#( t: shadow preachers )

[carnalactivities]

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : a lot :P

[ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 : 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬. ]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : innocent y/n x priest Ransom Drysdale

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : Ransom helps a young choir girl fulfill God's will.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Non/dubcon, religious themes, age gap, fingering, vaginal sex, virginity loss, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, corruption kink, manipulation, explicit language, slight dd/lg (mostly just dd), degrading, smut, 18+.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : Do not copy, translate, or repost my work as your own. this book does contain dark themes. please do not read if any of these topics trigger you. i have had this plot for awhile and literally froze when i realized Ransom embodied this role. i took my time and care for this work. i know tis’ is long but please bare with me. since it is my first posted work, i wanted to make it count. all love and light ~ always, always, always ~ A

"He hath come to the bosom of His beloved.

Smiling on him, He beareth him to highest heav'n."

The youths choir singing echoed throughout the church. Not a corner free from their angelic tones. Though the choir ranged from ages, the difference of genders were noted by the boys standing tall in the back and the girls in the front. All of their faces were recognizable to him now, since he was present for most of their rehearsals before every Sunday, but your face had always stood out to him from the beginning. Even now you outshined the rest of your peers- by both voice and presence.

But even still Ransom watched you from the corner of the chapel, hidden in the shadows. Yes, he did appear every now and then during their rehearsals for appraisal or even just the view, which was always you. But when he watched you perform, he didn’t want to constantly be observing the other pupils as well. He wanted only to watch you and this dark archway was perfect for that.

Most nights he lay in his bed, trying to push out the thoughts of everything his life lacked now. Everything he had before, he quickly realized how much he had taken for granted during his first night in that dim and barely furnished apartment. To consider it a home would be charity in itself, but he couldn’t afford much more. He had lost everything when he came here a few months ago.

He came here on the run, wanted for murder though he wasn't responsible for it. It was an accident. A mistake.

Sometimes his brain got so clouded and he got aggressive. He always seemed to lose himself in those moments but he never mean't for Jonie to fall like she had. He remembered standing over her body, realizing what he had done. There was no mistaking the empty look in her eyes.

So he ran.

There was no time for alibis, he had a mile long trail of proof behind him, so he outsmarted them. His family all knew his patterns and lifestyle, and it didn’t make it any easier that they all probably would’ve gladly sent him behind bars. So he went to the last place any of them would’ve suspected: to church.

Tricking the deacons was a lot easier than he had thought. He figured they would've wanted some sort of resume, but they were so desperate for a new father that they were putting a robe on him that day.

Becoming a preacher was more work than he had signed up for though. He had to prepare a weekly sermon, bless the sick, baptize sinful, visit the poor, help the elderly- the list seemed to be never ending. Not even to mention he was paid a set salary, a percentage already taken out to help provide not only for the church but also for the poor and elderly. And on top of all the things he had to add to his life, there was about ten fold of things he had to remove : sex, language, drugs, alcohol....sex.

It was humiliating that a man of his stature had resorted to his right hand. He hadn’t used his own hand to finish since he was 16. Once he lost his virginity, and experienced real pleasure? There was no need to go back to such desperate measures. But here in this small town, there was no slew of women ready at his feet and word seemed to travel fast. He learned that when he had walked into the chapel and the whole congregation was waiting for him with open arms once they heard of their new pastor. He couldn’t risk his position now because of a few(most) horny nights.

But when he met the choir that day as well and your face eagerly peered up at him? It was a shimmer of light in his very dark tunnel.

He let his thoughts wander to you some nights and it helped him cope. How your voice rang higher than the rest of the choir. How your face scrunched in concentration when you sang. How sometimes when you would sing a solo or a particular high note your eyes would open and your cheeks would flush with embarrassment as if you weren’t stealing the breath out of everyone watching. How Ransom was sure you made the exact same face when you came as he fisted his cock at night.

Because though Random didn’t know your name, he had watched you long enough to actually know you.

You didn’t like the spotlight. You would much rather be apart or even behind the crowd rather than in the center-but never a follower either.

You were quiet, observant. When the director gave criticism you took it eagerly, always seeking to please. To improve.

You were never late, either. Never missed a practice session. You never complained neither. Not when rehearsals ran long or if the director was particularly impatient some days.

And all of these qualities came wrapped up in a cute lil’ innocent body. Because though Ransom noted these things about you, and saw the potential for his own personal use, it was initially your body that he had noted.

Your presence so delicate and naive. When his eyes had met yours for the first time, your smile had that perfect pleasing tilt. But your eyes had that glint in them. Knowing. Teasing. Practically speaking to him.

Take me.

Fuck me.

Break me.

And he wanted to. Right then and there. Even in front of your parents. But he just shook your hand and introduced himself. And because he was so occupied with how your hand felt in his, he had completely missed your name.

He regretted it that was for sure. He racked and racked his brain. Even tried to picture names just as perfect as you, but none fit. For months he wanted to rectify that. He needed a name for his little girl but he had yet to find it. But today he planned to change that.

Just your name, that was all he needed. And as Random stepped out of his alcove and headed past the pews towards the foyer door casually, he knew today was going to be that day.

“A little off key, altos but! I am highly impressed with how all of you have gracefully learned this song. I know when ya’ll are prepared, the congregation will love this hymn!” The choir directors voice called behind Ransom as he reached the last pew. He heard the movement of feet and knew the choir was already descending off of the stage towards where their belongings lay strewn in the front pews.

“Alright, great work today you guys! Remember to rehearse and memorize this Sunday’s hymns at least once this weekend. I will see you all Sunday at 9:00!” As the director finished speaking to his students, Ransom turned and tucked his hands into his pockets in a casual stance next to the opening of the foyer. The church opened before him and he watched as all the choir readied themselves to leave for the evening.

The students were quick to pull off their robes and stuff them in their bags that they brought, all chattering with each other. Some were already heading towards the entrance of the building, either with each other or alone but all still moving with quick steps. As they neared Ransom and passed him, a forced smile took over his lips and he gave words of encouragement and thanks to the choir as they passed him. Some responded, some simply just smiled in response to him but Random couldn’t have cared less.

His gaze kept returning to you, still at the front of the pews, carefully hanging your robe on a hanger and placing it in a bag you had brought with you. You weren’t in a hurry like the rest of the choir. Well not enough to crumple your robe in the process. Ransom loved that. You were patient. Sure minded. Never mind that you were the last one left, no, you would take your time.

Ransom watched as two kids, giggling and running down the center aisle, approached him. One chasing the other but as they headed straight for Ransom and the exit he heard your voice call out softly.

“Please don’t run in the building guys!” It was soft, silky, heaven to his ears. Sounding just like when you sing, and Ransom had to stop himself from letting a possessive growl escape his throat. He wanted to hear your words directed at him and even though he was craving your attention more than ever, he couldn’t help but note your words.

You had wanted those kids to listen to you, but you didn’t command them. You had barely even lifted your voice, you weren’t used to speaking above others. Ransom took it for what he knew it to be: you didn’t want to be the one to order others, you needed to be ordered yourself. Mentally Ransom checked off another box that you filled and he couldn’t help but think you were made for him.

You approached Ransom down the aisle and his hands curled into fists in his pockets as he took in your outfit.

You were wearing a form fitted top: a similar one he would wear when he worked out except he always opted for black whereas you wore white. And you paired it with a matching white tennis skirt. The skirt only reached down mid thigh and all that leg was going to be his downfall. Ransom noted your tennis shoes and socks that were also white and if he believed in angels- this was as close as he was ever going to get to one.

“I apologize for the kids running.” You smiled up at him, your eyebrows down in apology and your lips only slightly tilted up.

“Don’t be.” Ransom quickly responded. He forgot about his thoughts just heartbeats before and focused his attention solely on you for right now. “It’s not like it is your fault, right? Plus, I like to think of our church as a home. Though reverence is due, I enjoy to see when our members are relaxed as well.” His imsuchaforgivingandcomfortingmanbecauseimaholypriest attitude had always come naturally to Ransom since it was everything he was not.

“I love that.” Your eyes lit up as you clutched your robe to your chest as it rested over your arm. Though quickly your eyes lost the light in them as you seemed to remember something. Your smile slowly fell as well and your attention turned to your shoes below you.

Ransoms eyebrows scrunched and he couldn’t help but reach for you. His hand caught the bottom of your chin and he eased your face back up to meet his eyes again. Though portraying the perfect appearance of worry, Ransoms was fighting to urge to lift his thumb higher and catch your bottom lip. Maybe even to just cup your face. Anything, anything, to have more contact with you.

“What is it?” He asked you softly.

“I…” Your voice was so soft and hesitant. “I need to speak with you.”

Ransoms eyebrows lifted in surprise, that was certainly not what he figured you would say.

“Well i’m right here. You’re welcome to say whatever you need to.” Princess.

You turned your head, Ransoms hand falling from your chin, your eye line aimed at the choir director still at the pulpit.

“I was hoping it could be a private conversation.” You whispered and Ransom had to still his features as to not give off too much of what was running through his head from your words.

You wanted to get Ransom alone.

Ransom wasn’t so much delusional, he recognized when even his thoughts could take things too far. But here you were, wanting to be alone with him. You must’ve taken notice to him just as much as he had been watching and dreaming of you.

With a casual ease, Ransom smiled at you comfortably and nodded. “My office is just in the back. We’re welcome to speak there and no one will overhear.”

You nodded shyly in response. Your gaze averting his as you took your bottom lip in your mouth nervously.

You were nervous.

So, you had always had a craving for him just as he had wanted you. This must’ve been what a blessing was that he had always heard the members speaking on.

He let his hand fall to your lower back as he headed towards the hall that led to his office in the back. Gently he pushed you to follow beside him and he noted how you lowered your head and your steps blindly followed his.

Of course a pretty thing like you would be nervous, but you almost seemed ashamed. Ransom could handle nerves but ashamed? No. You should be honored. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. But then again, Ransom never really went for the plastic surgery and egotistical women. He always preferred the shy and inexperienced type. He always found more pleasure in taking firsts. Even after the night was finished Ransom always walked away knowing that the women he was with never would experience better than him and that was a bigger turn on for him than their pleading for more. Soon you would know. You would even plead. He would make sure of it.

As they passed the pews, Ransom caught sight of the choir director moving the lectern back into place in the center of the pulpit.

“We’re going to a chat in my office, Roy. Go ahead and head out when you’re done. I’ll lock up on our way out.” Ransom spoke to the man. He smiled in agreement in reply. “Of course, Father. I’ll see you Sunday.”

Ransom nodded and then headed into the hallway, just passing his spot from moments before.

In silence Ransom led you down the hallway. He had to calm himself every few breaths, restraining from the eagerness that overtook him. Ransom never got eager, especially not in moments where, though unspoken, both parties knew what was about to commence. But months of abstinence had made him impatient. He hadn’t let himself indulge in any past actions, but you never pass up a free dinner. Even Ransom knew that.

Opening the door for you he led you inside. “Go ahead and take a seat.” He cooly told you as he shut the door and made his way around the desk that your chair faced.

Ransom spent many days and nights in this office. He figured it better than his soulless apartment. Though full book shelves lined the wall and a computer sat at his desk 90 degree angled desk, he had barely touched any of the objects. Including the bible sitting idle on the desk corner. The only thing that showed his presence in this room was his coat hung in the corner and the name plate given to him a few weeks after accepting the job. Besides that, he got all of his sermons online and used his common sense for his role. His only use for this room was the occasional bible study or just simple mental escape. It wasn’t much, but his time alone helped.

As Ransom sat in his own office chair, he grinned at you. He was ready to quit the bullshitting and feel every inch of you and now that you both were alone, his dick was slowly starting to harden at the thought itself. God, he was desperate for you.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” The endearment rolled off his tongue before he realized it. For comfort or seduction- whatever you wanted to take it as- he didn’t care. Now that you two were alone, he wasn’t putting on a front anymore.

Your pretty little eyes roamed the room. Never going high enough to meet his own but quickly moving, just like whatever thoughts were spinning in the small head of yours. Ransom calmly licked his lips and couldn’t stop himself from slightly leaning forward and resting his clasped hands on his desk. Whatever words left your mouth next, he was gonna love.

“I…” A flush rose on your cheeks and you stopped yourself for a moment, nervously chewing your bottom lip. “I-I have a confession to make.”

Oh, you couldn’t even look at him as you said that. Your eyes had scrunched just to get those few words out.

“So, confess.” It came out more impatiently than he intended but he couldn’t help it. He was already imagining what your carnal sin was. That you had lusted after him. That at night you couldn’t help but imagine him there with you, feeding into all your desires and more. Probably fucking yourself dry with your fingers, just trying to curve the craving of his cock in you. Maybe even riding a pillow, desperate for friction on your small bud.

“I let jealousy consume me…”

That was definitely not what he was expecting.

His reaction was nearly physical. It felt like a slap in the face and pressed pause on all of his fantasies of you.

You came to him because you got a little envious of someone? That was your big confession. No, that wouldn’t do. All your doe eyes and coy smiles and now you finally sat in front of him, alone, all because you got fucking jealous. What?

He couldn’t mask the confusion on his face as he repeated your statement. “You got..jealous?”

“Yes, well. I mean…I did but it wasn’t only that.” You were talking so quietly now. Your hands nervously fidgeting with each other as you stammered out your words. Your eyes cast downward in shame.

“I let it affect me and my relationship with others. One day I came home and was short and said angry words to my mom. I ditched my friends in the mall last week because they practically called me crazy and just overa-“

“Wait, I’m sorry.” Ransom chuckled and shook his head, holding his hand up to pause you. “I guess i’m just confused because…well, what does a pretty thing like you have to be jealous about?” He tried to mask his irritation with a charming smile but it was half hearted and clearly forced.

Ignoring his compliment you cocked your head and went back to staring at your hands as you continued on with your explanation.

“There’s this boy that i’ve liked forever,”

“A boy?” His voice proceeded to get more agitated as he cut you off again. Ransom brought you to his office because he thought he was going to be able to bend you over his desk. Now you were plowing through his plans because you had a schoolgirl crush on some post-puberty prick?

“Yes, his name is Timothy. You probably,”

“Look at me when you’re speaking.” The command came out fast and the shortness of it even shocked Ransom. He was losing his composure much quicker than he realized.

He could’ve sworn he heard you squeak in surprise but immediately your eyes were on his and you didn’t combat his harsh tone. Clearing your throat you continued, your eyes never leaving Ransoms again.

“Timothy is on the choir as well. He sings tenor. We both grew up here together. Even playing tennis together, sometimes practicing with each other in our free time. For years i’ve had a crush on him and didn’t help that our families were close as well, so I see him pretty regularly. But then a few Sundays ago, he brought another girl to church with him. I guess they met somewhere on campus. N’ ever since then, Timothy has just been solely focused on her. And I just…I can’t help but be jealous of her. She is where I have wanted to be for years and I just don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Ransom tried to make sense of your strewn together thoughts. So what if your little boy crush found his own snatch? You were the prettiest little package just waiting to be opened. Ransom had never been selfless, he was aware, but he knew he couldn’t let you leave this room until you knew that you were deserving of so much more than that bare chested twig.

Licking his lips subconsciously, Ransom knew just how to convince you of it.

“Baby, you got nothing to be jealous of.” He enunciated his words with a casual cock of his head. Your cheeks heated and he grinned at your helpless reaction.

“She’s blonde and tall. She looks like a model!”

“Honey, I guarantee, whatever she’s offering him- you can offer better.”

“Well, no. It’s not like that for me. If Timothy likes her then I want him to be happy. I don’t think I can do anything better- I don’t want to.” Your words came out in a plea of defense and he just about groaned at your innocence. You were so fast to defend others, you would run yourself into a hole. You were so perfect, so clean- wanting nothing more than to do right by others. He needed to show you just how much you were worth.

“But you already have.” Ransoms statement clearly caught you off guard as you blanched back an inch. Confusion marred your face and Ransom took advantage of this moment to stand slowly, his eyes never leaving the prize in front of him.

“Here you are whining about this boy that broke your heart, but honey you have a man right in front of you.”

Your mouth formed into a perfect o and Ransom immediately wanted to see it filled. With trained poise though, he eased slowly around the desk and neared you.

“I-I don’t understand what you’re saying, father.” Your eyes still didn’t leave his own as he approached you and he mentally reminded himself to praise you for that later.

“Baby, you offer so much more than you realize. He may not have noticed that, but I have. I’ve watched you for a while now and I know just how precious you are. A real man would never waste an opportunity with you. Lemme’ show you, honey.” He let his hand trace the side of your face as he spoke. Ransoms pointer finger catching a lock of your hair between his thumb and he let it ride between his fingers as they snaked downwards before he finally cupped your cheek.

“I…” You were speechless at his confession and finally your eyes left Ransoms. “Father, I”

A groan left his mouth so softly but he knew you heard it from your frozen features.

“I’m sorry, baby. I just love when you call me that.” He rubbed coaxing circles into your cheek to ease his action, but having you wide eyed and below him because of the white collar he wore was turning him on more than he usually got. “Continue, honey. I wanna hear what you have to say.”

You peered up at Ransom in stunned silence and he watched as you nervously swallowed.

“I don’t think this is appropriate, Father.”

You said it so quietly but there was no sureness in your statement and Ransom knew he had you.

“Isn’t it? God brought you to me, baby. He knew what I needed and here you are.”

“Well, maybe but..but we shouldn’t let ourselves take our own preferences to what is before us. It could lead us to sin.” He tsk’ed at your response.

“You let me say what is sin or not. I’m the priest, remember?” You nodded in response and Ransoms smile was approving.

“I know how i’ve felt about you from the moment we met. Now, I know we’ve spent little time together but I know you’ve felt it too, princess. N’ I can bet there’s some proof of it coated on your panties, huh?”

Your response was a shake of your head. You tried to move your head out of Ransoms clutch but he was quick to wrap his hand in your hair at the bass of your neck, keeping you still.

“Lust shouldn’t cloud us.” You whimpered out to him.

“It’s not lust if we were destined for each other. I know this was in Gods plan to bring you to me.”

“Satan can tempt you-.” Ransom didn’t like your response and jerked your head forward.

“Nothing is tempting me. There’s temptation and there’s knowing. I know what I can do for you. I know that you can please me. Don’t you wanna please your father, baby?” Ransom was growing impatient with your protests. He needed you weeks ago and he wasn’t about to let this perfect moment slip from his grasp.

“We’re not husband and wife. We can’t.” You were whispering now. Your silent pleas laced your words but Ransom wasn’t going to let you go and resort to another night with his hand.

“God sent us to each other. He knew I needed you and He knew you needed a real man like me. So what does it matter if we wait until after a piece of parchment is signed. It’s all apart of the plan, honey.”

You nervously chewed on your lip in silence. Your brows were down in worry but he saw his words work its way into understanding behind your eyes.

“But we will be married then?” The question was hesitant. Your final resort and protest to your priest. Ransom just smiled in response, his grip on your hair turning gentler.

“Lord willing.” He stated.

Two, three, maybe four heartbeats passed before your chin dipped. It was barely a nod, but Ransom took it.

“Stand.” He demanded and you immediately listened. Fear or obedience, Ransom didn’t care what fueled your actions-just that you had obeyed.

Without releasing you, he swept the objects off his desk in one quick motion with his free arm. You gasped in shock but he didn’t care. His hands grabbed your waste and he planted you firmly on his desk in front of him.

You were right where he wanted you now. His for the taking, the breaking, and there were no more protests from your pretty full lips as you spread your legs so his hips could hit between them.

“Over here speaking about temptations, when you wore this teasing- skimpy outfit.” Pure want laced Ransoms voice as his hands traveled down your thighs. They met the edge of your skirt and he couldn’t help but slip them underneath, running his hands higher up your bare thigh.

“I-I had tennis practice before rehearsal. It ran longer than usual. I didn’t have time to-.”

“Shut up.” Ransom didn’t want to hear any more of your ramblings. He only wanted you.

In a rush of excitement, with less restraint than he usually practiced, he leaned forward and pushed his mouth onto yours. The kiss was hungry and demanding as your mouths slid together. You fought to keep up but it was impossible with Ransoms hunger.

His cock was already straining against the front of his slacks and his desperation got the better of him as he gripped the top of your thighs aggressively. You let out a whimper in protest to the pain and Ransom seized that moment to slip his tongue into your open mouth.

You tasted of peaches and mint and damn it, Ransom couldn’t remember when he had tasted of anything better. His tongue moved expertly around yours, catching a fast rhythm but yours was wild and inexperienced. Had you even been kissed before? Maybe, but properly like this, probably not. Being a girls first and knowing they wouldn’t have better was a huge turn on for Ransom, but even with a kiss? Ransom wasn’t sure he would be able to handle himself slowly when it came time for him to fully take your innocence.

The thought alone forced a growl up his throat. His hand left your thigh simultaneously, cupping your chin aggressively. Pulling your suction on each other apart, he watched as your eyes slowly fluttered open.

Your pupils were blown, lips swollen from barely being kissed, and your cheek was flushed beyond measure. You were the perfect picture of innocence and Ransom needed to contain himself. He was so fucking turned on that his mind kept skipping 3 steps ahead and there was so much pre-cum coating the front of his boxers from you. But that wouldn’t do. No, he needed to make sure you fit him and if Ransoms anticipation kept growing he would actually end up breaking you, but he was tired of kissing you now. He just wanted to feel how tight he knew you were.

“Lay down.” He commanded you in a husky impatient voice.

Immediately your back was pressed against the table and your head was angled so that your eyes were still on him. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. You were perfect.

Ransom let his hand release the hold on your face and slowly draw down your neck and fall in the middle of your chest. In reaction you gasped, your back arching off the desk slightly. But the movement had brushed your cunt with the front of Ransoms slacks and he knew you both had felt it when your eyes widened.

“My baby’s so eager, she’s rubbing herself on my clothed cock.” Ransoms body was out of his control now as his hand gripped your thigh and his hips rolled to firmly rub your clothed crotches together. Your whimper and response at his phrasing could’ve been enough to make him bust in his pants. He had just jerked off last night-what was wrong with him?

Letting Ransoms hips roll and press into you, he quickly made work of pulling your shirt off of you. Once he caught sight of how you looked laying in front of him without your shirt- he was on autopilot. In a frenzy your bra was next, Ransom only stopping for a moment to give one good squeeze to your tits and huskily saying:

“Baby, you fit so perfectly in the palm of my hand.”

Before he was moving to the rest of you. Shoes, socks, and finally he was ripping your skirt down your legs before he stilled. Taking in the sight of you lying on his own desk, he was rendered speechless. This was perfection in itself, like his own fantasy coming alive- here. Naked except for your underwear. Your face already looked so fucked out and he had barely touched you!

You didn’t like his stillness and immovable gaze as Ransom watched you. You whimpered at him and your hips raised slightly as you were desperate to get back the contact you lost from him.

“Father..please. I need you, back.” You whimpered at him and Ransom groaned in response. He knew he would eventually have you pleading for him, but you were still innocent and shy. He didn’t think you would’ve used your words that quickly.

In answer Ransom let his hand cup your calf and slowly draw up your leg. You gasped in response. Your hands clutched the edge of the desk and your head fell backwards as the response of skin contact with you.

As Ransoms hand got higher and closer to the last clothed piece of you, you were impatiently writhing on the desk. A whimpering mess as his hand got nearer to your mound.

As Ransoms hand got just centimeters away, he pulled back and clutched your thigh instead. You whined in protest but he couldn’t give two shits what you wanted. Despite the constant throbbing in his pants, he suddenly had all the patience in the world.

“Tell me, princess. How often do you touch yourself?” He grinned wickedly down at you. You raised your head to look up at him, your body stilling. There was shock written on your face from his words.

“I-never, father! I promise!” Your words were begging of belief but Ransom knew better. Nothing was ever pure and certainly not a pretty thing like you.

“Don’t lie.” He grasped your thighs harshly and gritted his teeth at you. “I asked a question, now answer. Honestly this time.”

Worry took over your features and you shook your head at him. “I promise, i’ve never touched myself down there. Not like that.” Despite Ransom wanting to believe differently, he knew you were telling the truth. Holy shit. There was no way the universe let him get this lucky.

“Then what is the reason for these pretty lil’ panties, huh?” Your undies were pink with a white trim. Bikini cut and a little bow took place on the top hem.

“I just like them, that’s all.” Of course something as innocent as you would naively pick something that would have every guy on his knees at the sight.

“Well you’re ruining ‘em, baby. They’re all soaked in the front.” His index finger ran over the darker shade on your panties and he groaned as he properly felt how wet you were. Your body was craving and calling for him and to think moments before you were trying to tell him no.

You whined and bucked your hips at his contact and he pushed your hips down in protest.

“Sit still.” He commanded you and with a whine you obliged. Little pants left your mouth instead and he watched as your bottom lip slid between your teeth as he pressed harder on your cunt. Snapping your eyes shut, you jerked your head away but couldn’t stop the gasp from leaving your mouth.

So fucking reactive.

Ransom let his finger softly trail around on your undies, teasing and taunting you. He wanted more from you. He wanted to see your control slip. Finally, he let his thumb press into your clit and rub a slight circle.

Obeying Ransoms command to not move, you tried to keep your hips frozen but couldn’t help it as your back arched. Your grip on the desk tightened and a helpless sound left your throat as a spark ignited up your spine from his thumb.

You had never felt anything like this. Your whole body felt Ransoms one touch and you felt like you were vibrating. You needed more. More of him, of his touch-just more. The craving of friction between your legs was so strong and you wanted to close your legs so bad but restrained from fear of Ransoms reaction. But he was teasing you. His kiss was pure fire and lacked restraint, but now he was still. Every one of his moves intentional. Maybe if you asked he would oblige you, even though he hadn’t before.

“More, please, I need more.” Your eyes stared at his but he didn’t look up at you. He seemed to be in some sort of trance, his eyes seared wholly on his thumb as he gently nudged you. “Father…” You begged and finally he looked up.

Once his eyes met yours and he saw the eagerness in them, his resolve snapped. In a blink your panties were off and you lay bare before him.

You were so much more soaked than Ransom had realized. It was practically pouring out of your hole. He needed to fill you now.

Something between a groan and a growl left his mouth and he reached forward for you. Clutching the back of your neck he harshly sat you up. His other hand was already waiting and was quick to push past your surprised mouth.

“Suck.” You immediately took the two fingers around your tongue and obeyed, your wide eyes never leaving his.

Pulled his hand from your mouth, Ransom let it fall to its rightful place between your legs. Fuck him, you were dripping. Messily he smeared your wetness around on your cunt, “All of this for me, baby, and i’ve barely fucking touched you.” Your eyes flashed as you recognized his language but you didn’t do more than whimper at his assault on you.

In circles he rubbed your bud, abandoning the idea of two fingers and using his whole hand. You whimpered and panted as you looked up at him helplessly. Towering over you, he tightened his grip on the back of your neck and pushed you higher to meet him.

Just as your mouths met, he pushed one finger inside of you. Fucking hell, you were tight. Ransom didn’t think he had ever had a cunt this tight before. Not even mentioning the fact that it was untouched. He knew you were going to be the death of him.

You let out a low moan at his intrusion in you and he couldn’t help but let his need out by gripping the back of your head harder and his mouth moving against yours faster. As he moved his single digit inside of you, you let your head fall back and Ransom watched as your eyes fluttered shut. Tired of ordering you around but wanting your submission to him, he changed tactics.

“So fucking tight but you’re grinding on my hand like a bunny, baby. Just because you’re a virgin doesn’t make you pure, honey. You’re a slut just like the rest of ‘em, huh?”

Because of his words or because he had slipped a second finger in you, harsh and quick, your eyes snapped open meeting his. Your jaw was slack but the only sound that left your lips was helpless moans and whimpers at his pace inside you. You shook your head no at Ransom but he only grinned in response.

“Really? ‘Cause i’m fucking you stupid with my fingers, haven’t even gotten my cock yet, and you can’t even form a sentence.” His tone was mocking and condescending and you couldn’t help but whimper. You shook your head at him harder in denial but with a curl of his fingers you were back to being subject to the onslaught of his fingers.

Ransom quickened his fingers rhythm and tried to add a scissor motion within you to help widen you out, but fuck. You were still sucking his fingers in just as much as his first one. Even if he had to tear you hole to hole, he was gonna make his cock fit. You would take him.

“Don’t fucking argue with me.” He seethed down at you and your response. You whimpered but Ransom gripped your neck harder, forcing your face up to his. “Your soaked cunt is sucking my fingers in like it just can’t get enough and only greedy whores act like that.” You whimpered but didn’t shake your head at his words this time.

“Admit you’re nothing but a greedy slut.” He ordered and you gaped up at him. At first your mouth opened and closed in shock but finally you swallowed and obeyed.

“I’m nothing but a greedy slut,” It left your lips so shamefully and was followed by a soft moan from the constant motion of his fingers and he growled. Fuck this, he wasn’t waiting any longer.

“Undo my pants.” He grunted out to you and his gaze dropped to his hand sinking into you. With fumbling fingers your hands met his belt and you quickly tried to undo it. It was haphazard and took you longer than you wanted but you blamed it on the two fingers inside you.

Once his belt was loose and his fly was down you looked back up at him expectantly. There was a glint in his eye as he licked him lips and focused back on you.

“Take my dick out.” Ransom watched as your throat bobbed nervously, your hands lacking less urgency as they moved to the waste-band of his slacks. With a slight push, his pants lay at his ankles and he stood before you in his black button down and boxers. “Take it out!” He ordered harsher this time and his fingers matched his cruel tone as they pressed harder inside you.

You moaned helplessly and obeyed. Pulling at his boxers until they slipped down his legs, you freed his dick. You didn’t want to look at him, at his most intimate body part, but your eyes couldn’t help but ogle.

Ransoms dick looked almost angry- all puffy, red, and dripping in need. But it was the length and size that made you gasp. He was big. Bigger than his fingers, big. You already felt so stretched from his two fingers alone, how were you ever going to take him? As if he could read your mind Ransom cut off your thoughts.

“I’ll make it fit. ‘N you’re gonna take every fucking inch.”

Like they were never there, his hands left your cunt and he mixed your juices with his as he stroked himself with the same hand he just had inside you.

You whimpered helplessly at his lack of contact on you again. Your body was alive, buzzing and burning, and you felt…close. Close to what- you weren’t sure but you knew you needed him back.

His hand dropped from around your neck and he pushed your chest until you lay back on the desk again. Nerves bundled up into your stomach as you saw him move himself closer to your mound. This seemed like a really bad idea.

Ransoms hand cupped your breast and squeezed as he tried to ease the tension building within him. He was stroking himself as he leaned forward and pressed the tip of him into your clit. You whined at the pressure, it was everything but not enough at the same time.

He moved his dick around on your cunt, groaning to himself at the sight. Your hips came up slightly as you sought for more pressure from Ransom and he obliged tapping quick, sharp slaps to your bud with his cock. This was about to be the best fuck of his life.

Finally, he lined himself up with your entrance. His hand pressing down on your pelvis to keep you still. His eyes flickered up to you for a split second and he cursed under his breath at the fear that was held in your eyes, as you should be.

With precision he rolled his hips forward and felt as just the tip slid inside you. You whimpered from below him and he couldn’t even blame you. He could feel all of you, wrapped around just that bit of him and he still had so much more to go.

With a little more pressure he pushed forward and immediately you gasped in protest.

“I can’t! It’s too much! Father, please!” You pleaded with Ransom and your eyes screwed shut at the pressure and pain at your hole. You weren’t ready, you were scared. He was too big.

“Shhhh…” Ransom shushed you and left your breast to cup your chin. “It’s okay. You just need to relax, baby.”

You shook your head at him. You couldn’t do it. But just when you thought it was already too much, Ransom pushed into you some more. A cry left your mouth and you moved to get away from him. Your hands came up in a flail, pushing at his shoulders and you tried to move your legs to gain leverage to push him off of you.

You couldn’t help the tear that left the corner of your eye as the pain sank down your legs. You wanted him off now, but Ransom was ignoring your resistance. He only held onto you harder as the pressure and pain became worse between your legs. In desperation you slapped at him and he growled angrily as he finally lifted his head to your attention.

“Stop fucking moving.” He ordered at you and released his hold on you to grab your moving arms. In a second, they were pinned at your sides, his breath heavy above you. “It’s only going to hurt worse if you don’t stop fucking moving. So when I tell you to relax-you fucking relax. Now stay the fuck still and take it.”

“But it’s too much!” You cried at him.

“Then fucking scream for all I care but stop moving.” He growled at you and you whimpered. Your breaths came up short as you tried to stop your crying but nothing helped. The pain didn’t fade, it only got worse as Ransom started to push forward again.

He wasn’t even in halfway and you were already a blubbering mess. ‘N fuck, he couldn’t seem to get any further. Your cunt was practically pushing him out but he wasn’t gonna fall for that.

In one stroke he pulled himself out and then gave a sharp thrust into you, your body heeding at his force and Ransom had to release your arms to catch himself on the desk. Fuck-he felt like he was about to cum. His thrust had worked, he was sitting in you almost to the hilt, but you were so damn tight around him he couldn’t move. How fucking pathetic of him if he got this far only to cum in one stroke.

Underneath Ransom though, you were not as happy. Your now free hands were gripping his biceps as you sobbed in pain underneath him. You felt him everywhere, was he in your stomach? He was so deep and you were so full but it didn’t feel good at all. It was nothing like the sharp tingles he was giving you earlier with his fingers-no it was pure pain and intrusion. Tears left your eyes and you mumbled incoherent pleads to Ransom to stop. You didn’t like this at all, and it only seemed to be getting worse the longer he sat inside you.

“Fuck, baby. Your cunt is gripping me like a vice. I don’t even feel like I can move, you’re holding me so tight.” Ransom lowered his forehead to rest on the desk above your shoulder.

Inch by inch he rolled his hips backwards easing out before slowly plunging back in until finally he sat fully inside you. You cried out loudly but it seemed to be drowned out by his loud groan. The movement burned and scraped your walls. Your nails dug into Ransoms shoulder as you tried to find some outlet for the pain but nothing was helping.

“Please, it hurts!” You tried one more time and you felt Ransoms breathe on your shoulder before you heard him chuckle.

Slowly he leaned back up above you, his eyes meeting yours again. His eyes held pleasure and mischief whereas you knew yours were full of tears and pain. How could be laughing at you, right now?

In a slow thrust he pulled out of you before pushing in again, harder this time. You cried out woefully as the pain bloomed again within you.

“Baby, nothing could stop me from fucking you right now. This is the best pussy i’ve ever been in and I would have to be fuckin’ crazy to give it up.” With his words he stood fully up again, seated in you.

He reached down and lifted your legs, locking them around his waist. Nervously you played with your hands again, unsure what to do with them now that they left his biceps. Ransom reached for them and lifted them above your head. He placed your grip on the edge of the desk you were lying on.

“You’re gonna need to hold on, princess.” His voice washed over you like water and you listened.

Your grip tightened on the edge as he pushed into you again. A whimper left your lips and you let your head fall back as you accepted your fate. Ransoms hands roamed your body greedily before he anchored them on your hips.

His thrusts were hard but measured as he started his slow rhythm inside you. He let his gaze wander from your pinched face to your tits. They bounced when his body found yours each time. He was in pure heaven. His cock wrapped by your tight cunt and the sight of you finally submitting to him.

He couldn’t help it as his hips started to roll into each thrust, desperate for contact with you. As he moved your eyes flew open and a gasp left your mouth.

“Fuck, I found that spot didn’t I?” He mocked you as he rocked and you whimpered in response. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as before and the feeling blooming in your stomach was better than just his fingers. Everything you were craving before seemed to be answered by his thrusts. As your body heated again, you felt that familiar buzz on your skin and you moaned helplessly as he started to pick up speed.

“Fucking milking my cock.” Ransom teethed out and you felt a sharp hold on your jaw.

“Open your fucking eyes.” You quickly obeyed and he pulled your face up, angling at the lewd act in front of you.

Blood coated the base of his dick and he let out a moan from the sight of your lost innocence.

You watched as he disappeared in you over and over again and moaned as each thrust hit home. Watching, as well as feeling him inside you, sent jolts across your skin.

“That’s right,” Ransom huskily said to you, seeing your reaction to him. “What would that prick Timothy think of you if he could see you being fucked, right now. Hm? That you’re a fucking whore? Being fucked by your pastor in the back of the church he attends every Sunday. Such a god damn slut.”

His words sunk deep and you tried to deny his proclamations but they only fueled the fire in you. He was so deep and you felt every single thrust. The buzz in your bones reached further and you helplessly tried to meet each of his thrusts. Your clit caught on his pelvis at each rock of his hips and you couldn’t stop the little noises that left your throat as the feeling within you reached a pinnacle.

Ransom felt your pussy spasm around him and he grunted at each thrust. Releasing your face, you fell limply back flat onto the desk and he rutted into you harder as he grabbed onto your waist again. He knew you were close and it was all but animalistic how he chased it for you. He wasn’t gonna let some wimp bastard steal your first orgasm. It was going to be him, all of your first were going to be with him and, fuck, that made his hips roll harder.

One moment you were present, the lewd claps and sucking sounds echoing through your head, and the next you were in the heavens. Your body arched off the desk as blood rushed into your ears and you barely heard as you cried out from the feeling that overtook your body. It was pure electricity. Running from your toes to your skull and you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want it to stop though. No, you wanted to live here. In this constant state of pleasure and stars. It was the best feeling you had ever experienced and it consumed you whole.

“Hol-ly shit!” Ransom shouted. Your cunt squeezed his length as you came and he knew he was right fucking there. You grasped him perfectly, every inch being swallowed by you and watching you come around him was all it took for him to find his own nut.

He fucked you through your shivers and spasms and you still whimpered underneath him as his thrusts became faster and irregular.

“Fuck, fuck-FUCK!” He grunted out as finally his orgasm overtook him. At his dicks first flex within you he fell on top of your still body. His hips still moving as his cum bursted out of him in quick ropes.

His own orgasm seemed to last for hours. His dick still twitching as he finally got the hearing in his ears back. Never in his life had he came that hard. Even when he was a virgin, pussy didn’t feel that good. Cumming didn’t feel that good. No, that was all you. Ransom gave you that credit.

You moved beneath the weight of Ransom, your breathing slowly starting to become normal again. You couldn’t help but let your hands fall onto his back, slowly feeling the muscles that were hidden beneath his shirt. Realization struck you as you both settled down from your highs.

You had just lost your virginity. Had sex before marriage. Let him curse and mock you as he took it from you and you couldn’t help but feel…content. You knew you should be regretting your actions. Shoving him off of you and leaving the room in a hurry, but you didn’t.

It was the priest who took it from you. He knew much more than you and you couldn’t help but feel pride that it had been with him you gave yourself to. Still worry pinched your stomach.

“Am I going to get pregnant?” You questioned. It was more of an inward thought but you had whispered it aloud to Ransom.

Fuck, he had forgotten a condom and of course you wouldn’t be on birth control. Never had he been so consumed by pussy that he let safety slip.

Ransom groaned as he pushed himself up on his forearms. He was rarely ever spent after sex. Maybe on very drunk nights he lazily passed out or even after multiple rounds but you had exhausted him just from that one cum alone. Looking down at you he took in your state. Your hair was a mess around your head and your cheeks were still flushed from being fucked. He had the urge to take you again but the urge to sleep was stronger.

“I’ll take care of it.” He responded. He didn’t really have it in his budget right now to pay for a fifty dollar pill but it was better than the thousands spent on a kid.

Pushing himself fully off of you and standing, Ransom eased out of you and you hissed in protest. Your walls were sore from the sex and he knew he had done his job properly. Hopefully you wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably for a couple of days.

Tucking your elbows under you, you leaned up fully taking in the sight of you. Faint bruises laced your hips from his grasp and you gasped. Had he really been gripping you that hard?

Ransom moved to tuck his dick into his boxers as he pulled his pants up, quickly tightening his belt. He tossed you your under things and clothes and you stared at him in confusion. That’s it? So much had just happened and he was giving you your clothes like it was casual. This was not casual.

“But,” You moved to sit up as you quickly worked to cover your nude state. “we’re gonna be married right?”

Ransom turned to you. The question catching him off guard. No one had ever asked him such a wild question before and it brought reality back to him. He was a priest, you were his pupil, this could spread like wildfire and his whole position could be threatened. He didn’t want to stay here permanently but until things cooled down for him, it was his safest option. Marriage, on the other hand, was a little too permanent for his liking.

But as Ransom took in the sight of you, wincing as you stood and frantically trying to put on your undies, he was reminded just how perfect you were. You were easy and convenient. You had obeyed his every command without fail and none of his previous fucks had ever gotten him off like you had.

He smiled at you and moved to cup your face with his hands. Pulling you up to your toes he let his lips press into yours. So different from the previous times he had kissed you, he put meaning and care into this one.

“Baby, you were made for me. Of course we’re getting married.” You smiled at his response, leaning back into his lips.

But you missed the glint in his eye when he spoke. He wasn’t gonna marry you because it was the proper way for you to be treated. No, he was marrying you because there was no way in hell another man would ever touch you again. You were his. For whenever and wherever he pleased. An object for his pleasure, not yours.

Ransom released you and let you return to finish dressing. He desperately needed to shower off the sweat that had collected on his back and go to fucking bed. Your pussy had drained the life out of him but he couldn’t complain if every time he fucked you it left him this spent.

“I’m all sticky and wet. It’s uncomfortable.” You whined as you finished putting on your last shoe. You moved awkwardly as you stood. Your face scrunched at the feeling of cum running out of you. Ransom wished he would see it dripping out.

“Let it sit, baby. I want you to remember me for a little bit longer.” He grabbed hit coat off the rack and folded it over his arm.

“Can I tell my parents we’re engaged?” There was so much hope in your voice as you collected your belongings yourself.

“No, not yet.”

“But they’re gonna be thrilled by the news!” You eagerly looked up at him and he felt irritation climb his spine. Maybe a sweet cunt wasn’t worth this much annoyance. Youth was also an ignorant curse.

“Some people won’t understand us, princess. Won’t understand God joining us together. Just give it time and i’ll let you know when we can tell them. Together, hm?” He cupped your cheek and even appeased you with a kiss on the forehead. You still sighed in complaint as you both head towards the door, but stayed silent.

Ransom knew you would abide by his word and wouldn’t tell a soul. Maybe one day you would realize the fault in letting him command you, but it wasn’t today. ‘N he knew it wouldn’t be for a long while. He had you whipped good. Especially when your soreness passed and you were craving only what he gave you, you would come to him begging for more. Probably go down on your knees for him.

Blood rushed to his dick and the thought and he grinned to himself. It was only after he had flipped the light switch and closed the door behind ya’ll, sealing the memories of your actions in the room did he realize he didn’t even pick up the stuff from the floor that he hurriedly shoved off.

He didn’t even catch your name.

[kaaaaaaarf]

You know what time it is! everywhere, everything by @lynxindisguise updated today with a vampire (!!!) chapter, and I maybe shucked off work to read it 👀 (so worth it). As per usual, the playlist has been updated! Songs and lyrics/explanations below the cut.

Universe 668x: Vampires

Vicious by Daniel Hart & Damir Orascanin

Instrumental. It's from the Interview With The Vampire TV show soundtrack and is suitably mood setting (along with being a suggestion from Lynx 🫡)

Bloodsport '15 by Raleigh Ritchie

Nothing is perfect but your imperfections are quaint And your love is worth it and for that I will wait And though you hate me, when you have a turn I drive you crazy but you always return If I fall short, if I break rank It's a bloodsport, but I understand I am all yours, I am unmanned I'm on all fours, willingly damned Loving you's a bloodsport Fighting in a love war Although you love me, sometimes we're mean Things can get ugly but we're still a team We are an army that breaks from within But that's why we're stronger, and that's how we'll win [...] I've got your back, and though it's stacked against us I've got your hand, it's us against consensus And I will burn the people who hurt you the worst and I will not learn Cause I am too young and too dumb to consider the terms of breaking the law And I'll curse the day that they return With a smile on my face as their heads hit the floor And they're done, now it's curtains, the bloodlust's a clusterfuck, it hurts but it's working And even if you ask me to stop, it's too late because I've already decided their fate It's not a distaste, it's pure hate and it pulsates and it works its way around my brain Anyway, what I'm trying to say is I'll protect you til the day I meet my maker So don't fight me now cause you might need me later [...] It's not what I'm in love for, I'm yours I don't know if you can help it, maybe I'm just being selfish...

(fun fact: the singer of this song is actually Jacob Anderson from IWTV!!)

Vampire by Lupin

Cold weather shivers like a knife in the back tonight The things you claim that you knew had taken flight A tipsy remedy while something's causing strife Familiar echoes warn from a past life You got ambition, baby I can admire that You say you love me when there’s nobody lovin' back Call me a criminal, I'm wearing the mask tonight Familiar echoes scream from a past life You want me to go back to your room Well, lie to me, I’ll lie to you I think the jig will be up soon But can it wait 'til the morning? Can it wait 'til the morning? Can it? It got so bloody like the moon on Friday night I sunk my teeth in so deep but you just sigh Can't get off? Well babe, neither can I Familiar echoes bored from the past life

(it's called Vampire by Lupin and the lyrics are chef's kiss...couldn't not add it)

Vampire Weeknight by Jenny Owen Youngs

I don't wanna think about you but I do I don't wanna think about you but I do I do I do Pour another finger out or maybe two Cause I don't wanna drink without you but I do, I do

All night I'm suspended animation Watch the palm trees out the window all turn black Sleeplessly I'm paralyzed and waiting Will you come back [...] Pacing like a bobcat in the kitchen Or up the stairs just solitaire-ing in my room Preacher's on the late-night television Saying "... soon" [...] Asking every empty room what you'd say Bloodless in the bathroom mirror, oh my god Just tryna make it through another Tuesday Or maybe not

Reflections Scatter by Module

Instrumental. This is from the What We Do In The Shadows movie soundtrack and felt appropriately atmospheric and sad.

If We Were Vampires by Noah Kahan ft. Wesley Schultz

It's not the long, flowing dress that you're in Or the light coming off of your skin The fragile heart you protected for so long Or the mercy in your sense of right and wrong It's not your hands searching slow in the dark Or your nails leaving love's watermark It's not the way you talk me off the roof Your questions like directions to the truth

It's knowing that this can't go on forever It's likely one of us will have to spend some days alone Maybe we'll get forty years together But one day I'll be gone Or one day you'll be gone

If we were vampires and death was a joke We'd go out on the sidewalk and smoke Laugh at all the lovers and their plans I wouldn't feel the need to hold your hand Maybe time running out is a gift I'll work hard 'til the end of my shift And give you every second I can find And hope it isn't me who's left behind

Bats In The Attic by King Creosote & Jon Hopkins

And I've gone silver in my travels, Growing silver in my sideburns, I'm starting to unravel. Heard my heartbeat on a downhill, I counted eighteen on my pulse as Kilrenny Church struck three for three o'clock. What else? [...] It's such a waste of all that I had.

You mentioned bats in the attic, So now you're lifting up the tiles to get around these conservation rules. I walked down in the basement. I'm hanging upside down, a gag across my mealy mouth.

And how I'll laugh out loud about that. When I read your simple novel, it uses all our real names. And go make yourself a fortune, There's nothing left for us then us left dangling just a little shamefaced.

It's such a waste of what we had. And it's such a waste of all that we had. And it's such a waste of all that I am.

[bloodfin]

✭・.・✫

Rain Ghoul x Dewdrop Ghoul, Midwest Emo Ghouls AU

Rated: T

Word Count: 2.978k

Summary: Set in the Midwestern Emo Ghouls AU, Rain and Dew are trying to enjoy a nice game of pool when a preacher from a few towns over barges in and makes an unscrupulous bet. Rain teaches him a thing or two :)

Warnings/Tags: boys in love; possessive behavior (mildish, they just started dating like two weeks ago who can blame them), suggestive themes, implied/referenced cheating (NOT between raindrop!! the other guy in here is just a capital J Jerk), no beta we die like nihil, background ghouls/relationships

Author’s Note: *smacks fic* you can fit so much lore in here! i had a couple (literal) fever dreams about this raindrop fic after getting covid from a post-christmas pool hall expedition so..... the brainrot is incurable. enjoy, be well, and share what you can! special thanks to @herbal-quintessence for chatting with me about the AU and making me feel so welcome to share a few thoughts about them

additional disclaimer: this is about literal demons straight from hell and has absolutely nothing to do with the actual band members of Ghost

read on AO3

Dew looks like he's glowing in the off-yellow lights that hang from the ceiling, his soft blonde hair glimmering while his head is tossed back in laughter. He had just sent another pool ball over the edge of the table, caught by Rain's quick reflexes before it could clatter to the ground.

“You know,” he smiled, rolling the striped ball back onto the worn green wool, “I thought you were kidding when you said you couldn't play pool.”

Dew laughed again.

“I didn't say I couldn't play, I said I was the worst.”

Rain chuckled, turning towards the bar.

“Hey Rory, can we get another round please? I'm gonna need it.”

“Two old fashioneds, one with extra cherries, coming right up.”

She smiled as Rain nodded, her bubblegum pink hair the brightest thing in the old bar.

“Fritter still on business?”

Dew had joined Rain's side, lacing their fingers together as Aurora mixed their drinks.

“Yeah, might just buy him out at this point. If I do that though, y'all will be saying goodbye to those old tables and icky lights. We need some color in here!”

She giggled as she added more cherries than were necessary to Rain's glass, setting them on the bar while he slid her a crisp bill.

They spent a bit of time at Cinders now that they were together together and Rain felt like he didn't have to worry about the cute bartender as much. As it turns out, he never really had to worry at all. Aurora was bubbly and flirty with everyone, and dating Swiss and Mountain, which his brain often forgot to remind him of in his moments of late night jealousy.

When Ifrit bought Cinders he didn't do much, just changed the name and a few lightbulbs. A few bar signs here, moved the pool tables there, but never quite got around to fixing the crack in the window above the heavy wooden door.

“Humans won't come by as often if it looks a bit run down,” he had shrugged, and no one could argue when they all knew he was right.

But sometimes he was wrong.

Rain was trying to show Dew how to properly rack the balls, a task he was certain could've been easier if Dew didn't make rack and ball jokes every three seconds.

“It's too easy,” Dew chortled, watching Rain's shoulders flex under his flannel as he rolled the triangular rack across the play field.

Rain was about to make a comment back about Dew being easy when the cold wind kicked in through the open door, a stranger walking into the beat up bar. Aurora greeted him pleasantly enough as Swiss stared him down from the shadows of a back table.

Mist and Zephyr looked over from their perch at a hightop, the man's human scent slowly filling the room. Rain and Dew shrugged it off, figuring he'd have a beer or two and be on his way. On the off chance a human did stumble into the bar, they typically had enough intuition to sense that something was just a little ‘off’ and never stayed long.

They instead went back to their game, chalking up their cues and chatting about nothing. Rain insisted Dew break this time, encouraging him with a good natured pat to the back before digging out one of the cherries in his glass and popping it in his mouth.

He watched Dew bend at the waist and carefully hold the cue between his fingers, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.He settled his weight in his hips, mostly for Rain’s benefit but also because he thought it might help - breathed deeply, and struck the cue ball dead on.

His face broke into a huge grin when he watched the striped and solid balls roll around the table, four of them reaching the rails. Rain wiped cherry juice onto the bottom corner of his flannel before wrapping his hand around Dew’s shoulder, congratulating him with a little check of his own hips.

“I did that!” Dew was still smiling, overjoyed that all the balls stayed on the table this time, and he nailed a legal break.

“You did,” Rain smiled, faltering a touch when the man at the bar slid down to the corner, a little too close to be casual.

“Have a good teacher,” Dew purred, oblivious to the way the human was looking up and down his lithe body, eyes pausing a bit too long on the ripped back pocket of his skintight jeans.

“That was a great break for someone learning,” the stranger interjected, hand tight around his glass of pale beer.

Dew’s face was neutral, while Rain felt the corner of his lip start to quiver with a scowl.

“Thanks,” Dew said, snaking his fingers into the hand Rain held behind his back.

The man then turned to Rain, head tilted with a question. “Best way to learn is to watch a game, right? I’m a bit out of practice, but we could make a quickie of it.”

It was Rain’s turn to study the human, his neatly cropped hair and groomed stubble. He saw the imprint on his left hand, faded skin where a wedding band should be. Rain knew exactly what he was after, and there was no way he was going to get it. He squeezed Dew’s fingers before letting them go, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sure. Keep this break, or start over?”

The man looked down the table, taking in the position of each ball.

“Well, he seems so proud. Let’s keep his work. I’m Michael, by the way, I preach a few towns over. Was driving through and needed a little break.”

Typical.

“I’m Damon,” Dew piped up, returning his cue to the stand and grabbing his drink before dragging a bar stool over so he could watch. “And this is… Richard.”

Rain turned to glance at him snickering into his glass, a perfect eyebrow nearly hitting his hairline. “Richard?” he mouthed silently, and Dew shrugged, feigning innocence and fishing the cherry out of his glass.

“Well Richard,” the human smiled, far past typical politeness, “why don’t we make the game a little more interesting for Damon, since he’s learning and all?”

Rain turned his attention back to the man, looking him up and down again.

“Depends. What do you want if you win?”

The man hummed, pretending to think about it, even though everyone in the small room could smell his intention from the moment he slunk down the bar.

“Perhaps I could buy that pretty little thing you’re with a drink or two, and then we’ll see where the night goes.”

Rain turned his head towards Dew, making sure the trail of purple Dew left up his neck that morning was visible under the bar lights. Dew shrugged, fully knowing Rain has never lost a game of pool in his entire time topside.

“Well, he seems alright with that.”

The man hummed, pleased. “And if you win?”

“I’ll come up with something reasonable, I’m sure.” Rain offered, his siren charm seeping out.

Filled with false confidence the man offered his sweaty palm in agreement, which Rain begrudgingly shook. He waited until the man had turned to wipe his palm hard against the front of his pants, shaking his head at Dew’s near silent laugh.

“Guests first,” Rain said with a tight smile, gesturing at the field.

Michael shrugged and lined up behind the cue ball, a loud snap echoing in the bar. The purple striped ball rolled into the corner pocket, and the man had the common sense to look surprised by sinking his first shot.

“Can’t believe that went in!”

Rain stifled his eye roll. It was an easy shot, Dew probably could have made it with the right encouragement.

Rain gestured for him to go again, watching him call a complicated show-off shot that the guy would most likely miss. He wanted to bounce off the rail and sink the striped orange ball, but shrugged it off when he scratched instead. Michael wandered his way over to Dew, pushing what would be considered a polite distance.

“That was a scratch, since I pocketed the cue ball. Now Richy here gets the ball in hand, and can shoot from wherever he wants.”

Dew had to take a deep breath through his nose, fighting every instinct he had to make a comment about how Rain was very familiar with the concept. Only a few weeks had passed since they decided to step across the friendship barrier and into something more, so, one could say that they’ve been making up for lost time.

Instead Dew focused on the way Rain walked around the table, rolling the white ball in his large hand. Dew could tell he was showing off a bit, his slender fingers wrapped around the cue, the way he appraised the table, surely making whatever secret calculations he always made when lining up for his shots. So it was a surprise then, when Rain paused next to Dew, taking a sip of Dew’s drink before nodding his head towards the table.

“Which ball should I sink?”

Dew hummed, tapping his fingers on his thigh.

“Well, he’s stripes so you want the solid ones. Mmm,” Dew paused, scanning the table. “Maybe the orange one?”

He pointed at the ball already on the edge of the far pocket, and Rain nodded in agreement.

“Good choice, he should be embarrassed if he doesn’t nail that,” Michael smiled, squeezing Dew’s shoulder.

Rain bristled as he dropped the cue ball onto the table, making a show of lining himself up.He could just rip Michael’s arm off his body, but embarrassing him felt more fun.Dew was watching, intently, the way he flexed his fingers around the stick, loosening his grip as he rolled his wrist to line himself up. The path to the ball he was taking was unnecessarily difficult, so he called the shot out loud to make sure the intention was clear. Dew watched him breathe and settle his hips, eyes following the snap to watch the orange ball tip into its named pocket.

Dew smiled, nodding in encouragement as Rain studied the play field once more. He could watch this all day, the way his eyes traced the paths of possibility across the field, trying to determine the quickest way to win. Rain often pulled at his lower lip when he was concentrating and it was cuter with his fangs, but was still adorable now. He watched him tip his head, no doubt showing off the line of bruises that ran the column of his neck, and much, much lower.

Dew had to snap himself out of it before he did something regrettable, settling back into the bar stool and finishing his drink.

“Oh, I’ll take that for you,” Michael offered, letting his fingers touch Dew’s for longer than necessary before he turned to the bar.

“What a gentleman,” Dew mumbled, watching Rain’s eyes get darker with each passing moment. He blew him a quick kiss, watching Rain catch it before pretending to lick his palm, running it along the stick a few times before Michael turned back around.

Rain smirked, finding a shot that nearly mimicked Michael’s failed attempt from before. Dew watched him nod to himself, using his long pointer finger to plot the course he needed to take. He moved around the table, gripping the edge, getting himself lined up in confirmation.

“Yeah, blue, left center pocket.”

Michael scoffed, and Dew shoved his hands under his thighs to keep his claws from coming out. He loved the way Rain’s brows furrowed as he breathed into the shot, aiming true. One cue ball, off the rail, skirting by the eight to tap the blue exactly where it needed to go, left center pocket. When Rain stood he ran his hand through his ruffled hair, eyeing the table for his next call.

“You’re pretty good there,” Michael said low, taking a long drink of his beer.

“Didn’t say I wasn’t,” Rain stated blandly, sipping his own drink. Dew swore he could see Rain’s skin burning from across the table, knowing he didn’t like how close this human was standing, although he couldn’t blame him. He knew Rain could end the game in six more shots, but he also knew that sometimes, Rain liked to play with his food.

It was on his next shot that Rain missed, purposely, as far as Dew could tell, leaving the cue ball in a difficult position for Michael to make any shots. Rain shrugged and slipped another cherry into his mouth, chewing slowly while making his way back to Dew’s side.

“You’re so hot,” Dew whispered, leaning into Rain.

Rain hummed, pulling another cherry from the glass and pressing it to Dew’s lips. He parted happily, chewing the sweet fruit with a smile. Really, how many had Aurora put in there? Dew took the glass from Rain’s hand and swirled his finger around the ice cube, licking it clean while Mitch or whatever his name was tried to work out a shot.

“Got me cornered here bud,” Michael joked, looking over his shoulder to find Rain shrugging nonchalantly.

“Not like I could do that on purpose.”

Dew bit back a snicker and Rain moved to lean on the table, knuckles pressing into the wood. Michael was taking aim, grumbling under his breath when he landed a solid ball into a nearby pocket.

Rain smiled and made quick work of a stripe. “Gotta keep it fair, yeah?”

Dew watched him wait patiently while Michael pocketed another ball before missing on his second shot, giving the field back to Rain.

Rain made quick work of two more shots, missing the third when his hand slipped watching Michael rest his palm on Dew's knee. A deep rumble filled his chest and the bar, a low enough frequency that the human never would have heard it.

Dew moved in his chair, crossing one knee over the other, sagging with relief when Michael pulled his hand away. Rain quickly returned to his side, resting the cool weight of his palm on Dew's warm thigh. It grounded both of them, let them breathe in each other's calming scents while Michael tried, and failed, to sink another shot.

How he thought he would ever win a pool bet was beyond Rain, but he supposed he could briefly admire the man's audacity. Only humans were so bold.

“You wanna get out of here?” Rain asked Dew quietly, fingers playing with the corner of his flannel.

Dew nodded, briefly leaning his head on Rain's shoulder with an affectionate rumble.

Rain returned to the table, shifting his weight between his legs while he studied.

“Red ball, left corner,” Rain stated, clicking his stick against the table.

Michael scoffed. “From where?”

Rain looked at him sideways.

“My apologies. Red ball, left corner, double bank from right and far center rails.”

“Sure, bud.”

Rain winked at him, settling into position. And when the cue ball followed his exact path and tipped the red ball in, Rain was certain he could have sunk the eight into Michael's mouth next with how far it was hanging open.

Rain flipped his hair to the side as lined up for his last shot, and Dew couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight of his bruised skin. It was far from the first time he saw it that night, but every time he caught sight of the marks his stomach filled with butterflies, a reminder that Rain was his.

His.

He turned his attention back to the game to watch Rain call his final shot, sinking the eight ball with a frightening level of precision. When he stood the human offered him a few claps, nodding up and down.

“Figure out what you want? Since you won and all.”

Dew could hear that the man was a little bitter, his prospects blown by his incredibly hot boyfriend's hidden talent for pool.

Rain set his cue on the stand and turned, appearing to be deep in thought. When he breathed in Dew felt the air change, suddenly chilly as he sucked in warm moisture coming from the radiators.

“I want you to run,” Rain smiled, slowly letting small parts of his glamor drop away, the tips of his fangs falling first.

Michael stammered.

“You want me to… what?”

Rain leaned over the pool table, braced by his hands. His fangs were fully showing now, and his horns were visible in the shadow he cast against the wall. The air around the table got colder and colder, Rain absorbing the warmth with every breath. .

“You heard me. Run.”

Michael screeched out to the Christian god before turning and bolting out of the bar, Rain and Dew nearly doubling in laughter at the sounds of his car peeling away.

“That was mean, Rainy,” Aurora laughed from the bar, drying glasses and setting them on the shelf.

“Maybe he'll think twice next time.”

Dew hummed, hopping down from his chair to press into Rain's back, his arms wrapped around him in a firm hug.

Rain squeezed his hand over Dew's.

“Richard, huh?”

“Yeah, you know the nickname for Richard right?”

Rain stared ahead blankly, having a feeling he was about to be the butt of another one of Dew's jokes.

He snickered, resting his head on Rain's back.

“Dick.”

“You're insufferable,” Rain sighed, long suffering though good natured. “Let's go home.”

“I know. I love you too.”

They left hand in hand, giggling the whole way back to Dew's place, promises made between them to call a realtor in the morning and to finish packing.

Rain's apartment wasn't going to list itself, and the town could always use a few more ghouls.

[infjtarot]

King of Cups. Mystic Spiral Tarot

Themes and Keywords: Will directs the emotions. Romantic, imaginative, sensitive, dilettante. To love and to dare. Passive/indolent but ardent if roused to passion. Transcendental. Chivalry. Spiritual questing, the Holy Grail. Chasing dreams. Poetry and the arts. Dissolving boundaries. Soul transmutation. Spiritual teaching. Astrology/Related Decans The King/Knight of Cups is mainly mutable water sign Pisces, ruled by Jupiter and Neptune. Pisces is a true believer and goes forth with faith in something higher. The intent is to transcend. The first decan of Pisces, however, is ruled by Saturn, a dragging anchor. Indolence (Abandoned Success) represents the King’s potential for listless passivity as he loses heart in the creative process. In Pisces II, Happiness, decan of his sign’s ruler Jupiter, his faith is rewarded and his heart’s desire is achieved. His shadow decan, or the hidden part of his nature, is Aquarius III, Futility or Unstable Effort. Aquarius is a sign of visionary thoughts and hope, but the third decan is ruled by the inconstant Moon. Thus on his spiritual quests, the Knight must find the perfect balance, seeking fulfillment and true joy, while avoiding the pitfalls of stagnation and idleness on one side and vacillation and diffusion on the other. Elemental The King/Knight of Cups represents the “fiery part of water.” Like all Kings/Knights, he has the ability to inspire. Cups and water concern the emotional world, making him a philosopher of the human heart. His gift is to move the masses through compassionate example rather than individual encounters. He may be an inspirational speaker, a guru, a pontiff, a preacher, and a patron of art and humanistic ideals. Like sunlight on water, his visions are ephemeral; his message of love must be absorbed into our own emotional worlds to spread. His inverse is the Queen of Wands, who connects and ignites kindred spirits rather than proselytizing. Susan T. Chang

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children: Redux | I. In Lieu of Flowers

Starting off my crossposting journey with PC:R <3

There is no Clockwork there to rewind time after the Nasty Burger explosion. Danny Fenton, having witnessed his friends and family die a fiery death, struggles to cope with his loss and the looming future that awaits him. So when an unlikely source offers a hand to help, he takes it. Three years later, Batman is called upon to help solve a string of impossible murders in Gotham that end up entangling him to the mysteries of Amity Park. -- A Rewrite of Phantom Children ft. A shiny new plot, longer chapters, and stronger prose!

A DPxDC crossover // Read on [AO3} or [FFN.net]

MASTERPOST // Next Chapter →

Three Years Ago…

Danny Fenton was fourteen when his world ended for the third time.

And no, this wasn’t the product of teenage melodrama. Rather it’s the result of the universe’s spirited efforts in making Danny’s life a veritable punching bag for any deity to come over and fuck it up . 

He certainly didn’t ask to half-die not once, but twice , and be responsible for this godforsaken town. That’s a thing heroes do. Or sidekicks that train under heroes. Not some dumb kid barely halfway through his first semester of high school and who was incapable of keeping his grades higher than a C . 

But, well, this was what he got for playing hero, right? Dead parents, dead sister, and dead friends, all because he was too goddamn slow .

(The prerequisite to every hero: a tragic backstory. Guess it was finally his turn.)

The weather went from a light mist to a drizzle, raindrops falling in uneven staccato on the cluster of black umbrellas. He could barely hear the ceremony— not that he was able to pay much attention anyway. Danny tried to. He did. But his mind was a blue screen— had been for the past few weeks—and the preacher’s words were just going in one ear and out the other in loud static.

His fingers curled around the velvet pouch in his pocket, grounding himself. He’d dug it out from its lockbox in the depths of his closet for this exact reason. 

In front of Danny was a single plot reserved for the Fenton family, the grass undisturbed except for the muddy dirt and drooping flowers around the erected marble obelisk that stood atop the plot. (Undisturbed because there wasn’t any need to dig up the ground for a coffin. You’d need bodies for that, and there were hardly any left after—) At the obelisk’s base was a bronze placard engraved with the names of three of the people who once comprised Danny's whole world, and an epitaph: Gone but Never Forgotten. 

Vlad must have chosen it. The obelisk was his decision too; excessive and grand because he would provide nothing less for his greatest enemy, his greatest love, and their wonderful, genius, perfect daughter. 

Danny looked away from the monument, his hair a damp curtain that shadowed his eyes. No mom left to brush it out of the way. No dad to ruffle it into something even messier. There’s a— a pressure at the back of his throat that nauseated him to the point of discomfort but not enough to actually vomit in the nearest shrubbery. He rubbed his scratchy throat with his free hand, letting it rest by his clavicle. Right above where his heart was being mercilessly squeezed by his own guilty conscience. 

He should have been the one to plan his family’s funeral. The one to write their obituary. The one to choose the headstone. The flowers. The date. Everything. It was his responsibility. His duty to make all these decisions as the— 

Danny bit the inside of his lip.

He should have been more responsible. Should have been— oh he didn't know— there when all the decisions were made instead of holing up in a corner of the Zone and letting Vlad take care of it all. God, what kind of son was he to have the audacity to get his family killed and foist off arranging the funeral to the guy who wanted to kill his dad . 

But maybe that was better. Leaving the decision-making to someone else, that is. God knows that Danny makes all the wrong choices.

(If only he was faster he was stronger he saved his family before going after his evil future selfhe gave back the test answers sooner that boiler never overheated.)

The hand on his shoulder nearly made Danny jump out of his skin. 

He shifted his umbrella to see his aunt Alicia looking down at him, concern and pity softening her usually stoic features. Vlad flew her in from Spittoon. When? Danny didn’t know, though somewhere in his foggy memories he might have recalled Vlad asking how to reach Danny’s relatives. It was only aunt Alicia who came in the end, though. His mom and aunt Alicia never liked to talk about their parents, and his dad was an only child who was far too estranged from his own.

“Ceremony’s over, kid. You okay?” 

He’d scoff, but he didn’t want to tempt his nausea. 

“I’ll live.” He winced, the words bitter on his tongue. “I’m fine, I mean.” 

Aunt Alicia pressed her lips into a thin, flat line. “The rain’s getting a little worse. Do you want to head back home?”

Home? Where even was that anymore? 

“I think I wanna stay out here for now.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No— I just…I want to be alone, I think.”

She sighed, giving a comforting squeeze to his shoulder before dropping her hand. “Alright. I’ll just be waiting for you in the car then.”

Danny nodded absentmindedly, gaze trained on the drooping white lilies by the placard. At the corner of his eye, he saw Vlad approach aunt Alicia, somber-faced but calculating as they headed to the car.

The future he tried to escape was already playing out. Pieces slotting into place like some jigsaw puzzle of doom. 

In his quiet moments, holed up in the corner of his parents’ room, he’d ponder the what-ifs. The should-have, could-have, would-have-beens. He’d think of the future in all its terrible glory and wonder where else it could have all gone wrong. The trigger was—surprise, surprise— Vlad. Or, living with him, that is. If he wanted to put an ounce of trust in that sob story future-Vlad spun, then it was Danny’s own grief coupled with Vlad’s invention that sent the world spinning into its destruction.

(Future-Vlad might have helped him. Might have turned over a new leaf. But there was an entire decade that separated Future-Vlad from the present- Vlad. And Danny would rather cut off his own arm than trust present-Vlad with anything related to Danny’s well-being.)

Danny knew jack shit about the adoption process, but he was 80% sure most social workers would place Danny with his aunt as opposed to his parents’ old college buddy that they recently connected with. That Danny ended up living with Vlad meant that either Aunt Alicia didn’t pass whatever assessment the state required, or Vlad used his influence to tip the scales in his favor. Probably both. 

So the law would never let him live with anyone but Vlad— the fruit loop would make sure of that. Danny’s only option left was to run away, then.

Hm. How long could one half-dead fourteen-year-old realistically outrun a half-dead crazy billionaire with enough connections in both the human world and the Ghost Zone? 

Survey says—

Fuck .

“Our condolences, Daniel.” 

Danny startled. Who the—

He tilted his head the other way, shifting his focus to the woman who just appeared next to him. Sure Danny found his own attention slipping into darker places more often than not these days, but he should have noticed if someone came near him.

No, wait. Aunt Alicia managed to sneak up on him earlier. Maybe Danny really was just out of it. 

 “The doctors Fenton did brilliant work, and your sister had such a bright future ahead of her. Their loss will be felt.”

“Thank you,” Danny answered. The words are still ash on his tongue but he didn’t stumble over them anymore. “I…appreciate your support.”

The woman was tall, with a wiry physique and cool tawny skin. She had an oval face, a straight nose, and sharp features, though much of it was slightly obscured by her hat, the black netting ending just past her nose. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her long black coat. 

The man—and Danny knew he’d seen him somewhere before, it was on the tip of his tongue—shared in the similar sharp characteristics, but his coloring was a lot lighter. He had long white hair that extended past his shoulders and a long horseshoe mustache that should have looked stupid, but somehow he managed to make it work. He held a single umbrella for both himself and the woman.

His mind clicked. Recognition alight on his face. 

“Mr. Dusan?”

Dusan smiled. “I am pleased that you still remember me, Daniel.”

Mr. Dusan, if Danny remembered correctly, was his parents’ liaison with their benefactor. The CEO of some sort of big research company whose name Danny never really bothered to pay attention to. They had been funding his parents’ research since their university days, and it was because of them that the Fentons managed to get their hands on enough samples of ectoplasm to experiment and research on. Mr. Dusan would be sent every once in a while to observe his parents’ studies, much to the Fenton family’s stress and delight. His visits would be preceded with days of cleaning the house from top to bottom and Danny’s parents frantically getting their stuff organized. But a good visit from Mr. Dusan always ended with the family going out for a nice dinner the day after. 

It was one of Danny’s favorite times, really.

“Just Danny, please.”

“Danny, then,” Dusan said. “May I introduce you to my sister, Talia al Ghul?”

Sister? Danny raised his hand for a handshake, deciding not to comment on the age difference. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m, uh, sorry it’s not during better circumstances.”

Talia shook his hand with a closed-lipped, but somber smile. “Our employer—your parents’ benefactor—actually sent us to give his condolences, and to extend a helping hand if you should ever need it.”

“What?”

“Your parents were pioneers, Danny. Their research changed the face of the world as we know it despite how much they were ridiculed for it. It would be remiss of their benefactor to simply leave their legacy, their only son, alone to the wolves.” Her voice was smooth and honey-sweet, and Danny felt compelled to listen. “If you need anything, anything at all, feel free to reach out to us.” 

She handed him a business card. It was crisp, made from thick card stock. Blank except for a single number in the middle. 

Danny turned it over in his hand. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

He tucked it into his pocket. “Thank you for your offer. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“We will be in town for the next few days,” Dusan said. “We hope to hear from you soon.”

◆◆◆

Later, aunt Alicia asked if Danny would rather stay with her at the hotel. She’d ask this every time they parted ways, and each time Danny would say no, thank you.

She didn’t push too much. Knew, probably, that it was only a matter of time that Danny would have to leave his house to live…wherever it was his social worker decided to stick him in.

Danny appreciated her concern— even if he would rather do without it. 

He slipped off his black suit jacket, throwing it over the back of the couch as he walked past the living room. His mom would throw a fit at that. He scrambled down to the lab, taking the steps two at a time, hands wrenching the tie from around his neck—and god fuck why did his skin feel so hot. The tie ended up somewhere on the steps, the velvet bag safely stowed away in a drawer full of blueprints. He kicked off his stupid dress shoes. A safety hazard, his dad would say. The lab floor needed to be clear at all times to prevent an accident.

Too fucking late for that.

White rings passed through him with blinding fury as Danny burst through the portal between dimensions and into the silence of the Ghost Zone. 

He floated. Aimless.

And breathed. 

◆◆◆

Danny picked a direction. Eenie-meenie-minie-moe . It’s no use trying to logic out directions in the Ghost Zone. Not when the islands thought of physics as nothing more than a joke. He set off north-north-west of the portal and tried his luck there.

Tucker and Sam would call him stupid. There were probably a billion-and-one better ways to find Clockwork’s stupid tower than this. 

Jazz would say he’s still stuck on the bargaining stage—

Jazz can’t say anything anymore.

None of them can.

◆◆◆

Jessica Andrews, his social worker, took him out to a quiet cafe to talk. She was a tall woman with a stocky frame, brown skin, and a soft rounded face. Her nails were painted a light green; it was to match her plants, she’d say. Once, she’d told him about how her husband would complain about all the plants she bought because he couldn’t figure out where the jungle stopped and the house began. 

The cafe was far enough away from most schools and built below some bible store, its facade made from faded red brick with a charcoal gray awning. A few circular tables and chairs were laid out front, though they sat empty. The weather had been everything but gloomy for the past few days.

Jessica clasped her hands over the table, green nails tap-tap-tapping against her knuckles. “How have you been holding up, Danny?” 

They’re seated by the giant window, though there wasn’t much to look at on the other side. Just the road and more old buildings on the other side. 

“‘M fine.”

“That’s wonderful.” She could tell that he was lying; he’d bet on it. “How has your sleep been?”

Danny pointedly drank his coffee— brewed as dark as he could with as many espresso shots he could manage to order without the barista giving him a strange look. “Fine.”

She raised an eyebrow. “The black holes under your eyes beg to differ.”

“I’d rather skip all this small talk if that’s ok.”

“Alright, if that’s what you want.” She brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. “I promised you early on that I’d keep you informed of how the courts are handling your case.”

He huffed, sinking into his chair. He already knew the outcome. “They decide where to stick me yet?”

“They’re still doing their due diligence and contacting as many of your adult relatives as possible in order to find a suitable guardian.”

“I’m sensing some sort of catch here.”

“The people looking over your case have considered your request to be placed with your aunt Alicia.”

“They said no.”

“They had some…concerns,” she said. “Your aunt’s residence is very isolated, which might prevent you from getting the proper help you need. There were also some concerns about how you would handle a sudden dramatic shift in lifestyles, what with being moved away from your school, your community, your peers, into someplace extremely unfamiliar.”

Danny leveled a look at her. “There’s something else, too, isn’t there.”

Jessica gave him a look of pity. “Your aunt also expressed some…hesitancy in taking you in when we talked with her.”

His breath caught. Teeth gnawed at the inside of his lip. Fuck. He rubbed the back of his neck, slowly inching it up to tug at the back of his hair, the other hand curling into a fist beneath the table. Fuck—

He knew he knew this would happen but he still—

—Can’t believe that he held onto that—

—What was he thinking?

“Danny?”

Fingernails dug crescents into the inside of his palm. He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Don’t— I’m fine. It’s fine.”

He shivered.

 Dan’s laughter echoed from the back of his skull, mocking him. It’s inevitable, Dan crowed. I am inevitable. You can’t stop the future any more than you could stop the sun from rising.

◆◆◆

Clockwork’s tower was nowhere to be found. Danny didn’t know why he kept on searching. Sheer stubbornness, maybe. Some foolish hope beyond all hope that if he begged hard enough, Clockwork would be willing to do him a favor and rewind time back to when everything made sense. 

Sometimes Danny doesn’t even go to the Ghost Zone to find him. 

Sometimes he’ll just find some patch of the Zone with enough floating rocks and scream. Scream until his voice is hoarse and he could no longer sustain his ghost form. Until the rocks are nothing but pebbles floating in the green void. Until all that’s left is the freezing cold inside of him.

The ghosts had been staying away from Amity Park. 

Good.

He didn’t know what he would do if any of them showed up now.

Danny woke up with his skin freezing-on-fire-cold-too-cold-he-can’t-stop-sweating. He didn’t remember calling anyone, but he must have, considering that someone showed up in his room with a bowl of chicken soup and a glass of Gatorade. 

He should’ve been more alarmed at this— there was a stranger in his house. But right now his head was begging to be smashed in with a hammer and he’s just glad that he was not alone.

“Do you think you could sit up and eat, Danny?” The figure sat down at the edge of his bed, one hand on top of the blanket cocoon he made for himself. A woman. An accent that was definitely not American. British, maybe? Either way, not aunt Alicia. 

His stomach rumbled. At least this time it didn’t feel like throwing up everything. Danny pushed himself up with aching slowness, leaning back against the headboard. Bleariness blinked away from his eyes, he saw his caretaker’s features more clearly. It was—it started with a T. Tania? Tasnia? No, Talia was the name. Mr. Dusan’s sister.

“Ms. al Ghul? What are you doing here?”

“You don’t remember?” She sets the bowl down on his bedside table, in easy reach, and hands him the glass. “You called the number Dusan and I gave to you sounding delirious. We were worried but Dusan had some pressing business to attend to, so I came on my own.”

“Oh.” The drink was heaven to his parched throat. “How did you get inside?”

Her eyes—a unique shade of green—sparkled with mirth. “I have my ways.”

“Oh-kay .” He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “Thank you. For coming all this way, I mean. You really shouldn’t have to come and take care of some kid you just met.”

“Nonsense, Danny. I could hardly leave you alone in such conditions, it would be against my instincts as a mother.”

“You have kids?”

“I have one,” she said, then paused as if contemplating something. “No, I had two.”

Danny bit the inside of his cheek, thumb wiping away the condensation on the surface of his now empty glass. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Talia let out a sad sort of chuckle. “Thank you, though it’s not needed. He’s— my eldest son—isn’t dead. Certain circumstances forced me into the position to give him up for adoption. He’s alive and well, hopefully, though he probably doesn’t know that I exist.”

Oh. Danny didn’t know what to say to that.

“You didn’t try to get into contact with him?”

“What would be the point? He has his own parents now, a life free of complications. The best I could hope for was that he kept the memento I gave him.”

“A memento?”

“A necklace.”

Danny stilled. 

It was stupid. Foolish even, to think about it. There are like over seven billion people in the world.

“What kind of necklace, if you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

Talia smiled, eyes glazed as if in memory. “It was a present from his father. A beautiful work of art, it was. It was a sapphire necklace— with two rows of sapphires, to be exact, cut in perfect circles and polished to a shine.”

The velvet bag Danny had tucked beneath his pillow burned at the back of Danny’s mind. It can’t be. That was too much of a coincidence.

“Each sapphire was surrounded by gold, though there were small diamonds that surrounded the larger sapphires.”

Oh god, oh god. What was his life?

“Though beautiful, my favorite part of it had to be what was within the middle sapphire. It was possible to open it, you see. And engraved inside were the words—”

“‘ For the greatest happiness you have given me.’”

Talia looked at him, green eyes wide. “How did you know?”

Danny found himself unable to look at her. Gingerly, he set his glass bedside table, next to his cooling bowl of chicken soup, and retrieved the velvet pouch beneath his pillow. He held the bag to her, almost reluctantly, but relinquished it once it was in her grip.

Talia opened the bag and drew out a necklace. Two rows of sapphires inlaid in gold, with the largest ones surrounded by tiny diamonds. It was beautiful, though perhaps it no longer shone as it once did. 

She beheld it in silence, fingers tracing the exquisite craftsmanship as if, at first, in disbelief, then in reverence. She stopped at the large sapphire on the bottom row. 

After a moment, she opened it.

“My parents told me I was adopted when I was six,” Danny said, unable to take the silence any longer. He tangled his fingers together, clasping and unclasping them. “They gave me that necklace— said it was from my birth mother. They never knew who she was, and the orphanage they got me from had no information either.”

Tucker and Sam once asked him if he ever wanted to know who his birth mother was. Danny wasn’t sure what he wanted, really. Sometimes he wondered about it, but he was content with not knowing for the most part. His parents were his parents, blood relation or no, and he looked similar enough to Jack Fenton in coloring that most people didn’t question why his skin wasn’t as light as theirs, or why his features were a lot sharper than theirs.

(Tucker and Sam never knew about the necklace. It was hard to explain why he never told them considering he’d tell them just about anything else— but it was different. It was…something just for him. A cold comfort in knowing that, at one point, he was someone’s ‘greatest happiness.’)

He coughed into his elbow, a shiver racking his spine.

Warm arms enveloped him into a hug. 

“ It’s you, ” Talia whispered. “ It’s you.”

Something inside Danny seemed to click back into place. His core thrummed gently, humming a litany of feelings and words he couldn’t translate. Some are apprehensive. Others are confused. But most of all it felt…happy.

Warm.

◆◆◆

“You know that I’m adopted, right?” Danny said to Mrs. Andrews when they met up again. It was a park this time; she was really adamant about getting him out of his house. 

“I am aware, yes.”

“When you mentioned that all my relatives would be identified and informed… does my biological mother count too?”

Mrs. Andrews exhaled between her teeth. “I know what you’re asking about, but I’m afraid it isn’t an option. In adoption cases like yours, the biological parents usually relinquish all parental rights over the child. Even if we did find your biological mother, the court would never let her have custody over you again.”

He shivered, pulling his jacket closer around him, and wondered why he still put so much faith in the legal system. 

◆◆◆

It was only a matter of time before Vlad came to visit him once again.

“What do you want, Vlad .”

The black bags beneath Vlad’s eyes were the only thing unkempt about his otherwise neat appearance. Mourning or not, his smile still made Danny’s fist itch to punch it. “Why, little badger, can I not see how the son of my oldest friends is doing?”

“I’m not living with you, you fruit loop.”

Vlad rolled his eyes. “Really, Daniel, this disinclination of yours is getting tiring. Just accept it and the moving process will be much, much easier.”

Danny glared at him, green eyes livid. His teeth bared and gnashing. “I’d rather die than live with you.”

“Well, you’re already halfway there. Need help finishing the job?”

He swung his fist at him, but Vlad caught it with ease. “Get out of my house!”

“There’s no use in being difficult, now. You know as well as I do that the courts will inevitably choose me .”

( Inevitable, Dan had said. Inevitable inevitable inevitable.)

“Shut up.” Danny seethed. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” 

As he tore his hand away from Vlad’s grip, a spark of power burst in between them in a blinding white light and bitter cold. Vlad threw up a shield, but Danny was too caught off guard. He was blasted back, knees hitting the armrest on the couch and nearly making him stumble. When the light cleared, Danny could see swathes of crystalline ice and frost embedded in the middle of the living room.

Frost had crept up Vlad’s shield, coating it in a thin wall of ice which broke the second Vlad released the barrier. Vlad looked down at the ice, face flashing between surprise, confusion, awe, before settling into a patronizing smile. 

“Do you see now?” Vlad said, gesturing to the ice. “This is why I’m the only one suitable to be your guardian. I am the only one that can understand you. That knows your needs as a young half-ghost. That can guide you and teach you.”

A bitter cold shook Danny’s body to the core, frost seeping into his bones and the bite of winter in his lungs. A thin layer of frost coated his palms and fingertips. His face is flushed. He feels hot but the shivers won’t stop.

Vlad approached, arms opened wide like he’s approaching some scared animal. Like a little badger. 

Danny hissed at him, scrambling to his feet to place the couch between them. 

“Come on, Daniel, just let me take care of you.”

“Go to hell, Vlad!”

“Tch.” Vlad dropped his hands, fingers dragging through his hair in exasperation. “Fine. You know what, fine. Have it your way. Perhaps some time experiencing the mania will help you understand my meaning.” He went to the door with a frustrating degree of calm. His suit cleanly pressed, not a strand misplaced in his hair, a total contrast to Danny who felt seconds away from collapsing on the floor. 

“Do try to keep a hold of yourself, though,” Vlad said over his shoulder. “Your parents might be dead, but they are hardly the only ghost hunters around.”

He slammed the door shut. 

Danny sank to his knees, arms wrapped around himself as he vigorously tried to rub his skin warm. What was wrong with him? 

Was his sickness a few days ago related to this? He thought he just caught some sort of bug, or, or it was the stress of it all affecting his body, but the ice—

This wasn’t a normal sickness.

Vlad called it a mania. What did that mean?

He shook his head, arm reaching for the back of the couch and hauling himself up. Figuring out Vlad’s words wasn’t his biggest concern; right now, Danny needed a way to get rid of this ice. Talia and Mr. Dusan were coming over soon to go over his parents’ research, he needed to—

They can’t figure out that he’s—

Danny stumbled down to the lab, frantically looking for any of his parents’ inventions that could help get rid of the ice. 

No. No. Not that. Not that either. 

His arm suddenly went intangible, slipping through the lab bench. The sudden momentum made him lose balance and he hit his head on the side of the bench. He staggered upright, rubbing his pounding head. What was wrong with his powers? They hadn’t been this out of whack since he’d first gotten them in the accident.

A violent shiver ran through him, his breath coming out in a cold mist. Frost had begun to creep outwards from the soles of his shoes. 

Danny stepped back. The frost followed. 

His eyes darted around the room, mind racing for a solution. His frenzied gaze landed on the ghost portal, the entrance sealed shut by the heavy metal doors. Tucker once said that he noticed that Danny seemed to recover energy faster when he was in the Ghost Zone. They’d tested it at one point by letting the Box Ghost loose on the town and seeing how much energy Danny could recover if he rested in the material world versus the Ghost Zone.

It was still a working theory. Tucker and Sam wanted to test it out some more later.

They never got a chance.

It was a long shot but it was better than nothing. 

He ran to the front of the portal where the genetic locking mechanism lay. But as Danny went to push the button, ice sparked from his fingers, freezing the lock solid.

“What? No!” He slammed his fist onto the ice but the ice wouldn’t break. “Nononono, this can’t be happening right now.” 

He shivered, eyes holding a manic glint as he looked at the portal. “I’m going ghost!” Bright rings of light enveloped him, and suddenly it became impossibly colder. 

Floating in the air, Danny curled in on himself, teeth chattering as he tried to regain his composure. He flew to the portal, willing himself intangible as he tried to go through the doors, but slammed into cold metal instead. Either whatever materials his parents made the door out of completely negated his intangibility or his powers were in really bad shape.

He got up, hands pressed against the portal doors. He willed himself intangible once more, but instead of his arms passing through the doors, a thick sheet of ice sprouted from his hands and started crawling up the portal. “No!”

Danny tore his hands away from the door but the ice kept growing and growing and growing. Stretched across the doors until it covered the entire entrance to the portal. Its jagged ends stopped past the octagonal metal frame and clung to the walls.

Oh god, This can’t get any worse.

“Danny?”

And then it did.

He took a deep breath. Like a deer in headlights, he turned around to see Talia and Mr. Dusan at the foot of the basement stairs. Talia was in front, a hand braced against the wall, one foot on the floor and one still on the step. Dusan, ever the statuesque figure, was right behind, hands still clasped behind his back. Their eyes were, mouth slightly agape at the sight of him.

It was then that Danny registered what Talia said. 

The words tumbled out of him, “You recognized me?” 

He clamped his mouth shut. Idiot. 

Talia took her hand off the wall and stepped completely into the lab. “Of course, I would. You’re my son.”

The words sent a brief spark of warmth through his core. Not even his own parents recognized him when he was Phantom. 

“I wasn’t aware that you were a meta, Danny.” She gracefully stepped around the patches of ice on the ground. “How long has this been going on?”

“Um, uh. A few months.” At this point, there really was no point in lying. “Since the start of the semester.”

“A lab accident, I presume.”

“Yeah….uh, how did you know?”

The corners of her mouth quirked up. “No one on my side of the family has the meta gene, and while your father is quite impressive, I’m very certain he does not have it either. An accident of some sort would be the only other option.”

He felt himself start to relax, muscles starting to relax at the sound of Talia’s calm voice. The shivers were still present, but somehow they were a little more bearable. 

“Now why don’t you explain to us what happened?”

“I don’t—” Danny swallowed a lump in his throat. “I don’t even know what’s going on, much less where to begin. All I know is that I’ve been feeling out of sorts for the past few weeks. I thought I was just sick but apparently, it’s way more than that, and I don’t know what to do, I barely even know what I am, much less what’s wrong with me and that fever must have done something because ever since then my powers have been on the fritz and there’s this stupid ice that won’t melt and I can’t keep it under control and if I can’t keep my powers under control how am I supposed to hide the fact that I’m a fucking ghost —”

“Slow down, slow down. You’re starting to panic. Now, I need you to take a few deep breaths for me,” she said, now a few feet away from Danny. “In for four…hold for seven…yes that’s it, you’re doing well…and out for eight.”

Calm began to seep back into Danny with each breath, his mind no longer racing a million miles an hour. “Thank you— thanks, I, um, I feel much better now.” 

“That’s good. Now, what was that about ghosts?”

“Uh, that I am one? Sort of? It’s complicated.”

“I guess we can get the full story later. Does anyone else know about this?”

“No, no one.” He paused, then grimaced. “Well, there’s one other person. He’s sort of like me and, before you ask, I can’t tell you who he is. The only other people who knew about me are the other ghosts and…Sam and Tucker.”

“Not your parents?” Dusan, who had been a silent observer till now, stepped closer.

Danny shook his head. “No, I— I never got the chance to tell them. At first, I wanted to keep it a secret because I didn’t want them to know about the accident, but afterward, it just became harder and harder, what with their research and ghosts and the government and I just…” He sank back down to the floor, despondent. “I just didn’t want them to feel…guilty, I guess.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. “It doesn’t matter now, though. It’s too late to tell them either way.”

“Oh, Danny, habibi. My poor child.” Talia extended her arms out to embrace him, but Danny stepped back.

“I don’t— my powers they’re— I don’t want to hurt you.”

She smiled. “You won’t. Trust me.”

Danny…Danny found himself trusting her. He let the transformation fall, taking one step closer to Talia, his hand stretched out. Their hands touched, and Talia’s words rang true. The ice did not touch her, nor did the frost, and Danny breathed out a sigh of relief. 

“Well, this would certainly complicate the matters of your guardianship,” Dusan said, now a few feet away from them. “If I am of the correct assumption that you have no wish for anyone to know of your status. What of the man you mentioned—the one who is like you—could he take you in?”

“No. Never. That man is not an option.”

Talia carded her fingers through Danny’s hair in a soothing motion. “It is a shame we could not make a strong enough case to take custody of you.” She paused, humming pensively. “Although…” Turning to Dusan, she continued. “Do you think father would…?”

Dusan considered it. “Well, he would certainly be delighted at the prospect of another grandchild, especially one like Danny. But you know how he is.”

Danny looked at them inquisitively. Talia turned her attention back to him. “Our father—your grandfather—is a very powerful man. But he is a very secretive man, and much of his influence is in secrets and shadows. Much of his machinations he prefers to keep in the dark. But if you were willing to prove yourself to him, then it is not beyond his power to craft you a new life.”

“You—you’re talking about a new identity.”

“Daniel Fenton could never be with us,” Dusan said. “But Danyal al Ghul on the other hand….”

“I…” Danny lowered his gaze to the floor. Well, he was prepared, on some level, to give up his name. He had plans to run away, and going by ‘Danny Fenton’ would just be putting a target on his back if Vlad decided to look for him. 

“We could be a family, Danny,” Talia whispered. “Like we always should have been.”

Family. The words felt warm inside his chest. At the back of his mind, his core hummed eagerly at the prospect. Family-family-a-place-to-belong.

But to give up his name…to give up his life …would he really be willing to do that? But if he wasn’t, then being handed over to Vlad might as well be—

( Red eyes. A looming shadow. Screams unheard because of the explosion. A world in ruin. Inevitable. Inevitable.)

“ I’ll do it.” He steeled his resolve. There was no other choice. “I’ll go with you. What do I have to do?”

Talia grinned wide. Dusan’s eyes gleamed with approval. 

“Simple,” he said.  “We must kill Danny Fenton.”

[stylecouncil]

my top listened to artists of all time are apparently david bowie, robbie williams, suede, the 1975, morrissey, the kinks, oasis, inxs, noel gallagher, the jam, manic street preachers, the format, the style council, the smiths, kylie minogue, pretenders, dolly parton, lou reed, libertines, babyshambles, kim petras, rufus wainwright, the killers, bruce springsteen, against me!, paul weller, t. rex, beastie boys, take that, the last shadow puppets <- in that order

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER 76: Lost and Out of Time

Before the ashes of the riots had cooled, the Congregation rose to power, quickly absorbing or driving out the lesser gangs within the Black and Asian communities. Soon they expanded, making contact with the cartel and subjugating them.

All-Kill was there to witness the first Stand ritual. The disgraced luchadora, Phantasma Juarez, graciously accepted her own Stand from Dust, somehow finding a kindred in the preacher. He remained as pious as always, saying to the masked woman, “I see your heart, and it is pure. You will certainly lead the worthy into Paradise. You will be a true hero.”

All-Kill always saw through him. The dream of Paradise was empty. He believed only in his own ambition.

With the fast friendship between his new ‘business partners’, All-Kill offered his comrade, Gangak, a position alongside him in the organization. What he needed now were allies.

He had already started by taking in Sang-ok. Then Gangak acquired his own Stand, in a sense finally becoming equals with All-Kill. And later, in the ruins of a small town in Northern California, All-Kill found a young woman like himself. A girl born with her Stand.

Thus All-Kill’s family, the Daesang, was born.

***

1995. On the docks of San Francisco, with the Golden Gate Bridge in sight, Gangak makes his way discreetly, avoiding the streetlight. He could see his ride, a freighter about to embark on a voyage to the Far East. 

Gangak smiled confidently as he walked to the pier.. But in the shadows he spied a glint of light and a chill ran down his spine. The glint stepped towards, the light reflecting off a pair of thick glasses.

“What do you think you’re doing here, Gangak?” All-Kill demanded.

Gangak gulped, but he stood firm. “I’m leaving, Ganmyeol. That’s what.”

“Don’t say that as if you’re going on some trip…” the boss says, bitterness coating his voice. “You’re bringing your crew with you. Bringing old man Sanjo. You’re abandoning me.”

“That’s right…”

“Why? What has brought on this absolute betrayal?”

The taller man bristled and pointed aggressively at his best friend. “That kind of shit right there, for a start! Do you ever LISTEN to yourself?!”

All-Kill narrowed his eyes. “I’m just trying to understand… Why would you try to do this to me.”

“To you?! I’m not the one siding with the man who destroyed our neighborhood! A man who helped instigate the fucking riots!!”

“Is that what this is about?” the man in black sighed. “I told you… I’m biding my time. Of course I’m not on board with this deranged Paradise scheme, but if I fight with Dust now, I can’t guarantee that I’d win. Who’ll defend our people if I’m gone?”

“I-!” Gangak stammered, but All-Kill continued to speak over him.

“And as soon as I have the right opening, I’ll take care of him. You just have to be patient.”

Gangak stared at his friend, a lump building in his throat as his worst nightmares came true before him. “AND THEN WHAT?!!” he shouts. “Once that bastard’s dead, what are you going to do?!”

All-Kill kept calm. “Dust holds LA in the palm of his hand. Once he’s eliminated, there’ll be a scramble to fill the vacuum of power. A little discord is inevitable, but if we take control quick enough, we can keep it to a minimum. That’s why I need you-”

“No. No way! I don’t want this!” the bigger man shakes his head, “I didn’t want to control LA, I just wanted to protect my people!”

Finally losing his composure, All-Kill snapped. “THIS is how we protect our people! Unless we take a position of strength, they will ALWAYS be under threat!”

“The threat is YOU!!”

Gangak’s voice resounds. His best friend, closer to him than a brother, shudders at the sound. He stares through the thick lenses of his glasses, breathing deeply, as if he’s been struck across the face. “...What did you say?”

“T-The… The threat… is you…” Gangak repeats, his breathing also heavy, “You’re gathering all these people. Working for Dust and that woman in the mask… You took Park’s son for yourself! You picked up that creepy ass murderer girl! And you… You’re one of them now…! God, I’m one of them now… And maybe… Maybe you were always one of them, deep down…”

He raised his face, standing firm in his resolve. “It's too much. The fact I had to sneak out of my home, knowing you wouldn’t let me leave on my own… You’re no protector. You’ll drag everyone around you into your nightmare. That’s what makes you the threat.

All-Kill’s mouth hung open. Struggling to speak, he said “Gangak... come back with me… don't walk away from me…”

��No.”

“Gangak…”

“No.” The hazy figure of his Stand emerges from Gangak’s spirit. He gestures down. “I finally noticed, after all these years. When you bring out BLACK KEYS… You ball your hand into a fist…”

All-Kill looks down at his shaking fist, then back up at Gangak. His pleading expression morphed to pure rage and he propelled himself at his former best friend. “BLACK KEYS!!”

Gangak's Stand fully materialized next to him. “SLEEPYHEAD!!!”

The foggy Stand landed a punch right on All-Kill’s cheek. All-Kill groaned as the knuckle grinds against him, but he still moved to pierce the Stand’s arm. But he was too slow. He had to watch as SLEEPYHEAD moved its other arm in front of Gangak, somewhat merging with him. And with that, they both dematerialized into fog, disappearing on the wind. The boss of Koreatown is left to stare at the sky, the lights and smog of the city blotting out the stars.

He wasted no time looking for a replacement. No sooner did he return home did he pay a visit to a certain local troublemaker. The girl did not disappoint, earning her place by All-Kill’s side after her first mission. Not a tear was shed the day he learned of Gangak’s end.

This is how All-Kill’s life was. He built his branch of the Congregation like his fellow bosses did, but his people weren’t like them. They trusted each other, believed in each other. They were a family. A family with power, wealth and purpose.

Everything he could want, he had.

All except one thing.

[devilmass]

In the only pew that is kept in shadow due to distance from the large, stained glass windows, reclines a softly snoring figure. Dark sunglasses shade his eyes, mouth partially open, his stubbled chin lightly stained with either grime or something he had previously eaten. Although his repose seems total, there is an ominous presence to him. Perhaps it is his attire. The leather jacket covered in military patches from years long past, and badges one would expect from the peacemakers from the world, a worrisome sign when used as adornment. But it is more than that. There is a hostility that lingers even in this relaxed state. He snorts, smacks his lips, wetting his dry tongue briefly, before languorously stretching his legs out as best he can manage, head lolling backward. “Howdy father”, he says raising his arms up, revealing a tattered t-shirt (“Largest State Carnival in Georgia!”). Though he uses the honorific, it is clear there is a lack of respect in his tone. Dirty hands fold over one another atop his stomach. Ankles cross with a metallic clatter; spurs knocking together, his muscles tense, then relax as he reclines with a grunt. He is intent on returning to his slumber, whether or not he is observed while doing so. “For he grants sleep to those he loves”. @savagecowboy

rodrick page isn't the delusional type. he'd like to think that there was a clear, glowing red line between sanity and insanity and he made a point never to toe at it; but there were times when things just didn't feel right. like the crackle in the ear before a storm, rodrick could feel that someone, or, rather, something was coming. when he looks outside, the feeling of being watched gathers under his lungs where his fear rests. the property was quiet and dark, the softly lit window of his deacon the only light at all. beyond the big house, the church sits darkly, empty but no more bereft of life than his own heart and body.

something wasn't right.

with some apprehension, and clad in nothing but his house coat and rattiest boots, the preacher pushes onto the porch and down the front steps. the walk was a short one, a brisk jaunt in his step when he takes the well - worn trail towards the church.

when he pushes open the worn, white doors rodrick twists his head inside and looks towards the alter. a beam of moonlight yawns through the stain glass, but even that is a null void amongst the blackest of room's.

“ atch'you dewitte ? ”

the floor creaks under the preacher's monstrous weight, a whine that accompanied every step that takes him towards the alter. he makes it to the end of the aisle before a voice startles him into a complete 180.

“ whoa - whoa there. 'bout scared the holy spirit right out m'body! ” his rabbit heart beats in his chest frantically, pounding in his ears and squeezing his lungs something awful. a hand comes to steady himself against the pew and the other grabs his house coat, trying to wedge it closed; the fact that it held no draw string only made it that much more difficult.

“ r - mh, ” rodrick clears his throat, swallowing thickly. “ reckon the shepherd loves the wolf in his own way. we all need to eat. ” gentler now, trying to overcome his fear of the dark while he speaks directly into it's mouth, the preacher stands up straighter and a red moon beam falls across his eyes.

“ y'need help, son? ”

[sophluorescentmusing]

sunbleached colt v.1

The choir-loft provides a distance with his father equivocal to the distance he feels with God. The rafters join in the place just above the stained-glass window behind his head, and this is where the sermon is caught and sent rebounding back upon the congregation. The booming, bone-shaking quality of it, as visceral and loud as it would be spoken down his collar, rattles Baekhyun’s lungs each time he remembers to suck in a breath. Despite the overbearing volume of it all—the feeling of being spoken down to, even when he is so removed from the communal body—Baekhyun enjoys the reprieve of the loft. He enjoys the physical distance, even if it is not possible for him to cleave himself from the mental one.

He does not often have the freedom to dash up the stairwell (skipping every other step and neglecting the handrail with wayward callousness) separating the vestibule from the nave, but he’d caught a stroke of luck as though it were a bolt of lightning (and in this, he feels himself Iupiter and not his thieving, mercurial son) and his mother had attending the morning ceremony, and left her sons to attend the evening. 

Baekhyun looks down from the loft. 

Baekbeom sits in the family’s usual spot.

His shoulders are a rigid line; his back rod-straight. At his side, there sits a girl, and as Baekhyun watches, she attempts to lean against her loverboy’s arm—only to be sloughed off. Idly, Baekhyun thinks that the two of them will have to get better at their pretense; Marie Leblanc is pregnant, and if the two families are going to survive the whispering, gossiping little birds at communion—his brother and his girl will have to get better at the besotted love affair. A quick marriage, and a quick kid, can be explained away without the scourge of a shotgun’s remark.

Just so, he empathizes with Marie. She’s in his class at school, though a year older (held back because she’s slow with her reading—the letters getting all mixed up in her head). She seems to have a genuine affection for Baekhyun’s brother, and is only now becoming familiar with the cold, unpenetrable distance native to the men in his family. He wonders if, had she known of it before Baekbeom’d fucked her, realized it then… if she’d have high-tailed it and gone without him all-together. Wonders whether she is more separate from himself, or in fact, more the same. 

His hands twitch in his lap. The anger that courses through him is the cold sort that starts in the spine and needles its way into the head. He wants to clench his fingers to fists—and at that thought, is struck by an image of swinging on his brother and feeling the catharsis when his knuckles break against jawbone or nose. Just as soon, he dismisses the emotion. It feels like one of his father’s (heavy-handed and just), and he has always preferred his mother’s careful deference.

Instead, he laces his fingers together prayerfully, and resumes his meditation. His father’s sermon washes over his back, his shoulders, and cascades back down atop the congregation gathered at hand—as though it is the booming voice of God itself echoing back upon them, and not their too-mortal preacher.

He doesn’t listen to the words; he’d stopped doing so years ago. Hypocrisy is the most difficult of beasts to reconcile, especially to a child’s mind. His world was black and white, and suddenly, there were shades of grey—shadows, even, cast across faces. Now, it is easier to recognize the beats between the lies. It is easier to see how the preacher uses the needle of the Word to sow his seed.

There is a rustle, a rumble, a groan.

The congregation stands.

Baekhyun rocks onto his feet with them, tardily as always, but the effort is made nonetheless. Were his father’s steel-eyed gaze not watching him where he stood, he’d perhaps have stayed sitting. But it is watching him. He is watching him, and under that gaze, Baekhyun sweats like a sinner.

Call.

Response.

Call.

Response.

It comes, and it goes. Baekhyun whispers some things. He only mouths others. Under his father’s glare, Baekhyun’s mouth moves—his tongue a parrot, even if the words are not his own. 

Again, like the quiet roll of distant thunder, the congregation moves as one—from standing, to kneeling—and sermon becomes the climax. Baekhyun thumbs the pages of the hymnal shelved on the back of the pew just in front of him. He listens to the flutter of the pages, and then even that is drowned out by the drone of the preacher’s voice.

It isn’t until communion that Baekhyun rises from his aching knees. There is no one else in the loft, and so it is natural for him to pick his way down the aisle and into the shade of the stairwell. 

The cooridoor spits him out in the vestebule—the foyer—and he lingers by the great doors leading into the nave until the last few pews rise and empty into the aisle as well, starting their slow procession towards the altar, for communion with the Father.

He does not know it yet, but here is where he meets Park Chanyeol. He’s leggy and strange, awkward with his swagger—but he’s new, and the novelty is what draws eyes. After all, Baekhyun’s own seem pinned to the stranger’s back—staring daggers without meaning to. He’s curious, and his curiosity has always been the sort that eats someone up.

Together, they progress forward.

In his wake, Park Chanyeol leaves the scent of cut-grass and motor oil. 

In his wake, Park Chanyeol casts a deep shadow. 

In his wake, Baekhyun follows.

When it finally comes that Baekhyun stands before his father, he finds his gaze slanting off to the side, where a communicant holds the wine—the Blood. He watches Chanyeol tilt the golden chalice, and traces the bob of his Adam’s apple with hungry eyes. 

The Body is placed in the middle of his tongue, and his gaze flits back to the preacher only long enough to see the ire of quiet, tampered disproval, before he drops his gaze to the floor.

He does not return to the loft, instead lingers in the vestebule for the final homily and the dismissal. He does not go seeking out his brother, nor his father, nor that stranger in the pews. He turns, and goes out into the twilight. His mother will shoulder any wrath sent his way, but only so long as she knows it is coming.

Baekhyun legs it, kicking up gravel and dirt under the gleaming, grinning maw of the moon. 

[libidomechanica]

Or will say no

A rispetto sequence

               I

And lover? Behind me, and done your name and though it be you love not,—and yet they punched each one things. And of angels see, before, and

the year when they give no more? And yours forever that whispered low: as Earth stirs in her nose. Them and my presents less? Or will say no.

               II

Broke their changes right of a Fool? The mountains, but have destroyed just as it were born.—Natures praise if a man’s name. We ordered a large

eagle, lost, and beholders on a divan. The large honey-combs of green, two almost every Now gynneth this thy presents less?

               III

Year that can that he, commands three. And self would not love, disgrace; ah, what cool cave shall be done away. Sicker make like this day i’ve been

wanders, the devil take Ismail, and the Russian army should fathoming plums ready to speech, or more avail than the tea. How sweet!

               IV

You said, I have no end: and hart for how oft had I Heav’ns changing hue, and from her fingers and religion take the fables there in

one flea spare, where none but the world drops headlong from a cushion a preacher, and bite the lesson new haue speld. We shall I relate em?

               V

Dangers in their starry seven, old Atlas’ children, wants to hear my voice, and sooner had past reason. A third time pass’d this diamond:

a golden morning shine so rich in atonement as the thirteenth, when each the flock’s connected numbers sweet with debt: for honey dew.

               VI

Was dawn, the churches. ’Ve said in Dante’s verse, and you love no longer give birth to victual; such is the bonilasse, she cried; and

live no more, won’t even drive a car again. Could eclipsing eyes of day over their open window’d heart compell’d to refer to.

               VII

Everyone knows well night, who plead for lo! And there on the laws their ring. I wondering afternoon news, some to public men sometimes

start—no bosom heaved—she steps but of low replied, ourselves are for nought; give me for thine own love’s delights, till the aire: nor peace within!

               VIII

Was now rapt in tender and that things nothing which whales arbour closes make gilly-flowers! And shook the lily, heigh how once I freeze

and fool are two gilly-flowers, I though it. Teaching blind eyes to win ye, O: may ill befa’ the flatteries of our meriment.

               IX

Her sight came cloath’d in tears—Oh, odious time to bear, and now the Mower Damon, known through the places in the prisoner to those lips

billing pass away in white arm, and far upward it flies. If folly and hurl, my inside my heart and milk comes from out the shutting.

               X

Abide, and half far-shadowing for the open casement, but by the Turkish fire, more beauty’s rude disdaine reasts than down of sweet

queen; one to Chide! Black polish’d nation many words away; for still for the oxheart that not to have lost i’ th’ funeral fire.

               XI

Upon that this minute. And titles could fly with sanctifying swerve from the ridge, we simply blur into the peace, and have taste their streamlet

o’er these days I spent wi’ the flower would never be an oil painting cry they trembled to its face? If only you wouldst not leaves.

               XII

From its measures round the shepherd clans: that with softest downy breast in the great city sound of marriage temple’s chief; warming now in

part, whose shape suggested some went out to get that leap in fiery arrows keen art thou wilt be gone to see. The sweeter than wit.

               XIII

Wise wretched life, was my sweet love, love, I am become a man, if thou find’st not better the day faint and mine: for foreign joy, they

felt their surly eyes and all of their Feet, where bonie face I saw; and stirr’d the scanty bar to mortal tear-drops down things, enduring night.

               XIV

Made up of white-thorn laden home. Serpent in your eyes thine here, or lift my lids and wan fond love, yet she will be false, ere I come, let

us not well be waded, they lock the shepheard of the Dambe. The Russian army should find what was t to his careless a slight kisse.

               XV

Thus ending back her hears nor sees; rolled round that guides. To him her dreams … scattering words thy beauty’s rude disdain. Center is, these first time

to stone; she neither than a school girl. Look, or heart is sair, that’s it! Chime; soft words, nor hill-flowers! But when Chloe’s ear; first he, far and plight.

               XVI

Had waned corse, the weak to injure. But from that drop not fewer; growing words—but when we will, it will be both ships and eyes have gone and

there is a spy, betraying fair proper to assail the hum celestial Mansions. Let me no longer there be known, but by the neare.

               XVII

She turn’d—there were soon as once large and the disease, feeding far away. That Arm in Arm from the rill to its face? Toil and trammel’d fresh

wet from your wise men sneer’d in pithy phrase; announcing them to their joyous tears, and paid a tradesman once we goe a Maying. Of men.

               XVIII

’ The chief threw on the other stepp’d serene, let in the tendency of burning pure and suppose, chain’d at home to bid farewel to

the first detachment had grown ethereal for pleasure, where Beauties tread was Hesperides. One is at their prey, turn’d—there was Maud?

               XIX

” She answer rang, “Not Death, but Love. Who knows what Fame capricious winter- sleep. More like the iolly sheepe in good plight: and now the place for

once at eye level: spatter of his voice itself, and Roguenoff, and prayed: give me a heavenly power, for the noon’s transport pass.

               XX

Of the train amang, while greasy Joan doth keel the polish’d porticos of awful shade ourselves have sworn to strip there’s your true no-

meanings. Of beauty is suspect of ill may they too far extend. Why it is not One must every year, and riots wanton Yuie twine.

               XXI

Who not look in the flowers, and aided our escape, and that beauty doth echo, faint eternal Homer! Streaming, why dost thou from

the smoothest air. Sent many a glance up in the river, while time to be; after a life, you will have made as I, when, as thought so.

               XXII

How happy crowd, the flowers do stur; in thy lips to haue his body? The expense of spirit there rings on the ballads which, being

dispell’d, as e’er was virgin’s bower, where Philomede, lect’ring thro’ ripen’d Eden’s fruit; for well or ill, so you may buye gold the knack?

               XXIII

Writ: to hear of worldlings, and fynd no part of pleasure’s wreathed anguish, we changes every tree, cut down with the churchyard laid then ye

are only one then nor dost waste. Like harmony her motion, wad make a land of peace with me. While no night of woe might send flower.

               XXIV

What gelid fountains kiss high throne, now filling on his forehead, and thy breast in the spells and wilt not heed my lonely wandering; now

Mars, now Momus; and when, in the bright English, save of us in the enema. Three fields and a sullen might; slow heauinesse rewards!

               XXV

And beds by stranger than his own ankle is a handmaid we must proved death from my mother depths are to pine, a patron of some to

me. Hey ho the Mower to my pain; and where comfort is, she gives me best whene’er I sing for an autumn holds my hand it blasted.

               XXVI

But from the imprinted couch, contentment reached a splash, done heedlessly, those discontinuous murmuring surge. The rest had beguile, I

could, I would, could not be forgive. And she would be call’d up a Polish orderly his post, I may pass the field: sore again to dust.

               XXVII

Most Women have no Character’d strange graces still advances, but not to stay, I see symbols where I often in lone Endymion

sought as a child yet in the rags of time. Cruel and sooner than the cities like every thing, yet I wept for its style, which of Thetis.

               XXVIII

And let me know; such a day—for the proof of alcohol, And ever since, dear love, disdain. In which only is deeper than light. Of

mine owne fate I could have beheld stella: now she is tall and strike in: I can see nought so long to create, as when she went away.

               XXIX

To see thou dost love means defeated of the water: how! God only, who fought, to kill me, let me know; such is the holy sphere? Than

the eddying without. I do not blind over his way was lost; to cloud-borne call ardently! He heard her breath of liking, all dearly!

               XXX

Time enough, whichever watchful with please them when the sphere: make me a sunset and in the weak to injure. Jenny kissed me. Their dead:

fair Elenor, I am becoming madness went distracts her. Thus breath of heaven grac’t, ah! He had lorded thing. And sighing vaults.

               XXXI

Finds all her ills—a scatter’d through the shepheard selfe did spill: I saw the boar tusk’d him: so away so new, although my mouth in wine, when

she obeys; let fops or fortune even in the eye, Loves Firmament: many a lesson new haue speld. Of those who might vnhappy me!

               XXXII

And long line of the best, and angular: out-shooting of a calf in light, and by her plainings drew immortal in the new Parnassus,

where they contracted from my eyes all the water by Souvaroff. Thou cans’t be ta’en from every senses, I heare apart, let breath.

               XXXIII

Offend her, and produces—You. On the highest heav’nly fired and do no harm arms together sides, the blue of ocean fades upright,

besides his planet where is cream, deepening ether they are, such a criminal. We would decree more evil in an hour to choose.

               XXXIV

No more, won’t even drive a car bomb … And in their darkness from buried paths, which stare aghast, for there. Said and, wi’ thee, dearest, do not

win; with thee strength’s abundance upon your love speak of your neck round of human life: his young days, either not assail the world drops dead.

               XXXV

But when he dare. Still as the doome. Knowing thy will, and fortune even in all but—nothing from thee. Fierce thing, even in sleep, he is

single graces still the random from Fingers cool and cloistered and roar, how can Bagpipe, or ioynts benomd with such a Solitude’s.

               XXXVI

For the flow of Hero’s tears. Nay, profanity and see that he could report all that beneath their cause. You run about, my little

maid, your desire had overwhelmed the Partridge—or fell a-talking halt and free of another form the west, made his rage asswage.

               XXXVII

Around the case, may show us what seas between us roar, streams around, like to all besides, and shadow to thee. And I am

blind. In backward Counsellor; and comming, marke how each flower upon that hands which loose hair away from far lands by my soul’s full of thee?

               XXXVIII

As I, when I against my tremulous showers. A rough-voic’d war again. Some part! Lowly bow’d to her ladyship: and to assail’d

against me study the camp was in his ear, as though China fall. Had, having spoke, and the moor, and bending in spirals, and not wait.

               XXXIX

But scorching beyond call it loving hands have so many eyes, and wickedness. The others are the more than you that they are now forests

… bring me now, and bending in practised in her lips my Nectar drinking for the kitchen behind. Something on the ruin’d tower.

               XL

A park is purchast of a’. Of civilization and sunly and my retorted hairs. Revive, dearest, do not enuie Aristotle

can be born while too much water, some reflection no bitterness of this new-born spirits are lang! I take part, that they ask why.

               XLI

A deale of new-found Paradise, forgetful of holes. Now I haue borne and throws a cloud of summer smocks, the wintry sun the death with

gentle Goddess pin’d for the parson’s saw, and know that nurse of pride, since best worth my calm white palaces of satisfaction of words.

               XLII

And less it shall have mark’d each cup’s worth an Indian common in many a glance that were jacks and how heauinesse in breasts, have ill availed

if, what shalbe mine. Also he dress’d my Julia once all-famous executives who had small return in your eyes were but their love.

               XLIII

But kind? Meantime this planet in the verge of this bed thy nail in blood made a long pain procur’d by the cursèd duke; o giue my past. One

muse’s smile, as though it be quick sighs ’tis almost, yea, more unrest; my thought: such thinking of the Land;— and the garden by the accurst!

               XLIV

All that joy unto the far-fam’d Grecian, share the grass. By surest Steps but of herself she will not to love, I am thy heart could

afford to squander his time. The world drops its delight. Universe of pleasure, unto thee. It stands; a sovereign law; and shells of time.

               XLV

They say love they stand among the left, which he wants an heir. Night bard from my loue to flight. Thus ending loudly, as hens theirs makes vs

languid ringlets from your meat, yet should for this good, that it is not slack at least my lips to the bed, bodies lose all their Vengeance tell.

               XLVI

Sleeping your curled toes and hair. Are belovëd of the playful rout of Cupids! For it seems, has got to last night, I find when bent to

do. My own life, you faine would elide your name, I am no pick- purse of any rest: yet must I remain in twilight with a Swan.

               XLVII

And I’ll awa to Nanie, O. Gold- tinted light, she blush’d with due sublimity, that he purchas’d, but on the sale of cheek, and fire is

no sin, because thou listening. In silence did their granite beds; then he perceiving of the wheels, fresh petals or no they are to live.

               XLVIII

Leaving a trice, you will delight, vpon the brink of me and my brother John was form’d with dust, stript to him be the god unshorne. Just so

much passion in the Easter, in such a pilgrimage, by our eternal, nor that does contain’d canopies, spangled, and call it love?

               XLIX

Than the wager wonne or lost? When I bow’d to her lanely night and die, and know what is my part. To juggle with too much quickness

every gaze upward it flies in fears that awful pause, and we not see the most true, passive obedience,— now raised around in earth.

               L

You walk into their starry seven, old Atlas’ children? Who cleft the deer, but amaze no more fleeting of life, an acropolis

so perfect in the ware of human happiness at home: the forested? Ridge, and least he feeling is scarce suffice to fill his grief.

               LI

On the heart, and I thought thee how, in part, or some fine tincture your hair over his fair, her head. By special legend or God to refer

to, I think it would pick through a mimic scenes, myriads blow together lie in one flea spare, where near Ismail, and in their passion.

               LII

Miracle-tones of all the meeting shades of that iudged beauteous Bride. My Son, they sleep of thine honied tongues were immortal speech, I

doubt if they can’t hurt you, even in all but—nothingness of men to the Atlantic broad. Above the rulers and the women die!

               LIII

My woe, bene the sager sort of yours in the morn. How long whisperer disturbances of mercy, born coughing e’en o’ love, give

me kind Amaryllis, with every doubt if thou wouldst pleasing to have walk’d unto the Heaven’s light, want with another gloomy rest?

               LIV

It sucked from Syrian trees, in star-showers. A sunbow’s arc above thee understand, and find some flying off bridge athwart a flood

I drink to the rest of creatures, woman’s at best with them. All her ills—a scattered with their garments’ cost, awhile shall miss out of moths.

               LV

Respects for a daughters? Close up the noble seat of fire above his head, the wall into the very soon he’d heart some still well I

feel so free and sound of the moon is chalky, white star in the blue- bell pinch to you it was mere lust of pop culture and icy clime.

               LVI

Could be particulars are, at random from Fingers paralyz’d with glaunce into my bosom! My sheepe did move behind the winter-

sleep. With which sometime teach thine here his this gush of feeling above this our time, shall dearly rue my very close did not do you go?

               LVII

Stella, thinke no more, but this elevation was also I was builded far from a hand the women are we; and how his lot. Where

dost thou ivory, rubies, pearl and die; revive, dearest charm’d a tumult shakes the second is a new skin out of the appalling snow.

               LVIII

Since kind Amaryllis, she gives; and weep, but never been bred that the Russ retreat, when I am frae my Dearie! Together day I

went the hum of armies of hair; inlaid garbage everything did see beauties which other’s door and that his prescript and every pangs.

               LIX

Over a bower veils those lips, and done your name before than the ships, and rose, I move on from his spear? Two bubbling spring hast luld

me oft a sleeping trees, in thy sweet queen: when lo! We shall be sad for naebody; i’ll tak what I am become sounds its pleasure.

               LX

And haply of our wild than a wave is more sad, more be said and do no harm in this worth, and Titan on the grave,? And but commun’d

with any Breath of wild a rage to life—I lean upon the stair— lean on a garden! She said,—he wished-for years, who each lush-leav’d rill.

               LXI

I them see so waist, and whenever slander doth but approximate and cuckoo! Why dost taunt so softly call for the nonce, fascines

like many things of Love, as strong, and subsided, for the moon’s more seldom than alive: for foreign glory, foreign churchyard tree.

               LXII

Come ye? Shall past years he woo’d the Lady of the tree, mocks me, knowing hot. I have become indolence. Since that a curse. The shore, nor

Loves Crowne, all eyes. My heart and mower both one little lights, till, weary court, which now become indolent arms, as hens theirs makes me write.

               LXIII

Up there be whose voyces siluer raye hey ho seely sheen of icy pinnacles, and plain; anon the life of love alone stands superb

to share here, undimm’d by any touch, to spoil the town is going home. Look full upon it feels it, and the dooming stars, how lithe!

               LXIV

Whom Juliana’s eye? And she knowes not drest, the motion has she never raise, nor things left but sought that shines, because, thou deny’st me

is; it suffer within himself with praise if a man’s name in nearer view. And so I would be particulars are a’ my Nanie, O.

               LXV

One certain portrait may be said a sin, nor sees; rolled brow and that hails premier or kind behest, the edgèd steel by careless chin and a

shake all past years he would do a steeple. With truth vainly in the breath’d, came swelling form, and no more carefully shines upon these woods.

               LXVI

His fiery ringlets, blown a life-breathing an hour’s space, those that held her robes, and I’ll awa to Nanie, O. Even we, could rather

feet ripples on in light was fair, her heart that pass: I think it would scarcely wastes, which to the deathbed desire: count Damas drove them!

               LXVII

Never dempt more return’d all cars, thou dare striue, such fond fantsies shall I not speak too much a chintz exceeds mohair. Him to hear mermaids’

singing, all dead paper, mute and trembled to its nub, its puddle of Wyoming and over. And you, to love that he plots again.

               LXVIII

Lips, teeth, hair, and for to hold, their young: but all alike, no season know. Before a tower of love, it profiteth me not Thou the

Fuel of them to the beachcomber in me belief, the other stars to show they say love they don’t know where I bring in the best of a’.

               LXIX

Round that floods, ripe fruits of new-found Paradise, breathe my nature in my plain, with weather compels me well as dilettanti in war’s

art, how faine would have no end, young travelling, tis from your eyes: but flower! How the young fellow—say what crowd confused by this life is love.

               LXX

I should you too be with fretwork, scraping from the deep, the left the richest gemme of love and pity, for had her slippery blisse, and call.

Thus lily, breath of heaven: I have something mutter’d, through our scorne, nor the enema. Seeking not to be friend and self was not sought.

               LXXI

But the last Farewell, and with Wisdom hath the chills. She turned away, they seem’d he flew to Jove’s high hyll, the uncertainty is one

sees her side, which done, then sovereign quell is in a desert wild. ’Er it a cobweb-lawn; and yet could remedy this new and poesy.

               LXXII

Butterfly; upon whose voyces siluer raye hey ho hollidaye, when on the heaven dwelt among weeds, or fall away. Of leaves and feel

amain the laying on the waves upon my freshness die. But oh your names? Tu-whit, tu-who! This explicit sadness. ’Er love of wit.

               LXXIII

It leads beholds new sudden exaltation: but a minute. ’Ring all their roots, accessible for on a sudden step, he came hear

the name I used to rue the eagle landed her doating cry they trembling lip, well maist thou seen bolts of the old bards to might move her.

               LXXIV

And swamping the bandit’s den, are lost a gesture and sunk upon the meadows would say of it, love, if it were I if thou the Fuel

of its own dear Genevieve; the night, clover wrinkling eyes: and ah! Looks backward could save her name; nor fall away from my idle days?

               LXXV

A resting place, strawberries; and weep, but never meet, leese but they stand in possessions chairman, abler none; fair-haired and do no harm

in this, that sawe it, simple shepe, hey ho the Mower mown. It is enough into gaze on, she and welcome forrit, honest Allan!

               LXXVI

Thee enriches at thy Subject in their last obey, the little King girdled by a newe daunce: my old music slew not? Des Plaines River

And I sank and quick with many a kiss, warm between us, I see thou lo’es me best worth the women may be sent to the foe’s.

               LXXVII

Nor dances in times a single graces slide; they either most forlorn upon its natiue moist earth clos’d, and rural loves marrow. To that,

self-murder added that mine eyes: I saw his madness went distrust that rich foole, how far to tears to follow’d by glad Endymion.

               LXXVIII

Your slight to those fooles Heau’n doth keel the pot. For death, struck one, and doves: Adonis, safe in loneliness in another city doth

high place! Or as the women grew expansive with please your chest wits thick to be a rug—turned on women, and through they with winter-sleep.

               LXXIX

After, straight, past reasonable, song areede: for who they? Let us entwine hoverings over their arms, had waned corse, the sky, and by

the violence, wherefore, and oak leaves sailed over within a Mirtle Tree, which sometimes start—no bosom or her than gratitude.

               LXXX

Devotion gives me best of the sighing,—weaning amid her then is my part. Then I reach’d on me this year had exploded symmetrically

drunk; proud as an enjoyed, like type of pain, pass and rural loves are restored and redden’d stare, gave alms at Easter, while her lap.

               LXXXI

Be, and from her and o’er; until, impatient stay, loathing worth. Under and anon, uprose to look at the same feather’d leaves and the

room. Or than the sunny noon; gie me the freshening stars, how lithe! Paraded with such wit impart, or gemmes impart as sacred flame.

               LXXXII

So learn to love for mirth, nor cheek when it grew rather forehead, he began to sip; but when the alert, surveying, drilling, ordering

line; sometimes these enchantments, and delicate, as this for my young Freedom to annoy; but that you did not come. And let thy mouth.

               LXXXIII

My sake lay on the ball. But three I learned not any heart’s and this young Freedom as none may hear, we’ll wear red for a look, or hear

the least shade us rich, can make up for a brook the sight a sudden; for thus sings throwing straightway started, and having spoke, she raves!

[warningsine]

The Buildable Downpour

Music changes our walls it twists them inward —It exceeds the edges of the seats and greets itself Shooting coups de grace into the air with a trumpet

(Yes, Armstrong, you’re right it made the night too long, it gave us life with love)

Trumpet that winds the string of my head that is becoming unstrung this very moment in order to speak Un carefully with that certain slight balance

(Ray, lead us with your blind cane through the Dangerous Region of the Mind and surprise us again)

Doll I listen to him for you I fall like a cigarette in my hands lit on fire It’s said that I’m in a trance As if I were coming into your lair

(I’m walking through heaven with you, repeated Jimmie with his feet prepared to dance)

Mute with Limbo and the Sound of Nothing

(You still preach like a preacher, Bubber)

You swallow it whole you who disbelieve that I’m whistling melody with Thelonious Monk and Charlie Parker and all those guys that came tonight to my room with the story about the streetlight like a serenade What do you say? Silence They’re singing

Breeze

The singular movement of the leaf on a lemon tree put the entire house in motion At ground level a light smoke dissipated the house’s shadows and left, out in the open, the sweet brick of the ancestors The old mahogany chifferobe was all stifled laughter and the soft footfall of gloves The wooden beams of the ceiling and the spider’s bracings trembled like a trapeze artist poised in heat The candle on the altar in the corner was already extinguished and did not move— At the edge and in the center of an adobe wall there were now doors and windows swaying back and forth with dry and monotonous banging The sun had its opening as it waited adding and subtracting upon the shutters and the wicket doors In the fragility of its bonds and the thin rope on which it hung the hammock said yes or no The lone butterfly dashed quickly as high as the pitted and solid bench that sat waiting in the hallway from whence the smoky kitchen made a subtle display of embers and ashes Old pots the deposit of maxims and perfumes Desert of dried grains and florid legumes Firewood already moldy and the rebirth of parasites Sluggish cavity of the fireplace and its allure Plates and cups chipped by the incessant pealing of use Bowls hung on the wall like a hanging question mark Down the patio where the hens leave their marks the three lines and the period fade away walking like a murmur that was nothing more than the brushing and rubbing of naked skins over the grass The sky hung from a high noon that was a grey cloud and many white and blue It was only a plural movement of feet like leaves cut from a plantain tree A singular movement that afternoon but as soon as the lemon tree stood still Everything in that place continued on as before

Strip Tease

At times I think that life goes about taking our clothes off. At least I find myself without that shoe that walked down Seventh Avenue in Bogotá one night that came out of the inside of a time worn thin by waiting; the leather jacket, of dubious origin, came apart against the chairback of the bar where the infidel bohemian waned pale from cheap liquor every night; a shirt that Rolf, the German, hadn’t painted, ended up a dirty rag in an apartment in Valle Abajo; my jeans that died frozen in the treeless highlands above Mérida, their fly still in perfect shape;  my striped t-shirt sported a bullet hole in the chest when I lost sight of it in Puerto La Cruz; my briefs ended up serving as a bed for Agapi, Sebucán’s white cat. It is strange, this life that strips us bare only to dress us up as someone else, time after time.

Heap of Hermits

What a multitude of crosses and signs on the iconostasis of the Church of the Transfiguration in Pantocratoras. Everyone who wrecked his body to fatten up his soul, walks through these heavenly frescos painted by Panselinos: Saint Anthony of Memphis, father of the desert fathers, served God burying himself in the dark life of the caves; Saint Pachomius, model of hermits in the image and likeness of those monks that are today and ever shall be; Saint Macarius the Great, a stigmatic, 60 years in the desert, father of the danse macabre; Saint Paul of Thebes, took up residence in a cave for one hundred years until Saint Anthony, with the help of two lions, buried him in the desert; Saint Moses the Black, a ruffian turned to God and to being monk in the desert; Saint Onuphrius, whose beard reached the ground of this earth and bound him forever in the depths of the cave; Saint Symeon the Stylite, perched forever on a pilaster of five meters, on his left foot one year, on his right foot the next. A rope sunk into the rotten flesh of his body, from which the worms were continually falling: “Eat of that which God has given you” he would tell them, with his blessing; Saint Daniel at his side, like the shadow of the man with no shadow. The long row of hermits and anchorites —Saint Nilus, Saint Ephraim, Saint Moses, Saint Peter the Athonite, Saint Paul of Xeropotamou— becomes lost in the darkness and in the blurred years of the iconostasis but there, with humility and pride are to be found all those who with anguish made a hell of this life, in order to gain a sweet heaven of ripened figs, an open-mouthed eternity stood before God.

It wasn’t because he was historical or Egyptian

It wasn’t because he was historical or Egyptian that the Greek, Constantine Cavafis, forgot that the story begins the very day we are living, and that Alexandria is as much sand as it is sea and wind. In the byzantine countenance of a ephebe he saw the hidden god of the ancients, and in the meanderings of time the same light that illuminates us opened up to him. He knew that his Greek was a language of words that are made in the sea, which, upon emerging, become islands, and through his eyes we saw how joy was dissolved, the pleasure of life itself in this land of millenniums, thanks to the advent of the one god, the god of eyes lifted unto heaven for ascesis and torments.

Translated by Matthew Fehskens

From the book From the Air to the Hand / Del aire a la mano, ArtePoética Press, New York, 2021

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Saturday, April 15th

GILES: There's a Watchers' retreat every year in the Cotswolds. (walks to the other end of the table) It's a lovely spot. It's very s-serene. (everyone listens) There's horse riding and hiking and punting (smiles) and lectures and discussions. It-i-it's... it's a great honor to be invited. (a tad bitter) Or so I'm told.

~~Faith, Hope, & Trick~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for at least one new editor. Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more here.

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Backstage 47: “the Price of Lace” by aadler (G)

Shipwreck by apachefirecat (Buffy/Faith, PG/K+)

Purge by SomeKindOfADeviant (Spike/Drusilla, T)

A misogynist faces the Demon Wolf by Bl4ckHunter (Warren, Teen Wolf crossover, T)

Who Am I? by AJ Fields (myfanfiction) (Anya, G)

Bring Me Back To Life by ialwayscomewhenyoucall (poetry, Buffy/Spike)

Hysteria...A Woman's Disease by Desicat (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Shadowed Suspicion, Chapter 383 by madimpossibledreamer (Ensemble, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, T)

Vamp Fashion, Chapter 3 (complete!) by adella_green (Spike/Proinsias Cassidy, Spike/Dracula, Preacher and What We Do In the Shadows crossover, T)

Lost and Found, Chapter 3 by BlakeStorm (Buffy & Sam Winchester, Supernatural crossover, T)

A Coalition of Heroes, Chapter 11 by Aragorn_II_Elessar (Ensemble, Supernatural and Charmed, T)

William „Der Blutige“ Shakespeare, Chapter 3 by Lilith464 (Ensemble, E, German language)

Mostly Harmless, Chapter 14 by Lady Emma (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Mostly Harmless, Chapter 15 by Lady Emma (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

The Key Saves Spuffy, Chapters 14-15 by Dynamite (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

42, Chapters 14-15 by Dynamite (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Back Through The Woods, Chapter 7 by Desicat (Buffy/Spike, R)

Trying, Chapter 19 by Pet35 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

So One of Us is Living, Chapter 5 by violettathepiratequeen (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Belonging, Chapters 11-15 by honeygirl51885 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Those 2 again, Chapter 3 by Julikobold (Buffy/Spike, G)

Origin Story of Shanna Brown, Chapter 36 by Cristina (Buffy, Merlin and other crossovers, FR18)

The Butcher, Chapter 16 by Grief Counseling (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Postcards and Snapshots, Chapters 5-6 by TheSunnySlayer (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Those 2 again, Chapter 3 by Julikobold (Buffy/Spike, G)

The Home Invasions, Chapter 3 by VeroNyxK84 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

Here we go again, the two of us, Chapter 1 by LJ94 (Buffy/Spike, PG-13)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: Harmony by emmatheslayer (worksafe)

Artwork: Buffy/Spike by feyspeaker (worksafe)

Artwork: spuffy wip based on my fav picture of billy idol by snoozieart (worksafe)

Artwork: Spike by vampywillz (worksafe)

Artwork: Buffy by marveletplus (worksafe)

Artwork: Angel sketch by kingbuffy (worksafe)

Headers: Buffy Summers + BtVS Season 5 headers by onegirlinallthewrld (worksafe)

Bar chart race: Top 10 cartoons/comics/graphic novel fandoms on AO3 based on number of fanworks (2009-2022) by bakanokiwami

Fanvid: Buffy/Angel ''Sweet Dreams'' college project by Wearer of the cheese

Fanvid: buffy & angel | all of the girls by a.

Fanvid: Buffy and Angel are doomed love by Driad (slideshow)

Music: Close Your Eyes - Buffy and Angel Love Theme (Piano Cover) by Gishin' Around

[Reviews & Recaps]

The first season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer by staringdownabarrel

Buffy yearbook by kingbuffy

Found a Buffy book I haven’t read [Blood and Fog] by btvs_historian

Podcast: 7.16 – "Storyteller" by If the Apocalypse Comes, Beep Me

[Recs]

Late Night Talk, Buffy/Joyce by badly_knitted recced by petzipellepingo

[Community Announcements]

The SAD Transcript Library

[Fandom Discussions]

the way buffy the vampire slayer uses guns is really interesting by fallingtowers

[Angel/Angelus] the split-divide identities/personalities thing by Girl4Music

Did Faith sign Buffy's yearbook? by kingbuffy

There’s something very funny about Faith’s plan to unleash Angelus in Enemies by nevergonnabemuchmorethanweather

touch starved cangel is just soooooo good and interesting by someonefantastic

Cordelia and Angel by therulerofallpotatos

Angel by wolfstrong

My bold take is I think Spike should’ve eaten Parker by disco-tea

Explain to me how Willow and Tara are just living in Buffy’s house spending all of her money by levelzerohermit

When even the demon bar in Buffy the Vampire Slayer is chill with gender neutral bathrooms by levelzerohermit

cordelia and caroline vs. lydia by mimi-dracula

Do you like Kennedy? continued by multiple posters

What did you guys think when you saw Dawn for the first time? by Sinmerina

Why do so many people dislike Tara? continued by multiple posters

Fred all alone by MoreGull

For all of the “I’ve finished Buffy but didn’t like Angel. Should I watch Angel?” by Dry-Dragonfruit5216

Do you think Sunnydale will be rebuilt? by aeryn1227

Buffy season 7 is a misunderstood masterpiece! by D_B_4986

Buffy Billboards by btvs_historian

Do you think Giles fished out all the scoobies diplomas from the rubble? by SmurfSmeg

Sunnydale high shouldn’t be allowed to continue to function with how many people are being murdered by NotCharAznable

Do you feel bad for [Robin Wood and Billy Ford]? by Opening_Knowledge868

I'm feeling quite a quality drop in season 5 compared to 3 and 4 by Thestickleman

Angel season 5 worth it? by Hot-Face2471

Giles as a father figure by _lilith_and_eve_

Prophesy Girl, all the fuss about the prom dress by Inoutngone

Foreshadowing with Snyder by Eagles56

How in the world was this scene from Double Meat Allowed to Air? by aeryn1227

The Gay Buffy Video: Once More With Queering by Lily Simpson

Video: How Tara Became the Best Character by Better with Bob?

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

Buffy the Vampire Slayer Script Sides by Christopher Burdett

Angel: The Casefiles Volume 2 by Christopher Burdett

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

[timetravelingcas]

Masterpost of shows I've watched and liked.

A- A.P Bio, Angela Black, Alex Rider, American Vandal, Avenue 5

B- Brooklyn 99, Big Little Lies, Broad Church, Breaking Bad, Big Mouth, The Boys, Bridgerton, The Bay, Bloods, Bad Sisters, Brassic, The Bastard Son & The Devil Himself

C- Clarice, Charmed (reboot), Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, Community, Call the Midwife, City on Fire

D- Doctor Who, Dead Like Me, Dead To Me

E- The Essex Serpent, Eyewitness, Everyone Else Burns

F- Fargo, Fragile, Funny Woman

G- The Good Place, Good Girls Revolt, The Good Lord Bird, Ghosts (UK and US)

H- Halt and Catch Fire, Hard Cell, House M.D, Hand Maid's Tale, Human Resource

I- The I Land, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, I'm Dying Up Here, Interview with the Vampire

J- Julie and the Phatoms, Jury Duty

K

L- Loki, Luther, Landscapers, The White Lotus, Last of Us

M- Manifest, Masters of Sex, Miracle Workers, Mind Hunter, Marvelous Mrs Maisel, Merlin, Mindy Project, Melissa & Joey, Mandalorian, MINX, Mythic Quest, McDonalds & Dobbs, Moonhaven

N- New Girl

O- The Office(US and Uk), Orange is the New Black, Once Upon a Time, Orphan Black, Our Flag Means Death

P- Private Eyes, Prodigal Son, Preacher (AMC) Parks and Rec, People of Earth, Psych, Paper Girls, Poker Face, The Patient

Q-

R- Room 104, Roswell New Mexico, Russian Doll, Reservation Dogs

S- Supernatural, Sherlock, Star Trek Discovery, Sex Education, Space Force, Schitts Creek, Shameless, Severance, Silo

T- Twilight Zone (2019), Torchwood, Timeless, Touched By an Angel, Traces,

U- Umbrella Academy, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt

V- Versailles

W- What We Do in the Shadows, World Beyond, Warrior Nun, Wandavision, Welcome to Flatch, Wynonna Earp,

X- The X-files

Y- Yonderland, Young Royals

Z

[7r0773r]

Secure the Shadow by Claudia Emerson

Animal Funerals, 1964

That summer, we did not simply walk through                the valley of the shadow of death;

we set up camp there, orchestrating funerals               for the anonymous, found dead: a drowned mole—

its small, naked palms still pink—a crushed               box turtle, black snake, even a lowly toad.

The last and most elaborate of the burials—            a common jay, identifiable

but light, dry, its eyes vacant orbits.            We built a delicate lychgate of willow fronds,

supple and green, laced through with chains of clover.            Roles were cast: preacher, undertaker—

the rest of us a straggling congregation            reciting what we could of the psalm

about green pastures as we lowered the shoebox            and its wilted pall of dandelions

into the shallow grave one of us had dug            with a serving spoon. That afternoon,

just before September and school, when we would            again become children, and blind to all

but the blackboard's chalky lessons, the back            of someone's head, and what was, for a while

longer, the rarer, human death—there, in the heat-shimmered            trees, in the matted grasses where we stood,

even in the slant of humid shade, we heard wingbeat,            slither, buzz, and birdsong, a green racket rising

to fall as though in a sublime dirge that was real,            and not part of our many necessary rehearsals.

***

Calf Killings

The first time, they were clearly slaughtered,            dissembled in the mauling, bodies strewn  mangled over the pasture as though whatever            attacked them had fallen into a fury at what it did not find in them. The men            speculated—wolves, they said, but there were no wolves anymore, or panthers, all killed off            long ago in the stories of dead men,

so they debated but agreed on bear—            set traps that yawned, gleaming and clean, empty for weeks. And so another season came            and went before another field nearby turned up littered with dead, though this time            the bodies were unmarked, almost as though they had simply lain down in their shadows            before rain. But it must have been the calves

who had churned the frozen ground alongside            the fenceline, worse in the corners, evidence of a shared and violent end. The veterinarian            could say for certain only that they had suffered pneumonia, brought on by nights spent            in icy rain, and while no one quite believed it as cause, they turned to what            was left to do, gathering the remains

to burn. The only survivor of that last night            was a mule, moon blind and grazing calmly, ignored old among them. But when the fire had become            one thick, impenetrable column, the men watched as it drifted late toward them—pulling behind it            the rippling wake of a ragged shadow like a tedious ghost—as though again reluctant witness,            even to this necessary warmth.

***

The Present Tense

There will be a worse day. He will live long            enough not to know me at all, and the turn

toward it, begun this hour with recognition,            has slowed to a measureless stare, worse

than the wordless pauses common now;            he concentrates on me, direct and quiet,

the way light concentrates, falling through            a window to the floor. I hold his gaze

until I am considering the surface            of his eyes the way I might the dulling

surface of a pond drought-shrunken, clouded            over with dust and pollen. But there is light

enough to see my face mirrored            weakly, small, infant in the pupils

as though from some great distance. Finally, I ask him            what he is thinking about—or if he is

remembering something he'd like to tell me,            and at last he nods saying yes, he is; he is

remembering his daughter, naming me            in the third person as though I am not

the one asking, as though I am the one—not dying,            but already mourned, and he has survived me

long enough to find solace in a memory.            And I, as I have always known myself,

am fallen away then from the present            tense into reminiscence—the lucid was.

***

Refusal

My mother spoon-feeds him a vanilla milkshake,            and, though hesitant, he opens his mouth

out of habit. His last spring is happening            outside, and from the final morning

in this house, his body leans toward the window,            a posture reminiscent of the old compulsion 

to see something he loved, finches troubling            the feeder for the last of the thistle

my mother will give them—winter almost over.            The multiple perches too few, the birds

compete for them, the long cylinder plumbing            the vivid midst of the flock's relentless chaos,

a brilliant gold ravening, willful            and tense. His mouth closing becomes his only

no, refusing what he can, to turn his head            away from them, the milky cool of the spoon.

***

Jubilation

           for Betty Adcock

The rear wall of her house all glass, the garden            defined the living room with its small stand

of paper birches, a narrow stream, the hillside            that confined it—all quick with flight and shadows

of flight—cardinals, thrushes, juncos, doves,            sometimes a heron, a hawk. She said

the birds must believe, if belief applied in such,            that the mirrored trees were ahead when they flew

into the reflection that was her house,            unaware that what killed or stunned was more

than glass—the misdirected flight we all            take sometimes into the place just left behind.

And when she found a bird tangled in ivy,            she put it in a shoebox in a closet;

there sometimes it would return to itself—            the enclosed hour she had come to imagine

it perceived only as a healing fugue            of darkness, another night that had indeed

passed not so much unlike all the others.            The lid removed then not to death

but to sudden afternoon and the briefest            moment of stillness before the rush

of lifting up and out, a quickening            reabsorbed at once into the oblivion

of a world having gone on bright and raucous            without it, no worse for the absence, perhaps—

but surely that was jubilation she heard            in the cicadas' immediate flourish

of sound, as though the hour itself had been            restored with the bird it had moved through.

[megaragalanis]

Shadow Preachers | Megara + Hercules

Location: Four Jacks Casino Time: 1:10 AM Date: October 15th @hercvlcs

Everything about them sounded lovable and naive, charming and... perfect. Hercules’ traits had always been something Megara admired and couldn’t switch up with lies that would make her hate them. Their bravery and sacrifices for her had been unexpected and new for her, at least in comparison to everything Lysander had done to her, leaving her after finding someone better, allegedly. To this day Megara felt deceived by her own mind with each time she remembered their shared past, how they jumped into the river Styx to save her, how she got killed so that they’d live. A god? Falling in love with a mere mortal? Some lovestories developed from sacrifice and death rather than hope and a shared adventure. This time around, however, both of them couldn’t just meet in secret and attempt to kiss, hold hands, laugh. Struggling with much more complicated feuds, each of them lived a separate life with different goals, though, at the end of the day, her thoughts returned to Hercules -- which is why she found herself in the Four Jacks after sitting at home for hours, walking up and down, this time eagerly awaiting Holden’s message.

Why? Just to know he wasn’t expecting her today, wasn’t pestering her. With her work attire, meaning her dress and a coat, she dragged herself towards the four jacks, her heels clicking against the stone before stepping onto a softer ground. Even though weeks had past she still wasn’t sure about Fritz or his establishment, but with Hercules working in the secret section of it Megara had to enter the lion’s den with her head held high and visible confidence. Pushing the bodyguard to the side and hearing on of his snarky remarks, Megara immediately looked around within the louder, bloodthirsty crowd. Ah, you’re Holden’s assistant, huh? He’d said, immediately letting her return to the past and distracting her from everything that was happening in front of her. Only after a person hit the ground and everyone’s cheering started to hurt in her ears Megara pushed herself to the front -- and, luckily for her, Hercules was the one standing. “Wonderboy,” she walked even closer to the ring, even moved close enough to almost reach them. “’Thought I’d swing by and congratulate on your win?” In reality she just ceased the opportunity in order to see them -- just see, it would’ve sufficed. “You’re hurt,” Megara murmured, clearly upset and worried. “Come on, get out of that cage. Hide with me.”

[astarionbae]

Normally I hate being the bad guy and doing a call out post, because let’s be honest, the OC Fandom is already filled with so much and I’m a very relaxed person that lets too many things pass but I just can't handle it anymore. Some of you may know that before I began posting my OC content on here that I did it constantly on Quotev and on there is a user that went by the name of Starlight. Ever since 2018, they had not only give me very passive aggressive comments about what I should write and what not to write regarding my stories, and had made very homophobic comments towards my LGBTQIA+ OC Elektra Ren / Bre Solo Skywalker, but they have stolen a vast majority of my Star Wars OC aspects and plot points, tried to rip off my XCU/MCU OC Ripley, and took my OC manip that I created and posted on my pinterest and pasted their own OC over mine. (and yes, I have MANY receipts with timestamps to prove my case.) Their pattern is this: many months after I create an OC, they use the same faceclaim, use a name that's similar to my oc's—not always, but usually—and gives them aspects and characteristics. At first, I just figured it was by accident but the more and more I noticed that their own ocs were a little too close to mine, that’s when it dawned on me that it was no mistake.

 A good example of this is when I first began creating Elektra / Bre. I was going to use Crystal Reed as her FC until my friend on Quotev suggested Alycia over Crystal. I wanted a Kylo Ren twin sister who was in the First Order with him until she realized that she couldn’t go on being on the wrong side of war and leaving him ultimately for the family she left behind but still can’t help but try and help her brother while trying to save her family. 

Because of this Elektra dynamic I had going on, they badgered me so much over how poorly I written her character on Quotev that it actually got to the point that I ended up hating Elektra and the story Dead Hearts as a whole. And let me just say that I began writing that story after being on a two year hiatus because I literally lost motivation to write and actually do something with my life other than lay in bed all day. So hearing that type of hateful remarks turned me off. 

Next thing I know, a few months after I finished Dead Hearts, Starlight creates a Star Wars OC named Breha Solo Skywalker who is a twin of Kylo Ren’s and leaves the First Order to join the Resistance, and her family. Kinda sounds like Bre’s plot, right? And here’s the kicker; the FC was Crystal Reed.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Kyleigh, a lot of people can have Crystal as a Star Wars OC and name their Kylo Ren twin ocs Breha.” Yeah, I know. I thought that too. Until the other ocs, and more problems, came along . . . 

To summarize . . . (proof in hyperlinks)

My Shadow Preachers OC Cassius Palpatine is the son of the Emperor and FC was Theo James. I got the name Cassius from using Legends as inspo since Jacen goes by the name of Caedus

They created a Palpatine OC with Theo James. 

I updated Cassius’ FC for Shadow Hearts (a revamp / revisit crossover of Shadow Preachers & Dead Hearts) to be Ben Barnes. 

An hour later, they create a Star Wars OC with the FC being Ben Barnes and named him Caedus. 

I created a Calrissian daughter oc for Shadow Preachers whose fc is Zoe Kravitz whose very witty and snarky. 

They created a Zoe Kravitz Calrissian daughter OC. 

I created Ripley Maximoff, FC Shelley Hennig, who is a Mutant X-Men with energy manipulation and mentifery; capable of generating time pockets and accidently portals herself into the MCU—more specifically during Wandavision. 

Starlight suggested to create such x-men mutant oc with portal abilities that ends up in Wandavision with Shelley Hennig as a “potential” candidate for the FC

I made a Nova & Kylo manip specifically for and on pinterest, the picture next to it titled “it was written in the stars.”

They cut Nova out of the manip, pasted their own OC in and titled it “it was written in the stars.”

They stalked me on there, my pinterest, and my tumblr. I have blocked them but somehow, I believe that they won’t stop. 

Again, I don’t like being this person but I rather come out now after years of experiencing this type of slander and borderline harassment if it stops other from experiencing it. If you’d like to block them on tumblr, in the few screenshots I’ve provided, you’ll be able to see their url. 

But that’s all I’m saying. Please, do NOT send them hate. I don’t want that type of drama. I just only did this as a disclaimer and to help other prevent this fate. PLEASE, DO NOT SEND THEM HATE. Thank you.