcing Grayson into the back with her. She was grateful for it, especially when she slid into the middle seat so she could sit next to him as they joined the procession. 

Indy watched the trees, and Grayson watched her.

The cemetery was beautiful as they drove through it. Plenty of trees that Indy knew would be beautiful in the warmer months. It gave her some peace to know that she would rest in such a lovely place, even though she knew she wasn’t really there. She hoped it would give people a place to remember her fondly, to talk to her. She herself had never really cared for cemeteries, but she stood tall anyways and went through the motions. She watched Grayson carry the casket to the pedestal, took the rose that they gave her off of the casket spray and said her goodbyes quietly. 

The sun shone brightly above them, but it began to drizzle right as she was about to climb into the car. A sun shower, she supposed.

Her tears mixed with the droplets that fell. 

“Hey Beks,” she smiled, an odd sense of peace flowing over her as she stood there for a moment to soak it in before she climbed into the car. 

Ethan drove them back to Jersey, and Indy laid her head on Grayson’s shoulder the whole two hours it took to get there. 

When they got back, it was obvious what Lisa had been doing to keep herself busy. There was a casserole in the oven, both a vegan and non-vegan option, with fresh salad and bread she’d baked herself. 

“I know it’s not really dinner time yet, I just figured you guys might be hungry when you got back, and I didn’t have much else to do,” Lisa explained with a sheepish smile. Grayson just smiled at her and kissed her temple.

“Thanks Ma. You’re the best. Dee, you want something to change into?”

“Sure. My stuff is out at the house though,” she reminded him.

“I’ll find you something,” he said before he disappeared upstairs.

“The house? You all stayed out at the tiny homes last night?” Charlie asked quietly. Indy bristled, ready to defend herself. 

“I needed to write the eulogy, I needed somewhere quiet, and it’s nice out there. I just needed somewhere nice for the night, not my place.”

Charlie was smiling.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” she said. Indy balked, unsure that she’d heard her sister correctly. She resisted the urge to quote some of the explitivies Charlie had called Grayson when she first found out he’d left for LA during their phone call.

“You’re not saying it’s a bad thing…” Indy confirmed, waiting.

“All I’m saying is… maybe I was wrong. He’s a good guy. Just be careful, okay? Can’t see you like that again, especially with all this going on too.”

Indy was blushing, but she nodded. 

“Here, try these. Might fit if you roll them and tie em’ real tight.” Gray came down the stairs with a pair of black sweatpants and an old wrestling sweatshirt. She took them gratefully, moving into the bathroom to change. She felt free once her dress was gone, like she’d pulled some of the weight of the day off with the fabric. The sweats were still too big, but she didn’t mind. 

Outside the door and down the hallway, Ethan had pulled his brother aside.

“You need to be here.” 

Grayson waited for him to continue.

“I was fucking wrong. I got my priorities fucked, and I put that on you, and I’m sorry. I know the businesses are out in LA, and I don’t think we can really change that right now, but we’ll figure it out. I can fly out here when we need to, and you can come out when you have to.”

Indy heard voices down the hall. 

“Flights are cheaper on Thursdays usually, we could always plan for that.”

It hurt worse somehow, for it to be in Grayson’s voice. 

It was Tuesday.

She disappeared quietly down the hall in the other direction, her stomach turning. 

It was what she knew would happen. It was the pain she’d told herself would be worth letting herself be with him, just for a few more days. 

The pain in her gut had other ideas. The smell of the food from the kitchen made her nauseous when she reentered, and she gave Lisa a sympathetic smile. The angel in the whole ordeal, the last thing she wanted was to hurt her.

“Hey Li, I’m not feeling too good. I think I’m gonna lay down upstairs for a bit if that’s okay.”

“Of course, of course it’s okay. Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you, and thank you for cooking. You guys go ahead and eat if you get hungry, I’m probably good for tonight.”

“Okay sweetie, get some rest.”

Indy managed to get upstairs undetected, and she found herself in Grayson’s room out of habit. She didn’t know what else to do, so she climbed under the covers and let her tears fall. She felt stupid, and unwanted, and sad. She’d let her heart get trampled again, all for a few days of comfort. 

She felt pathetic. 

Grayson’s feet thudded up the stairs only a few minutes later. She buried her face in the covers like a child, made her breathing even and slow. 

He creaked the door open quietly, feet pausing before he came over to her. 

She felt his hand on her hair, smoothing it back, and then his lips on her temple. 

“I love you,” he whispered, and then he was gone. 

Indy’s heart jumped to her throat, and her eyes shot open when she heard the door latch. 

Her mind ran circles around itself as she laid there, staring at the ceiling wrapped in the blankets that smelled like him. 

Did he love her? And if he did, did it matter?

It was times like that she wished more than anything that her mom was there. The closest thing she had was Charlie, who she suddenly felt guilty for leaving downstairs. But at the same time, she knew she couldn’t reappear so soon. So she sat, and she spiraled and rationalized and tried to make sense of her world that had fallen apart around her so quickly. 

Downstairs, Grayson’s mind was wandering. His stomach led him, as it often did, but the greater part of him wanted to be upstairs in bed instead of at the kitchen table. But he couldn’t deny his mom’s cooking, especially after a hard day. So he sat at the table, glad that Charlie was no longer staring daggers into him from across the table. He gave Indy an hour or so to sleep before he went to check on her again, surprised to see her awake, perched on the edge of the bed.

“Hey you,” he smiled. “You ready to go?”

She looked up quickly. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she looked nervous.

“Go?”

“To the house. All our stuff is out there, and I figured Charlie could stay in here tonight.”

“Yeah. Yeah, the house would be good.”

He held his hand out for her and she took it, let him lead her out to the truck, down the roads to the houses. 

“You still tired?” Grayson asked once he’d kicked his boots off.

She thought of laying with him and nodded, walking up to the loft so he would follow. 

He laid down beside her, let her curl up to him like she always had. It was peaceful, with the quiet hum of the furnace and the woods outside. The sun had set on their drive, and the dim lights from the kitchen made everything a warm yellow. 

Indy took a deep breath and moved her hand under Grayson’s hoodie to find his skin. 

Y-O-U-C-A-N-G-O

Grayson was quiet for a moment.

“What?”

She traced it again, slower, but she didn’t get to finish. He sat up in the middle of it, turning to her with concern all over his face.

“You want me to go?”

She stared at the ceiling.

“Want isn’t really the right word. But you can go.”

His heartbeat picked up, and he moved into her eye line.

“What does that mean.”

“I really appreciate you being here. I do. But I’m gonna be okay. You don’t have to stay here just because I’m sad. You don’t have to stay for me.”

A punch to the gut would have hurt him less. 

“Indy. Indy, look at me.”

She turned and found his eyes, and to her surprise, his were watery.

“You’re my only reason to stay. I want to stay.”

“Stop. Just stop, I heard you earlier, you don’t have to pretend like you want to be here.”

“What’re you talking about?”

Indy sat up on her elbows.

“Flights are cheap on Thursdays,” she said. Grayson’s heart dropped for a moment, and then the pieces came into place. 

“Indy. Baby, that wasn’t what you think it was.”

“Then what was it Grayson, please enlighten me.” 

Grayson took her hand and kissed her knuckles. 

“That was Ethan and I trying to figure out how I can stay here. How I can stay here with you. Because I want to be here. I want to be with you, I always have. Ever since I met you I knew I was meant to be wherever you are. I never should have left, it was the dumbest shit I ever did. And I didn’t want to bring all this up, because I know emotions are fucked right now, with Beks and everything. But I want to be here with you, or I want you with me, or I want whatever it takes for us to be okay and together. If that’s something you still want.”

Her head was spinning. 

“You still want me?”

He nodded. 

“Never stopped.” 

Indy took in her first deep breath in days.

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for a while. Grayson opened and closed his mouth a few times, thinking better of his words before he spoke them. 

“It’s okay if you don’t know tonight. There’s too much going on right now, I don’t expect you to know how you feel about it right now,” he finally said, voice too loud in his excitement and nerves.

“Yeah. I need time to… think.”

“Yeah! Yeah, no that’s good. I want you to take your time with it, of course. And I can give you as much space as you need, you know, like, um, I can go sleep on the couch. If you want.”

Despite everything, Indy laughed.

“You don’t even fit on the couch.”

“I could make it work,” he said sheepishly.

“You’re fine. Just go to sleep, and I’ll… I’ll think about it.” 

There was an excitement in his voice that she hadn’t heard in a long time - it snuck through even as he tried to hide it.

“Okay. Sounds good. Well, uh… goodnight.”

“Goodnight Gray.”

They stared at each other for a minute, unsure of what to do with all the new emotions that had come to light.

“We should probably lay down, if we’re gonna sleep,” Indy said.

“Right, yeah. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she said again, watching him awkwardly pull back the covers and climb in fully clothed. She wanted to laugh at how awkward it was, as if they hadn’t been in each other’s arms every night since he’d been back. He kept his back to her, and she knew with her mind buzzing she wouldn’t be able to sleep. 

She pulled her laptop out of the bag by the bed, fired up her hotspot and started to scroll through her feeds, passing mindless time and keeping herself busy until Grayson began to snore, rolling to his stomach. It was a sweet sound, and she couldn’t help but to reach over and move his covers up, her fingers brushing over his arm.

He stirred under her touch, grunting a bit as he half woke up, sitting up just enough to pull the yellow hoodie over his head and toss it off the bed.

“Whatcha doing,” he mumbled, reaching a blind hand out until he found skin, fingers landing on her leg under the covers. Indy smiled and moved her hand away from her keyboard, scratched lightly up and down his back, over his tattoo as a thought crossed her mind. 

“Just emails. Almost done.”

“You okay?” He asked, voice muffled by the pillow. 

“I’m okay. Sleep.”

“M’kay.”

He was snoring again momentarily, and once she was sure he was out she claimed her hand back, clicking quietly until she got to what she was looking for. 

Her email from UCLA. 

She scrolled down to the bottom, looked at the two links she had stared at so many times since it had arrived in her inbox.

Accept. Decline.

She moved her mouse and clicked once, and then she closed her laptop, put it on the nightstand and cuddled under the covers. Grayson huffed at her movements, reaching for her in the dark. She let him pull her closer, relishing in the feeling of being with him for another night.

#mixtape #ONLY ONE MORE TRACK GUYS #WHAT #WHATTTTT #then the epilogue #grayson dolan #grayson dolan fanfiction

[averyhappychainsawhalloween]

Reverence | Part 2

Thomas Hewitt X Reader

The morning came like a soft embrace. Sunlight filtered in through handstitched cotton curtains and outside birds chirped. There was still an ache in your head but you felt a lot better after a good night’s rest. Swinging your feet out of bed you stretched your stiff muscles and started downstairs. It was an old house and each step creaked under your weight. It reminded you of your grandma’s house and how you’d scramble into the kitchen to stamp out sugar cookies with her.

You peeked your head into the kitchen to see the older woman working at the sink. 

“Good morning,” you said. The woman jumped, nearly dropping a dish. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am.” 

“Don’t worry about it, I thought you’d be sleeping in,” she said, setting the plate aside. “And please call me Luda Mae.” 

“Do you need any help, Luda Mae?” you asked, trying out the name on your tongue. It felt comfortable in your mouth, like you’d always known it. 

“Aren’t you a doll,” Luda Mae said giving you a kind smile. “Can you help me bring the plates into the dinning room for breakfast?” 

You nodded and picked up a tray of a sausage patties. They were warm and smelled good, if a bit ruggedly shaped. You set the tray down on the wooden table and take a look at the spread. There was coffee, sausage, bacon, and a small dish of eggs. Very little fresh fruits or vegetables but you figured it was hard to come by those out in the country unless you grew them yourself. 

“Are breakfasts always formal?” you asked, looking around the dinning room and the highbacked chairs. 

“It is when we have a guest,” Luda Mae said giving you a wink. 

You helped Luda Mae get everything ready and soon the house began to gather for the meal. Hoyt took a seat, still in his sheriff’s outfit. An older man in a wheelchair was introduced as Monty. He gave you a hard look but seemed harmless. Hoyt said a blessing and then everyone began grabbing for food. You waited, looking to the doorway. 

“Tommy’s already had breakfast,” Luda Mae said, reaching over to pat your arm. 

“Oh.” Your eyes fell to your lap. You didn’t want to look too disappointed so you went for one of the sausage patties on the table. Your eyes connected with Hoyt’s at the head of the table. He was examining you closely and it made your skin crawl. 

“Thomas has work he needs to do. He don’t need you distracting him,” Hoyt said before taking a large bite from a piece of bacon. 

“What does he do?” You took a bite out of the sausage. It tasted different than the frozen patties your family shoved in the microwave. It was probably fresh from a butcher or maybe their own pigs. Most food tasted different fresh, this didn’t necessarily taste better just... different. 

You looked up from the sausage to a silent table. The three family members share a look. 

“He’s a butcher,” Hoyt said after a long pause before stabbing his fork into his plate. 

“Oh, I thought he might make pies.” You didn’t mean to blurt it out but the words escaped anyway. Your face went red and Hoyt threw his head back to laugh. Monty and Luda Mae shared a small chuckle. 

“Honey, you’re just too sweet,” Luda Mae laughed, taking your hand and squeezing it. A smile crept across your lips and you let it take control, showing off your teeth. 

“A pretty little thing too,” Hoyt said, leaning over his plate. You didn’t let your smile waver but Hoyt’s words left a bad taste in your mouth. You were used to older men talking to you like this, but it didn’t mean you enjoyed it. However, you were at their table and surviving on their hospitality and your mother would hunt you down if you were rude. 

“Does Tommy work nearby?” You turned your attention to Luda Mae. There didn’t seem to be much outside beyond fields you could see from your window but the country often had long stretches of nothing. Perhaps he had his own shop nearby. 

“Since the slaughterhouse closed he’s been working at home,” Luda Mae said, her voice soft as if she was choosing her words carefully. You raised an eyebrow. You had heard of lots of businesses running out of homes- daycares, tamales, and bakers but a butcher? That didn’t seem like something you’d want to stain your floors with. 

“Oh wow. I’ll have to ask Tommy more about it,” you said taking another bite of your breakfast. 

“Oh dear, Tommy isn’t much of a talker,” Luda Mae said. “He’s a shy boy so don’t take offense.” 

You thought back on your interactions and realized Tommy had not spoken a single word. How strange for you to have not noticed. He had such a presence that it felt like he was speaking even by being silent. 

“Besides you don’t need to be down in the basement. You’re still recovering. How about you go outside and get some sun. A good walk will help your head, dear,” Luda Mae said rising from the table. You nodded and started out of the front door but paused on the porch. 

You had woken up in the basement. It had been damp and musty and horrifying. They locked you down there with chains. You don’t remember seeing any animals, or anything resembling a butcher’s block. 

A tightness formed in your chest and you looked back to Luda Mae who was clearing the breakfast dishes. She gave you a wink and waved for you to leave. 

Suddenly the old house and southern charm of the family didn’t feel quite so inviting. 

-

Outside you stretched out in the grass and watched the sun grow overhead. You had taken a small walk of the property, with an eye out for any animals they could be slaughtering, but didn’t find any. There didn’t even seem to be pins or any area arranged for cows or pigs that were empty. There were, however, a lot of cars. Not just old ones but newer ones tossed aside as if they were junk. You took look inside a few of them and saw ornaments on the dashboard, big gulp cups in the cupholders, and even wallets on the seats. They weren’t junkers, they looked abandoned. 

You slid into the passenger seat of a Volkswagen beetle, it’s orange paint dull and tires flat from sitting in the field. A leather wallet was on the driver’s seat and you plucked it up and opened it. There was cash inside, and a driver’s license peeking out of it. You pulled out the card, looking at the face smiling up at you. It was a young guy, young enough that he may have missed the draft. People don’t just leave things like wallets and their cars like this.

You felt a shiver run up your spine. Where were your things from the van? Your backpack, the book from the flea market. You were wondering why this young man had left his wallet when you had no idea where yours was. You tossed the wallet aside and stepped out of the car. Maybe Hoyt knew where the wreck was. Someone in the house had to know- you didn’t walk to their house you just were in it. 

Fear started to crawl up your throat. This wasn’t making sense. 

You started back towards the house when you froze. 

At the end of the row of cars and trucks huddled under a few spare trees was a van painted dark gray. You slowly walked towards it afraid it might vanish if you looked away or even blinked. You kept an eye on it until you planted a palm against its side. It was real it was here. The windows were shattered leaving holes to peer inside. It was dark inside, glass and blood covered the seats and floor. The side door was bent from the wreck and it took some work to pry it open. You shimmied inside, climbing over the seats to the place you had claimed for the trip in the back. You fell into the seat, mindful of the glass pieces that seemed to coat everything. You closed your eyes trying to remember exactly had happened but there was nothing to remember. Your head hit the van and everything was dark. You looked up at the frame beside you, a dark red mark spread across the metal from where your skull had connected. 

Remembering wouldn’t help anything, but looking around might. 

You looked under the seat but couldn’t seem to find your backpack. You moved through the van, closer to the front seat and stopped. The driver’s seat was coated in blood. As if a bucket had been poured on the upholstery and someone let is soak into it. It smelled rancid, like something rotting. You took a gulp of air before leaning around the seat to inspect it. There was a a hole in the headrest of the seat, the filling spilled out dried in clumps of blood. You leaned in closure, looking at the shriveled bits that seemed to cling to to the fabric. 

A car horn blared through the afternoon and you nearly gave yourself another concussion jumping at the noise. You scrambled out of the van looking towards the house for where it may have come from. A small car had pulled up and a young man stepped out of the driver’s side. 

Your heart beat hard in your chest as you moved to the stranger. They could take you to the next town and you could call your mom or a cab or something. Wherever you got would be fine as long as it wasn’t here where the butcher nonexistent cattle and collected the belongings of ghosts. You were nearly running, the tall grass tickling your legs, as you moved to the front of the house. 

Except the screen door slammed open before you got there. Hoyt came down the stairs and started talking to the man. You stopped, catching your breath and clutching the side of the house. Hoyt and the young man talked, their voices too low for you to understand. 

And suddenly Hoyt took out his pistol and shot the man right in the head. 

Your hand slapped across your mouth trapping the scream that tore at your throat. The battered headrest coated in blood and brains came to mind. 

Dead. This stranger was dead. Your friends were dead. 

If you didn’t leave you’d be dead too. 

Tears pricked your eyes as your fingers dug into the skin of your cheeks too scared to release your lips. 

A woman screams and you think it’s you but it’s not. It’s a passenger in the young man’s car. She jumps out, yelling at Hoyt before running back towards the road. Hoyt takes aim and shoots her in the back. The blood spurts from her shoulder, arching into the air before splattering into the dirt. 

Your knees gave out. You collapsed against the side of the house sliding down into the dirt. Your teeth bite into the meat of your hand to keep from screaming. 

You feel impossibly stupid. How could you have not seen this? Because they were nice to you? Cause a man held your hand and got you water? Because an old woman smiled and gave you breakfast? 

“Tommy!” Hoyt yelled, standing over his new kill. Her feet wiggled and he drove his boot into her neck. She twitched and then fell still. “Thomas get out here now!” 

“Stop yelling!” Luda Mae’s voice came from the porch where you couldn’t see her. “I don’t want you scaring that girl.”

“Why not? She could use a good scare!” Hoyt said, hooking a thumb into his belt. His boot was still on that woman’s neck despite her body growing cold. 

“Thomas is sweet on her and I won’t have you scaring her off,” Luda Mae said, her voice low but clear enough you could still hear it. You’re straining to hear and suddenly heavy bootsteps echo across the porch. Tommy steps off the porch into view, two heavy metal hooks in his hand. 

“That’s a good boy. Mama wants these cleared before your little friend seems ‘em,” Hoyt said. Tommy moves to the body Hoyt is standing on, shoving the metal hook into the flesh of the woman’s chest. He drags the body before doing the same with the young man. Up close you see the metal pierce through the corpses’ skin and tear through its shirt. Tommy lifts the body up as easy as if it weight nothing at all and carries them into the house. 

“I don’t know why you’re humorin’ him,” Hoyt said spitting into the dirt and walking up to the porch. “He doesn’t know what to do with a woman. It’s a waste of meat and another mouth.” 

“She’s kind to him and I’m willing to wait to see how it goes,” Luda Mae said. “And if it goes south, there’s always the basement.” 

The screen door slams shut and you’re left alone outside with the stranger’s car still idling and a million thoughts running through your head. 

This was not southern hospitality, it was a deathtrap. 

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #leatherface #slashers x reader

[writefightandflightclub]

“One word from you and I will jump off of this ledge I’m on, baby.” - First Love / Late Spring (Mitski)

Pairing + genre: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader. Hurt / comfort + angst.

Summary: Santi is the sorta man who keeps his promises, and he promised to be there for you always and forever. All you have to do is say the word.

Author’s note: this one hurt me. Word count: 6k (SORRY!)

Warnings: panic attack  / aftermath = a major / central theme. Allusions to prior trauma (non-specific). One mention of blood. ANGST.

“This is a man who keeps his oaths, his promises. To his country, to his friends. One word is all it takes, and Pope will be there for you in a heartbeat. He isn’t the kind of man to let a team member down, and, believe me, once you’re on his squad? You’re on it for life. Forever and always.” - Frankie Morales

Years of cruel awakenings in the military had made Pope an especially light sleeper. Luckily, out here in the suburbs, he was significantly less likely to be awoken with a grenade through the window. So, when his cell phone rings, wresting him rudely from slumber, he almost allows himself to be blasé about it. To just hit the red button and turn over.

But it’s still pitch dark. Too late -or too early- for this wake-up call to be something routine. So, Pope’s arm pokes out from beneath the covers as he fumbles blindly for his phone. He brings it to his ear wordlessly, voice still grogged by sleep. If he expects anything at all, it’s for the caller to be Catfish - drunk and checking-in on his sorry ass again.

“Santi?”

Instead, it is your panicked voice -swaddled in tell-tale signs of danger- which slices through the dark like the blade of an enemy combatant, yanking Pope harshly from his haze. Flinging off the coiled ropes of sleep, he is instantly firing on all cylinders, his body responding in much the same way as he might to enemy fire; preparing to counter a threat. To eliminate whatever is hurting you, with as much speed and precision as possible.

“Shit. I’ll be right there.”

Pope throws the covers off and he’s already awake and moving, even before he can comprehend exactly what’s wrong. He knows enough. He knows that something is wrong. And he knows he’s going to be there for you, like he promised he always would be.

He tugs on his nearest sweats and tumbles through his house in the dark, adrenaline pumping through him as he barrels his way across the landing, stubbing his toe more than once on the strewn piles of unpacked boxes. Pope’s breath seethes through his teeth and he curses, momentarily wondering if he’s grown soft since he was discharged; he could swear bullet wounds never used to slow him down as much as a big toe clipped on the corner of a box.

Continuing to shake the remaining webs of sleep from his head -and actually remembering the layout of his new house- Pope presses on. He throws himself down his staircase, missing the last five stairs. He is straining to decipher your words on the other end of the line all the while, to little avail.

He speedily wrestles on a jacket and scoops his car keys out of the bowl by his front door, quickly toeing on odd shoes before he scrambles from his house and slots himself behind the wheel of his truck. Pope’s heart is hammering blood around his body as he slots his cell into the car phone holder and powers the car down his driveway, all less than a minute from waking.

He’s a mess of worry as he hears you cry blearily through the speaker, and he bridges his fingers against his forehead in frustration when he can barely interpret a single word of it.

“Cariño, listen. I’ll be right there. You at home?”

All he can make out is a “no” and “driving” and not much else, and he panics.

“Fuck.”, he curses, under his breath, as he realises he’s not going to get anything useful out of you in your current state.

Pope sucks air in through his teeth with frustration. He can’t eliminate the threat if he doesn’t know what it is, and there’s nothing Santi finds more terrifying than not knowing what he’s up against. Nothing more terrifying than being unable to execute a plan. To fix a problem with lethal precision.

“Just sit tight, okay? Just stay there. I’m coming to you, cariño.”

He pulls up a tracker app to establish where you are, and he puts pedal to the metal, driving far faster than he should. There’s no way he’s going to let a speed limit or some pesky stop lights stand between him and getting to you as quickly as possible.

Following directions to your location, Santi eventually finds your truck strewn in the middle of an intersection, door flung open. It looks reminiscent of something from out in the field, as if you’ve been strewn from your vehicle by a blast.

As Pope pulls around, his eagle eyes immediately locate your shadowed form crouching on the lip of the sidewalk, face buried to your knees. He parks abysmally, his heart throbbing, and legs it over to you, his movements tactical and efficient.

When he reaches you, Pope crouches down in front of you without a care for those bad knees of his. When he reaches you, everything ceases to be tactical or lethal. Everything about him is suddenly soft and haphazard, and he’s pawing gently at you and looking over you for any harm, examining your eyes for clues as you regard him like a sheepish animal.

You don’t appear to be physically hurt, but your skin is sheening, your face tear-stained, hands trembling and eyes glassy. 

“Sweetie. Hermosa, look at me. What happened?” Pope asks, his voice both soothing and insistent as he gingerly tips your head upward with his strong hand to search your vacant eyes.

You don’t answer though, and so, recognising the aftermath of a likely panic attack -knowing how they manifest for you- Pope comes to sit behind you on the sidewalk edge, slotting his legs either side of the trunk of your body and wrapping you firmly in the circumference of him. He pulls you tightly to his chest, bundling your clammy arms and hands into his embrace.

Pope shushes and soothes and rocks you. He brushes your hair back from your sweaty face. He lets your tears fall wet on to his hands as he clasps them in front of you. And through it, Pope does his best to present a picture of calm, despite his terror at seeing you so distressed. He forces his breathing to remain slow and deep and steady, until your own stunted breaths are somewhat in sync with the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

“I got you. You’re safe,” he mumbles into your hair, into the crook of your neck, hooking his head over your shoulder, all stubble and grizzled curls nuzzling up against you. “You’re safe. You know that, cariño?” He soothes, encourages. “Tell me yes, baby. Come on.”

“Yeah,” you finally push out, voice scrubbed clean. 

The inflection of your voice hurts Santi. Boy, does he know that feeling. Your voice sounds strung out; tense, and spread thin. Somehow you sound on high alert, burning and raw... but at the same time, empty and numb. Like a shocked, ravaged fruit, scooped-out.

It manifests differently for Pope -nightmares mainly- but he knows. He understands. You’d both done more than your share of dark things that insisted on following you out from the military. The resulting pain had always been a bedfellow lying under the covers between you, pushing you further and further apart as it nuzzled its way into your chests, causing hearts to crash and ribs to bruise like roll cages.

“You’re ok, sweetie. You’re doing good.”, he reminds you. “That’s it.”

You’re still tense against him, all of your muscles stacked and coiled like an angry snake, your legs bouncing agitatedly; yet at the same time there is no intention in your body. You are aimless. Firing on all cylinders but with no target - nothing in your sight. No tangible threat to eliminate.

Pope knows all too well that the most elusive enemy of all is the kind in your head. Still, your breaths become slower, more level. And now that your physical symptoms appear to be calming, body levelling, Santi tries his best to bring your mind back too. Tries to ground you in everything real and tangible. 

“Focus up for me, ok? You know the drill. What can you smell?”

You are silent, and he gives you a gentle jostle in his arms. He wishes he could see your face properly, but you are still staring dead ahead. 

“Come on, hermosa. Try for me.”, he pleads, and something must finally reach you.

When your voice finally comes, to Pope it’s like the first bloom of spring after a long winter.

“I can smell peach trees. Balmy air. Gasoline.”

He finally unclenches a little himself, as you begin talking. “Good. What can you see?”

Your hair brushes against his neck as you subtly swivel your head around the scene. “Grey. Asphalt. A badly parked car. But also... spring. Buds and blades of grass peeking through the cracks.”

Santi similarly scans his eyes around the intersection and empty lot in your view. “Shit. You’re fuckin’ poetic, baby.” He would have just said trucks. Maybe would’ve recited a few number plates he’d accidentally memorised already - old habits die hard.

Pope smiles softly to himself as he is reminded of the way you see things. Differently. More softly. You always saw him more softly. You didn’t see him as a killer. You saw the buds peeping through the cracks. You loved him like spring.

“You’re doing good, cariño. Keep it up. What can you hear?”

“Your voice. The hum of the pylons against the hot, damp air.”

Santi is calm, practically mesmerised by you as you speak. He swallows thickly, as he holds you against him. “What can you feel?”

You take a deep breath then, before speaking, your chest straining against his circling arms as your rib cage expands. Your voice is fuller when it flows from your lips, and it is only then - finally, that you sink into him, allowing relief to take you. “I can feel you.”

“You back with me, huh? Come on, keep going. Let’s finish this.”, he encourages, his breath billowing over the back of your neck.

“I can feel... my heart in my chest, the air on my face. Wet tears there. Your warm skin on mine, and your body sturdy against me. Your breath warm, your stubble rough on my neck. The hairs on your arms tickling against me. I can feel the metal bobbles of your chain digging into the flesh of my shoulder.”

Your hands start to slip over Pope’s arms and hands as you become more and more grounded, seeking out more textures. Touch always grounds you like nothing else.

The more grounded you become - the more your touch skims over him- the more Pope rises, swept away like spring blossoms on balmy air, sweet and helpless. Then, your fingers skim over his watch, running over its glassy face. Over the ridges of his knuckles. You stop abruptly when you reach the cool, smooth wedding band on his ring finger.

Pope tries not to let his heart break into pieces as you pause, rotating the ring ever so slightly between your fingertips. 

Grounded, back to yourself, you swivel your head towards Pope, turning to where his face nestles at the junction of your shoulder. “I feel... safe,” you say, bringing your palm up to the side of his face, your stare no longer vacant like a house with empty windows, but lit with the soft glow of home.

You’ve come back to him, and you’re inviting him in. 

“You are safe. I’ve got your six, ok?”

“I know you do. And I’ve got your zero through twelve.”

Pope smiles sentimentally, as you recite your old phrase, the feeling bittersweet like unripe peaches.

How he wishes you would really come back to him. Invite him in.

Pope narrows his eyes fondly at you. You have mascara streaking down your cheeks. Tear-plumped eyes. And you’re beautiful. He could kiss you. Wants to. But this moment is not about his comfort, so, instead, he presses his palm over yours and asks you gently:

“Can you tell me what happened?”

He feels you stiffen slightly against him.

“Take your time.”, he soothes, running his fingers up and down your arms, absent-mindedly dipping his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your perfume. Light notes of first loves and late spring. 

“It’s dumb,” you say, leaning your head back on to his chest. “I was driving home from...”, you appear to cut yourself off, snapping your lips shut, and it is only then that Santi properly clocks your attire.

Oh. Okay. Well, shit.

That’s a “date” dress if ever he saw one.

He wants to either fight or to retreat. To take some action, deploy some strategy. He wants to beg you to be with him instead. He wants to. But he tries to swallow his heartache down. This isn’t a time for his pain. So, he simply buries it right down with all the rest; shutting himself off. Eyes becoming vacant windows. 

“And then what?” he prompts softly, neutrally, giving you an easy way to bridge the glaring gap in your story.

“Nothing. It was nothing.” You shake your head disbelievingly as you recall it. “A car backfired behind me. It became bullets,” you continue, voice monotone, brow troubled, eyes searching like the sweep of headlights. “Tires screeching became screams. The stop light glaring down on my hands, became red like blood.” You shrug, tugging in a long breath only to huff it out in frustration, voice hollowed-out again. “Then, I was back there, Santi. I was right back there. I’m such a fucking cliché.”

Pope smooths his hands over your shoulders as he feels your muscles recoil against him. This is one of the times he doesn’t envy your poetry, at all. When your trauma is a scribe which can translate everyday things into a metaphor for your pain. All Pope can offer is to look at you with comprehension. Understanding. It’s no use telling you it wasn’t real. He knows how real it can feel, in the moment. All he can do is gently kiss your hair. Hold you a little tighter. Be here for you, like he promised.

Pope wishes he could take all this pain from you. If there was a way, he gladly would. In a heartbeat. But a fine job he did of that; when he was with you, he had only seemed to hurt you more.

He shakes the clingy webs of pain from his own mind. The nightmares clawing at him sometimes even while waking. “Then what?” Santi probes gently.

“I guess I got out of the truck. Parked like a shithead. And that’s when I called you.”

You twist your head back towards him, nipping your lip guiltily between your teeth in realisation. “I’m so sorry. It’s so late.”

Pope’s face becomes pinched and he looks down at the asphalt. “Don’t apologise,” he says sincerely. “I promised you always and forever. I still mean that.”

Gratefully, seemingly overcome with broiling emotion, you press a chaste, sentimental kiss to Pope’s lips, even as other more broken promises linger and mingle in the air between you.

With the shock of your lips on his, Pope finally stands, helping you delicately to your feet with him. “You wanna walk it off or shall we drive straight home?” Well, shit. It’s not his home anymore. “I mean, I’ll drive you... you know what I mean,” he trails off, sheepishly. 

You fold your arms over yourself, separating from him. But still you say warmly: “Can we go home, Santi?”

He looks at you, forcing his eyes to remain warm and soft. Guarding the perimeter of his heart. Refusing to let the pain creep in. Still, he knows a late frost can kill off those shoots which dare to venture out into the fickle sunlight. He won’t let happiness bloom either.

Instead, he wraps one sturdy arm around you -giving your shoulders a squeeze- and nods, insisting he’ll be right back with you as soon as he’s parked your truck up “less like a shithead”. He promises to swing by and collect if for you later but for now, you bundle into his truck and he leans across you to clip you securely into the passenger seat.

Then, Pope drives. Much more calmly than he had en route to you, keeping the movements of the car as soporific as possible as he winds through the quiet, dimly lit suburbs.

Every now and again, his eyes flick over to check on you. Your head is turned away from him, as you watch the dark scenes slip by the black hole of the window pane.

“You don’t have to watch me, Santi,” you say softly. “I’m okay.”

He swears you must have eyes in the back of your head. Or maybe you know him too well.

“Mm-hmm,” he says, dubiously.

You turn towards him then and stupidly he looks away, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the road rather than looking at you directly. As if he might turn to stone if he your eyes meet his. 

God, he wants to look at you. He’s missed your face far too much to waste so much time not looking.

“I’m okay.”, you insist again.

“I know,” he says softly. Not with any pity, mind; only empathy. Pope’s good with other people’s pain. It’s his own he can’t get a handle on. Too much baggage to carry.

“I really thought I had it under control.”, you say, your prior conviction wavering.

His eyes flick to you then, your gazes finally meeting and sparking like the switch to a warm, porch light. Familiar. Instantly warm.

“You did, until you didn’t,” he says plainly. “And you will again.”

You throw your hand on to Pope’s thigh to deliver a grateful squeeze, but then you’re looking out of the window again. As if you can’t have too much of him at once; can’t give too much of yourself at once. Can’t open up all your rooms lest you might invite him in to stay. Keep him distant like a guest in the parlour. Keep your head turned as if you’re walking away from him and you can’t look back, only ahead. Don’t invite him into your bed.

With a sigh, and a bridged hand rasping over the stubble at his clenched jaw, Pope pulls the truck into your driveway, engine gently humming until he slips the key out of the ignition.

He pats your thigh this time, to break your stare out of the black hole of the window. You look back at him wistfully. “Come on then, drama queen.”, he teases, boldly, his heart thrilling when the faintest ghost of a smile glints in your eyes.

Pope opens up the front door and leads you upstairs, following the familiar route to the master bedroom. He guides you to the edge of the bed, with a broad hand on the small of your back, and settles you down before flicking on the bedside lamp, a soft glow pooling in the room. Then, he gets down on his bad knees again to ease off your shoes.

His eyes flick around. Pope is always observing. Now he’s observing your life without him. He glances over to your tented paperback on the bedside table. He guesses you’ve started sleeping on his side of the bed since he’s been gone, then? He decides to push that hurt down with all the rest as he wonders vaguely if that was to feel closer to him. His face becomes taut.

“Santi?” you breathe, sucking his attention back as he kneels in front of you, and he deliberately softens his face. Your hands are pressed firmly down on your thighs, as if you need to weigh them down. As if your hands could so easily rise up to wind in his curls, like a spring breeze through a mess and flurry of cherry blossoms. You always saw something fresh in him. Saw poetry. Always saw what was possible, rather than the winters he had weathered.

You were always looking ahead. Oh, how he’d tried to look with you. To believe that he could still bloom. But that summer never came. He was simply glimpses of buds through cracks, never flowering.

“You wanna take a bath?”, Pope asks, throwing up the words like a shield, standing up stiffly. 

You nod slowly. “Yeah. That sounds nice. My muscles hurt.”

“Ok.”, he says, as brightly as possible. “I’ll draw you a bath, Princesa. And I’ll make you some warm lemonade while the water’s running. We got lemonade?”

Shit. He said it again. “We.”

Old habits die hard.

He supposes he can forgive himself the mistake, as he’s here with his home, in his house.

Shit. Your house. It’s your house now.

So, Pope potters busily around your house and sees to what you need, seeing ghosts of his own happiness and pain as he ambles from room to room. Trauma penning dark poetry across everyday scenes.

An apparition of you dancing to Metallica in the kitchen while you cook up pancakes. An image of you splayed out across the couch as you snuggle down, smile broad, ready for a day of watching Disney movies with him, arms outstretched to tug him in to your embrace. 

The kitchen floor where you’d had The Talk. Where you’d cried together for hours, backs up against the cabinets and knees drawn in to your chests until you’d finally decided. Decided that it hurt so much to be with him, that the inconceivable hurt of being apart would somehow feel like relief. Pope could never forgive himself for that. For hurting you that much. All he’d ever tried to do was keep his pain away from you, but it had still found you. It had snook around his perimeter and taken you down.

Always a killer. Always lethal.  Would he ever be anything else?

Pope’s pain flares again now but he pushes it down. Pushes it down again. Pushes it down. And he pads almost serenely up the stairs, coming to your aid. Coming to your aid, like always.

He lets you have a few sips of the warm, sugary lemonade. An old custom to steady the nerves after such a draining event - without resorting to hard liquor, at least. Once you’ve had plenty, Pope bends and lifts you from your perch on the bed, unceremoniously carrying you, bridal style, to the en suite. He sets you gently down by the edge of the tub.

Still not seeming entirely like yourself -still shaken and likely completely sapped from the earlier onslaught- Pope takes matters into his own hands.

“Okay, first things first, Winter Soldier,” he grins gently, taking in your mascara-smudged eyes. “Where’s that bottle of oily shit you rub on your face?”

You smile tentatively, grasping a bottle from the bathroom counter. “I can do it,” you state.

“I know, but you don’t have to, Princesa. Just let me take care of you.” Gently, but insistently, Pope takes the bottle from your hands and grabs a handful of those cotton rounds he’s watched you use before. He asks you to sit on the edge of the tub and tip your face-up to him, and he wipes the mess away from you as best he can.  

Once he’s disposed of the cotton rounds and rinsed his hands, he turns back to you, asking reverently, “Can I help you get your dress off?”

He sees mild apprehension flash across your face at the thought of him undressing you. He’d hate more than anything to make you uncomfortable. After all, just because he’s seen you naked before doesn’t mean he’s entitled to now. So, he waves his finger in the air mysteriously before receding into the bedroom.

Pope returns momentarily, with a big, loose nightshirt from your sleepwear drawer, gathering the material in his fingers until it forms a loop he can ease on over your head.

“You with me, cariño?” he asks. “Do that magic fuckin’ thing. Whip your bra out of your sleeve.”

Catching his gist, you let the shirt fall over you, shimmying yourself out of your dress and underwear whilst preserving your modesty. Pope offers an arm to hold you steady as you step one leg and then the next out of your clothing, respectfully averting his gaze all the while. Then, his arm steadies you as you step over the edge of the tub and into the warm, welcoming water.

For a moment, you don’t lie down. You just stand there. You look so vulnerable in that moment that Pope can’t help but reach out for your hand to grip in his. He watches in earnest as a question rises on your lips.

“Will you stay with me?” you ask him in the smallest of voices, clutching his hand tightly.

“What do you think I’m doing, hermosa?” he whispers, his eyes kind and smiling.

With that, your eyes brim with grateful tears. But you evidently feel free to crouch and then stretch yourself out in the tub. You submerge yourself fully for a moment in the warm bubbly depths, the stirring water wafting aromatic scents of spring around the room.

Pope watches as you dip yourself and arise from out of the water like a mermaid, your hair slicked back from your face and your soaked t-shirt clinging to your skin. 

“Mi sirenita,” Pope breathes affectionately, suddenly unable to push it all down.

He loves you, and old habits die hard.

“Santi?” you suspire, water droplets beading on your eyelashes like diamonds.

“Yeah?” Pope asks with apprehension, feeling like he’s about to stray out of secure territory.

“Get in with me?”

Santi hesitates, rasping his hand over his stubble again. Wishing he had his baseball cap to pull down over his eyes to obscure his emotions. For real? You want him to climb into the tub with you?

Pope examines your eyes for any sign of danger. Of hunger. But you simply look like you’re hurting. Like you need him. And Pope will always be there when you need him. He doesn’t know another way.

“Sure,” he gives in with a nod of his head, voice soft. “Make some room behind you.”

You oblige, folding your knees so he has room to slip in. Pope kicks off his shoes and -still in his t-shirt and sweatpants- plunges into the water. His clothes quickly become clingy and heavy with wetness, but he slots himself in behind you, wrapping his arms like he had on that sidewalk, and you languish your head back on his firm yet comfortable chest.

You both recline there wordlessly, until you seem entirely calm. Until all the bubbles have burst, and the water starts to feel cold. You both lie there as long as you possibly can.

Eventually, you wrap your arms around yourself too, your hands coming to rest on top of Pope’s. Your touch traverses absent-mindedly over his fingers, his knuckles, and again, inevitably over his wedding band.

Pope can feel the questions almost writhing their way out of your body, like coiled snakes. More than likely, you’re about to ask him why he still wears it. Why his sorry ass can’t seem to think about ever taking it off. Still, as you tug in a breath to launch your words, it suspires out of you as wordlessly as it arrived. Perhaps you’d felt him tense against you and decided to spare him the humiliation. Perhaps you didn’t want to hear his answer.

A few minutes later, when you eventually find the inclination to speak again, the words launched on your breath aren’t questions at all. Your hands skim over his arms, your fingertips pruning and wet, your bathtub touch slick and kissing whelks on to his skin.

“I... I wanted to take care of you too. But you wouldn’t let me.” You pause momentarily, breath caught in your chest as if you’re awaiting retaliation. When all you get back is silence, you take that as license to continue, your voice achingly small and trembling. “I worry that you stopped fighting for us because you didn’t believe you were worth fighting for. And, Santi, mi alma, I just need you to know that you were always good enough. You were never too broken for me. I wanted to take care of you, and I just...” You pause to huff air out between your lips, like you’re about to deliver a punch, or maybe like you’re preparing to be struck by one. “...Even if it doesn’t end up being me. Please, let someone take care of you next time, okay?”

Pope stills against you as your fingers worry over his. He feels like his heart has risen into his throat and that he’s choking on it. He feels like everything he has pushed down for so long is fighting to burst out. He lifts his hands away from yours to palm the tears from his face, very suddenly realising how cold the water has gone.

But he still can’t find the words to name his pain. Now is when he envies your poetry. Pope only knows how to use his words a shield, or to attack. He doesn’t know how to make flowers out of them.

“Ok, come on, sugar. Time to get out, ok?”

You shift forward, folding in on your knees, and Pope is staring at the back of your head again, as if his love for you only exists now in a house of mirrors. You’re looking ahead, to the next time, the next love, and yet he is still lost. Still stuck. He can’t find a route out of his pain.

He couldn’t be who you needed. Even when all you’d needed this whole time was him. He couldn’t even be that. He’d shut himself down. Shut himself off from you because he thought his pain would wreck you. And that was the thing that had wrecked you, in the end; that he was gone. Trapped in a house of mirrors. Vacant behind his eyes, which has used to glow like warm, familiar porch lights. He wouldn’t let you in. He wanted to. But he couldn’t find the door.

You heave yourself out of the tub and finally spin towards him. He sees the tears on your own cheeks too. “Yeah. Time to get out,” you intone glumly.

Pope knows you’re not only talking about the tub. It’s time. To finally look ahead.

You offer him your hand and he emerges from the water, his clothes sodden.

“¿Si soy una sirena? Tu eres Flounder.” The atmosphere is too heavy to laugh, but you tentatively chew on a fond smile. “What are you gonna wear now, idiota?” you ask.

“Shit, I didn’t think this through,” Pope admits, then looks at you quizzically when he registers your playful words. “Pero yo soy Sebastian, por supuesto. ¡No soy ese pececito feo!”

Your smile expands, just a little. “I still have some of your old stuff. Don’t be mad - I kept that Metallica t-shirt, for one.” 

“Fuckin’ knew it,” Pope chides, eyes shining softly.

You squeeze his hand and disappear momentarily to find him some clothes, turning away as you both towel off and dress side-by-side.

“Ok, well I better leave you to it.” Pope suggests abruptly, if only to shield himself. You seem better. Happier. He should leave before his own pain drags you down again. Or before he lets himself feel happy. 

“Stay, Santi. Let’s just be broken together, for a minute.”

He looks at you, pained, as if you’re being cruel to him, his heart fluttering like a bird in his rib cage.

“Please?” you beg in a broken, resigned voice. Scooped-out, wringing your hands together. “It feels like the end...” your face scrunches up as you bite back tears “...so please just stay one more time. Just lay on your side of the bed, and fall asleep next to me? Please.”

Pope tries to remember all the bullet wounds he’s suffered, because he could swear this hurts more. He could swear he’s bleeding out as you plead with him. As you talk about this ending. Pope always called you “mi Vida”, so it’s no wonder that your words feel like death; like the cruellest kind of poetry.

As he faces you, Pope’s blood is pounding in his body like he’s getting ready to run. When did you start to feel like a threat? Weren’t you on the same team?

“Santi.”

Still, one word from you, and Pope can’t refuse.

“Okay,” he agrees. Anything for you, even if it hurts him. “Go ahead and get under the covers.”

You oblige and he flicks out the light before coming to lie next to you on top of the duvet. On “his side” of the bed.

“I’m right here,” he breathes, his words like flowers as he throws an arm over the shadowed form of you. 

One word from you and Pope is there. No matter what you need.

But when it comes to his own pain? The pain that was always a shadowed bedfellow between you? Pope can’t find the words. He doesn’t have your poetry. He can’t imagine the possibility of healing. Of blooming.

Being stalked by a threat he can’t name? Can’t give form to? Nothing scares Pope more than a target he can’t fight, because if he can’t fight it, how in the hell can he protect you from it? How could he protect you from his pain? From all of his bullshit?

One word from you and Pope would jump.

He would jump off of that ledge he’s on and fall right into your love again. He would love you like he did in late spring. When the air had smelled like peaches.

Pope would do it differently this time. He would let things bloom. Or, he would at least try. He would try to find the words, like you always do.

He wishes. He wishes you would invite him back in. Wishes you would say the word. But nothing ever comes.

You’re already falling asleep by his side, maybe for the last time.

So, instead, Pope’s gone by the time morning comes. You find his ring laid out on your dresser, along with a note.

“Mi vida. I’m here for you any time of the day or night. Always and forever. Siempre te querré, mi alma. I know I fucked some things up, but I sure as hell don’t need a ring to keep that promise. Santi xxx xxx P.s. Me llevé mi camisa Metallica - I’ll have Frankie drop it back to you, cariño. Looks better on you anyway. xxx xxx.”

Maybe one day Pope would learn to accept that some things are messy. That not everything can be solved with precision. That sometimes, instead of trying to fix everything, it’s okay to be broken; together.

Pope had broken many promises to you along the way, when he became the soldier who had stopped fighting. But there was at least one he could keep.

If you need him, he’ll be there for you.

Always and forever.

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

“This is a man who keeps his oaths, his promises. To his country, to his friends. One word is all it takes, and Pope will be there for you in a heartbeat. He isn’t the kind of man to let a team member down, and, believe me, once you’re on his squad? You’re on it for life. Forever and always.

How am I doing so far, boys? Doing okay? Yikes. I’m nervous. Okay.

That’s how I know -yeah, I’ve got this- that you two are going to make it work. Because Pope doesn’t know how to let people down, not once they’re on his team. He keeps fighting, no matter what.

He’s the kinda guy you want watching your six. Once he is, you’ll never look back, and you shouldn’t. Because you two are a team now, and everything is ahead of you. You’re a team for life.

Husband and wife.

And you know what my absolute favourite thing about all of this is? Mi hermano. You have found a woman who has your back too.

Todos, you know what she replies when Pope says “I’ve got your six”? She says “I’ve got your zero through twelve”. Isn’t that a-fucking adorable? Even if it is tactically questionable. Jejejejejeje. (I know, I know, laughing at my own jokes.) So, man. Pope. Santiago. I know you can be a stubborn ass, but let her take care of you too, okay?

You deserve it, hermano. I love you.

So, cheers, to the bride and groom. By the way... I don’t know how Pope bagged this one ‘cause she’s way out of his league... For real. But... Oh shit, where was I? Oh yeah, that’s it.... thank you, Tom. You finally came in useful. Jejejejejeje.

Yeah. Cheers, to the bride and groom.

You’re not soldiers anymore, and you don’t need to follow orders. Only your hearts. (Damn right you’re crying. I pulled out all the stops for this, you sap.) But, my dear, dear friends. You don’t technically need to fight anymore, but may you always keep fighting.

Stay with me...

Keep fighting for each other. If you do that, I know you two are destined for a lifetime of happiness. I know we tease you for being a sap and being whipped but honestly, my man, your love? The two of you, together as a team? It’s beautiful, bro.

That’s squad goals right there.

And, Princesa? Pope’s knees might give out imminently. (We have a sweepstake that they’ll give out during the first dance. Jejejejejejeje.)

But his love for you? Chiquita, that ain’t ever gonna quit.

(You ready for this?)

Just like that man’s ass!

Woo! Yes- fuckin’ killin’ this speech, right? Not a dry eye in the house. Pope’s bawling like a mother fuckin’ baby. (Sorry for the language, abuela.)

Right, what was I saying? Thanks, Tom. Getting some mileage out of you today. Makes a fuckin’ change. Jejejejejejejeje.

I was saying, chiquita, that... wow. This man’s love for you? That’s always and forever. And I know, I know he’ll keep that promise. Because Pope is the kinda man who keeps his promises.”

~ Excerpt from Frankie “Catfish” Morales’ triumphant best man speech, on the happiest day of your life. The day you married Santiago Garcia. 

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

You awake, and you roll Pope’s ring in between your fingers.

“¿Santi, mi corazón? Ven a casa. Come home.”

You wish he would come home.

Most of all, you wish you could find the courage to say the word.

THE END

Want more? Here’s my first Santi one-shot, which has angst and smut: Ride or Die.

I write for Poe (my main man), Santi, Nathan, Evgeni, Finn. Masterlist here. 

Feedback in an ask or comment will make my day.

Thank you for reading!

Tagging (let me know if you wanna be added / removed from Santi tag-list!)

@darksideofclarke @yougottakeeponkeepinon @damerondjarin @mandoplease @tintinwrites @mylifeliterally @shakespeareanwannabe  @woakiees​ @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol​ @damndamer0n​ @itsamedeemoney​ ​ @spider-starry​ @starryeyedstories​

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #santi #triple frontier #frankie morales #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #oscar isaac #oscar isaac character #pedro pascal

[mirkwoodshewolf]

My little Panther; T’Challa x POC!child reader

*Author’s note*

The world is devastated right now. I had read the news last night and I’ve done my mourning, now it’s time for the tribute. I’ve had this on my Wattpad for a good couple of years but never transferred it to here. But hearing the loss of Chadwick, I knew I had to finally post this fic onto my tumblr so that you all can have a read of it. 

We all miss you Chadwick and you were taken away from us FAR. TOO. EARLY. But you didn’t let your cancer define you, you kept working and helped bring such an iconic character to life, as well as sharing the stories of SO. MANY. REAL. LIFE. PEOPLE (Marshall and Jackie Robinson) to screens worldwide. You will be deeply missed and will always be an inspiration to everyone. You and Stan ‘the man’ Lee are once again together in Heaven awaiting for the rest of the Avengers to Assemble.

Long. Live. King. Chadwick. Boseman.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@queensdivas​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@platawnic​

____________________________________________________________

I was hiding within the den eating the food that my mother had collected. All I remember from my old home was fire and death, I remember running to find my parents but then I had gotten lost in the jungle. It was then I came upon a cave, well a den really of a black panther and her cubs. Ever since then I have lived with my mother and three brothers.

I ate the antelope just like my brothers, wrestled like them and slept like them curled up next to my mother's fur. Even though I was different than them and didn't look like them, my mother treated me like I was one of her own and treated me no less. I was currently being bathed by my mother when we heard something outside.

She went on the defense position and gathered me and my brothers up and pushed us closer to the den as she went outside and stalked to whatever it was that was close to our den. I know I shouldn't have but I got curious so I stepped out of the den and peeked over the log to see my mother roaring and swiping her massive paws at another black panther, but this one was different.

This Black Panther mainly stood on two legs, and its fur didn't look like fur and its eyes were not the pure golden cat eyes like my mother's. Mama roared and swiped her paw again at this intruding Black Panther and the other Black Panther backed away and submitted to my mother before turning and walking away but then I saw it look right at me.

I ducked behind the log and raced back into the den just as mother came back inside. She then nudged me towards her back, I got on and soon she led me and my brothers out of the den and we all searched for a new one. Knowing that we had been found, we couldn't stay in the same place for long. Mama always wants us to move if ever any predator found our den in order to ensure our survival.

*T'Challa's POV*

After arriving back to the palace, I couldn't help but think about that child I had seen in the jungle. It was a simple border patrol but what I wasn't aware was that I had stumbled upon a mother panther's den. I had activated my suit just in case but I didn't engage against the mother for I knew she was probably protecting her cubs. That's when I saw the child hiding within the bushes.

After that I had backed away from the mother panther slowly to show her that I wasn't a threat to her or her cubs. Once I was far enough from the den, I decided that it would be best to head back to the palace since there was no sign of trouble, but still my mind kept going back to that child. Who was she? How long has she been in the jungle? Did she have a family?

"Ther. Brother!" My sister's voice snapped me out of my state of mind and she sassed at me, "Did you listen to a word I said?"

"So sorry Shuri, I just—I was thinking about that child".

"A child?"

"Yes, while I was patrolling the jungle to check and make sure our borders were still safe from any weapons traders, I came across this child in the jungle".

"Was she Wakandan?"

"Possible, she definitely wasn't an outsider I know that much".

"I'll see if I can any records on any villages that have been attacked".

"Thank you Shuri". It was then my kimoyo beads activated.

"Ohh your girlfriend calling you?"

"Stop it!" I then allowed the image to come up and up came Okoye.

"My King" she stated.

"What is it Okoye?"

"Trouble by the river province, poachers are approaching the reserve".

"I am on my way". Okoye's image then disappeared. Before I walked out, Shuri stopped me. She then handed me the updated AMP beads.

"Take these with you, they are a much better improvement than the last ones".

"Thank you Shuri". She nodded then I took off running out of the lab.

*My POV*

After finding our new home, I was outside our new den playing with my brothers when I took notice of something shiny just ahead of me. While my two brothers were busy playing with each other and my mother was bathing my other one, I walked away and followed the shiny bright light.

I tried to catch it in my hands but for some reason it didn't want to be caught. I was so caught up in trying to catch the light that I didn't realize that someone was hiding behind the tall grass. As I caught the light one last time, I heard a shot and I was soon caught in a trap.

I cried and snarled out before three men picked me up and one of them spoke.

"She may not be an animal but she'll still sell for a big price".

"Put her in the trunk with the others" another spoke. I thrashed around and let out a cry for help to my Mama. The men put me in this large metal machine and soon took off. I kept crying and crying until I saw my Mama running just behind roaring up at me. She ran faster and faster until she lept in the car.

I tried to reach out for her but the metal trap they put me in kept me from reaching my mama. She managed to get herself in and she walked towards me and used her teeth to free me, but it was then one of the men held a gun in their hands and a loud bang was heard again. Next thing I saw was my mama rolling outside on the ground.

I cried out for her when suddenly the large machine stopped and I along with a few other animals were tossed around.

*3rd Person POV*

The poachers came out of the truck after their car broke down and crashed into a tree. They all complained to each other pointing the blame on the other when the leader silenced them and ordered them to get into defense position.

The men spread out with their guns drawn and as one of them held out his gun he heard a twig snap and turned to see nothing. That was until he looked up and saw a man in a cat suit.

Next thing the poachers, one of their men was tossed at the truck leaving a huge dent in the door. The Black Panther soon showed up and attacked another one of the poachers. T'Challa now stood before the remaining two and as the leader and his second in command were firing at T'Challa. He merely just walked towards them before striking the second in command.

The leader took out his knife and tried to stab T'Challa but he managed to dodge every swing until he grabbed the poacher's hand that was holding the knife and twisted it until he let go and heard it snap. The leader screamed in agony and T'Challa told him venomously.

"Poaching is illegal in these lands, you will be brought before the council and faced with the consequences". T'Challa then knocked the leader unconscious and walked towards the back to see the animals that were inside but was surprised to see another thing in the truck, or rather someone.

It was the child he had seen earlier today.

*My POV*

As I tried to get out of my cage, I saw the same Black Panther that my Mama faced earlier today come around into view. I froze in my spot just staring at him. It was then his panther face disappeared and it showed that he was actually a man.

He had deep dirty brown eyes and fur along his lips and chin and on top of his head. He almost reminded me of a growing lion. As he got closer to me, I snarled and hissed at him trying to be brave like my Mama.

"Easy, easy. I'm not going to hurt you". He held out his hands to me as he slowly came closer and closer to my cage. He then unlocked them and opened it up and proceeded to back away. "It's okay now, come on out now". I sniffed curiously and slowly crawled out of the cage. "That's it, it's okay. I won't hurt you". As I got out of the cage more, I looked between him and my way of escape.

Then like a shot I took off running as fast as I could with the Panther man behind me crying out for me. I raced down the trail until I came to my Mama. She was still down and there was red stuff around her head and fur. I walked up to her and nuzzled her fur and roared out to her. I shook her with my hands and bit into her ear but she still wouldn't wake up.

I roared at her as I felt wetness come down from my eyes then I curled up underneath my mama's paw and nuzzled her head as the wetness continued to come down my face. The Panther man soon came up close to me and I looked up at him and he looked at me with sad eyes.

"I am sorry". He then proceeded to come closer to me and my Mama but I stood over her growling and roaring at him. I let out a hiss but he raised his hands and said to me, "I won't hurt her, I promise". I glared at him. It was because of his kind that my Mama was dead.

Mama always warned us that ape-like creatures called Humans were always to blame for territory loss, stealing our food and killing us to extinction. Now because of his kind, my Mama is gone. But yet looking at his eyes, I felt like I could trust him. I ceased my snarling and just held onto my mama's body.

*T'Challa's POV*

As I looked down at this mother black panther, my heart sunk. She was only trying to save her cub, even though this was a human child, this mother panther looked at her like she was one of her own cubs. For her memory I decided to call this Pantheress "Kamunyak" meaning "Blessed One". I knew it would be dark soon and I had to get this child back to the palace to get her some warmth before the cold settled in.

Wakanda maybe the hottest places in Africa, but its nights are unpredictable. Some nights it would be cool enough to sleep outside, but sometimes they would be so unbearable cold. I gently touched her shoulders and could feel her fighting against me as I picked her up.

"Shhh, shh. Calm down, calm down" I told her in Wakandan. I had to get her calm because I didn't want her to hurt herself. She was raised to believe that she is a panther and I don't want her to bite into my suit and allow the Vibranium to hurt her. I placed her close to my chest and rubbed her back calming her in Wakandan. When it seemed to work, I kept her close and headed back to the jet to take her back to the palace.

When we arrived back at the palace, I had her put in a special room with a bed and warm food so that she could eat real food. And not knowing how long she has been in the jungle or when her last meal was, I took the liberty to give her the best and healthiest foods Wakanda has to offer.

As I observed her, my sister came back with some news. She pulled up on the screen as she stated.

"It turns out this girl comes from a village near Wakanda. It was attacked by some of Klaue's men and burned to the ground. She must've found a way to escape and has been living in the jungle since. How she's managed to survive for 5 years I do not know".

"A Mother panther raised her as one of her own cubs, it would seem Bast herself came down and decided to protect this child as if she were her own". I said out loud.

"You're telling me we have ourselves a Mowgli? Like that story and movie Baba showed us".

"It would seem so Shuri".

"What do you suggest then my King?" Okoye soon stated out.

"She is a child with no family to call her own, and her adoptive mother was shot and killed in front of her. This child needs the best care and only we can offer it".

"Brother are you suggesting that you are going to raise her?"

"I feel responsible for this child's mother's death. I cannot just let her die with no one to take care of her, knowing that we can teach her who she really is". I stated firmly. My general and sister looked at me then Okoye bowed her head and said.

"Just don't freeze when her feral stage comes back".

"What are you talking about? I never freeze" I stated. I then turned my attention back to the girl and decided to talk to her. I opened the door and shut it behind me. She instantly became alert of my presence and she got down in defense position baring her teeth at me. "Easy little one, I am not here to hurt you, may I sit down?" She seemed to understand me which was a good sign, at least then I knew she could understand me.

I took a seat far enough from her but kept my eyes on her in case anything were to happen.

"My name is T'Challa, do you remember your name?" She remained quiet and poked around the fruit and sniffing them like a cat would. I took a deep sigh and told her, "I know losing your Mama was hard, I lost my Baba not too long ago, and I would give anything to save him too. But I swear to you on my Baba's soul and that of your mother's, I will look after you and protect you. You will never be alone". She then looked up at me and I remained still as I saw her actually coming up towards me.

Slowly and cautiously, but sure enough she came right in front of me until she wrapped her arms around me and nuzzled into my chest. I placed my hand on top of her head and stroked her hair and slowly wrapped my arm around her to pick her up and place her in my lap and hold her in my arms as she nuzzled deeper into my chest.

Within several months of teaching and immense patience, I had given her the name (y/n) was soon learning how to be a human girl, learning how to eat properly, how to walk, learning the history of Wakanda, even learning how to speak both in English and Wakandan.

I along with Nakia and Shuri taught her everything she needed to know and were there to give her the love she deserved and needed. As night fell, I tucked (y/n) in after a long day of staying with Auntie Shuri in her lab while I dealt with some political matters after opening up Wakanda to the rest of the world. I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead and whispered to her.

"Goodnight my little panther cub". And as I turned off her light and was about to shut the door, I heard her voice say.

"Goodnight Baba". I let a warm smile take over me as I shut the door behind me and decided to turn in for the night myself.

#t'challa #t'challa x reader #t'challa x child reader #black panther #black panther imagine #black panther x reader #black panther imagines #marvel #MCU #chadwick boseman #chadwick boseman RIP #chadwick boseman imagine #chadwick boseman imagines #marvel mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fanfic #black panther fanfic #black panther fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu fandom #marvel fandom #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #rip chadwick boseman #wakanda forever

[ginwhitlock]

Southbound : Chapter 6

After the Cullens leave her behind, Bella is left to pick up the pieces by herself. A year after her eighteenth birthday, a split second decision lands her in her truck, running far away from everything she has ever known. She decides to go south. What will she find in San Angelo, Texas?

After Peter left, the air between us felt stagnant, cold, like a pond left uncovered in the first freeze of winter. The man in front of me didn’t smile, didn’t even fake a breath for my own comfort. I know he could feel the shard of glass slowly sinking into the pit of my stomach; the fact of its direction changing, resigning, surpassing my throat to lodge itself in my skull as a sharp ache not lost on me. 

And I’m sure, not on him. 

I knew Jasper. I had sat feet from him not even years before. What had changed in those aching months? What kind of lust seeped into his unbreakable bones since? This man was toothier, slumping shoulders spread wide against the settee. Who was this brother of his and why did he have Jasper now? I mean— he had explained just moments ago the short extent of Alice and his separation, but the questions were tar in my brainstem: unmoving, guilty, painful. The faint imprint memory of his hand on my knee softened the creases under my eyes. His eyes were nothing if not full of memories.

He scared the shit out of me. The worst part of me liked it. 

The keys in my hand were jangling as I wrung my hands against the metal. They were ice cold from Peter’s grip and yet I never shied away from them, I rested into their cut, their steel mill scent. It’s all the comfort I had left in this unfamiliar sandy home. 

“You never told me where you meant to end up, Isabella.” 

The look on his face hadn’t changed from its hawk-like gaze, his mouth upturned in what was made to be sincere questioning.

My teeth seemed to buzz in my jaw as they clenched. I was stuck between trying to find the answer that made the most sense— but this far away haunted house was nowhere close to where I was headed. To be honest, I hadn’t even made a plan for my drive, the road had been a black licorice rope pulling me deeper and deeper south, its vines unswervable. 

Those damn carmine irises were still on my face. My hand settled on the silver scar.  “Somewhere without you— your kind.” There's a horrible dread that sinks deep into the pit of my lowest bones, down past the acid lining of my stomach. It wasn’t mine in the first place…

He smiled again. That fangy lip twitch he implemented earlier in his bedroom, his searing white canines glinting in the southern sun. Jasper did some twist of his knuckles as they rested on his denim knee, the bareness of the marble flesh punctuated. 

“Do you truly think your life will not continue to be… supernatural?” He paused something big and let his lashes point away from me, his gaze settling right behind my head, “The world has never been that kind. Especially to you, Miss Swan.” The way his tongue curled around my name made something twist in my gut. Something that felt like finally breaching the top of a rollercoaster after clunking around in the seat for several minutes. 

I took a breath, “No hope for me then, Mr. Cullen?” 

“Whitlock, darlin. Mr. Whitlock.” 

His correction was daring and quick, like a dare. The scared shitlessness was starting to turn. 

“Oh?” I’m sure my eyes were the size of dinner plates served on the damn moon. 

His quirk faltered as he refocused on the skin of my neck. “The Cullens aren’t the biggest fans of the ousted members keeping their name, I’m sure. Whitlock was my human name.”

My lip twitched, “Like Peter?” He did say they were brothers, it would make sense the tanner man kept it while Jasper stayed up north. 

“He adopted it when I changed him in the twenties. He didn’t need to remember his own.” 

The paint covering the living room walls was starting to feel warmer and warmer. There was a sort of mysticism in the air, the kind of feeling Phil said he got standing on the pitcher’s mound. This charge of electricity. And if I felt it— did the man in front of me do too?

“You changed Peter?” 

A hum came from his Adam's apple. I quickly stopped staring at its vibration, focusing on my still hands. “Is that where you got that name? The ‘Major’?” My legs felt like salt blocks sat out for the new fawns. 

Jasper kicked his foot out, inches from my own. “All in time, Isabella.” 

Why the hell was that the question he kept dodging?

I nodded against my own snooping judgement and sat up straight, gripping the cut key again. “Peter said something about seeing my truck?” As if on cue the sound of a backfire sounding across at least an acre of dirt, the laugh of the man in question following in direct response. 

He reminded me of a wilder, leaner, Emmett. 

I didn't know if that was a good thing. 

The blond rolled his eyes, something I would’ve passed out seeing months ago, which now just made him more and more intriguing. His hand raised without fantastical speed and made an ushering motion, inviting me silently to stand and follow him to the front door, not even twenty feet to our backs. I did as I… wasn't… told and raised to my shuffling feet, watching with barely suppressed intensity as he did the same, his shirt unbunching as his long legs swept past me. His strides were unhurried yet strong, quickly reaching the exit without me. Jasper’s slim fingers turned the knob gently and allowed the now open door to rest against his shoulder. 

“I’m sure my brother will find you the moment you start walkin’. I have to get to some business caused by my early departure earlier.” My shoes scuffed the hardwood as I passed by him, the scent of firewood and malt whiskey light in the air of the threshold. I nodded again as I looked back at the giant southerner. 

“So I’ll be making it back?” Half joking, half fearful the words slipped past my lips. 

He smiled truly that time, his teeth hidden behind his smile. “Of course Isabella. No one plans to kill you… for as long as I can see.” 

The door closed slowly as I turned away from him in only slight ease, the sound of his footsteps behind it unrecognizable. Texas dry wind called to me from the bare porch, wooden planks creaking ever so slightly underneath my weight. The world was quiet— in only a way nature could be quiet. Silence without loneliness. 

Another diesel racket sounded over the slight hill in the property, some of the only patches clustered with shruby, overgrown trees.  

“Bell!” 

There was a smile hiding under the surface of my skin, not the least undetectable. My stride started up again as I half jogged through the crab grass and rusty dirt. It had to be almost two or three o’clock now, the sun high and bright in the cloudless sky. 

Had the day gone by so fast— or so slow?

I couldn’t decide which it was. Not yet. Not now.

The baked exterior of my cab was just in sight over the small hill, somehow further away from the bare dirt trail than it had been this morning. Had the black eyed man… moved it? It didn’t run, at least not by my hand, he would’ve had to have pushed it… or picked it up. 

God, Peter was starting to turn out more and more like the biggest Cullen boy by the second. 

My shoes were caked in dead weeds and clay dust by the time I reached the freckled vampire— an attribute I still hadn’t made sense of. His cowboy hat was a stark black against his darkened porcelain skin. He smelt rough like a redwood forest, something private. Secluded. Peter’s hands were covered in the ink black of motor oil and grease, the solutions clinging to his perfect fingernails. 

He had to be related to Jasper somehow, there's no way he wasn’t. I was sure of it. 

Or maybe I was just hoping.

Silly girl. 

His eyes could’ve mirrored his brother’s and I wouldn’t have noticed anything past the sight just behind him: my truck was pulled at the seams. 

“Sorry bun, I think your baby might need some extra attention before it gets anywhere near a highway.” My breath was loose in my throat, air whistling behind my eyes. The transmission was the only thing complete under the hood. The engine block was propped up by a chain tied to a lone pecan tree, the rest of the assembly laid out on a blanket on the pitted ground. The well of tears hit the back of my eyes before he started to speak. 

“I had to take the engine apart to diagnose the problem— something to do with some coils. It ain’t as bad as it looks, I promise, Bell.” I nodded for the fiftieth time that day, my words fleeting in the paralysing tunnel that had become my voice box. The only thing I had kept when I left was now in pieces at my feet, the soil unforgiving and rough against the cotton blanket they sat on. The downpour of fear came down my sinuses and filtered out through my spine, the tips of my fingers pulsing with thunder. Peter stood, apathetic to the storm raging through my body, his stance curling around my own slightly, as if in defense to the world around us, to the truth in front of me. 

“How long will it take to fix?” My voice was weak and pitiful, stripped of its playful kick Peter initially instilled. 

He twitched his shoulders in a shrug. “Could be a week or more. Maybe two.” His own speech didn’t reflect his burdening appearance. It was almost airy, a light glee hidden subtly behind the consonants. 

My brain stored the small inflection for a much later time. 

“You know,” he started, his massive wiped hand drawing to my shoulder, “me and the Major don’t mind some company around the house. The old thing could use some life in it while your truck gets some beauty work done.” His suggestion wouldn’t have sounded like such a question if anyone else had uttered it, but the draw of the Whitlock boys held a certain power over my otherwise powerless existence, at the moment. I wanted answers, stories, the in and outs of the clan I had called family as a younger girl. 

I wouldn’t admit to anyone else my other wants. 

Hell, I couldn’t even admit them to myself yet. 

I made a sound in the back of my throat that made up for another nod and pursed my lips in false thought, the field stretching before me in an unwavering sea of curiosity. 

“Only until she's fixed. I’ve served my time living with vampires for two lifetimes.” 

There was an explosion of a laugh from Peter’s tan lips and I smiled in turn. The truck was a cesspool of terrifying possibilities, insecurities. But for right now, the horrible itch in my brain led me further into the immortal light. 

The cold digits of the human drinker felt featherlight against my back as he sputtered to an airy stop. “You are truly something Bell.” My teeth poked through my lips as I looked into his face and found simple lineless skin and sandy curls. My eyes rested back on the rusted out birthday present and sighed. “Do you want any help?” It sounded almost like a plea, the time splitting me farther and farther. 

He shook his head with vigor. “Baby doll, I’m not sure you’d make it go any faster.”

I had half a mind to slap him on the chest, no matter the bruising I’d sustain. 

“I’m not that dimwitted.”

He sucked unneeded air through his teeth and let me go, stepping towards the hull. “Just believe me.” 

I shook my head like a dumped dog and looked back towards the house, just barely noticeable at this distance. The question bounced around my stomach before it left my mouth, “What is Jasper up to?” 

Peter raised a brow and picked up an impact wrench.

“I’m not sure you’d want to know.”

#southbound #my writing #jasper x bella #mine #writing #fanfiction #twilight #thetwilightsaga #twilight fanfic

[skyholders]

Lucien: Passing By [Rumours & Secrets]

This translation contains DETAILED SPOILERS of Season Two of MLQC- Proceed with caution! 

NOTE: This Rumours and Secrets tells the happenings of what happens after MC left for the other world, leaving Lucien in the OG world to prepare for the “Second Birth of Life.” 

P.S: Apologies for any grammatic or spelling mistakes I have missed. Some minor details are added to this translation to make it less confusing.

Section One

[1/6]

It was very quiet in the streets, quieter than Lucien thought. His hand(s) reached into the pockets of his coat, and, unhurried, he walked towards where it was usually the most lively in the streets. A large, yellow truck was abandoned amidst the road, filled with furnitures like an old wooden rocking chair, a bookcase without half of a pair of frosted glass doors; toys stuffed and huddled into large plastic bags- seems like the truck of a moving company. 

Lucien couldn’t piece the phrases together, 'end of the world', 'moving', 'abandoned truck'. They seem to have no connection among them to formulate a believable story. He stood in front of the truck, thinking of the time when he’d first moved in next to the girl.

[2/6]

Lucien is a rather minimalistic man: When he’s moving, he’ll only bring along his collection of books, his computer, and other necessities. Packing up doesn’t require more than seven boxes, and with the moving company's employees' skills, everything will be moved within two trips up and down the apartment. The night has grown very dark, Lucien stood in the middle of the road.

[3/6]

A gust of wind blew against his bangs. He sudden thought of how pleasant the weather was the day he moved. He’d lifted his head up to the sun as he drove, looking towards the sky above him. The sun was hidden behind a layer of clouds then, yet it still burned the eyes and sizzled the heads of many.

The moving company’s supervisor had a white towel hung across his shoulder, using it to dab the sweat off of his face occasionally. He said hello, chatted briefly. He smiled, saying how little he’s brought with him, and how customers like him are quite the rarity. After all, who doesn’t bring their life along with them when they move?

“I’m afraid it’ll be quite inconvenient, I can always purchase them once more after I’ve settled in,”- That’s what he said to the man.

[4/6]

As time went by, there were certainly many new additions to his home. However, most of them are gifts the girl’s gifted him. From a small cartoon memo, to a big, soft pillow, among other intriguing decorations. 

He thought of the girl’s expressions when she first walked into his living room, a sort of timid politeness- not daring to look around too much, not daring to look at him any longer as well- like an innocent little bunny, entering the predator's trap willingly and without any bit of caution. 

However, the little bunny soon familiarized herself with him, happily bouncing about around his life, trimming the leaves of his plants occasionally, never once leaving without assuring his fridge was filled with food. She liked to read while laying against the rug next to the floor to ceiling window, her legs dangling about. And she would have fallen asleep by sunset, where a seemingly miraculous golden hue coated her dress and her hair.

[5/6]

Those memories, seemingly distant, yet close enough to grasp, they came without warning. As it turns out, he remembers every little thing so vividly.

There was a foreign light dancing in his eyes, and yet, when he looked around, he couldn’t see a single thing. The buildings around him had no lamps or lights, they stood along the road, two roads facing one another, looking as if they’ll collapse anytime soon. 

The end of the long road's an endless darkness, like an abyss raised from the grounds, with not a bit of light able to pass through it.

It’s only him, and the hems of his white coat being blown by the wind, contrasting against the night, thick with darkness.

[6/6]

A group of comets left brilliant trails among the sky, and he stopped looking, walking towards the pressing darkness in front of him.

Half an hour later, he stood in front of the Highest Bioscience Research Centre.

Section Two

[1/6]

Lucien noticed the weeds and shallow puddles of water in front of the gates.

He was also here when the research centre was under renovations, and it almost looked the same, if not for the taller grass, and little earthworms in the mud- Abandoned, ruined without a trace of humanity, yet brimmed with liveliness.

Life will always create all sorts of surprises in every little way, and life will never seem to be erased.

Lucien stepped over the shadowed silhouette of a branch filled tree, and pushed the doors of his research centre open.

[2/6]

There’s probably no one in there, perhaps there won’t be anyone else.

Without the lights, the hallway seemed long and narrow. Lucien walked along it, his leather shoes echoed as they hit the marble floors, creating an almost sinking sound to the malicious space.

He didn’t inspect each and every laboratory, instead, he walked straight to his own office- he still had one more thing to complete.

[3/6]

The hanging pot of orchids beside his window had completed wilted, its long branches reduced to a sick, black and yellow hue, falling down onto the floor from high above. It was quite a determined little thing, it only needed a little bit of sunlight to survive. He’d always forget that he needed to care for them, but the girl will always think of them. She loved caring for them, buying them all sorts of nutrients

.Many praised him, saying how rare it was, to see orchids raised as beautiful as those.

It’s always been a species that’s learned how to survive under minimal care, but under her nurture, it could grow its branches and leaves comfortably under gentle winds, it could breathe freely under the sun, could crawl freely far from ground- it had the chance to live with such contentment.

[4/6]

Lucien pulled his chair, and unknowingly sat on the wilted leaves of the hanging orchid.

After entering the password for the data storage unit, Lucien browsed through the information he’d stored with his own special method.

[5/6]

In the silence of the office, there was only the clear sound of a keyboard being used. The screen reflected upon Lucien’s eyes, as countless lines of data rolled over the screen, not worthy of being read. His eyebrows furrowed, lips sealed to a tight line. He’d spent countless hours researching of it, and it’s been clear, through numerous repeated experiments, that there aren’t any abnormalities or differences between the gene of an EVOLVER and an ordinary human being. The truth these data revealed had halted any further research, but even so, one thing’s for certain: The information he’d taken (out of) from BLACK SWAN was not complete.

He’d even argue there was only half of it.

[6/6]

He’d been delaying it for far too long. He must immediately find and acquire the lost vital information, and uncover the most important secret hidden among these data, he had to do it now.

Section Three

[1/8]

The Highest Bioscience Research Centre.

Lucien’s familiar with every corner of the place. When it was being reconstructed, it’d only gone through the most basic of renovations. There wasn’t any changes towards the information units, and all the data stored in them remained the same. In this period of time, he’d almost stripped down every drawer, every layer of every bookcase, and yet, it’s proven to be fruitless...Not truly so, however.

He found something wrapped in old newspaper, sitting hidden in the lowest layer of a bookcase. Upon unwrapping it, he was stunned- ten pieces of 5.25 inch and 3.5 inch disks, each stored in a plastic container, with a red date tag stuck on them.

[2/8]

Lucien was curious. He found an old computer in the storage room, and inserted the disk into the empty drive. The computer still had a CRT display, the mouse still had a little roller in it. And when filed were being transferred, the computer would make an odd, clicking sound.

He selected the files in the disk, files which showed many experimental results cramped together neatly in numerous rows.

Bioscience, every since this branch of science has been established, there’s been countless scientists putting all efforts into finding ways to advance further. Even with differing views, even with differences among their specialties, they’ll willingly dedicate themselves into the field with every bit of their passion. Lucien mindlessly explored through all of them, from the first disk to the last, there were a total of twelve years of experimental results recorded in them.

[3/8]

Those were twelve years of a researcher’s life.

Lucien didn’t know why he’d thought of all of those things all a sudden.

He stood in front of the window, looking towards the big beam of light from the horizon- the first batch of comets had hit the surface of the earth, the second batch should arrive forty five minutes later.

He entered a deep state of thought.

[4/8]

A soft disk has the storage of 1.44 gigabytes, and has the capacity of 700000 words, where as a regular disk has the storage of up to 700 gigabytes, and with that in mind, it’s possible to store as many GB as you want in one single removable disk., or in a USB. If the 'other half' of the missing information are mixed within these things, simply thrown in random corners of this building, who can possibly find it?

If it were him, he wouldn’t do it- any digitally stored content has the risk of being damaged.

[5/8]

Even then, seventeen years ago, when digital technology has reached a level that’s beyond imaginable, as long as it’s a piece of data stored in a computer, then there will be the absolute possibility of a person finding the information they need in a short amount of time.

Not to mention, KEY was still there seventeen years ago. The hacker’s appearance is a guarantee that every information stored digitally can be found. Reality has proven so.

Lucien’s gaze shifted, as he walked towards the deepest end of the corridor- and into the database room.

[6/8]

There, all of the data were organised and stored according to their dates. Lucien took out an old report, sealed in a brown paper envelope from 17 years ago. He read slowly. Even though the handwriting was quite messy, and the drafts and diagrams drawn haphazardly, he still read them with his full attention. The sound of pages being turned over filled each corner of the room. There were only thirty pages of reading materials, yet it took him half an hour to go through them.

Finally, he stopped at one particular page. Tearing it down, he brought it up towards the light. The paper was thin, yet it blocked it.

He’d found it.

[7/8]

The paper was made of two individual pages, someone had skillfully glued the two pages together, creating a secret layer. The trick was one as old as time. It’s hard to imagine that anyone would use a trick like this to store information in a time where information can be kept digitally. It took Lucien quite a while to tear the pages apart, using a small screwdriver to take out a piece of paper kept in the middle.

It’s small, around B5 in size, and it was very light. Its corners have begun to yellow with time, and the center of the paper was ever so slightly wrinkled, perhaps having been soaked in some sort of liquid. It was a poorly done work, as it’s left its traces.

Lucien handled it once more, and finally, he unraveled the mystery.

[8/8]

The information on the slip of paper was yet another data of genes, yet its structure's slightly different from that of a modern human's gene. It’s been given many question marks for many decades, and for that, Lucien made a bold deduction. It’s written on the back of the paper as well, the same theory inked in a fountain pen- The Prehistoric Civilization.

Lucien knew, that the tiny paper may perhaps be the very foundation of his research centre, the meaning of its postcode existence. It’s the passion project, the effort and time spent by researchers from one decade to another, all for the desire of seeking the truth among the world.

The secrets carried with it was perhaps heavier than the data of every genetic information of all human beings.

Section Four

[1/9]

Lucien knew that humanity's traces were undergoing an eradication, as when the comets have impacted the Earth, its explosions have formed tsunamis- obliterating countless cities and large museums, palaces and cathedrals, skyscrapers and all the wonders alike.. nothing could escape as big of an inevitable as that.

A notification from his phone rang in the silence of the night, pulling him away from his thoughts. He didn’t imagine that anyone would contact him at all.

[2/9]

“The Seedlings Project's*” researchers have sent him the final observation report. Even if the group of young people have always felt that they should be crippled with fear, burying in pain, in tears upon the awakening of a disaster as big as this, they’d still hang onto their researches.

Lucien did not open his email, instead, for the first time in forever, he clicked on the messaging app instead- as expected, the group of researchers have been keeping in contact with one another in their moments. He was unexpected hit with a wave of those researchers' beliefs and values: They were still hanging on, smiling and joking about, and at the same time, they’re working as hard as they can.

Lucien opened the email, and absorbed the contents of the three thousand word report in one go. After a short while, he responded with a “Thank you for the hard work.”

He lifted his head up, looking at the device in front of him.

[3/9]

The dream recording device.

Under the cold of the light, his expression seemed much too calm.

The information's complete.

The secret files BLACK SWAN had been hiding with every bit of effort, the progress and results of the research centre's years of research, they’re right in front of him. Even if Lucien does not have any proof, even if he’s unable to testify on his own verdicts and hypotheses, for he’s running out of time, and does not have a chance to settle on a solid conclusion through numerous procedures and experiments.

[4/9]

At that moment, he’ll have to trust on his own instincts. To believe in the girl that’s already left- left the road that’s already so close to its end, waiting for her to unravel a new scene, a new future. He does not disapprove of this idea at all, he’s a scientist- he accepts any sort of possibilities, however improbable they may be.

Anything that hasn’t been proven has the chance to be true.

She can do it, and she will do it. He’s determined to believe in her, and because of it, he’ll have to be prepared for any possibility that lies ahead.

There’s something he must leave. Something that will seem obvious.

[5/9]

To be frank, he’s rather worried of the girl.

Even if she’s grown to be rather strong and independent, however brilliant she may be, he still remembers the pair of innocent eyes. The fact that he is unable to walk along with her on her journey makes him feel rather unsettling.

She’s only left for the other world a few hours ago, yet he’s starting to miss her already.

And when he felt that sense of longing, the person he’s longing for is already out of reach.

[6/9]

He lifted his hand to the left side of his chest, feeling the rise of the familiar rhythm. Lucien felt himself being more honest to his own feelings than he did in the past. He wondered what sort of a smile the girl would give if he told her that. Will it be comforting? Or will it be as if an eruption of joy? Or will her cheeks flush a shy shade of red, as she steps a little closer towards him?

Time did not stop its pace, the silent countdown reached its final few moments.

[7/9]

Around a hundred comets flew across the ozone layer, more magnificent than any other view, a scene unable to be described with words; unable to be captures fully with any form of expressions. Lucien thought that he was very lucky to be able to witness such a scene. He’s not an astronomer, but he knew, for the past centuries, countless astronomers had held up their telescope, aimed towards a place further than the sky, beyond the horizon, just to have a chance to witness how these stars morph into crushed pieces of rubble, how they form, how they’ll react as they sink into the ozone layer, its explosion as it collides.

Humanity was formed by a single spark. Humanity’s extinction was brought on by a single spark. Nature has always had a sequence.

And he will keep holding onto this sequence.

[8/9]

Another piece of a comet fell onto the range of mountains a hundred kilometers away from Loveland City, its steam igniting the night as it set the forest on fire. Following tightly behind it, was yet another group of comets brought by the night.

“The next time we meet..”

Lucien's eyes shone with a glimmer of gentleness, lasting for one fleeting moment before they returned into their usual coldness once more.

He turned around, activating the dream recording device.

Your appearance is enough to occupy the years of my life I’m losing.

[9/9]

There was a sudden beam of light from the sky once more, welcoming the string of comets. In that sinking moment, the brilliance of the night sky fell upon Earth, bright as a large firework.

And at the same time, the wilted hanging orchids returned to its soil as a little seed, and continued to remain asleep, until the second birth of life.

Time’s cycle has reached the starting line after completing its turn.

The round of chess restarts itself.

[END] 

*The Seedlings’ Project (Direct translation): An international scientific project where a group of scientists preserve seeds of many species of plants as a way of protecting those species from the “End of The World.” Part of the New World Project.

May we have a moment of silence of the hanging orchid, all the furnitures Lucien’s abandoned, Lucien, and everything involved in this story.. so the entire world.

You will be missed for now.

Hope you enjoyed this odd translation, sorry for any grammatic mistakes I’ve missed, and have a nice day!

And no worries, I am as confused as you are!

-Shio

#mlqc #mlqc spoilers #mlqc lucien #mlqc translation #lmao my phone went fbrevbervbeb because of a volleyball #mr love queens choice #mr love spoilers

[cowboyified]

Below are some WIPs I’m releasing into the wild. They were all written at different times over the past two years so any mistakes/cliches you can blame on past June, I don’t know them. 

Go, be free.

This first one I think is the one I’m most fond of. I had such a vision for it; bottlecaps in trees, river swimming, making out against the fridge, all that good stuff you get with weecest. 

The summer Sam is seventeen they stay in one place for long enough Dean starts referring to it as ‘home’. 

It’s an old farmhouse, miles from any other structure, bar an outhouse and hay shed. There’s a porch running the length of the front and back, the wooden boards pulled up from their nails, wavy with the weather. Weatherboard paint peeling, wallpaper inside torn and missing in most places. 

They’re squatting, technically. The property owned by a family saved by hunters once, friends of friends of Bobby’s, too distraught by what they’d witnessed to raise their kids on cursed land. Dean had told Sam that Dad had been told by Bobby that had been told by Pastor Jim that it was chupacabras. A whole pack of ‘em, feeding off the lambs in the back paddock, tried to take a bite out of the baby girl and Sam had said, “As if man, those things are tiny, I’ve seen pictures, you could kick one and it would limp away like a fucking chihuaha, you scared of chihuahas, huh, Dean?” But Sam still hikes his sheet up under his chin when he hears scuffling under their window between sleep. 

There’s remnants of the house’s past inhabitants still scattered around the place. Sam had stood and slid two inches on the wheels of a tiny replica car that had been jammed under the couch the second day they arrived, piffed it at his brother’s head, who’d caught it, exclaimed that it was Camero, dude, treat her with some respect and had sat it on top of the fridge. 

The bookshelf in the corner of their shared bedroom holds mostly dust and tattered occult books stolen from libraries from all over the country, left by hunters who have found what they’ve needed and moved on. There are a few of the worst Stephen King novels shoved haphazardly on the top shelf and Sam finds something funny in that, the irony in enjoying bad horror when the real deal lurks behind the screen door. 

Dean gives him a look when Sam pulls down and cracks open a copy of The Tommyknockers, snorts, “Haven’t you read that one already?” and Sam says, tucking himself into bed, “Yeah, it fucking sucks, King was royally off his head while writing it, that’s why it’s so good.” Sam finishes three quarters of it in one sitting while listening to Dean’s quiet snores from the other side of the room. 

It’s a ten minute drive to the closest town, an off the highway, invisible to the outside world, kind of one-street community. No reason to take the exit if you don’t already know it’s there, one store, one gas station, one bar in an old brick post office building, unfitting, the carpet pulled up at the corners but home to the best fries Sam has ever had in his life. 

Sam follows Dean out to the courtyard, neither of them are legally old enough to drink but there’s nothing else to do but to get respectably drunk in a place like this, anyone that has lived long enough in the true country is some kind of functioning alcoholic, so Dean orders a beer and isn’t asked for ID. In a town small enough for everyone to know every intricate detail in the threads of dirty laundry, they are foreigners. No one knows where they’re from or where they’re going and Sam knows that Dean likes it that way.

It’s never been a secret that Sam prefers to feel like he has a part in everyday normalcy. Dean thrives under anonymity, gets a kick out of it because it makes him feel dangerous. He had stopped accompanying Sam to school two states ago, a silent agreement with their father when Dean had come home early and helped John cut splits into the tips of bullets instead. Like hell I’m signing up for compulsory extra curricular activities. What’s the point in making friends with people whose biggest concerns are the answers to whatever bullshit test and who fucked who last Friday? 

Finding comfort in a nine-to-five kind of community is a flaw Sam’s been burdened to deal with. 

It’s early afternoon, the courtyard is empty and the table they chose rocks on its legs every time Dean slides his drink over for Sam to share. It’s bitter and Sam hasn’t had enough beer in his life to know if it’s supposed to be like that or if it has just soured from the long journey it took to get from the brewery to their glass. He drinks it and doesn’t grimace because his brother is looking at him through the rays of warm country sun. 

“Tastes like piss, huh,” Dean says, leaning forward out of the light so Sam can see him clearly again. He takes back the glass. 

“S’not that bad,” Sam replies, rubbing the leftover condensation into his hand, doesn’t look at Dean, finds it hard these days, twists in his gut all wrong. Sam knows why. 

His brother hums, “There’s gotta be something else to do around here.”

Sam thinks, Dad’s left the car, we can go wherever we want, but doesn’t say it because his brother is loyal to a disastrous fault. 

That’s a recurring thought. Sam in the shotgun seat, his brother behind the wheel, driving away. Just away, to someplace else and they’d be okay because they’d have each other and all Sam ever needs is his brother, like water. But John will be back in two weeks, term starts again in a month and he needs his father to sign the enrollment forms. Two more years. 

“You see the old dredge outside of town?” Sam asks, remembers passing it when they arrived, all twisted, rusting metal, the bones of it against the setting sun.

“What did I tell you about respecting your elders?”

“You told me that they all smell like porridge and are easily susceptible to sleight of hand. No, Dean, Dredge,” Sam stresses. “Big rusty old machine that pulls minerals out of water.”

“Looking to strike big, Sammy?”

“Yeah, you see, my family is poor, brother at home too dumb to get a job. Our father went to get milk and never came back,” Sam sniffs for effect. “I can’t go home empty handed again, sir.” 

“Ah, a real sob story,” Dean nods in understanding, tips his head back and finishes the beer. “Let’s get out there then, sonny. We shan't let that simpleton, downright fool of a brother go hungry.” Dean jabs Sam in the ribs when he stands, hard enough for him to gasp, gets Sam’s head under his arm before he can recover. Sam claws embarrassingly at his brother’s torso, face pressed warm into the side of Dean’s waist. 

“I will pray for us young Samuel, for I too, dream of riches,” his brother is exclaiming, tripping them out and onto the street. “I only ask that we share whatever bounty dredged as I saw the most exquisite pony a few miles back and I simply must have it.”

And Sam thinks - with his flushed cheek hard against Dean’s skin through the thin sweaty fabric of his shirt, heart beating too fast against his ribs in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion - you can have it all. 

---

Sam’s brother’s perpetual state of being is ten miles over the speed limit; this can be applied to almost every aspect of him. Dean goes and goes and rarely stops. They’re pushing double that out of town, north of their property, into the forever stretch of flat land and Sam loses himself in it. That idea of away, of going and going and that Dean could take him because he’s an expert in the field. 

The Impala blasts Born To Be Wild and Sam imagines the lyrics spreading out over the dry grass. He rolls the window down and throws his head out, trying his best to keep his eyes open against the road’s wind. The sun beats down, warmth soaking through and into his bones and Sam laughs as the cattle turn to catch a glimpse of them soaring. 

Dean pulls him in, tugs at the back of his shirt, says something along the lines of, what are you, a dog? Should get you a shock collar for all the times you’re a little bitch, but Sam can’t hear him over the roaring of the open window and the look of transparent glee on Dean’s face, it’s loud and assaulting and Sam has to turn away because seeing Dean like that wobbles him dangerously from the nonchalant facade he has going on in relation to how he feels about his brother. But mostly his face hurts from smiling too wide.

Used as a warm up last year. Boyking!Sam

He thinks he’s in Louisiana, maybe. That he got here in the tray of a pickup and that he couldn’t feel the wind in his hair like maybe he should. The driver had stopped for a piss-break and Sam had snapped his neck without his hands.

He rubs them together now, tries to feel guilty but there’s nothing to feel guilty about because his hands are clean; he doesn’t have to use them anymore. 

Sam thinks he’s in Louisiana because he stepped out of the truck and into a wet kind of heat. There’s a church with thick greenery growing over the roof and white wood that’s been mold-blackened by the humidity. He laughs to the darkness because it's very funny to him that he’s driven himself subconsciously to a place of grace. 

He skips up the steps, two at a time, gleefully. The smell of the bayou and rotting wood has put him in a good mood. The lock snaps when he blinks, the chain unraveling and snaking into a coil at his feet. The doors open for him and maybe he did that with his mind too, or maybe they were just expecting him. 

The church has been used recently, its interior better kept than the outside, bibles tucked neatly in the backs of pews, ribbons tied into plaits. The white of the moon falls in blankets through the windows, shadows of leaves moving over the floor like rippling water and the bust of Mother Mary prays for him at the altar. 

Sam spreads his arms and addresses her, says to the room at large, “Shall I repent for my sins, oh Lord?” and it echoes, gives him goosebumps, a current under his skin. He has an audience here because God is omnipresent, this is a place of worship and Sam has always been good at that. 

A church in Louisiana, standing before a plaster of his mother’s namesake in a church for a God he used to think could have some defying factor in a destiny that was always going to be concrete. It’s funny, blatantly. Sam puts his hands gently to Mary’s cold face, kisses her on her lips before crushing her head, spraying ceramic. 

Sam stands behind the lectern, hands red with his own blood now, sticking the pages of the Good Book. He’s read it before anyway. 

“Am I to be forgiven?” 

Last is a casefic I had planned out in 2019. I didn’t get very far into the actual writing part of it, but I still think the setting is cool, less so the plot I had in mind. 

Just outside of Bridgeport, Connecticut there’s a community built on a sandbar. A small secluded semi-island, connected to the mainland by a mile-long beachfront. A town of forty to fifty now abandoned, vandalised residences.

The police find the bodies of the boys there, bleeding out and into the sand, each other’s skin caught under their fingernails. 

Sam watches as his brother pulls the sheet back from one of the corpses, laying blue on the steel morgue tray. He’s a kid, a boy, not even eighteen. Hairless, lanky, multiple stab wounds puckered around his belly and Sam thinks he does not look peaceful for someone who is meant to be at rest. 

Dean is quieter than usual, his body language stiff. They’ve seen their fair share of dead kids but Sam thinks that this one might look a little too much like an adolescent version of himself. Shaggy brown hair, too long limbs, college on the horizon. Sam blankets the sheet back over the boy’s face and hears his brother exhale in what he thinks might be relief.

The coroner tells them that the other two are the same, besides the youngest one. He’d been blinded, thumbs pushed through his eyes until they popped like grapes. He asks if they want to see him too and Sam says no, thank you, we’ve got what we need.

Which is a whole lot of nothing, but they’ve only just arrived and there’s evidence that doesn’t involve corpses that needs to be checked.

“Pussied out in there huh, Sammy?” Dean says as they’re walking down the funeral home’s front steps, past the manicured roses and trimmed lawn. You see these perfect hedges? We’ll treat your dead mother with the same detailed care!

Sam pulls at his tie and scoffs because he knows he wasn’t the only one uncomfortable standing in the morgue; cases that involve kids always rub them both wrong.

#wip dump #wincest #my words