mydarlingdearestdead

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Inhaling deeply, Haven laid her open palms upon the table's splintering veneer. The rough surface pricked and prodded her skin but it was not for her to complain, not as Wren's wide-eyed stare settled upon her.

It had always been difficult to plead ignorance to the power balance in their relationship. This, Haven supposed, was merely an attempt to level the scales.

Her breath left her in a gasp.

"So," Haven listened briefly to the panicked rhythm of her heart, a caged bird in many ways, "What do you want to know?"

"Everything." Wren replied lamely. Then, realising her mistake, she added, "You. I want you to tell me something that's important to you. Anything."

Haven swallowed, her throat like sandpaper, "Couldn't have started with my favourite flower?" When Wren failed to recognise the humour, Haven chuckled anxiously, continuing, "Hydrangeas. Not great for a bouquet, I guess, but pretty in Spring. Used to grow nearby where I grew up."

At this, Wren drew herself to her full height. Then, as Haven finished her dreary tale, Wren launched into soliloquy, exclaiming, "There! Right there! You- Haven, you say that, mentioning your childhood, fine, but there's no detail there at all, it's just... Just flowers, a consolation price. Hydrangeas grow all over the country, for god's sakes, I have still no idea to what your childhood was like, or to what you were like. What's the point in doing this if you won't loosen up and let me in? It's getting cold looking in from the window, my love. Think about that."

With each word, Haven's despair mounted to an insurmountable height. Then, a sob building in her choke, threatening to choke her, she repeated, "All over the country... Never in one place for more than- Than a year."

The colour drained from Wren's face.

"Military brat?" She asked hopefully. Haven shook her head.

[mydarlingdearestdead]

"It's hard." Odessa claimed, her voice rattling, "To still pretend to be human in the face of it all."

Loyal threw his head back in order to glance at her over his shoulder. His expression was, pinched, cautious as he asked, "What'd you mean?"

She clicked her tongue, scolding, "You know what I mean."

Loyal could only resign himself to that truth. He spun around in his chair as to face her, thinking it a superior angle for such a conversation.

"You are human." He told her, rather short and sweet in manner, "Nothing would change that, Dess."

She tore her gaze away. Her hands, those which lay idle moments before, took to tearing at a napkin in her lap. Odessa did not reply, nor did she acknowledge the plea of his.

Resigned, Loyal plastered a smile on his face, "I'm ordering dinner." He said brightly, "Indian?"

She swallowed, muttering, "Perfect."

"The usual, then." Loyal resisted the urge to take her into his arms, as he always seemed to.

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Ivory's voice rang sharp and piercing in the stoic silence of the library. It was a special silence: That only witnessed at dawn, dusk and those few, creeping moments in-between. Ivory cared not for the sacredness of the moment, only for how best to shatter it.

"Hello?" She called, paying no heed to the manner in which the eyes of the taxidermy owls in the display cases followed her among the shelves. She was not a paranoid person, you understand; Merely cautious.

Her cries were not met with any tangible reply, only the fluttering of drapes and scampering of mice beneath those of the bookcases which had accumulated the most dust.

Ivory paused, looking upon a collection of volumes: Tolstoy's War and Peace in its original Russian, accompanied by an ancient-looking copy of Great Expectations, Dickens' name emboldened upon the spine and an extended edition on the production and distribution of printers. She yawned, turning from the depressing image before her.

Mere hours from her time, Remus and Karma would congregate here, along with none other than Allistar James. A ritual of theirs, you understand. Torture the boy with the library built in his name.

Huffing, Ivory turned briskly toward the great, hardwood doors. She bypassed them swiftly, her eye snagging upon the window she had propped open on her way in.

[mydarlingdearestdead]

The whir of the electric mixer combined with the steady hum of the ancient oven to produce a familiar symphony in the kitchen, grounded by the chiming of the microwave and Doe's inconsistent pants.

When Luka approached, she jumped the height of the very ceiling, exclaiming, "Jesus!"

Sheepishly, he withdrew, muttering apologies and assurances, all the while figuring and calculating. His ultimate goal, you understand, was not born or malice or a desire to harm Doe. No, rather, Luka sought only to relieve the part of himself which craved mischief.

Hence, all he needed was for her to allow him the batter-covered spoon to lick. In full awareness that she would deny him, he batted his eyelashes and asked, "Bambi... What would you say if I suggested a trade?" Doe made an odd, dismissive gesture in reply, studying a cookbook. Grinning, Luka repeated, "A trade in which I receive a certain... Delicacy in the form of chocolate-drenched metal."

Spinning, now, to face him, cookbook in hand, Doe scowled. She laid her free hand on her hip irritably, "You want to lick the spoon? Really? Are you seven years old all of a sudden?" She laid the cookbook on the kitchen counter, crossing her arms over her chest in the same motion.

"I'm not taking care of you when you inevitably get salmonella, you know." She said, but they both knew she would. Then, she pinched the bridge of her nose, conceding slightly at the pleading expression upon Luka's face, "What's in it for me. anyway? In your 'Trade'?"

He spread his palms wide, "I am so glad you asked! I get to enjoy the enchantment of the best part of baking- That which you would just throw away otherwise, mind you-"

"Salmonella!" Doe repeated insistently, but her tone was fond.

"-But you ask what for you? Why, you, Doe Harbour, get nothing less than all of my affection."

Under the scrutiny of his doll-eyed gaze, few would retain the ability to remain neutral. Thankfully, Doe had years of practice. She merely turned on her heels, huffing, "Thought I already had that."

He shrugged, recognising his utter failure. Luka took it in his stride- The only way he could. However, he did consider one final attempt to be in order before giving up entirely. Approaching from behind on bare-footed soles, Luka's arms wrapped warmly around her waist. He laid his head on her shoulder, stooping down to do so.

"You do." He whispered, "But I don't think I've shown you just the extent to which I'm willing to go to, er... Let you know."

Doe bit her tongue. Flour coated her hands, as well as a fine sprinkling in her hair and a healthy dose upon her apron. Luka, too, seemed to be adopting his fair share. She swallowed heavily, considering her words.

"You drive a hard bargain." She told him softly, "You must really want salmonella."

For the briefest of moments, puzzlement flickered across his face. Doe caught it only in reflection of the window pane. This, she took as a private, personal victory. He all but belonged to her, after all. It was due time that she enjoyed such a truth.

[mydarlingdearestdead]

My name is Dawson Lacey. I drink Pepsi even though it tastes like carbonated battery acid because it keeps me awake and lively enough to engage in meagre conversation with those who claim to care about me. I did not complete my a-levels, nor did I pass many of my GCSEs. I work as a freelance photographer. My friends used to call me Peter Parker. I hate Titanic.

It is the sixth of May and I haven't seen Jude in eight months. I've been sober three weeks. Today is my twenty-fourth birthday.

I have seen all of Grey's Anatomy in the past six months and never in my life have I been so depressed.

Jude left me a voicemail this day last year in which they screeched congratulations and promised an utterly filthy surprise. I find, oddly, that I do not yearn for them in the same manner today than I have in months previous. Perhaps it is the buzz of family lighting my phone screen with well wishes or Lennon's insistent chattering from my kitchen where she bustles to and fro, making tea and buttering toast simultaneously. I don't have the heart to tell her I hate toast.

Tomorrow, I know, the despair will settle heavily upon my shoulders once more. But today I am alive and, frankly, fairly grateful at the prospect. Today, I can breathe openly. A wondrous thing, you understand.

[mydarlingdearestdead]

"Elton Rhymes and Orion O'Hara." Dinah indicated a camera feed which pictured a man, accompanied by a fairly androgynous companion leaning against a red-brick wall. The companion leaned against the man's shoulder, sunglasses over their eyes and white hair blazing against the oversaturation beyond them. The man, meanwhile, scrolled idly on his phone, dark eyes skittishly scanning the screen.

Dinah looked at me expectantly. I cleared my throat, afraid of sounding like the terrified little boy I knew to be masquerading within me.

"Which is which?"

"You think the one who looks like they could break your spine answers to 'Elton'?" Dinah asked dryly. She seemed, rather sadistically, to take quite a volume of enjoyment in torturing me, "White hair is O'Hara." She continued, "We're not transphobic pricks here, so stick with they/them, okay? They're genderfluid."

I nodded, shortening the distance between myself and the screen. Having forgotten my glasses in the car, I was pathetically short-sighted and too embarrassed to ask whether I could run to retrieve them.

"Can we see what Elton is doing on his phone?" I asked, "A different camera angle?"

Dinah scowled, "We're lucky to have this angle." She told me bitterly, "And anyway, based on pattern, it's probably just Instagram or Facebook. It would be different if he was buying plane tickets to... I don't know, fucking Sao Paulo or somewhere, but as long as he's just watching trad-wives churn butter or whatever, we don't care."

"Churn butter?" I repeated, admittedly puzzled.

She looked at me then- Looked at me as if, up until this instant, she had not considered me on anything deeper than an aesthetic level. Then, strangely, Dinah laid her hand on my shoulder.

She shook her head, "Nevermind it."

[mydarlingdearestdead]

"Why... Why 'Icarus'?" Allie could not disguise the betrayal he felt. In his voice, it shone clear as day. He heard Remus' gasping intake of breath and Karma's resigned sigh. Neither affected him as he had feared they might, however, as, in that instant, Allie felt merely indifferent.

It was Remus who, after moments of tense silence, thought to offer an answer.

"We- We felt like we were in free-fall because of bad decisions- That is, things we could have prevented. Modern Icarus'. He became a sort of mentor-"

"More like a 'This is what not to do' guide." But Karma's dry humour fell only on the deaf ears of the dead.

Allie could only nod in reply, his head swimming with forsaken signs and clues to which he pleaded ignorance. Remus' voice rang clear, however, although tinged with a tinny quality, like those shown in old film cannisters.

No amount of Arthur Conan Doyle makes you a detective, Allie.

Accurate to a fault, our Remus.

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Splayed across the plush, cream carpet of the foyer, Wren glanced at Haven as she arrived. Yawning, Wren accused, "You're late."

Haven hummed disinterestedly in reply, stepping deliberately over Wren's extended legs. A mere reflex action, she removed her coat and hung it upon the farthermost hook from the door, hardly noting the absence of Wren's patented greatcoat.

The silence lay as a thick blanket upon the two, suffocating in its entirety. Even Haven's footsteps were silenced upon the carpet. It devastated Wren to note how the absence drew pangs from her heart.

She cleared her throat, asking tentatively, "What happened?"

Haven merely shook her head in reply. Before Wren could seek to pursue the issue, Haven clapped her hands in a deafening gesture, "I'm going to bed." She announced, "Tell Dandy I said goodnight."

"Dandy slunk off hours ago." Wren countered, "Around the time you were meant to come back, actually. Haven-"

"In the morning, love." Haven's voice was aching, exhausted by the promise of all that she failed to disclose. Despaired, she repeated in a whisper, "In the morning."

Wren supposed she could not plead for anything more substantial.

[mydarlingdearestdead]

With her chin balanced upon her palm, Maya's eyes glinted as they fell upon Avery's expression. They exchanged secretive smiles, tentative in their care for one another but bold in their desire nonetheless.

"Well?" Maya tapped the red fingernails of the opposing hand upon the hardwood veneer of the table, "What do you think?"

The sound seemed to bring a certain light to Avery's expression. A grin overcame her, "I think... Jesus, Maya, I think that you're gonna need to become a hell of a lot more subtle before you give me a heart attack."

"It's not the plan." Maya admitted, "But for you... I'll consider it. That's all I'm saying."

Still, she struck the wood with the same deafening arrogance. The absent motion was striking, regardless of intent. Avery found that heart developed an odd arrythmia when in Maya's presence, a wondrous phenomenon. The irregular rhythm was somewhat of a reminder to Maya's ultimate control.

"Well?" She repeated, more forcefully this time.

Avery felt her face contort in a smile. She leaned forward, "I'm on board with it."

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Lennon draped an arm around his shoulder, "I know that you feel like... Like a piece of you inside has shrivelled up and died. I won't say it gets better or that it'll pass. But I think it'll hurt a little bit less with every passing day."

Ambrose sniffed, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. The corners of his smile were jagged, but honest.

"I... Thanks, Lennon. I appreciate it- You. I- I appreciate you."

She could only smile in reply, willing the tears not to fall. His hair was such brilliant blue, even in the fading sunlight, his eyes such dull brown in comparison. It was all she could do to grasp him tighter.

"I promise." She spoke in reply to a silent question, one which Ambrose denied himself, "And if I'm wrong, I'll live with the consequences."

He shook his head, "No... Not you." Ambrose turned his watery gaze upon her, "I could never blame you."

Lennon allowed herself the inkling of hope, "Now you can say that."

Purposefully, he pressed his face into the crook of her neck. Ambrose inhaled deeply- Her lily and elderflower perfume, his cigarette smoke upon her jacket, the lavender scent of her body lotion- and his face broke into a magnificent grin, "Have some faith in me, Lennon. C'mon, I'm not that bad of a partner."

She hummed, "Perhaps not."

[mydarlingdearestdead]

"Tell me," Hyacinth demanded, "Everything. Apollo, you must tell me everything- Every single detail- of your travels." His grin was infectious, spreading like a contagion within the palace. Apollo was merely the first victim.

The god laid against the laurel headboard, helplessly enamoured. His laughter fell upon Hyacinth's ears like a delicate melody, "Why must you require to hear of my dull outings?" He requested, "Olympus is merely a familial home to one such as I. It is no more ensnaring to my mind than a feast within these walls."

Simply, Hyacinth replied as if it was the most obvious thing on the Earth's surface, "So I can feel as if I was never apart from you."

Apollo's intake of breath was stark.

As always knew he would, he surrendered, "Anything for you, my love. Anything on this Earth, beneath or above."

[mydarlingdearestdead]

New Apollo and Hyacinthus tomorrow <3

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Emmet brought his coffee mug- White ceramic with painted yellow and blue star shapes- down upon the kitchen island with such force that a spiderweb splintered across the base. His tea flooded out with impressive haste, forming a seemingly filthy puddle upon the granite. With slow, intentional beats, it dripped onto the floor by Emmet's boots. He hardly noticed.

"Matilda." She had never heard such sternness in his voice. Unwitting, she flinched, and he continued, "I know that you feel like it's just a part of your life that you have to life with. I get that but- Newsflash! - You're wrong. And I know that you don't want to hear that, that you never want to hear that. But you are."

She swallowed. If only the ground could have opened up at her feet and she could be flushed down the chasm into punishment without comment.

As that was an entirely flamboyant notion, Matilda merely licked her lips before replying, "I'm too like them. Like Rosie. I'll end up like Rosie."

"You're not your mother! Jesus, Matilda. You have options that aren't Rosalyn or Atlas. You have me and- And Lacey and everyone else who stands outside that door calling you like- Like fucking... Psychopaths! Or something."

"You're not a psychopath." She told him timidly, brushing a strand of her behind her ear.

Emmet swung his mug in the air once more, "You're not Rosalyn Carraway either."

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Lottie laid out across the sofa in Marriot's office. Previously, she had drawn his blinds and now lay with her iPad residing as the sole source of light in the dim room.

When he deigned to enter, Marriot merely stood paralysed in the doorway for a time. Eventually, he thought to flick on a light. In response, Lottie hissed.

He was at a loss. Incredulous, Marriot attempted, "You're a... Vampire?"

Lottie shrugged absently, her nails clicking against the screen, "Today, yeah."

Finally, Marriot thought to close the door. She muttered thanks as he perched on the edge of his desk, looking down at her. Sighing, he asked, "What's wrong with your own desk again?"

"Better company here." She deadpanned.

In the office's condensed layout, Lottie had been forced to share a workspace with Loyal in recent months as the front desk was conquered with endless boxes. Hence, Marriot could far from argue with her.

He shook his head fondly, "Yeah, okay. If you want tea or anything, let me know."

"Love you too, Addy."

"Shut up, Charlotte." But his smile was endlessly fond.

[mydarlingdearestdead]

It was December and, in a rare example of mediocrity, snow had begun to fall by Karma's sixteenth birthday. From within the confines of the library, he watched the miniscule, insignificant flakes saunter gently to the ground outside.

He heard Remus before seeing them.

"Why," They began purposefully, "Do you and Allie insist on meeting in the coldest place on Earth?"

"Where else do you suggest?" Karma asked absently, refraining from turning to meet them. True, the school had chosen to save money by refusing to internally heat the library before 9:00 am, but where else did they suppose to be appropriate? The cacophony of the canteen or the sinister silence of the sports-hall? Both were meeting areas favoured by the average student, but, frankly, nobody would dare call Remus and Karma average

Remus grumbled, muttering, "A few degrees less and my blood would freeze in my veins, Karma, I swear-"

"Just sit down." He laughed, vaguely indicating the chair to his left- That at the table's head.

"Oh, speaking of, where is Allie?" The question only came to mind after Remus sat down. They peered at him in confusion and he continued, "I haven't seen him."

After a brief moment, Remus cleared their throat, "Probably still in bed. Knowing him."

"Yeah." Karma inhaled deeply, "Yeah, knowing him."

[mydarlingdearestdead]

"It's been years." Rosalyn protested weakly, but I saw the ravenous glint in their eyes.

Atlas' smile was wicked, "But you're still the only person I see."

They grasped him by his shirt front and he yelped. Rosalyn led him to the master bedroom, throwing over their shoulder, "Don't need us!"

After a pause, Atlas added, "For at least 2 hours."

"More if possible!"

Linney and I exchanged incredulous glances, not quite comprehending the situation before us. Hurriedly, she rose, however, pleading, "Thank fuck, I don't live here. Night."

"What? Linney-"

"Night!"

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Odessa loved herself with the same intensity with which an arsonist loves the fire department.

Hayden, in a parallel manner, loved her with the ferocity with which an arsonist loves the flame. In some ways, he yearned to push past the gratings, to allow the flames to lick- to caress- his flesh. The sacrifice would be, undoubtedly, justified.

But flame was unpredictable. It followed no set course, nor were the proper authorities guaranteed to rear their ugly heads in the appropriate instant.

Regardless, he thought perhaps he could persuade the flame to appear docile, if even just for an evening. Odessa's nature was bound to destroy all be sought to build. Hence, what was the harm in an hour of goodwill? Of selfish pleasure?

If he was to be burned beyond repair, Hayden thought he may as well engage in some masochism beforehand.