#i would cry it out hysterically while waving my taped heart in the air.

[aasthamoon]

'If there is a forever. Let it be you.'

[maeswrites]

my grandma used to recite the saying "is it better to have loved and lost or to have never loved at all?" and every time my answer would be that i would have rather not loved at all.

she would smile then, and say "then you did not love". i didn't understand what she meant. of course i had loved. i had a broken heart, didn't i? i had the scar to prove it, the inability to eat. i had loved and wished i hadn't. i loved, i thought.

and then i met you, and i fell in love and then i lost you and now i understand because i would feel this pain over and over again just to love you for five extra minutes. i would fix my heart and hand it back to you without hesitation. "look! it's all better now! you can try again" i would tell you, i would cry it out hysterically while waving my taped heart in the air. i would love you a million times knowing i would lose you and i would not care as long as i got to do it. i have loved. i have loved so completely.

mae // what a bittersweet thing to understand.

[usefulquotes7]

my grandma used to recite the saying "is it better to have loved and lost or to have never loved at all?" and every time my answer would be that i would have rather not loved at all. she would smile then, and say "then you did not love". i didn't understand what she meant. of course i had loved. i had a broken heart, didn't i? i had the scar to prove it, the inability to eat. i had loved and wished i hadn't. i loved, i thought. and then i met you, and i fell in love and then i lost you and now i understand because i would feel this pain over and over again just to love you for five extra minutes. i would fix my heart and hand it back to you without hesitation. "look! it's all better now! you can try again" i would tell you, i would cry it out hysterically while waving my taped heart in the air. i would love you a million times knowing i would lose you and i would not care as long as i got to do it. i have loved. i have loved so completely. mae // what a bittersweet thing to understand.

[heli0s-writes]

Fuckin’ Legit

Pairings: Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary: Follow up to Fuckin’ Teamwork, based off this ask. A/N: More silly shenanigans. Dumbass reader :) 2.1k words

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

Bucky watches from a distance as you hurl through the air and land right heel-first on the training dummy, knocking its head off and making it bounce off the floor with enough force to lodge itself into the ceiling. The room of SHIELD recruits clap and cheer, and when the dummy’s head flops back down you kick it like a hacky-sack at Maria Hill.

“Great demonstration,” Hill catches the head and tucks it under her arm. “Are you interested in teaching a course in hand-to-hand combat with a focus on aerial recovery? Legitimately?”

“Only if you promise not to fall in love with me.” You send a wink at her and then, as soon as you see Bucky’s bewildered face through the other side of the glass, you leap after him. He’s convinced you’re dumber than a bag of rocks, but you’re not deterred by it—especially not after Maria Hill’s validation. Puffing your chest, you skip forward, “Hey, Buck! I’m legit!”

Immediately, you trip and face plant into the nearest surface. The room collectively hisses in discomfort.

“I take that back.” Maria hurriedly ushers the recruits out before they can witness anything else.

Bucky slips through the door and roughly yanks you up by your elbow, wincing when your nose reveals a line of blood dripping into your mouth. “Legit, my ass. Come on. Stark called for us.”

-

The air in the conference room is stagnant and overwrought with a million unsaid—unscreamed—expressions. Tony pivots on his lifted heels, finger jabbing toward the big screen where a dark and grainy image is projected.

“Care to explain this? Friday pulled it from a broadcast coming from the cell.” He narrows his eyes at you as you slump down into the swivel chair until only the top of your head shows. “How about you?” Tony gestures to Bucky.

Tony has a laser pointer in his other hand, and he shines the red spotlight on the picture where Bucky’s knees are bent and planted to the ground. The dot trails over his thigh and then over the smaller frame beneath him.

You’re there, arched upward into his torso, legs hooked around his tapered waist, heels digging into his spine. Four of his thick flesh fingers are shoved inside your mouth, pulling your cheek open, and the dim light catches a sliver of your wet tongue. His other forearm is pushed onto your sternum, holding you down.

It looks bad.

It looks like Bucky is dry humping the daylights out of you in an abandoned Hydra facility.

Sam erupts into a screeching laugh when he finally pieces it together, pitching forward until he’s flattened against the wood table. “Ho-Homygod--- This is the best day of my life. Is this the cyanide incident?”

Bucky is red from head to toe.

Natasha rolls her eyes and slides away from the table. “Tony, she ate two cyanide capsules. Barnes was wrestling them out of her mouth.”

Tony stiffens for a moment as he ponders the truth behind her statement. Then, he quirks his head like an owl, flares his nostrils, and stoops beneath the table to find you resembling a boneless pile of flesh.

“Everyone is dismissed.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. “I wish I could fire you.”

A quiet whimper escapes your lips, the most pathetic noise to ever come from a human being. “But…” You whine pathetically, “I’m legit.”

-

A few nights later, you find yourself sneaking through yet another dusty old hideout. Surprise, surprise, Hydra is bad with maintenance and loves asbestos.

Steve made you an outline of all your tasks on his mission, written in all caps, folded neatly, and shoved it into your back pocket before departure. You skimmed over it on the plane before crumbling it up. The first bullet point had glared: NO CANDY.

Tightass.

You easily clear the wing and dispatch your status to Sam who is waiting patiently in the jet, fingers on the console. Bucky is patrolling the perimeter and you are taking the east side while Redwing zooms through the west.

There have been trip wires (newbie shit) and also surprisingly advanced attempts at entrapment so far (motion sensors, temperature regulated alarms). They’ve all been expertly pulled apart and rewired and you are taking a short break fucking around in the hallway, peering at dusty paintings of – some old dead bald guys. You take a picture of one and send it to Tony, labelled it’s like looking into the future.

Chortling, you continue down the corridor aimlessly until you hear a creak.

The knife in your hand is blade-first and coming down hard on the body sneaking up until— “Oh Barnes!” You cry happily, tucking it back into the strap on your wrist. “Good. You’re here! There’s only one more room—I’ve been crushing it.”

Literally two seconds after you say that, you turn the corner and run face-first into the door. Bucky pauses as if he doesn’t quite register what just happened before slowly reaching forward and gently applying pressure to the handle.

It’s written all over his face: you’re an idiot. You are seriously lacking some brain cells.

He leads the way carefully, swatting cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and taking stock of each corner, rifle pointed forward and alert. Behind him, your boots thump noisily against the floor and a chair is tipped over when your arm crashes into it.

Bucky spins on his heels and catches the chair before it can fall on top of what looks like a very obviously placed … box.

It’s a box.

A giant red box is on the floor, outlined with a square of white tape. Two abnormally unsoiled items in a room made almost entirely out of forty-year old dandruff. Your hands are already on both sides of it before Bucky can knock you out of the way.

“Don’t!” He screams because fucking anything could be under there!

A wild animal! A toxic chemical! A bomb! Snakes, for fuck’s sake! His eyes widen at the fading shadow cast on the floor as you lift the top away. Then, his heart stops beating.

It’s a slice of cake. And a cup of tea. A single slice of vanilla sheet cake neatly decorated with a blush-pink rose and two perfectly piped green leaves. The faint smell of jasmine wafts into the air.

Bucky barrels into you before you get the chance to lick your lips.

“Wilson!” He calls into the comm as you push his face away with an offended yelp, “They’re in the east side—set a trap for us! Get over here and bring your stupid bird too! I swear to God—NO! DO NOT!”

 -

In the hovering Quinjet, Sam Wilson leaps to his feet and swoops out of the cabin, wings folded as he dives. “Come again?!” He taps on the comm wedged inside his left ear, “Barnes!?”

“-- fuck-- gonna—fucking--- stop BITING ME!”

A furious row of explosions blare in Sam’s ear as he banks a sharp left and lands on two feet, tearing his way inside the facility, checking on his wrist all the while. Redwing’s camera is glitching, but he can make out flashes of gunfire and what looks like at least five bodies, not including his two teammates. Bursts of white erupt on the screen and Sam’s heart picks up a tremendous pace before he kicks the door down, pistols out and aimed.

A silence smothers the room before grunting and screaming erupts again over Sam’s shout of, “What is going on in here?!”

-

“And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the exact moment I came upon my fellow Avengers,” Sam pauses, waving his hand with a bow at the image projected on the conference room screen.

Friday pulled another image from the broadcast before Sam shot out all the cameras in the facility.

It seems that the previous video of you eating cyanide had been intercepted through a bounced signal from the original recording’s output and those on the other end decided you were enough of a proper imbecile to be tricked by something as simple as a slice of cake.

They weren’t wrong.

Tony’s laser is in Sam’s hand and he points the dot in flashes five times, “Dead dudes. Check.” The dot moves on, landing on two splayed out legs before it runs up the side of Bucky’s body pressed to the concrete. “Barnes. Check.” Bucky shuts his eyes and slams his head into the table. “And… here we have this.”

Sam points to you, bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth as you lurch forward, one hand outstretched and smeared with frosting while the other holds your torso barely an inch from the ground, paying no mind to the two elbows digging into your stomach. Sam points again to where your crotch is pushed right into Bucky’s face.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve mutters, flushing red, “I wrote you directions for a reason…”  

“Excuse me,” You huff, “Cake is not candy.”

“Really?!” Bucky snaps, “That’s the hill you’re going to die on!? You ran into the door! You knocked over a chair! You looked at the one thing that did not belong in the room and you picked it up even after I told you not to!”

Steve jumps back into the grilling, “And if you would have read the rest of the list—NO FOOD AT ALL was number two!”

“Oh yeah!?” You’re near hysterical now, shrieking at the top of your lungs. Stupid men ganging up on you. “What was number three? No fun!? I’m Captain America and I’m such a tightass--”

Bucky cuts you off, throwing his hands up into the air, “Number three was get the blueprints!”

“Oh.”

The room falls silent as you tuck your hand into the pocket of your pants. “Why didn’t you just say so? I nabbed ‘em as soon as I got in there. Marked off the locations of all the cameras and security alarms—not like that matters since Wilson shot them and I disarmed the rest in the east wing. Also, there were corridors and secret entryways not in the file. It’s on here now.”

Carelessly, you chuck the flash drive from your pocket at Steve and it smacks him in the chest. Sam crosses his arms and cocks his head at you, “Shit. Didn’t know you were all that.”

You frolic to the door, “See ya later!”

Three men watch on in shocked silence as you prance down the hallway, banking a sharp right towards your room. Steve stares from Sam to Bucky and then to the flash drive in his hand.

Sam clucks, “You know what… All things considered… the girl is legit.”

-

He calls your name, bangs on the door with a hard fist and when it cracks open, you peek your head out with tired eyes. “Sup, buttercup?”

“Why are you like this? The cyanide? The cake? You had the flash drive the whole time!”

You shrug off what sounds like an accusation, “I dunno. I’m good at my job.” Bucky crosses his arms. “Barnes!” You scold with a growing grin, “I’m legit! I just… you know. Why put all the pressure on myself when you’re around?”

You snort a little, scratch your tummy underneath an oversized shirt absently, and shrug your shoulders repeatedly like you’re dancing. Bucky narrows his eyes. “Are you telling me you’re an idiot because of me?”

“Yeah, Buck. I know you’ll take care of me.”

He freezes. Feels a sudden swell of heat rush from his chest to the top of his head. Bucky opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. He closes it. You give him a sleepy grin, leaning on the door and swinging it wide, faltering against the knob with a yelp.

Swiftly, and true to his character, Bucky catches you with one arm.

Hanging from his hold, body twisted around, you look up into his blue eyes. They’re strangely tender, dancing over your face with an inquisitive glimmer.

The moment shatters when Bucky’s gaze stops at your neckline. “Is that—" he frowns, “Is your shirt on backwards?”

You nod. “Uh huh. Inside out too.”

His eyes slip shut. With a sigh, he drops you flat on your back and turns around. “You’re an idiot. I hate you.”

Down the hallway as he stomps off, cursing the moment the thought you were cute or something… he hears your voice calling.

“I’m an idiot— but I’m legit, right? And I’m your idiot, right? Bucky? Bucky!”

Bucky holds back a grin. Flicks you off behind his back. Legit or not, he would never give you the satisfaction of knowing.

-

perm taglist @whothehellisbucky​ @serpentbaby​ @badassbaker​ @alagalaska​ @cake-writes​ @crist1216​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @infinity-saga​ @jamesbarnesthighs​ @pinknerdpanda​ @xoxabs88xox​ @imsoft-barnes​ @momc95​ @typicalangel​ @wretchedgoddess​ @readeity​ @iwannasail​

[kriscme]

One Life To Live

Hi, to anyone still around.   Here’s the next chapter, also available on AO3.  There will be another chapter next week.   Thanks as always to Ronja for permission to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take.”

Chapter 32

Before I knock on Peeta’s door I go over my checklist.  Focus on my objective to help Peeta find himself.  Be prepared for Peeta’s questions and answer them honestly.  If he asks if I was in love with him, I’ll answer yes because that is the truth.  And if he asks if I’m still in love with him – well, that would be a problem, but I doubt it will happen.  Peeta won’t ask. Still, I hesitate.  I was so confident when I agreed to it, but now every instinct tells me to turn tail and run.  What if he does ask?   What do I say?  Do I lie?  Because I don’t think I can.  Not convincingly, anyway.   I’ll just have to trust that Peeta is of the same mind.  After all, it doesn’t advantage either of us to bring it out into the open.  And he’s sure to be sensitive to my situation having gone through it himself.  In those months of ignoring each other before the Victory Tour, he surely would have wished he hadn’t been so open with his feelings.  How much easier it would have been for him if he could have laughed it off as part of the strategy.  And of course, I know Peeta would never do anything that could embarrass me. Gathering my courage, I rap sharply on the door.   It takes a while for Peeta to answer it.  I must have caught him in the middle of doing something because he looks a little flustered.  He’s casually dressed in shorts and a faded T-shirt the same shade of blue as his eyes.  I’m similarly dressed in shorts and a sleeveless top.  Maybe we had the same thing in mind for our wardrobe choice.  What you’d wear hanging around your house with an old friend on a hot afternoon and didn’t care what you looked like. My eyes do a brief sweep of the living room before I enter.   It’s the usual setup of a two-seater sofa in front of the television and lounge chairs on either side.  I gaze longingly at the single chairs and I’m tempted to dive for one of them but since that could look as if I have something to fear I reluctantly take a seat on the sofa.

Peeta sits down beside me.  The coffee table already has been laid out with refreshments.   A pot of tea and two cups.  A pitcher of iced water and two glasses.   A platter of cheese, fruit and crackers.  A plate of iced cookies. “Who else is coming?” I ask.  There seems to be an excessive amount of food. He coughs nervously.   “Um, no one.  I just thought, maybe, that if you have the time, we could watch the tapes all at once.  There’s not that many of them.”  He indicates a small stack by the television.  There are three tapes – four if there’s one already in the video player. “Sure,” I say.  I’m as anxious to get this out of the way as he is.  Max won’t mind if I turn up late or not at all.  Our meetings at the pub have never been more than a casual arrangement. I slip off my sandals and pull my knees up to my chest in my defensive position but then put them down again when I see Peeta staring at my bare legs.   Maybe he doesn’t like feet on his furniture.  My feet are clean though.  I had a shower when I got back from the woods where I’d spent most of the day.  I hoped the stillness and tranquility of the place would help get me in the right headspace for the coming ordeal.   The effect doesn’t seem to have lasted.  My nerves feel all jangled and on edge.  Peeta doesn’t look any better. “Tea?” asks Peeta. “Thanks.”  Tea slops into the saucer as he hands it to me.  I can’t tell whether it’s him or me and I put the cup back down on the coffee table.  “It needs to cool,” I tell him.  I shift my gaze to the television.  “Do you think we should get started?”  I want this over with. “Yes, of course.” Peeta picks up the remote, points it at the television but then lowers it again.

“Katniss, before we go any further, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the way I’ve acted since I came back to 12.  Now that I seem to have most of my memories back and can see more clearly, I realize how insensitive and confusing my behavior must have been and I want you to know how much I appreciate you sticking with me despite it all.  It’s only because of you that I found the motivation to find my way back to myself.  So, I want to thank you and also apologize for any offence I’ve caused.  I’m sorry.” His apology takes me by surprise.  It’s true that Peeta’s behavior has been insensitive – even appearing at times as if he deliberately wanted to hurt me.  But I can’t hold what the hijacking was responsible for against him.  It wasn’t really Peeta in the same way that his trying to kill me wasn’t really him either.  And I think, maybe, that in some ways I owe him an apology.  At the very least, I can’t claim credit for sticking with him.  Not all the time anyway and it had to be on my terms.   My behavior would likely have seemed just as insensitive and confusing to him as his was to me. “I’m sorry, too,” I say. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.  None of it is your fault.   But I don’t want to go on like this, ignoring each other and then trying to act as if nothing’s wrong when other people are around.  So I thought if I could stop being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at being friends.” Friends.  It’s what I expected, but somehow it still hurts.  Peeta’s not hard to read.  He’s letting me know, in the nicest way possible, the rules for how we’ll approach this.  We’re to be friends and whatever is on those tapes will be interpreted as such.  Typical of Peeta, he’s even taking on the blame for the awkwardness between us, claiming himself as the wounded party when we both know it’s my injured feelings that are the cause of it.   But perhaps the worst of it, or the best of it – I can’t decide which, is that Peeta sounds like his old self, the one who could always think of the right thing to say.  Perceptive, unassuming, kind, wanting to put others at ease.  Nothing could break me faster.  My Peeta is back.  And he doesn’t love me anymore. I blink back tears.  “Okay.” “Is that all right?” he asks, his voice edged with concern. I manage a wobbly smile.  “Of course, it is.  I’m just glad we’re friends again, that’s all.  I’ve missed it.”

Peeta gives me a relieved smile in return and turns back to the television.  “Yeah.  Me too.” He clicks on the remote and we’re transported into dense jungle.  Hot, steamy, oppressive.  Finnick, Mags, Peeta and I form a single line as we slowly tramp our way through thick vegetation.  Peeta is in front slashing at vines with his knife. I see the ripple hanging in mid-air that signifies a force field and I start to call out a warning.  Peeta’s knife makes contact and he’s slung backwards to the ground, lifeless. I steal a glance at the Peeta on the sofa.   I see no recognition on his face at all. This is new to him then.  I turn my attention back to the television and try to prepare for how I should react to what’s about to happen.

The onscreen me screams his name and attempts to revive him by shaking him and slapping his face.  Finnick calmly pushes me aside and checks Peeta over before pinching his nostrils shut.  When I try to stop him, he shoves me violently against a tree.  I reach for my bow but stay my hand when I realize what Finnick is doing.  Just when all hope seems lost Peeta gives a small cough.  I hurl myself at him, brushing his hair from his forehead, tears streaming down my face.  And then I start to sob, great heaving sobs that I’m powerless to stop.  Finnick blames baby hormones and I glare at him.   But instead of returning it with sarcasm, his glance travels between Peeta and me, his expression puzzled.   And that’s when the image on the television freezes.  On Finnick’s baffled face. I turn to Peeta wondering why he stopped the tape and see the same bewildered look on his face that was on Finnick’s. For one horrifying moment, I’m afraid he’s going to comment on the hysterical way I reacted.  He’s supposed to ignore stuff like that.  But then it dawns on me that he’s just seen himself die.  That’s why he looks so shocked.   It would unsettle anyone. “It was the forcefield,” I explain hurriedly. “I only knew it was there at the last second because I’d seen one in the training room.  Beetee and Wiress pointed it out to me.  There’s an irregularity – a chink in the armor they called it.  It looks like a sort of wave hanging in mid-air.  Not all over, just the odd patch.   We later used it to cook food by throwing it at it.” I know I’m rambling but the way Peeta is looking at me is disconcerting.  It’s as if he’s trying to figure something out about me.  Perhaps it’s made old doubts resurface of the time I tried to kill him when he and the careers had me treed.  I suppose it could look as if I tried to stop Finnick from saving his life. “It’s just as well Finnick was there.  I didn’t know what he was doing at first.  I thought he might have been trying to finish you off when he put his hand over your nose.  But then I recognized it as a technique I’ve seen my mother use a couple of times when a person’s heart stops.   If you can get to them fast enough you can sometimes get it started again. “ I grab the remote from the coffee table and un-pause the tape before Peeta can say anything.  His gaze lingers on me for a few seconds before he turns his focus back onto the screen.   I hope this hasn’t reawakened his distrust of me. The tape continues with Finnick and me disagreeing over whether Peeta should get moving or rest.  My nose is still running like crazy from all the crying I’d done.  Mags rips hanging moss from a tree for me to use as a handkerchief to mop up all the snot.   “So embarrassing,” I tell the Peeta beside me.  If he wasn’t attracted to me before, this should clinch it.   The tape ends with me noticing the locket with the mockingjay engraved on it around his neck. “Well, that’s about it,” I say.  “It’s pretty self-explanatory.  You get zapped by the forcefield and Finnick saves you.   No lasting damage.   How about we move onto the next tape?” I’m already out of my seat.   I seize a tape at random, remove the one in the player, and insert the new one.  I hope this one is less incriminating. It’s worse.  It’s Snow’s execution.  If Peeta’s distrust of me is re-emerging then this will send it soaring into the stratosphere.  How can you feel secure around someone whose job it is to kill one president but then suddenly decides to kill another?  Such a person could turn around and kill you next.  And it’s not implausible as far as Peeta is concerned.  I’ve pointed an arrow at him twice with intent to kill – the first time in the Games when he pulled out a knife, the second in a Capitol sewer.  Both times were in anticipation of him killing me but Peeta might not remember that.  Indeed, looking at him now, body tense, apprehension etched on his face, that’s probably what’s going through his mind right now.  Memories must be triggered if he knows enough to be nervous about it.  He looks down at the faint double crescent scar on his hand and runs the thumb of the other hand across it.  He’s remembering . . . something.  I don’t think it’s good. I shift my attention back to the television screen.  I need to focus.   This must be the footage that was broadcast across Panem going by the way the camera picks out the VIPs in the audience.  The voice-over from Claudius Templesmith has been edited out but the noise from the crowd can still be heard.  I guess Dr Aurelius wants Peeta to hear only my version of events. The execution takes place in the narrow terrace in front of the president’s mansion.  It doesn’t allow for a large audience – this was clearly intended as a television event – but what is there is packed in tightly.  The remainder had spilt over into the City Circle and down the side streets.  Guards and officials take their places.  And then rebel leaders and victors.  The victors have been given a prominent position at ground level close to where I’m to stand.  Peeta is between Johanna and Beetee looking slightly dazed. Loud cheers welcome President Coin as she appears on the balcony and takes up her position.  It doesn’t afford Coin the best view as she can’t look her enemy in the face before he dies, but more dramatic from a staging perspective to have the triumphant leader directly above the defeated one in a single camera shot.  That’s what Plutarch would have told her.  But Coin would surely have felt vulnerable with a loose cannon like me in front of her, armed, and within easy shooting range.   Vulnerable enough to invent a scenario to test my loyalty?  Well, there’s no sense in going over my theories of why things happened as they did.  This is about Peeta’s experience in this particular moment.   He’s just come out of the victor’s meeting believing that I wanted another Games.  Who knows what was going through his mind?  That I’m indeed the monster that Snow made him believe? I emerge after Coin takes her seat and then Snow is marched out and secured to a post.  The camera is in a close-up of his face.  There’s no remorse or fear.  Only amusement.  I aim at the rose pinned to his chest, shift my arrow upwards and release the string.  Coin topples to the ground.  Dead. What happens next took mere seconds but this has been edited to include as much detail as possible.  There are images of Coin’s lifeless body, landed face down on the paving.  People rush to her aid and turn her onto her back.  A red rose blooms on her breast to contrast with the white rose on Snow’s. Her eyes are wide open, her expression one of surprise.  Snow is literally choking with laughter, blood frothing from his mouth.   Guards surge towards me.  I whisper something indecipherable and raise one arm and twist my head to reach it.  Peeta is suddenly in the frame.  He grabs my upper arm and my teeth clamp down, drawing blood.  I lift my head and yell something at him.  There’s too much noise from the crowd to make out my words.  It’s the same with Peeta’s desperate response.  He’s pulled from me and a scrap of fabric can be seen clutched in his hand.  I’m lifted off the ground over the crush of people, frantically struggling.  I open my mouth and scream.   The audio picks up the single word.  Gale!  Gale!  The tape ends when I’m carried into the mansion and disappear from sight. Very slowly, Peeta reaches for the remote control and turns off the television.  We both sit in silence to digest what we had just seen.  I expect to be evicted from his home shortly.  Siding with Coin over another Games, shooting the leader who was instrumental in defeating our arch-enemy Coriolanus Snow – the man who had Peeta tortured and ordered the bombing that killed his family.  And then biting his hand so hard when he tried to save me that he still bears the scars. “It looks bad, doesn’t it?” I venture when the silence grows too long. “Yeah. I’ve watched this tape before.  With Haymitch.  He explained most of it and told me what preceded it.  You know, the meeting with Coin.” He runs a hand through his hair and gives his head a shake.  “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.  I actually voted to exterminate the entire Capitol citizenry.  That was the choice offered, wasn’t it?  A single Games or kill the lot of them?” “Yes.  But you weren’t the only one.  Even Beetee missed it.”  I don’t tell him that he influenced the other’s choice by voting first under the presumption that it was a simple choice of Games or no Games.  He feels bad enough already.  “But if you’ve seen this tape already and you’ve discussed it with Haymitch, why would Dr Aurelius want you to watch it again with me?” Peeta’s face turns red.  “There was a question Haymitch couldn’t answer and it was bothering me.  He told me I’d have to ask you.” Oh.  “You mean what we said to each other?”  That’s the only part of it I can think of that Haymitch may not know. “No, I remembered that.  And why I stopped you from taking the nightlock pill.  It was just . . .” He stops, takes a breath, and ends in a rush.  “Why did you call out for Gale?  After everything you’ve said about him not being your boyfriend. It doesn’t make sense.” I’m so startled I’m momentarily lost for words.  With all that was on that tape, has that question actually been preying on him? “It’s because we had a pact.  If either of us was caught by the enemy, we’d kill each other first so they wouldn’t have the satisfaction of taking us alive.” “You wanted him to shoot you?” “Yes.  He didn’t, obviously.  And I couldn’t shoot him when he was captured by peacekeepers.  Sorry excuses for hunters and friends we turned out to be.” Peeta’s face clears and even breaks out in a smile.  “I’m glad he didn’t.” I laugh.  “Yeah.  Me too.”  I feel the tension ebb from my muscles a little.  A much-needed respite from all the drama so far.  “Shall we watch the next one?” It’s our first Games.  My head is bandaged which means this happened after I’d gone to the feast for Peeta’s medicine.  Heavy rain can be heard from outside the cave and Peeta and I have no choice but to remain where we are, our hunger pangs worsening by the hour.  Peeta wonders what we’d have to do to get Haymitch to send us some food.  This reminds me to ramp up the romance angle.  I take Peeta by the hand and playfully suggest that a lot of resources had been used on the sleep syrup that helped me knock him out.   I think I can guess what Dr Aurelius had in mind with this tape.  It’s the first kiss from Peeta that had me wanting another.  He thinks it will lead to a discussion that not all my romantic responses were faked and that my attraction to him had started early in our relationship. This one is easy.  Even if Peeta doesn’t believe it was faked, it won’t be hard for him to pretend that it was.   I lean back into the sofa, feeling relaxed for the first time since I got here.   Peeta doesn’t seem anxious about it either. I imagine that I’m one of the many thousands of people who watched it on TV.  I know most bought into the romance as genuine – especially in the Capitol.   In the Districts, the romance was secondary to our perceived rebellion against the Capitol.  I later learned that I didn’t fool Snow and my fellow victors who saw through the act.  Yet somehow, they missed this.  It was perhaps the only kiss that Peeta and I shared in those first Games when I wasn’t acting. I watch the girl falter over her words.  The boy wants her to go on, his face alight with budding hope.   The feeble excuse she makes.  The boy leaning in.  The soft explorative kiss growing more confident, gaining heat.  The girl’s hands coming to rest on his shoulders.  Her eyes closed and lips slightly pursed in readiness for more kissing.  The boy’s concern over her head wound.  And her disappointment when that second kiss manifests as a mere peck on the nose.   Yet despite all that, it doesn’t scream out as being significantly different from the many other kisses we shared.  It’s in the subtleties.  You’d have to be watching carefully to see it.   I turn to Peeta, confident that the last thing he’ll want to do is to scrutinize it too closely.  But he’s watching the screen intently, his brows drawn together in concentration.  I have a very bad feeling about this.   Please, please, don’t go there.  This is not how it’s supposed to work. “You weren’t acting.”  He looks to me for confirmation. Be honest.  I want to ignore that little voice.  Tell it to go away.  I can see the yawning chasm of a slippery slope opening up.   If he wants to talk about how I felt about him then it could lead to how I feel about him now. But then I remember how Peeta was at the dinner and what he had intimated to me earlier.  Friendship is the game going forward.  He’s as anxious to avoid any talk of my present feelings for him as I am.  An honest discussion of the past can’t hurt.  It’s a necessary part of Peeta finding himself. “No,” I say simply. “Can you tell me what was going through your mind?” “Well, it made me think of what it would be like if you had died and that made me realize that I didn’t want to lose you, that’s all.” “And the kiss?” “I liked it.  I wanted to keep going.” I pause, pondering the wisdom of how much I should reveal and then quickly make the decision to put it all out there.  This is our final session.  After today, we don’t ever need to talk about it again.  I won’t be telling Peeta anything he doesn’t already know or has guessed, anyway.   “Look Peeta, most of what happened in the Games was an act, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t care for you or wasn’t attracted.  I thought you were acting too, and quite frankly, there was a lot going on, I mean there were people who wanted to kill us – to be thinking of romance.  And then on the train back to 12, I got to thinking about how being a victor would fit with my old life and it was kind of overwhelming.  I didn’t know what to feel about anything.  But I did miss you and wished we could have stayed friends.”  I put a faint emphasis on the word “friends.”  Peeta will appreciate that.  It puts us back in a safe place after all this talk of attraction and kissing. “Friends,” repeats Peeta.  He seems to retreat into a far-away place before he rouses himself.  “Your favorite color is green.  Mine is orange.  Right?” “That’s right,”  I say smiling.  “It’s what we talked about at the start of the Victory Tour when we decided to make a try of being friends.”  I make sure to stress “friends.”

Peeta suddenly rises from the sofa.  “I just need to take a break for a minute.” While I wait, I change the tapes over.  It’s the last one and I have an awful feeling about it.   It’s sure to be the kisses on the beach.  I doubt that Dr Aurelius would have left it to Haymitch and Johanna as I’m the only one who can say what was really going on.  I suppose I’ll have to be honest.  Say, yes Peeta, I did like kissing you and no, nothing was faked.  But as long as he doesn’t ask how I feel about him now, we’ll be all right.

I question the value of having to talk about it in any case.  It’s not as if the conclusion hasn’t already been decided.   Whatever happened in the past has no bearing on the present. Our purpose is to construct a wall of pretence so that we can be a family with Haymitch and stand to be in each other’s company.  We’re fooling ourselves that we can be friends though.  We won’t be.  Not really.  No wonder Peeta has to leave the room.  The hypocrisy must be killing him. I take a sip of tea, now grown cold, and start to nibble on a cracker before putting it down again.  I have no appetite and nor, it seems, does Peeta.  The food is almost untouched, so intent we’ve been on getting through these tapes as fast as possible.  Peeta returns, pale but composed.  “Let’s finish it,” he says. Finish it.  My heart clenches at the implication.  The end of Katniss and Peeta, star-crossed lovers of District 12.  I press the play button on the remote and the tape begins.

[kk095]

Lindsay's Last Day

I hope you enjoy my newest story! It came to me seemingly out of nowhere. I hope everyone enjoys! ☺

*****

It's been said that the only guarantees in life are death and taxes. Taxes are relatively predictable and formulated, but death can be very unpredictable and come seemingly out of nowhere, a scenario all too common in trauma patients. A prime example of this is our last patient Lindsay Wilk.

Lindsay was a 23 year old white woman with light brown hair and blue eyes. She was exceptionally tall for a girl, standing at 6'1, and had a thin build. Lindsay was fair skinned, didn't have any tattoos, didn't wear a lot of makeup, and had a conventionally attractive appearance despite her height. Lindsay was always a bit shy and insecure, but was generally a pleasant person to be around.

Lindsay always wanted to work in journalism and even went to college for it, but struggled finding work in the ultra-competitive career field. As a result, Lindsay went back to her hometown feeling defeated and ended up taking a job as a salesperson at a high end jewelry store. She was able to pay the bills, but she didn't always feel fulfilled.

Normally, Lindsay would work in the morning and into the afternoon (9am to 3pm), but there was one day where the store was understaffed. The store owner Roberto, a short older Hispanic man in his 60s, asked Lindsay if she could stay late one evening and help him close up the store. Lindsay's immediate reaction was “no”, but she eventually capitulated to her boss's demands, feeling the few extra hours of pay would be worth it.

That evening's shift came and went. The store closed at 9pm, but since the last hour was a little slow, Lindsay and Roberto began closing the store around 8:45pm. Roberto was locking up the jewelry display cases and Lindsay was shutting off all the POS systems at the check out counters. While that was going on, a tall, thin white man wearing a black zip up hoodie with the hood up walked into the store. The man seemed a little shady and out of place, but Lindsay didn't want to be rude, so she addressed the man: “hi, welcome to Roberto’s Jewelry, I'm Lindsay. Is there anything you're looking for in particular?” The man didn't make eye contact with Lindsay and was browsing around the store. The man was taking his time even though the store was about to close. “I'm sorry to bother you, but we're closing at 9:00. We'll be glad to help you first thing tomorrow!” said Roberto, trying to politely nudge the sketchy man out of the store. The man stood there silently and glared at Roberto, almost as if he was looking right through Roberto. The man's glare didn't bode well with Roberto. Lindsay thought to herself “this guys gives me the creeps…”

The man continued to browse the store, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Roberto and Lindsay wanted to go home. Roberto began to grow impatient in the following minutes. “Sir, it's getting late and we really need to close the store. We'd love to have you back tomorrow.” Said Roberto, once again trying to get the man out of the store. The man paused, then reached into the waistband of his jeans pulling out a silver colt 45. “I'll leave when I want to” said the man in a creepy, ominous monotone, while brandishing the pistol.

Lindsay and Roberto went from being creeped out to being immersed in pure terror in a matter of seconds. Roberto was at a loss for words and Lindsay's mind was racing. The man knew he was already in too deep since he pulled his gun out, and made his way towards the jewelry counter Roberto was standing behind. As he got closer to the counter, he pointed the gun at Roberto and began making demands. “gimme the money out of the safe.” Demanded the gunman. Roberto stood there frozen in fear like a deer in headlights. “did you fuckin hear me old man? Get the money out of the safe!” shouted the gunman. Roberto nodded and scurried off to the back room where the safe was. Lindsay was consumed with fear and began crying. “Shut the hell up!” the man yelled at Lindsay. Lindsay began sobbing and put her hands up. “please, just take what you want. Don't hurt us!” she pled with the gunman. “where's the old man? He's taking too long!” The man shouted.

Roberto could be heard whispering in the back room: he called 911 on his cell phone. The gunman became panicked and flustered, realizing he was in deep trouble. Adding insult to injury, he fires off a few shots in each person's direction and bolts out the front door of the store. Luckily, none of the shots hit Roberto.

Lindsay was flustered and had adrenaline flowing through her body, so her mind was in a bit of a fog. She didn't immediately think she was shot, but she felt wetness on her shirt and looked down. Lindsay started hyperventilating and crying hysterically when she noticed blood on her shirt. Roberto heard Lindsay's cries and shouted into his phone “My employee was shot! Send an ambulance!”

Lindsay's legs became wobbly, so she sat on the ground, putting pressure on the wound with her own hands and sobbing. Lindsay's mind was racing, “what's happening?” “am I going to die?”, she thought. “ohmygod ohmygod” Roberto said in a panicked tone, pacing around the store while Lindsay bled behind the counter. Roberto ran off to the bathroom and grabbed some paper towels since that's all he had in the store and tried to apply pressure to Lindsay's wound. The paper towels became saturated in blood in a matter of seconds. Lindsay's complexion was becoming a bit pale, and she was starting to have breathing difficulties. Lindsay started to feel cold and felt a sharp pain in her chest when she inhaled.

Finally, the paramedics arrived. “help! She's right here!” Roberto shouted, waving and signaling the medics over to their location. When EMS got on scene, Lindsay was moaning and struggling to remain conscious. She had a pasty complexion, was cool to the touch, and her lips were fading in color. “she lost a lot of blood. Let's get an IV in.” ordered the lead paramedic. The 2nd medic began setting up IVs in both of Lindsay's arms while the lead paramedic cut off Lindsay's top, only sparing her navy blue bra. “single GSW. entry wound, left chest. Exit wound near left scapula.” Said the medic, thinking out loud. Ringer's lactate was hung for fluid resuscitation and a round of morphine was pushed for pain management. A portable heart monitor was then set up. Lindsay's BP was 89/58, her heart rate was 124bpm, and her oxygen saturation was down to 93%. The medics sensed the severity of Lindsay's injuries, so she was placed on a gurney and prepped for transport.

Once in the ambulance, the medics removed Lindsay's shoes and socks, and cut off her pants with the trauma shears, only sparing the pair of navy blue underwear that matched her bra. The medics placed gauze pads on the entry and exit wound, but the pads were soaked in blood in a matter of seconds. Lindsay's chest and upper back were covered in blood from the uncontrolled bleeding that took place in the minutes after she was shot.

Lindsay remained conscious, but was a bit groggy and in pain. She groaned and squirmed around on the gurney while the ambulance was speeding towards the hospital at full speed, weaving through the Friday night traffic with the sirens on full blast.

Lindsay began spitting up blood later on during transport. The medic suctioned out her mouth while she began crying again. Her BP was dropping steadily during the ambulance ride, so a round of vasopressors were pushed and the medic squeezed the IV bag of ringer's lactate to make it drip faster. “she needs blood. What's our ETA?” said the medic to the driver. “2 minutes, but who the hell knows with this traffic.” Replied the driver. Lindsay continued coughing up blood and continued to deteriorate despite the paramedic’s best efforts. “Lindsay, stay with me!” shouted the paramedic while doing a sternal rub, noticing Lindsay was in and out of consciousness. Lindsay groaned in response to the medic, but she began to fade away. Her eyes glazed over and she let out a calm exhale, followed by a few agonal respirations. The medic placed 2 fingers on Lindsay's neck and looked at the heart monitor. “PEA. Getting her set up on the Lucas.” The medic said while shaking their head.

Lindsay's bra was snipped off and the Lucas thumper was set up and turned on. The device delivered deep, perfectly consistent chest compressions. The paramedic injected a round of epinephrine and atropine into Lindsay's IV to hopefully obtain a shockable rhythm. The defib pads were then stuck onto Lindsay's bare chest as a precaution in the event she needed to be shocked. Since Lindsay kept spitting up blood, the next step was airway management. Her airway was suctioned out and an 8.0 ET tube was then navigated carefully into her airway and held in place with tape. Once the tube was in, an ambu bag was attached. The medic squeezed the bag once every handful of seconds to give Lindsay much needed air.

The remaining 2 minutes of the ambulance ride came and went. The drugs and Lucas compressions were unable to convert Lindsay out of PEA. Lindsay laid motionless on the backboard, eyes wide open, while the Lucas thumper pumped her skinny chest repeatedly.

Finally, the ambulance came to a stop and the back doors swung open. On the other side of the ambulance doors were members of the trauma team waiting on Lindsay's arrival. “23 year old female, single large caliber GSW to the left chest. 2 large bore IVs with ringer's lactate, pushed a round of morphine early on. Lost consciousness en route, then lost a pulse. Intubated her, pushed epi and atropine, no shocks. Down for 2 minutes” said the paramedic, updating the trauma team. “ok, get her to trauma room 1” responded the attending physician.

Lindsay was receiving Lucas compressions while being wheeled through the emergency department's main hallway. Lindsay's chest caved in and her belly bumped out in response to each individual compression. One of the ER nurses took over ambu bagging while the medics pushed the stretcher through the corridors and into the trauma room.

Once in the trauma bay, Lindsay was transferred onto the table and log rolled off the backboard so the Lucas thumper could be removed and so the trauma team could examine the entry and exit wounds. After the blood-covered backboard was removed, Lindsay was returned to her previous position and began receiving manual chest compressions from one of the trauma nurses. These compressions were much harsher than those delivered by the thumper. The nurse pumped Lindsay's bloody, skinny chest as hard and fast as they possibly could.

The attending physician started Lindsay on the massive transfusion protocol. She received 4 unmatched units of blood, 1500 units of Rhogam since there wasn't time to cross match for blood type, 2 units of platelets, and 2 units of plasma. Trauma labs were drawn at an expedited pace, a chest x ray was taken, and an echocardiogram was performed. The chest x ray showed a left sided hemothorax and the echocardiogram showed rampant hemopericardium with a 2.5cm laceration in the anterior pericardium. The attending physician ordered a left sided chest tube to be placed and asked for a thoracotomy tray.

The scene became even more hectic in the trauma bay. A left sided chest tube was being placed, a left anterolateral thoracotomy was being started, and CPR was being performed all simultaneously. The best way to describe the moment was organized chaos. A lot was going on, but every person in that room knew exactly what to do and how to do it.

The chest tube was placed first. Blood leaked out of the tube and dripped onto the floor below, making a small puddle just to the left of the table. Meanwhile, Lindsay's chest was being cracked open. The rib spreader pried her 4th and 5th ribs apart while chest compressions were taking place just inches away. There was a small rush of blood that occurred when Lindsay's chest was opened. A vascular clamp was placed on the aorta near Lindsay's diaphragm and external compressions were swapped out for internal massage. The pericardium was incised to release the large accumulation of blood trapped inside of it. Thick, gooey, coagulated blood oozed out of the pericardium, suggesting this has been an active bleed for awhile. A hole in the right ventricle near its connection point with the pulmonary trunk was discovered, so it was irrigated and plugged up by the trauma team. The exit wound was more challenging to find since it exited in the posterior portion of the heart, so the search for that began.

A 2nd dose of epinephrine and atropine were pushed into Lindsay's IV and the 1st dose of bicarb went in since Lindsay remained in pulseless electrical activity. Blood started to refill the line of site in Lindsay's chest, so there was still an active bleed somewhere. Suction was called for, but it only did so much. Lindsay's ET tube began filling with blood as well, so the tube had to be suctioned out in order to maintain her airway.

The medications finally converted Lindsay to a shockable rhythm, so the internal paddles were called for. The large, circular paddles were charged to 20 joules and placed around Lindsay's spasming heart. Once everyone backed away from the table, the first shock was delivered. Lindsay's torso twitched slightly while her beautiful blue eyes stared lifelessly above. The quick, controlled jolt of electricity failed to restart Lindsay's dying heart, so the internal paddles were charged to 30j in preparation for the 2nd shock. In the meantime, Lindsay received direct cardiac massage. The doctor wrapped their hands around Lindsay's fluttering heart, placed their thumbs on her left ventricle, and began pushing their thumbs in a hard, upwards motion. This cycle of internal massage continued for approximately 30 seconds until the paddles were ready.

The internal paddles were placed back into Lindsay's exposed chest cavity around her twitching heart, and a shock was promptly delivered. Lindsay's feet flung up about half an inch above the table before crashing back down a second later, making a smacking sound up against the table. The impact showed off the silky, prominent wrinkles throughout the soles of Lindsay's slender size 11.5 feet.

Shock #2 was unsuccessful, so internal compressions were resumed on the 23 year old. Lindsay's heart was quivering frantically, looking as if it was shivering. Her heart's activity was becoming weaker and weaker as the code droned on, so the next round of drugs were pushed into her IV in an attempt to stimulate further cardiac activity.

A 3rd shock, then a 4th shock were delivered in the coming few minutes, but it appeared all the drugs were doing was keeping Lindsay in V-Fib. The internal paddles were charged again to 30j, and Lindsay's heart was directly shocked again. A dull, wet thump was heart as the electricity was sent through Lindsay's limp body. The monitors still showed V-Fib, but the code has been going on for awhile, so Lindsay's pupils were checked before deciding on the next course of action.

One of the nurses shined a pen light into Lindsay's beautiful blue eyes, which remained wide open. Her pupils were large, almost as large as a dime, and remained completely still as the light entered her eyes. “pupils fixed and dilated…” uttered the nurse, shaking her head. Even though Lindsay was still in V-Fib, the trauma team decided to terminate their efforts, calling time of death at 9:57pm.

The ambu bag was detached and the monitors were shut off. Lindsay laid on the table, eyes wide open with a detached ET tube hanging out the side of her mouth. Her chest was still freshly cut open and her heart could be seen twitching inconsistently while the nurses pulled off the EKG electrodes and removed the IVs. One of the nurses shut Lindsay's eyes while the other nurses removed the rest of the equipment from Lindsay's lifeless body. Afterwards, a cover was placed over her body, only leaving her feet exposed. A toe tag was placed on the big toe of Lindsay's left foot, dangling in front of her long, beautiful soles.

A few hours after Lindsay passed away, the gunman was apprehended by local police. He was arrested for armed robbery and murder, and was also discovered to be high on Percocets during the fatal encounter. His trial and sentencing are still to be determined, but the judge that arraigned him did not grant him bail, so he remains in county jail until trial proceedings can take place.

Lindsay's autopsy revealed that she died from rampant hemopericardium caused by lacerations in the anterior pericardium, right ventricle, and pulmonary trunk, and lacerations in the posterior right ventricle and pericardium. Even though the anterior wound in the right ventricle and pericardium were plugged up, the injury to the pulmonary trunk wasn't addressed quickly enough, and the posterior wounds weren't located in time by the ER team. This is a tragic case for everyone involved, and it should've never happened.

[liittlemac-a]

Hiraeth

hiraeth (n.) a homesickness for a home to which one cannot return, a home that never was; the nostalgia, the grief for the lost places in your past.

“I told you, I don't like driving around this part of town…”

“Don't care. Keep drivin’.”

Birdy sighed as he turned a corner, grip on the steering wheel growing a little tighter. He glanced over to Mac, who was staring out the window, leg bouncing up and down. His head was purposely turned away to conceal the fact he was biting his knuckle, and Birdy had to tut. “I hate it when you do that. Your hands get all bloodied and gross.” He grunted, not easing the tension in the vehicle at all.

“Don’t care.” He repeated. It was a short response, but his hand withdrew from his mouth. Silence fell again, and after a few minutes, Mac broke it again. “Here- h-here, pull over…” He piped up, head perking up.

The Special Circuit Champion nodded, and did as told. Once the car came to a stop, before he even had a chance to turn the engine off, Mac hopped out of the car, door slamming right behind him as he paced ahead. “J-Jeez, Mac, calm down…” He muttered with a roll of his eyes, quickly rushing out after him, making sure to lock his car behind him. He had to jog to catch up with him, speed-walking at his side to keep up with him. “So, where exactly are we going? You never said.”

Mac's head was down, hands deep in his pockets. His hood cast a shadow over his face and eyes as he pressed forward. “I'll tell ya when we get there.” He answered, hastily. From the tone, he knew it wasn't going to be good. But Birdy only nodded.

“Alright, then…”

After a few minutes of walking, Mac suddenly came to a halt. Birdy nearly walked right into him, blinking at the sudden stop. “W-What's up?” He questioned with a frown. The shorter of the two glanced up at him, then at the building they stopped just before.

Bright yellow “DO NOT CROSS” tape bandaged the whole building, windows smashed in. The walls were ashen, charred black, some of the grass singed right down. The smell of burning loomed in the air, and Mac took a step forward towards the high chain link fence that caged around the place. It took a few moments for Birdy to put together the pieces, and when he did, his hand quickly reached out to touch his shoulder in a gesture of wordless comfort.

His hand gripped at the cold metal on the fencing, a struggled breath passing his lips. “I-I didn't think I'd be so f-f-fuckin’ upset, about this fuckin’ place.” Birdy's grip on his shoulder squeezed lightly, and he inhaled sharply. “I saw it- l-last night, th’ news… W-Was an accident, apparently, but…”

He whimpered like a wounded animal, before growling, kicking the fence half-heartedly. “G-God-- God damn it! Th-That was- that was my home…!” Tears that he'd been forcing back fell out of his eyes like a river, choking on a sob. His fists balled up tightly, and Birdy had to wrap his arms around him to prevent him from throwing a punch. Once restrained, however, the boy only tried to wrestle away from his hold. “I-It's g-gone, it's gone--! Wh-Why-- WHY!”

“I-It's okay, it's okay, it's okay…!” He'd never seen Mac get so hysterical before, and for a moment he feared he'd lose it. Mac's fists flailed through the air, shouting a flurry of incoherent language, before he turned to cling around him, grabbing for fist fulls of Birdy's shirt, face against his chest. He was crying so much, the front of his shirt became damp in no time, his chest heaving and body trembling violently. He leaned against him for both comfort and support, legs threatening to buckle and give out as he sobbed like a child, grief hitting him like a punch to the gut. “C-C'mon, deep breaths, okay?”

His hand rose to Mac's hair, lightly running through it in an attempt to soothe his pain. The tears burned as they fell down his face, face red and raw as he sniffled, attempting to follow Birdy's words as he sobbed. He breathed in, throat tight and painful, chest aching. His heart felt like it had been torn in two halves, but was still beating in his chest wildly. “It was m-my ho-o-ome…” He stammered, burying his face further into the fabric of Birdy's shirt, coughing and choking on a sob. “I-It's gone- it-s all g-go-o-ne!”

Birdy's chest tightened, sighing painfully, head resting on his. His eyes shut as he tried to not begin crying himself, allowing Mac to weep as much as he needed. He was glad the streets of this neighborhood was quiet; the silence and emptiness was almost mournful, but it saved Mac the humiliation of strangers staring. His fingers thread through dyed blue locks, twirling them, as he softly hushed him. There was no words for what felt like forever. But after a while, Mac's hands relaxed, his head lifting slowly with a weak sniffle.

Birdy had never seen him look so… Broken, dejected. Blue eyes fell to the floor, but before Mac could defensively close himself up again, Birdy's hand reached for his. “H-Hey…” His eyes were wide with concern, brows furrowed together, and Mac looked up. There was eye contact for a split second, before looking to the floor again, gently squeezing his hand.

“I'm s-s-sorry. I--” It took everything to not just burst into tears a second time. He held it back, inhaling deeply through his nose to keep himself steady. “I didn't th-think it would hurt s-so-- so f-f-fuckin' bad…”

A soft smile emerged on Birdy's face, if only for a second. “You don't have to apologise. I… I heard it in the news, too, but...” His eyes directed to the building again. An old, run-down foster home… It probably didn't look much better before the fire. Thankfully no one was hurt in the incident. Not directly. “I didn't think, for a second…” He trailed off, head bowing a little. Mac understood. “It should be me saying sorry.”

“D-Don't worry. I-It's fine.” He mumbled, shoulders falling slack. “I… I-It's been on my mind, for a while, this place, an’ all… when I h-heard about it, I- I didn't believe it, y'know? I couldn't- c-couldn't--”

Tears welled up in his eyes again, and he withdrew his hand to wipe them away. Birdy's expression grew sympathetic. He knew Mac's past was very much something he held close to his chest, and whilst he knew the outline of what happened from what he had chose to share, a lot of grief went unspoken for. He supposed Mac had been holding in a lot of pain for sometime, and this had been what been the last straw. Mac's head turned to the ruins again, blue gaze still teary.

“...I jus’ always- I always wanted a family. A- A real one. That's all.” It pained him to utter those words. He breathed in, then out, bottom lip quivering. There was a long moment of hesitation. “I found them.”

Birdy blinked, puzzled. “Who...?”

“My… M-My real family. B-Biological, I mean. I contacted them, w-waitin’ on an answer right now.”

“What?! I--” He halted himself, taken aback by the statement. He had to stop himself from saying something rash in his shock. Birdy's head tilted as he shuffled a little closer. “I thought you didn't care about them? What happened?”

“I don't.” He said it like it was obvious, eyes narrowing for a moment. “B-But I can't live without answers, anymore. I can't-- I- I jus’ want to know why I wasn't good enough.”

Birdy gave a sigh. There was something that rubbed him the wrong way about the statement. Without thinking, he objected. “Mac, you know that's not why they did it. You haven't even met them--”

“N-No, you don't get it, Mackenzie.” Birdy silenced at the use of his real name, and the far firmer tone, almost angry. But his voice softened when he continued. “I- I grew up here, i-in there-- an'- a-an’ they put me through fuckin’ Hell an’ back. All I wanted was t’ b-be… Jus’... Wit’ somebody that loved me, for f-f-fuckin' once! I-- I-I wanted a dad, a mom, a s-somethin’. A-Anything. B-But nobody wanted me when I wanted someone.”

He was crying again, but he hastily reached up to wipe the trail of tears away again. Birdy didn't argue with his response. It was true; it was not something he'd ever come close to understanding, having grown up with almost everything at his feet. “D-Doc… will always be more of a parent t-t’ me, more than they'll ever be, y-y'know. I jus’...” He shook his head. “I want- I want an answer, b-before I lose 'em again…”

“...Okay. O-Of course.” Birdy breathed out. He couldn't stop Mac from doing what he wanted, anyway. And if this was what he wanted, and his parents- wherever they were- agreed, then… There wasn't much more he could do besides root for him in his corner.

“Look…” He sighed  “Sorry, f’ bein'- bein’ a dick about it.” Mac waved dismissively. The comment earned a little smile from the other, and even if his face was still raw and reddened from crying, he managed one himself. He stared between the chain link fence for another minute, before turning back to him, shaking his head again.

“L-Let's go-- I-I'll be here all day, otherwise…” He mumbled, beginning to walk ahead, much slower than before. A hand gently pat his back as he walked, and Mac glanced up at Birdy. The taller boxer's eyes were full of concern and uncertainty, but he wore a smile.

“I… promise. I promise I'm always here for you, okay?” Birdy said, voice soft and gentle. “You're my best friend. I just want the very best for you.”

As if nothing had happened, he scoffed, rolling his eyes. Right back to the boisterous attitude, it seemed. “Oh shut up, you fuckin’- fuckin’ sap.”

Despite his remark, a smile formed on his own face, even if it were weak.

“R-Right back atcha.”

[mandiemegatron]

Best Birthday Ever!

A Yoosung Kim birthday oneshot ; 03/11/2019

Happy birthday to my best boy Yoosung Kim! You deserve nothing but the best. This is my very first Mystic Messenger oneshot and I am beyond thankful to @lumiolivierlithium for helping me by being my beta and my strength as I fight my nerves towards posting this! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I hope you all enjoy! Feel free to like, reblog and/or comment! Thank you again ! ♡

This is rated G!

Words: 2,362

-

For the first time since Rika had passed away, Yoosung woke before his alarm went off. His eyes snapped open three whole minutes before the loud klaxon alarm bell rang, a slow grin washing over his face as he suddenly sat up, throwing his arms in the air with a shout of,

"Hell yeah, it's my birthday!"

The moment the words left his mouth, his phone vibrated and up popped MC's photo, indicating a phone call. He scrambled to grasp his phone before answering almost breathlessly, having nearly fallen off the bed and face planting into rough carpeting.

"Good morning MC!"

"Ah, good morning Yoosung! Happy birthday sweetie!"

Yoosung's face turned a dark red though his grin still remained. "Thank you so much! I can't believe you called me to wish me happy birthday,"

MC giggled on the other line, switching her phone to her other ear as she replied, "Of course honey, why wouldn't I? You're my best bud Yoosung, of course I'm going to call you..."

Yoosung went to reply but stopped as MC took only half a second to breathe before she started singing, the birthday melody falling into Yoosung's ears like a lullaby. Half way through, he began to tear up. He hadn't been sung Happy Birthday since he was a kid, and he didn't realize how much he actually loved it until now.

When she finished, her side of the line went quite for a while, unsure if her friend actually enjoyed it. Then, hearing what sounded like a sniffle, she exclaimed,

"Oh god, I made you cry! I didn't think my singing was that bad!"

Yoosung then laughed, wiping at his eyes as his grin returned. "Th-thank you MC... you're always so nice to me."

Though he couldn't see it, he could hear the smile in her voice when she softly replied, "...My pleasure, Yoosungie. Now, I have a feeling I woke you up with my phone call so-"

"Actually, you didn't!"

Silence.

"MC?"

More silence. And then,

"... so you can wake up whenever you want, you just decide to be a butt and sleep so much you miss classes on purpose! You sneaky boy."

Fumbling over his excuses, a soft giggle caused heat to rush to his face all over again as she teased, "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

After a few more moments of Yoosung yawning and humming from MC's line, she then asked,

"Hey, you wanna do breakfast with me and the twins? Saeran is begging for waffles and I can't say no to him anymore. Also I want to treat you... if that's okay."

There was no hiding that Yoosung had a serious crush on MC. He knew that, the twins knew that; Hell, the whole RFA probably knew, except for MC. As loving, wonderful, outgoing and perfect as Yoosung found MC, there was no denying that she was ridiculously oblivious. Either that or she had an incredible poker face... that she kept on at all times.

Yoosung had beliefs in both theories.

Before he could answer, his stomach did it for him and MC laughed, having heard the slight grumble through the phone.

"Alright, that's that then. Saeyoung left a few minutes ago so you've probably got about-"

/ding-dong/

"..."

"..."

"He's already there, isn't he."

"... Yeah. Yeah, he is."

/knock-knock-knock/

"... you better answer it before he breaks the door down."

After saying their goodbyes, Yoosung sighed and rubbed a slightly irritated hand over his face before stumbling out of bed and going to his apartment door. After opening it, he went to welcome his best friend only to be pulled into a hard chest that smelt of car oil, honey Buddha chips and strangely enough, MC's favourite perfume.

"Ahhh, my small child, so grown up! Stop it! Stop growing up this instant!"

Yoosung let Saeyoung ruffle his hair lovingly before pushing away from the slightly older male, fixing him with a tired look before letting him inside. Saeyoung whistled low, looking at the surprisingly clean apartment with proud eyes.

"You expecting some company, Yoo? The last time I saw your place looking this clean was when MC came - oh. Oh, hohoho, you sly boy!"

Yoosung groaned, embarrassed and blushing while managing to slip away before Saeyoung could wrangle him into a suffocating grip once more. "Shut up Saeyoung! You don't know shit!"

Saeyoung laughed hysterically, falling into the world's comfiest couch as Yoosung got changed, the birthday boy feeling proud that he'd showered the night before so he'd be ready to get his day on with right away.

"Oh Yoosung my boy, I know so much more than you think. MC's favourite colour, for instance."

Yoosung had been two seconds away from slipping his shirt on when he froze at Saeyoung's words, his head popping out of his room to stare his friend down until the older man elaborated.

With a smug smirk, Saeyoung spilt the beans with a terrible vocal mockery of who Yoosung assumed was MC.

"My favourite colour is purple, just like Yoosungie's eyes! They're such a pretty purple too! I'm almost jealous cause he gets to see them every day!"

Yoosung's face was almost a shade darker than Saeyoung's hair by the time his friend finished speaking, unable to really grasp that those words actually came from MC.

"She - she said that? About me?"

Yoosung flinched at how nervous his voice sounded. Saeyoung's grin faltered and he sighed softly, giving his best friend a gentle smile before nodding. "I swear Yoosung, that's what she said. I know how you feel about her bro, I wouldn't screw around with something like that."

Giving Saeyoung a grin, Yoosung then finished getting dressed and before long, both boys were out the door and driving back to the bunker. As Saeyoung parked, Yoosung finished off his coffee - courtesy of the hacker who was tired of hearing his blonde friend yawn every thirty seconds - before tossing the empty cup into the recycling bin, which only existed thanks to MC. Heading inside, Yoosung almost immediately noticed how dark it was and frowned, turning to question Saeyoung who had startlingly disappeared into thin air.

Whipping his head back and forth, Yoosung began to panic, slowly trying to make his way further into the bunker. "Saeyoung, this isn't funny," he started, following the wall the led into the living room.

Once in the room, he let out a shriek as the lights suddenly came on and the whole RFA appeared before him with a shout of,

"Happy birthday!"

He was so startled that he stumbled back, nearly falling to the ground if it hadn't been for MC who moved quickly enough to catch his hand and steady him. She tugged him to her and into a tight hug, trying to quiet her laughter as she pressed a kiss to his temple.

"Happy birthday Yoosung," she murmured to him, unfazed by how beet red his face was from his near death experience - at least that's what he would call it.

She moved away to let the rest of the members wish him birthday wishes, giving him their gifts and birthday cards, which he excitedly accepted with gracious thanks. Before long, everyone was digging into breakfast and lunch foods, thanks to some hookups MC had with her dearest friend Jumin who couldn't ever say no to her.

After food was eaten and presents were opened, everyone eventually said their goodbyes and made their ways home, leaving the twins, Yoosung and MC in the bunker. The rest of the day consisted of terrible scary movies (that somehow actually scared Yoosung), junk food and left over goodies from earlier.

It was nearing supper time now and MC found herself cleaning up the mess from the party and whatever leftovers remained, getting everything put away and tidy in less than an hour with Vanderwood's help. She threw the ex agent a grateful look who gave her a small smile and a nod in return before making his way to the garage. Smoke time, probably.

Saeyoung and Yoosung were head to head against each other in Smash Brothers, Saeran having retired to his room probably while she had been cleaning, which left open a perfect butt-shaped spot right beside Yoosung. Silently making her way over to them with her gift, she sat beside Yoosung who was too into the game to notice but she did catch the wink Saeyoung threw her way. Sneaky little bastard.

"Oh-oh Oh!! Yes!!"

Yoosung shot up like a bullet from the couch, hands raised in the air as if he'd won a gold metal, wearing the widest grin that either of the members had ever seen on him. He danced in his spot, causing MC to burst out laughing which caused him to freeze and slowly turn his head to look at her.

"... how long have you been there?" He'd asked the question so quietly she almost didn't hear him, giving him The Look before pulling him back down to the couch.

"Oh don't look so embarrassed! You kicked Saeyoung's ass, you're allowed to celebrate and be happy!"

Speaking of, Saeyoung rose from the couch with a yawn before gently tossing his controller down beside Yoosung on the couch. "Eh, sorry guys, I forgot I had some shit I wanted to finish - you're more than welcome to stay, the spare bedroom is all set up if you do stay." MC couldn't tell if this was a ploy or if the hacker was genuinely tired. Either way, she thanked him to high heavens and back for the chance to be with Yoosung for a bit.

Waving at the two, Saeyoung made his way to his computer room and shut the door, whistling a happy tune that caused both on the couch to roll their eyes. After a moment, MC took Yoosungs hands before placing a medium sized package in his palms, a card taped to the top that had his name written elegantly across it. He looked to her, surprised, but she simply shook her head, motioning for him to open the gift. She sat silently, almost nervously as he placed the card aside before ripping away at the wrapping, her thumbs twiddling in her own lap to keep her from bouncing her leg anxiously.

The moment the box was open, she knew she'd made the right choice. A rare LOLOL figure sat inside the box, along with a new pin for his sweater that held a phrase from the game, and a knitted scarf that matched the colour scheme of his avatar. His mouth dropped open in silent excitement and before she knew it, the box was placed beside the card and she was pulled into a surprisingly strong embrace, which she returned whole heartedly. He was shaking in her grasp, causing her to try and pull back to look at him but he only held her tighter, sniffling softly as he hid his face in the crook of her neck. She felt moisture and knew right away he was crying. She rubbed his back lovingly, a small smile on her lips as she gently asked,

"Why are you crying honey?"

For a while, there was only silence from him. The near-graduation student simply held tight, almost as if she'd disappear from him if he let go. Then, softly, he finally murmured to her,

"I'm crying because you listen to me... I'm crying because you always know what I'm looking for... I'm crying because my heart has so much love for you that I'm scared I'll lose you and I don't even have you."

MC's eyes widened, her hands stilling on his back as she took in the gravity of his words. He... loved her? Her? Of all people? She forced Yoosung to look at her, her eyes trying looking to his, though it was hard when he refused to make direct eye contact.

"Please look at me," she begged quietly, surprised when he immediately gave her all his attention, though his face was dark red. Searching his expression for any form of dishonesty, it only took a moment as she found none and couldn't stop the flow of tears that began.

"You- you really love me?"

Yoosungs brows furrowed worriedly. Why was she crying?! Was it bad that he had feelings for her? He then stopped and thought back to his apartment, his brows furrowing further as he remembered smelling MC on Saeyoung when he hugged him... no. Don't think like that, Saeyoung wouldn't do that to you, he's your best friend-

"I've been waiting so long to hear you say that."

Yoosungs brain froze as their eyes made contact once more. His expression was blank, almost hysterically so, as he slowly asked,

"... what?"

MC giggled under her breath, albeit a bit nervously, before gently grabbing his face and pulling him into the best kiss he'd ever gotten. And considering it was his first real kiss, he knew that it didn't matter how many times he'd kiss her, that first one changed his life forever. When she pulled back, he only gave her a moment before pulling her into his lap, one hand on her hip and the other in her hair as his lips found hers once more. A few moments passed before either pulled away this time, breathing a little heavy as their foreheads met one another's.

"MC,"

Her eyes met his vibrant purple ones and she smiled, the sight causing his heart to melt on the spot.

"Yes, my wonderful birthday man?"

He grinned in response and gave her another kiss, this one quicker but none less loving before he thanked her,

"Thank you for giving me the best birthday ever. I love you."

She gave a watery chuckle as tears began again, causing Yoosung to repeat the sound himself before they kissed once more, holding each other tightly like a puzzle fitting together. "I love you," she whispered into the kiss, pulling back only to dive in and give him kiss after kiss after kiss.

"Happy birthday Yoosung. I can't wait to see what next year will bring for you."

[aasthamoon]

...and then i met you, and i fell in love and then i lost you and now i understand because i would feel this pain over and over again just to love you for five extra minutes. I would fix my heart and hand it back to you without hesitation. "look! it's all better now! you can try again" i would tell you, i would cry it out hysterically while waving my taped heart in the air.

I would love you a million times knowing I would lose you and I would not care as long as I got to do it. I have loved. I have loved so completely.