#And the backyards full of bones... she killed so many people...

[lionblaze03-2]

While I’m on the crane wives wings of fire train. curses is very perilcore

[mediocre-writerr]

betty [quinn fabray]

quinn fabray x fem reader

summary: the last part of my quinn fabray mini series! this takes place in the pov of quinn and her side of the story! enjoy : )

*not my gif*

“Quinny?” my mom poked her head through the door, “You got to get ready for school.” she says softly. 

I groaned as I shoved my head into a pillow. I didn’t want to go to school today or well ever for that matter. 

And you’re probably thinking: Quinn what teenager actually wants to go to school? 

i did...once. When I didn’t fuck up the best thing that ever happened to me. Meeting her at her locker, holding her hand down the hall, singing songs to her in glee club. All of it. But that’s all faded away like a moment in time. 

“Not today.” I mumble. 

“Quinn, honey, I let you miss so much school these past couple months. I need you to go just this once.” she whispers before closing the door. 

I let out another groan as I pulled the covers off my body. Stumbling my way into the bathroom. As I look in the mirror the pit that was in my stomach continued growing. 

I hated how I looked. I hated how I felt. I fucked up. It was all on me.

And it all started at junior prom.

“Love, dance with me!” Y/N yelled over the loud music that was playing, trying to pull me out of my seat at the table I was sitting at. 

I smiled widely at her enthusiasm before raising my eyebrows at her. She knows I hate the crowds. Sure, I was popular and wanted the attention.

But there’s a difference between walking down the hall like a bad ass than being trapped in a crowd of thousands, feeling like you’re suffocating and sweating.

“This is my favorite song.” she pouted when I gave her the look. 

I pulled the hand that she had in her hand closer to me. Giving it a sweet kiss, “Next dance, I promise.”

She pouts a little before running back off to the dance floor. I sat there drinking the spiked punch, letting the alcohol burn all the way down my throat and into my stomach. Leaving a warm sensation behind. 

I watched Y/N’s every move. She wasn’t very far away from where I was planted. Jumping up and down, doing crazy dance moves, with Sam. 

I love Sam with every bone in my body, but I was always jealous of the blonde boy. He was a nice guy, funny, good looking and super close to Y/N. 

“Looks like your girlfriend is having more fun with Sam, than she is with you.” Santana says, leaning against the chair I was sitting on.

“I don’t like the crowds. She knows that. She’s just trying to enjoy her prom.” I mumble, trying to ignore her snide remarks. 

Santana hums in response before taking a sip of her own punch, “Sure, let’s keep telling yourself that. And I’ll be the one saying ‘I told you so’ when she leaves you for him.” 

That was it. That’s what started my insecurities. 

Was I good enough for Y/N? Or will she find her own non-complicated love with Sam or Finn? Was Santana right?

After procrastinating for God knows how long, I finally made it to school. 

“Quinn!” Mercedes yelled getting my attention away from locker. 

I tried forcing on my best smile, “Hey what’s up?” 

“You’re coming to Y/N’s party tonight right? Everyone’s gonna be there! I don’t want you to miss it.” Mercedes said.

I shook my head looking down at my shoes, “No. I wasn’t planning on going. I don’t think she would want me there anyway.” I mumble.

Mercedes looked at me sympathetically, “Well I want you to come. Dig yourself out of the depressing hole you’re in and come hang out with people who care about you. Think about it, okay?” 

I nod before she goes running off to talk to Kurt. I open my locker and stare at the cardigan hanging off of one of the hooks. My eyes dart around my locker to see the pictures of the two of us hanging on the walls. 

I miss her.

The bell rings and I weave my way through the somewhat crowded walls and into my anatomy class for homeroom. I take my seat next to Jacob Ben Israel and sigh softly. 

“Alright class take your seats!” Mr. Barnson yells as he walks in the door, taking his bag off.

I look at the empty stool next to me. Y/N wasn’t in here today. She must’ve stayed home. I wish I could’ve, especially after what happened yesterday. 

“Jacob, you’re going to be Ms. Fabray’s new lab partner.” he says and I watch as Jacob’s eyes lighten up.

The afro-hair kid coming to sit next to me, “Can I smell your hair?” he asks, disturbingly. 

I shutter in disgust and raise my hand, “Yes Ms. Fabray?” 

“What happened to Y/N?” I ask.

“Ah, Ms. Y/L/N switched homerooms this morning.” he says nonchalantly while looking back at his list for attendance. 

Oh. 

The day went on and on, dragging like a bad movie that wouldn’t end. Until finally it did. 

I walked to school today. I’ve been walking to school the past couple months. It was a nice break to just clear my head and think about everything. Sometimes it hurt to do, but it was much needed. 

I didn’t want to go straight home today. I didn’t want to go home and just lock myself in my room, curling up into a ball of nothingness. So I walked around more. 

“Quinn? Do you need a ride?” I hear a voice ask.

I turn towards the voice to see Mike and Tina in his car, “No thanks. I think I’m just gonna walk.” 

“Okay. Well we’ll see you tonight, right? We all miss hanging out with you.” he suggests.

“I don’t know.” I say looking anywhere, but them.

“You should.” Tina says before the light turns green and they drive off with a wave. 

I continued walking until I found myself at the mall need Breadstix. I hate the mall. 

I used to love going there with Santana and Brittany back during sophomore year of high school. When I was dating Finn and head Cheerio, but now it just reminds me of everything that went wrong. 

When my insecurity was at its greatest peak. 

“Hello beautiful!” I say as I answer Y/N’s phone call, walking through the mall. 

“Hi love! I miss you so much.” she whispers and I smile softly.

I hear rustling coming from her side of the phone, another girl’s voice, “I miss you more.” I say softly, “Who are you with?”

“Oh I’m with my friend Lizzie. She’s also a intern here and we’re just having dinner! She’s really cool!” Y/N said excitedly.

The rest of the conversation was about her internship and the amazing stuff she was learning and the new people she was meeting. How much she was having.

I should have been happy for her, but all I could think about what was, how much her life is better without me? What a fun life she could have without me? 

I left the mall that I was once walking in and nothing seemed good enough to buy. I was getting closer to my house as I was walking on the broken cobblestone. Just thinking about her.

How much I just want her to come back home and into my arms. How much I want her to let me know that I’m the only one she wants and that I am good enough for her.

Someone’s car came by slowing down next to me as they rolled their window down, pulling me out of my thoughts. Santana was sitting in the driver’s seat with her sunglasses on. Her usual high pony was down which revealed her curly brunette hair. 

She looked like a figment of my worst intentions. Her lips stained with a dark red lipstick and the way she was eyeing me. It just sent shivers down my spine. 

“Quinn, get in, let’s drive.” 

And those four words was all it took. Well four words and a human full of loneliness. 

A car honks shaking me from that terrible terrible memory. Leaving me with a mind and head full of thoughts. 

Should I go to the party tonight? Will she want me there? Will I regret not going? 

There’s two ways me going would play out.

1.) I would get there and she would open the door and slam it on my face. Then she would open it again just to tell me to go fuck myself. 

I shutter at the thought of the most likely scenario. The sun was setting turning the sky into a cotton candy looking sky. What a beautiful sky for a stressful decision. 

Santana laid next to me on the grassy field of my backyard. It was a cotton candy color as the orange hue blended with the dreamy blue. 

I spent the week driving around with Santana. We would go exploring the small town in Lima or just drive around singing to random songs. 

We laid there in silence just staring up at the sky. She took my hand in hers intertwining them together. And in that moment I didn’t care. I wanted to feel something, anything. 

Anything besides this pit of loneliness. 

She turned her head towards mine. And in a beat her lips were on mine. It was soft at first yet passionate. Then the next thing I knew, clothes were flying off, and hands were roaming. 

2.) Y/N opens the door and sees me standing there. I apologize for everything, she leads me to our spot in the backyard. And kiss me in front of everyone. 

Yeah like that would ever fucking happen. 

I didn’t know what I was expecting when Y/N came back from Pennsylvania. After the many nights spent with Santana, I dropped her. Or well ghosted her I should say.

I didn’t answer her calls or her texts. I knew what I did was wrong and I decided to just end it before things could get any worse. 

Was it fucked up? 

Yes, but I did what I had to try and salvage what I had left in our relationship.

I thought I could get away with it too. Until the guilt started eating me alive. The pit in my stomach wasn’t loneliness, it was guilt. 

And then Santana told Brittany. Brittany told Artie. Artie told Tina. Tina told Mike. Mike told Puck. Puck told Mercedes. Mercedes told Kurt. Kurt told Blaine. Blaine told Rachel. Rachel told Finn. Finn told Sam. Then finally, Rachel told Y/N since no one else had the heart to. 

Y/N slammed my locker shut causing me to flinch back, “Tell me she’s lying.” she whispers, her voice breaking. 

“Who’s lying love? What happened?” I say attempting to take her in my arms, but she took a step back.

“Tell me that you didn’t hook up with Santana while I was gone. And that it’s some weird vendetta against you.” she whispers staring at me. 

I couldn’t lie to her anymore. It was killing me. I didn’t want to lie anymore. I just needed to tell her. 

I just stared at her desperately trying to find an explanation. Desperately trying to apologize and explain everything to her, but no words came out.

“Y/N-”

“You did didn’t you?” Y/N asked barely in a whisper.

I nodded sadly and a sob escaped her lips. 

“Y/N please let me-” I try to say and she shakes her head.

“No. We’re done Quinn!” she yells in between sobs running off. 

I looked up and found myself in front of Y/N’s house. 

I wasn’t trying to go here. I guess my feet just carried me here. The party was in full swing and through her window I could see her just sitting there, nursing a cup. 

Her favorite song was playing and she wasn’t dancing. She was just sitting there, trying to smile, but was struggling too. 

It hurt me, knowing that I’m the reason for her pain. 

I hesitantly knocked on the door and the door flung open. Y/N was standing there and she was shocked, but her eyes softened. But it didn’t matter anymore because she covered it up with a harder shell. 

She came out and stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her.

“Happy birthday.” I whisper.

She mumbles, “Thanks.” 

“Can we talk please?” I ask.

She was thinking about it. I could tell. Her eyes were furrowed and she was biting her lip. She looked in deep thought before nodding and leading me to the backyard garden.

There was a bench swing hanging from the trees. And we took a seat on there together. 

This is the spot. Our spot. 

We had our first kiss here. I asked her to be my girlfriend here. Everything happened right here. 

“Y/N I’m sorry. And before you say anything I know. I know sorry means nothing and it has no excuse for what I did. But I am so deeply sorry. I don’t know much and I don’t have much to say because I wasn’t expecting to come tonight But I do know that I miss you and you were the best thing that has ever happened to me.” I whisper letting all of the tears spill. 

She lets out a shaky sigh, “I know. I forgive you.” 

I smile softly and I try to lean in to kiss her, but she immediately pulls back. Leaving me embarrassed and heartbroken.

“Just because I forgive you doesn’t mean that I want to get back together. I know you know that what you did was wrong. And I trust you when you say that it wasn’t anything special. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I love you Quinn Fabray, but I just can’t do this right now.” she whispers back.

She begins to wipe away the tears from my cheeks. I took in a deep breath before embracing the feeling of her touch. Y/N closes her eyes and rests her forehead on top of mine. 

I cup her cheeks into my hands. My thumb trying to memorize all of the crevasse, cheek bones, every little feature. 

“I will always love you and maybe we’ll be together one day. Just not today.” she whispers pulling away and kissing my cheek softly, “Goodbye Quinn.” 

[hoe-doroki]

passing the night stars

banner by @dymphnasprose​

warning: reader has social anxiety

pairing: shinsou x reader (platonic or romantic)

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 3.2k

summary: The party was neon and you needed darkness.

a/n: this is a gift for my SiL’s birthday today! To any astronomy nerds: I tried and I’m sorry.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

There was something to be said about distance.

It was a buffer, quieting every voice, external and internal, until the only one left was that of the crickets singing over the lo-fi spilling out of the house behind you. You’d stepped away from the party long enough ago that the playlist had started over many songs back—you had no clue how many anymore. The distance turned the music’s thrumming into a quiet melody, the lyrics just as indistinguishable up close as here in the backyard, sitting on patio furniture that rocked lopsidedly in the grass.

Any filter would do, though. Anything that could soften the world just a little around its loud, coarse edges. The ice in your peach-flavored hurricane melting so that the drink was a little less saccharine. The rum casting a film over your mood, keeping your loneliness from dropping you into total dolor. The slight late-night breeze blowing the smoke from the fire pit away from you so that the acrid smell was stronger on the hood of your black sweatshirt than the air. It all muddled your emotions, numbing the buzzing overwhelm of the party to an anxious hum. The party had been neon, and out here you had a bit more darkness.

Without these buffers absorbing some of the furor, you might have escaped the party hours ago. Snuck out while the thing was still in full thrall, before social anxiety could hiss over your bones. Got out while you were ahead. Instead, you’d lasted as long as you could before out to the backyard with the near-dead fire, wracked with guilt at the prospect of leaving without saying goodbye, while too nervous to actually draw the attention to yourself necessary to actually say goodbye.

That wasn’t to say you hadn’t held up for a good while, though. You’d hung out with your friends when the fire had just gotten started and then when the party had moved indoors for drinking games and edibles. You’d hovered on the border as your friends grew more interested in dancing in drunken delay to the somniferous lo-fi beat than conversation. Then the itching had started in your brain, and before you knew it, you were out here, social battery drained dry, waiting for an indefinite future in which you could find the energy to escape.

You shivered as footsteps swiped through the grass, crickets chirping at the intruder.

“Did I surprise you?” Shinsou asked, his voice deep from booze or smoke or both. Or, maybe he was just tired, you figured, as the harsh light of the fire sharpened the bags under his eyes into dark creases.

“Breeze,” you mumbled, goosebumps rising on your wrists, standing the fine hairs on end. Only a few licks of heat from the pit were touching your knees, leaving the rest of you cold in your threadbare sweatshirt as the fire shrank smaller and smaller.

Shinsou had a blanket in his arms, ratty and certainly stolen from the back of the living room couch. He blinked at you for a second before he asked, “Can I join you?”

His voice was deadpan. Between the two of you, there was no real vocal inflection to speak of. Still, you shrugged one shoulder and said, “Sure.”

You stiffened when, instead of choosing one of the many other patio chairs or foldable camping chairs forming a friendly circle around the fire, he joined you on your bench, tossing a bit of blanket over your knees. You hardly realized you were staring at him until he said, “You’re cold, right?”

“Oh, yeah, a little,” you said, tucking your knees up to your chin and curling the scrap of blanket around your arms.

The blanket was raggedy in your hands, pilled on the hem, but warm from being indoors with all the dancing bodies. Plus, clinging onto it, running your thumb over the uneven texture gave you something to focus on instead of Shinsou’s body so close to yours.

Your senses were tingling, raw at having someone nearby again. It was too soon—you still didn’t have anything to say, no defense for why you’d dropped off from the party without a word.

But, on the other hand, being alone wasn’t fixing you either. Parts of your brain were still coiled taut as compression springs, and while they weren’t getting any tighter, they weren’t quite loosening yet either. It was rest, not recovery.

Abruptly—was it abrupt, or were you that zoned out?—Shinsou touched the back of his hand to yours, nearly making you flinch as he furrowed his brows at you. “How long have you been out here?” he asked, shifting towards you and pushing more of the blanket into your lap.

“Oh, um—” maybe a half an hour, maybe more, “—not that long.”

For that flash of contact, his skin had been hot against yours, so you could only imagine how cold your hands had felt to him. Your icy drink was probably mostly to blame, but you were also suddenly aware of how your shoulders were hunched nearly to your ears, your arms clenched to your sides like your chest might warm them. You piled the blanket a little more over your knees and one shoulder, only the hand holding your drink poking out.

“Hard being on the fringes,” he mused as he took a sip from a can. Possibly seltzer, probably beer.

You mirrored, tasting your own drink. It was really mostly water by now, though you were sure it was still painting your tongue orange.

Shinsou’s situation wasn’t much different than yours. Everyone in that house was old classmates. Shinsou was too, but he’d come late. Not too late to be friends, but late enough that it mattered. You were even later—not a classmate, but a post-high school roommate. You’d both landed on the side of Kaminari’s friend group, but neither of you were the core of it. The heart of it. That, for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, was Bakugou.

For some reason, you and Shinsou had never talked about this before.

“Hard being in a group big enough for there to be a fringe.”

Because, of course, it wasn’t just the Bakusquad here today. The majority of the old 3-A was here, those who weren’t on duty or suffering with early morning duty tomorrow. Enough people to certainly cause a ruckus and maybe a noise complaint that even pro heroes wouldn’t get out of.

“Touché”

The two of you fell into silence, and you couldn’t help but wonder exactly what had drawn Shinsou from the party. Even if he didn’t feel he was the most popular guy in the room, you’d seen the way he had the ability to talk to everyone. You weren’t sure if it was a product of his quirk or what, but he was able to start a conversation with everyone he met. He didn’t seem shy or anxious in the least.

Then again, that was just what he presented. You knew from that what you put forth in public wasn’t necessarily in line with what you were feeling.

It was hard to be the introvert around a group like yours. Worse—it was noticeable. This wasn’t the first time you’d stumbled away from a party, mind half gone not on alcohol or weed but on the sudden assault of attention, loud voices, and talk of hero work. Being one of the only non-heroes in the room was exhausting, and maybe that’s why you’d had to escape. Or maybe there never was a reason, good or otherwise, and you were just here because of your stupid self.

“Clear night,” Shinsou commented, “Don’t get to see much of the stars in the city.”

You looked up, a bright spot in the center of your vision from where you’d been staring into the fire. Almost everyone in your group lived in the city, not too far from each other, depending on your definition of the word. But those with quirks better suited outside the city, like Tsuyu and Koda, had moved out of town post graduation, granting the rest of you access to a night in the suburbs like this.

The truth was, you hardly looked up at the sky in the city. Tourists were always looking up, eyes glinting off the skyscrapers and billboards. But natives were always looking down, too aware of the fact that other natives didn’t always clean up after their dogs and, with so little grass, the sidewalk often needed a close eye kept to it.

But here, it was pretty. Not the smog-stained brown you were used to, but deep blue and twinkling with infinite pinpricks.

“Mm,” you hummed, taking another sip of your watery drink. “You’re right.”

“There’s Cassiopeia,” he said, pointing just over the tree line.

You followed his finger, unsure quite of what you were looking at. The stars hardly looked like clusters to you, especially on a night like this where you could see so many. It was more a broad network of them, either all connected or all individual. All the stars or just a star.

“You know constellations?” you asked, ears latching onto something that finally wasn’t hero related. Truth be told, you probably knew less about stars than you did about hero work but it was less alienating. You could lean into it.

“Some,” he offered. “Cassiopeia is a basic one.”

“Where is it?”

Shinsou glanced at you, leaning in closer so that his finger could match your gaze. You shoulders knocked and you could feel his wild hair against your own. His finger traced down and up, down and up in a cockeyed W. “Cassiopeia, mother of Andromeda.”

“She’s a woman?”

It was any wonder that ancient people had looked into the night sky and seen things like rams and bulls, creating a whole woman out of a few diagonal lines. Still, you listened to Shinsou, his low voice rumbling into your tired bones as he began.

“A beautiful woman,” he answered. “In Greek myth, she thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her boastfulness made Poseidon angry, so he created a sea monster that Andromeda was sacrificed to. Andromeda was left to await her fate when Perseus, who had just killed Medusa, used Medusa’s head to turn the sea monster to stone. After saving Andromeda, the two of them got married, and when they died, they both became constellations alongside Cassiopeia.”

Shinsou’s voice was husky and even as he told the story. The cadences were easy drops, landing you softly before he started up again with his next thought. It was a voice you could be rocked by, a voice you could be held by.

“Do you know where they are too?”

“Just below,” Shinsou said. “Probably come up just in time for the sun to make them invisible.”

“That’s too bad,” you said, curling deeper into the blanket, curling so that on shoulder leaned more onto the bench than the other. You head was almost resting on Shinsou’s shoulder and you could feel his warmth radiating in the cold night. “How do you know all this?”

Shinsou was quiet for a second and your nerves spiked again. You hadn’t even felt them relax, but suddenly your anxiety was scratching again, wondering if you’d misspoke. Or maybe you’d whispered it and he just hadn’t heard you? Before you could decide whether to say it again or apologize, though, he let out a sigh that jostled the blanket.

“Jack of all trades, master of none,” he said by way of explanation.

You cocked your head. Perhaps it was just a good hobby for an insomniac, but you were unsure about the evasiveness. “Did you have to learn a lot for general studies? Or to get in to U.A.?”

“…Yeah.”

You could only imagine. U.A. was an incredibly competitive school for heroes, but that was a specialized course. For general studies you didn’t need to have the physical prowess or the other particular skills that came with heroics, but you had to be an ace in school. It was no small feat to get into general studies, especially while you were trying to pursue something else. You were satisfied with that, ready to let it go and return to the near silence of the crickets and the fire popping, when Shinsou suddenly continued.

“When it looked like my plans to become a hero wouldn’t pan out,” Shinsou began, his words slow, tired, “my parents encouraged me into any and all other interests. None stuck.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, the personal admission taking you aback.

For all the times you’d seen Shinsou talk effortlessly with people in a room, you weren’t sure how personal or vulnerable you’d ever seen him. He seemed comfortable enough probing other people, but this was new. It made the space between you suddenly seem private—so different from the party you’d escaped from. You could still hear the ambient noises of a couple dozen people in there having a good time, but it was suddenly a world away.

“I’m sorry, Shinsou,” you said, brows furrowing as you glanced his eyes, still gazing up at the stars. His parents had probably thought they were being supportive, but it wasn’t the support he’d desired.

“It is what it is,” he said. “It worked out in the end.”

There was the smallest smile on his face at that, barely betraying what must have been true joy at having a dream slip through his fingers only to fly back to him. And he’d earned every bit of it, even if he wanted to keep it to himself.

“So now,” you began softly, “you just have a lot of little things that you can offer people. The little things you could have been. That’s not so bad, right?”

“No, it’s not so bad,” he agreed. “I always liked that story.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Japanese astronomy varies so much from region to region and is usually about more functional things. Harvest, seasons. But these other myths about people with no chance of being heroes becoming ones anyway…”

He trailed off, but the sentiment was there. Trapped in the things he’d done to try and leave heroism behind were little vestiges. The inescapable fact that he was meant to be a hero and would be one anyway, even if the world told him he was a villain, doomed for failure.

The stories had been true.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asked, surprising you.

“Feeling better?”

“You’d been out here for over an hour,” Shinsou stated. “Your eyes were glassy and distant and you were freezing and you didn’t seem to notice.”

“Oh,” you intoned. You hadn’t realized it had been that long. You were sure it had only been half that time.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

“No, I’m fine,” you said truthfully. “I’m fine now.”

The anxiety from earlier that had been buzzing through you had kept you awake, all while thoroughly draining you. You’d hardly realized just how much until now, with your body not just feeling settled but heavy. The stress had run straight through you, and now you bore the fatigue.

Shinsou glanced down at you out of the corner of his eye. His brows raised and it lifted his whole face, making the dark circles under his eyes just a little less stark. “You look exhausted.”

“You always look exhausted,” you retorted, your first little grin curving along your lips.

In his surprise, Shinsou smiled too. “I know that. Here.”

Shinsou took your forgotten drink from your hand and set it down, then patted his shoulder.

“You should rest for a little while.”

Your eyes met his, searching for anything that looked like obligation or impatience. But there was none. Just a surprising amount of openness and a pretty shade of purple.

“Do you have more myths?”

Shinsou smiled and, once again, his gaze went up to the stars. As he started another tale, you snuggled onto his shoulder, the rest of your body drawing closer to his as well. He didn’t wait long to begin speaking, talking in more detail than he had before. There was no reason to be concerned that he might be boring you, or that you didn’t want to hear it. Really, these stories, these stars that had brought him even the tiniest speck of light were just what you needed too.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, and you weren’t sure when you woke up. But when you blinked your eyes awake, the first thing you noticed was that Cassiopeia hadn’t moved far. The second was the feeling of Shinsou’s head tilted against yours, his breath like gentle waves under you.

You shifted, signaling that you were awake, and Shinsou did too, his head lifting from yours. At some point, his arm had wrapped around you, encasing you in his warmth. He didn’t move it, not yet, as your body creaked and you forced yourself to sit up.

“How long?” you murmured, voice barely raspy with sleep.

“Not that long,” Shinsou answered, echoing your reply from earlier.

He didn’t look at his phone or a watch, and hadn’t since he’d come out, so you wondered if he had any clue. Or if it simply hadn’t felt long. Somehow, the idea that his time spent with you hadn’t felt long was a comfort, a relief.

“How are you feeling?”

You checked in, feeling that grogginess that always came in the wake of an intense mental episode. Your brain struggling to catch up and survey the backlash from its earlier antics. That would go away. It always did. “I’m good.”

Shinsou continued to look at you, switching between each eye, double checking your expression for any lie. But he must not have found any, for he leaned back into the bench and relaxed, that tiny ghost of a smile back on his face.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, gazing out again. “You out here alone before? It had been…well, we were…I wanted to check on you.”

For the first time, Shinsou looked almost a little shy, and you couldn’t help but smile, touched. You put a hand on the shoulder that had just taken your weight and brought his gaze back to you. “Thank you.”

There actually was one thing you knew about stars. You’d heard that every light year a star was away from you was a year into the past you were seeing its light. Looking at the stars was looking millions of years into the past. Despite the fact that these selfsame stars connected you to humans around the world today and those of old, that filter of distance and time rendered them ancient, if not already gone.

But as you looked at Shinsou, their soft, silvery starlight illuminating one side while the last dancing coals of the fire glowed on the other, you were sure that this was the opposite. This wasn’t old or past or known to anyone but the two of you. This wasn’t the stars or even the stories inspired by them.

This was just beginning.

[needtherapy]

The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.  

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3

[writingwithciara]

Silent Auction (2) ~Topper Thornton~

summary: Kildare County High School decides to have an auction to save the arts programs. all the students are up for grabs and y/n is purchased by the least likely person. her worst nightmare. her nemesis. someone who doesn’t even attend the school.

word count: 2k

pairings: topper x reader, jj x reader (platonic mostly & a slightly one-sided romance)

warnings: fluff, enemies to friends (kinda)

a/n: behold, the 2nd & final part to ‘Silent Auction’. enjoy!

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masterlist

“Will you calm down? It’s just a date. Nothing’s gonna happen.” y/n smiled at JJ. He wasn’t happy that his best friend was being forced to go on a date with the one person everyone in the group hated.

“I know. But it’s with Topper, of all people.” the blond boy continued to whine as he followed y/n around, helping her get ready, even though he didn’t want to.

“JJ, I know. I don’t want to do this either. But like I said, it’s just one date. It’s not gonna kill anybody.” she giggled at the pout he was currently sporting. “And besides, he saved the arts program for years.”

“I hate the arts program.”

“Ahem! Excuse me?” she narrowed her eyes at JJ and he looked anywhere but her face. “The arts program is my favorite program.”

“I know. But you’re good at it. I am not, hence the reason I don’t like it.”

“I’ll give you lessons tomorrow if you stop whining about my date with Topper.”

“Hmmmm....nah. Not worth it.” he smiled and plopped himself down on the couch.

“God, I hate you so much.” she shook her head in disappointment and went to her room to change. Topper was gonna be there any minute to pick her up and she had spent the last 15 minutes arguing with JJ.

Topper walked up to the front door, nervously. His palms were sweaty and he wasn’t prepared to be wowed by y/n. He knew what he did to the Pogues was shitty, and that she hated him for it, but he had never directly been rude to her. The things he did were the cause of her hatred towards him and he regretted it. Topper really liked y/n and he needed to make it all up to her. So, when he finally knocked on the door, he was shocked to see JJ standing on the other side of it.

“Um, hey. Is...is y/n ready?” JJ just ignored him and left the door open. Topper walked in and slowly closed the door. 

“JJ, can you come up here for a second?” y/n called down to her best friend, who stood up and glared at Topper before going upstairs. “I need your honest opinion on my outfit.” she sighed and turned to face JJ.

“You look great, y/n. Honestly.” he smiled and leaned against the door frame. “He’s downstairs by the way.”

“Shit. I haven’t even done my makeup yet.” she started rushing to get her makeup done. JJ walked over to her and grabbed her hands. “JJ, what are you doing?”

“You look fine the way you are. Trust me,” he sighed. “Topper’s gonna love it.”

“Thanks, JJ.” she set her mascara down and took one final look at herself before going downstairs. Topper stood up from the couch when he heard her coming.

“You look....wow.” he smiled and noticed JJ standing behind her, giving him an intense stare.

“Thanks, Topper.” y/n blushed and turned to look at JJ, who quickly changed the look on is face to a softer one. “You going home or are you gonna stay here for a bit?”

“I’m gonna hang back.” he smiled and returned his gaze to Topper. “I’ve got a few rules for ya, buddy. First off-”

“JJ, calm down.” y/n giggled at the fact she had to restrain her best friend from continuing. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know. But you’re my best friend. I care about you and want to make sure he knows.”

“I love you.” she smiled and headed to the door.

“I love you too,” he smiled sadly as he watched them walk out to Topper’s truck. “Take good care of her, Topper. She’s my best friend.”

“I will. Don’t worry.” he yelled out the window before driving off. JJ headed back inside to sulk and think about his own problems.

Y/n and Topper headed to a restaurant, with the intentions of having a nice meal. But when they got there, the woman at the front desk had informed them that their reservation had not been recorded in her book.

“Well, this sucks. I wanted to give you a night you’d actually like.”

“It’s fine, Top. We can go anywhere.”

“I know. But you’ve never eaten here before and I wanted to make this night special.”

“IF it makes you feel better, fancy and expensive dates don’t impress me. If you want to make this night special, just be yourself & don’t try to use your money to make it special.”

“Okay.” he smiled down at the girl. “I think I can do that.”

“Awesome. Now, follow me. I had a feeling something bad was gonna come out of the date but, that’s okay.” she grabbed his hand and they began to walk downtown.

“So, what’d you have in mind?”

“Well, I have a passion for art & I have a few connections at the art studio downtown. So, I begged Mrs. Capron to give me the keys to the studio and she did.” she smiled and held up a pair of keys. “I only did this just in case.”

“So, you anticipated something bad happening to our date?”  he chuckled.

“Well, yeah. You’re a Kook and I’m a Pogue. They’re not meant to be together at all.” she looked up at him. “Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad. You’re very right.” he smiled. “Now, let’s go to that studio.” 

They arrived at the studio only moments later. Y/n unlocked the door and turned on the lights.

“What should we do first?” she asked and watched as Topper looked around in amazement. 

“I’ve got an idea. Sit on that stool over there.” he pointed to the stool and looked around. y/n sat down and Topper grabbed a canvas. “I’m gonna draw you.”

“You’re gonna draw me?” she laughed. “Are you any good?”

“You’ll see when I’m done.” he smirked. “Now, pose.”

“Okay.” she found a comfortable pose and looked off into the distance. “How’s this?”

“Perfect. Now, just hold that pose until I’m done.”

“Not a problem.”

She held the pose for nearly two hours before she was instructed to come look at his artwork.

“What do you think?” he asked. “In my honest opinion, I don’t think it does the real you any justice.”

“What are you talking about? It looks amazing.” she stared at the drawing in bewilderment. “You got my hair right and everything.”

“I tried my best.” he smiled and stood up.

“I had no idea you were so good at art.” 

“I’ve been working on my art since I was a kid. Of course, my parents would never approve of it, so I’ve been doing it in secret since I was 7. Why do you think I spent so much at the auction?”

“You need to share your talent with the world, Topper. This is amazing.”

“I have more at home, if you want to come check it out sometime.”

“How about now?”

“What?”

“We can go now. Mom’s out with her friends so she won’t get mad.” he smiled. “Come on.”

“Okay. But I’m keeping this and I gotta lock up.” she grabbed the canvas and the keys before going outside. 

The short trip to Topper’s house was full of talk about art and life. Y/n smiled as she realized that Topper was a completely different person when he wasn’t with his friends, specifically Rafe. When they pulled up to his house, he rushed around to open her door for her.

“Thanks, Topper.” she smiled and grabbed his hand. They walked into his house and went up to his room. He reached into his closet, pulled out a large box labelled ‘Top Secret’ & unlocked it. 

“Inside are all my artworks over the last few years.” he slid the box over to her as she sat on the end of his bed. Y/n looked through the box.

“Topper, you’re....” she looked up at him with a grin. “You’re amazing.”

“Thanks.” he chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve showed these to.”

“Really? Not even Rafe knows about these? He’s your best friend.”

“I know, but if he knew, he’d definitely make fun of me for it.” he walked over to the balcony and sat outside. Y/n set the box down and followed, taking a seat beside him. 

“Topper, you shouldn’t be ashamed of this talent. Art is a fascinating subject and not many people realize that.” she smiled and looked at him. Topper was looking out at his backyard. “If Rafe really was your best friend, he would appreciate that you’re talented.”

“You’ve got a point.” he sighed. “But it’s not him I’m worried about. It’s my mom. She’s always on my back to be perfect and in her eyes, an artist is not perfect.”

“She’s stupid.” she looked at her hands. “No offense.”

“None taken, really.” he chuckled. “So, I’m gonna change the subject and ask you a question.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“What’s going on between you and JJ?”

“Me and JJ?” if y/n had been drinking, it would have been shot out of her mouth. “What makes you think there’s something going on between me and him?”

“You’re always together & I heard him say he bid on you. It’s also in the way you act with each other.”

“Oh. Well, we’re not together. He’s just been my best friend for a long time. He’s practically a brother.”

“Well I think your ‘brother’ has a thing for you.” he smirked and nudged her shoulder.

“No he doesn’t.” she shook her head and thought about it. “Ew..gross. Nope. I can’t even think of him in that way.”

They both shared a look and laughed. The time they spent together was different than they both expected. 

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure.” she smiled.

“Does this...feel different?” he gestured between them. “Like, have you been having as much fun as I’ve been?”

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely.” she smiled. “You know, you’re way different than I expected. You’re not a complete asshole.”

“Thanks.” he smirked. “You’re....you’re just as I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“I already had you figured out since day one. You’re a beautiful, intelligent and kind girl. You know how to make others feel happy and safe. Everything you say sounds sweet. And I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body.” he smiled. “You helped me finally realize that being an artist is nothing to be ashamed of and I think I’m gonna show my work to my mom.”

“I’m proud of you, Top.” she smiled and hugged him. The hug lasted a little longer than any hug she’s shared with her friends. Topper smiled and pulled back to look at her. Y/n suddenly felt insecure under his gaze and started touching her face.

“I-is there something wrong with my face?” she sighed. Topper reached ip and moved a strand behind her ear.

“No. You’re perfect.” his gaze flicked down to her lips, and what he thought was a quick move, was definitely caught by y/n as she mimicked the move. “Just...absolutely perfect.” he smiled and started leaning in. She met him halfway and their lips molded together perfectly. When they both pulled apart, the look on their faces spoke volumes.

“Wow.” they both sighed with happiness. Y/n rested her forehead against his and smiled. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”

“I don’t know. But now that it’s happened, I don’t want to stop.” Topper smiled and placed another kiss on her lips. “I think JJ is gonna hate me for macking on his girl.” he chuckled when she smacked his arm.

“Not his girl & don’t worry. I’ll talk to him.” she smiled and leaned back in. The feelings they felt were running wild but neither of them cared. Not even of what their friends were gonna think. All that mattered was that the two of them were happy. This was it.

tags: 

@spilledtee​​ @im-a-stranger-thing @ameeravandijk​​ @jellyfishbeansontoast​​ @obxmxybxnk​​ @http-cherries​​ @ijustreallylovethem​​ @maggiesrandomness​​ @softstarkey​​ @poguesgold​​ @jjouterbanks​​

[thegreatestofheck]

Do Not Stand { Outer Banks }

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

Do not stand at my grave and weep 

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

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

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

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

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

I am not there, I do not sleep

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without Kenna, the world was so much darker. 

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

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

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

I am a thousand winds that blow 

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

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

She didn’t sign her name. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi!” 

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

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

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

“You sure? I don’t want to impose.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am the diamond glints on snow 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And no one was going to stop her. 

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

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

I am the sun on ripened grain 

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

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

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

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

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

Once Kenna finally convinced JJ to get back to work, he picked up a hose claiming to go water a tree. Little did she know, as she picked up her watering can, that his intended target wasn’t the tree, but her. 

The water was cool against her skin. Welcome, but surprising. With a gasp and a smile, she called out for JJ and their play began again. She chased him around the garden, threatening to shove the hose down his throat or up his ass. He simply laughed as he ran away from her. 

By the time their work was finally done, all the flowers were in full bloom. The sunlight glistened off the water droplets, making the entire garden look like a light show. Dropping into the grass, Kenna let her laughter roll through her until it died down. JJ plopped himself onto the ground beside her, laying back to soak up the sun. 

JJ couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing at a mile a minute, wondering how he could have let this happen. There must have been something that he could have done to stop this, something that would have saved her life. If he could, he would have taken her place. She didn’t deserve to die, not when so many people cared about her so much. 

But he still heard her words in his head like his own thoughts. 

“You matter, JJ,” she whispered to him as he paced through the darkness outside. “And you have people who care about you, too. Don’t undermine yourself. Don’t regret something you couldn’t fix.” 

JJ slammed a closed fist into a tree before he could stop himself. Once the dam was broken, the flood came rushing out. Again and again he pounded his fists into the same tree, blood running down from his knuckles. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” JJ cried into the night. Pain splintered through his hands, but that didn’t stop him. It wasn’t until his cries of rage dissolved into desperate gasps for air the he actually dropped his hands back to his side. He still didn’t feel the pain. 

Dropping to the ground, he brought his knees up to his chest, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. 

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Ken, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault.” If she was there, that’s what she would have told him. “I’m right here.” 

I am the gentle autumn rain

Pope swept the floor of his dad’s shop, his eyes blurry with tears. He could barely see what he was doing, but doing something was better than doing nothing. He gave up on sweeping and started to pack the deliveries he would have to run tomorrow. 

The island didn’t care if his best friend had died. People still needed their damn groceries. 

Kenna danced through his mind; her smile, her laugh, her silly faces, the way she pouted her lips when she fished. 

He swallowed a strangled cry as he remembered the day they went on a hike through the woods last fall. The skies were clear when they had started their journey, packs filled with sandwiches and chips and water bottles. They were half way through their hike when the first cloud rolled over them. 

“Think we should head back?” Pope asked, watching the cloud above him warily. Kenna laughed, glancing back at him. 

“Absolutely not,” she said. 

“What if it rains?”

“I didn’t realize you were the Wicked Witch of the East, Heyward,” Kenna said in her teasing tone. Pope rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his face. “A little water never hurt anyone.” 

It started to rain not a few minutes later. It wasn’t heavy, large drops like the rains they got in the winter and spring. It was soft, like a thousand petals falling all at once. Kenna didn’t even flinch. She lifted her face to the sky, smile growing wider as the tiny droplets landed against her cheeks. Pope simply watched her. 

She started to turn, raising her hands ever so slightly. Pope’s cynical side couldn’t help but think about whether or not this was the last time she would feel rain against her skin and that’s why she relished in it so much. As if sensing his bad vibes, Kenna turned to look at him. 

“Come on,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “We’ve got a hike to finish.” 

They never had a chance to go on another hike. Her health declined steadily after that day in the autumn rain. Pope couldn’t bring himself to wonder now if that really had been the last time she felt the rain. Thinking about it was too much to bear. 

“Son, what are you doing?” 

Pope looked up, the sudden sound of his dad’s voice startling him out of his memory. Heyward stood with his keys in his hands. Behind him, the barest hint of dawn peaked over the horizon. Pope had been here all night. 

“Just wanted to get ahead on deliveries,” Pope said, conscious of the fact that his voice was breaking. He could feel the tickle of a tear on his cheek, but he fought to keep the others swarming in his eyes at bay. 

Heyward let out a heavy sigh and set down his things, walking toward his son. With every step, Pope felt his walls start to crumble a little bit more. Until his dad reached him and enveloped him into a strong hug. Only then did Pope broke completely. 

“She’s gone.” His cries were muffled as he buried his face in his dad’s shirt. “She’s actually gone.” 

“I know, son,” Heyward said, looking up at the ceiling to keep his own tears in his eyes. “I know.” 

When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight

John B didn’t even try to sleep. He sat on the dock the entire night, doing nothing other than watch the horizon and drink a beer. At least, he held the open bottle in his hand and pretended like he was drinking it. 

He couldn’t bare to go inside his house, not when she was everywhere he looked. The kitchen still smelled like her turkey sandwiches. The bathroom was still stained from her hair dye that she used to dye her eyebrows. 

“I don’t have any hair left, so my eyebrows can be any color I want, right?” she said with a laugh. John B watched her from the bathtub, an amused smile on his face. 

The pictures of her still hung on his wall. She was in every crack, every crevice, every squeaky floorboard, every rusted nail. 

Kenna had stayed over when Big John went missing. She sat up with John B until he fell asleep, which usually wasn’t until early in the morning. She made him breakfast, no matter how many times he told her he was perfectly capable. She helped him look for his dad, hand made flyers, talked to the police when John B couldn’t stomach it. She was there by his side through it all. 

And the morning that Ms. Lana came by the house to tell him what had really happened, Kenna was there too. She stayed up with him, holding him as he cried and emptied his guts. He had always held out hope that Big John was alive. Without him, John B wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do. But every anxiety, every fear, every worry, Kenna quelled just by being there. 

When the sun rose in the morning, the rooster crowing and the birds flying between the trees, Kenna was still there, asleep by his side. 

John B couldn’t go back inside and sleep because when he woke up, he would expect to see her there and he knew she wouldn’t be. He remembered that morning feeling all too well when he could almost forget that his dad was gone for good. He couldn’t go through that again, not without Kenna there to help him. 

So, instead, he stared at the horizon, watching the sun rise higher and higher, flooding the marsh and the Chateau with light. The rooster crowed. The birds flew back and forth between the branches. But Kenna wasn’t there to enjoy it with him. 

The dock creaked as someone walked toward him. For half a moment, John B let himself hope that it was her. 

But it wasn’t. 

JJ sat beside him with a sigh. John B looked down and saw the bruises and cut skin of his knuckles. He didn’t need to ask what happened. He knew well enough. Finally taking a drink of the beer, he looked back out to the marsh. 

“I had an idea,” JJ said, his voice gravelly. 

“Yeah?”

“We should give her a proper Pogue send off,” JJ said, slipping the beer bottle out of John B’s hand to take a drink from it himself. “Go out on our boards, lay her to rest in the ocean.” 

John B’s eyes had been dry the entire night, refusing to accept that she was gone. But hearing JJ’s words made it seem so real. The tears came fast and they came hard. He nearly doubled over as sobs shook his body, pressing the sleeves of his sweatshirt against his mouth. 

“Come on,” JJ whispered, putting his arm around his friend and pulling him closer. John B put his arms around his friend. Both of them were grateful for the comfort of another. 

The birds started to sing. 

I am the soft stars that shine at night 

They all met at the beach that night. There was a bonfire, s’mores, music. Kie brought her ukulele. Sarah sang a song, the others mumbling along with her. 

“Did you bring it?” JJ asked Kie when the singing died down. She nodded and reached for her backpack. With shaking hands, she pulled out a small, metal box.

“It’s safe for the ocean environments,” she murmured, her lower lip trembling as she looked at it. 

“It’s perfect,” Sarah said, reaching out and putting an arm around Kie. 

“Everyone bring their thing?” John B asked, poking at the fire with a stick. Each of his friends answered in turn, reaching for pockets and bags to pull out what they had brought for Kenna. 

JJ pulled one of his woven bracelets off of his wrist, rolling it between his fingers like a blunt. For half a second, it looked like he was going to toss it into the fire. Instead, he looked up at Kie. 

“She made this for me when we were kids,” he said, his voice thick with feeling. “Never took it off.” 

“Shouldn’t you keep it? To remember her by?” Kie asked. JJ looked at the bracelet and shook his head with a heavy sigh. 

“No. I think she needs it more than I do now.” Without another word, he leaned forward and placed the blue and black bracelet into the metal box. 

Sarah held a little ceramic bird in her hand. 

“We went thrifting this one time,” she said and gave a small shake of her head. “Kenna and I got these matching birds, but mine broke so she gave me hers.”

Placing the small bird into the metal box, Sarah blinked back a heavy downpour of tears. Kie plucked a guitar pick out of her pocket. She looked at it with a small smile on her face.

“We were gonna make a double album together,” Kie said, her voice breaking as she fought off tears. “We got some stuff recorded but, I guess the rest will just have to come with her spirit.” 

She dropped the pick into the metal box and it hit the bottom with clunk. 

Pope stood, clearing his throat. He walked over to Kie, who held the box in her hands. He fiddled with something, looking down at it as if he wasn’t ready to part with it quiet yet. 

“Ken...she used to held me study. She and I had a bet that I wouldn’t be able to one single pencil until I couldn’t sharpen it anymore and, well-” Pope lifted up the small pencil, barely more than a nub. He looked up the stars above. “Guess I won.” 

He put the pencil nub into the box and returned to his seat. John B was next, he knew as much. Kie and Pope watched him carefully, expectant. But JJ and Sarah looked away. 

“Kenna told me once that she wanted to be an astronaut,” John B said after a long silence. JJ looked over at him. “She wanted to fly among the stars.”

John B felt tears start to gather in his eyes and so he looked up, met with the beautiful expanse of the universe above. Kie leaned over and put a hand on his knee as it bounced up and down. John B let out a teary gasp as he dropped his head back down, eyes closing. 

“We found this once when we were out here,” he said after a while, holding up a small, shiny rock. “She said it looked like a fallen star. Said there was a wish locked inside of it. When my dad went missing, she gave it to me and told me to use it whenever I hit my lowest. So, Kenna?”

He looked up again, closing the rock into his fist. 

“I want to wish for you to come back. I want to wish for you to beside us again, beside me again. But I won’t.” He brought the rock to his lips. “I wish that you’re at peace. I wish that you know how much you meant to us. I wish that you know we’re going to be okay. Yeah, we’re gonna be okay.” 

John B dropped the rock into the box and Kie closed it shut. JJ stood, plucking his surfboard out of the sand. One by one, the others did the same. Kie held the box close to her chest as they rode out to the water beyond the swells. It was a calm night, the moon watching over them as they floating in the water. 

No one said anything as they sat. Kie planted a kiss onto the top of the box and then handed it to Pope, who did the same. Around the circle it went, receiving a small kiss from each of Kenna’s friends. Once it was back in Kie’s hands, she held it over the water, hands still shaking. She was supposed to drop it, to let it sink beneath the water and into the depths below, but she couldn’t do it. Not alone. 

John B reached out and took some of the weight. JJ was next, then Sarah, and then Pope, until all of them held onto their last bit of Kenna. They gave no signal, but when Kie let out one, steady breath, they all let go together. 

Kenna’s box sunk, disappearing into the dark in moments. Sarah tried to choke back a sob. 

Now, every time they surfed these waves, a piece of Kenna would still be there, watching over them. 

Do not stay at my grave and cry 

They made it back to shore, tears drying on their faces. And they spent the rest of the night reminiscing, laughing, drinking Kenna’s favorite lemonade, eating s’mores in the way she liked best. 

Not a single tear more was shed. 

The stars twinkled above them, the night owls calling in the distance. Wind blew gentle through the trees, the sand below their feet glinting in the moonlight like snow. Sounds of rain pattered somewhere in the distance, the plants around them rustling. 

I am not there; I did not die

[bnhavibes]

Dark Paradise

Chapter 3: Disquiet

Ao3

Mafia AU! 

“I want,” Shigaraki leaned in, all fingers but one curling around Kai’s bicep, “the girl.” His minatory gaze was trained on Kai’s, daring him to step out of line. Kai took a shaky inhale, eyes flicking over to the young woman on the couch. 

“Will you do that for me, Kai?” Shigaraki’s four fingers gripped tighter around Kai’s tense arm; a stern reminder that he didn’t have a choice. “If you don’t, I trust it’s not necessary to say what will happen to you.”

Art from this post, FOLLOW THEM THEIR ART IS AMAZING!!

Word Count: ~4k

Your sparkly princess shoe kicked the rock playfully and watched as it rolled along the sidewalk, giggling to yourself all the while. Dainty fingers trailed along the bottom of well-trimmed hedges. Through the green, you saw the off-white bleached brick of your house come into view and skipped the rest of the way there. You couldn’t wait to show the picture you had drawn at school today.

You kicked the welcome mat up to find the key to the towering red front door and you quickly replaced it before eagerly shuffling inside, ready for the delicious smell of homemade chocolate chip cookies to grace your nose. It was Wednesday, and every week your mom made cookies to celebrate a week half over. They were always ready for when you got home from school. Your older sister would help make them because her middle school got out earlier.

But it didn’t smell like cookies. You felt the bright hopefulness that adorned your face earlier sink, a pouty frown replacing it. Clumsily, you kicked off your shoes and socks, padding over to the couch to toss your backpack down. 

“Mommy? Skye?” There was no answer. Maybe they were playing in the backyard? Yeah, they were probably playing and going to make cookies later. Your mom always kept saying that one of these days you were going to have to start helping them bake. With great effort, you pulled the sliding door open to the expansive backyard, and your head tilted as you tried to process what was in front of you.

“Mommy?” She was lying prone on the ground, her neck was turned towards the door so you could see her face. It was blank, vacant. Her jaw was slack, and her arms were twisted strangely at her sides. You had dropped to your knees on the soft grass at the sight, so you crawled over to your mom and shook her arm. You were sad to feel she wasn’t as warm as usual; her embrace was the most comforting thing in the world. You kept calling out to her and telling her this game wasn’t funny. Why would she play a game like this? You wondered. You took in the sight of her. Maybe she is sleeping? Your small arms wrapped around her shoulders to pull her up. Her neck made a dull thunk! as her head hung in the air and lolled around. You shook her again, horrified at how her head rolled lifelessly. 

“Mommy? Mommy!”

Water clogged up your vision so that when you looked around the yard, you could just barely make out your sister several meters away. She lay there, limbs askew and back bent unnaturally. 

“Mommy, whats wrong with Skye?” You couldn’t take your eyes off the way your sister’s body lay uncomfortably. A deep cracking noise turned your attention back to your mother. Your eyes widened impossibly as you listened to the horrifying snaps and crunching of bone as your mom’s neck wrenched back around to face you. You couldn’t stare at anything except her completely vacant eyes.

“You weren’t here. We died alone.” Her arms started twisting in ways they shouldn’t, shattering the bones as she crawled towards you, dragging her bottom half behind her. Her strained gasps rang out in the yard. You stumbled backwards and a broken scream erupted from your throat.

~~

Your eyes shot open. There was a loud noise in your somber bedroom, and you realized with horror that it was your own forceful breathing and heart pounding dangerously fast against its confines. Your throat felt raw and dry. You must have been actually screaming. Bringing one trembling hand to your face as tears dropped from your eyes, you tried to control your breathing. Panic enveloped your entire being, those ever-present tons of rocks making their home on your ribcage, crushing your chest. Is this what Giles Corey felt like? You couldn’t get a full breath in no matter how hungrily, greedily you sucked in air. 

You sat up and pushed your back firmly against the headboard. Shoving your hand over your mouth again, you covered your nostrils to stop your hyperventilation. Dry lips and fingers went numb, pinprick pains raining under your skin, and your body felt heavy. Unable to do anything else, you stared emptily at the blank walls of your room. You had lived here for four years, and still hadn’t ever bothered to make it look like a home. The excuse you always used was that you didn’t value material possessions. Honestly, it was because decorating was commitment, and it would make this broken down place a more permanent thing in your life, which you didn’t want to think about.

By now you knew how to deal with the panic attacks that your recurring nightmare brought about. It had happened when you were in fifth grade. Your childhood house’s neighbour was a reckless young hero. He had been trying to show off his wind-based quirk for a news camera, not thinking of the consequences of using it in a residential area, and accidentally sent a strong gust of wind whipping towards your mother and sister. 

It snapped your mother’s neck, and the autopsy showed that your sister had died from a subarachnoid hemorrhage from the trauma of the hit. Even after so many years it still occasionally came back to haunt you in your dreams, but with a new horrifying twist each time. This one was especially bad. Sero had suggested therapy many times, but therapy wasn’t meant for people like you. What wisdom could a complete stranger give you? If you opened up to a therapist about your past you would have to leave it all out in the open, including your killing people. You supposed you could omit that part, but what good would that do? The thought of baring yourself completely to anyone, much less a random person, terrified you. Talking about emotions had never been your strong suit.

You leaned over and grabbed your phone to see the time. Squinting your eyes violently as your face was bathed in wretched artificial light, you barely made out the numbers. 4:27am. You sighed and lay back. Thoughts of the League of Villains filled your head. Could they really change the world so things like that wouldn’t happen? 

After you absently tossed and turned for a while, you drifted back to sleep, chest feeling so sorrowfully hollow.

~~

You woke to the sound of your alarm. You had 15 minutes to get ready before Sero came to pick you up. Sliding out of bed, you put on a sufficiently decent outfit for walking. The exercise pants accentuated your thighs and calves nicely. You glanced disapprovingly at the bags under your eyes that were considerably darker this morning. Skin blanched, you looked sickly, and it seemed like you could do with a few hundred years more sleep. You could already see Sero’s face contorting in that way it does when he’s worried about you. Though you detested the idea of a person who cared about you seeing you like this, you needed to talk things through to process. Also, it was just so crazy that you could still barely wrap your head around it. You could work for the League of Villains!

When Sero’s inked knuckles rapped on your front door, you opened it and took your time drinking in his appearance. Admiring the way his fitted white T-shirt stretched across the subtle muscles of his chest. His tattoos peeked out the top of his shirt, traveling up his neck and cascading down both arms. His dark ripped jeans complimented his shirt perfectly. His black plugs were paired with two silver cartilage piercings on his left ear, and a barbell in his right eyebrow. His short black hair was a bit longer than usual. Finally, your eyes landed on his left shoulder where a...sloth was clinging to him. You felt a rush of affection for Sero, and you pulled him into a long hug, carefully avoiding the sloth. You could already feel yourself healing. 

“So the sloth is… different. Any other new tattoos I should know about?” Your voice was muffled against his chest. He pulled back before responding.

“Nah, but here! I didn’t forget.” You watched as the tattoo on his left forearm of a cat with shiny stygian fur stretched and yawned before it hopped off his arm and became a real cat.

“Hey Biscuit! Good to see you buddy.” You definitely needed some kitty therapy. You cooed at the small cat and bent over to scoop him up into your arms. After a few scratches behind the ears, he started purring and nuzzled into your neck. 

Your mother and father had had cats when you were little, but they were long gone and you hadn’t been able to afford a pet while living in this house. Of course, you could have afforded cats if you agreed to take more money from the Deku gang or the Shie Hassaikai, like they kept pressuring you to do. You speculated this is why Sero had gotten the tattoo in the first place, but he had never admitted that to you. Certainly he wanted companionship like anyone else, but Sero was more of a dog person, considering he was pretty much the human version of a puppy. 

With one last check to ensure the back porch light was off, the two of you went off on your way to the restaurant where you were planning to stuff your face with hopefully a somewhat nutritious meal. Better than the crap you’ve been daring to call nourishment.

Locking the door behind you, the two of you stepped out into the breezy summer air. If you closed your eyes you could imagine yourself on a beach. Anywhere but here.

Before you got into all of your problems you couldn’t get off your mind, you asked Sero how his work was going. He owned his own small tattoo parlor in the next part of town that was significantly less ramshackle than your zip code. It was no rich people haven by any means, but still nicer. 

“Work is...good! Hey, when are you going to come to my shop and get a tattoo? I’ll make sure to give you the best-person-in-the-world discount!” His silly lopsided grin made giggles erupt from your throat, no matter how you tried to hold them in. The breakfast place he suggested was suspiciously close to said tattoo shop, and you had laughed when he first sent you the address. Always a businessman first.

“Sorry ink-man, no tattoos for me today.”

“Alright, alright, fine. It has been busier than usual, I think sending my card to those gangs like you suggested really paid off! They’re a little terrifying, but hey, they pay me. Oh and you wouldn’t believe what happened the other day.” He launched into a story about how a client had come into his shop for a consultation on a tattoo, whipped out a picture of her boyfriend completely naked and demanded he tattoo the entire thing across her back. 

“What? No way.” You let your head fall back as you laughed at the ridiculousness of some people. It was nice to hear about something screwed up, but not heavy. A story that made you laugh and forget about the betrayal you felt.

“Well, anyway, and most importantly, how are you?” He smiled at you expectantly. Your heart sank a bit as you were again forced back into your thoughts.

“Uh, pretty good I guess.” He raised his eyebrows in disbelief so you continued. “Okay not really. I’ve gotten a surge of trauma patients recently and I lost one last night.�� Though it was never easy, Sero knew losing a patient was nothing new for you, so that couldn’t be why you had called. He nodded sympathetically and put a hand on your shoulder. 

After a moment he offered you a bright smile, “at least you’ve got me!” 

You smiled back, “yeah, I do.” 

The sunlight beamed in through the tree branches and leaves above you, casting spots of golden light onto Sero’s form. The wind whipped through your hair and you enjoyed the smell of summer coming in as you heard the birds chirping blithely around you. As if to keep you from truly enjoying any distraction, the image of your mother’s head twisting around flooded into your head and made you flinch, and you wrenched your eyes shut as if to lessen the impact. But there was no running away from the image plastered on the back of your eyelids.

“I had the nightmare again.” You couldn’t bring yourself to meet Sero’s eyes as you said it, electing to stare at the dirt-caked sidewalk instead. 

“Oh. I’m sorry. It was a bad one this time, huh?” A tattooed arm wrapped around your shoulders, and you snuggled closer, tugging your arm around his back, curling your fingers into his side. He let that fact hang in the air for a bit, leaving room for you to share more if you wanted. You both walked in comfortable silence for a bit, and you breathed in his scent. Soaking up his warmth and support, you tried not to cry as you felt your throat closing up. 

After a moment, Sero startled you by yelling and pointing his finger. He had felt the need to point out two birds in a tree “going at it” and you broke into a relieved laugh. 

From that point on, you chatted idly about everything and nothing while on your way to the restaurant. His laugh was the funniest part of any dumb joke he told. Though, you thought he was funny without even trying. 

~~

The steaming food was set down in front of you, and Sero decided it was time to forgo the small talk.

“So. What’s really going on? I know you love seeing me, of course, but I can tell when something else is on your mind.” His playful grin reminded you that no matter what you said he wouldn’t judge you. So you decided to cut right to the issue, as he bent to take a sip of his iced caramel coffee.

“The League of Villains wants me to be their on-call nurse.” Sero started choking on his drink, and his sloth placed a few gentle pats on his back. He was still able to breathe, so you continued.

“I have to live with them, but they’ll pay me for my time. And I don’t have to pay rent.” You paused for a bit, and your tone must have lacked finality because Sero stayed silent, sensing there was more you wanted to say. But he was also still in the middle of his coughing fit.

“They have made a big difference in the world, for the better, and it would be nice to be part of something bigger. I won’t go on missions with them or anything so my safety shouldn’t be compromised.” You sighed, staring pensively at your food and absently picking at it with your fork. There was another detail that was still bothering you.

“They somehow know about my mom and sister. They’ve done their research and think I would fit in well there.” You warmed at the thought of finally fitting in somewhere. It had been so hard to be somewhat morally grey as a nurse and always walk that line of never fully agreeing with the heroes or villains. Sero had recovered from inhaling his coffee, so he finally spoke.

“What, that’s crazy! Honestly, if it gets you out of that crappy neighborhood, I’ll be glad. I know you’re not happy there, and it sounds like you want to join them. So what’s stopping you?” You were thoughtful for a moment.

“I don’t know. It’s sort of a big change. I just need time to think it over. It seems like the perfect way to safely get out of those deals with the gangs. I wanted to talk it out with you first. You’re my go-to for advice,” you chuckled. He gave you a wide grin.

“Of course I am! I give only the best advice for the best of people. Look, it sounds like this could be really good for you. I mean, we both know your clinic was a lot more stressful than you expected and there’s no opportunities there. I want to see you happy. And maybe you’ll meet a hot villain guy to fu-“

“Ugh, Sero you always have to go there don’t you?” Dabi’s face played in your mind, and you felt the blush creeping up your neck, flicking your eyes to the sidewalk at the base of the outdoor table.

“There’s already a hot villain guy, isn’t there? Isn’t there?!” You blushed more and choked out an embarrassed laugh. Sero’s Cheshire grin went ear-to-ear as he continued.

“Oh there definitely is,” he waggled his eyebrows, “tell me about him. I was wondering how you heard from the League.” You sighed in defeat. 

“There was this guy, Dabi, that came to my house and told me they’ve been watching me, whatever the hell that means. He said they could use someone like me.” Sero looked at you expectantly and flailed his arms.

“And?” You sighed again.

“And he has lots of piercings, blue eyes, and he’s kind of an asshole,” you begrudgingly admitted.

“Just your type, then.”

“I guess.” Dabi did check all your boxes. Somehow.

Sero had been your best friend through all of your tumultuous relationships and your complete weakness for “bad boys” that never treated you right. Dabi definitely fit this category, especially with him being a villain. If you had to psychoanalyze yourself and guess, it must be some self-destructive tendency as a result of your dad’s abuse being the only kind of love you had known after the fifth grade. Therapy might be good. Or maybe you really had embraced your dark side like Midoriya had said. The cliché was almost laughable, but you certainly weren’t going to resist your interest in the scarred man.

“But he also told me that I should watch my back, and he basically admitted that he got information about me from one of the mobs I make deals with. I mean, what else could he mean by that?” Sero hummed and his face twisted slightly with concern. 

He didn’t say it, what you both knew, and what you had been trying to avoid thinking about. The possibility that your Uncle could be the one selling information about you to the League. What could be worth it? More money than they already had? Protection? Supplies? What was worth selling you out for after you had saved so many of their men’s lives? You were blood.

As much as you could tell yourself it was another gang who did it, the one detail remained inconsistent: how Dabi knew about your family. You were certain you hadn’t told a soul who didn’t already know because they were directly involved. The city had to cover up the story, sweep it under the rug and not give details about it to keep your story confidential. It would have looked bad for the well-known hero agency of which he was a member. Of course, the hero had gotten off on some bullshit jail time that wasn’t long enough for the murder (though accidental, it was still murder) he committed. So it wasn’t like anyone could look you up and figure out your entire life story. Or certainly not about that incident. 

You had done years of intensive, paranoid searching to find the story buried somewhere. You never found it. No one was interested in telling the stories of people like you. They would much prefer you stay unknown and unheard.

The only way to figure it out was an inside perspective. You supposed there were the gangsters close to your uncle that could possibly know. Certainly Chisaki, but would Tommy really have told his underlings? No, that seemed unlikely. So, the only people who realistically knew about it were Sero, Tommy, and Chisaki. You thought to the other gangs. In your numerous calculated conversations with Izuku, you were certain you had never slipped up and betrayed any details of your personal life, much less of your childhood trauma. That was a hard line you never crossed with the crime lord, even when he tried to poke around. 

It certainly couldn’t be Keigo. He didn’t seem to care enough about you, or any other than himself, to send people to spy on you. Even if a gangster was spying on you, it still didn’t explain how they knew. Maybe you had talked about it out in the open with Sero? You shook your head, beginning to feel a pounding at the base of your skull from overthinking. You needed a distraction.

“What’s his name?” You gestured your fork at the sloth that was now languidly picking through Sero’s hair. Maybe that’s why it looked more frizzy than usual. 

“Frank. Maybe.” You looked at him incredulously and laughed. It was a funny name, but he had to have thought of something better. “Oh what are you laughing about?” 

“Frank is an absolutely unacceptable name for a sloth. It would have to be something like….Morgan. Yeah, I can see that.”

“I can’t! How is Morgan any better than Frank? They’re both people names. And what else do you name sloths? Fluffy?” 

The rest of the meal was spent arguing over names from his new companion. Except when you occasionally interjected with new realizations about your predicament. Sero played along whenever you derailed the conversation with blurting your thoughts out loud, and gave you reassurance when you needed it. Thank the Gods for his endless patience.

After you both were done eating and paid for the food—the pink-skinned waitress with black pits for eyes was smitten and gave Sero a fuck me please discount—you both started walking back to your house, since Sero had to start up his tattoo shop for the day. You plotted activities for the next time you would come over to his apartment. 

Once you returned to your doorstep, Sero pulled you into his arms. 

“Just know that whatever you choose, I’m here to support you. I love you, okay? Get some more rest then call them and negotiate. They’re only getting you on your terms.” He gazed at you with fondness and a rare seriousness that differed from his normally felicitous demeanor. “And feel around to see who could possibly be telling the League that stuff. Whoever it is, it’ll be okay.”

“I will, and yeah I still need to think about it more, but you’re right. It’s on my terms,” you punched him on the shoulder, “love you too, weirdo.” You reached up to hesitantly stroke the sloth’s head, unsure if that’s what you did with pet sloths. “Bye, Frank.” 

It was a cute name, and you didn’t actually have a problem with it, you just liked messing with Sero. As you watched him walk away you wondered how you lucked out to have someone as great as Sero in your life. He made you laugh with his near-constant levity, but was still serious when you needed it. He had been your rock since high school, and you didn’t want to imagine how your life would be without him. 

You sighed. Now it was time to sit down and do some research.

[yourcasualfangirl]

Aaron and Kaytlyn Minyard-

This is gonna be a long one strap in.

Tw// self harm, suicide, drug abuse, war

Rosie Minyard:

- Rosie Minyard was born in Hawaii to a different name and a different family.

- When she was 5 her parents were murdered. It’s as simple as that. And she was taken.

- there’s a lot of speculation about what actually happened and god if she knows

- but where she goes after that is what’s mattered.

- she’s sold to the biggest human trafficking ring in North America.

- for years she gets bought and sold and it’s all she ever knows.

- it gets busted when she’s 12 and she gets out.

- she’s rushed to a hospital in New York but she refuses to be treated, nobody can get close enough before she starts screaming and fighting

- she’s so traumatized she can’t speak, even if she could she doesn’t speak much English.

- she’s malnourished and beaten and has so many scars you couldn’t even begin to count, the most noticeable one from her right eyebrow to somewhere below her collar

- enter Aaron Minyard

- he recognizes that look in her eye, he saw it when he first met Jean and a car alarm went off, when he first saw kevin after leaving the nest, when Andrew had a bad day, when he saw Neil for the first time after Baltimore

- so he asks if he can look after her, eventually the doctors give in, there’s nothing they can do anyway

- so he sits with her, he doesn’t speak and neither does she. For days, neither of them talk, he comes in when his shift starts and leaves when it’s over

- then he does start talking, he talks to her about anything and everything, he takes to calling her ‘Rosie’ after some of the flowers that were dropped off

- one day he comes in and she’s sitting where he normally does, he asks if he can sit with her and she nods, he asks if he can give her a quick check up, make sure she’s okay, and she nods

- she doesn’t let anyone else touch her, doesn’t let anyone else near her

- and then they find out her name, the first time someone says it to her she starts screaming again, she try’s to run

- Aaron’s the only one who can calm her down, he calls her Rosie until she falls asleep

- that night she tries to kill herself

- Aaron’s the one who stops her, coming in to bring her food, kaytlyns with him

- right then and there’s kaytlyn knows nobody else is going to take her home. She knows it’s gotta be them, so she asks Aaron that night, if they can foster her

- Aaron just looks at her for a moment before he starts crying. He says yes of course and she’s theirs within the month

- the next year is hard, it’s so goddamn hard but they never give up on her

- they help her through her nightmares and therapy, they hold her when she doesn’t remember where she is and thought someone hurt them

- she starts talking about six months in, slowly but surely. She doesn’t speak a lot, it’s just something that’s really hard for her so they learn sign.

- but Rosie does get better, nightmares become less frequent, and god do the foxes love her

- her and Andrew get along easily and quickly, with long silences and hesitant signing (Andrew learned when Aaron did)

- sometimes Andrew and Jean feel like the only ones who could ever understand

- the first time she calls Aaron ‘da’ is when she’s hysterically crying. She woke up not knowing where she was, kaytlyn was working the night and Aaron was asleep. She ran to the living room, though she knew where she was it wasn’t registering. Aaron went downstairs to see what all the fuss was and she was in the backyard.

- she collapsed and cried and begged him to never leave her, when she called him ‘da’ he cried too

- it hurt to see her in so much pain

- when she was 16 she attempted suicide again, the memories being too much

- she had to get institutionalised for a little while and Aaron and Kaytlyn were there every step of the way

- she got better. Really better. It took a while and it was hard but she did. The foxes helped and though she was never able to fully talk about what happened to her, she was never able to have sex without the panic coming back, she was okay again.

Aristotle Minyard:

- the second Aaron saw him he knew what had happened to this boy

- kaytlyn had been the one to propose another kid, Rosie was 13 now and when they asked her about it she had been so excited

- so they went to their local orphanage (idk how it works don’t come at me)

- Aristotle Minyard was born to a different name and different family

- he grew up in a trailer park in southern New Mexico, he barely spoke English

- he had track marks all down his arms and was too skinny for it to be genetics

- he couldn’t look people in the eye and couldn’t stand still

- when Aaron had tried to talk to him he almost started crying.

- they asked what had happened to him and it went like this:

- born and raised in New Mexico, abusive druggie parents who used whatever they had as a substitute for the ADHD meds that Ari needed. Nobody knew the full extent of what had happened

- Kate knew then and there that that boy was going to be theirs.

- the thing was, he came as a packaged deal

- when they asked him if he’d be okay staying for a while he refused, he refused to go anywhere without ‘Lil’

- nobody knew who that was

- eventually he lead them to the detention room where the kids who start fight go, he pointed to the only girl in the room

- a small middle eastern girl who looked as if she wanted to rip the heads off everyone there

- apparently she had been protecting him since the second he got there

- so Aaron and Kate made the decision and took them both home

- it took a while for Ari to come out of his cage but they soon realized everytime they called him by his birth name it got worse, he was back to being the helpless little boy who let him mum poke needles in his arms

- so they asked him what he wanted to be called, and he remembered a man his grandmother used to talk about ‘Aristotle’ now he didn’t really know who that was but the name was cool so he stuck with it

- and he was Aristotle Minyard, he stopped repressing his ADHD because he soon learned in this house it doesn’t mean pain, it doesn’t mean no food

- it took a while and some therapy but eventually he was himself again, the himself he never got to be before Aaron and Kaytlyn

- he never called his parents mum and dad, he never really called them anything so moving those titles to Aaron and Kaytlyn felt like reclaiming who he was and who he wanted to be

- because those names menat love and for the first time ever he felt it

- of course Ari had his bad days, days when the cravings were so bad he felt like he was dying but Aaron was always there

- he helped him through all of it

- the first time Ari touched Aaron’s own track marks and then his Aaron didn’t know what to do, but when Ari quietly whispered ‘we match’ and Aaron hugged him until they both felt okay again. Aaron cried to Kate all night

- he relapsed when he was 17. It was bad. It was really really bad. Ever seen beautiful boy?? Yeah it went like that. His birth parents were trying for custody. He had to go to court and everything and it was so damn hard even Aaron felt the urge

- but after that, when he got out of rehab and saw his parents and fox family again he knew he had a reason to keep fighting, though the drugs didn’t want him to see it

- Jack day and Aristotle Minyard were the best of best friends that ever were. Everyone was convinced they were dating (despite ari being straight), they went everywhere together, they loved each other so damn much and jack helped Ari out of the darkest of times

- he and Nicky speak Spanish together and gossip and talk shit constantly, he and Nicky are like best friends and everyone’s so confused

Lilith Minyard:

- Lilith Minyard was born in a war. She was born in fighting and battle but never thought she would see the middle of it

- and then she did.

- her village was bombed when she was six, the children were rounded up and taken

- she was forced to be a soldier

- she watched children die, she watched families die, she even killed

- it was that or death. She watched her brother refuse, she then watched them cut off his legs and leave him to die. She had to survive.

- when she was 13 she immigrated to America (that thing where you come to the country because if you go back to yours you’ll die)

- she was put into foster care where she met Ari, a small boy on the other end of people’s cruel ness, she watched him allow people to keep bullying him so she stuck with him, she stuck with him and protected him

- she didn’t really have morals anymore, she didn’t know right from wrong, she didn’t know if she cared to learn anymore

- she was much like Andrew in that sense. She couldn’t care less what happened to her, she had no regard for her own life but once she found someone worth protecting it was all that mattered

- when Ari got adopted she went with him

- she didn’t trust Aaron or Kate, any amount of kindness could be a set up, could be a trick

- she might be young but she had seen things they could only imagine

- they made her start therapy, she didn’t talk. She could deal with the nightmares. She could deal with the PTSD. She could do it all herself and didn’t need anyone.

- she slowly started protecting Rosie too.

- she would be lying if she said she wasn’t growing fond of some of the foxes (neil and Renee)

- she had a smart mouth of her own too, her and Neil would get going at it and it would be quite the show

- she never let her guard down though

- Aaron and Kate did what they could but she just wouldnt let them in

- until one night, Ari and Rosie were at Jacks, she had stayed home

- the nightmares were bad, really really bad

- she woke up in a cold sweat and didn’t know where she was

- she walked down stairs so quietly you wouldn’t even know she was awake

- Aaron and Kate were in the kitchen

- she was still at war, she felt it in her bones

- she grabbed katelyn from behind and held her in a headlock, seconds away from snapping her neck

- it took a while to talk her down, to show her she was safe, that her mind was playing tricks on her

- she was yelling in Arabic which nobody knew, and then she was crying too

- they didn’t sleep that night, and the next day Lilith actually talked in therapy

- and the next time someone asked ‘which Minyard? The psycho or the murderer’ she punched them in the face because that was her family

- she was the only one who could take Andrew and Renee in a fight and beat them both

- she was so angry, violence a first nature for her, it took her a while to make it come second, it took her even longer to be able to come to terms the fact that she did need help

- she came out when she was 16, she did so by responding to kaytlyns ‘any cute boys at school?’ question over dinner with ‘ew no but plenty of girls’

- she ended up dating dan and Matt’s daughter

- she chose her name when she first came to America after she heard the story of Adam and Eve, she decided she wanted to be like Lilith

- she’s form Iran btw

All of them:

- they all play exy: Rosie is goalkeeper, Ari dealer and Lilith striker

- they asked Aaron and Kate to properly adopt them when they were 15, they threw a little party

- they help each other, a lot

- so much trauma in one house oml

- also so many languages, German and English with aaron, Arabic and English with Lilith, hawaiian and English for Rosie and Spanish and English with Ari

[nostalthicc]

birthday body shots | jeff wittek

jeff wittek x reader

summary: the flirting for david’s vlog created a lot of unnoticed ignored sexual tension

warnings: sexual concepts, drinking

2k roughly

lowercase intended - flashbacks in italics

y/n was happy with the birthday dinner her friends took her to, sure it wasn’t what she expected but it was nice for once. no cameras, no skits, no flirting just a group of friends celebrating a birthday almost as if their lives were normal. 

y/n did not intend to wake up this early but the light ascended through the blinds in the living room and she was closest to the window. the first thing she noticed when her eyes finally adjusted to the light was her excruciating headache, the second was the fact she was completely pushed up against the edge of the bed, next to her was someone she swore not seeing him ever again would be too soon, jack. His arm was wrapped around her waist, his warm breath fanning her face as he softly snored, it took everything in y/n to get out of his grasp. She fell to the ground with a thud, adding to her headache. Little bits and pieces of last night flashed through her head.

“i’ve never seen a party this big at davids!” y/n yelled over the music to natalie, while they both watched everyone continue to spill into the house. half of the people entering david’s they didn’t even know, the house and backyard were completely full of semi-drunk, sweaty bodies. usually, the parties consisted of the vlog squad and a selected group of other but today it seemed like all of LA decided to join this party. 

natalie turned to face the girl. “yea, it was never supposed to get this big-” she signed, throwing her head into her hand, “-david kept inviting people who invited more people.” natalie didn’t think it was the greatest idea but she knew better than anyone no one could stop david once he set his mind to something, she wanted to stay responsible and be the adult but even she couldn’t deny she was tempted to party with everyone. 

“hey! might as well enjoy it.” y/n shrugged. “bottoms up.” 

that was the start of y/n’s night, as she continued to throw different mixtures of drinks back her mind went into a flurry and little did she know more was to come.

y/n tried dodging all the bodies of her friends and strangers scattered among the floor as she made her way to the kitchen. rubbing circles along her temples, trying to ease the pounding filling her brian a cold metal ejected itself into her foot causing her to let out a series of whispered profanities. y/n focused her eyes on the object, a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs, more memories flooded her thoughts.

“the police are here!” someone yelled, the music was shut off, hectic groups of people started to scatter around panicked, grabbing as many bottles as the could while finding a room or place to hide. erin and corinna linked their arms through y/n’s as they waited for natalie to open the door with David, who still had his vlog camera rolling- to no one’s surprise. most people knew of the stunt being pulled but played into their part of hiding, while some all lingered in the kitchen or living room along with y/n and the girls. 

“look as sober as you can.” zane screeched, making everyone turn to him and shush him. “just act natural.” he bent on the pool stable, causing the cue sticks to fall on the hardwood floor, putting off a loud sound. everyone couldn’t help but start to giggle at the typical ‘zane’ move but all the noise seised when david made his way back into the area, a camera pointed at the birthday girl. his eyebrows were furrowed, a confused look plagued his face. 

“they’re asking for you, y/n.”

natalie soon walked in with four officers following behind her, y/n’s heart was beating fast, she was sure everyone could hear the wild pounding coming from her chest. the men’s eyes scanned the room before landing on their target. they made their way over to y/n, motioning for erin and corinna to move. she started to feel smaller and smaller as they approached her, the intoxication wasn’t helping her fear either. she went to speak but her mouth felt dry.

jason decided to break the silence. “there has to be some mistake.” he said, while still keeping his distance. “what exactly did she do?” he asked playing right into his part, although he did feel a little bad for y/n, she looked petrified, he couldn’t help but internally laugh at her stature. 

the officer who was standing directly face to face with y/n ignored jason, he grabbed her chin, pulling it to the side while shining a blinding light toward her eyes. another one of the men dragged a chair behind y/n, staying next to it. “i don’t think you’ve had quite enough to drink.” he mumbled, causing y/n to furrow her eyebrows together. “can you please sit at the end of the chair with your hands behind your back.”

y/n complied, not wanting to get into more trouble than she around was in, the previous officer grabbed both of her hands before looping the handcuffs through the chair and onto her wrist, his breath was hot on the back of her neck, his body heat radiating causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand tall.

 “it’s your birthday, correct?” y/n nodded. “we have you here for a couple of reasons, one a noise complaint and-” his paused felt like an eternity to the girl “- for being too damn fine!” he yelled as they all ripped their shirts open, displaying their very tones abs. y/n’s eyes widened as confusion still clouded her mind, she was still shaken up with the previous events. 

the music was turned back on and the lights started flashing, many people who were recently hidden have rejoined the party. david had the camera pointed straight in her face as the ‘officers’ started to dance around and on her. “happy birthday, peaches!” everyone screamed, bursting into fits of laughter. 

“david julian dobrik! i am going to kill you!” y/n squealed, a look of anger mixed with amusement written on her face along with amusement. “Oh my god!” the strippers pulled off their pants, all matching in peach emoji underwear right in y/n’s face. the men continued to grind themselves onto her while she giggled uncontrollably, enjoying herself a little bit too much. when she was finally uncuffed and done with the lap dances she remained dancing with her strippers and throwing back drinks. 

more bits of the night resurfaced as she starred at the cuffs, a smile made its way onto her face as she reminisced her night. she continued on her journey to find medicine. when she finally made it to the living room she cringed at the mess and destruction caused by the party, bodies, red solo cups, food, and pieces of glass were scattered across the floor. a bottle of Fortaleza Blanco tequila caught her attention when she heard shuffling coming from the kitchen, pulling her attention away. she made direct eye contact with the person who the tequila reminded her of. jeff.

“jeff, come one. it’s my birthday! let my one wish come true. dance with me.” y/n whined, pulling on jeff’s arm to pull him away from the corner of the room. he allowed the small girl to drag him away from his secluded spot, she was right, it was her birthday and he was more than happy to deliver. once they got to the dance floor jeff watched as y/n started twirling around and swaying to the music like no one else was in the room, she grabbed onto his hands trying to get him to dance with her, jeff gave in once again, resting his hands on her waist moving to the beat along with her. he turned her body so y/n was facing away from him, into a more intimate stance, her back hitting his chest. it’s just for the vlog. she gladly accepted the new position, grinding her ass onto jeff. they continued dancing for what felt like forever until they heard stassie’s voice over the music.

“body shots!” 

y/n was quick to drag jeff over to the bar, where their friends and some others were gathered, many bottles of tequila were position on the counter, along with salt and limes. y/n’s flared with excitement while she admired all of her options.

“me and y/n are going first.” stassie shouted, pointing at the birthday girl whose eyes were still trained on all the treats. “pick your poison.” y/n chose the classic bottle of Fortaleza Blanco, taking a fairly large swig of it before handing it to stassie who did the same, she pulled off her top before bouncing on the pool table.

y/n turned back to jeff. “do the honors.” she whispered before joining her friend on the table. a lime was set into both of their mouths, along with salt placed in a line from their cleavage to their collar bone, madison took the tequila, pouring a fair amount onto both girl’s stomachs. they were surrounded by a big circle of people either wanted to watch or get a turn at the action. zane was first to jump into the pull table, right as stassie’s feet, pointing to david’s camera with a big grin on his face. jeff’s inner debate quickly ended when he found himself jumping onto the table, everyone erupted into cheers and hoots. just for the vlog.

y/n tried to keep her breathing a bay, she watched as best as she could as jeff climbed over her body, getting closer to her stomach. his lips parted as he met her eyes, the air seemed to thin, the music around them started to fade, they felt like the only two people in the world. after a few seconds of their staredown, jeff eventually lowered his head to y/n’s torso, getting every last drop of the bitter drink, he then climbed farther up her body now face to face with her chest, he licked up the line of salt, his tongue leaving a burning sensation on y/n’s skin. he wasted no time to before he was face to face with y/n,  their soft lips met as jeff sucked the juice from the lime, he picked it out with his teeth before spitting it somewhere long forgotten, he then connected his lips back to y/n in a long-awaited, lust-driven kiss. everyone once again cheered at the two but it was only background noise, y/n and jeff were caught in bliss while they moved in sync with each other. y/n was first to pull away out of breath, her heart was pounding in her rib cage as his eyes pierced into hers. definitely not for the vlog anymore.

“hey.” jeff said, moving the fallen out of his face before going back to rummage through one of david’s many cabinets. “i’m looking for ibuprofen or something but he literally has nothing.” y/n smiled to herself before walking over to the island, opening a drawer full of miscellaneous items, humming in triumph when she found the bottle of pills she was looking for. she shook the pills in jeff’s directly.

“you mean these.” 

he rolled his eyes, getting two glasses down and filling them with water. he sat them down on the counter closest to y/n, she handed him two pills before taking hers. “fuck, i can’t remember anything.” 

“anything?” jeff asked.

“maybe a few things…” she trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip, her mind going into a battle trying to decide if she wanted to indulge in the conversation at the moment. “do you wanna go to the beach? i just woke up next to my ex and need to clear my mind and you’re the only one awake.” she started gnawing on her lips once again. “and i think we should talk.”

[hargrove-mayfields]

A Stake of Holly In Her Heart Pt. 7

Pt. 1   Pt. 2   Pt. 3   Pt. 4   Pt. 5   Pt. 6 

The first morning of the New Year, Max is spending her day in the cemetery.

She doesn’t really know what she believes about death, doesn’t have a clue where in the universe her brother might be now, be it of divinity or the supernatural, or maybe nowhere at all. All she knows is that she thinks the graveyard is creepy.

Right now, she’s sat cross-legged on the plot where her brother is buried, a space which is by now mostly grown over, her back against his headstone, wearing his jacket and using his Walkman.

There’s melting snow on the ground, the splotchy patches of ice soaking through her jeans and sending a nasty chill through her bones.

Her fingertips are numb, her nose and her cheeks are bright red from the whipping wind, her teeth chatter and her body shakes.

She hates the weather here, the dreariness and the bitter cold she never had to deal with back home, but she’s getting better at appreciating it for what it is.

Hawkins was supposed to be a new start, a way for her to sort of step away from how things used to be, when she still trusted her step-dad and when her and her brother fought all the time, so she could grow as a person.

She never expected it to be a permanent stop. Before Susan remarried, her and her mother used to move from city to city constantly, and she thought this would be like that in a way, where they’d move right on to the next place once they were done in the dinky little town.

But then they lost Billy, had to bury him in middle-of-nowhere Indiana, thousands of miles away from his home where he belonged, and Hawkins became a symbol of everything Max hated.

From optimism for where they could go from here, to the depressing reminder of confinement, of not being in control of her own life, her circumstances had done a complete 180.

She thinks that, for the most part, she’s getting better though. For one thing, it’s a pretty good sign that she’s not crying from just being here in the gloomy graveyard, but she’s still got a long ways to go.

Not that the hurt from her brothers death is ever going away, that’s a lifetime deal, but she’s at a place where she’s beginning to realize that the world is bigger than what she's lost.

Because, while Susan might not have been coming from the right place when she told her daughter that she needed to appreciate what she did have, Max thinks she can get behind it.

So what if her friends couldn’t feel her pain exactly, they were willing to help, and their help was exactly what she needed. That alone meant the world to her, no matter how pushy they could be, or how unhelpful their advice was.

And why did Hawkins have to lose its significance just because of the bad things that happened there? What was keeping her from remaining optimistic in the face of her suffering?

There was no good reason at all for why she couldn’t still be happy surrounded by her friends, or look forward to her future just because her brother couldn’t. If anything, she should do all of those things for him.

He never did much like anyone making a fuss over him, so Max likes to think that’s what Billy would’ve wanted her to believe too.

That’s why she’s out there now, mostly unprotected from weather cold enough to freeze her Winnebago, because she had made a promise to herself that she was going to be better at appreciating life for what it was, and that’s exactly what she would do.

In the moment, that meant becoming a human popsicle in the cemetery.

Any day now Maria Hargrove would be arriving in Hawkins to visit Billy, and Max wanted to be there when she did.

There was no telling exactly when she’d actually get in town, given the day and a half drive from Modesto to Hawkins, so for the past few days, Max had been camping out in the cemetery during the day as she awaited her arrival.

She’s starting to get bored waiting. Thrice she’s listened through the one mixtape of her brother’s that was still in the Walkman when she found it, and she’s considering just going home for the day.

Breaking curfew too many times meant the creation of new a rule that she be home before dark anyways, and considering she’s probably minutes away from becoming hypothermic, she decides she’s going to start heading back now.

As she stands and tries to brush off some of the ice clinging to her pants, though, she notices a woman a little ways away walking on the path, nervously checking every name on every headstone.

There’s not a glimmer of doubt in Max’s mind that this woman is Maria Hargrove.

The resemblance between mother and son is unmistakable, from the way their curls, dirty blonde and loose, laid flat in the winter, the curve of their button noses and the spatter of freckles across it, the deep blue of their eyes. Just seeing her and how much she looked like Billy, Max feels a twinge of sadness in her heart.

It’s when those eyes, in all of their dark intensity, meet hers that Max offers up a sympathetic smile, and slips her headphones off of her ears.

Maria’s gaze meets hers, and her face goes pale as she stops dead in her tracks. There’s a moment where it looks like she might bail, but she takes a deep breath, and steps forward.

“Are you Billy’s step-sister?”

“Yes ma'am”

Nervously, Maria goes for the formalities, deliberately standing so she can keep the headstone behind Max out of her line of sight.

Wrapping her arms around herself against the cold, or maybe for comfort, the nervous woman says “Thank you for reaching out, dear.”

Max shrugs her shoulders, keeping her freezing hands deep in her pockets. It’s an awful nonchalant gesture for how overwhelmed she’s feeling in the presence of Billy’s mom. “Thought you needed to know.”

Neither of them knows what to do for a moment, Maria still clearly not ready to actually address the reason she’s here, so Max tries to break the ice again.

“I have a picture here. You can have it.” She thought it would be a nice thing to do, bringing Maria a picture of Billy, since she probably hadn’t seen any of him that weren’t almost a decade old.

She chose one of the defects from last summer when they were trying to get his headshot for the lifeguard board. It’s a little blurry and washed out from the sun, but it’s one of the last few pictures ever to be taken of him, and the most Billy picture she had of him by far.

Probably because he’d been in his element, far away from the fake smiles and the even faker family bonding that most pictures of him included, just goofing off with his sister in the backyard and trying to get a good shot, it was definitely one of her favorites.

Taking the little Polaroid from Max’s hand, Maria gasps softly as she studies her estranged son's face. Tears bubble up in her throat as she remarks, mostly to herself, “My handsome boy…”

With what looked to be a tremendous effort, Maria looked up and took another few steps forward, now at the foot of her son's grave.

There’s a quiver in her voice as she asks Max softly, “Could you tell me what happened?”

“There was a fire at the mall. He tried to help some people out but the ceiling, it collapsed because it was glass and, he-he didn’t make it.” It’s a practiced story, she wonders if she’s a little too dull in her delivery, because it’s not really the whole truth.

The impaled by falling debris story just happened to be government approved, and tended to work a lot better than telling people he’d been killed by an inter dimensional monster from a parallel universe.

“My baby.” Her thumb caresses absentmindedly over the glossy photo. “Went out a hero.”

She smiles for nobody but herself. “He was always like that. Even when he was just a little thing, he thought he could protect me from Neil.”

“I- Neil, did he ever…?” Max can tell what she’s implying, if he ever abused Billy like he had his mother, and, not knowing how to be any less blunt about it, Max simply tells her, “Yeah. A lot, actually.”

With a shaky hand, Maria covers her mouth in something like shock, disappointment, regret. There’s a tightness in her voice when she speaks again, an unreadable mix between anger and heartbreak, “He swore to me he wouldn’t ever lay a hand on our boy.”

“God, I don’t know why I believed him.” Pushing her hair back, a nervous tick Max had seen her son do a thousand times as well, she barely manages to choke out, “He said he would change. I can’t-.”

She stews in that for a moment, teary eyes locked on the stone in front of her, and when she speaks again, her voice is full of something very different from the sadness she’d been letting through before. “I need to see him.”

There’s a dangerous look in her eye as she turns to look to Max, “Where can I find Neil Hargrove?”

Maria drives her back home in her ‘74 Karmann Ghia, and, while Max appreciates being spared the long walk home in the cold, she’s got to admit she’s nervous.

There’s no telling how exactly Neil is going to react to finding out that Maria’s in town thanks to Max, and she’s equally unsure about what Maria is going to do seeing her abuser for the first time in eight years. It’s more than stressful.

The truck is pulled up out front, confirming much to Max’s dismay that there’s no avoiding this confrontation. She just hopes things don’t get too far out of control.

Her parents must have been waiting up for her, because, as soon as they park, Neil is on the porch, arms crossed and looking stern, ready to chew out whichever of Max’s friends is behind the wheel this time, but that attitude is dropped completely when he sees Maria.

Mostly because, as soon as she steps out of the car, she makes him drop it, marching right across their lawn just to smack him as hard as she could.

Max quickly sneaks past them, running up to the porch and allowing her own mother to place a concerned hand on her shoulder and steer her inside away from the fighting. She continues watching from the living room window.

“How could you?” Even from inside, Max can hear her shrieking voice clearly. “I am his mother!”

Neil, a man typically known for the disturbingly calm way he fought, actually shows his anger, flushing red as a beet and telling her in a voice that’s shaking with hatred. “You lost your right to that boy the moment you walked out the door.”

“You know that’s not fair! You left me with no choice!” She puts both hands on his chest and shoves him hard, tears on her cheeks. “You lied to me!”

“I parented him as I saw fit!” He raises his voice, and Max swears see can physically see the restraint it’s taking him not to hit Maria back. She’s glad they hadn’t brought this inside.

“What right do you have to question me, when you,” he points a finger into her face, “you left us behind.” he says, turning it around on himself, “I was there for that boy, while you were what, trying to live out your fantasy? Run away so you could show me how independent you were?”

Maria screams back at him, “It doesn’t matter what you think of me! I still deserved to know that my baby was dead!”

Just watching the two of them go at it really explains a lot about Billy.

The temper, the terrible coping mechanisms, the anger issues, all of it can be boiled down to the display currently happening in her front yard.

Max finds herself wishing he had more time to work on it, the behavior that was so deeply ingrained in him, but seeing firsthand the way his parents conducted themselves, she felt proud of him that he could even do as much as he had before his life was cut short.

Though it only makes the sting of his last words, a broken apology past the blood bubbling up in his throat, all the worse, knowing that he’d been trying so hard to be different, but all she could do for him now was make sure she didn’t veer down the same path. To try to use all that her friends had taught her to keep from following in his footsteps, and repeating his same mistakes.

Billy’s parents, however, seem to have shut out any thoughts like that, letting their hostility and their aggression out right in the front yard, no doubt by now drawing a crowd of nose neighbors peeking through their blinds.

Maria slaps Neil again, for what exactly Max didn’t quite catch that time, and storms back to her car.

Neil follows her, standing at her drivers side door and continuing his tirade of profanities even as Maria’s drives away.

Watching Neil fuming in the street now that Maria is gone, Max thinks it’d be in her best interest to be as far away from the aftershock of the fight as possible.

She cautiously hides out in her room, listening to Neil stomping his way back into the house, to him slamming doors and saying nasty things to Susan until that’s all replaced with the sound of keys being dug out of a pocket, and the truck roaring to life out front.

Sometimes Neil would do that, just up and leave to go out drinking at the bar if he didn’t want to face something that made him particularly angry. Max’d take that any day over a beating.

The whole thing still leaves Max shaken to her core, so, using what she’s been trying to teach herself since deciding she didn’t have to do everything on her own, she decides she’s going to reach out.

It takes her forever to finally turn the dial on her walkie, and even longer to actually say anything into it. “Guys?”

There are no initial responses, so she tries again. “Anybody read me?”

The first to respond is Lucas with a “Loud and clear, MadMax.” and the rest follow suit with various confirmations of their own.

Eleven asks her, “Everything is alright?”

“Yeah, totally, I just,“ She sighs, trying to find the right words. Opening up was definitely something she needed more practice with. “Billy’s mom came into town today and it made my step dad really mad and-“

“Hold the phone.” It’s Steve interrupting her despite having been expressly told by Dustin that he was only allowed to snoop if he never bothered them. “ You’re telling me that the Maria Hargrove is here? In Hawkins?”

“Yeah, I- she’ll be in town for the next few days,” Max says, a little thrown off guard, “but that’s not my point, I was saying that-“

“This is major. I mean, where is she? What’s she doing here?” Steve’s talking fast, his tone sounding like a cross between frantic and pissed off. “I need some more to work with here, Max.”

“Well she’s here for Billy, obviously, and I think she mentioned the Motel 6.” Max explains quickly, trying to get back to the point at hand, “But really I-“

“How long is she here for?”

“Steve!” At least three of the kids yell at him at once, not only for breaking literally the only rule he was given when they let him have a walkie, but also for cutting Max off.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll butt out.” He says, seemingly chastened, but then he tries to add, “First can you tell me if-“

“Goodbye, Steve.” Dustin cuts in before the older boy can add a condition.

They wait until they’re sure he’s done before Will asks, “What was his problem?”

Now, Max knows why it concerns Steve, but she keeps her mouth shut. She’d just sit back and let the rest of the kids come up with whatever explanation they saw fit, and maybe talk to Steve about Maria later.

Mike snickers into his end, “Maybe he likes older women?”

Lucas scoffs, “That’s gross, man.”

After that, the conversation doesn’t linger for too long on Max’s problems beyond them making sure she’s okay and moving along to their usual topics of discussion, but just that little bit of concern is enough for her. Her friends were by no means professional therapists, but, thinking over the newest gossip and campaign ideas leaves her mind occupied with something other than dwelling on the negative, and that’s enough.

One of the hardest things she’d been dealing, was fear that if she allowed herself to be happy, to focus or to think about anything other than her sadness over her brother, she was going to forget him.

But spending the night talking with her friends about games and teenager drama, she can’t help but feel that it’s just overall better to focus on the good things in life rather than to keep reopening the wound by dwelling on everything miserable.

Two days, a reportedly passive aggressive introduction to Steve Harrington, and many hours spent at her son's graveside later, Maria calls from her room at the Motel 6 to tell Max she’s leaving for California.

She says she feels she’s overstayed her welcome, and that she’s had enough time to made her peace. There’s nothing left for her in Hawkins, so it’s time to go back home.

Max asks her, “Will you be back soon?”

The question basically answers itself; if Maria could leave her behind ten year old when he was begging her to stay, it only made sense that she could leave him behind with ease, now that he’s eighteen and six feet under. The only reason Max really feels the need to ask is in case it might change her mind.

“If I can make it.” It’s an ambiguous enough answer that she knows it means no, but she supposes she can live with that. Just knowing that she got Maria to come back to Billy at all is what mattered.

What a shame though, that it took her son dying young, killed at the cusp of his adulthood, to bring her back around. What a shame that she couldn’t face the consequences of her actions before it was too late.

But it was never really about Maria anyways, Max couldn’t have cared less if she got her closure, or made her peace, as she had put it. It was all for Billy.

It would seem anyways, that these days, most things Max did were.

Because no matter where it was that his soul had ended up, she knows she can do better, can keep growing knowing that she did right by him, and continues to do so every day.

It is for this reason, in honor of her big brother Billy, as well as for her own sake, that Max made it her goal to do her best to honour Christmas in her heart, and try to keep it all the year.

Read also on ao3!

[cryxmercy]

Mist & Memory || Mercy & Arthur {POTW Flashback}

Bloody Mary ruins Netflix and Chill. 

Who: Mercy and @arthurjdrake

Where: Drake Residence, evening When: near the beginning of the Bloody Mary POTW/end of the memory monsters POTW

TW: assault, injury, blood, gore, mentions of mass death and illness

Mercy had spent the better part of the day - which had been mostly sunny and fog-free, thank the gods - working in the backyard, tending to the small vegetable garden she’d started for her and Arthur. It was all neat and tidy now, with it’s little baby plants all in rows, and even a scarecrow to frighten off any critters that thought they could get a free meal out of Mercy’s hard work. She’d been quite filthy (and just a tiny bit sunburned) by the time she’d finished up. So filthy that Arthur had threatened to hose her down himself (risking bodily harm in the process) before she came back inside. Mercy had merely grinned at him - knowing he was (mostly) full of shit - and flicked a bit of dirt his way before ducking inside and racing off to her room to shower. 

Now she was clean, hair washed and dried but still in a mess of wavy locks that fell down her back, and wearing a long-sleeved sweater and sleep shorts. She and Arthur had watched the first Lord of the Rings movie, and Mercy had drifted off at some point, the combination of a long day’s work and Arthur’s familiar presence - as well as several mostly sleepless nights in the last week - too much for her tired body to resist. She dozed lightly, her fingers having found their way just beneath the hem of Arthur’s shirt as she slept. They moved absently over the soft warmth of his skin as the last few minutes of the movie played out.

Outside, the thick, creeping fog had returned as evening fell. It drifted up from the ground, enveloping the house and the yard in a blanket of grey mist that was impossible to see through.  As full dark descended, a small furrow appeared in Mercy’s brow, and she made a sound of discontent as she shifted restlessly. 

It wasn’t entirely uncommon for Mercy to fall asleep during films, Arthur had grown rather accustomed to it in fact. So much so he ended up propping the bowl of cheese laden doritos on her side as a makeshift table considering he couldn’t reach the coffee table in front of the sofa. Plus considering how tired she’d been looking he’d felt it was only right to let her sleep, after all, there would be plenty of other times to watch movies.

As the final credits rolled, he grabbed the remote and switched the TV over to a lo-fi playlist off youtube considering he was rather effectively trapped on the sofa by Mercy. Not that he minded. If she got some sleep even only a little bit it was better than nothing, and it wasn’t as if he had anything else to do with the time.

Grabbing a few more chips he popped them into his mouth, letting his arm fall over the back of the sofa, sliding a little further down the sofa so he could prop his head on the arm. Night was coming in earlier now and it wouldn’t be long before darkness took the town for the night.

Mercy didn’t often mention her sleepless nights to Arthur. Not because she was trying to keep something from him - she’d decided a long time ago that she wasn’t going to do that anymore - but because it had been going on for so long that for Mercy, it was normal. But Arthur knew her better than anyone, and he noticed. She knew he did. She often wondered if he noticed how much better she slept when she was next to him. Tonight, however, was an exception. Her dreams were troubled, full of writhing shadows and the smell of rotting flesh. Stained and splintered bone and glassy, sightless eyes. A darkness so fathomless and so ancient that even Mercy was frightened of it. Of what waited beyond the torchlight… in the deep… in the dark… 

The world trembled-

Mercy woke with a start, and it took a moment for her to realize where she was. Her heart still thrummed frantically in her chest in the dim light of the room. The fog was thick and milky through the windows, and she could’ve sworn she saw something move in the far off shadow of the trees lining the waterfront. But as she kept watching, it didn’t happen again. She sighed, and the warmth next to her drew her back to the present. Mercy pressed a weary hand over her eyes as she sagged back against Arthur. “Fuck me… sorry. Bad dream…”

Arthur was just reaching for another handful of doritos when Mercy startled awake, thankful that it was mostly crumbs left when the plastic bowl toppled off and onto the rug considering his slow-reaction attempt to try and snag it failed rather spectacularly. Resigned to not being able to move and get it he ended up tiling his head back and dropping the chips into his mouth. Little else to be done really and he was hardly going to let them go to waste.

With the credits music rolling and Mercy having woken up Arthur watched her with quiet concern. “Again?” for all their lives Mercy had struggled with nightmares and dreams, these so-called prophecies she’d been gifted with since childhood. He’d never truly known what to make of them or what they might mean but they always worried him. His arm dropped lazily over her hip, hugging her gently in the hopes it might help settle her a fraction. “Was it anything in particular?”

For the most part, Mercy had grown used to her dreams. Most didn’t even faze her much anymore, except on occasion when she was overtired or over stressed. Or when she was faced with ones that were unfamiliar. Either way, they were just a part of her life. Always had been, and always would be. Arthur knew it as well as Mercy, having worried over her for the better part of twelve centuries now. “Yeah…” Mercy breathed, opening her eyes as she lay back down. The warm weight of Arthur’s arm was soothing, and she lay there for a moment, fingers toying idly with the Mjolnir pendant around his neck as she tried to calm her racing heart. 

It was so stupid… to be frightened of a dream. At least it should feel that way. But Mercy didn’t feel stupid. She felt… a sense of dread… foreboding. Uncertainty that she couldn’t rightly explain. Other than the old feelings the memory - the nightmare - had brought back to life. “London Below,” Mercy said quietly. “The Labyrinth.” She frowned deeply, fingers stilling on Arthur’s pendant. He knew the story of what had happened there. “The old forest god...”

Some things simply couldn’t be changed, they were a part of your life and you simply learned how to deal with them. Freyja’s nightmares were just one of those things, Arthur couldn’t take them away but he could listen and let her share the burden they took on her. Around her there was no effort to try and hide, so when she took the pendant that tended to remain tucked under his shirt and toyed with it he didn’t try to pull it back.

It took a few moments for Arthur to remember the story, there were so many sometimes they blended so much that it was hard to tell one from another. “That hasn’t been an issue for hundreds of years though right?” his fingers ghosted over her arm up and down in a soothing motion. “You got rid of it. It’s probably just old ghosts coming back to haunt you.” After all, once they’d been dealt with especially by Mercy of all people those things tended to stay gone.

“Right. I’ve… been back several times over the years, to London Below… to the Floating Market, and a few other places... but never to the Labyrinth. It was just the once.” When London and the surrounding countryside was being consumed by the Black Death. Mercy had dreamed of that time in her life before, but rarely.  It had first come round again when she’d still shared her thoughts with Morgan. These last couple of weeks had seen it recurring more and more often. Recurring nightmares tended to recur for a reason. At least for Mercy. And that worried her.

The light brush of his fingers eased that worry a bit, as did the notion of it being nothing more than old ghosts. “Probably.” Mercy’s frown remained, but her fingers started their slow movements again, eventually tucking the pendant back where it belonged beneath Arthur’s shirt. She lay her palm over it. Felt his heart beating there as well. For a long moment, Mercy was quiet, finding solace in simply lying there with Arthur. But the ghosts wormed their way back into her head. “What if it’s not?” A sensation like being doused in ice water rolled over her, and goosebumps raced along her arms. Outside, the fog shifted unnaturally, and Mercy could’ve sworn she felt the ground tremble slightly. Though it could’ve been her that trembled.

“I won’t be able to kill it this time, Arthur.” 

“How’d you even come to learn about it in the first place?” Granted Mercy had a lot of contacts and people in places that Arthur didn’t know of nor did he always want to know. Sometimes you were better off just happening upon things as they happened than knowing every single detail about every single thing. It took the fun out of situations when they did crop up and this was one such example of that.

“I don’t see how it could be anything but, it’s not like they’d come back hm?” his fingers continued their soft pattern, moving up and down her arm eventually stilling and resting against hers. “How could it be? Unless it’s somehow able to teleport across miles of water and end up here? Which last I recall of you telling me this story it can’t teleport…”

“Why not?” it didn’t make sense that it couldn’t be killed. Everything could be killed given means and motivation.

“Of the Labyrinth?” Mercy’s brow furrowed as she tried to find the answer. But it was so long ago. “I don’t remember. I think I always knew.” It was a vague statement, but not that unusual coming from Mercy. “The beast I heard about at the Floating Market. The sort of thing that’s… whispered about but never really spoken about out loud.” A shadow fluttered across Mercy’s face. “They said it was a demon. That it had brought the plague.” Her voice lowered, as if even now she was afraid to speak too loudly. “And that… the only way to end the dying was to slay it.” Mercy closed her eyes. “I remember sitting near a fire… night after night… listening to all manner of men and women - soldiers, hunters, casters, demon-killers, thrill-seekers - argue and fight over who should be the next to go down into the dark. They were all very brave… and very strong. Yet most never returned. The few that did…” Mercy made a small sound. “They were different.” 

A small beat of silence followed. “Eventually, there was no one left who would go. The plague was... so many were dying. So… I volunteered. Should’ve done it sooner, but… I wanted to see what it would make of the others first. If they could succeed. When they didn’t, well.” Arthur knew the rest of the story. And Mercy didn’t care to relive it again. 

“It can’t,” she agreed. “It never could. It wasn’t a spirit, or a phantom. It was real and it was ancient and it was… something other than just a boar… but it was flesh and bone and blood. And I killed it… I painted it’s blood over my eyes… and left it to rot in that place.” Her voice was slowly rising as she started to get upset. “Because I lost my spear. I used it on that fucking squid demon…” Mercy sighed, pressing a hand back over her eyes. “It’s at the bottom of the lake. And I can’t kill the boar without the spear…” If it were even real, and not just a ghost of a nightmare, as Arthur said.

For a moment after that, Mercy thought she was trembling again. And maybe she was. But when something in another room shattered as it fell to the floor, she opened her eyes, giving Arthur a familiar look that needed no explanation.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered, going very, very still. 

It was strange for Mercy to not bite the bullet sooner, an action orientated individual he knew it was simply her nature to charge into battle without a second thought for the safety of a situation. But those were different times and circumstances changed so Arthur didn’t think to question too further on that account. She did what she needed to do and that was that. 

“Well then, as you say… It’s dead.” And if it wasn’t, well there wasn’t much they could do about it now was there? “What about getting your spear back? I’d say I would help but…” he gave her a mildly apologetic look knowing they were both acutely aware he would be no assistance in this department. “What about diving equipment? I’m sure you could scour the lake.���

“Mm.” But the quiet comfort he’d been letting himself sink into was interrupted by the crash from the direction of the kitchen and Ren had to stop himself from sighing. “Yeah” he answered lowly before grumbling under his breath “why can’t we get five bloody minutes of peace in this place?”

If she hadn’t lost her spear, Mercy would’ve already gone after the creature that she knew she’d seen prowling the woods. But she remembered the dark and the rot and the ones that never returned from below. She remembered knowing that the weapon was the only way. That she was the only way. And if this thing had truly come back from the dead somehow… then there was no one else who could stop it. No one else who would. Or so the part of Mercy that still feared the old gods… and the deep, deep dark... told her. 

But Arthur, as always, pulled her back from that darkness. She smiled at him, some of the tension easing out of her face. “I know you would…” But the spear was beyond his reach. It might be beyond Mercy’s as well. “I could,” she nodded, a small furrow returning to her brow. “ I tried to get it back once. Recently. I even had help.” But that hadn’t worked out well for either her, Mina, or Ariana. “But I… I don’t think I can go back into that water…” It was rare for Mercy to be frightened of anything. But the last time she’d been beneath the black water of the lake, she almost hadn’t returned. She didn’t need to say it out loud to know Arthur would get her meaning. She was scared. 

The shattering glass was a singular sound that didn’t come again. As the house stayed quiet once more, Mercy slowly forced her body to relax again. It wasn’t fair, she knew - hearing Arthur’s muttered annoyance - to never have peace. That was what Mercy wanted more than anything, despite the Fury nature that would always have a need and a craving for turmoil and chaos. She didn’t want to merely survive anymore. She wanted to live. With Arthur. To finally have the one thing that had always eluded her. The one person that had always been just out of reach. But who was here now, lying with her, listening to her fears and her failures and taking them all in stride. As he always had. 

He deserved better than a life of pain and fear and heartbreak. So Mercy let herself settle. The house was quiet, the thick white curtain of fog still shifting strangely outside, but she turned her focus back to what was, instead of what might be. “It’s probably just Nana…” Mercy said, letting her fingers drift along the curve of Arthur’s arm. “Or Loki.” She traced the images inked into his skin, using them as a focal point as her tension continued to fade. Old fears were getting the better of her lately. Slipping between the cracks left over from recent events. The wraith. The mimes. Arthur’s brush with death. Mercy’s drowning and the blindness that followed. Their trip through her memories to save a friend who had died anyway, murdered in the street. Some days Mercy wondered what the point of it all was. And then Arthur would smile at her, or she’d hear his laughter, and Mercy remembered.

“Let’s stay here…” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “I like it better here.” 

As much as Arthur would have liked to stay right here and not go and investigate, he couldn’t entirely bring himself to forget about the fact that something had smashed. His eyes pressed closed for a few moments knowing these would be the last few he’d likely get before they had to figure out what had been smashed and the process of fixing or replacing it. “I just hope it isn’t one of my antiques, do you know how hard it is finding a good potter these days?” His fingers drifted over Mercy’s waist waiting and listening yet nothing more came.

Was that a good sign or bad? He tried to continue listening, though the brush of Mercy’s finger over the dark interwoven patterns of their history and their home that he’d had inked into the very essence of his skin started to shift his focus away from that and everything that had come to pass of late. “We should build a big bonfire this year, for Samhain. I also still haven’t warded the house which is definitely something we should do before the end of the month hm?”

“Hm,” Arthur stretched out on the sofa folding one arm behind his head lazily “you make a convincing argument. I’m very comfy right now.” 

Mercy hummed in agreement. “I’m sure it’s right up there with finding a decent swordsmith. Or authentic Thai food.” She relaxed a bit as they waited for a follow up crash, enjoying the warm weight of Arthur’s hand at her waist. But the house remained silent, and Mercy didn’t care to seek out trouble. Especially if it drew her away from the sofa. 

But Arthur’s focus slipped from the sound and back to Mercy’s attentions. The thought of a bonfire for the upcoming holiday made her smile, and a soft laugh followed. “A giant bonfire that’ll light up the night sky… and rain down fiery embers for us to dance beneath, our faces painted to hide from those spirits who might wish us harm.” It had been quite awhile since Mercy had celebrated properly. “But yeah… the warding should probably come sooner rather than later,” she agreed. Else who knew what might come calling. 

Mercy watched him as he stretched. Her fingers drifted to his waist, gently seeking the warm skin beneath the hem of his sweater. “That’s good…” she murmured, snuggling closer. A mischievous look glinted in her eyes as she rubbed her nose lazily against his, ‘Eskimo’ style. “Was afraid you’d run off and leave me all by my lonesome…”

“Actually I’ll have you know that sword shop in town is pretty solid in that department…” Arthur said. “Though I’m convinced they have a vampire behind the scenes authenticating all their stock. No way are they all that legit without some historical perspective.” 

“Like we did when we were small, right? We did that?” there were only vague recollections of distant memories, most of the faces blurred and lost to time. Though it was hard to forget the pounding beat of drums and swell of music that sank into your bones and moved you to a place of higher belief. An existential experience. Though that could partly be blamed from the mushrooms they foraged at such events.

“Never. I’m not that cruel.” But even the comfort of Mercy’s presence wasn’t enough to diminish the nagging hypervigilance that White Crest had bred into him and Arthur frowned as another crash came from the kitchen. “Oh come on…” he groaned begrudgingly pulling away from Mercy to walk in the direction of the kitchen “Nana if that’s my vase we’re gonna have words!”

And yet, as Arthur stepped into the kitchen he blinked in apparent confusion. “What- there’s no- What’s going on?”

“Excalibur?” Mercy asked, giving him a skeptical look. “The one time I went in there the guy at the counter tried to sell me a knock-off. It was a good one. But still a knock off. Though I think he was also really high…” She shrugged, grinning a bit. “At least you know your antiques and can’t get ripped off like other people.” 

Mercy’s expression softened a bit at the mention of their childhood. So long ago now that she barely remembered it except for a few vivid memories that were unlikely to fade. “We did. We painted our faces-” She pulled two fingers lightly over his eyes. “-and braided feathers and bone in our hair… we danced until our legs fell out from under us.” A small laugh escaped her as the memory rose up, warming a special place in her chest. 

It warmed a bit more as Arthur started to tease her in return, but another resounding crash from the kitchen made them both groan in frustration. Mercy stood, scrubbing her hands over her face as she followed Arthur into the kitchen, ready to clean up whatever mess the ghost had caused this time. Though it wasn’t like her to break things so vehemently. “Is it the vase…” Mercy started to ask as she came up beside Arthur. 

But the scene before her answered her own question. There was a something in their kitchen, but it wasn’t Nana. It was something else. Something... dark and terrible. Something that made even Mercy’s skin crawl with a sense of… wrongness. But she barely had time to register what was happening before the spirit was on them. “RUN!!” Mercy pushed in front of Arthur and held up her arms to try and deflect the attack, but there was nothing she could do as the creature slashed at her. White-hot pain flared once, twice, three times across her forearms… and a line of searing fire split across the side of her neck. Mercy turned and shoved Arthur away from the kitchen. She tried to scream at him again, but her words tasted like copper, and she could only choke and cough as she silently begged him to Go! Now! 

“Oh really? Huh, must’ve been a different guy when I went. They had some authentics in there that were actually rather tempting but I feel like people would start questioning me if I had too many sharp things on the wall… I already have two axes up, more and I think magic folk would get the wroooong idea.”

What Arthur wasn’t anticipating was an extremely pale and bloodied woman in a white dress, to pull herself out of the fragmented glass. He blinked, shocked into silence and uncertainty about how best to handle this occurrence when his stasis was broken by Mercy’s scream. A scream that cut short into a wet gargle of crimson splashing the countertops from a sharp glint of something reflective wielded by the other figure in the room. “HEY! YOU LEAVE HER ALONE” he yelled, moving to reach out and grab the figure by the arm, and while his hand seemed to sink into her apparition he managed to gain purchase on something ice cold. Still, he dug his fingers in and shoved the creature in the other direction watching it sail across the space and vanish back into the glass. “What the ever loving fuck?”

Instead, cold dead eyes remained fixed on their target from the shimmering depths. 

“GO” Arthur yelled, moving to grab Mercy and shove her towards the door, “hide! Now! GOGOGO!”

“You obviously haven’t looked underneath my bed,” Mercy grinned at the mention of sharp things. They were forced up after that, Mercy silently wondering if she and Arthur would ever be given the chance to do anything more than share a few kisses here and there. It seemed like they were always being interrupted somehow. 

But those thoughts were stripped from Mercy’s mind as the source of the interruption became clear. There was no time after that for anything but the need to get away. As far away as possible. Because Mercy could withstand nearly anything the raging spirit came at her with, but Arthur… Arthur couldn’t. So Mercy did as she’d always done. She protected him. Or tried to. Blood splattered the countertops, the floors, the walls… the attack was so quick and vicious that Mercy was bleeding out before she realized it. But then Arthur was there, putting himself between her and the horrible shade screaming for her blood… blood that was pooling entirely too fast on the kitchen floor. 

And then Arthur was the one pushing Mercy out of the room. She nearly slipped in the slick puddle of gore beneath her feet, but Arthur steadied her and they pair fled the kitchen as fast as they were able. Behind them, the sounds of shattering glass came again, and the angry wail of a killer denied her victim followed. Mercy moved towards the stairs, scrambling up as best she could. They ran the length of the upper floor, away from the kitchen - leaving a gods awful trail of blood in their wake - and when Mercy spotted the large, walk-in linen closet near Arthur’s room, she gestured they should get in. There were no mirrors, no reflective surfaces, so unless the ghost was aware enough to actually follow the trail they’d left behind, they would be safe. 

Mercy slid to the floor was the door was shut, clasping a hand to her neck where the glass had nearly severed her carotid. It still bled entirely too fast, but she could feel the hot sting of skin starting to knit itself together. Her arms were better off, but still not healed completely. If she could only stem the flow long enough… and not pass out… she’d be fine. But Arthur… she grabbed his sleeve, pulling on it to get his attention to make sure he was okay. 

Muffled wails echoed from downstairs as the murderous spirit hunted her prey.

There was no initial recognition of whatever entity was in the kitchen, Arthur only saw the bloodied fingers clasped tight around a shattered piece of glass going for his dearest companion. It spurred him to action, even as Mercy tried to put herself in harms way for his sake. Not this time. No that wouldn’t fly. Giving Mercy a shove he grabbed the salt dispenser on the side and backed up, dumping it in a line across the threshold of the room. This had to be some sort of spirit right? How did you deal with spirits? Salt and iron.

Backing up into the hallway Arthur stared at the figure as it advanced, steps stilted and stiff. It paused as it reached the line of salt and there was a momentary feeling of triumph that lit Arthur’s chest at the sentiment of something so simple beating this creature.

A feeling that dissolved as one foot stepped over the line and a wicked smile cracked the pale visage’s lips. Mockery. A look that seemed to say, oh dear, you’ll have to try harder than that little boy.

“Shit! Gogogo!” Arthur yelled, following Mercy’s trail up the stairs and following her into the darkened space of the upstairs hallway. He sank down to the floor within, grabbing a loose towl and fumbling in the dark to feel for her neck and the slick press of her own fingers against the weeping wound of her neck. “Here…” he whispered bringing the towel forward to try and help. “What the hell was that?”

Mercy couldn��t answer for several long moments after they ducked into the closet. They simply sat there in the dark, Mercy trying not to choke on her own blood as Arthur pressed a towel to her neck, and they waited on the wound to heal. “Mary…” Mercy managed to say, though it came out in a coarse whisper. “Bloody… Mary… s’ghost…” Another wail came from somewhere in the house. “Can’t… stop her… hav’to… hide…” 

She coughed, trying to stay quiet, but unable to help it. A few moments later, the wail was closer. It sounded like the spirit had come up the stairs. When it came again, it was right outside the door. Mercy closed her eyes, pressing her hand over her mouth as she tried to stay quiet. A floorboard creaked… the handle started to turn… and then… nothing. No sound. No wailing. Mercy was almost convinced the specter had gone. Almost. Until something snatched her by the hair and lifted her off her feet. She was slammed once, twice, three times against the closet door, until it too slammed open, and the spirit started to drag Mercy - literally kicking and screaming as she tried to escape - back down the hall. 

“Arthur, RUN!” she cried, even though she knew he wasn’t going to listen. 

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the wet painful breath of Freyja beside him. His own heart pounded loud enough that he swore it was about to beat right out the front of his chest. And so they sat, hopeful that perhaps they could wait it out. "Bloody Mary? Isn't that a kids tale?" Typical she would show up here of all places.

Yet the silence was shattered, the spirit attempting to bash Freyja's skull in on the hard timber frame of the dark space they were in. Each a short sharp sickening thud until she was being dragged down the stairs and Arthur was once again scrambling after them. "NO! NOT MY GIRLFRIEND YOU BITCH!" he wasn't sure what compelled him to grab Mercy's other arm but in a fit of panic it was all that he could think of. He pulled, feet skidding on the carpet as he yanked fighting for control and possession with a determination rarely seen from the scholar. Not this time it said.

Until finally the spirit's grip gave way, right at the top of the stairs. If she couldn't end it then why not let this empassioned fool do it himself? They tumbled backwards down the wooden steps, bashing backs and heads in the process until they came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs bloodied, bruised and right a ringing headache pierced by another wail.

It was slow to process, but Arthur fumbled unsteadily pushing to his feet and grabbing the back of Mercy's jumper to haul her towards the door. To keep moving, the lock clicked open and Arthur flung the door open dragging her out barefoot into the street towards some kind of salvation.

Wherever that thing was not.

~

[alolanrain]

Ash was gone, up and left that Sunday night. Delia knew, she always knew when her son up and left. May it be for a journey or just a simple outing with his friends. What’s strange is that Ash has already been to every Region in the world, there’s nothing left to explore. Plus it was Monday, at ten in the morning no less, and Ash hasn’t shown up to help his mother plant the new flowers he sent her from Galar like Ash had promised the weekend before.

Delia knows her son after all, she’s the one that had to raise Ash mostly all up on her own.

Delia also wasn’t surprised when dead bodies started showing up in the middle of towns and cities, all over the world for every to see. It was quite bloody, in fact, organs on the display for even the youngest babies to see. Nothing was left hidden.

It made it satisfying to her for some reason. Maybe it’s because she knew more than half of the people lying on their back or shoved in a town square water fountain. Or maybe it’s because of the vindictive feeling blooming in her stomach and making Delia smile down into her first cup of Joe in the morning, when she first turned on the current news and at the multitude of giant, or little, ‘R’s stitched into every fabric the corpses were wearing. Always on display.

Instead of whoever was doing this, and she has a pretty good guess who was going out of their way, was working from the near top to all the way down to the bottom. The Admins for Team Rocket were the first to go, all four being placed in their home Region and City or Town center. Stretched or hanged for the people to see, to look upon the traitors of the world and point to them. Scorning their actions as piles and piles of internet doot prints were uploaded everywhere, on what felt like millions of accounts on all kind of apps and forums. No one that was affiliated in any good way with Team Rocket was safe.

Except for two humans, their Pokémon, and a talking Meowth.

Delia woke up at the crack of dawn like she always done, it’s been a habit ever since she opened up her little Deli shop in the middle of Pallet Town. Even though she’s gotten a lot more employees, especially for opening shifts because the older Delia gets the more she finds out how much she loves spending the morning with her Pokémon team since childhood, it’s a hard habit to break.

Leo, her shiny Sylveon, was already walking to the front door with a huff. His silk ribbons wrapping around the door handle while Delia walked up to it with a bit of curiosity and exasperated fondness filling her bones.

“Get in here you three!” Delia laughed. Gently nudging Leo away from the crack with her foot and opening the door up more so that the nervous beings could enter. Her smile was warm and soft as she took in their jump appearance.

“The Twerp said it was okay-“ the purple haired man, James, stuttered our but Delia stopped him.

“If it weren’t for you two, my son would have probably been laying at the bottom of the Primal Current dead and the world destroyed by the three birds and Lugia.” She reached out and pulled them in, kicking the door close with her feet while Delia motioned to Leo to go warm the rest of the tream. “So this home is yours, it’s always been yours since the beginning. Come sit down in the kitchen, I was just about to start breakfast.”

Delia has left them at the table, allowing them to sit in tear jerking silence as she went throug the motion of making breakfast. Delia had, unsurprisingly, no amount of anger towards them and what they’ve done in the past to her son. No, Her anger is directed at the head Honcho of the evil gang that’s been gripping Kanto and Johto long before she was even born.

Delia didn’t say anything, as she left the trio to their thoughts and very full dinner plates and extra in the kitchen, when she found an old tombstone broken and torn to shreds. But marks and cursed purple magic danced a little as she poked the broken cement with a nearby stick. Delia didn’t need to know who, or what Pokémon, went after it. She should have given Ash her team before letting him leave. They really need to get rid of their decades long anger and finally destress after all this.

She chose to ignore the muffled sobbing’s drifting from the kitchen window in favor of kissing Sunny, her beloved shiny Arcanine she had all this time since it was a baby Growlith as her second given starter after her first one was stolen, good morning and letting Miss Blue, Delia’s shiny Ninetails and her most pickiest is Pokenon partners, come between them for her own good morning kisses. Her big fluffy blue tinted tails wrapping around her legs and waist in Miss Blues version of a hug.

She didn’t even think about coming back into her house until all her Pokémon family members had gotten their hellos in and were now actively nudging her back towards the sliding glass door because it was breakfast time and they were hungry.

Soon enough, things changed.

Jessie, or Now just Jess, no longer wears tight fitting clothes and spending hours on end putting her hair up in that ridiculous hair swoop. Delia was proud of how fast she had regained her footing, and just how much faster she and Delia’s Houndoom, Soul, and her Togatic, Spots, has gotten along swimmingly. Jess now joins her for the rare jog-run she does on a few country dirt roads when Delia was feeling up to it. Delia also didn’t question it when an Arbol and a Weezing of all things showed up on her porch the next morning on the following Tuesday.

It also was the first day everyone had singly mindingly read the threat clear: Team Rocket will not survive, their rain is ending now and here. Blood shall run for the innocent who colored the streets by their hands. 

Delia has openly chuckled to herself when her guests were still asleep upstairs in Ash’s old redecorated bedroom. Her cold vicious sneer glared back at herself on the TV reflective screen as she watched the camera pan over Ariana’s cold blood drained body that was hanging off a weird metal sculpture that was in the middle of a Town Square in Johto. Silver had sent her a YouMon link that sent Delia to a video titled “The Witch Is Dead.”

Her laughter was louder and had woken up her guests, Delia made breakfast once more while shooing James our do the kitchen multiple times. Brandishing a spatula the entire time.

James took a little more time, it wasn’t until Tracey came around to study and practice her drawing skill on Delia’s Pokémon and spotted James did his healing transformation started. The poor young man was pulled on by a stubborn Tracey through Oalleg Town and to the Professors Ranch, to then for Tracey to to show James how to use an old polaroid camera and a mission to go talk to a few of Ash’s more friendly Pokémon.

Meowth has been inducted that following Wednesday, when the mutilated bodies of Team Rocket’s loads upon loads of scientist were scattered all over the world, by Gary’s sweet Umbreon. The poor cat Pokémon was picked up by the scruff and was bodily dragged to the ranch with Tracey and James following behind it. Tracey giving suggestions and some smalll pointers to James on how to work his new camera. Meowth was surprisingly greeted with open arms by Ash’s Pokémon, none held too much anger for the cat Pokémon since Ash had expressed time and time again of the trios predicament to them. Meowth has never cried so much in his lifetime, and this is including the moment when his mother had left him on the streets to fend for himself at three weeks old.

Delia has used her money, or just barely a fraction of what Ash sends her every month because he doesn’t know what to do with the money the League gives him besides give it to charity and spending it on his travels, to buy the house next door to her. Not the Oaks house down the road to her left, even when it’s barely used anymore and it’s mostly now just an extra house for Delia to house her sons guests in, no. She bought the one a little less down to her right. It was a two story house with just a smaller yard then Delia’s, though it didn’t stop her from smashing down the wooden fence and expanding her garden into their new backyard for James and Jess to join her getting dirty. It was perfect for them and Meowth, along with their plenty of Pokémon who happily greet her every morning just like her own team.

The following Thursday, over more than half a million Team Rocket members that were spread all over in the upper part of many governments and big name brands were killed or seriously maimed and disfigured in that short amount of time had sent Delia reeling back in over flowing motherly pride and love, Champion Lance and Orange Isles Elite Four Drake had shown up in her door. She had just finished teaching both James and Jessie how to properly set up wet clothes that needed to be hung outside on a clothesline is read of shoving them in a dryer at their new home that Delia practically forced onto them with some slight added Country Morther love.

She ushered them in, shushing Souls quite snarling and nudging Miss Blue our of the way, while asking why they were hear and they were just in time because Delia was about to make dinner!

Lance, ever her dumbest childhood friend, asked where Ash was. Or more like demanded by going off his tone of voice. Stomping his foot and declaring that Ash needed to come to the castle right this second.

Thankfully Gary was out of town visiting some other relatives of his sweet late mothers. He wouldn’t be to particularly angry if Delia had stayed that the newly minted Professor had taken Ash as a support human. It’s not like she’s technically wrong, Delia did know for a fact Ash was the one that’s going to pick Gary up on the incoming Sunday.

She had forced the two League Members into sitting down for dinner, steak with loaded potatoes and seasoned barbecued Leaks, Melony had sent her those in a special delivery when Rose’s shredded corpse was hanging off the Chairman’s main building in front of the sliding glass doors. The roses underneath the glass in the entry way were replaced with Blue Forget-Me-Nots, It was a subtle hint made towards Mr.Goodshow, something Delia had caught extremely quickly.

The next day Friday, where the first and only kill was made in Alola according the the news, the new Galar Head Chairman was appointed outside of all Galars previous Chairmen’s. Delia actually ment Chairwoman, Miss Chairwoman Myoso was a wonderful women from what she appeared on TV already. Maybe now Leon will have a less hectic schedual. That same morning a delicately made box wrapped in the finest of hand painted silk was delivered to Delia’s porch, she knew who had done it but it also wasn’t her place to voice the silent appreciation gift.

Her kitchen has never sparkled so beautifully in the middle of the day during lunch. And all she has to thank were the little flat glass figures of the island Tapu’s closed shells twirling and swaying, hanging from near her kitchen top window.

Delia never liked Faba to begin with when she had met him, while he and Sycamore were both still in college, all those years ago.

More small trinkets were popping up on her doorstep every morning. All wrapped in very nice clothes and one of them in giant thin leaves. They ranged from very beautiful necklaces, to even a few plants and cups, her favorite so far either had to be the colored glass blown Swampert figuring sitting o top of her new fountain in the middle of her garden. One she hadn’t built at all and knew just who exactly did that. Or the little green house but that popped up that morning as well, the only plant in it was a Kalosian flower that was red, white, and black with small pink crystals gently fused into the pot top thick edge.

She had breakfast with the trio on that Saturday morning, they were on the young adults new back patio when a streak for blazing fire crossed the sky. Flashes of green and purples bluish light soon followed after.

Delia chose to ignore it while the other three started to freak out a little. She let them have a few minutes before bringing them back to their cooking breakfast omelets Jess has made for them.

Later that night the reporter stated that multiple unapproved satellites where brought crashing to the Earth crust. Only stopping mysteriously and there were some very blurred photos of a giant green floating snake like Pokémon and two purple floating blurred next to the head. Delia had finally gone for her first and only scotch for that evening, since a thought about getting any more than half a glass had Mr.Mimey skittering out of a random hallway corner and babbling at her while getting Delia a glass of water and a Tylenol before rushing the woman off to bed. 

Sunday was the end all the river full of blood crashing through the streets.

Sunday was the day when the world woke up the sight of Giovanni’s head spreads onto a pole in Pallet Town Square. Directly in the middle of the giant water fountain and the blood slowly dripping down was making the cascading water turn a light pink color like someone just added food dye.

Sunday morning is when she had her son knocking on her door. With Gary, Daisy and her husband, Tracey, Misty, Brock, Ritchie, Professor Oak standing behind him. The trio, who she had fondly started to call them her kids just like Ash and Gary and the wrest of Ash’s friends, Ahmad let themselves in from the slide back door. Everyone ignored when Umbreon and Pikachu both trotted up and twisted themselves around Meowth, the pile for fur and limbs were purring. Especially since Pikachu had grown to half way between Sunny and Souls height.

Sunday was when Ash and Delia walked for an hour and a half out into an old path in the woods. Only to stop by an old broken down house with moss, vines, and even a few small tress growing inside with rubble all around the place. They were visiting Delia’s home before her parents had died, before she had to move in with Lance and his parents if Delia wanted to stay back in Kanto. Visiting a time before her first starter was stolen from her along with her innocence and late teen years as she struggled to get by while pregnant.

Sunday is the day she was reunited with her first starting, the first time she openly cried in front of her son as Delia felt the oh so familiar feeling of a sandpaper tongue licking her hands and face while a deep purring and mewling echoed around the destructed building. amber slots blown wide stared back into Delia’s own amber eyes, before both their eyes closed and Delia leaned forward to plant a lasting kiss onto her sweet Persians glimmering red gem on its silky furred forehead.

Sunday is the day Delia finally starts to heal from her past.

———————————————————————

Or better yet! Known as the Heaven Or Hell!AU where Delia’s first starter was a Meowth that got stolen by Giovanni when he ditched her later down the road and Ash found out and decided: fuck it, time to snap. Because no one fucks away with his mom if Ash has anything to say about it.

[infernumlilith]

Lilith’s relationship with Lucifer

This post could be triggering to some so I would suggest skipping it if you are not comfortable with the mention of non/con and violence. 

I don’t even know why I am doing this post in the first place. But I felt the need to get this out of my chest after a song I listened to. Feel free to ignore it. I am just putting my thoughts out there.

The song I mentioned is Winter on the Weekend by Julia Stone. With each lyric I heard, I kept picturing Lilith’s eyes in some scenes she had with Lucifer. That haunted full of terror. You know the look I am talking about.

So the first two verses go like this:

He's a dog But he's dressed up like a sheep Got bones all through the backyard But he likes to drink tea We play scrabble on the weekend And he talks about the weather most of the time I thought my sacred body with him It would be fine.

And I keep picturing how Lilith’s story started and how she loved him and trusted him. After so many years, Lilith obeyed him and served him while he promised her what she wanted. Until she had enough and betrayed him to take what was rightfully hers. And it is rightfully hers, okay? She spent years and years pleasing that asshole and working hard for it to get it.

And then I heard the next to verses:

And I walked into the doorway He slid across the room My heart, it started racing I just didn't know what to do And he laid me on the floor And my screams they go unheard The lady living next door Well, she's 6 feet under the dirt

And then the scene in Mary’s cottage comes back to my head and my skin starts to crawl thinking that if Lilith hadn’t done what she did (which I am still not okay with) this could actually happen. And my stomach twists because Lilith deserves so much better than what is happening to her. Granted, she is a demon and she killed a bunch of people but she suffered under Lucifer’s hand and even after everything, including being the Mother of Demons (even if it’s just a title), Hell doesn’t want her for Queen even though she deserves it wayyy more than Sabrina does.

And then I hear this verse and I realize something:

Daddy, why don't you protect me? Someone's gonna hurt me, there's nothing I can do Daddy, why don't you protect me? Someone's gonna hurt me, there's nothing I can do.

Lilith is completely alone. COMPLETELY. She doesn’t have anyone to actually care for her and in all her years she never had anyone. Never. Even Mary’s Adam didn’t really actually cared for her. He cared for Mary but what did we see from their short relationship? That Lilith was ready to abandon everything to go away with someone who truly loved her. She was ready to abandon power and a promised throne and an abusing asshole. And then she got hurt when she lost that one thing she actually wanted. She closed herself off again; feeling unloved and uncared for. And don’t tell me she didn’t. We all saw how she felt when the coven prayed to her. I, for once, got goosebumbs at the scene.

And when she turned to the coven for help, she was rejected. Yet again feeling unloved and unwanted.

AND FUCK THIS ALL TO HELL! I THOUGHT THAT WRITING ALL THIS WOULD MAKE ME FEEL BETTER BUT IT MADE ME WORSE.

I am invested into some characters okay? I feel connected even if we don’t have anything in common so don’t judge me. I decided to take a closer look into Lilith’s character and that’s my conclusions. Feel free to disagree if you want, I just believe that Lilith deserves better than what we saw in part 3.... And one more thing if Lucifer doesn’t get what he deserves, I’ll riot....!

Fuck my feelings and my ability to fall in love with fictional characters.

[space-blue]

Blink

I loved this story so much, I made a decent effort of turning it into a multi chapter novella. Maybe one day...

Corpses are everywhere. They're much more common than the average death fearing citizen thinks. It's people like me who are rare. The dead clutter, live together like we do. They converge in morgues, hospitals, research buildings, cemeteries, houses, the odd back alley. I try and live far from human life to keep away from human death, but the lush forests and deep rivers are appealing, and sometimes one of my silent friends come a-visiting, dragged along unwilling, to be left behind, like a bone buried in the big cities' backyard. Then I'll blink and my traitorous eyes open somewhere else, to some vista a corpse is unknowingly enjoying. I've trained hard to keep my Death-Eyes from wandering, but isolation makes me slack, and my dusty morals couldn't keep me from tipping the police.

I assume this is how FBI special agent Lem McCaulkay tracked me down. He came to me with his head bowed and his feet dragging.

"You know I wouldn't be here if it weren't huge, if you couldn't make all the difference in the world."

"I'm retired."

"Have you looked at the news?"

"No. Did you notice the absence of TV? The long, winding dirt roads? I don't want news to find me. I'd rather you hadn't found me either. You're bad news incarnate."

"Lone..."

"That's Sørensen to you, Agent McCaulkay."

He drops the file then, all printed out, old school. It's thick and thumps hard on the table. He flips the cover without saying a word, revealing eight young women, looking up at me with their white, dead eyes from dog-eared photographs. The press coupon taped behind them dubbed their maker the "Last Shadow", after his taste for afternoon abductions. I thumb through the autopsy reports, find a map with details of dates and locations. All the victims were snatched and dumped in a pretty short and even perimeter. Accidental, bold, or stupid? Asking for my help was the obvious thing to do.

"He's just plucked a new one off the street yesterday. We were lucky to learn about it this soon. We believe he keeps them alive three to four days. If you join us, we might catch him in the act."

Agent 'Caulk', fixer of all things gone wrong, had asked me for help before. Some cases just won't patch themselves, some killers are just too clever, or too lucky, too educated, or too odd. I had worked for him, answering my own youthful needs, strongest among them my need to please, to earn approval and notice where there were none. Such drives are long gone, and my own case is another thing 'Caulk' cannot mend. I didn't retire for nothing.

"I suppose you've noticed the numbers in the autopsies, here, such high levels... He does that to them while alive, Lem. Dying. Damn it, you come here to ask me to go with you and look out for this, look down a peeled chest being sawed off and then up the monster's face. Who's gonna pay for my therapy after that, the FBI?"

I fix my inhuman eyes on him then, childishly hoping to make his skin crawl, but all I see is the despair coiled deep within his sunken, red-rimmed eyes. I idly wonder if it's this case that turned all his hair to silver, or if it was gradual, colour leached by a decade of sleepless nights spent hounding the worst dregs of humanity.

"Hell, Sørensen, you know I'd pay to swap those Death-Eyes of yours if I could, anything to avoid involving you. Chasing serial-killers is my calling, not yours. But this," he taps a new picture, not yet stapled down on the Last Shadow's folder, a photograph of a woman alive and smiling, "this is enough for me to come and ask you. Do you think I'm pleased to have you look for a corpse in the making, when we know she's still alive? We have Jenkins and Everyn pulling their hair out over this case, they still haven't cracked it. Please, Lone, we need you. So that this one becomes the last. Join us."

I feel the edges of the silence where he ought to have said "one last time", but refrained from lying. They'll ask me as long as they'll know where to find me. I look around at my house, so cosy and warm, full of hard woods and the flicker of flames, wishing I had the guts to say no.

"Just this once, Lem. Just this once..."

I'll just have to hide better next time.

My job from then on is to blink, and blink is what I do, while some FBI goon drives us around. Decay clouds my sight, so I can browse through bodies, identifying fresh ones, newly hatched from their living shells. I blink, my vision shifts–there is no describing it–and I see a lot of darkness. Blink, a ceiling, blink, a couple of students busy over my chest. Blink, and bright lights, exhausted, masked faces. Emergency rooms and operating blocks are sad places to look into. There comes blurry trees and I tell that to Lem. Oak and chestnut. You've got to know your plants in my line of work.

"White male. Gloving and bloated, weeks old. Looks down a hill on a grey concrete building. Not sure, it's hazy."

"We'll check," Lem says, dispatching the description for someone else to deal with. Decaying male bodies aren't what we're after.

It is late in the night when we stop in an isolated motel. Our driver gets his own room while Lem settles in a bed across from mine, a habit from our days doing cross-country manhunts. I drift asleep, my mind stumbling into dreams of the past, nightmares of corpses I made, where I blink back up at my own blood-speckled face, my eyes like twin black holes amidst a red galaxy. I wake in a cold sweat and listen to Lem's breath in the paling night, its even rhythm calming my nerves, pushing the terrors back down the dark corridors of my mind.

We drive on, making circles in the circle of the Last Shadow's deaths. I can hear Lem sitting by me, juggling paper maps, GPS and ringing phones. I can feel my face pressed against the window, the roughness of my jeans as I rub my thighs in a little ritual to remind me I'm alive, to help me centre myself when I blink back into my living flesh. Blinking away from yourself thinking this was just another stop in another corpse is an experience one learns to avoid.

I blink and look up into the affable face of a mortician busy fixing my eyes closed for some upcoming ceremony of adieu. I blink through the dimness of many morgue drawers, freezers, closed and open casks.

When he kills her, she is so close it draws my eyes like magnets, the vision crystal clear. I cry out, startling everyone including myself.

"Lem, oh shit Lem, he's cutting me up!"

The recorder is pressed to my cheek and Lem's hands cup my skull, brushing my face, my real face, not the one looking down on the surgical saw's movements.

"You're here with me, safe. Talk to me Lone."

There is precious little to say about the butchering happening to her – to me, as I see it – that was not already said in autopsy reports or guessed by the experts and technicians working the case. The Last Shadow, a blond, portly man, has boring features, light baby-blue eyes and a clean, cunning set-up in a mortared cellar, offering very few chances of clues for his pursuers.

It goes on forever, it seems, before Lady Luck gives me what we need. The Last Shadow never quite foresaw that one of his dead women would damn him by looking over his shoulder as he carried her out to his white van.

"Blue roof, two story house, messy garden with a big oak tree. Heck! Lem, there's a church sign down the right side," I roll my eyes, straining, "It's for a Lutheran church, Black Hill County!"

I feel my body sink into my seat as our driver slams his foot on the accelerator. Lem is barking orders in his phone, while I look up into the face of our murderer, framed in his van's open door, unsuspectingly smirking down on his handiwork. I guess he's looking forward to tomorrow's newspapers. What a bad surprise he's about to get. Yet what a cheerless victory, seen from down there.

I close my eyes at last, covering my tear streaked face and willing darkness to bring me whatever relief it can through the blaring sirens, with Lem's palm hot over my bunched fists. Forlorn, I once again find myself wondering whether my eyes will finally cease to see the world when fate in turn makes a corpse out of me.

~~ October 2016 – Theme : Corpses

[geralehane]

A Faeverse Story: The Forest Queens

(faeverse is my new series of interconnected short stories about fae and their girlfriends interactions with humans.)

Fae hate iron. Fate love bargains. Fae want your name.

I was about twelve when I met my first fae. 

I ran away from home and into the Forgotten Forest – a bad decision to make, if you ask me. But I simply couldn’t stand my mother’s silent fuming any longer, and I just wanted to -- get away. To forget and be forgotten. That’s what the forest is for, isn’t it? In a way, I was a willing spirit for fae to abduct.

I wandered off deep into the forest and spend an hour aimlessly browsing through the trees. The forest is beautiful. Sun was shining through the leaves, illuminating them a shining brilliant green, and particles of dust swirling in the streams of light looked enchanting. That’s exactly the word.

I sat down on a tree stump, and I cried. I cried, because my mother didn’t love me, and I don’t think I loved her, either. I cried because there were no friends I could talk to about this, and even if there were, twelve year olds aren’t exactly equipped enough to deal with this kind of emotional turmoil. I cried, because I knew that I would end up going back to my broken home with its tense silence and my mother angrily washing dishes at me. I cried, because there seemed to be no escaped.

That’s when she crept out of the woods, her steps light, inaudible. She walked the way only fae could – almost levitating. And mesmerizing. Fae are, despite all of the danger and alleged people eating, magnificent creatures.

“Hey.” Her voice was light, too. Like wind, and sunshine, and the stream of a spring. All lovely clichés rolled together in one slender blonde-haired bundle standing before me.

I sprung to my feet and ran. Or wanted to run, really. Except I only ended up stumbling over a branch that wasn’t here before and scraping my knee as I fell down.

“Am I that scary?” Fae cocked her head to the right, studying me with her amused eyes. Emerald green. Just like the leaves with the sun shining through them.

I kept silent. Talking with fae, if you’re inexperienced at it, could end badly. On the other hand, what did I have to lose, really? My name? My life? None of it particularly mattered to me. None of it made me happy. So I stood up, dusted myself off, and looked at her.

She appeared to be the same age as me, but you never knew with fae, the immortal creatures they were. She could be a thousand years old and I wouldn’t know till she told me. She was a little shorted than me, and much, much prettier. Which isn’t that hard to be when the eternal magick of the Forgotten Forest and the spirits of wanderers lost feed your youth and beauty.

“So?” She got impatient with me rather quickly. Not surprising. “Am I that scary?”

“No,” I said quietly. “Not really. But I’m still scared.”

She stood, then, contemplating something as she studied me. Then, she sighed. “I won’t ask for your name. Don’t worry.”

“I can give it to you,” I said. For a second, I was enveloped by my fear; imagining The Feast of Fae, with a table full of every food I loved, beckoning me to eat something, anything, and never be able to return to the mortal world again. Imagining the endless dance. Imagining fading away into the sunlight, and the fae in front of me breathing my soul in.

I wasn’t sure that that was exactly how it went, but my twelve-year-old imagination pictured everything so vividly and beautifully that I didn’t want to know the truth. Perhaps, fae would simply gnaw on my flesh and bones instead while I danced away in a magically induced haze. Perhaps, they – or even her, in front of me - would wear my skin and come back to my mother.

“Careful.” Her quiet voice interrupted my train of thought that was about to take a rather gory turn. “It’s not something you want to say in this forest. Come on.” She gave me another long stare. “Follow me.”

I had already made peace with the fact that I was staying in the Forgotten Forest forever, so I simply did as I was told. To my surprise, instead of a sunny meadow and a dinner table, she led me back to the town border.

“Go. Don’t come back.” Her expression was serious, and it looked completely out of place on her young, ethereal face. “I can’t cross over the border, or I’d walk you home. But hey,” a tiny smirk appeared on her lips, then. “If you managed to survive an hour in the Forgotten Forest, I’m sure you’ll find your way back home.”

The words escaped my mouth before I even had a chance to thought them over. “What if I don’t want to go back home? What if I wanna stay here?”

“No mortal wants to stay here,” she cut me off, rather coldly. “Go before I change my mind.”

That was when my self-preservation instinct kicked in, and I ran. Mother didn’t even notice my absence, and I never told anymore about my run-in with fae. No one would believe I escaped her, anyway.

For a week after that, I waited. And researched. I read everything I could on fae, but the books didn’t offer much – only that they were trouble and you should never talk to them, or attempt to bargain. There were things I already knew – that they hated salt and iron and you could use that to protect yourself, should a stray fae wander up to your house. In the Forgotten Forest, though, that was virtually useless. It was their territory. The land itself gave them power. Or so dusty old books told me. I wasn’t that dumb of a kid to go to the forest again, but I also had enough anxiety that told me the border might not stop a fae that realized she let her prey go.

So I stocked up on salt and waited seven long, sleepless nights for her to come take me back. Yet she never appeared. I waited for confusing, luring dreams, but they never happened. I waited, and waited, and it was almost in vain.

Until the eight night, when I awoke to a silver moon and an annoyed familiar face staring at me through the window. Naturally, I screamed. Or attempted to, really, but fae waved her hand at me, and no sound came out. I could only watch, wide-eyed and terrified, as she crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

Her next words, however, made me more baffled than scared. “What do you want?” She hissed, thoroughly irritated.

I blinked and gestured at my throat.

“You scream and I tear you apart,” she warned. I nodded. Huffing again, she snapped her fingers. “Now. What do you want?”

“N-nothing,” I stammered. “I don’t want anything.”

She glanced down at the window sill. “Salt? Seriously? I finally answer to your call, and you make it so I can’t get in?”

“My call?”

At my question, she narrowed her eyes, and studied me for a long moment. Her gaze ran over me, searching for something. And, clearly, she found what she was looking for, and she didn’t particularly like it. “If you don’t know about the call, how did you do it?”

“I don’t—”

“Yeah, you don’t know.” She shook her head, incredulous. Her hair shined silver in the moonlight, and her eyes looked dark. “Don’t think about me. Forget you ever met me. If I cross the border again, it’s to kill you and burn your town to the ground. Do you understand?”

Oh, I understood. I frantically nodded, wishing for this all to be over so I could go back to my uninterrupted, boring small-town life. As soon as I thought of it, her face relaxed, and her expression became that of a relief.

“Good,” she told me, curtly. “Hope to never see you again.” With that, she stepped away from my window and ran. I didn’t watch her retreat. I jumped from the bed, closed the curtains, and poured another salt circle around my bed before climbing back in and hiding under the blanket.

I was wildly successful in not thinking of fae at all for several years. If I were more willing to start therapy, I would’ve been probably told that I blocked a traumatic experience as a defense mechanism. And I, once again, successfully avoided even talking about fae unless it came to studies, and I was the only one in my class to opt out of the Defense Against Fae class, which didn’t exactly help with my social standing as that quiet freak.

It was only at my graduation night that I was forced to think of her again.

Our class gathered at the house of our valedictorian, as was the long-running tradition. It certainly helped that our valedictorian came from an extremely long and equally powerful line of witches. Makes sense, really; children of ancient witch families were taught the craft earlier than they learned to walk. I, like many of other simple witches, only got to start on the witchcraft at the age of fourteen. Anything earlier was deemed potentially harmful. But old bloodlines didn’t care. And maybe they were onto something, too.

The fact that our valedictorian was from one of these families meant not only proficiency in magic, but wealth, too. Wealth meant owning a house that was more of a mansion, which meant a party for the ages. I had no idea how I ended up going there. The invitation stretched for everyone in the class, though, and I wasn’t all that looking forward to spending another lonely night in my room with my mother silently watching TV. I guess I just wanted to celebrate at least somehow. Do something to remember one of the most important days in my life.

It turned out to be both the worst and the best decision I’ve ever made.

When it was late and half the class had passed out in various places not really meant to passing out around the house and the other half got tired of excessive dancing and drinking, we all spilled out into the backyard to gather around the fire. Another tradition. I stood a little behind, silently sipping on my wine and watching everyone joke around and exchange promises they likely won’t keep. Until it got quieter, and the main fae expert of our class, Sam, noticed me.

“Hey,” he addressed me, with a tiny bit of slur in his words. “Hey – Mika, right?” His pupils, dilated and sparkling, told me he’d been sipping on potions that night. That didn’t help me at all. I wondered if I should translocate to my house. That would be too dangerous for a novice like me. I could always just run, though.

“Yeah, Mika,” he nodded and beckoned me to come closer and sit on one of the logs that served as chairs around the crackling bonfire. “I always wanted to ask you. Why are you so afraid of fae?”

“Why aren’t you?” I replied quietly. Every pair of eyes watched me as I slowly sat down.

He shrugged. “Why would I be?” The on-going question ping-pong did nothing good for my anxiety. I took a deep breath and shrugged back at him, clearly indicating I wasn’t interested in continuing with this conversation. But he wasn’t done. And not just him. Reana Griffin, the valedictorian, watched the exchange with unhealthy interest.

“No, seriously,” Sam continued coking his head to the right. Just like – no. I gulped the remaining wine down, shutting the thought down. “You didn’t take the Defense class. You never talk about them.”

“I never talk about anything to any of you,” I reasoned.

Reana smirked. “Then why are you here?”

I didn’t have an answer to that, and I was all out of wine to gulp.

“Come on, tell us,” Sam said loudly. He spilled some wine on his tailored pants, and didn’t notice. “Something happened, didn’t it? Did they kill your father?”

“Sam,” one of his friends, a guy I didn’t remember the name of, shushed him disapprovingly. “Too far, man.”

“No one killed my father,” I said, clearing my throat. “He was just... never there. I don’t really…” Why was I even sharing any of these with those people? I glanced at my empty glass. Right.

Everyone kept staring at me. Witch unions were supposed to last forever – literally, in some cases. Divorce was unheard of. One of the many reasons I didn’t really have friends. Everyone speculated that my mother got rid of my father, or that I caused him to leave, somehow.

“So you don’t know your dad?”

“Wait, I wanna know what’s up with her and fae first,” Sam interrupted.

“Nothing,” I said. Nothing was up with me and fae. I was afraid of them. I couldn’t think of them. It inevitably lead to thinking about her, and what happened that night, and what did she even mean by my call? And why did she save me – and did she even save me at all, or did I make it all up in my lonely mind of a lonely child to escape the reality of being utterly, truly alone?

I blinked and felt something wet drip down my cheek. Great. Now I was crying in front of these brilliant, wealthy, confident morons. Truly a way to end the night. I blinked faster, and the tears kept coming faster, too. I couldn’t bear to watch their faces twist with pity, so I pointedly looked past them, far eat. In the direction of the Forest.

It probably shouldn’t have been such a surprise to see her standing there. She grew up, too, as I did. Her hair was longer, and it still shone silver under the moonlight. She stood mere feet away from where we were all sitting, and her smirk was as warm as it was annoyed. At first, I thought she was just a result of my desperation and blurry vision. But, when I wiped the tears away, she remained.

“I’m surprised it took you this long,” she told me. Everyone turned around, and then scrambled to their feet, cries of surprise and fear filling the air. I didn’t move. I simply watched her as she walked to me, her bare feet barely touching the ground.

“So am I.” There was something different about meeting her this time. There was no fear. “Are you mad at me?”

“Not anymore.” She outstretched her hand. “Come.”

“Aren’t you going to kill me and burn this town to the ground?” I asked, then, allowing myself a small smile as I stood and took her hand. Warm. And soft. It promised forever. So I accepted.

And she led me away; away from my gawking classmates and my small town and my dim future; away from my previous life that seemed so dull in comparison with the bright green of The Forgotten Forest. We crossed the clearing that separated the town and the woods, and I didn’t ask why The Forest was suddenly illuminated by sunshine, just like the way it was when we first met. I just watched, and breathed the warm summer air in, and smiled.

“It’s yours now,” she told me, quietly, as we stood before the unseen border. “All of it.”

I looked at her. “Do you need my name?”

“No. No,” she shook her head, and let out a small, melodic laugh. “But you don’t need it, either. You can find a new one. I can give you a new one, if you want. Or you can go without any name at all.”

I thought of it, and the last option seemed the best. Later, perhaps, we’ll come up with something together. Now, I just wanted to be.

And so I smiled wider, and grasped her hand, and led her over the border, into the emerald depth of our forest. patreon

[comics-mostly]

the spirit of vengeance: part two

[Authors Note: If you haven’t read the first part (or have and forgot what happened) then essentially what happens is Robbie Reyes and his girlfriend Isabella Contreas are out on a date when suddenly they’re approached by three men who are trying to rob them. Robbie thinks that he can take them on, but, ultimately finds out that he wasn’t strong enough to take on a twelve gauge shotgun. (Go figure). The men not only take the car, but also take Isabella as well. As he lays in the street dying he is approached by a strange man who claims to be the Devil, and he offers to make him a deal - become his ‘Rider’ and he’ll bestow him with the power he needs to save Isabella. Robbie agrees and…]

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

Robbie Reyes was on the verge on the death. Past tense. Now, he was on the verge of… something else. To any onlookers, it would look like another life. As though he had made some sort of miraculous recovery. As though he cheated death.

But that’s not how Death works. Death cannot be cheated. But, he can be bargained with. And that’s exactly what Robbie had done. He made a deal with Death – a deal with the Devil – that had given him a second chance; a chance to save the woman he loved. And he wasn’t going to squander it. He would save her. But, once that task had been completed… what terror would lie in wait for him as the Devil’s Spirit of Vengeance?

The Spirit of Vengeance: Part 2

Robbie Reyes waited for something to happen. Anything at all that might hint at something other than the cold – or, perhaps, hot – embrace of his own demise.

The pain had now almost completely subsided, and the stars above him had become a hazy blur – as though he was peering through an out of focus camera lens. Still, he clung adamantly to life. Not for his own sake; no, he would gladly give his life (and his soul) if it meant that Isabella would survive. But he knew that, if he were to die here, then that would only serve to ensure that she would meet a fate worse than his own.

“They’ll take her and have their fun...”

Even as his body waned and his brains’ synapses crawled to a halt, the man’s – no, he was not a man; more a wolf in sheep’s clothing – voice echoed in his mind. Robbie tried to stop it; tried to push the sound of the wolf’s voice from his quickly fading consciousness, but he could not. The more he fought to shut the sound out, the louder it became.

“…and when they’re spent and she’s all worn out…”

Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!

Robbie knew what they would do and how they would do it; he knew how Isabella would feel during it all. The vile images played in what little remained of his conscious mind. They were not hazy like the night sky. No, they were clear; every desperate punch she threw, every scratch she left on their unmasked faces (because at this point there was no point in hiding who they were) in an attempt to keep them off of her; the way she screamed as two of them held her down, while the third unzipped his pants – a sick, triumphant smile forming at his lips; the way her face went blank as each of them had their way with her. It was all as clear as the wolf’s voice as he continued his verbal onslaught.

“…they’ll discard her with about as much decency as they have you...”

Please! No more!

Robbie could see her cold, naked body on the filthy ground of whatever abandoned building they had taken her too. Her once slender face now swollen from the bevy of blows the men – no, these were not men; more monsters in plain site – had laid across it; the bruises that had turned her caramel skin into a devastating mosaic of pain; and the crimson blood that had dried and caked against her blackened thighs. Robbie could see that her heart was still pumping, and her lungs still breathed in the stale air; but Isabella, the woman he loved, was no longer there.

She did not fight as they gathered her up and threw her in the trunk of Robbie’s car; nor did she scream through the duck tape as they unpacked her at the empty dock, near the river; she did not even register the feeling of the rope being tied around her ankles – the other side fastened to a cement block; and when they tossed her in the freezing water, he thought he could see the hint of a smile growing on her lips. His heart broke as she willingly opened her mouth and let the water invade her very being.

And then she was gone.

…is that what you want?”

No. NO. NO!

Something… snapped, inside of Robbie in that moment. To him, it sounded like the breaking of a bone or the smashing of glass.

But, in reality, it was the sound of his soul snapping.

“You’d be my Spirit of Vengeance.”

Yes. Yes, he would. 

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

Isabella Contreas was, undoubtably, a strikingly beautiful woman. This was a fact that she was well aware of, much to her chagrin. While most women would kill for her looks, she found them to be more cumbersome than beneficial.

Yes, she could not deny the fact that she found it terribly amusing that, with no more effort than the batting of her naturally long eyelashes, she could get men (and women) to do any number of things for her – whether it was cutting the line to get into a club, or getting someone to courteously purchase a drink for her (though, she stopped that kind of behavior a few years ago, after she met Robbie.) Nor could she lie to herself about the joy she got from having so many options available to her simply based on the fact that her face and body were naturally contoured in a way that people seemed to find aesthetically pleasing; had she any desire, she could quit her job at a moments notice and promote any number of products half naked on her Instagram or Twitter.  

But, despite the benefits, being beautiful came with it’s own share of problems, as well. The most precarious of which were the men. The way they’d stare at her with that lustful gaze; their tongues stroking their lips with freshly produced saliva - as if she were a gazelle, and they, hungry lions ready to pounce at a moments notice. When she was younger she enjoyed the attention; it instilled in her a warped sense of self worth. But as she got older it only served to make her uncomfortable. Especially when the men watching her with such salacious intrigue called her prima or sobrina.

Then there were the men who would want to do more than just look. Her first encounter with that came at the age of ten; years before her juvenescence blessed (or, perhaps, cursed) her with wide hips, full lips, and the long, mahogany tinged hair that had a natural, fiery glow to it when the light hit it in just the right way. The man was her Tío, Felipe, and he had always stared at her in a way that made her uncomfortable, though, at the time, she lacked the mental acuity (and sheer life experience) to place why it did. He would always ask her to sit on his lap, and kiss her on the cheek long enough for her to push him away and he would laugh and she would laugh but she never really felt like anything about it was all that funny.

His actions crescendoed during a family barbecue, when she accidentally spilled a drink on her shirt. It wasn’t a very large stain, but as she was making her way towards her Papá to have him help her, Tío Felipe stopped her and said that he could fix it; that his own daughter (not five months younger than Isabella) had some clothes in her room that she could wear. Isabella sensed that something about it felt wrong; that she should go to her Papá and have him help her instead. But she pushed the thought away – he was her Tío after all, there was nothing wrong with him wanting to help her get changed.

He led her into the empty house, through the kitchen, and up the stairs. But, before they reached the stop she heard her Papás deep, booming voice from behind them.

“What the fuck are you doing?” her Papá shouted in his native tongue. She had never heard him curse.

She turned around, suddenly filled with a mixture of confusion and fright. Was he yelling at her? Was he angry with her for having spilled the juice on her shirt?

She quickly blurted out in English, “Papá, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

She waited for a moment, but then came to the realization that he was not talking to her. His gaze was focused just to the right of her, at her Tío Felipe. She took note of the scowl that had etched itself onto her Papá’s face; with his hairless profile, coupled with all of his wrinkles, she was reminded of her best friends angry Sphynx cat that would always scratch her. She was worried that her Papá might pounce on Tío Felipe like that cat had so often pounced on her.

But why? What did he do?

She turned to her Tío but he stood frozen like a statue. She could only see the side of his face, but from what she could read, it seemed like he was afraid. Still, she was confused.

“Isabella, go outside,” her father spoke again, this time in English.

She wanted to question it, but knew that it was best not to say anything else. Whatever was transpiring here, she understood, was beyond her.

As she passed the threshold of the backdoor she heard the two yell at each other, though with them near the stair case, and the almost deafening sound of everyone laughing and playing and dancing in the backyard, it was difficult to make it all out.

“-son of a bitch. If you-”

Followed by more muffled noise.

 “-I promise I wouldn’t-”

More muffled noise.

“-your fucking prima!”

“I wouldn’t-”

Then she heard a loud thump.

The thought of the cat pouncing on her flashed in her mind.

“I didn’t do-”

Another thump.

“I’m sor-”

Another thump.

And another.

Then came my Tío’s and Tía’s and Mamá.

Another thump.

A woman screaming.

Another thump.

The music suddenly stopping.

Another thump.

And another.

The sound of her father, speaking in his native tongue, clearer now that the background noise has seized, “that bastard was going to hurt my daughter!”

The rest of the day went by in a sort of haze. No one called the police or an ambulance, even though, by the look of her Papá’s hands he definitely needed one. She wondered what happened to her Tío, but after that day he left town and she never saw him again.

She remembered going to her Papá sometime after things subsided. He grabbed her and held her tight. The blood on his hands, another stain added to her shirt. He cried and it was the first time she had ever seen him do so. He held her for a long time. And then he whispered in his native tongue, “I promise that I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”

And he meant it.

The next few years of her life she spent training in Mr. Chen’s dojo – learning the nuanced art of Karate. It took time, but with her Papá pushing her (along with her naturally competitive nature) she became a black belt in less than three years – two years faster than most. And the skills she learned had proved valuable on more than one occasion.

This was one of those occasions.

As she sat in the back of Robbie Reyes’s…

Oh, God, he’s dead.

…Charger, pinned between two armed men, her mind raced to figure out how to use those skills to get out of her current situation and get back to…

Oh, God, he’s DEAD!

…him. Her mind lingered on the other reason that she hated being beautiful; (a reason she was now more than happy to take advantage of) the fact that people (but specifically, men) often, underestimated her.

It took many forms, such as with Danny Jenson, a boy in her middle school physical education class who thought it absolutely hilarious to ‘pants’ her when the teacher wasn’t looking. Well, Isabella did not find it funny. However, the swift blow to his stomach, followed by the crashing of her knee firmly against his cleft chin did manage to put a smile on her face. (It also managed to get her sent to the principals office – where the principal, Mr. Jones, claimed that she had overreacted and asked her to apologize to Danny for the attack. When she refused he claimed that she should act more lady like just before sentencing her to detention.)

As she got older she found that the world was filled with boys like Danny Jensen; boys in middle school and high school and college and after who thought it their God given right to hug, pinch, or grab her whenever they saw fit; boys who each learned their lesson the hard way, just as the Jensen boy did.

Just as these three boys would, she told herself as she shifted her eyes back and forth scanning them all.

They were all just carbon copies of Danny Jenson and Tío Felipe and every other boy who thought her weak and ineffectual; who thought she was a victim to be possessed for their own enjoyment; who thought her unable to protect herself from their domineering bravado. These boys thought themselves to be lions, and her, a gazelle; but that was not the case. She would show them just how untrue that was, if only she could keep her mind from wandering back to…

Oh GOD, he’s DEAD!

…Robbie Reyes’s bloody, half-dead body sprawled out against the cold, unfeeling concrete.

That would be the last time she ever saw him.

Her mind reluctantly held on to the memory of it. She memorized every aspect of him in that moment; from the navy Reebok shoes he wore that she had bought him a few months ago for his birthday; the black jeans that she often joked made his ass look fantastic (there was a gaping hole at the calf that had come from the initial shotgun shell; through it she could see gnawed flesh and shiny white bone all intermixed with the fabric); the once white polo shirt that was now drenched with (oh so much) blood (and a gaping hole of dull crimson and chunky meat she assumed might be his intestines or stomach or lungs or a mixture of it all); the unzipped black jacket that belonged to his father (she thought she could see pieces of it beneath all the mangled flesh); and his beautiful face (splotched with his own, slowly drying blood.)

She focused in on his face for a moment, taking note of how, even now, she found him so incredibly handsome. Robbie Reyes was, without a doubt, the love of her life. She loved him more than she even thought a human being could love another. He was not the other half of her soul, he was her soul, outside her body; and she, his. Their love was infinite and eternal; she believed that with absolutely certainty.

Had she looked just a foot to the right of him she would have seen the small, velvet box that had fallen out of his pocket during the scuffle. Within it held the promise that would solidify their love for one another for all eternity. Like their future, that promise, too, would go unfulfilled.

Instead her eyes wandered to his hand, taking note of the way his arm lifted ever so slightly, as if making one final, futile attempt to save her.

Her heart broke within her chest.

OH GOD, HE’S-

NO! She shouted from within herself.

She could not do this. She could not fall apart here and now. There would be a time when she had to deal with the death of Robbie Reyes, but that time was not now. Now she had to focus on living. Living because Robbie couldn’t anymore.

She had to live.

She resolved herself, taking into account the numerous possibly futures her actions might lead her to. She knew that it was much more likely that she would be killed before she could kill all of them, but what was her alternative? Let them bully her like Danny Jensen? Let them have their way with her the way Tío Felipe wanted?

NO.

And then, she took action.

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

The first thing that every human ever experiences is pain.

It is the reason why newborn babies come out of the womb hollering at the top of their tiny, barely developed, lungs – with tears streaming down their delicate, malleable faces.

They are in pain.

After what feels like eons in the Safe Place, they find themselves suddenly jettisoned out without warning. They struggle against the light of the Bad Place – using their enervated limbs to cling to walls that are working to push them out. If they could speak they would say…

no, mama, please. don’t let them take me, mama. no, mama, please.

…They try to contest the situation they now find themselves in – but the Bad Place is an unfeeling thing that cares not for the desires of such minuscule creatures.

This pilgrimage is inevitable.

And so the infant finds himself in the Bad Place. Gone is the warm, angelic embryonic fluid that had served to keep them safe for their entire existence; in its place is cold, stale (and often recycled) air and hands (often covered in vinyl) that poke and prod them relentlessly. Large fingers, or instruments, are forced into their mouths and their noses, making sure no trace of the Safe Place remains. They then drape the infants in fabrics that feel like sandpaper against their brand new, almost translucent skin. And then comes the final step, wherein they physically cut the infant away from the only source of sustenance they have ever know, ensuring that the Safe Place is nothing more than a distant, long forgotten memory.

Every human, without exception, is brought into this world experiencing the worst pain they will ever experience.

But then, they forget.

Robbie Reyes is about to remember that pain.

He will remember every painful thing that has ever happened to him.

The pain of being born; of when he was three months old and was dropped on the floor by his primo after he had had one too many drinks; of when he was only a year old and had taken his first steps, only to trip and fall and slice his forehead on the sharp edge of a table; of when he was four years old and fell off his bike, badly scrapping his knee; of when he was nine years old and Joshua Mendez and Saul Guerrero cornered him in the restroom and broke his nose after he refused to give them his lunch money; of when he was twelve years old and had made an egregious error while riding his skateboard down a hill that earned him three broken bones in his arm; of when he was sixteen and caught a football helmet to the side of his head after starting a fight with someone who had made fun of the fact that his Papá had died; of when he was eighteen and was shot in the arm during a drive by in his neighborhood; of when he was twenty two and was shot, point blank with a shotgun directly into his abdomen…

But it was more than just physical pain that he would feel.

As Robbie Reyes’s body lay sprawled out on the concrete sidewalk – moments away from his ‘rebirth’ ��� he felt every instance of emotional pain that had plagued him throughout his life.

Again, the pain of being born – of being unceremoniously ripped from his Mamá’s womb; of losing his dog (and very best friend) to cancer at the tender age of four; of being ripped from his Mamá again at the age of six – and not seeing her or his Papá again for two years as they made their way back to America for him; of his fifteenth birthday when his Papá died without warning on that Friday afternoon; of age nineteen, when, due to his own ignorance (and, perhaps, arrogance) he lost the house that his Papá had entrusted him with; of age twenty two, when he then lost the ’69 Charger that his Papá had left for him; of that same night, when he lost the only woman he ever truly loved…

The snapping of a soul, while sounding rather ridiculous, brings together all of the pain and individual has felt throughout their life and throws it at them not only simultaneously, but repeatedly.

It is unbearable.

But he will bear it.

As his soul tears itself in two (making room for the Devil’s guest) it releases an enormous amount of energy; enough to tear a body apart… or rebuild it.

Cells, endowed with demonic energy, multiply in a chaotic frenzy, forming flesh from seemingly nothing; the process is akin to watching a 3-D Printer work at a quarter light speed. The first organ to receive the unholy treatment was Robbie’s lungs, and through a biological imperative, his bodies’ immediate instinct is to use them. First to draw in the breathe that had been denied him for close to five minutes now – and secondly to use that same air to shriek as loud as humanely possible. Though, the sound that escaped his throat bore little semblance to anything human.

In fact, it was not a sound that could be heard by mortal ears; though, it could be felt. And every human within three miles could feel the energy Robbie was pushing out of his throat. It manifested itself in a number of ways; for the young girl skipping rope outside on the stoop of her apartment complex it manifested as a shiver down her spine that sent her running in to her mother; for the middle aged man who sat in his living room reading a fantasy novel, it caused him to check his surroundings – fearful that something sinister might have its sights set on him; for the newborn baby sleeping in his crib, it stirred him from his peaceful dreams of the Safe Place, causing tears to form at his eyes and wails to ring from his own throat.

Animals, which have always been more in tune with the unseen aspects of the world, could feel it too. Birds took flight, dogs barked ferociously, and smaller creatures, like rats and squirrels, took to their hiding spots – all fearful of the energy that was being emanated in the area.

Robbie was afraid too.

He was awake now. Fully conscious. (Perhaps too much for his own liking.)

While to any onlookers, it was clear that Robbie’s body was being rebuilt – to him, it felt like the opposite. He felt a fire forming in his abdomen – as though he had swallowed hellfire and it had now taken a foothold in what remained of his stomach. He could feel the fire spreading, working its way into his bloodstream, reducing his veins and arteries to ash. He could feel it working its way into his muscles – eating them away like hydrochloric acid. He swore that he could smell the singed, melting flesh.

His organs were next. He was aware that he had drawn in a breathe, but the cold air turned to steam in his esophagus, and by the time it reached his lungs it was literal fire. His eyes were closed but he was certain that when he let the air out he had released a fireball. He could feel the lining of his throat scorch and imagined blackened, calcine flesh – like a pig that had been left over the open fire for too long.

But all of this paled in comparison to the pain he felt in his heart – the hidden home of the human soul. While his body repaired itself – or, in his eyes, was reduced to ash – the Devil’s Guest was forcing himself into Robbie’s soul. To Robbie the pain was beyond excruciating – as if someone was clawing into his chest. But even more so, into his very being. An invisible creature, with ‘skin’ composed of actual hellfire, was working itself into him with unyielding perseverance. His soul fought against the intruder, but the human soul can only endure much before it must admit defeat…

And so, the Devil’s Guest had found itself a new home inside Robbie Reyes.

And just like that, the deed was done.

Robbie Reyes and The Rider were one.

https://www.comicsmostly.com/comics-mostly/2020/1/17/the-spirit-of-vengeance-part-two?rq=spirit

Basically only posting this here for @whistlingwindtree. Lol.