#and i wonder if cooper would lie to her to watch her crumble

[hayleyb100]

The Ribbon, Part 2

Part 1

❗️ Notes

-TRIGGERS INCLUDED: SCHOOL BULLYING AND ANGST WITH FAMILY -This is a dedicated story of the swap version of my OC Richard(Father of Raihan) and his granddaughter, the shipchild of Leon and Raihan called Ari. -The character Ari belongs to @weclownstoday​. Huge appreciations for letting me add her to the story!

An uncomfortable silence filled the whole room. Richard saw the girl scanning him from top to bottom, just like how he is doing the same. Without the girl having to explain, Richard could feel in his intuition that she is his granddaughter. She had the purple hair that looks so familiar to him: The unique hair color of the Former Champion of Galar, who got married to his son Raihan. It was on the news headline for years. On top of that, she also had the peculiar turquoise-colored eyes that are passed down in his Pendragon family.

As Richard's face frowned more from trying to investigate who the girl is, she fiddled with her wooden doll nervously. Richard's dragon glare is already scary as it is, so it was far worse for a child who is left alone with a stranger.

"Who are you?" why, that is such a sweet first question for a child.

"......." she only stared back at Richard, grabbing the doll closer.

"......." Richard stared her back, making the atmosphere even more awkward.

The girl finally made a move other than fiddling her doll. She hesitantly put her hand in a pocket, pulled out a slightly crumpled paper, and gave it to Richard.

Richard was pleading his intuition was wrong. A child that resembles him standing in front of a stranger's home in the middle of the night alone with a note to give him? It was obvious but he wished his intuition was wrong and silly for once. But his intuition was written precisely on the paper. Familiar handwriting of his son-in-law, the Champion, he sees as a Gym Leader was there. It claimed they can't care for the child anymore and sending her for his care.

That short message pushed Richard to the whole chaos of emotions. He first got extremely upset for them deciding this without a word of discussion with him. He was also confused on how to explain this situation to the child since it was obvious they didn't explain this to the child. There was no way a child can be so calm and collected when their parents dumped her in front of a stranger's door. Another wave of rage overwhelmed as Richard realized those two irresponsible parents tossed the hard part of the explanation to him. It was even more difficult since, it may sound ridiculous, but he didn't even know about his granddaughter's existence.

'What a beautiful first encounter for sure,' thought Richard.

'Normally, I expect this kind of the first encounter in the maternity ward, right after their birth, or at least right after they are discharged from the hospital.'

He inhaled deeply, asked the girl to stay here while he went to call alone in the room. The number he desperately wanted to call for decades but honestly scared not to.

"Hello?" a familiar woman's voice came.

"...Aliyah."

"Richard..." an awkward silence filled the whole atmosphere.

"Did she arrive there well?"

Richard sneered to suppress rage.

"So, the first thing you ask from getting a call from your ex-husband after decades is how is your abandoned granddaughter?" a clear snap with rage. Richard couldn't help it.

"It would have been nice of you to at least told me of her existence before doing something so reckless. What is all this?"

"Richard, please don't say that... We didn't have a choice."

"Oh? I heard the Chairman, your father, passed away three years ago. So who ordered you to do this now? Are you still the same old woman who can't decide anything on your own?"

"......." after a brief silence, Richard hears someone snatching the phone.

"Hello?"

Richard's heart drops, as the voice pierces into his ears and tears his heart in two.

"...Raihan."

"I'm surprised you remember my name, considering you abandoned me for your career as a Gym Leader."

Richard was lost for words.

"Is that what your mother told you?" even at Richard's shaky voice, Raihan interrupted.

"Doesn't matter who says what now, is it? You abandoned me, and that's the only fact here."

Richard falls into silence since it's true. No matter if it was his shitty father-in-law who threatened him, his wife wasn't cooperative, and the world turning a cold shoulder, he DID leave his son behind.

"Well? You did me wrong, so at least take care of my mistake."

"...Please do not tell me that you just addressed your daughter as a mistake."

"What? It's what you think of me, so can't I say the same? It's what I learned from you."

NO, RAIHAN, NO!! Richard nearly screamed, but something stopped him.

"I don't even know if I'll ever forgive you for caring about my mistake, but eh... Whatever." with that as of last, the long-overdue phone call ends.

Richard couldn't breathe from the pain. He thought he did what was right to protect his son, but he is now engraved in his son's heart as a horrible father and the butterfly effect from that is about to tear his grandchild's life apart. He started to question all his decisions and motives. His life is about to crumble down. But the grimmest thing of all is that he isn't even allowed to do that. He knew that girl needs a caretaker and there is no way he'll send her away somewhere else. Not after what happened to him and his son.

He stroked his face to calm down and went out to the living room where his granddaughter is.

________________________________

She was still fiddling her doll, showing a clear sign of anxiety. Richard took a sharp inhale and called her.

"Umm... Your name is?"

"Ari..." she said shortly, looking down at her tip of the toes.

"I see... Greetings. My name is Richard Pendragon."

He was as anxious as the girl, since judging from Raihan's attitude, it was obvious how Aliyah and his son described him to his daughter.

"...Ari. Please listen to me carefully." another inhale.

"From today onward, I will take care of you. You are staying here with me, your grandfather. Alright?"

Richard thought it would be better for Ari's sake to open everything up before she finds out everything later and gets more pain.

"O... Okay..." Ari said nervously. "For how long?"

Richard's throat got blocked with intense torment. How can he dare to just bluntly answer 'forever' when she has no idea that her parents abandoned her and she is solely believing her parents would get her later?

"For... as long as we have to." Richard ended up giving a vague answer where he didn't lie but wasn't clear either.

Richard had no idea what to do with a little girl, so he started by shopping the stuff for her like clothes and children's books. She came with a suitcase of clothes but that was not enough. He didn't know what's popular among girls these days so he bought a pink ribbon as an accessory. 

 Ari had no idea why her grandpa was buying so many clothes when she's just going to stay for a couple of days until her dads come to get her. But since she heard all the horrible and scary things about her grandpa from her father, she just listened and followed him around without arguing. Sooner or later, the old storage room next to Richard's room turned into a lovely room for a little girl. Ari still was in wonder, but just watched how things go. She realized her grandpa wasn't too awful like her father described. He cooked some delicious food for all three meals and although clumsy, he tried his best to tie her hair and dress her. He also registered her to the local trainer's school to get appropriate lessons.

But that's when Ari started to feel something's wrong.

If dad is coming to get her soon, why would her grandpa register her to a school?

________________________________

She still was in denial until days turned into months and months turned into years without any contact from her parents.

"Umm, s, sir?" Ari nervously called him.

"Yes, Ari?"

"Can I call my father?"

"............."

Richard hesitated. But in his head, he knew the answer. He can't hoard a secret like this. Look how keeping that secret from his son ruined the relationship between him and his son.

"Ari, umm... Your father will not come for you. Do you remember I said you will have to stay here as long as you have to? It means..." Richard just couldn't continue. The pain came back at his granddaughter's frowning face.

"N- no!" Ari shook her head in denial. But deep within, she already knows what her grandpa is telling her is true. She tumbled on the floor and started wailing.

"Dad! Father! I'm sorry, I won't be naughty again! Please come and get me!"

Ari's helpless tears brought Richard down to his knees too. He was so sorry for her, thinking everything that happened is because of his foolish choice.

[grim-faux]

2 _ 31 _ Reflections

First 

 The rain slapped against the windowsill, the wood soaked entirely and coming apart by slivers as he shifted. For once, he was working at his fingers and not the soft timber. A particularly stubborn splinter between his fingers refused to emerge, so he sat for the time chewing off callouses.

 Far below in the alley, a pack of children skittered through the gray mist racing boats in a gutter. It’s a group of what might be four, it's difficult to take full stock from the angle and how indistinguishable the shapes are. He knows they are pack because they play a game together and appear mostly organized. Games help children figure out cooperation and interdependence, it’d let them get a grip on skills, and other important things. Playing a small game could also pull them from the hostile world they inhabited, and… he didn’t know how to put it into speek. Reset their heads. Lessened the fatigue of struggle for survive, distanced them from the uncertainties they dealt with constantly. Such as food and safe shelter. It was free and light.

 It would be fun to go out there and meet with the other children. See how they did speek, possibly learn where they came from - if they came from beyond the city or knew nothing but the Pale City. Maybe find out where they planned to go next. Could learn about new dangers or unseen threats. Sometimes kids share foods, but not always, it depended on the situation and how plentiful rations were. He wondered who was winning the game. The boats worked well, bobbing along the deep rapids of the gulley and staying afloat despite the turbulent weather.

 Trying to meet other kids wouldn’t be safe. The Thin Man might frighten the child pack or hurt them. Worst could happen, what if chase and turned them into sad little shadows? True, that didn't always happen, but it did happen to Her. And they were not Mono. Not same. The tall thin man was unpredictable, did without reason, does without knowing the why. In all the time he chased the man in the hat, Mono didn't learn much of his ways or whims. Even for him the game was dangerous. Though the tall thin man usually seemed calm and indifferent, it was always very obvious when  someone something irritated him. The Thin Man did give fair warning.

 He shouldn’t be sitting here watching, but he can’t help it. Even if he can’t pack, he still longed for the together. Share foods and speek, watch for someone and then do sleep. Huddle close when it’s cold, and the weather was punishing. Call for friend, work through a hard puzzle. Trick monsters. The sort of stuff kids did.

 The Thin Man keeps Mono, but that is all. The tall thin man is not child, he is the adult. Maybe once a long-long time ago, the man in the hat was child and did hide, flee from danger, and searched for food, or played games. He might’ve had a pack, or not. All of that means nothing, the Thin Man is adult now, and does not understand cardinal laws about the world. He goes where he wants, does whatever he wants, whenever he wants. The man in the hat has no fears. It’s possible he likes keeping Mono because Mono is a strange child with no friends, and Mono couldn't help but chase the Thin Man.

 Or could be the Thin Man thought Mono was funny child. Not a good kind of funny, but a mean kind. Like with the feather. Mono was funny and sometimes that made the Thin Man happy, but that didn't make Mono happy. The man in the hat liked the few things about Mono that were same, but that was the extent of Mono's frail grasp. So little about company he could get the knack of, the Thin Man always changed the rules. Then again, the Thin Man didn't quite want Mono to begin with; he barely seemed to accept that Mono was.

 The thought was always there, like needing to find foods. Ever present in his mind, nagging when he lost sight of the tall thin man. When the man in the hat left for the fabled "danger-ouse places". This wasn't going to last, and Mono was always nervous when the Thin Man became displeased with his doings.

 “Don’t go there.” “You need sleep.” “Not there, child.” “Where are you?” “How did you manage that?” “Spit that out." "No.” “That is a danger.” “I don’t need that.” “No.” “Stop!” “Stay.” “C̷̥͠o̶̜͑m̷̥͗ë̴̬́ ̴͙̂H̶̞͠ȅ̴͓r̵̲̃ḙ̵̓,̸̳̃ ̶͎̅B̴̠̀o̶͈̾y̶͖͘.̸̯̓”

 Adults. They get mad at the weirdest things. Like now, Mono was uncertain where the Thin Man was inside the whole building they were exploring. The tall thin man was put off about... something or another, and before Mono could collect his wits (after the bad fall) the man in the hat had already faded in a flashy crackle. No sign or indication where he went. As such, Mono began wandering through the twisting corridors, and sneaking around the rundown rooms barely holding together; mind set on food things while his senses remained on full alert.

 The Thin Man seemed more broody than the adults normal, and inclined the quiet, dark glare onto Mono a few times. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, what the tall thin man searched for. It had been some while since Mono saw a smile; not while they strolled through the dismal roads, or broken walls into washed out building interiors. They wandered some long while, the tall thin man might be tired like Mono was. Even if lie and said he wasn't to rest, Mono knew better. The dream haunts got the better of him, despite Mono's best efforts. The Thin Man did not do a good job of look after himself.

 If he could find something interesting, the Thin Man would tell him about it. Maybe. Some things he didn’t like to tell Mono about, but other times Mono could find him a new thing. An interesting thing, which the Thin Man would just tell him all about. Sometimes use the big speek, and Mono would be lost in the rumbling buzz. But it was a good sort of lost.

 That task was hard yet. Not much interested the Thin Man. He liked his game, and Mono was glad not to be alone. They both got something from the company. A win.

 Dull vibrations pulsed in the back of his thoughts, demanding Mono pry his focus from the window, with the children so far away. He dropped off the sill and hurried across the decrepit room, aimed for one doorway wherein the already challenged radiance flashed and dimmed. In short time he reached the portal, right when the figure bent shuffled into the room.

 “Did you get to eat?” The man in the hat stood straight and rubbed at his back.

 Mono rubbed at his own back. When the Thin Man gave him a look, he stopped the motion and shook his head. He showed his empty hands and frowned. If there had been food, the Thin Man would’ve gotten something too.

 With a rustling sigh, the Thin Man resumed his listless stride. To his relief, the man in the hat dismissed the window, and in a distorted flicker, abandoned the room entirely. Before the bulbs winked out in the ceiling, Mono made haste to reach the connecting passage. Soon, he would only have the delicate rap of the Thin Man's heels to offer direction. If the wiring didn't work or fizzled out completely due to the Thin Man's presence, he really had to rely on his hearing and the feel of the air. Mono fancied he was becoming pro at that, regardless the frequent bump or stumble over obscure junk.

 The prolonged search resulted in no meaningful results, nothing worthwhile - aside from more of the same rot, the typical invasion of insects chewing through whatever couldn't crawl away. Mono plucked at the edge of his choice hat, trying to pretend his stomach wasn't growling about the injustice of all this. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what it was that he last ate. Let alone when. It wasn't important, but it annoyed him thinking he'd gone so long without something.

 Probably why he couldn't stop chewing on his fingers.

 "Don't do that. Get your hand away from your mouth."

 When the Thin Man leaned through the next doorway, Mono stalled long enough to stick his tongue at the hunched figure. He didn't want to chew on the bandage, the wrapping was set cozy and right, and neat. A good sum of time elapsed since his last incident, best not to get the Thin Man all riled up over minor hurts. Mono wanted to avoid another episode.

 By the ground level of the building, the two returned to the endless storms via a collapsed portion of wall. Thankfully, the Thin Man ventured through roads that lay open and mostly whole, fluttering as a wispy shadow among chunks of ruble evicted off the warped high-rises. The man in the hat's travel was never restricted, not like Mono was. A chasm wasn’t a frightening void to the tall thin man; he could blink out and appear on the other side. For Mono in his unrefined capacity, he always had to search out a way across. And FAST. The tall thin man wasn't prone to wait or call.

 Sometimes, the man in the hat did offer to carry Mono, but Mono was frightened by the idea and shied away from the offered hand. What if he was dropped or fell, or any number of things? Mono liked to have something solid under his feet, or in his grasp. The Thin Man was always dissatisfied with the response, but it was a rare time when he didn’t grab Mono. They could always search for another way. The city sprawling held no shortage of paths or crevices, ladders or suspicious braided blanket ropes dangling. Mono was a crafty boy - if he was permitted the time, he would find a clever route. All while ignoring the Thin Man's baleful glower. Like the tall thin man, Mono didn't need anybody. He could go anywhere on his own.

 It is a very long excursion of the city roads, twisted alleys, roving within the buckling walls of splintered skyscrapers crumbling brick by brick. None of the rooms of the many locations offered anything, aside from maybe a new child's hat or intriguing artifact. The rain prattled constantly, sometimes low roads are swamped by the converging 'rivers'. In some durations the travel is intense, but Mono is never dissuaded. Nothing would stop him. The Thin Man sought cached passages through the ruble of buildings, or utilized the televisions to reach a whole other section of the city. The Thin Man was always first, only because he isn’t a television serial murderer.

 Mono tried to catch himself when he flew out. The television is atop a low table and he tumbled, nearly breaking his wrist. The Thin Man is already moving, and Mono doesn't waste a second to catch up. The building isn’t in that bad of shape, compared to those they passed through from the other side of the screen. The walls at least look whole in this room, and it’s much warmer, not so damp or drafty. Maybe shelter here? The man in the hat always decided.

 The Thin Man opened a door, which led into a large corridor with branching archways and impervious shade beyond each. Flashing and glitching the tall figure reappeared, bypassing the first two entries. In his wake, Mono emerged from the doorway, straying near the wall. When he didn't follow immediately, the Thin Man stopped and looked back.

 Mono idled along the wall trailing the peeling wallpaper with his hand, ever cautious when peering into the first open portal he passed. As suspected, perpetual depths greeted his eyes. He angled his gaze up and up at the stony silhouette, his current hat hiding most of his face. With barely a click in his step, the Thin Man pivoted and resumed his elected course. While Mono ducked into the next doorway, down a flight of steps and toward another corridor barely perceivable, if not for the bulb framing the walls with a gray haze. Not long, he would be back. The man in the hat wouldn't miss him.

 The jingle from televisions carried along the enclosed stairwell, all the while Mono stumbled. Beyond the depressed gleam of radiance, more doors and maybe another passage further along. An intermix jabber of voices stacked in conversation, rambling speek with no meaning, and other melodies crooned out. Among the cacophony of swirled sounds, a Viewer burbled at the television it gaped at.

 Most the doors he couldn't bother with, even if he was confident to shift through the wood panel, Mono still preferred to conserve his energy. He couldn't be certain if he would have the vigor to pop back through, given how famished he was. It limited his search, but the scout wouldn't go far if he got stranded somewhere. Much of his searching was reserved for bare-open dwellings, and likely areas long abandoned and long looted of worthwhile treats. If a residency appeared quiet and the door could be opened, he’d invite himself in. Foremost, he kept a lookout for foods, but he didn’t want to get distracted.

 The self-imposed quest was mostly focused in the rooms with beds and dressers, not the kitchens - not yet. The rooms would harbor castoff things from a world abandoned, a world detached from the one he knew so well. On top of dressers or on nightstands, he might locate something he’d never seen before. However, many of the trinkets couldn’t hold his interest or didn’t reveal enough upon first examination, to really spur the risk to haul it to the Thin Man. He wanted to find another one of the bulb things with the toy inside, since that seemed interesting for a try.

 In the big living room of one residence, he did find a remote! Something he’d searched for endlessly, especially now since lone televisions seemed prone to shut off while the Thin Man was around. The Thin Man didn’t like Mono looking at the devices, unless he was watched. Bleh.

 Also lingering around was a Viewer, plastered to the television and gurgling. Needing a break from all the pointless wandering, Mono perched on a tall desk table and hit the switch, causing the television to blink out. This of course, annoyed the Viewer. With a shriek it swung around and searched for the source of this outrage. How DARE! Before it could lock onto him, near invisible in the shadows, Mono would give it back its stupid television. He just wanted to have a little fun for a bit, no harm.

 This went on and on, the Viewer wailing each time the television powered off, Mono seeing how far he was willing to let it get without the willies getting to him. The nice thing about Viewers was the predictability, despite how obsessed they were. And creepy. As long as he had the remote, everything would be fine-

 Unless the controller switch stopped… working. Right when he shut the thing off, and the Viewer had gotten a few paces too many away from its precious entertainment box.

 Yeah it was a really dumb game, but he’d not had fun like that in a while. At least he had a head start, racing out of the room and shooting down into a crawlspace beneath the floorboards of one room. He really mourned the loss of the remote, he could have used that later.

 The lower floors still held together mostly, which meant he should be extra careful while exploring around. There wouldn’t be openings or breaks he could dive into if trouble reared up, but he wasn’t seeing too many of the Viewers either, despite the singing televisions. He was also a little lost, creeping from one dwelling to the next, all the corridors felt the same despite erosion in the surface and carpet. He was thinking it would be a good time to try retracing his steps, before he became too lost. He was sure the upper floors could be reached, even without the stairwell – planks of wood in the crumbling wall or anything, if he searched hard enough.

 In one of the smaller rooms he did a last search of, he encountered some child standing off to the side. Their presence startled him so much, and they looked just about as terrified by his intrusion, he back peddled and floundered over his own feet. He snatched up his hat and managed to lurch into a run, shooting through the break in the lower portion of the door and fleeing down the winding hall.

 Only to freeze up when the Thin Man dipped under the threshold leading into the very corridor he was in. For lack of direction, Mono swayed back and forth.

 “Hey.”

 The Thin Man gave him a look, intense eyes glittering beneath the bill of his hat. He was chewing on one of those burn sticks.

 “What is it? Stumble onto a hazard?” he posed.

 Mono tipped his head, unsure how to go about this. “N’t good. No safe.” And then he stood there like a dolt, trying to hide his eyes a bit beneath the lip of his hat. “Foods?” He began to panic internally, when the Thin Man approached. Not looking at him, but glaring at the broken door just behind him.

 “No! NoNoNoNo!” He tried to get in the tall figures way, but the man in the hat just stepped over him. A soured ache formed in his gut, he wanted to stop the Thin Man but also could see himself getting knocked aside or hurt if he was more careless. “No! No!”

 “For the last time, there is nothing to fear while in my presence,” he grumbled. “I won't tolerate this. Wait there!” With a snap of his wrist the door creaked open, and in a deep bow the man in the hat vanished, winking out in a distorted shadow. A long and eerie pause followed.

 Mono pressed his hands over his eyes and backed away. What did he do to children that were not Mono? Some sleeps the phantom screech She made woke him up. He never heard her do speek like that. A sad little shadow. He didn’t want to hear anyone else scream like that. He wanted to stop the Thin Man, but he was afraid! A cowered! He kept backing away from the void that now existed beyond the doorway. Sorry! He was sorry! He ran away! He tried....

 “Mono.” The Thin Man called, from within. Sounding distant and haunting. “Come here.”

 “What!” he challenged, without a thought. What did the Thin Man want to show him? Did he plan to make an example of the child? Or, did they escape? He hoped they got out.

 Once more, the Thin Man beckoned. “Come here. Now.” When Mono failed to inspire his legs into moving, the Thin Man provided ample motivation. “Î̸̪̜̐̚ ̶͎̲̘̊̆̈́̎̊̊W̶̨̙͓͂̓̽͝i̵͓͖̖̰̞̒͛́̽͜͝l̶͎͚̼͙̐̋̅̿͝l̶̩͇̯̱̋ ̴͈̰̺̑̈́͜Ṅ̷̛̬̜͑̾̕͠o̷̫̭͗̃̅͆̕͝t̷̗͎͖̏̿̉ ̷̱̫̜̠̎̇̈̂̕Č̵͍͚̒̏̌̋a̴̦̤̙̹͌̔̆̆͒͝l̷̩͖͈̈́̐͒l̸͙͚͖̤̫̮̈̍͒͠ ̴͕̗̩͓̳̟̕ Ȁ̸͎̜̫͍̫̠̆̽g̷͇̙͋a̶̢̯̻̋̉i̴̗̣̭̩̒͊́̚ṅ̴̮͉̿̓͘͠.”

 He shuffled towards the doorway, gut tightening the closer he moved to the gaping entry. What was waiting? Would the Thin Man have the child in his grip, struggling and terrified by his uncertain fate? Or would the other kid be cringing in a corner, white with terror? If the man in the hat wanted him to do... something, he would flee. He would!

 When Mono finally inched his way hrough the threshold, his eyes locked immediately on the towering figure standing by the wall. A little flutter of relief swirled in his chest, upon spying both of the long arms crossed over the narrow chest. That relief almost popped, when the Thin Man settled his gaze on him. He tugged the sides of his hat down around his face.

 “There’s no need to be frightened,” he crackled. “It was only your reflection.”

 Baffled, Mono shifted his gaze aside and searched. Reflection? He nearly jolted backwards when he spied the child again, instead, this time he stumbled. What was that! The other child appeared flabbergasted as well as lost. What was this?! No, wait… they were wearing his hat. That was His HAT!

 He kept his distance, glaring. The other child followed his lead. Perfectly mimed. This was very confusing and disconcerting, to have a someone imitate him so perfectly. Something was wrong here.

 “You’ve never seen a real mirror before, have you?” He felt like the Thin Man was mocking him again. Before he realized anything is afoot, he’s being pressed forward by a hand. “It won’t hurt you. Have a look.”

 “No….” Mono tugged the hat down fully over his face, but couldn’t get away from the grasp insisting he address this other fake Mono. He dug his toes into the dirty carpet trying to press back, until the forceful hand withdrew. He collected himself and tugged his hat up, fully prepared to retreat… but he was nearly at the doppelganger. Could make out the color of his coat, the details of his hat, his very dour and annoyed expression.

 It was like staring into a window, and someone you’ve never seen before looked back. But he knew them from somewhere. The surface was a bit dusty, the edges tinged with corrosion, but for the most part the window was intact. They were separated. He crept in closer and closer, teetering on the fringe of flight. The closer he moved, the more defined and clear the outlines of the other child became in the dull light.

 Reaching out cautiously, his palm slapped the cold barrier. Solid. He gazed at the other face gawking back, and very slowly reached up. The copy mimicked faithfully, as he pushed the hat off his head. He tried to recall a time when he had viewed himself in such utter clarity, but had nothing. Unless to check for an injury or something, seeking a reflective surface was redundant. Finding a surface that offered anything but distorted complexions, was something else entirely. He never really stopped to look at himself, take in the face the world hated.

 “It’s you,” the Thin Man rumbled.

 “T’s me. Aam Mono,” he hummed. Tentatively, he reached up and touched at his hair, pushed it one way then parted it the other, ruffled the clumpy strands. He tugged at his ears, studying the curls and overall form. Then, mushed at his cheeks and tugged at his lips, made some faces. So that’s what those looked like. He had to look at his teeth, see the crazy gap the missing tooth made. Neat! The spot in his gum looked ugly but didn't hurt. He twirled around, admiring the fantastic coat and all its stitch work. The collar was bent, so he fixed that. Overall, he was a very good looking Mono.

 A little higher in the window surface, he could observe the Thin Man. Smiling.

 “Come? Look.” He leaned away from the glossy pane, peering up at the man in the hat. Who was no longer smiling.

 “No. I’d rather not… tarnish the reflection.”

 Mono returned his attention to the mirror Mono and looked aside. This didn’t count as anything that would make the Thin Man happy. He sat for a moment and nibbled his fingers, having a think. He was… already bored with the mirror, too. The novelty wore off before he knew it. He was still Mono, the world still hated him. The mirror couldn't tell him why. But....

 “Same,” he murmured. Touching his cheek. “N’same.” He turned to the Thin Man and curled his fingers around his eyes. He offered a smile.

 “That we do.”

 The response kind of caught Mono. But the man in the hat knew everything already, and then didn’t say. “Reason?”

 The Thin Man exhaled a thread of smoke. And shrugged. Otherwise, no explanation or insight was given. Not even an excuse.

 “See… n’me you?”

 Another sigh, but the Thin Man sighed wouldn’t look at Mono. “Saw some of me, in you.”

 “Oh.” He was glad there wasn’t a child in this room. This wasn’t much better, but at least no one else got hurt. He tugged at a thread in the roll of his pant leg. “Tell story?” He is a little disappointed when the Thin Man turned away and bent under the doorframe.

 “No, this is not the time nor place for silly stories.”

 Mono snapped up his hat and climbed to his feet, rushing after the gradually retreating figure. “But story?” He hastened his pace to stay beside the Thin Man, bouncing or skipping between every two or three steps.

 “You won’t like the story, I can tell you that. One day though, it will be your story, and it will hurt.” A trail of smoke left his lips.

 Hurt? So many queries blossomed within his thoughts. Was there a fix? A way to stop hurt? The Thin Man knew, but couldn't fix. Though maybe....

 “But… same, be'fer t'hide. And t'flee. Then you, w’th me. Do t's together....” The Thin Man ceased walking and gave him a full on glare. Mono staggered sideways, halting his panicked speek. This wasn’t good. Asking questions wouldn’t work, and the Thin Man didn’t like repeating himself.

 “M’sorry,” Mono mumbled, smothering his words. The man in the hat didn't like the S speek. “Rr’sad? N’yu not say, f'hurt?” He inched closer to the Thin Man’s shoes and raised his arms. If he wanted to, the Thin Man could hold him. Getting snared or clutched frightened him, the mood of the tall thin man was always strange and mystery, Mono never really knew what might happen. But it might make the man in the hat feel better. That too was an unknown.

 Instead, the Thin Man bent over and ruffled his hair. “Never mind that. Let’s move along, I do not believe there will be much food in this place.”

 Mono is still put off by the dismissiveness, but he shouldn’t have pushed. He wanted answers, but the Thin Man wasn’t happy in speek about those sort of tricky topics. He liked explaining other boring trivial pieces, but not when it came to the important questions. Her. The Tower. Other children. Sad little shadows. The bits and pieces of a different world, with different pictures, and different meanings. It could be like dream haunts, it was taboo to ask friends about them. That seemed like a valid reason, despite how it burned up in Mono to know more, anything. So much same in Mono, but wouldn't utter why. Could other children... be....

 The tall figure renewed his fluid stride, exhaling a stream of vapor as he went. Mono plopped his hat on and followed, as usual. In silence, as typical. Questions hovered in his mind but for now he would stash them aside, until a safer time. Perhaps when they settled in a calm and good area, then the tall thin man would want to do share speek. Could be interested if Mono copied picture speek from a book, and made a different sort of book? That seemed like a fun idea, and then, he could show the Thin Man how to make it work. Even if the Thin Man knew everything already, it would be happy to pretend he found something new for the Thin Man.

 The Thin Man maybe only kept Mono because of all the same. Too much of the same, or maybe not enough. He couldn’t really figure out anything of why, the man in the hat did what he did. All of anything he did, was for himself. Yet, he made Mono a part of that, and that was okay. No one else wanted Mono.

 He thought though, that the Thin Man’s lip twitched. He wasn’t sure what he did, but it faded the more he persisted with queries. Mono asked the hard questions, the ones that made the man in the hat dig for something... else. A place where the answers lay, beneath the questions, shrouded by the purpose of doing a something. The Thin Man didn't like giving answers or reasons, because like dream haunts, he had to find where the answers came from. The Thin Man was a strange and troubled adult, brimming with dark thoughts alongside the difficult unknowns. Adults would always be hostile and angered by anything that didn't belong, but the Thin Man wasn't like that. He was mostly just grumpy.

Next

[ms-maj]

For @theheavycrown​ on her birthday. Sarah, thank you for all the laughter, support and friendship and for being an all around awesome human being. xoxo

It’s not that he doesn’t like mornings, he does, it’s just that Jughead Jones has come to learn that few good things happen before nine a.m. Yet here he sits at seven, a fine layer of silt covering his beloved Honda, his leather jacket, his helmet (next time he’ll make sure the route he takes avoids as many of those dirt roads as humanly possible; he really wishes he’d stuffed his backpack in the saddlebag instead of wearing it on his back.) The goggles he’s pulled down rest under his chin as he slides his helmet off, his hair feeling heavy and hot in the already building humidity. The helmet clanks against the steel frame as it hangs from the handlebars, dust kicking off in a little cloud as it sways. 

He sighs, peeling the filthy eyewear off his head and wipes the lens across his dirty jeans before hanging them on the opposite handlebar. This is not his scene. Well, it’s not not his scene, Jughead is pretty well known as the patron saint of all things forgotten and bygone,  so the flea market isn’t too out of turn but taking time off his life to pursue nothing but leisure? Not so much. So when he heard tell of the best collection of antique cast iron this side of the Mississippi he knew he’d be remiss if his cross-country culinary trek didn’t at least find him some new pieces to add to his ever-growing collection. The one that personally threatened to take over another corner of his small house, and the one he’s building a culinary empire on. He exhales forcefully, lifting his coffee from the holder, thankful he opted for the tall, solid cupholder as it somehow managed to save his necessary caffeine from the horrors of the open country road. 

Finish below or on AO3

Sipping on his "coffee" he watches as the vendors turn into the old yet still operating drive-in, the name Sunset peeling off the ancient sign. This weekend’s fare, Jaws and Jurassic Park, piecemeal spelled out in crumbling letters on the old marquee. Truck after truck, some with trailers and others just loaded to the brim, turn in a steady stream and supposedly have been doing so for the last hour. There’s a strange excitement that simmers just under the surface, it’s as if he knows he’s going to find exactly what he wants today, maybe even if it’s not at all what he’s been looking for.

Jughead likes to think he’s lived. In his—some glorious and others very much not—thirty-four years on this earth he’s eaten, what he thinks, is the finest food on every continent. He’s trained under classic French chefs in Michelin starred restaurants and with street vendors from Thailand to Peru. His own restaurant, a quaint throwback bistro in the heart of upstate New York is the culmination of those years and years and years of hard work. His passions, he’s come to find, cannot be confined, nor defined, simply by the walls of a kitchen. They’re in the pages of his acclaimed cookbooks and the mystery series he’s been stringing together since high school that he was sure would never amount to anything. 

But it did, and here he is. The very definition of latchkey, Jughead Jones grew up the poor son of a couple of addicts and con artists. The ones he hasn’t seen since he got his high school diploma. The moment that piece of paper was in his hands, he loaded his rucksack onto his rusted out Kawasaki and never looked back. 

He’s lived in trailers and dorms, in cramped studios and lavish flats, and once, in the projection booth of a drive-in theater. Very much like the one he assumes is in the middle of this one. He sighs, leaning back against his bike, forgetting the heat from the muffler until it starts burning beneath the heavy denim of his jeans. 

“Shit,” he mumbles as he shifts uncomfortably away, dislodging his near burnt calf but manages to spill the bitter, gas-station coffee he’d been absently cradling down the front of his white t-shirt. The next expletive out of his mouth is not so quiet. “Fuck me!”

The cup drops to the ground as he wipes at the seeping stain barehanded. “I might have a tissue,” he hears. Instantly he stops the futile attempt to clean himself, looking up when the laughter reaches his ears. “Though I can’t imagine it would be much help.”

The corner of his lip pulls up despite this recent bout of bad luck. She’s in a bold, floral print sundress with the kind of soft hem that dances with the breeze as it blows across the nearly empty lot. The sunhat is floppy, almost too big over the cascade of soft waves that hit her shoulders, she smiles, warm and amused before she takes her lower lip between her teeth, eyes darting from his to the growing spot of wet fabric sticking to his chest.

“I would say I’m well prepared,” he gestures back toward his bike with its ample enclosed storage, and his dust-covered backpack draped over the rear seat. “But apparently I wasn’t thinking this morning. This is also my last clean shirt, so, really batting a thousand today.”

Pink tongue peeking between her teeth as she laughs her eyes narrow as her head dips to the side. “Hmm,” she runs that tongue over her lower lip, looking at him with hooded eyes before seemingly catching herself; clearing her throat she starts again. ”I just pulled my car out of storage, I might have something in the trunk if you want me to take a look?” She half turns to follow where she’s absentmindedly pointing, and he sees the very moment her left foot doesn’t seem to get the memo. If he waits another second she’ll be in the dirt and without even consciously thinking about it, his arms wrap around her waist and keep her from toppling.

She lets out a shaky breath, fingers digging into the leather that encases his bicep. “Sorry, I, uh,” her head darts from side to side before she rights herself and extricates herself from his grip. “I wish I could say I wasn’t normally this klutzy but that would be a lie.” She sweeps the dirt and imaginary wrinkles from her dress and adjusts the hat that now sits just askew on her head.

“Glad I could be of assistance,” he drawls, watching as pink colors her cheeks. “So, a shirt? Maybe?” 

Nodding, she turns (with a skosh more grace than before) and walks to the end of the makeshift aisle. “Right this way.”

 “You’re not trying to lure me behind an abandoned building so that you can murder me, right?” He thinks it sounds playful, flirtatious even, though both things are patently out of his wheelhouse, but he can’t help but wonder why this gorgeous woman even stopped and looked in his direction.

“Oh, no, see this building might be abandoned, but these grounds aren’t going to be for too much longer. And I have a feeling you might be a screamer.” 

Choking a little on his own spit, he slows, swallows, and drags his eyes back up to find hers looking back over her shoulder. She winks, then stops between the fins of some powder blue oddity Jughead has never seen the likes of before. 

“I don’t usually find myself at a loss for words but you seem to have found my weakness.”

“And what is that exactly?” She questions as he moves next to her, almost too close, he can feel her breath shuddering against his skin as she places an oddly shaped key into the opening on the trunk. 

“Klutzy green-eyed blondes,” he can tell he’s caught her off guard when she gasps as the latch lets go on the trunk lock. 

“Okay then,” she’s smiling back at him, that lip caught between her teeth again when he realizes he’s already mapping out their future and he doesn’t even know her name.

“Jughead. Jones.” he supplies, voice cracking like he’s all of sixteen again. He wasn’t nervous, not before this simple moment in which he provides his chosen name and she either laughs or…

Her dainty hand hangs between them. “Pleasure to meet you Jughead, I’m Betty Cooper."

His large, calloused hand engulfs hers, happy to find the spark he thought he felt before was very real, and much, much more than a spark.

Their clasped hands hang between them, neither too eager to drop. Betty finally pulls away with another one of those flustered head shakes, before she starts to rummage through the cavernous trunk. It’s fairly empty, save for whatever Betty is looking for, and it's clearly all the way in the back.

 “Okay, but really, you can’t tell me that you haven’t thought, you know hypothetically of course, about how many bodies you could actually fit in this trunk,” he’s taken a step back to get the full picture, which is mostly just Betty stretching the entirety of her gorgeous frame into the depths of the unknown to find him a shirt, but his writers’ mind can’t help but wonder.

She stops her scavenging and with a triumphant grunt, she’s righting herself, the strap of a black duffle bag between her fingers. “Aha! And honestly, who hasn’t seen an old car and thought about the sheer amount of fuckery one could get away with simply based on interior cargo space.”

He knows he’s staring, gaping really, but he can’t seem to help himself. Betty shrugs, unphased, and goes to open the bag. She rummages around for a few seconds then pulls out a Johnny Cash t-shirt. 

“I know it’s a little wrinkled but it doesn’t seem to smell,” she pulls the aforementioned garment from her face and hands it to him. 

“Even if it did it—anything is an improvement over,” he waves his hand over his sticky shirt and worries she can tell his heart straight-up skips a beat when she laughs. 

Jughead takes off his leather jacket, passes it wordlessly to Betty who tries to clean it as best she can with a small rag from her car. He slips his arms inside of his soiled shirt and pushes it up around his shoulders, sliding it off as he pulls on the clean one. When he looks back at Betty she looks a little perplexed.

“What?”

“Just wondering what prompted the middle-school locker room style shirt change. If my seeing you topless would’ve been too much for your delicate sensibilities than perhaps I’ve misjudged—”

“That is quite enough out of you,” he points a menacing finger in her direction but is laughed down. His glare breaks quickly and the smile that takes over almost hurts. Has he been that out of practice with even smiling that the muscles in his face don’t know what to do about it? It’s a definite possibility. It just seems to come so naturally around Betty that he doesn’t want to question, and subsequently, jinx it.  

“Oh yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?" Eyebrow raised, she leans closer, arm outstretched with his coat.

He reaches to grab it but he misses the jacket altogether and brushes his fingers against hers. "Sounds like you'd love to find out, " it's from who winks this time. Betty's grip falters and the leather falls into his hand. Words form on his tongue but before he can get them out a shrill ring cuts through the ambiance of the morning. 

The trunk is slammed close; the moment is gone. “Shit, it’s a client, and a big one so I have to take this. I, um, I’ll see you in there? Hopefully?” He knows the disappointment is etched on his face, but he tamps it down and nods in her direction. Her smile back is enthusiastic, she looks sanguine; before he turns around he hears, what he assumes, is a happy lilt as she greets whoever is on the line.

He stuffs the jacket and his soiled shirt into one of the saddlebags, slides on his trusty (and dusty) grey beanie, grabs a few canvas tote bags, and heads into the flea market. There’s a moment he thinks he hears her voice but when he turns he's met with the endless drone of tires as the lot begins to fill.

It seems silly—feels silly—to be missing someone after such a short time. Not only just since you’ve seen them but also because you’ve only exchanged a handful of words in the entire five minutes that you’ve known one another.

There’s a small line at the gate. As he waits to pay his admission, he runs a hand over the back of his neck and tugs at the edge of his hat, trying to keep this weird, swirly sensation inside instead of letting it bubble out lest he ends up skipping through the lanes. 

He lets out a mirthless laugh, the kind he finds usually echo throughout his empty home only this time it's met with the hustle and bustle of the early-bird crowd. There's no time to dwell, no reason to wait; just the time (and patience) to find himself that thirteen-inch Spider skillet, and maybe a new Dutch oven...or two.

Or, he remembers after he's grabbed new forty-fives for the jukebox, old carnival prints for Toni, a snake ashtray for Sweet Pea that he knows Val will hate but it's so ugly he can't help himself, that while he may be able to mail himself whatever he can't carry across the states...he still has to get it there in the first place.

It's why he talks himself out of the awful Rocky poster. It's not for him, of course, but rest assured it would be most appreciated by Archie and Reggie. Jughead can actually picture exactly where in their apartment where they'd hang it. Their housewarming present would have to wait until the next flea market.

He hasn't even made it to the small cluster of more upscale dealers before he's at the snack stand, walking away with a blue icee and cotton candy like the grown man he is. While enjoying his treats he's only half paying attention to the stalls and tables that line each of drive-in’s aisles, surely missing out on some choice vintage toys and housewares that he has no use (or room) for.

Mostly, his mind wanders as he weaves through the ever-growing throng. He’s been looking for a floppy sun hat but, unfortunately, many, many people seem to be concerned about the adverse effects of UV rays. Not that that in and of itself is not unfortunate, it’s just not helping him at the moment. If he couldn’t look down and see the physical evidence of their interaction, he’d believe he hallucinated the whole thing. The universe doesn’t just drop his idyllic dream girl into his path, well, it absolutely would allow him to see her once and then never again. But he doesn’t want that…

He wants to know what it feels like to have her legs wrapped around his waist, on the bike, in their bed. He wants to see her tangled in their bedsheets or sitting at the counter as he feeds her his latest culinary creation. Not that he’s ever been one to live inside the delusions, his upbringing has forced his ‘manifest your own destiny’ lifestyle to never rely on the dreams, just use them as touchstones for achieving said ruminations. But these, the daydreams are so vivid, so real that he almost walks right past the intended object of his affection.

And it’s only the melodious cant of saccharine condescension that brings him back to the moment. 

“I realize that I’m here later than we discussed, but that shouldn’t affect the price we agreed upon, right?”

Betty’s arms were crossed over her chest, head cocked to the side, the sunhat effectively obscuring her beautiful face, which by her tone, Jughead assumes is sporting a proper scowl. 

“It shouldn’t, no,” the vendor starts. He stands a good foot and a half taller than Betty, broad-chested and fully bearded, he runs a calloused hand over the gray whiskers. “It’s just that this is a highly collectible item—”

“Which you are being more than fairly compensated for! You acquired it for me, I don’t understand why you’re being so obstinate now.”

“C’mon Betty Boop, you know exactly why. You’re looking so pretty today, go on a date with me and I’ll throw in that Griswold trivet I’ve seen you eyeing up,” Jughead sees the man's hands come down on the table as he leans closer to Betty. He watches her body swell with a deep inhalation that releases as her hands hit the table to mimic his pose. 

“Not if you were the last man on Earth, Andrew. Just sell me the damn dutch oven and I’ll be on my merry little way.”

The vendor sucks air through his teeth so loudly it whistles. “Doesn’t sound like I’m getting anything out of this…”

Jughead is practically standing over Betty’s shoulder now, the tension and frustration rolling off her like waves. “Andrew, I swear to all the gods in existence, if you don’t take the agreed price and put my dutch oven in this fancy bag here I’m calling your Gran.”

Jughead isn’t sure he’s ever seen anyone deflate so quickly. The man grunts holds out his hand and in it, Betty presses a neat stack of cash. The large, lidded pot makes its way to the table and from his vantage point can tell it’s a Wapak and in pristine condition.

“Nice looking piece of cookware you got there,” he says loudly behind her. She startles straight, turns slowly, and greets him with the brightest smile he thinks he’s ever seen.

“Jughead!” Her arms are around his neck and face pressed against the planes of his chest before he can blink. She seems to realize herself and is out of his arms and standing in front of him within the second it takes to realize how much he misses her warmth.

“What, did you think you could get rid of me that easily? I still have your shirt,” his hands rest on her waist, he hasn’t dropped them, and she hasn’t moved further away so he’s going to assume it’s not unwelcome.

She hums.”Well, it looks much better on you than in did crumpled up in my trunk

“Everything okay here?”

“We’re just peachy, right Andrew?” Betty questions, turning away from him and out of his grasp. She grabs the bag he’s placed on the table and with a most unrefined grunt, hoists it over her shoulder.

“We’re good, Coop. Just try to be on time from now on, it’s not very,” he pauses. Jughead can feel the man’s eyes slide from Betty to him, looking him up and down with a displeased expression. “Professional.”

“Oh, Andrew. Green is not your color. If you weren’t the only person in the tri-state area who could get me this stuff then I would never give you my business, ever again. But since I clearly work for sadists who love forcing me to interact with you, we’re at an impasse,” she shifts the bag on her shoulder and continues. “However, you make any more assumptions about my professionalism or personal life, then they’re going to have to find a new liaison.”

Andrew groans. “Don’t be like that, Betty! You know it all comes from the heart,” he crosses a hand to his and pats, and then he’s reaching under the table. “Here’s that trivet you had your eye on.”

Jughead moves up next to her and takes the trivet before it reaches her hand. “Is this a 1739? I’ve only been able to find pictures of these!”

He holds the metal piece reverently between his hands, long fingers tracing the intricate lace pattern, running over the feet, brushing against the logo that was stamped into the bottom some seventy years ago. “You know Griswold?” Betty’s tone is more than just surprised, there’s a slight breathlessness he can’t quite place as he places the trivet into her hands. 

“Oh, uh,” his head shakes a little with the chuckle. “Yeah, cast iron is pretty much why I’m even here. My best friend told me that if I was looking for something special, this would be the place to find it.” Suddenly feeling very shy, he rubs nervously at the back of his neck.

“Interesting,” Betty’s eyes narrow and fix on him, but it doesn’t make him feel as uncomfortable as he thought it would. Maybe it’s because an hour ago he was flirting like a lovesick teenager and he’s merely happy to be the object of her attention. He hears her bag hit the ground with a heavy thud. “If you’re looking for something in particular, this is your guy. I wasn’t being hyperbolic when I said he had the best. And if he doesn’t have it on-site, he’s usually able to procure it in a very short time.”

Andrew smiles at her praise and nods along. “Yeah, man, if you’re a friend of Betty’s you must be in the know. What tickles your fancy?”

Not really sure how to process, or address, any of what the man in front of him has just said, he locks eyes with Betty and lets out a sharp breath. She’s got the kind of smile that they used to write poetry about and he knows he’s done for. He’s smiling himself now and with a quick turn of his head he’s looking at Andrew again. “What do you know about Spiders?”

They’ve managed to walk the rest of the flea market, Betty picking up a few random items along with the (many) client requests. He learns she owns a small but successful antique shop in western Mass but she's rarely there. Mostly, she travels and he wonders what she's running from. She says it's to procure the things people want versus the things she thinks they would want to buy. It's not about the money, although it seems to pay well, she insists it's the history, the adventure, the joy it brings when she tracks down a vase-like what was on Grandma's table or an album that your grandfather taught you to dance to. She talks about antiques like he talks sous vide, the process, the art, how when it all comes together...life is magic.

"I can’t believe he’s going to find me a thirteen Spider! Do you have any idea how rare…oh, well, I suppose you do being an antique dealer and all that,” he bumps his shoulder (the one not carrying her stupidly heavy dutch oven) against hers, her head ducks in response but he can see the rosy hue on her cheeks. 

“If you’ve known each other for so long why all the shit for being late? And if I’m what made you late I apologize—”

“No, Jughead! Not even a little,” she grabs his shoulder and pulls him to stop beside her. “Andrew was just being a dick because that’s who he is as a person. Yes, I was late to meet him but that was because I was having a little car trouble this morning.”

“What, the marvel of modern engineering you’re tooling around in is finicky? Who’d have thunk?”  He holds out his (second) icee, offering Betty the last sip but she politely declines. He shrugs as best he can and finishes the cold red syrup in a quick gulp. The sun is blazing, scorching them from on high before he knows it. Jughead feels the sweat beading on his brow, threatening to drip down his face in the most unbecoming of ways. He's thankful they're heading back toward their respective vehicles. It's not that he wants this day to end, in fact, he's kind of hoping he can repeat it forever, but he really would like to get out of the sun. 

She smacks his arm playfully. “Don’t talk about Edie that way!”

“Edie? She’s even got an old ladies' name, Betts,” they finally reach said car and Jughead heaves the bags from his shoulder and drops them in the dirt.

Betty sighs as the lock clicks, trunk springing open. "She's an Edsel. You're not wrong about her being an old lady but trust me when it comes to classic cars Edsels are…"

Jughead scoffs. "I might have a proclivity for two-wheeled machines but I do know a thing or two about the four-wheeled varieties as well. The Ford Edsel, only produced between 1958 and 1960, was an ode to Henry's wife but was too modern and impractical to gain popularity. What?"

Jughead Jones knows a thing or two about food, and how people look when they're truly enjoying something. At this moment he'll tell you he feels like braised short ribs or a perfectly cooked steak or a decadent slice of dacquoise, with the way Betty is looking at him.

She swallows, audibly. "No one knows Edsels. No one knows they exist let alone know actual details about their launch, and subsequent failure."

"Hmm, sounds to me you just haven't been meeting the right people," he hoists her heavy bags off the ground and puts them in the trunk. 

Betty's hand reaches for the lid and lingers for a moment before she gently closes it. "You might be onto something, Jones.”

He steps forward, careful not to invade her space too badly but unable to resist the urge to be closer. “Do you maybe want to grab a bite to eat?”

The diner is nice, albeit the interior leaves a little something to be desired. It’s cliche in the way you want a retro establishment to be; walls lined in old adverts, gas and oil cans on shelves, kitschy to a fault. They're tucked in the corner, in a  red, squeaky vinyl booth and had to cross a very large expanse of cheap, sticky linoleum. He just hopes the food makes up for the fact he had to peel his feet up with every step. That’s not a sound one wants to hear in the place where they’re going to eat.

He explains as much to Betty, how atmosphere can change and engage perception, how the menu is designed to make you want the items that make them the most money, and not necessarily the ones that they cook well. After their food comes and he samples the fare he raves about the milkshakes but is unimpressed with everything else. 

“This is farmland, Betty. I passed not two, but three farms coming back. And at least one of them had Angus! Why are we being served frozen burgers?”

Betty eats a fry and pretends to look thoughtful.“I guess it never crossed my mind, Jug. You certainly have strong feelings about food.”

“Yeah, and that’s about the only thing,” he leans back in the booth and lays his arm across the back. “It might align very closely with what I do for a living.”

“You’re a chef,” Betty says matter-of-factly. “That explains your love of cast iron cookware and,” she vaguely gestures around the room. “How you know so much about the business. Still doesn’t answer how you know about Edsels.”

Jughead chuckles in response. “Misspent youth” When she shoots him a questioning look he sighs. "There may be some less than savory characters in my past. I wasn't one of them per se but I could have been described as gang adjacent."

Nodding, Betty takes a sip of the cold confection in front of her. She starts to speak and pauses like she's rolling something around before she says it. Next, she's looking at him as though a lightbulb has gone off. "Wait, wait, you're not a chef you're the chef! The author," Betty’s eyes narrow ever so slightly before going wide, her mouth gapes a bit before she produces words. "You're Forsythe."

How the fuck? "How the fuck?"

"My client from earlier was looking for a dutch oven for her partner's friend, a chef, whose niche is cast iron cookware. This same friend has also authored a series of cookbooks and a youth mystery."

“And what about any of that makes you say my name is Forsythe?” His voice comes out lower than he expects, a harsh timbre colors his words. "And it was not a youth mystery. It sounds like some Tracy True or Baxter Brothers nonsense when you say it like that."

“You are. Holy shit! And they set this up! Oh, those sneaky, brilliant, beautiful women,” Betty buries her face in her hands and groans. 

“Would you please fill me in because I am feeling ten ways of lost and, if I’m being honest, a little creeped out.”

Betty looks up, soft eyes, and smiling. “Oh, Jug. Apparently, our friends have finally gotten sick of our wallowing.”

“What friends? Who has friends?”

She rolls her eyes. “It would seem we do. You see, Cheryl is my cousin and Veronica is my best friend from high school."

"Wait, Cheryl, as in Blossom? And Veronica Lodge?"

Betty nods in affirmation. "They were oil and water through most of our formative years and then after their first year at Sarah Lawrence, well, they came back together. Fast forward two years and enter Toni Topaz, who I'm assuming is the missing link here, yeah?"

"Toni would be one of the three people on this planet I consider family, " he's leaning across the table, elbows making divots in the surface when suddenly he has his own lightbulb moment. "Elizabeth? The itinerant eccentric antiquarian?"

“Wow, is that a Cheryl or Veronica description?" She rubs the bridge of her nose, head shaking as she takes it in. "Doesn't matter, but with a title like that, it's no wonder that you were never around when I was. Oh, and surprise! It would appear your pseudo-sister and her girlfriends are giving you a dutch oven for your next birthday. Congrats.”

Jughead is trying to process, though it feels an awful lot like failing. Until suddenly, it all makes sense. ��She's the one who told me I needed to stop here and check out the cast iron. Insisted there was something I needed, something she was certain I would find."

"Well, " Betty looks up at him from under the thick veil of her lashes. "Was she wrong?"

 For years he’s traveled from place to place; running from anything and everything. Even when he decided to put down roots it was relatively far from even the best of his friends. No one could just ‘drop by’, it’s not like he’d have been home anyway. He’s buried his loneliness in new recipes; it’s scratched into the margins of his favorite books, in the words poured from his own hand. He looks at the woman sitting across from him, strawberry milkshake in front of her, glowing under the harsh neon lights that contrast so glaringly will all her soft edges. 

The realization comes easily. He doesn’t have to think about anything more than ‘do I take this risk’ and he’s never been one to say no to risks before. 

He drops his arm, reaching across the table, and before it can rest on the Formica Betty slots her fingers between his. “She has never been more right in her life, but please don’t tell her that."

Betty’s laughter peals through the restaurant. He smiles despite himself. For the first time that he can recall, something good came before nine am. As a matter of fact, when her thumb traces the back of his hand, he’ll even go as far as to say it's something great. 

[angstyaches]

Feverish puke for felix and elliot? You choose the sickie I can’t decidee

Hi anon! Sorry this one took so long, but this really helped me develop what’s been going on with these two. 

CW: emeto, fever, bodily changes, anxiety, mention of deteriorating condition (maybe?), food mention, (un)death mention

Part of the Plan

Felix’s ears felt like they’d been filled with cotton wool. He could see that Ryan’s lips were moving, he could tell there were words coming out, but it wasn’t until he heard Elliott say his name that he managed to snap out of it.

He jumped and looked down to see that he’d been digging his nails into the back of Elliott’s hand, leaving tiny half-moon dints along his boyfriend’s warm, slick skin.

“Are you alright?” Elliott asked, even as something dulled the yellow fire that usually sparked behind his own eyes, making him sit with his shoulders sagged. Felix laughed out of disbelief and nervousness, because if he didn’t laugh, he thought he might burst into tears. 

He glanced at Ryan; even she was looking at him with a strange expression from her chair, as though he was the one they needed to be worried about. She tilted her head inquisitively, her silver hair curling against the ruffles of her blouse.

“I’m good. No, I’m good. I’m sorry.” Felix cleared his throat, frowning in Ryan’s direction. “Sorry. I, um – I mean, is – is there no way to slow it down? For example, what if Elli cuts right back on blood, like me? I know it’d feel a bit weird at first, darling, but if it would help –”

“Well, I was just explaining this,” Ryan said pointedly. “Unfortunately, there’s no slowing it down at this stage. Elliott’s tendency to over-indulge on hunts, coupled with the fact that he was half-blooded directly by an Elder, seems to have caused his transition to accelerate by quite a lot. Reversing the transition at this stage, well – it’s unheard of.”

“But,” Felix said, “can we slow it down?”

Ryan pursed her lips. “I would not recommend trying.”

Felix could tell she was straining to keep her composure, considering how distressed the two of them seemed. He briefly wondered what this change would mean for her; Elliott had never planned on surpassing her status as Elder, but now he might just do it unintentionally.

Elliott shivered and hunched further forward in his chair. Felix leaned into the motion so he could keep a hold on his hand.

“His body is going to keep adapting,” Ryan said. “And if he doesn’t obey his new cravings? Well, it won’t be pleasant for anybody involved. I’m talking about intense nausea, muscle spasms, violent outbursts –”

“How?” Felix asked, his throat pinched. He held back the tears that stung his eyes, knowing that crying in front of Ryan would undermine anything he had to say. “If you knew that being blooded by an Elder would make his transition this unstable, how could you have let it happen?”

“Elliott was just as aware of what he was doing –”

“You knew he didn’t want to change.” Felix’s lips trembled apart with each word. “You knew I didn’t want him to –”

“Fee,” Elliott murmured, pinning him with a look. His expression was pained and exhausted and pleading. Come on.

“Felix, Elliott is capable of making his own decisions,” Ryan stated, draping her arms along the sides of her chair. “You both have my sympathy, since I can see it’s causing you distress, but I do not take responsibility.”

He looked at Elliott with the same anger burning in his throat, because Ryan was right. The way Elliott turned his face away, reluctant to make eye contact, suggested they were both thinking the same thing, so there was no point in Felix bringing it up; he’d told Elliott to take it easy whenever he went hunting – especially whenever he was traveling alone or with Nancy.

The feeling dissipated when Elliott slid his elbows onto his knees, hanging his head forward. Felix shifted in his chair, placing a hand lightly on the back of Elliott’s neck. His skin was much hotter than it should have been, and the contact from Felix’s hand seemed to make him tremble.

“Once the toxins are out of your system, the symptoms should ease. I would recommend cutting physical meals down to once every two days from now on, and upping your blood intake by half, at least until you’ve got a handle on your symptoms. So, for now, you should rest.” Ryan’s cool yellow gaze fell on Felix. “And you, Felix, need to adjust your attitude, quick-smart.”

Felix forced a smile. “Yes, ma’am. Come on, Elli, let’s get you up to bed.”

___

“I have a bad taste in my mouth,” Elliott muttered from where he sat at the edge of the bed.

Felix relaxed his hold on Elliott, having crawled across the bed to drape his arms around his shoulders. He was trying not to press too closely or heavily against Elliott’s skin, considering how much heat was already radiating from him, even after he’d taken off his shirt.

“I know, darling. Ryan said a lot of things that were hard to hear. Imagine, failing to take any responsibility for –”

“She only said things that were true, Fee. And I – I meant that I have an actual bad taste in mouth.” Elliott sat forward, reaching up to remove Felix’s hands while his own quivered. “I feel nauseous.”

“Oh.” Felix slid back from Elliott, watching as his shoulders clenched and he dropped his head into his hands. “Is – is there anything I can do?”

Elliott grunted as he pushed himself to his feet. “Just, um – just try to relax. I can tell this is stressing you out a lot. Put something on the T.V., maybe.”

Felix’s heart sank as he sat back on the bed. Elliott crossed the room and let himself into the ensuite. His eyes were pinned on the ground as he turned back to close the door. Felix didn’t want to put anything on the T.V.; the only thing that would make him feel better was being with Elliott, and he couldn’t do that while he was nauseous, or he’d get his arm bitten off. Metaphorically, not literally; or at least, he hoped.

Felix climbed off the bed after a minute, and started rearranging the duvet so they could get straight in once Elliott was ready to lie down. He took one of his own blood and sugar lollipops from the box on his nightstand and left it lying, still in its wrapper, on Elliott’s pillow, in case he felt like replacing some iron. He looked at it for a second and put it away in the box again, realising he didn’t know how Elliott’s body would react to the sucrose.

He wrung his hands after that and sat back down on the bed, unable to think of anything else to do. He started off kneeling, eventually letting his legs slide out to the side, trying not to look towards the bathroom door.

Trying not to picture Elliott gagging over the toilet, all by himself. Trying not to picture this exact same scenario occurring more and more frequently from now on, as Elliott’s body inched closer and closer to being undead, instead of simply off-human. Felix’s hand flew to his mouth to stifle a sob, and he closed his eyes, willing them to absorb the tears that threatened to fall. He wished he could bundle all the tears up and tie a string around them and tuck them away in his heart somewhere.

He jumped as the handle of the bathroom door slammed down, and the door opened a crack. It sat like that without any further movement.

“El?” Felix scrambled off the bed again. He went into the ensuite to find Elliott shivering on his knees in front of the toilet, though it didn’t seem like he’d thrown anything up yet.

He looked up at Felix, that glassy look still in his deep yellow eyes. “Fee, can – can you hold me? Just for a minute?”

Felix shuddered with a sob, his resolve crumbling. He tackled Elliott into a hug and put hand out against the side of the bath to stop both of them from toppling over.

“Oh, don’t cry, beautiful,” Elliott begged in his ear. “Please.”

“I know, I know I’m just making it worse, Elli, I’m sorry.”

“No, I am. I’m so incredibly sorry. This wasn’t part of – of the – of the plan we–”

Elliott lurched forward, and Felix sank back, stroking a hand across his boyfriend’s shoulders as he retched over the toilet. His skin was practically on fire, his body fighting against what it now considered to be foreign substance, a potential threat. Toxins, as Ryan had put it.

A few hours ago, it had just been fried chicken and rice. Nothing toxic at all. The fact that Felix had made it was probably part of the reason Elliott had been holding back from throwing up all this time. Like he thought it would be a direct insult.

“Let it up, darling, it’s okay,” Felix stammered, just in case that was what was happening. He lightened his touch on his back, surprised he hadn’t already been whined at or shaken away. Not wanting to leave, but afraid of making his boyfriend feel too crowded, Felix edged around him and climbed into the bath. He it would make Elliott feel like they were separated enough.

Elliott threw him a quick, grateful glance, then choked on another unproductive gag. “Fee, we – we never… Rome, and – and Japan…”

“Darling,” Felix whimpered, folding his arms on the edge of the bath and resting his chin on top of his hands. “We can still see the world together. I know I talk like all I care about is food tourism, but there’s so much more I want to do. With you, Elli.”

Elliott gasped, trying to choke out more words through the nausea. “What – wh-what if –?”

His breath hitched, a shallow belch echoing against the toilet bowl. He sat forward a little more, back muscles contracting visibly under his skin. He made a noise like something had clawed at his throat before letting waves of vomit splash into the water. Felix wished he could scoop his arms around his waist.

He eventually took his hand away, in case his boyfriend was just cooperating with the touch so as not to upset Felix. He wouldn’t put it past him.

“God,” Elliott rasped finally, dropping his weight to the side and sliding his legs out so that his back was against the bath. His face contorted as he pressed a hand to his belly, letting out a couple of short, wet burps.

“Are you okay?” Felix sighed, crawling down the bath. “Can I touch you now?”

As soon as Elliott gave a weak nod, Felix sat up on his knees, reaching one hand down to rest on his boyfriend’s chest. The other, he placed gently on his cheek. “You’re still just like a furnace.”

Elliott tilted his head to show Felix the weak grin pulling at one edge of his mouth. “Give it a minute, boo. My stomach’s still halfway up my throat.”

Felix pressed his lips to Elliott’s damp, salty cheek. “Did you know the food was going to make you sick?”

“I… hoped it wouldn’t,” Elliott muttered. “I hoped yesterday’s stomach ache would turn out to be just that, not… not this. I didn’t want this, Fee...”

Tears looming in his eyes, Felix kissed the back of Elliott’s neck. “I know.”

Elliott lifted a shaky hand to hold onto Felix’s. Felix wondered if he was pressing so that his heartbeat would be a little more obvious against his palm, its pace slower than a human’s, but still ticking. The thought of it stopping for good, of him becoming truly undead, was clearly on his mind.  His hand slumped away from Felix’s after a few seconds, arm resting heavily in his lap.

“Oh, darling,” Felix said, his voice echoing slightly in the empty bath. “Are you ready to go to bed?”

Elliott grunted. “That sounds wonderful. Sooner or later, it’ll be a silk-lined coffin for me.”

“Elli, I love you,” Felix whispered against the side of Elliott’s head. “But even if that were true, we’d be keeping the bed, because there’s no way I’m being spooned in a coffin.”

[nelllraiser]

my mother’s daughter | solo

— - “there is a cord between us, not yet cut”

     It had been nearly two months since Nell had seen her mother. Nearly two months that marked the day the young witch had been cut off from the majority of her family, not a single word spoken between her and the woman that had raised her. Fifty-three days since Nisa Vural had chosen her coven, pride, and image over her own flesh and blood. That’s how it had looked to Nell when she’d been standing in the council chambers, refusing to crumble under the disapproving and disappointed looks that had painted her mother’s face. It had been even longer since she’d graced the steps of her mother’s home, the familiar and cheery paint of the porch seeming to welcome her in a way that was inversely matched to the tumultuous feelings she felt within as Nell crossed the border spell of the home. 

     She didn’t even need to knock before Nisa Vural was there in all her glory, flinging open her front door with a fluttering heart in her chest, the matriarch’s expression a mix of reluctant hope and a standoffish guard. As always, the elder witch would be the one to have the first word. “You shouldn’t be here.” Nell hadn’t been sure to expect when it came to what this encounter might bring. She’d steeled herself, of course— thought herself ready to see and even smell the familiar sight of a woman who’d held her when she was young, brushed the hair from her face and wiped her tears in the dead of night when she’d woken to nightmares. But nothing could have truly prepared her for the way she still flinched as Nisa’s words struck her like a slap to the face. Her feet felt restless, as if they were begging to run back down the drive and pretend like this had never happened. That wasn’t an option as the conversation with Ariana played fresh in her mind. Her friends were in danger. Her friends needed help, and Nell would have done whatever it was the world asked if it meant making sure those she cared about lived to see another day. But she couldn’t be what they needed with ribs that still groaned and cracked and refused to cooperate after Constance had drowned her beneath the waves that White Crest was named for. How was she meant to defend and fight with fractured ribs? It was practically asking for death— both for herself and those she was hoping to help. Her voice cracked like her ribs when she spoke, the stumble in her breath giving her away when it came to just how desperate she was in these moments.

     “I need help.” It wasn’t something that had ever come naturally to the young woman. She was more accustomed to offering a hand up as opposed to asking for one, but Nell’s pride was null and void when faced with the potential loss of loved ones. As the words balanced in the air between Nell and the older woman, Nisa’s lips pressed into a thin line, weighing her options as her youngest daughter looked up to her with battered eyes and a stubborn jaw she’d inherited from her mother. Wordlessly Nisa stepped out of the front doorway, holding it open with a single arm as an obvious invitation inside. It was all Nell needed to cross the last steps over the threshold, and the house hit her all at once.

     It hadn’t changed. Nell didn’t know what she’d expected. Perhaps she’d thought that every trace of Nisa’s three failures for daughters would have been purged from the house, family photos torn down, expunged and replaced with mindless self affirmations or simply leaving the walls bare- empty yet somehow resembling an open wound, gaping with no sign of being repaired. But the pictures had stayed preserved along with the memories, feeling more like a shrine to someone who’d died than a conscious decision. And perhaps it was. As Nisa crossed the pictures and led the way to her healing room, she mourned for what had been lost, just as she always did when she walked past the frames on the wall. Nell felt a similar sense of loss, though she quickly stuffed the cavernous hole with anger and a sense of betrayal as she always did, refusing to let the sadness consume her or acknowledge that it was there. 

     Out of habit, Nell lifted herself onto her mother’s healing table, a pained gasp slipping from her unintentionally as her ribs protested with the motion. In a moment, Nisa raised a hand that seemed to glow with a gentle light to her daughter’s chest, quickly identifying the source of the girl’s pain. “Cracked ribs.” They were the first words to break the stretched silence between them, though Nell didn’t dignify them with a response. The less she talked during this, the better. The healing would be faster in more ways than one if she managed to keep her mouth shut, no need to open physical or emotional scars by wasting her breath. It seemed that Nisa had other ideas, the coven council member and mother warring in her once more as she watched her daughter suffer. She just wanted a snippet- a glimpse into her daughter’s life to know that things were relatively okay despite having cut her off. “Do I want to know what you did?” 

     The age-old tightening of Nell’s chest was quick to take hold as her mother took on a tone she’d heard countless times. Always wondering what it was that Nell had done. Always ready to place the blame on her daughter. The defensive reply bubbled up before Nell could force it down, breaking past her wordless barrier. “Why do you have to do that? Even now? Why do you even care?” Nisa’s stern eyes were quick to find Nell’s, her steady hand still on the girl’s chest as she gently pushed her to lie down so that she might begin the healing. 

     “Yelling like that is just going to make your ribs hurt more. Are you going to tell me or not?” Again all the hurt that was knotted inside Nell picked up its arms, fortifying itself in the form of a retort.

     “Why?” she insisted again. “Are you going to kick me out of another coven? Find another way to abandon your own fucking daughters after- after-” Nell couldn’t finish the sentence, or rather didn’t trust herself to without having her voice break, tears threatening to fall loose. Everything was just so much. There was so much happening in the world that she couldn’t wholly fix or control. Nisa’s magic began to slowly restitch the broken parts of Nell’s bone, though it did little for the broken heart that lay underneath it. 

     “I wasn’t abandoning you,” Nisa replied fiercely, but her words were quickly drowned out by Nell who couldn’t seem to stop the avalanche of accusations now that they’d begun to fall.

     “Bea died, mom! I watched her die, and I had to wake up to her headless body, covered in her blood, and go home and tell everyone that she was gone. That I was the reason she was gone.” Somewhere in all her speaking the tears she’d tried to hold back had flooded over, breaths coming fast and jerky. “And you didn’t give a single shit! Not about me! Not about Luce! Not even about Bea! All you could think about was your bullshit pride and the coven!” One of her sobs turned into another wince of pain, ribs not yet permitting the full range of her emotions. “And now I just wanna be fixed and help my friends and you still don’t care. You just wanna know what I did to deserve this.” Again Nisa made her denials.

     “That’s not true! You don’t think I felt a single thing hearing that my daughter had died? That my other two had suffered alongside her? All I’ve ever wanted was to protect you, Penelope. But how am I supposed to protect you when you insist on throwing yourself in front of every freight train that comes your way? When you continue to make the decisions that hurt you?” Nisa was close now, nearly finished with her healing work. But it still seemed there was much left to mend when it came to her daughter. Her voice stabilized, though there was still the ever-present steel lacing her tone. “I banished you to protect you. Because maybe then you’d finally learn to stop doing all these things that get you into these positions.” 

     Nell’s bulldozing tirade of an accusation stopped for a long moment as she tried her best to digest. Was it possible the things her mother did that had hurt her most were truly done out of love? Did her mother’s intentions matter when they were still the one responsible for the scars on her heart? “You could have done anything-” Nell continued, her voice quieter this time, too tired to yell. “-anything else. But you took away everything.” At least her tears had stopped, though their tracks were still wet on her cheeks. For once in her life and for a long moment, Nisa was speechless, unknowing when it came to mending what had long been broken between herself and her daughter. Finally, she found the words- though they felt as if they’d already fallen flat before leaving her lips.

     “Everything I’ve ever done...was for you.” It seemed Nell’s tears were already being renewed, another wrack of her breath bringing them forth once more.

     “I just don’t know how to believe that. Not after everything- not after everything you’ve done. Not just the coven.” It had been all the years building up to that. The banishing served only as the straw to break the camel’s back. It didn’t seem like there was anything to do in these moments, no ground to be gained on either side when Nisa spoke again. 

     “Then it seems there’s nothing left to say. Your ribs are done.” It was a clear dismissal. Nisa could recognize a lost cause when it was staring her in the face, when neither of them knew how to fix what had been missing between them for as long as Nell could recall. How was she meant to rebuild something she barely remembered? It was somewhere in her, back in the nearly forgotten childhood memories of magically healed scrapes and midnight hugs. However breathing life into it seemed as fruitless as wishing on a star. Nell hopped off the table, roughly wiping the wetness from her eyes as she tested her newly whole ribs. Not so much as an ache or twinge when she moved. They were good as new. If only she could say the same for her mother. 

     “I’ll go now,” Nell uttered while heading for the door, stubbornly thrusting her chin into the air as if she could force herself into being okay. The last she heard from Nisa were words that soured Nell’s expression. “You can’t tell anyone you were here.” Not unless Nisa wanted to face the backlash that came with speaking to someone who’d been tossed from the coven. Nell’s determination was back in full-force, fastening the buckles of her emotional armor into place as she walked out the door.

     “I know. Don’t worry, I won’t.” Nell had done what she came here to do. It was time to once again lock the door against the tempestuous storm that was falling short of her mother’s love. She had friends to help. 

[mrsunderhill678]

Ya girl’s writttttinnnnn’

“My name is written in storm clouds and rainy days, I am the lightning licking the waves and the storm pursuin' the fucking sailor.” - Zafavri Holts

“Look at the truth, how it molds and twists, in this long life I've lived I've learned truth kills the kindest 'a men. You thought lies were damning? Just wait until you see the truth that slinks in the damn shadows.” - Zafavri Holts

“You've heard of Jack the Ripper, Ted Bundy and the Axeman of New Orleans, and you'd think the scariest thing about em would be their killer deeds. But the most horrifyin' thing about the darkest 'a men is, they were once normal, men. They was kids, playin' in the grass, fools runnin' after girls in the fifth grade, dreamin' of sunny days and sunflowers castin' beautiful shade.” - Zafavri Holts

“Your power is in words and hearts, mine is in blood and howls.” - Zafavri Holts

“I was once, just like you, dreamin' of better days, smilin' as my wife walked through the door, tuckin' my kids inta their beds. But the truth took the good man I was in it's stride, and replaced me with a sinister specter 'a all the killers before me. I am Jack the Ripper and Ted Bundy, the Zodiac Killer and the Axeman of New Orleans, but worst of all, I'm Zafavri fucking Holts.” - Zafavri Holts

“My father once said he's one dead dream away from blasphemy, and with a life of screeching dreams and dying nightmares I must confess, I fear I myself am blasphemy.” - Polaris Cougar

“I lost my mind in the confines of my skull.” - Barlo Brick

“I spin this chamber 'gainst my head and wonder why it ain't gone off. Perhaps fate holds her finger against the hammer, daring me to make a move against her.” - Barlo Brick

“I play games with my life, rolling these dice, playing these shitty cards as if they were a good hand. I'm an addict of fate and destiny, playing moves against her so she'll play fatal moves against me. I tease fate with promises of my doom, praying she'll take a lowlife like me.” - Barlo Brick

“I'm a reflection of my father's sins, drowning myself in the lights of the casino.” - Barlo Brick

“I walk, I talk, I breathe like me, but I ain't me.” - Tommy Graves

“Me father once told me, that if ya've got a board full 'a pawns, and the foe's board is full 'a kings, you play a tricky game of Queen's Gambit.” - Tommy Graves

“I'd say I've made friends with my demons, but they've made friends with me shadows, leavin' me an outcast in my own damn mind.” - Tommy Graves

“I'm startin' ta fear that all my thoughts are all my friends, and I'm me only enemy.” - Tommy Graves

“If my mother could see me now, she'd shake 'er damn 'ead. She'd say, "Tommy, with thoughts like these, you'll end up yer last damn name." - Tommy Graves

“Even when you don't seek it, destiny shall arrive all the same.” - Baron Xaverkit

“Karma rewards those who love with destines of joy and valor. Be more than a resistance against the dark, be a war of light and joy, love and heartful karma. Be the blade that spares the king, be the coin that sets the hangman free, and be the man who when stricken by his enemy, offers the other side of his cheek. You shall know no greater joy, other than loving others as life has loved you.” - Baron Xaverkit

“I am a mere flicker of a wolf, an ember of a beast. I am the cold afterglow of the beasts that made me, and thus, I am nuthin' but cinder and the pale spark, strivin' for the darkness 'a the night sky.” - D’Angello Campbell

“Look at these stars gazin' at me, some will for me ta reach em, others gather their rifles and prepare for war.” - D’Angello Campbell

“As I stare my enemies dead in the eye, and watch their smiles flicker like old film, I realize it is a mirror I stand before. Those are my hands grippin' the porcelain sink, and I wonder where the blood drippin' from the faucet came from.” - D’Angello Campbell

“My son has stared me in the eye and declared me the devil, he looks at me with rage in his eyes, the same betrayal the lord must'a felt as the devil swore ta rise above him.” - D’Angello Campbell

“This flicker of a wolf is slowly learnin' how ta fade.” - D’Angello Campbell

“In the hollow cracks of my smile I have found regret so deeply interwoven with my heart that it flows as blood through my veins.” - Bellamy Cooper

“I lie awake in bed, reaching for memories that are not there. Regina, my love, she tasted like home and everything I'd never had... I saw so much when I looked at her... I saw a sheet of twinkling stars, the sun bringing warmth... But most beautifully, I saw that woman dancing under the light of the moon, as if she was drunk off it's pale glow, enjoying the way the world spun. But I don't dance any more, I don't hold her hand in mine, she does not hold my scars. Fate has torn us from each other, and though every night, we star up at the same moon, I have to wonder, do the stars look at the same people?” - Bellamy Cooper

“The stars may gaze upon me and wonder, oh bastard dove in the pale moon glow, who have you become?” - Bellamy Cooper

“I carry this sin on my shoulders as if it was a part of me, as if it was the flecks of white in my hair and the love that once wept in my smile. But these sins were never apart of me, just things I did.” - Bellamy Cooper

“As my love looks to the moon, and knows it is the same moon I gaze upon, I hope she knows, it does not gaze upon the same man.” - Bellamy Cooper

“All my enemies were first my heroes.” - Paviro Le Rouge

“I could murder a drink for all these sins at my back, they've weaved themselves into the fabric of my coat, and though the devil on my shoulder is nothing more than stitches on my jacket, I listen to the whispers of the damned man upon this sinner's coat.” - Paviro Le Rouge

“All the candles have flickered out, the wind ripped the flame from the candle's wick, leaving nothing but the wax to remember the warmth of the flame.” - Paviro Le Rouge

“I once believed my heart held value, but it is my belief that it's only value is the ending of it's beat.” - Paviro Le Rouge

“Do the gods wish to serve me to fate on a silver platter? Am I a toy to destiny? I am a mortal vessel of higher powers, these whispers in my head tell me, "You will defy destiny, she will crawl at your knees and weep," but what of my, destiny? How can I defy destiny yet follow her road?” - Paviro Le Rouge

“To defy destiny is to succumb to eternity.” - Paviro Le Rouge

“A man once asked me, if I ever thought that I'm not myself, that to die would be to finally be me. And I must confess, if the void were to take me now, I'd find peace in that.” - Howdy Woolen

“Everyone thinks they know me better than I do, but if they spent one day in my mind they'd scream, shout and beg that someone would let them out.” - Howdy Woolen

“My demons share my name and my face, but with those crooked smiles, how could they possibly be me?” - Howdy Woolen

“I look to this ash around me, these scorched dreams and ashen nightmares, and I beg my father to forgive me. But how can he forgive me for killing his own son?” - Howdy Woolen

“Chaos is fair in da fact dat it kills all.” - Aggemuth Williamson

“God knelt ta me level and told me dat all men were created equal, in da fact dat all men die.” - Aggemuth Williamson

“Death cares not for who we are, it don't give a bloody fuck whether you're youn' or old, it'll rip through ya and call ye alive.” - Aggemuth Williamson

“I am a wicked wolf who knows chaos is da forest in which I strive. Dese shadows are death, da light flickerin' from da trees is nuffin' but false salvation, for just above da trees lies a wicked beast. Red rain falls from da forest leaves, remindin' us dat in chaos' forest, we are all nuffin' but blood to be spilled and graves ta be fuckin' dug.” - Aggemuth Williamson

“Eden only 'eld me down, da snake in da garden was me, I was da forbidden fruit, I was Eve and Adam. But most wicked 'a all, I am da heavenly father that placed secrets in paradise, and damned innocent men for the fings I did.” - Aggemuth Williamson

“Blood and death for peace will never be true order. We live a lie, believing hate can drive out hate.” - Shaymelina Demablossom

“I am willing to walk a mile in a bad man's boots if it meant I could see the world through his eyes.” - Shaymelina Demablossom

“ We are not creatures of blood and death, we are butterflies soon to soar, cats playing curiously in the field. We are dogs, chasing the cat because we think it wants to play.” - Shaymelina Demablossom

“Evil comes from brokenness, but so does strength, so why choose cruelty?” - Shaymelina Demablossom

“I am a reflection of my enemies, a sinful projection of my fucking vengeance. As I stand before heaven's gates, all that shall be left are three corpses on the floor and two empty fucking six shooters. After all, an empty chamber and blood pooling beneath my feet is the sinful mark of revenge.” - Jake Warden

“This heart beating in my chest is no symbol of love, tear into my ribs and you'll find the pitch black night sky, for the moon crashed hurtling into the Earth, leaving nothing but vengeful stars, mourning for the home they lost.” - Jake Warden

“My sister told me to rebuild my bridges, but how am I to do that when I leave nothing but fire in my wake? I only seek for those behind me to crumble on the ashen bridge. May they follow my footsteps, only to drown in the roaring river below the bridges I fucking burnt.” - Jake Warden

“Oh Roan fucking Scorpio, you are a beast amongst men, a wicked werewolf, but so am I, so am I. My fur has grown more ragged than yours, my coat more blood-stained than yours, yet still I seek this damning vengeance. You are a wolf of family and love, yet I howl of loss. I could drag you through the dark, and still, you'd fight for something less than yourself.” - Jake Warden

“My hands tremble 'pon a dead man's gun, and as I stare down the barrel 'a this rifle, I fear it's me I'm aimin' at. I see them burnin' wings, I recognize them howls as he falls hellbent through the midnight sky, cuz they came from my own fuckin' throat. But all I do is take aim, breathe in, breathe out, and shoot this fallin' angel from the damn sky.” - Roan Scorpio

“My oldest frien' always did say he was Icarus, I wonder if he found solace as he burned? We were both wolves in the field, strappin' wings to our backs, dreamin' 'a sumthin' greater.” - Roan Scorpio

“I'm a child 'a the streets and a warrior 'a the highways, cuz I stalk these forests, boundin' cross the road in hopes the cars will catch me, sendin' me blood-streaked across the damn grass.” - Roan Scorpio

“It's a big world out there, ya got sinners by the dozen and dwindlin' saints, but I spose I'm somewhere between that spectrum.” - Roan Scorpio

“Vengeance kills most men before they evah gain it.” - Roan Scorpio

“I know what it is to be a sheep, there were once pain in my name and tears in my smile, but as I looked through the eyes of me father, and saw his reflection in me own, I learned always was I a wolf, swindled in a sheep's soft fur.” - Bodean Clemegrine

“All who have been within the scope of my rifle have fell in spurts of crimson salvation.” - Bodean Clemegrine

“In death there is mercy, and in mercy there is death.” - Bodean Clemegrine

“If you've known fear, than you've known me, friend. For I carve myself into your darkest memories, and every thought of me shall be followed with shivers up your spine and cracks in your smile.” - Bodean Clemegrine

“I am the wolf in Shepperd's clothing.” - Bodean Clemegrine

“I've learned that monsters don't hide these days, they've too much courage for our own good.” - Terissa Dyste

“My husband wanted me to waste my hate on him, to rot away every moment of my day with crooked thoughts of his haunted bay.” - Terissa Dyste

“I can see regret in my angel's eyes, death flickers in his smile, and blood hides within the cracks of his heart. But I am here to fill them with love.” - Terissa Dyste

“Salvatore is no bloodthirsty beast, he is no wolf, he's the sheep with a heart too large for a single man to handle. He cares so deeply for others, that he would sacrifice himself to rid them of the pain they've been through. He causes his own pain to save others from it. He is no reflection of those he's killed, for they are bad men, and he is the knight in rusted armor, who has had his metal and valor tested again and again.” - Terissa Dyste

“I love him, despite the pieces of himself he calls ugly, I will twirl them between my fingers and call them lovely.” - Terissa Dyste

“I shall not suffer, I shall grow.” - Terissa Dyste

“You know, my brother once told me, in all his grief, that every time he closes his eyes, he can see the flickering of the fire and the sparks of regret, but I told him, that's just his bridges burning.” - Kindle Xaverthin

“We can't dwell on the past, it's where all our pain comes from, but if we push forward into the unknown, we'll find ourselves in bliss, for if we don't finish the race, how do we ever win? It doesn't matter what place we finish at, just that we do.” - Kindle Xaverthin

“I will follow the road less traveled if that's what it takes, but when needed, I will follow the populated road. I will walk in the crowds and find my purpose in the many.” - Kindle Xaverthin

“I refuse to believe that failure exists. Just temporary defeat. So long as we fight, so long as we strive for something greater, we'll survive. I don't care if your goal is to simply breathe another day or to get out of bed in the morning. That in of itself is strength. Set small goals and conquer them, and as time goes on, you'll realize you scaled Everest inch by inch, without breaking a sweat.” - Kindle Xaverthin

“My grief is a hungry wolf, prowling in my mind, dragging the good memories I had through the dark, ensnaring them in his bloodthirsty maw.” - Markain Hallows

“Turn your heart to the trail behind me, and realize they are lost prayers and dying verses. Behind me is a melody of the damned, and ahead of me is the end of it.” - Markain Hallows

“No wolf dragged me off in it's jaw, no beast took me in it's maw, for it was I who looked in the mirror and reaped all he saw.” - Markain Hallows

“I travel through the night sky like a regretful midnight dove, my feather's have been stained the color the of night I prowl.” - Markain Hallows

“You ever flip a coin and watch in horror as it lands on fate?” - Crow Abervith

“Fate has been controlled by the powerful, and though the lord tries to send a message to you and I, those in power turn it into a threat.” - Crow Abervith

“The dogs have been set free from the pound, and though they barked their warnings and bared their teeth, the wolves howled and left their blood to run on the streets.” - Crow Abervith

“The world is fading out, shouting it's final words, and all we can do is picture it's grave.” - Crow Abervith

“What is life but old wallpaper, resold and refurbished, sold as a chipped away dream?” - Shurrick Gray

“I can't stand these roses on the path, cause I'm a pessimist, I can only look at all those damn thorns.” - Shurrick Gray

“Secrets are barrels of guns and chambers, and I suppose the powerful pull the damn trigger.” - Shurrick Gray

“They tell us to think five moves ahead whilst they think ten. They tell us to charge into the smoke, for the battleground is clear, but this smog only ever hid our foes.” - Shurrick Gray

“My mother always told me, "It gets better, son, it gets better," But under these floorboards are where my memories linger, and in these halls are thoughts of home that force tears from my eyes.” - Shurrick Gray

“Look at me, selling my life as a chipped away dream, telling myself it gets better. But it doesn't, because the lights have kicked the stool, and this dream swings from a noose in the spotlight.” - Shurrick Gray

“I’ve spent my life with one foot in the grave. Life is a cruel and relentless teacher, whipping me upon every failure, demanding I give it my all.” - Juno

“My father was, everything to me... Really. He gave me the patience to find myself, he held my hand through the path and when needed... He let go. He's the strongest man I've ever known, he was the pillars to this castle I roam, and without him, I feel as if I am crumbling.” - Juno

“I am the damned savior of the human race, a hero who realized he was a villain all along.” - Cedric Popovici

“I 'ave been exiled from myself, I rattle the bars 'a this cell, shoutin' at the guards to let me the fuck out. But it's me guardin' this cell, I'm my own damn Alcatraz, and as I look at the world through diamond eyes I realize, I ain't the hero, just the terror who called himself such.” - Cedric Popovici

“The way I see it, I shook hands with the devil ta rid the world of a devil, only to realize it's my hand I were shakin.” - Cedric Popovici

“Every night 'a my life I see angels fall from the sky, and as the sun sinks I pray it takes me in her stride.” - Cedric Popovici

“The executioner raises his blade and said, "When I raise this sword, so I wish this poor sinner eternal life." And as my head rolled from my neck, I realized I could blink, I could breathe, I could feel.” - Cedric Popovici

“The remnants 'a my soldier's cape flutters behind me, and it only stays on my shoulders cuz I hold a gun and pull a trigger. I wear this purple heart on my jacket, and I spose the only reason that bastard's purple is cuz'a the bruises I put there. We're all sheep, I's learned, eatin' from the dryer side 'a the pasture.” - Cedric Popovici

“I don't need a million dreams, just this one.” - Maliella Ryder

“Loife 'as beaten me down and shouted ta the 'eavens, "Allelujah! Da bastard's dead!" But as I stand, and raise moi fists, loife sighs, and prepares for anotha round.” - Billy Jenkins

“I dun't look back at failure, mate, I look forward at da success dat will rise from it.” - Billy Jenkins

“I stand by and protect me sister, she's been through a struggle 'a da mind and soul, and I reckon it's da battle fought wifout guns dat 'urt da most. She's strong, fo' bein' 'erself, and I reckon ta be yerself in a world full'a liars is da greatest achievement 'a all.” - Billy Jenkins

“I hold onta my ma's words, cause some days, I see her smoile in mine.” - Billy Jenkins

“Da sun will rise again, wif or wifout me, I cannot tell, but so long as it rises, I bloody smile.” - Billy Jenkins

“I check my vitals and find my heart still beats, and some days... I think that's unfortunate. My secrets will be buried below me, bury me six feet deep, my secrets deeper.” - Laverne Powell

“It's hard to get well when your mind poisons you with thoughts from years ago. Some days I fear my mind is still plagued by those damning thoughts.” - Laverne Powell

“If the past effects the future, then I fear what's to come.” - Laverne Powell

“Either I'm a broken saint, or a very bad man.” - Chad Broker

“I've let go of all I am, wonderin' why, oh why must I be the outcast, the hissin' cat in a room full 'a barkin', hungry dogs?” - Chad Broker

“I'd shatter the mirror with my fist ta kill my damn reflection. Fractures 'a me splittin' my knuckles and breakin' my bones.” - Chad Broker

“I stare at the waves and know they slip away just like me. I stand in this murky sand, watchin as the ripplin' water distorts my vision. Always looks like you're runnin' as ya stand in the ocean, but ya stay stagnant, don't you? I fear I'm damned, runnin' in the ocean, knowin' the hellhounds will catch me cuz I stand still.” - Chad Broker

“Jerome's always said he's my shadow, where once he was my light. He's just a lost boy, and I'm a broken one, and once ya mix the two togethah, ya don't get a man found, ya get broken glass, mixin' itself inta the sand.” - Chad Broker

“The mirror ain't nuthin' but a reflection 'a trouble comin' and my sins in the wind.” - Chad Broker

“I'm a freakshow, who made it ta heaven only ta realize ta higher powers I'm the damn jester.” - Chad Broker

“I live in the trenches, fighting for a better life, but those I love hurtle grenades and flashbangs into this broken soldier's trench, throwing fractured pieces of self hate and tainted love into my chest.” - Saiq A’Badula

“Beauty flees from war, the grass withers, the flowers die, and the birds forget to sing. Instead, the beauty of nature is replaced with our unnatural acts.” - Saiq A’Badula

“They tell me "You're a soldier, boy, weren't you taught how to march on?" All I can do is nod my head, but I was only ever taught to march into the pain, not away from it.” - Saiq A’Badula

“I am a soldier buried alive under the rubble of his soft spoken regrets and wrongly placed anger. Flowers will bloom from this damned soldier's grave, and it leaves me to wonder, is it when I die I'll finally know beauty? Will I find love in the rising of the roses and the daisies? And I wonder, is death a cruel force? Or is she a kind mistress, taking our hand and leading us to peace?” - Saiq A’Badula

“In my presence, the birds forget to sing, the sun forgets to rise. I am the dark that allows the light to exist, I am the shiver up your spine that whispers, "Run, I am the dark." Look at these pitiful gods, thinking they have me enslaved. They bind me but do not control me. I am seen as a children's story, a warning to be good, but as they speak of me I grow stronger, my strength comes from their fear and the shadows that frighten them out of sleep.” - Kragikul

“Long ago, Life told me this world was not meant for the dark, if that was so, then tell me, pitiful goddess, why do the stars shine? Why do you find refuge in the shade when the sun bares down, but fear it at night? Am I the defining factor of your fear?” - Kragikul

“I prowl this shade, I hear every prayer, every thought, I reside in saint's dreams and sinner's nightmares, I am the beast that monster's warn their children of. Have you ever seen the dark flee? As the sun rises it scurries, and if the monsters fear me, does that make me the light?” - Kragikul

“I am the original sin, the gods look upon me in sinking horror as they realize, peace is fading. My chains grow rust, these vines around me slowly wither, and all the dark has begun to flee.” - Kragikul

“You want peace? It cannot exist with violence such as I.” - Kragikul

“Life ain't gonna break me down, I'm a ramblin' man who finds peace in the dusty fields 'a wheat and crop. I live true and loyal like they used ta, the world may'a crashed down 'pon us, and most men may'a turned ta sin, but these morals 'a mine stand strong in the face 'a damnation.” - Timmy Dayfield

“We all one day find ourselves at a crossroads, and the devil tells us ta shake his hand. It's your choice ta stand unshaken or shake the hand 'a the man in the suit and tie. Cause the devil ain't a creature with pointy lil' horns and a pitchfork. He looks like you, frien', he looks like me, and everythin' you ever wanted. But are yer dreams worth the killin' 'a your morals?” - Timmy Dayfield

“I've walked many a mile in these boots 'a mine, and I've walked in the boots 'a others. When ya see the world through another man's eyes, you'll either see that you're right, or you owe the man an apology.” - Timmy Dayfield

“To all the other wayfarin' strangers out there, findin' themselves at the crossroads, I say. May the wind be at your back, may good fortune touch your hand, and may your resolve stay strong in the face of the shake of a hand.” - Timmy Dayfield

“Time isn't my lover, it isn't my friend, it kills me slowly and drags this life of mine through miles of tragedy ending secrets.” - Evangalice Caesar

“I can still see him in my nightmares, he is a conqueror of time and has bent it to his will. It refuses to take him, for he sits upon a throne of humanity's end.” - Evangalice Caesar

“I'm driven by this hate for beasts I cannot possibly kill, I'm mortal, time eats away at me, but it does not eat away at him.” - Evangalice Caesar

“I can hear his laugh by the light of the moon, I can hear is hauntings and warnings in my sleep. My worst fear is not death, it is the sinful beast, dancing in the light of our suffering. He looks at our pain, he looks at these flames ravaging us, and he calls it beautiful.” - Evangalice Caesar

“I will go up in flames and down in history, for my dynasty shall live beyond me.” - Madusius Crudellis

“Tyranny stands strong in the face of revolution.” - Madusius Crudellis

“These men and women killed are a part of my history, in my memory they are immortal, begging for mercy I don't know how to give.” - Madusius Crudellis

“In the thunder I can hear my dynasty, it is it's own entity. It howls and it barks, it rips into all who oppose it. A blood thirsty wolf, my dynasty is.” - Madusius Crudellis

“I, in of myself, am a dynasty, I am of bones-soon-to-be-broken, and flesh-soon-to-be-cut, it is my mortality that shall create my immortality.” - Madusius Crudellis

“I shall go down in history by force.” - Madusius Crudellis

“Darkness was a concept created before God, even he must bow to it.” - Deandra Cross

“My dreams have died to spite me, I am in a cell of nightmares, and the wolf I am stalks the corner. She's such a damned thing, I can see the rage in her eyes and the hurt in her soul, but to survive this world, I must become her. This wolf like mask must become me. I will stitch these threads into my skin until this mask becomes apart of me. I shall forget who I am underneath, for she was not strong enough to survive the world.” - Deandra Colt

“My sister once told me that the weak get by, the broken die off, but the strong survive and bring fear in their stride. And I guess in order ta survive I had ta be the one takin' lives in my stride.” - Hailey Colt

“All the lights that pollute the sky could not bring light ta the dark in my heart.” - Hailey Colt

“Your demons depend on you ta feed dem, so taunt dem and let dem starve on 'ope.” - Celeste Crinklaw

“Me feathers glow with love and rage, regret and joy, I'm a war cry 'a everyfin' I've evah been, and if loife's a war, give me a bloody blade, mate.” - Celeste Crinklaw

“In me dreams I see a pale white 'orse, 'e beckons me ta follow, tells me dat I can be born again, and everytoime I follow 'im, I see a face I've seen before. In dat pale 'orse's eyes I see someone I knew, but I can't place who. 'E beckons me toward da dark, tellin' me dat is where I belong, but I refuse ta rise from the ashes as sumfin' I ain't.” - Celeste Crinklaw

“I look ta dat pale 'orse in da 'orizon, all I ask, is, "Old frien', where's your rider?" A lonely horse, 'e is, da 'orse 'a my dreams, beckonin' me ta nightmares. 'E's lonesome, wearin' the remnants 'a his saddles and the remains 'a his scars on 'is hide. And all I ask, is where 'ave I seen 'im before?” - Celeste Crinklaw

"You cannot come to understand the depths of the world, you believe the shadows to be the darkest thing this world has to offer, but I have seen things darker than the nebula." - The Watcher

"I have seen things no man could ever dream, let along things that he would want to. All my life I have wished to be a hero, but it is gritty work, it drains away at the soul, and I must wonder how much of it I have left these days." - Ickden Harloff

"There are things in this world that we do not understand, sadly, they must be condemned for it is the dark from whence they came." - Ryan Sanzberg

"My vengeance is immortal, but sadly that must mean, as am I." - Warden Wickersford

"My hope left with the beatin' 'a my love's heart." - Travis Vekington

"When ya lose everythin', what're you supposed ta become?" - Travis Vekington

"Went through hell on a Sunday an' cursed the damn pews cause despite it all, they damn me." - King Wardown

"Cowardice kills people, I've learned, but alas, it keeps me alive." - Verez Vagawit

"You can throw me to the wolves, but I imagine I'll be alright. After all, they hunt to live and the blood on their teeth is of survival, not sport." - James Ace

"Most people can't change because they just don't God damn want to. You can't expect life to change if you don't evolve with it." - Darin Zollo

"I am losing myself, I fear. Faith and hope are hard to come by as your heart slowly falters to the shadow and forgets the warmth of light." - Shan'Bellwitz

"I wish to drift away from this place as nothing more than peace and smoke on the wind." - Shan'Bellron

"I was lost out at sea, trying to find me, but all I became was stranded, vying for something better, yet becoming sumthin' worse." - Ben Stilts “Every sinnin’ man fears the devil.” - Ben Stilts

"Scars leave us bettah or worse off. I reckon mine left me wif' glory." - Pugrish the Mountain

"What's belief without sumthin' to worship?" - Shonas Green

"Ya know what they do with broken men, Mortley? They put em all in this box, and they say, "This is all ya are, we ain't confinin' ya, we're just givin' ya a playground ta roam. But as we get older we realize the walls are sky high and they weren't built ta be fuckin' climbed." - Bortley Dekruiful

"It is in pain that we find a new identity, one which lives alongside the tears." - Mortley Dekruiful

"I'm not concerned about my importance to the world, just the fact that I lived in it, and that it was real." - Milton Modayne "My whole life has been screaming in a single pitch tune, yet I sit here and wonder, what point is there to a chorus when there was never a melody? I am plucking broken strings, expecting a soft song, but I suppose it's foolish, expecting music from a hurting soul." - Milton Modayne

"When you're born in the shade you begin to fall into the delusion that the light is something damning." - Natalia Shelvikit

"As humans we have an innate desire to feel something that is not ourselves, to be something other than we were meant to be. We have been trying to defy destiny for so long that we never thought to pick up the quill and write something other than fate within our lives. We seek to conquer destiny, yet it is what lies outside the realm of fate that we fear." - Ramazalo Shelvikit

"He who fights for himself migh' as well lay down his fists and le' the bullets rain down." - Gromkal Batterfist

"It's strange, how we damn those who fight for justice, but never they who we fight against." - Tovil Quinn

"Dreams are only a broken perception of reality, mate... And sometimes, we need ta wake da fuck up." - Jerry Benson

"Ze zing I fear ze most, iz zat death is ze end. And yet I know that it iz." - Thaddaeus Rediger

"Praying is not the solution to all burdens on the soul." - Jonathan Covaks

I's been carryin' a burden for some time now, you know 'ow crosses are heavy on the back, always pushin' ya back inta the graves ya try to dig, always findin' a new way to rip the skeletons from yer closet." - Mike Fausselkoff

"Sins, always catchin' us humans off guard. We tell ourselves we'll never be like Adam, we'll never be like Eve, but then that forbidden fruit comes along and we begin ta wonder. What does it taste like? We wrap ourselves up in all this curiosity, this wonder. We become our own snakes in our own little garden 'a Eden. Well, I spose that fruit came along." - Mike Fausselkoff

"Mr. Stilts, Mr. Skinwalker, karma is at your door." - Cortez Cloves

"A life of killing is better than a life of rotting." - Cortez Cloves

"If I were you, I would not tempt fate so cruelly. Fate is never in the one man's favor, it is always in the favor of the crowd, never he who flips the coin." - Borbasli Orgazi

[msjr0119]

Hold On

Part 17b - Court Day 2

Nobody got injured at the Homecoming ball, they all get separated into different safe houses- for safety.

Riley and Drake had confirmed that they had feelings for each other, however Drake believed Riley should be with Liam. Heartbroken, she moves back to New York. Only keeping in touch with Hana, Maxwell and Olivia.

Riley meets lawyer, Nate Cooper and begins a relationship with him. In Cordonia, Drake begins to court Kiara.

Nine months after Riley had left Cordonia- there is a reunion, but not the reunion the friends had hoped for.

*Characters belong to Pixelberry*

If you are under 18 please do not read this series. If you do, you are consenting that you are over the age.

Series warnings: Suicide, domestic abuse, swearing, stabbing, smut 🍋. If any of these triggers affect you do not read!

Tags- @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @choices97 @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world

****

After the court was dismissed, the woman went to visit Nate. She was pleased with how Riley and Leo were both grilled- smirking knowing she was going to help prevent them getting justice.

“Well done Mr Cooper, your attorney did a good job. He made them look like unreliable.”

“Yes well, I’m not going to let them win. I’m innocent.”

“Oh don’t worry about that I can have a word with the judge, precious Riley and Leo won’t expect what will happen.”

She left the room, and rung someone up.

“It’s Madeleine. It’s going good... Riley and Leo are crumbling. We will find a way to not let Riley return to Cordonia.”

*****

The morning after, Riley woke up already feeling defeated. In a way she regretted reporting Nate in the first place. She had spoken to Liam on the phone last night and tried to hold back her tears. She could tell he was hurting too.

“Hey doll, you ready to go and watch him squirm?”

“I’ll never be ready Lola. But let’s get it over and done with. Two more days and then I can return to Cordonia. Return to Liam.”

*****

“Miss Brooks, Mr Rhys we are trying our best. We know people like him, he will get punished. If you want Mr Rhys- I can confirm your true identity. That could really push in our favour. If you want me to, just raise your hand at any point.”

Riley looked at her attorney, not quite believing that Nate will get punished, especially with how yesterday went. Leo was unsure whether to tell the court that he was a prince, he abdicated so it probably wouldn’t make any difference. It was Miss Graham’s turn to question Nate- Riley and Leo had little faith but kept the hope. The judge walked in and sat in his usual position, as did Nate and Mr Slater.

“You have already done your oath. Can you just confirm your full name before we begin.”

“Nathan Steven Cooper.”

“Thank you. I will ask the first question and the plaintiff’s attorney will then take over. Can you confirm how you met Miss Brooks and Mr Rhys?”

“Of course. It was how Miss Brooks explained yesterday. I had finished work and stumbled along her bar that she worked in. I met Mr Rhys when Miss Brooks introduced me to her close set of friends.”

“Thank you, Mr Cooper. Did you enjoy spending time with your partner and her friends? It has come to my attention that you all spent time together on a regular basis. You went on vacation together after only knowing these people a few weeks, you all went socialising together in clubs, to concerts etc.”

“Of course I enjoyed the time together. And yes we did do those things.”

“So what happened for it to go all wrong? Was you jealous that she had friends? Because I know you don’t keep company like she does.”

“No, of course I wasn’t jealous. And I have my own friends.”

“Who Mr Cooper? Your colleagues? My client was never introduced to any friends on your side. Why was that?”

“It is true. I don’t have friends in New York. My friends live in Boston, where I was brought up. I haven’t lived in New York that long.”

Riley and Leo could see their attorneys mind ticking- Boston. The place where he was arrested. The place where he was on his work trips.

“Boston. That rings a bell Mr Cooper. Oh yes. That was the place where you was arrested after your abuse became public knowledge. My client said you went there for business trips. Am I wrong in thinking that this could have been a lie? That you went to visit family, friends instead? Is this where your jealousy came from Mr Cooper? Because it was actually you that was being unfaithful? But you blamed my client to cover up the fact about your own infidelity?”

“Don’t be so ridiculous.”

“Why Mr Cooper? I am not being ridiculous. It is a psychological fact that parties who are unfaithful blame the other party.”

“Your honor, Miss Graham is accusing my client of something that didn’t happen.”

“Mr Slater with all due respect, I let you speak yesterday. Now, this is my turn! Your honor, if I may continue?”

“Yes of course Miss Graham, Mr Slater please remain seated. You will have chance to speak.”

“I will come back to that question soon Mr Cooper. I would like to talk about the incidents that occurred. That first incident. Why would you go to Miss Brooks apartment in the early hours?”

“I was drunk. I was upset that my partner was going to leave me. She had been talking close to Mr Rhys. He could have asked anyone for a lighter.”

“But it’s a lighter! Did you see them affectionately talk or touch each other? May I remind you that you are under oath.”

“N- no.”

“And drinking played an important factor in this. Are you saying Mr Cooper that you wouldn’t have had these thoughts if you wasn’t drunk? My clients had both been drinking too and never became aggressive.”

Nate remained quiet for the first time. Not knowing how to respond. Miss Graham looked at Riley and Leo and knew she was getting to the lawyer.

“Okay Mr Cooper, let’s try talking about something else. As your representative said yesterday, you knew your partner was pregnant with another mans baby. What were your initial thoughts regarding this when she informed you.”

“I felt like I was losing her. I’d met this amazing woman and I didn’t want to lose her. I could provide for the three of us.”

Riley felt physically sick. He didn’t give a shit about her or her baby. She covered her mouth- and began to try to control her breathing.

“Mr Cooper I don’t believe that at all. I believe that you was worried - worried about losing this poor girl as your punchbag. You was afraid that if you let her go due to her condition that she may ‘let slip’ about your aggressive attitude. You knew she was vulnerable so took that opportunity to keep control over her!”

“That is ridiculous. I loved her. And would have loved the baby.”

“Yes you ‘loved’ the baby and your partner that much that you killed the baby and killed my client inside. And you continued to hurt her- hospitalise her on many occasions. You are an abuser Mr Cooper. And I think you need to understand that.”

“You are the one who needs to understand. I did not kill either of them. It was an accident.”

“An accident. So you admit that you pushed her down the stairs, making her miscarry?”

“Yes I did. I didn’t want her to see her friend in that state.”

“The state that you put him in?”

“I didn’t do such a thing. I have my own alibi from that night. I wouldn’t touch Prince Charming.”

Miss Graham looked at Riley and Leo. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for. Leo knew this was now the time to come clean about his true identity- he looked at Riley for reassurance, she bit her lip and nodded.

“Your honor. May I have a quick word with you about what I am going to discuss next?”

The judge nodded, and gestured the attorney towards him. Nate and Mr Slater wondered what on earth was going on. Nate’s gaze met with Leo’s - Leo was now the one smirking. Nate looked at the judge, who’s jaw was agape. Miss Graham resumed her position.

“Miss Graham, you may now continue.”

“So, Mr Cooper. Why did you call Mr Rhys ‘Prince charming’?”

“Because he acts like it. He thinks he can have women fall at his feet. Flirts with everyone. He loves himself. He thinks he’s pretty.”

“Is that all that Prince’s do? Have women fall at their feet?”

“How do I know? I don’t know one.”

Leo didn’t care. He grabbed Riley’s hand and held it tight. The sparkle in his baby blues knew that they were finally getting somewhere.

“Oh Mr Cooper, you actually do know a Prince. He is my client. He is a Prince of a small country. And you actually not only assaulted Miss Brooks, but committed treason against a Prince.”

Nate thought back to Olivia- he remembered the police call her Duchess. They are all linked, he thought. He began to panic. His previous confident attitude, was now turning, into a rage. He needed to remain content and professional.

“I also had a Duchess break my nose. When I was held in Boston. Did you pay for her to do that PRINCE Leo?” - Nate snarled at Leo, with daggers in his eyes.

“I don’t know anything about that NATE!” - Leo snapped back.

“Your honor, I’m more of a victim than those two. I deny any of the accusations. But I was assaulted in my cell by a Duchess.”

Riley held her head in her hands- fucking Olivia, she whispered.

The judge looked at Mr Cooper confused, as he was flicking through his notes- he wasn’t aware of this and had wondered why this hadn’t been brought to his attention.

“Mr Cooper, we have no record of that assault that you are implying happened. Miss Graham do you have any more questions for Mr Cooper?”

“You say you have an alibi for the night in question that you attacked Mr Rhys. Where is this alibi? Why haven’t they come forward?”

“They are here. They are willing to give last minute evidence.” Mr Slater interrupted.

Riley looked at Leo, then at her friends in the gallery. Who would go to extreme length to stitch them up? Everyone knew Nate was guilty. Riley knew she had to talk to her attorney- there may have been CCTV to prove Leo was telling to truth and to prove that Nate was a lying snake.

“I think we should take a break. Mr Slater, tomorrow we will resume. And bring your alibi. Before the verdict, we will listen to them. You are all dismissed.”

*****

Riley thought back to the term Duchess, she knew what Olivia did. She had hoped that due to her friends concern, it wouldn’t jeopardise the case. She wanted to ask her friend a question. Quickly she dialled Olivia’s number.

“Liv- quick question. Did you bribe the Boston police when you broke his nose? He knows Leo’s true identity and mentioned you.”

“Ri, I did it for you. What happened?”

“The judge said that the police had no record of you doing this. Is Li there?”

“Because I didn’t Riley. Yes I bribed them. No one will ever know. Don’t worry. Keep us updated! He’s in his study, I think. Stay on the phone..”

Olivia ran to Liam’s study nearly knocking over Maxwell and Drake. The two men wondered what had happened- Olivia never ran. They followed her.

“Li, it’s Riley. Here.”

“Ri. Is everything okay?”

“They know.”

“Know what?”

“About Leo. They know about his true identity.”

“That’s good isn’t it? They can get him for treason?”

“He mentioned about Liv. Asked if Leo had paid her to give him a beating. He’s refusing to accept that he attacked Leo. But he admitted to pushing me down the stairs making me miscarry.”

Drake left the study, he overheard what Riley had said. He felt guilty, he should have been protecting her and their baby rather than being shacked up with Kiara. Olivia gestured for Maxwell to follow Drake.

“Do you want us to come? We can come.”

“No Li. It’s fine. I don’t want you to see him.”

“Ri, we all want to support you. If you want us to we will come.”

“Li, I love you. But I don’t want to put you through this. The verdict is tomorrow. Then I am coming straight back with Bastien.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Love you too.”

****

Liam stayed in his study with Olivia, both of them wanted to fly straight to New York, to support Riley and Leo.

“Liv. What’s he like?”

“Why are you asking? He’s handsome, don’t get me wrong, I can see why she was attracted to him. But he’s obviously mental.”

Liam pulled out his engagement ring he proposed to Riley with all those months ago. His thumb ran over the diamonds. Olivia noticed- sorrow in her eyes.

“Is that the ring...?”

“Yes. If only I stood up to my father. Ignored the scandal, I could have protected her- I don’t know why I believed I couldn’t. She would be wearing this now. She wouldn’t have gone through all this pain. Drake wouldn’t have gone through all this pain.”

“Why are you bothered about Drake’s pain Li? He didn’t deserve her, he only gave a shit about his dick.”

“He was there for her when I wasn’t. He saved her life. They lost their baby, no matter what you think Liv.”

“Liam, it was a tragic accident. Riley can have children in the future, and so can Drake. It wasn’t meant to be. He’s with Kiara and Riley is yours.”

“I know Liv. But I still feel for them both.”

“Liam, you and Riley are good together. I hated her at first, but everyone knew you both loved each other. You two can have a future- marriage and children. That ring will be on her finger soon. I’m sure of it.”

[headoverjojo]

You were expecting a random post but it was IT, THE THIRD PRIZE OF THE CONTEST!! Yeah I’m, UH, like reeeeaally late and I’m super super sorry for this ç.ç This work had been studded with a series of unfortunate events, like firstly I lost the first draft I handwrote and I still don’t know where the hell it is -bet it will pop up tomorrow. Bet it.- I cried for two days and then stared at the ceiling for more than two weeks, then various things irl BUT! I finally managed to write something that satisfies me -and you know that I never publish something that I don’t deem worthy, I mean, maybe in the end it’s not but this is another story- and SO! @kidgoober, my dear, I apologize again for the delay and I want to thank you for your immense patience!! I hope that this would be worth of the waiting! 

It’s a comforting scenario with Giornoxfem!reader. I suggest to listen to “You are enough” by Sleeping at Last, before or after the reading -and the EP “Atlas: Oceans” always by Sleeping at Last during the reading-. Here we go! :3

You’re enough

(words count: 1695)

In all your past relationships and friendships you always seeked especially two things: respect and honesty. And in Giorno you found both of them.

People were always surprised by how similar you were, in your mature and careful behaviour. How you carefully studied others, in order to know how to behave. Sometimes, people who didn’t know you thought you were just a fake person, ignoring how you were almost brutally honest with each other and your friends. Your behaviour wasn’t a fake one, but more a self-defence system.

In Giorno you found someone who could understand you for real. He knew the struggle of keeping just for himself a reply, he knew how heavy and poisonous were the anger and frustration you had to keep inside, again and again, ‘cause you “were in no position to properly reply”. He was just wholeheartedly grateful that your parents never did to you what his stepfather did to him. You were the last person in the world to deserve this and, oh god, in case he would have liked to have a “talk” with your parents.

That’s why he always did his best to make you feel comfortable to talk with him about everything and to reply to him as you liked. With you he felt understood and at ease; he could, for once, lower his walls and not think about every reaction, every word and action. It was… freedom. And he wanted you to feel the same.

Together, you made so many steps forward. Together, you found that respect and honesty, deep and sincere, you both had searched for so long. You were not just partners, but also best friends, allies, supporters. Thanks to your developed ability to read others’ emotions, you both could tell immediately if the other was upset and act consequently. That was what happened also that day. The right moment you entered home, Giorno needed just a look to see you were deeply upset.

After quickly checking his mental agenda, he grimaced. Oh… you said that you wanted to go to see your parents, that day. Your relationship with them, well… wasn’t the best of the world, but, from what you’ve said, it had improved considerably in the last years. However, some issues were still ongoing and your face said that those issues had resurfaced, during your visit.

He didn’t ask you how you were feeling. He didn’t fake ignorance or a smile, acting as it was all fine. He got up, leaving back every paper, and walked straight to you, simply hugging you, tightly, safely. His fingers gently rubbed your scalp, as you sank in his embrace, sighing in relief. No matter how bad the day had been, Giorno’s hugs had the power to lighten at least a bit the weight on your heart… they tasted like home.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, kissing your temple. You sighed, closing your eyes, relishing a moment more in his warmth, before nodding. He led you to the couch, gently making you sit down, and then put on the stove some water for a good cup of tea.

After returning to you, he kissed your forehead, sitting near you and watching you with calm eyes, giving you the time to recollect your ideas. For long seconds just the soft noise of the boiling water kept breaking the silence in the room.

“My mother did it again.” you admitted, sighing. Giorno closed his eyes for a second. Of course…

“What did she say?” you huffed, fidgeting, before Giorno’s slender fingers came in the way, gently holding yours.

“The usual. She used me to rant about herself and inflate her ego. I had forgotten about one of my aunts’ birthday, not even one of my closest aunts, and I apologized for my bad memory. And she? She went on ranting about how forgetful I am, how instead she always had such a sharp mind when she was young… let’s say, how in general she was better than me in everything when she was my age.” you took a deep breath, after that long tirade, feeling empty. Giorno’s hands never left yours, not even for a second.

“And what do you think about what she said?” he asked, quietly. You shifted a bit, pouting, feeling at unease. What did you think about it…

“Well, maybe she was right. And, like, after that I told her to stop this, to inflate her ego using me to elevate herself and she seemed… hurt for real? And… and maybe I am the wrong one, not her, and that, well… maybe I’ll never be good enough to be at the same level as everyone else. Maybe I’m just too screwed up to be saved.” you muttered, bitterly. You heard Giorno shifting and immediately after you found his face in your vision range. His eyes were serious, as his expression, and it made him look older than his age.

“Don’t ever say it. You are enough, you are more than enough. Do you know how much they hurt you? And look at you. Look at how strong you are. Look at how gentle and sweet and wonderful you are. What you lived could have turned you into a monster, but it didn’t happen. Your will has been stronger and you emerged from that darkness. And even today you still work on yourself ‘cause you want to be a better person. I am so, so proud of you.” he said, with utter sincerity, gently stroking your cheeks. You blinked more times, to keep back few traitorous tears, before taking a deep breath. Enough…?

“But if I’m enough, if I’m… strong, as you said, then… why do I feel like this?- Giorno’s heart broke, hearing how lost your voice sounded. -Why do I feel so small, why her words always make me shrink down? It’s like… it’s like I’ve done not even one step forward. It’s like I’m still that scared child who learned to lie and read emotions in order not to be yelled at. I hadn’t grown.” you concluded, slumping on the back of the couch, your head low. It was so… you hadn’t grown. All those steps forward, all those progresses… all lost in a snap. What kind of progresses those had been, if they crumbled down at the first difficult? You wanted to cry, but your eyes were dry. Even they didn’t want to cooperate, it seemed…

“I have to disagree.” Giorno’s voice was strong and determined, as he gently picked your head up, his fingers under your chin, to stop you from lowering it again. His turquoise eyes stared into yours, firm, serious, but also so gentle, so understanding. He could understand at heart what you were feeling right now… You were similar, all in all. You both, under the shield you had to build to protect your heart, were scared of the world. But, oh… since the moment he met you, Giorno felt like the world wasn’t so scaring anymore. With you it was all better… and maybe it was worth to open up to the world. As long as he was with you, the world was a less scaring place.

“You’re just having a small setback. It’s normal, you’re still healing… there’s nothing bad in it. But this doesn’t delete anything good you have done in this period, it doesn’t delete your progresses. Even if now you feel small and not worthy… you aren’t. I can promise you, you absolutely aren’t unworthy and not enough. I know it hurts, now, that you don’t feel motivated to go on… but please, don’t let this stop you. You’re not alone, now… we’ll face it together, as we always did, ok? Those words will fade, as the pain they gave you. New, positive things will replace this pain. We’ll build new memories, together… we’ll build a happy life, as I promised you. It will be better, tesoro.” he gently pressed his forehead on yours, staring in your eyes. A faint, sincere smile colored his lips and soon was matched by one on yours. You couldn’t doubt Giorno, when he was speaking with such a heartbreaking sincerity. You placed your hands on his ones, softly stroking their back and relishing in their warmth, feeling protected, as even your self-doubt couldn’t do anything against Giorno’s light.

You sighed, feeling the weight on your heart lighter, at least a bit. All in all… if Giorno, the person who more than anyone else understood you at heart, thought that you could do it, that you were strong and worth enough to achieve the happiness you deserve, then… then maybe it was so. Giorno wouldn’t ever have lied to you, even if the truth he had to say was ugly and painful. He wasn’t the type. Everything he said to you was exactly what he thought. And, well… this meant that he really thought what was saying to you.

His words slowly sank in you, as small drops of light, slowly chasing away the dark gloominess that had darkened everything you were seeing. You were enough. You were worth it. You will have make through it. You were strong. And you weren’t alone.

“Thank you, Gio.” your smile was more confident, now, and it made Giorno’s heart flip in happiness. He smiled back at you, one of his rare but, oh, so beautiful full bright smiles, and softly kissed you.

“I’m proud of you.” he repeated, sweetly, before getting up and going to take off the stove the kettle.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” you smiled, turning to watch him, leaning on the back of the couch. A rush of affection ran into your veins, as you were watching his elegant profile, focused on the tea bags and hot water, his golden hair… your Giorno, who made so many steps forward, just as you. He was proud of you, but you were so, so proud of him too, of all the progresses he managed to do in that period.

“I’d love it.” you fondly smiled at him, waiting for him. He was right… together you could do it.

Together you were unstoppable.

[dogbearinggifts]

Beauty in the Mundane, Chapter One: To the Wolves

Umbrella Academy

Author’s Note: This is chapter one of an AU answering this petition from @scotty-the-t-rex calling for Hazel and Agnes to go back in time and adopt the Hargreeves kids. If this is the first time you’re seeing it on your dash, you can read the prologue here. 

The whole fic is also available on AO3. 

Oh, and if you’re interested, the song I took the chapter title from is by Anberlin. I don’t know if I’ll use song titles and/or lyrics for every chapter, but I liked it for this one. 

**********

Day four of surveillance wore on toward a conclusion without a single broken law on Sir Reginald’s part. 

This was to be expected, Agnes had told him. Reginald wasn’t quite a hermit, but only an actual hermit would dare call him social. Hazel was still a bit fuzzy on which laws applied where and when and to what extent, but he figured any evidence gathered whilst spying through the windows of that mansion would come down on his head, rather than Reginald’s. An act witnessed in a public area, though—that was fair game. 

He only needed Reginald to cooperate. 

Hazel took a bite of coffeecake. It wasn’t near as good as Agnes’ donuts, but neither dared approach Griddy’s—Hazel because he had been a stranger to Agnes when they met, Agnes because crossing paths with your younger self had to create one hell of a paradox. “Think I’ve probably crossed my own timeline before,” he’d explained, “but the Commission always sent me someplace I wouldn’t run into myself.” 

He’d been on a few stakeouts, though with the Commission’s emphasis on finishing a job before most folks could finish tying their shoes, he was still a bit vague on proper procedures for operations that lasted more than a few hours. Moving their base from one side of the Academy to the other hadn’t been a bit of strategic brilliance so much as an act of necessity; when a building took up an entire city block, it was impossible to tell when your target might slip out through the back door. 

“I’ve got some beef jerky in the back, if you want that next.” 

Hazel smiled. He still wasn’t certain if bringing Agnes along was a good idea, tactically speaking, but her pleasant company kept his more unwelcome thoughts at bay. “I’m good, thanks.” 

She settled back in her seat, though she quickly sat forward again. “Oh!” 

He followed her gaze down an alley between the Academy and a neighboring business, caught the same flash of movement she did. His hand rested on the ignition. 

No adults lived in that household, not yet. According to what Agnes had read, a robot mother and a monkey butler resided on the premises; but given Sir Reginald’s fondness for privacy, the only grown man who could be stepping out of a side door was the billionaire himself. 

A balaclava covered his hair, and a grey overcoat covered him down to his knees. Dress slacks ended in polished loafers. He didn’t bow his head as he exited, didn’t glance over his shoulder or hesitate before sliding behind the wheel and pulling the door closed. The knot in Hazel’s stomach tightened. 

“Looks like he’s not expecting a tail,” Hazel said. “You remember the plan?” 

Agnes nodded, retrieving a small notepad and pen from the glove compartment. A quick glance showed him a few mock interview questions. Posing as reporters would likely earn more bluster than answers, but if they were caught, the lie would do. “Which one should I ask first—the one about the mustache-sclupting contest, or the one about Colonel Sanders?” 

Hazel watched as Sir Reginald’s car chugged to the end of the alleyway, paused, and turned right without signaling. This might not be their chance, but it was a big enough oddity to merit further investigation. 

“Whichever one you think’ll make him madder.” 

He eased the car down the alley and turned right. 

******** 

Following a target through city traffic was always easier than following one through the countryside, for obvious reasons, but that was no guarantee of secrecy. For every three targets who drove on entirely oblivious, there was one whose continual glances in the mirror revealed more than they were meant to see. 

Reginald kept to the speed limit, sometimes dipping a mile or two below. He took no side streets, made no U-turns and slowed the second a light turned yellow. Aside from an apparent allergy to using his blinker, his turns were neither sudden nor sharp. Were this an ordinary job, Hazel might have found the target’s obliviousness heartening, even amusing, but as Reginald turned off the main road and down a side street, Hazel only felt sick. 

He might not do anything worth calling the police over. Hazel knew that. He probably paid someone else to buy his groceries and it was too late in the day to try and renew his driver’s license, but there were other errands that could have lured him from his home. Reginald might be on his way to do any number of perfectly legal things, and then Hazel and Agnes could leave to plot their next move. 

City traffic thinned as high-rises and glass-walled office buildings gave way to townhouses and fourplexes scattered among the sort of crackerbox homes that had been popular six or seven decades prior.  Reginald slowed, and when he turned left at a stop sign, Hazel crept through the intersection at a speed that might have made Cha-Cha slap him upside the head and ask if he’d forgotten where to find the gas pedal. 

“He went past the last stop sign,” Agnes said, craning her neck to see out his window. Hazel had seen it happen, but still welcomed her confirmation. “And the—oh no, he’s going right.” 

“You know what’s up there?” 

She frowned in thought, a frown that deepened after a second or two. “I—I think it’s a cemetery.” 

“Can I get to it from here, or do I have to take the same street he did?” 

“Keep going straight until the next sign, then turn left. Should take you right to it.” 

He increased his speed. Inside of a minute, a green hill sprouting grey and black slabs of stone filled his vision, but he was more interested in Reginald’s car, parked along the curb mere feet from the entrance. A flash of movement signaled the man himself striding through the wrought-iron gates, quickly taken out of sight by the winding road. 

Hazel pulled into a spot on the opposite side of the cemetery, one shielded from view by hills and a few overgrown trees, stepped into the evening chill without a word. Agnes closed her door quietly, and they both noted the payphone outside a gas station catty-corner from where they stood.

Agnes caught his gaze, and he held it a moment. 

If all went according to plan, they were about to change the timeline. 

He’d known it from the beginning, been cognizant of that fact since he turned her heartbreak into a suggestion. But all those hours watching the Academy, all that time waiting for the man to show his face and charting a strategy—it all had kept the true scope of what he was planning to do at bay. Now there was nothing between it and him. Nothing to keep the thought from crashing down on him like an entire wall of crumbling brick. Only Agnes, slipping her hand in his, kept him from ducking back into the car and heading to the opposite side of town. 

Part of him said to pull away, leave both hands free for whatever confrontation might ensue if Reginald turned out to be more observant than he let on. Another part said it would add to the illusion. Just a couple strolling through a graveyard on a cold autumn evening, on their way to visit family or a friend, keeping to the grass because the grass was more pleasant. Nothing unusual, nothing to worry about. 

Reginald’s figure came into view, and Agnes dropped his hand. She might as well have dropped the rope tethering his life preserver to the boat. 

A monument stood by, one of those melodramatic statues depicting an angel in grief with names and dates and a host of other information engraved below. It wasn’t the best concealment Hazel had ever used, and it was less than he would have liked, but he didn’t see anything better. 

Reginald’s footsteps fell silent as he stepped off the path and brushed through the grass, stopping at the sort of mausoleum Hazel imagined a guy like him might insist upon as the site of his own burial. A key opened the door, but he didn’t step inside, choosing instead to speak inaudibly into the darkness. Hazel watched a second, then cocked a brow. 

“He usually yell at dead guys like that?” 

“No.” Her voice carried the same confusion he felt. “I mean, not that I know of—he could. He does have a son who—” 

Her words ended in a gasp, cut short by a hand to her mouth. 

“Oh my god. I—he—oh my god.” 

Hazel remained standing as she sank to the grass. He’d known the guy was twisted; Agnes had relayed a few accounts from Vanya’s book, stressing that the girl was excluded from much of what went on and likely didn’t know the half of what her siblings had gone through. What she had seen, what she had known, was more than enough to convince him getting those kids out from under his thumb might be enough to avert the apocalypse after all. Locking a kid who could see ghosts in a mausoleum seemed right up his alley. 

It still didn’t explain why. 

Klaus—the older Klaus, the junkie—he wasn’t the only one to break in the dark. Not everyone could hold it together through beatings and stranglings, but leave them alone with their thoughts, alone to wonder what was next, alone to recall the pain and terror and families they might never see again? There wasn’t a kink in the world that could save you from that. 

But that was the realm of torture, and torture was a tool. Find somebody with information locked up in their head, attack their defenses long enough, and those defenses would crumble. An eight-year-old boy couldn’t possibly hold secrets so valuable his own parent would lock him away. 

Whatever speech Reginald had planned was not a long one. He turned away, locked the door, and retraced his steps. Hazel watched, waiting for him to look his way, waiting for some signal that he ought to duck further out of sight, but Reginald didn’t so much as slow his pace. 

Hazel pushed questions aside. The why wasn’t near as important as the what. 

He fished a quarter from one pocket and crouched in the grass beside Agnes. “Go to the payphone and call the police. I’ll wait here and make sure Reggie doesn’t come back.” 

Her fingers wrapped around the quarter, but she didn’t pluck it from his grasp. “You’re not going to let him out?” 

Her tone and the look in her eyes were enough to give him pause. “The police’ll do that.” 

“And what’ll he do? Just wait in there with the ghosts?” 

He’s lasted this long sprang to mind, but Hazel didn’t dare voice that thought. “Look, if I mess with their crime scene—” 

“It’s not a crime scene, Hazel, they know who did it. Or they will.” 

“I didn’t bring my tools with me.” 

“It’s a mausoleum, not a bank.” 

There were more counterpoints, more arguments, but the guilt coiling in his middle was nowhere near welcome. He sighed. “I’ll pick the lock.” 

She took the quarter and got to her feet. He stood with her, watching as she retreated toward the gas station. After a few yards, she halted, saw him still beside the monument, and pressed her lips together, waving her hand in a shooing motion. 

The lock was nothing fancy, nothing too complex. A simple pick and a little finesse would get him through in a matter of seconds. Hazel could see the process laid out in his mind as though in a how-to guide, or that handbook he hadn’t touched since training. Everything else, everything that came after, was as clear as a mud puddle subjected to a thousand splashing feet. 

Hazel reached into his pocket, brushed aside the coins he’d collected on his travels, and found the lock picks. They weren’t anything fancy, just a set of picks gathered in a case similar to a Swiss Army knife, but they did the job when the job didn’t have to look too professional. 

Light faded from the sky as twilight became evening, but Hazel could have found the necessary pick even in the dark. Once he had it, he set to work. 

The lock clicked open. Once it did, once Hazel’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, he couldn’t have spoken had he wanted to. 

Klaus Hargreeves was a far cry from the junkie who’d stolen his briefcase. He was small at this age, with a slight build and curly hair. A blazer covered a starched white shirt and argyle sweater vest, but knee-legnth shorts, similar to those Five had worn, were his only shield against the cold floor. 

He should have been the one to call the police. Agnes. Agnes would’ve been better suited to this, would’ve had the kid calm inside of a minute and ushered him out with no trace of tears. One of those police officers allegedly on their way would have known what to do. Grab any bystander off the street and chances were ten to one that they would know what to do better than he could ever guess. Chances were ninety-nine to one that they would improve the situation, rather than making it ten times worse. 

But Agnes was gone, the police weren’t yet en route, and Hazel was alone. 

“Hi.” That seemed as good a place to start as any. “Whatcha doing in here?” 

Klaus drew a shaking breath, but only a few choked sounds came out. He’d folded himself up against the wall, as if making himself smaller might fool whatever terrors lurked, and he made no attempt to move—though he did shrink back as Hazel took a few steps forward. 

It should’ve been a paramedic walking toward this kid. A paramedic or some minimum-wage employee manning the gas station across the street. Someone who didn’t have a small army of ghosts trailing behind and no idea how to fix a person instead of breaking them. 

He couldn’t do anything about the ghosts, but perhaps he could make himself a little less intimidating. Hazel knelt, suppressing a wince as pain shot through his knees. A name. Maybe a name would help. “I’m Hazel. What’s your name?” 

There was another long gasp that shuddered like a dying engine before Klaus spoke. “Klaus.” 

“All right, Klaus.” Hazel shifted, and the scant light illuminated fresh tears on Klaus’ cheeks. “What do you say we get you outta here?” 

Klaus didn’t move. His gaze flitted from Hazel to the air beyond. As far as Hazel knew, ghosts couldn’t open doors; and he’d never seen one, but surely there had to be some indicator separating them from the living. But as Hazel watched, Klaus’ eyes didn’t flit back and forth the way they might have from one ghost to another. His gaze remained steady on the door, as if trying to determine whether it had opened at all or if that hint of rescue was simply a figment of imagination. 

Jesus, how long had he been in there? 

Hazel bent his fingers slightly, as if inviting him to move closer. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of here.” 

Klaus shifted. Both arms remained wrapped around his knees, but one loosened. 

“S’okay. We’re gonna get you out.” 

One arm let go and then the other. He shifted onto hands and knees, reached out to meet Hazel’s outstretched hand. 

Klaus’ cold hand brushed Hazel’s for only a second before clinging to it and, before Hazel could fully process what was happening, Klaus had his arms wrapped around Hazel’s neck, so all he could do was pull himself upright as Klaus buried his face in Hazel’s shoulder. 

Hazel got to his feet, balancing Klaus’ weight as best he could. His wrist screamed in protest, but he couldn’t set the kid down. Not now, and it was only a few steps to the door. 

Those few steps weren’t over quick enough. Hazel’s vision of setting Klaus down gently and sinking onto the grass died when Klaus kept hanging on, so he sank awkwardly to his knees. Once Klaus’ feet touched the ground, he slackened his grip. Cold air chilled the tears on his suit jacket almost instantly. 

Hazel expected the relief, but not the mingling guilt that came with it. 

“You okay?” 

It was a stupid question, but Klaus nodded despite another shuddering breath heralding more tears. Not knowing what else to do, Hazel put a hand on his shoulder. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised that Klaus leaned in, or when he threw his arms around Hazel’s shoulders. The torment he’d escaped hadn’t been the most brutal in the world, but given what he could see, it wasn’t something Hazel would’ve wished on anybody, either. Of course he’d be a little fragile after. Of course he’d cling to whoever was near. 

It still took a few seconds to return the embrace as Klaus sobbed into his shoulder. 

********

By the time red and blue lights split the darkening sky, Klaus had polished off most of the sandwich Agnes had purchased and was working on emptying the water bottle. In defiance of Hazel’s prediction, he sat closer to him than to Agnes. Unsure of what else to do, Hazel wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

“Sorry if I messed up your crime scene,” Hazel told the first officer to come within earshot. “Wasn’t sure how long the kid had been in there.” 

“I would’ve done the same thing.” The officer crouched down, and a tag bearing the name S. GUTIERREZ came into view. He gave Klaus a gentle smile. “Glad you made it outta there.” 

Klaus looked down at the water bottle in his hands.  

“What were you doing in that mausoleum, anyway?” The officer’s tone wasn’t quite jocular, but it was lighter than Hazel expected. “Those things aren’t safe for kids.” 

Klaus swallowed. 

“It’s okay,” Gutierrez said. “You’re not in trouble.” 

It was a minute before Klaus spoke, and when he did, his voice was only a decibel or two above a whisper. “My dad.” 

“Your dad put you there?” 

Klaus nodded. 

“Why’d he do that?” 

Seconds turned to minutes, and Klaus did not answer. He swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. 

“It’s okay,” Gutierrez said again. Another few seconds passed. “What’s your name?” 

“Klaus.” 

“What’s your last name?” 

“Ha—Hargreeves.” 

“Who’s your dad?” 

Agnes put an arm around Klaus and pulled him close, letting the tears come. It was a few minutes before they ebbed. 

Gutierrez’s smile faltered. It had never been joyful, never been full of true mirth, but it was a good deal sadder now. “We’ll save the other questions for later. How ‘bout we get you over to the paramedics, make sure you’re not hurt?” 

Klaus should have looked up at Agnes, or even Gutierrez; but when he raised his head, his silent plea was turned only on Hazel. “Can…can they come with me?” 

“I don’t see why not.” 

Hazel tried to catch Agnes’ eye long enough to give a tilt of the head back toward the car, but she’d already gotten to her feet, giving Klaus a hand up. Great. 

He cast a glance toward the flashing lights, squinted past in search of any people armed with cameras, tape recorders, and questions ready to fire, but saw no one. Just squad cars and an ambulance. No sign of Reginald’s car, either. No reason he could see to leave in a hurry, but that could change at any moment. The number of corrections agents exposed by reporters wasn’t high, and those stories had never gone anywhere of note, but it had happened to them. It could happen to him. The chances of it happening went up exponentially with each minute he stayed at Klaus’ side. 

Cold fingers wrapped around his. Hazel knew, before he even looked down, that Klaus had taken his hand. He looked anyway. 

Fear was still all over his face, but not the sort Hazel had seen again and again. Not the desperation of a target with no more options, confronted with an end that had come too soon. There was some relief in that look, Hazel could tell, but something else, something he’d killed all too often. 

Hope. 

There were reasons for it, reasons Hazel couldn’t yet name. Not through the guilt and trepidation choking off thought or the unknowns peering at him from behind that mausoleum door. There was a plan—there had to be a plan—but it refused to surface through the questions crowding his mind, and the sheer scope of what he didn’t know left him breathless. He didn’t know what he’d do if a flock of reporters descended on the cemetery or the police asked for a fingerprint or Reginald’s car came around the corner. 

He only knew he couldn’t leave. 

************

Author’s Note: I do suspect Reginald locked Klaus in the mausoleum a) more than once and b) when he was a lot younger than 13. I will explain my theory as to why Klaus specified that he was 13 when it happened for one corn chip. 

Prologue

Chapter Two

[otpnessmess]

An Overflowing Glass

Yeah so...this isn’t Maribat but I started playing this game called Obey Me! and now I’m in love.

Ao3 - Masterlist

-

“Mammon? Mammon, are you in there?”

The knocking on the door echoed in the almost empty hallway. Everyone had already left for classes, and Mia should have done that too, except she couldn’t find the Avatar of Greed anywhere. 

Immediately after Lucifer had assigned him to watch over her, he had told her that she was to wait for him every morning before going to class, lest some lesser demon tried to mess with her for wandering around Devildom without supervision. She was still a human after all, and many of the students at RAD weren’t exactly welcoming of humans regardless of Diavolo’s wishes.

This brought to her current predicament: Mammon was nowhere to be seen, and classes were about to start. Not one to usually panic about being slightly late to class on occasion, today she was pretty eager to leave the house on time that morning since there was a student council meeting Lucifer had insisted every inhabitant of the House of Lamentation must attend.

The human could only imagine the consequences of missing it, especially if the ones in question were her and Mammon. Lucifer would have their heads on a stick before lunch if they weren’t there, which made it of utter importance that she found her demon quickly.

She then heard shuffling inside of the room signaling that he was, in fact inside, so she waited for the door to open and reveal Mammon, hopefully, ready to leave. A minute went by. Then two. And the door remained firmly shut on her face.

Having lived in the house with the brothers for a couple of months now had given her a newfound sense of bravery that could be labeled as fairly stupid at times, but it came in handy at the moment. It was Mammon anyway, he wouldn’t be mad at her for letting herself in, he barged into her room constantly every day too.

Mia tried to be as quiet as possible when turning the handle and stepping inside, in case he was busy doing something. She wouldn’t want to startle him and potentially get herself hurt because she wasn’t careful enough.

The young woman had come up with several different scenarios in her head of what Mammon could be up to in order to be late. Namely: sleeping soundly, playing on his phone, planning one of his overly complicated and troubling schemes that were most likely going to get them both in trouble, or even him not to be there at all.

What she didn’t expect, however, was the usually cheerful and loud demon to be curled up on his windowsill, staring longingly outside the window. He didn’t give any signs of having heard her coming inside, and if that wasn’t enough of a red flag, the moonlight reflecting on his face made the wet trails of tears that were rolling down his face seem even more evident.

The image tugged at her heartstrings and made her throat tighten. What could’ve possibly have happened for him to be like that?

“Mammon… What’s wrong?” With a soft voice, she tried approaching him, her arm extended to try and get a hold of his shoulder.

Only now noticing her close presence, the demon gave a started yelp and accidentally smacked her hand away from him while turning around. “Wha-”. 

Once his eyes zeroed in on her, though, she could see his surprise morphing into something dangerous. Still ridden by tears, his facial expression was now a scowl as he stood up in front of her, making a shiver run down her spine.

“Just what do you think you’re doing? You have no right to barge in my room like that! I thought ignoring you had made it very clear that I want to be alone! Leave!”

Several emotions were battling for dominance inside of Mia’s head. On one hand, she refused to leave Mammon until she could figure out what was wrong. Over the course of her stay in the Devildom, the two of them had become inseparable (much to Lucifer’s dismay) and she couldn’t help but worry about him.

On the other hand, though he wasn’t in his demon form (yet), his icy gaze focusing on her and the thin line of his lips were enough of a telling sign that he wasn’t very happy seeing the woman inside his room. And, if she had learned something from the previous situations where one of the brothers had got mad at her, it took nothing more than a mere moment for them to snap and unleash their wrath.

In the end, her desire to help Mammon overcame whatever (justifiable) fear she felt, and she stood firmly before him trying to show him that she cared.

“i- I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you Mammon.”

Apparently this hadn’t been the right thing to say, as he narrowed his eyes at her with a scary glint in them. “Leave now or face the consequences, you puny little human.”

Knowing the Avatar of Greed most likely hadn’t meant that, and that it had probably been because of how upset he was at whatever had happened that morning, Mia decided to push just a little bit more, in spite of the yellow glow that had started to envelop Mammon.

She gulped and tried to caress his cheek gently, a gesture he tended to like whenever they were snuggled together watching a movie. “Y-you don’t mean that, please don’t push me away. I can help, just tell me what happened. I’m here for you Mammon, I promise.”

As the aura around him started to subside, she felt hope bloom in her chest. It was, unfortunately, short-lived as he seemed to recall once more whatever had made him spiral down to this state.

Mia knew what came next so she clumsily took a couple of steps back, her eyes never leaving Mammon’s figure as his horns appeared and his demon form took place. Every part of her was screaming at her to run, to hide, to call for someone, yet her muscles refused to cooperate, rooting her on the spot. She could only stare with wide eyes at the dark being in front of her that seemed to be wondering what the best way to rip her apart was.

“You know nothing! How could you possibly help? You’re nothing more than a human! Your lives are simply seconds long compared to ours, you could never understand! It’s been thousands of years! Not even when we were angels did they respect me, and they certainly don’t now! And you expect me to believe a mortal being could somehow make that better? Don’t make me laugh. Go away before I decide I no longer tolerate you.”

Mammon had been getting closer and closer to her face until she could count his lashes, his body irradiating pulsating energy that made her tremble in her shoes. Tempted as she was to just make a run for it as he had ordered her, Mia tried to make better sense of the words he had practically spit at her.

‘Not even when we were angels did they respect me’? 

And she suddenly remembered.

Having arrived late to breakfast, she had only caught the last bit of the morning conversation from the brothers. It hadn’t come to her attention earlier because it was nothing more than the usual “Mammon is an idiot” talk they always had. No matter if he was present or not, most of the time his brothers mentioned him was to outline how much of a dumbass and careless entity he was.

Having seen him laugh all of this off in every occasion had made her assume he was used to it, that he didn’t care anymore. She had never engaged in it, but she had yet to do something to alleviate it either. And, apparently, he wasn’t as oblivious or okay with it as she was led to believe.

Looking back at the still pissed demon in front of her now instilled a deep regret and sadness within her, and even though she wasn’t sure she would still be alive if she followed through with what her instincts told her to do, she did nonetheless.

“I’m so sorry.” Mammon froze as two arms wrapped themselves around his middle, enveloping him in a warm hug. Unknowingly to him, the strong emotions he was feeling made it hard for Mia to hold onto him, the energy and heat making her dizzy. “I’m sorry your brothers don’t treat you like they should, and I’m sorry I never said anything to stop them before.”

Mia thought that the fact that she wasn’t dead yet, even if she was hurting a bit, was a good sign and she took it as a green light to try once more to get through to him. 

“You’re not stupid Mammon, you’re not dumb or annoying. Being good in class isn’t all that matters, and you’re doing so well in everything else. They’re just turning a blind eye to everything great that you do. Yes, you’re sometimes loud and you have these plans that get you in trouble more often than not, but you’re also the one who has been there for me ever since I got here. When I got myself into trouble I could always count on you to get me out of it. Whenever I’m sad you’re the one that comes to my room with popcorn and some cheesy movie you don’t like but that you know will cheer me up. You’re amazing Mammon, please let me help you just this once.”

Daring to look up to him, Mia got to see as his demon form slowly receded, leaving Mammon to close his eyes with a pained expression, crumbling in her embrace and holding her incredibly tight as he sobbed on her shoulder.

Slowly shuffling them to lie on the bed, she held him close against her chest as he let out all of his frustrations. Lucifer and the council meeting be damned, she’d take whatever punishment he had but she wasn’t about to leave her dear Mammon like this.

After some minutes, his breathing had evened out and he was leaning into the hand that was caressing his hair gently.

“I’m sorry…” His puffy eyes found hers as he held her closer like she was going to disappear from her grasp at any second. “I didn’t mean what I said, I’m so sorry I snapped at you like that, Mia…”

The guilt he was feeling was clearly written all over his face while he chewed on his lip nervously. She had never seen him so vulnerable, and it pained her that he had to go through this. He didn’t deserve it.

“I know you didn’t, Mammon.” She offered a gentle smile as she cupped his cheek with the hand that was stroking his hair. “You have every right to be upset, frustrated or angry. The way they treat you is wrong, and I should’ve said something before. I know it’s nothing new for you, but I wish I had known sooner just how much this bothered you. I’ll be more careful from now on.”

The demon seemed like he was about to start crying again but instead chose to bury his face in her chest, making his words come out muffled. “It’s okay, I usually don’t mind it that much but I had a terrible day yesterday. The witches had me walking around the whole day, spending money for them, Lucifer wouldn’t stop lecturing me about everything wrong that I do on a daily basis, and I actually tried to do some work for class but wasn’t understanding it and it frustrated me. I woke up in a terrible mood and then there goes Satan making a stupid comment about me being lazy and I just-”.

She pressed her lips to his hair as he tightened his grip around her, more apologies falling past his lips. “You’re allowed to be mad at it Mammon, it’s not fair. You don’t have to hold it all in until it breaks you, I’m here for you if you need to let it out. I’ll always be here.”

Once the words had left Mia she almost regretted it. She wasn’t sure that was the truth. What would happen after the exchange was over was still a mystery for both of them, and she didn’t know what she’d do if she couldn’t fulfill her promise. 

Fortunately, Mammon seemed to not want to dwell on it as he smiled at her with adoration in his eyes. It wasn’t a smirk or a mischievous smile reserved for when he got caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing. It was a sincere one, accompanied by his gentle gaze, only for her.

“I’ll make sure to come to you next time then, Mia.”

His expression remained in place, brilliant eyes that let her see something inside them she didn’t dare to hope it was real.

A couple more seconds passed without anyone breaking the silence before she heard him let out a quiet sigh as his gaze dropped to his lips, eyes drowning in longing for her. Hers probably the same for him. 

Mia wasn’t entirely sure who leaned in first but a moment later they were melting into each other. Mammon’s hands caressing her cheeks delicately as if she was the most precious thing he had ever seen, her fingers clutching at his shirt to anchor herself as if to get this fleeting moment to last as long as possible.

The kiss was slow but full of everything they had ever wanted to say to one another. All the care, worry, frustration and love they had been harboring inside them for the past few months were poured into that single kiss.

Eventually, they had to pull away to breathe, but even then they rested their foreheads together as they caught their breaths.

As Mia opened her eyes she caught Mammon’s smile, making her giggle. Suddenly, something crossed her mind that made her chuckle even more.

“You know Lucifer is going to kill us when neither of us shows up to the oh so important council meeting, right? What are we gonna do?”

He didn’t seem to need time to think about it as he pressed his lips against hers once again for the briefest moment. “I’m not really sure what we can do, but I know one thing. If he finally kills me, I think I can confidently say I died happy.”

The devilish chuckle he let out made Mia blush and hide her face in his hair. But even then, if she was being honest, she couldn’t say that she didn’t share his opinion on the matter. She already knew the Avatar of Greed would be the death of her one way or another anyway.

-

So that was it! I’m not tagging those to requested to be tagged in all my writing because I’m pretty sure they didn’t mean this kind of writing, but if anyone wants to be tagged then just ask! I’ve been very busy with classes but I’m still taking requests. Hope you enjoyed!

[thedistantstorm]

Breaking the Wheel

The Last City | Post Red War | New Monarchy | The Vanguard | City Politics | Suraya Hawthorne | Hard Truths | Pre-Relationship Steelponcho if you squint

"... what did she mean by that?"

Hawthorne shifts her weight subtly, he only catches the end of the movement. "Don't think too much about it. It's in the past."

Cool blue eyes narrow and soften all at once. "You told her that I was trustworthy," He reminds her. “That you trust me.”

Around them, the fragile, rebuilding City carries on. Lamps, lanterns, contained fires are lit where there is little remaining electrical infrastructure. No one pays the Commander and the newly appointed Clan Steward any mind. Cayde and Ikora have long since gone on ahead of them.

"Was that a lie?" He asks, knowing full well it isn't.

She shakes her head, blinking out of their staring contest. He frowns. "You are," Hawthorne eventually says, as people pass them by.  She steps forward, as if she's going to run right into him, but then to the side, so they stand shoulder to shoulder. She faces the base of the crumbling Tower, plumes of smoke still rising into the sky. He looks out at the rebuilding City - hardship and cooperation sowing the seeds of hope.

"Tell me," He says, and it's meant to be a command, but commands do not work on her. It's what he tells himself when his voice comes out softer, hoarse and concerned.

It has nothing to do with the growing well of suspicion in his loins he does not want to believe - does not want to find out, even if he knows, he does - to be the truth.

-/

They have made it a point to be accessible. Part of his reasoning in keeping Hawthorne in the fold is that she has her finger on the pulse of humanity. She doesn't see it, but he's learned to see that her supposed arrogance and standoffish behavior is a well-worn shield, designed to protect against attachments and the inevitable emotional hurts that would follow. Another is that she is unassuming. Cunning. Intelligent. Her resources held tens of thousands of people. She'd organized a relief effort in a week, held ground and kept people safe with minimal casualties, and her reasoning was that it was the right thing to do. He still wonders how it is her criminal record was more like a novella, sometimes. He knows she was preparing for a war, of some sort, but he doesn't understand what war she anticipated or why.

The people in this district are making due. It's barely different than the Farm here, though they're building houses and restoring what salvageable framework remains. But, the sense of permanence helps. It keeps spirits up. They're home. They've won. They will prevail here, too; Things will get better.

The old Tower burns at his back, jet fuel from the old hangar and electrical sparks causing many disturbances, wildfires that are more dangerous to fight because of how compromised the framework is. The district directly below it had been completely wiped out. They will not rebuild it until they are certain what's left of the Hall of Guardians will not collapse down upon it. Just thinking of it makes a distinct sadness creep into his heart. 

It was his home. 

He shakes his head. He cannot think of it now. There will be time later. (There won't, but his people need him.)

Before him, the rebuild of the Anchor District is going smoothly. He focuses on that. On the greatness that can be accomplished when Humans and Guardians stand together and work as one. 

Beside him, Hawthorne looks around with a sharp gaze. Not judging, like he'd initially thought when they met months ago. She's looking for something. She's seeing something he doesn't.

"Alright?"

She blinks. Her gaze doesn't dull. She hasn't found what she's looking for, or it requires more investigation.

"Fine," She says. "Let's see what's happening down here." If nothing else, it pleases him that she’s acclimated to considering the new Tower her place of residence.

Above them, red and white banners flap in the early evening wind.

Part of this is checking on rebuild progress with the dispatched planners. Another is making sure resources are being stretched appropriately and that if something else is needed: lumber, steel, medical supplies, food, that it's addressed. Moving people back to the City from the Farm is a slow process. One they will do right.

The planner smiles at Zavala when he asks if they have what they need. "New Monarchy is helping us," He says. "They're filling in the gaps. We want for nothing."

This has always been a poor area, and New Monarchy helps the poor. New Monarchy always supported industry as well, specifically plasteel. It's no secret that the Vanguard does requisition quite a bit from them. They've got jobs waiting for these people. Hideo was rather insistent that once the rebuild was sound he'd find ways to get people back to work, to do his part to rebuild the economy.

And yet, Hawthorne frowns when they leave, her face reverting to a careful mask when he makes it obvious he's looking at her.

"What is wrong?"

She clasps her hands behind her back, wringing them.

"He didn't seem to be lying," He informs her mildly, guessing at her apprehension. She’d expressed a concern to him before, regarding the Clans and the Factions. Specifically the latter infringing upon the former.

Hawthorne stops walking, the step she'd been about to take forward aborted mid-execution. "He wasn't," She tells him slowly. Her hands come around her front. She crosses them. 

He's spent enough time to know what uncomfortable and pensive look like on her. "What is it?"

"I dont-" She sighs. "I'm worried," She finally admits.

Blue eyes blink at her, so very bright. She does not market herself as an emotional creature, though he knows she feels as deeply as he does. To express it so blatantly means she does not feel her feelings are unfounded. “Explain.”

As if she's at war with herself, her dark eyes flutter closed. She squeezes her hands where they rest above the opposite elbow, releases her defensive pose and exhales.

There is something in her gaze that could cut diamonds, their normal shade of earthy brown cool and dark. "You asked me to stay because you believed I'd make a difference."

He nods, mutely. He was there, he does remember his well drafted list of reasons, his defenses, all the things he hadn't needed because he'd started honestly and she'd rewarded that with some trust and commitment of her own.

"Part of why I agreed is because you can't save this City from itself."

"What?"

She reaches out: her nimble, cold, gun-calloused fingers wrapping around his wrist. "You,” She pauses, features concentrating, trying to put things the best way she can, with the least amount of offense. He knows she’s trying, that she holds a fear of failing her people - their people - very close to her chest. “You don't know know this City like I do." Something in her gaze softens just a smidgen. "Come with me."

-/

They meet up with Ikora and Cayde near what will eventually be the restored plaza at the heart of the district. For now, the storefronts house people en mass, providing better shielding from the elements than tarps and tents.

Hope in the face of destruction, the heartiness of Humanity is something breathtakingly heartrending to behold. This was the scene of a last stand. Of humans and militia defending survivors. He’d been told the story. Flowers and candles alight the street, banners - Vanguard, New Monarchy, patchwork flags for Clans - fly overhead.

A ball rolls in front of them, and Cayde makes quick work to nudge it back to them. They holler and cheer, he aims finger-guns and makes a show of blowing them out with little sparks and smoke when they ooh and ah after him.

Ikora, tempered by Cayde, offers them a gentle acknowledgement of her own. She does not do as well with these sorts of things, but she is trying. She’d never admit it, but the truth to Hawthorne’s accusations - what it means to be a Guardian - all those nights ago in one of the decomposing barns of the Farm really bothered her.

They are welcomed into one of the larger, more intact storefronts. Hawthorne does not take point, like he’s expecting. Instead, he is the one who leads them, following an older woman to a back room with a wooden table.

It isn’t much. There are rolled up sleeping mats in what looks to be a door-less storage closet. The woman offers them something to drink, trying, despite it all to be a gracious host. They decline, and she nods. For the best. The people are still rationing water. The Cabal polluted much of the freshwater supply within the city with their refuse, jet fuel, and otherworldly oils.

They make idle small-talk, about the way the City’s rebuild is panning out, the good that comes when Light and Lightless work together. The woman tells them of the children whose parents and other elders take turns watching them so that work can be done, of how they’re working to re-implement some form of education system until things can return to normal.

“Thank you for your support,” She says eventually, nodding to each of them in turn. She has bright, silver-blue eyes that contrast her pewter-grey, fading hair that’s tucked back into a bun at the base of her head.

Zavala nods. “You have everything you need? We are happy to-”

“Yes,” She replies quickly, looking away. “Thank you.”

Across the room, Hawthorne leans back against the wall, crossing her arms again. Zavala looks at her. She gives him a sad smile.

“You can tell the truth,” Hawthorne encourages, gently.

The woman’s eyes find hers like magnets, pupils constricted. Conflict and panic written across her face.

“I-” She swallows. “It’s the truth. We do.” Her gaze finds Zavala’s and it makes him flinch, internally, makes him want to recoil. This woman is afraid of him. Why is this woman afraid of him? “You’ve been more than generous.”

Hawthorne closes her eyes while Ikora’s eyes narrow and Cayde stops his idle fidgeting for once. The woman looks at her, pleadingly. The Clan steward steps to the woman, sitting at the table and drops to a knee, crouching beside her. “I trust him.”

“But-” His ears feel hot, and there is something akin to panic that bubbles in his chest. He has never wanted to strike fear into the hearts of the people. He wants to protect them from anything, anyone, any form of danger or strife. He would never be their aggressor. Why does this woman believe he would bear her any ill will? He would lay down and die for her - for any of them. He would-

“He is not Hideo’s man.” Hawthorne says. She rises and places a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes are unfathomably open. He cannot look away. “He is the City’s and hers alone.”

Then, Zavala blinks at the woman, who looks at him in earnest. Broken. Hopeful. Terrified. He wants to ask how, why she feels the way she does, but more than that, he wants to get down on his knees and beg her to understand. Compelled, he takes one of her hands in both of hers and tries. “What is happening,” He asks. “Please, tell me.” His voice is hoarse. Ikora and Cayde look at each other, then the ground. Their stances are rigid, uncomfortable.

“Tithing began last week.” She sighs. “What we don’t have in money, they take in other ways.”

“Tithing? For what?”

“New Monarchy is supporting the rebuild.”

“The Vanguard is funding-”

“Not all of it.” The woman barks back, a whip-crack of anger in her voice. “I had thought it would subside, because of the War,” She looks up at him, her eyes three shades paler than his, but blazing with emotion. “Food, medical supplies, water. Manual labor. Not glimmer, but even more valuable now.”

“They should have enough,” Ikora says.

Hawthorne looks at the wall across from her, eyes half lidded and stormy.  “They have factories to rebuild if they’re going to meet their contracts.” Her eyes meet Zavala’s.

He breathes sharply, eyes darting over the grain of the wood that makes the table top, grasping for something, anything he can do. “I will-”

“You didn’t know,” The woman realizes, speaking with sudden conviction. She places her other hand atop his, no longer blinded by fear. “Did you?”

“I-”

“He didn’t,” Cayde agrees immediately. “Zavala would never ever, not in a million years, ever let this go on if he knew.”

“They are trying to keep the poor poor. I do not want my grandchildren to beg for scraps like I did, like my children after me, because it is only by New Monarchy’s graciousness that we should be divvied any aid when they are the ones who take our wages and extras in the first place. They do not give us support. The Guardians, City Forces, Militia, the Clans give us support.”

The woman says, “I don’t know that they’ve ever done anything good for me or mine.” She frowns, her eyes focusing on something not present, something that exists only in her mind. Hawthorne turns and steps out of the room. “No. They’ve done one good thing for this City.” She turns her head, looks to his right, directly at Suraya. “They’ve exiled a child.”

Hawthorne’s eyes turn to steel, her fists clenched tightly at her side and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

“They could not.”

“They did,” She pushes.

“Impossible.”

“Not as much as you’d think,” The woman says, softer. Her withered hands squeeze his and withdraw. “That man would have the world believe you are to be our king. Certainly you know it. He tells us that you are pleased when they do well. That you are his friend - a friend of New Monarchy.” She growls, “Commander Zavala, a friend of New Monarchy is no friend of this City, not of her people, and not of me and mine. A friend of New Monarchy is that, and that alone. Even if their tenets say otherwise.”

Zavala learns. He listens and he learns and he takes to heart - even if he does try to listen objectively. This is the woman’s opinion. But she is not the only one with it, and there is no way for him to deny it holds some modicum of truth. He sees it when they return to the City streets, and the sun is setting. There is apprehension in the faces of the downtrodden, in the ones who live in the shadow of the factions, of New Monarchy. They believe him to be Hideo’s king. Belief is a powerful, terrifying thing.

-/

“That woman believed New Monarchy had the ability to exile a child,” He tells her, pacing in front of one of the still-abandoned storefronts. “The Consensus is the only governing body in this city who could exile anyone. And by no means would they ever,” He spits angrily, “EVER, exile a child. Not for murder. Not for theft. Not for anything.”

“They didn’t,” Technically, Suraya thinks.

"Then what did she mean by that?" He feels a prickle of something unpleasant, a suspicion growing in his belly.

Hawthorne shifts her weight subtly, he only catches the end of the movement, "Don't think too much about it. It's in the past."

Cool blue eyes narrow and soften all at once. "You told her that I was trustworthy," He reminds her. "That you trust me. Was that a lie?"

"You are," Hawthorne eventually says, as people pass them by.  She steps forward, back toward home, back toward the Tower.

"Tell me," He asks of her. “What did she mean? She was not a liar.”

“The child,” She sighs, shaking her head in a way that indicates she cannot believe she’s saying this, “They exiled themselves.”

“What?”

“It was that or New Monarchy would target their family. They made a choice. It was one they’d been planning to make, anyway.”

“Who.”

“It doesn’t-”

“Suraya.” His eyes burn into her with something akin to fury, compassion, heartbreak wrapped together and packed in an ultraviolet glow.

She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and doesn’t answer.

He closes his eyes, and for a moment she wonders if he’s going to cry, faced with the truth. His City, his beloved, precious City failed her. “Why?”

“I’d been stealing from them, for people like these. He’d said things-” Horrible, ugly, revolting, untrue things, “-and I punched him-”

“You were a child.”

“Almost fifteen.” She takes each of his clenched fists in one of her own. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It most certainly does.”

“You’re a good man,” She says, and it breaks the undercurrent of rage in his voice, his surprise giving him pause. She offers him a tiny smile as she steps back. “You would have stopped him.”

He answers her without hesitation. “Of course!”

“I’m not upset that it happened. Not to me. Not anymore.” She looks up at the Tower, then back at the seedlings of the City reborn. “I don’t want it to happen to anyone else.”

“We can change things,” He whispers, with conviction. “I know it.”

She nods. His arm comes around her shoulders. She bars her own cross his lower back. The City expands. The Vanguard is listening. They have the Clans. It will be a fight, but things will not go back to what they had. 

“We already have.”

[justfangstvdto]

Open Coffin | Chapter 24: “All´s Fair and Karma is a Bitch”

Pairing: Kol x SalvatoreSister!Reader

Chapter Summary: A surprising return sets the reader and Kol on a path of no return..

Warnings:  canon-divergent lore (it'll make sense when you read it, I promise) this one is also mostly focused on Kol, angst, typical tvd violence, so much dialogue, canon divergence

Word count: 4389

Tags & Author Note at the bottom. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

Open Coffin Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

Recap:

What’s going on?”  Is all you could manage to bring out before you grab the couch again, this time covering the floor before you with a steady stream of blood. It feels like you’re drowning in your own blood.

With your brain in overdrive, you feel your vision declining the more blood is coming out of your mouth, before suddenly everything engulfs into black, as if someone flipped of a light in a dark room. You fall back against Kol unconscious, blood dripping from the corners of your mouth.

“What did you do?!” Kol grits through his teeth, as he scoops you up in his arms to lay you down on the couch behind him..

“Not a thing. She brought that on herself.” Mae shrugs without a care in the world “But this is only the beginning…Say goodbye to the Y/N you know and love. She won’t be the same when she wakes up.”   

“Speak. Now!” Kol demands. If she´ss not cooperating soon, Kol will resort to deliciously brutal alternatives, no matter if you claim that she’s your friend. He doesn’t care.

“Patience.” Mae says, her voice layer with a tick of annoyance “But first, I have someone here who is dying to talk to you.”

Kol straightens up, as the sound of heavy boots echoes in the hall. He couldn’t see the person’s face at first due to the blinding sunlight, but when he finally does, all he wants to do is run for his life….

“Surprised to see me?” Klaus smug smile evokes many feelings in Kol, but surprise? No, Kol is not surprised in the slightest. His brother has always managed to get what he wants, the way he wants. Of course, he would find a way to cheat death.

He looks at his older brother, then back to the couch, stepping in his line of sight. Maybe he would focus his rage on him instead of you. But that's might just wishful thinking on his part.

“I'm pretty sure you went up in flames..” Damon Mutter, not quite believing his eyes.

“Oh, I very much did. Quite unpleasant, really. But my dear Maeyra used her vast resources to secure my well-being.” He says, moving his attention to Kol  “Cat's got your tongue, brother?”

“Well, brother, I´m not particularly surprised to see you,” Kol replies.

Using the word brother remains to be more of a dismissive term, and Klaus knows that. And he also knows that Kol´s statement is a lie, he didn´t overlook the obvious surprise on his brother's face. However mischievous Kol remains to be, he has always been a bad liar.

“Can we, uh get back to how you´re even here right now?” Stefan says “We drove a stake through your heart.”

“You?” Klaus scoffs, dismissing their involvement to nothing but a coincident “You, gentlemen,  were nothing but a pawn - an accessory if you will- to Y/N´s Shakespearean thirst for revenge.”

Stefan quirks his eyebrows up before letting them fall back to their usual resting position. He could reply to Klaus statement verbally. He had things to say about him, he just isn't sure he wants to waste time bothering.

“I knew you couldn´t be trusted.”  Damon says, averting his words to Mae “Y/N always did have poor taste in friends.”

“Congratulations, you got me. Boohoo.” Mae sighs, before giving Klaus a pleading look   “Would you mind? ”

Klaus smiles and vamp-speeds towards Damon standing nearest and snaps his neck, before quickly moving on to Stefan who couldn't even register what was going on before he too was engulfed in blackness.

“Now, that's better.” Klaus dusts off his hands,  “All talk those Salvatores. Well, except for one. “

“Look, “Kol says, having more pressing matters to attend than useless platitudes, “I´d love to chat about whatever this is, but I have an unconscious girlfriend covered in blood back there, so would you mind buggering off. Your betrayal is not on my to-do list today.”

“Betrayal?” Klaus laughs, fake offended “Don't be so dramatic, brother. Maeyra and I merely joined forces because you couldn't keep your girl in line.  She helped me lift my curse, I felt obligated to help her. After all, what's worth dying for if not love?”

Love...Kol could not even begin to associate that word with anything his brother does. It makes him sick to his stomach. Or perhaps it´s the worry about your current condition- either way, he senses a veil of danger in the air. Danger that feels different, blood curling and cold.

What if she's right and you won't be the same. But what if-  

He pushes the thought aside. If they want to lay their secrets bare for once, he’ll bite their bait.

“Curse?” He asks “What curse?”

“It ain't a curse exactly, but you know, it's six of one, half dozen of the other,” Mae says as she walks further into the room, going straight for your unconscious form. She reaches out, but Kol's firm grasp on her wrist prevents any contact.

“Hands off. “ He warns and everyone knows he'll only warn once.

“I could say the same. “Klaus says, the usual charismatic and boastful s voice nothing but a dangerous whisper.

“Oh, so much Testosterone…” Mae sighs under her breath and pulls her hand free from Kol and heads for the bar. The next bit requires booze. And a lot of it.

Kol follows her every move, while also keeping tabs on Klaus. He's unsure who out of them will screw things up first or who’ll drive him to insanity- whichever comes first.

“Long story short, the magic I once possessed was stored away in here before I became a vampire.” She says and brushes over the scar on her face “The sacrifice of an original was the ultimate source to overpower the protection spell. It was the only way to retrieve said power, alongside rare ingredients I've gathered for the last 100 years. This spell was supposed to set my magic free. But someone must have intercepted it. ”

“Wasn't us.” Kol shakes his head and judging by the look on his opposer they don´t seem convinced. “I never heard of a spell like this. And magic drains away during the transition, how would you retrieve it?”

“Because my magic was hidden away before I was turned,  it wasn't lost like yours was. See it as a loophole, no magic drains away if it's undetected.”

Kol read about witches hiding their magic in objects, but never in themselves.

“And what about Y/N? She never had powers.”

“Turns out Momma Salvatore had powers of her own. Weak power but enough to pass it on to Y/N. After her birth, she chose to hide her magic within her. She wanted to tell her when she was older, to give her a choice, but she died before she could do so.”

“And do tell, how do you know this?”

“I might have stolen her diary a few centuries ago. Apparently, everyone in this family is keeping diaries.” She shrugs before rummaging around in her bag, “It's no use to me now if you want it, it's yours.” She slides the worn leatherbound book over the table.

“Now now, love,” Klaus says and leans towards her as if he's sharing a terrible secret “don't skip the best part.”

“Y/N is in transition, fighting a battle in her mind that either leaves her with vampire advantages and witch powers or…” She says, and hesitates for a second “well…..dead. “

Kol feels like someone tightened a noose around his neck. If you look close, you could see the perfected mask of pretend crumbling down and ram emotions taking over. And Kol's first emotion is always its anger.

He digs his fingertips into the leather, and slowly drags his eyes off the carpeting and states at his opponents, ready for torturing the truth out of them if he has to.

“Before you go all Dexter on me, there is a way to help. But you ain't gonna like the cost.”

Klaus turns his head at her words, quickly shaking his head “Out of the question. I will not allow it.”

“Tell me.” Kol demands “Tell me what we have to do to save her.”

There's no question that Kol will do whatever it takes.

No matter the cost.

--------

Kol had forgotten how much he used to enjoy watching the sunrise. The light streaming into the living room is bold and free for anyone who cares to open their eyes in the dawn and watch the world awake.

Even when the world was drowning in grief and hardship, the sky remained beautiful. It always gave him hope that if the sun keeps rising, so could he.

Even though his name alone represents darkness, he always found it humorous when the rising sun would shine a light on his bloody indiscretions committed during the dark hours of the day.

But none of that matters, it hadn't mattered since he stumbled into his life. He doesn't need the sunrise anymore, he sees the light beneath the darkness on his own now. And he wonders how much good it´ll do him when-

A knock on the doorframe interrupts his thoughts, and he turns his head towards the intruder.

“Still nothing?” Stefan asks, and Kol shakes his head.

Stefan, alongside his brother, woke up in the midst the preparations to ensure your survival. They demanded answers as they do, but soon realized that the cost, however great it is, must be

The only opponent of said plan was, to everyone's surprise,  Klaus.

“The cost is too great, brother. Let her fight on her own.” Is what he said. Of course, his brother would only think of himself if he were in his shoes. Kol didn't expect anything else. Nonetheless, the plan was executed all the same, with or without Klaus approval.

“It will work, I assure you.” Kol says,  the tone in his voice, less confident than he intended  “But I have a favour to ask. Do not mention it when she wakes up. She won't accept it”

“I won't. Damon won´t either, I´ll make sure of it.”   

Kol nods his head as a silent thank you. Stefan attention bounces around the room, looking at the couch, then back to Kol, before he clears his throat and steps further into the room.

“You know I, uh. I wouldn't know what I would've done if she-”. He pauses, “Just.. thank you for helping. “

“Don't thank me yet. Y/N will-… you know how she is. She'll take it out on you when she learns the truth”

“I know. “Stefan sighs and looks over to the couch, suddenly remembering why he stepped into the room in the first place. “Uh right.. I found this upstairs. She's gonna need it” He reaches into his pocket and hands Kol your daylight ring.

Promptly, Kol reaches for your hand slides the ring on your fingers with care, holding onto your hand afterwards.

“I hope you can forgive me someday.” He says, his voice faint as a whisper.

He didn't care if Stefan - or anyone else for that matter - heard him.

“I´ll uh,” Stefan clears his throat “I´ll give you some space. Got some things to take care of anyway. My number is in Y/N´s phone, call if you need anything.”

Kol knows he should say something, a thank you perhaps, but he lets Stefan walk away against his better judgment.

---

You were out cold for another hour, the only sign of life was your shallow breathing and the occasional wincing. And Kol remained a wreck. He tried pacing the room to calm his nerves, he tried reading and drinking - nothing helped.

So he waited and waited. Then just as the hand of the clock strikes another hour, your hand that's resting on the sofa balls to a fist and he sees you sit up, breathing heavy.

“Darling?”  He asks wearily, rushing to your side. But He's met with nothing but silence. “Y/N, talk to me.”

“I'm fine, I just…what fuck? I feel like I’m.. honestly, I feel like I’m high on something. Everything feels more vibrant and.. weird.”

Kol smiles and thinks back to the time where he first tapped into his magic it felt like he was surrounded by buzzing energy, ready to be He´d count your reaction as a good sign that the plan worked.

“What's wrong?” You ask, not having missed the worry on Kol's face. “What did I miss?

He has absolutely no idea how to tell you the news without either setting you off to everyone involved, presumably raining hellfire upon them, or…….. actually no, that's his main concern, So he starts with your new and unexpected powers instead. How your mother had witch powers and hid it within your bones. And how the induced sleep intended to kill you but you fought through it. Of course, he left out everything else it intels.

“I think I’m gonna pass out. Witch powers, really? Me?” You scoff,  dragging your fingers through your hair, “As if I didn't have enough problems just keeping myself in check, now witch powers too? How long do you think before I accidentally set something on fire? “

“Not a chance. I will help you take control.”

“You teaching me control? We’re so screwed.”

Kol can´t help the confused look on his face, as he scrunched his eyebrows together and glances at you with concern.

“Hey, I'm kidding. But you should´ve seen your face. “

Kol sighs and it bleeds over to a smile, before disappearing completely. He had a job to do.

“There’s something else, two matters in fact.” Kol continues “But first..what do you say we make good on our promises? Travel the world, just you and me.”

“Do you even have to ask? Of course, I'm coming with you” You reply “Now tell me everything. “

----

His confidence held up for about 5 minutes before all your emotional stability went out of the window. Once he passed explaining that Klaus is alive and well, he moved to Mae´s indiscretion

Of course, Kol failed in his attempt to keep you calm. By the time he explained his agreement with Klaus and Mae´s..indiscretion, you were out of the door, tracing her down.

Kol said you should let it go, you were lied to, it wasn't your fault- but your trust had been shattered and you have a score to settle. 

“What the hell?!” You yell at her, your voice bouncing off the outer walls of the Mikaelson Mansion. You knew she wouldn´t be far.

“Hell's right here.” She says, before she´s met with your balled fist. She tumbles back, and laughs  “Whew! The infamous right hook. You still got it. “

“You´ve been working with Klaus all this time? After everything, he did to me, to Kol?"

“We all do what must be done, and I've done nothing more than profit off of your anger.”

“Do you even hear yourself? Profit of my anger?” You huff, not bothering waiting for an answer “How could you? Klaus ruined my life and everyone´s life he ever touched! How could you protect him? I had him, Mae. I ended this for all of us.”

“And what did it get you, huh? Did you feel better? Did driving a stake through his heart relief you of the pain he caused? Revenge means nothing, and it will give you nothing.    Your foolish scheme would have been the end of us, and honestly, you should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you? Are you fucking serious? You sided with my enemy!”

“I saved your life. And you have powers now. That´s a gift, a freedom I searched for decades. You better start being more grateful.”

“I didn't ask for any of this! I don't want them and I don't need them.”

“Well, you got ‘em. And you gotta to use them or they'll eat you alive. Literally.”

“I know all about it.” You brush her off.  Kol told you that the powers demand to be used or they´d claw at your skin until there's no skin left, 

“Just tell me how long you've been working with him." You continue "Then I’ll do the part where I tell you to go to hell, before we go our separate ways.”

“Shortly after you jumped ship, and joined Kol in his efforts, Klaus came to me asking for assistance and we made a deal. He would do anything he can to rid me of this curse and I will help him set his werewolf powers free. And protect him if anything goes south.

“I´m sorry, is this the point where I'm supposed to sympathize with you? Because that's not gonna happen. “  

“You might if you let me finish. “

“You know, I actually thought your efforts were noble when I first joined your community. I thought, hey finally something with purpose, something to make up for what I've become. And now I find out everything was a lie? Just another power play with me as the main act? And for what, more power than you already have?”

“Now do get off that high horse of yours. You ain't the saint you externalize either.” She snaps back but quickly regains her stellar demeanour  "But it ain't about power, it never has been. It's about being myself without having a part locked away. I deserve that freedom, no matter the cost.”

You almost have sympathy with her, but the fact that she has been lying to you pretty much ever since you´ve met melts any and all sympathy you had.

“But you broke my trust to get that freedom. I trusted you and I don't trust anyone.”

You could count on one hand the number of people that you genuinely trust, and she was on that list once upon a time.

“Let’s be frank, we never trusted each other.”

“We both know that's a lie. But if you're gonna stand here and explain it away, so be it. I have somewhere else to be.” You know full well that she's just trying to relieve her guilt, but you won't have any of it. Not anymore  “This is goodbye, Mae. If I find anyone coming after me, I'll kill them.”

With that, you turn your back on not only her but all the time you've spent trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. You actually thought you could trust her again.

“I know it'll mean nothing to you now,” She says, but you keep walking “but you will always have a home in New Orleans. No matter what happens or what you think of me, or my actions - you are always welcome.”

“Whatever.”

-------

Back at the house, you didn't think twice before packing your bags. Kol told you about the deal he made with his family; You both leave town, leaving Klaus in peace from now on. That's the price to pay for killing him or well, failing to kill him.  But if the past hours have taught you anything, is that if you´re presented a way out of a dire situation like this, you shouldn't hesitate. Maybe leaving town will finally give you the chance to leave all of this behind.

Perhaps everything you´ve done has finally let you here.

“All packed up, huh?” Stefan says from the doorway.

You look up and smile at him before turning back, throwing a t-shirt into your suitcase “Yeah. No idea where we´re going just yet, but I guess we're just gonna pick a place and go.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You sure you don't want to join us? There´s enough space.”

“I would but I, uh, we have some things to figure out here.” He says and you nod, zipping up the suitcase in front of you.

“Come on, let me help you with that.” Stefan offers, and grabs the handle, disappearing out of the room before you can protest.

Downstairs, you´re greeted by Damon´s presence, having just come back from some kind of business in town.

“You're leaving already?” He asks as you descend the stairs.

“Don't tell me you're sad about me leaving?” 

“Maybe.”

“Maybe, huh?" You look back at Stefan behind you, quirking an eyebrow "The old Damon couldn't wait for me to go. What happened to him?“

“That Damon got his ass kicked and almost his head blown off by his little sister. I got rid of him.”

“About that.. “ 

“It's fine.” He waves it off. 

"Still, I´m sorry."  "But hey, we´re finally parting on good terms, who would've thought?”

“Wait for him to screw it up,” Stefan says and cocks his head towards Damon.

Damon grimaces a fake laugh, before reaching out and pulling you into an unexpected hug “You take care, little sis.”

“Oh god, don´t call me that, weirdo.”

“I'll call you whatever I want, weirdo.” He replies "Where´s your scary boyfriend?" 

Squeaking tires and loud music diverts your attention and you open the door, just in time to see Kol pulling up on the driveway.

“Right there.”

“You've got to be kidding me. Who is he trying to be, John Cusack in Say Anything? Not with a boombox over his head but with obnoxiously cheesy 80’s music?”

“Chessy?! Pft no taste. “Stefan mutters.

“If he's gonna turn that shit up, “Damon says  “I’m gonna punch the radio until my ears stop bleeding.”

“What did you say?!” Kol yells over the music, having just rolled the window down “I'm afraid I can't hear you?! Must be my old age. “

Damon groans “Just go already. I can't take it.”

“Fine, I'm going.” You approach the car, opening the passenger side, throwing your suitcase in the back before hopping into the passenger seat.

You lean out of the open window, looking back to your brother's, as Kol turns the ignition back on “Don't open the door to strangers, stay out of my room and don't call me unless you really have to. Actually, no don't call me at all.” You give them a wink before giving Kol the go, and he floors the car, driving away with squeeking tires.

Stefan and Damon remain behind and wave goodbye from the entrance to the house. Once you're out the driveway and out hearing distance, their smiles fall and worry spreads over them.

“She´s gonna hate us when she finds out.” Stefan says, chewing on the inner corners of his cheek “You know that, right?”

“Yup.” Damon nods “We're officially the worst brothers in history.”

“Yeah..You think she's gonna find out before...you know?”

“It´s Y/N, what do you think?”

“Yup, we´re screwed.”

Damon sighs and claps him on the shoulder “Royally screwed, little bro. Royally screwed..”

----

The road out of Mystic Falls is smooth black river in the dying sun. The sort where you'd follow them wondering if they'd ever cease to wind their way through nature.

You´re propped up on the hood of the car, legs crossed and soaking in the last rays of the sun. You asked Kol to pull over the car to savour this moment of leaving town, instead of just driving past the sign.

It reads "Leaving Mystic Falls" …  it's like music to your ears.

It was always the plan to travel the world together, to show Kol what he has been missing, and today, finally after hardship, murder and pain, the day has come. You wanted to leave this place for weeks now, but something, be it the ugly green hue of the sign or Kol´s unusual silent manner made you question your choice even just the tiniest amount..

“Who would've thought we're actually leaving this town behind for good?” You say, slipping your hand in his that's resting on his thigh before bathing in the sunset. “ Riding into the sunset even, how perfect is this? “

“I know,” Kol says, staring at your intertwined hand, rubbing his thumb over your skin.

You look over and instead of a beaming smile, you see his head hanging low.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Of course.” He says and lifts your hand, chasting a kiss on the delicate skin “Just...thinking about where to go first.”

“I don't care where we go. As long as you´re here, I have everything I need.”

“Let's not waste time then.” He says, and jumps off the car, throwing the keys towards you “Do you want to drive first? You've been eying this car ever since we left.”

“You know you're the only one I’m eyeing here.”  You reply, “Okay maybe the car as well.”

Kol laughs and finds himself tracing the cars shiny exterior in an exaggerated attentive manner “She's almost as beautiful as you.”

“Did you just...compare me to a car?”

“Your beauty knows no bounds, darling. Not even mechanical ones. ”

“Okay that's enough, get the in the car, Romeo.”

He laughs and you swear you never heard anything more heart-stoppingly beautiful.

You turn the volume up with a flick of the nob attached to the vintage radio and put the gear in drive, before flooring the pedal, leaving the town sign in the dirt.

Kol looks out of the passenger window, watching the trees fly by in motion and he feels an unfamiliar feeling settling in his chest, he could only describe as contentment.

He’s free. Finally.

And so in love.

And his life had 6 months left to run……..

A/N: Whew..on a scale from 1 to 10 how much do you hate me for the last sentence?  :D 

This is the last chapter before we have our  season finale or book 1 finale or whatever you like to call it. So prepare yourself for the next chapter, where we finally find out what exactly the price was for the reader's survival.

But I am so curious to know what you think! Any theories, criticism or any feedback are incredibly appreciated!!

Open Coffin Tags:  @shadylittlewonder @thegoddessofvampire @newurleans @originalbish98 @acourtofhopeanddreams @bonniebird @imnoaingeal @vaniileiinkeks  @relmi-llorrac @piercethepottorff @maliae14  @5-seconds-of-animals @the-geeky-engineer   @rock-n-magick @flymeawayworld @givemesomehybrid @mikealsonlover @nuteller28 @fandoms-fandoms-everywhere99 @drkplum @fandooomqueenforyou @free-the-fangirl @clockworkballerina @twisted1ginger @superwholocksociopath474   @pacifyprincess@mustachio1616 @thealyana @sandyclaws @unicorntrooper @buckysummers @sanity-is-overratedxp @akshi8278 @lunna-star-8 @graysonmalfoy @woodworthti666 @elenavaldez02 @lilulo-12 @selmasemlan @thelostallycat @characterobsessed @cococola-cocaine @crazyinternetgirl @tvdplusriverdale @-thatgirloverthere-  @alwxadria345 @trymexo @mizzezm @willieshakesqueer @spunky-89 @putyourherohaironstefan @xxdragonagequeenxx @thegingerthatwaited @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven @hinata7346 @controloffandoms

[thenovelartist]

Fickle Things Called Emotions

I was going to take this week off. But then... this episode and the Gabriel/Nathalie!!!!!And I just can’t not write for this couple holy cow!!!

Only she knew what a lie her last name was.  

And honestly, she hated that fact.

Nathalie shut the door to her apartment, thankful the day was over. But mostly, that she was away from him.

Her chest felt tight. She tried in vain to breathe deeply, but she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Having your hope smashed hurt immensely. Having your heart broken on top of that was twice as painful. But the worst part of it all was knowing she shouldn’t have let her heart get where it was in the first place.

Nathalie prided herself in keeping a level head. In letting rationality guide her. Yet, here she was, trapped in a predicament she knew full well she could have avoided. Like a fool, she hadn’t.

She took a shuttering breath, feeling the strong walls that held back her emotions crumble. She had trained herself well on how to school her outward emotions, but here in the safety of her apartment, she let herself sink to the floor. And sob.

With the tears pouring from her eyes, she lifted her head to tug off her glasses. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, then dabbed at her nose with the back of it. That’s when she saw it.

The little, white butterfly.

It rested before her, wings slowly opening and closing. She placed her glasses on and stared, a new, dreadful realization coming to her. With such rampant emotions, he would know them.

All of them. Even the shamefully intimate ones.

She couldn’t help but start up crying again.

…

“Nathalie.”

“There is nothing to talk about, sir.”

“Nathalie.”

She turned to face him.

Only to be surprised at just how close he was.

She was silent, unwilling to speak unless spoken to. She knew anything she said could and would be used against her. He was talented that way. She admired it when dealing with less than cooperative people. She admired it when dealing with entitled socialites. She especially admired it when used on the Mayor of Paris or his wonderful wife.

She did not admire it when she was facing him off.

“Your last name betrays you.”

She shrugged.

He waited for her to speak. She was certain he would realize she wasn’t about to.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she said.

“You don’t believe that.”

No, she didn’t. But then again, they were talking about her and her emotions, not the fact that Gabriel was clinging to a wisp of a chance that he could get Emilie back.

Sadly, his capacity to love so deeply, to be so loyal to his love, was one of the many things she admired about him.

“Spit it out,” he said.

“Spit what out?”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.

Nathalie knew she couldn’t play dumb with him. He knew she was far too smart for that. “You need to let her go.”

“But there’s a chance—”

“Gabriel,” she said, her voice now stern and hard. “You have to let her go. This is not healthy for anyone. Adrien himself is learning to let go and move on. It’s been over a year. This… this is not the way to handle a loss.”

“Emilie is not lost.”

“Gabriel.”

There was a silence for a moment.

“I’m not saying any of this because of my emotions.”

“I would never discredit you so.”

She quirked a brow at him.

He quirked a brow back. “You are far too level-headed for that.”

She was. Hence why it was such a shame she let her emotions run so rampant. Especially around this man. “Gabriel, I will say it again: this is not healthy. You are clinging to a woman who would have been dead had you not had the money to preserve her. You are destroying your relationship with your son. Your obsession with gaining the miraculous is all-consuming.”

“It will be worth it when I get her back.”

“When?” Nathalie challenged, raising her voice enough to gain a reaction from Gabriel. “How long does this have to go on before you realize that there is no end to this? You are not going to win this fight.”

“You don’t know that, Nathalie.”

“I know that if you continue this behavior, you will see my two-week’s notice and destroy your relationship with your son. Is that worth getting Emilie back?”

This forced Gabriel to pause.

“You’re so focused on getting your wife back for your son that you are missing spending time with your son. You’re missing the fact he has friends. You are missing the fact he has a crush on the young designer, and that she has a crush on him.”

Gabriel’s eyes opened wide at that.

Nathalie nodded. “It’s clear as day if you watch their interactions. And you aren’t there for him to help him through.” Not that you would be much help. Your son had to get his obliviousness somewhere.

They stood there silently, the words hanging in the air.

“Emilie would be better at—”

“She is not here, Gabriel,” Nathalie snapped, her emotions getting the better of her. “Nor will she be for the foreseeable future. You are. Do not let this time you have with your son disappear.”

“Why do you think I’m so anxious­ to capture those miraculous? I need her back.”

“No, you don’t,” Nathalie said, her voice suddenly weak and her heart hurting more than she could have possibly imagined. “What you need is to learn to let go.”

“I can’t.”

Nathalie stared at him hard. “You mean you won’t.”

“Are you so adverse to having her back?”

“I am adverse to letting you destroy yourself and your relationships to do so.”

Gabriel stared at her long and hard.

Nathalie took a breath to fortify herself. “You said you admire me for being level-headed,” she finally answered. “So let me be the voice of reason, Gabriel. And please heed it: Emilie is gone. Do not try chasing after what you’ve lost only to lose all you have in the process.” And with that, she spun on her heel and marched to the door. She’d said all she could say, and she was worn weary.

“Don’t think I can’t feel your emotions,” he said just as she grabbed the door handle, ready to pull it open and walk out.

“I know you can,” she countered. “But I’m adept to overriding them.”

“You care very deeply,” he observed.

She shrugged.

“I won’t do you the disservice of accusing you of jealousy.”

“I would hope you knew me better than that.”

He held her gaze a long while longer. She didn’t back down.

“I’m sorry that I cannot equal those feelings.”

“I understand why,” she replied. “Just as much as I understand I have no right to feel such things.”

“Emotions are fickle things,” Gabriel said.

Nathalie sighed. “Unfortunately.” And with that, she walked out the door, letting it shut softly behind her.

[writingstoriesinpajamas]

Greyzone 2

It’s been a while, but we’ve got some demon action going on here!

Word Count: 1786

The restaurant they’d booked for that night was pretty nice; warm, quiet and not too busy. Theo was led to a table by the server and sat waiting for Dylan, pondering over the menu and listening in on the neighbouring table’s conversation. A text popped up on her phone, turning out to be Dylan letting her know he was stuck in traffic. Typical, she’d been rushing around for the past couple of hours getting home and getting ready, and she’d ended up having to wait. She didn’t mind though, she just wanted food.

The dizziness came back again, just a faint feeling in her eyes that made the lights brighter and blurry. Closing her eyes for a few seconds didn’t seem to help, nor did having a drink of water, and she wondered if she maybe was coming down with something.

Ignore it and it’ll go away, she thought. Ignore it just for tonight.

“Hey babe, sorry I’m so late,” came a voice from behind her, and her boyfriend sat down at the table. “There was an accident or whatever just down the road and everything’s closed, but I made it- and now I’m starving!”

“Hey, that’s alright. I’ve already ordered us a starter so that should just be coming.”

Dylan’s eyes lit up, “garlic bread?”

“Garlic bread.”

“Heh, you know me so well,” he grinned, picking up the menu. “What are you having for a main?”

The dizziness surged over her again and her vision lurched, her body feeling as though it was tipping to one side. Dylan didn’t notice, and so she straightened herself once it had subsided and answered him, before pulling out her phone and searching up causes of dizziness. This turned out to be a bad idea, as she was either dying or dead, and so slipped her phone back into her bag and concentrated on not thinking about it.

Easier said than done.

“So how was work today?” Dylan asked, setting the menu aside. “Anything exciting?”

“Pretty tame,” she replied. “No serial killers yet.”

He opened his mouth to speak again, but a waitress came over with a platter of garlic bread and their drinks, which they both managed to finish within five minutes. They ordered their mains and sat talking, Theo getting Dylan’s stories from the day.

And then dizziness- worse this time, and she felt she may throw up. Excusing herself to the bathroom, she went sat in a cubicle and leaned against the wall, feeling her forehead for signs of fever- which was just cold and clammy. She took a couple of deep breaths as the sickness faded away, and exited the stall; coming face to face with a man wearing a short, dark jacket. She couldn’t quite concentrate on his features, what with her eyes going in and out of focus, but he spoke quietly into an earpiece and Theo backed away slightly.

“Sorry, you shouldn’t be in here,” she said, eyeing him up.

“Hey, I need your name and age please, I’ve got a warrant to restrain you and take you into custody.” He said. His tone was official but his wording suggested otherwise and Theo’s suspicions went through the roof. Her heart pounded and she backed up further, hitting the back wall.

“What for? What’s going on?”

The man took a step closer, “come on, this will be much easier if you don’t ask questions and just do as I say. Please come with me, it’s for your own and others’ benefit.”

“No- not until you tell me what’s going on! Who are you? What do you-”

She was hit by another spell of dizziness and lost her balance, stumbling forward only to be caught by the man. She tried to scramble away but her arms wouldn’t cooperate and her legs gave out, crumbling further into the man’s arms.

“Boss!” the man yelled, laying her down gently into the floor, “it’s starting!”

Another man, this one much taller and wearing a longer jacket, stepped into the room and crouched next to her.

“Damn it, too late.” He grunted, “We should’ve gone in earlier. Clear the area.”

The first man nodded and dashed out of the bathrooms, leaving the two alone.

“What’s going on?” Theo asked, her speech coming out slurred.

“I need your name, ma’am.” He said, “this is urgent. Please cooperate.”

“Th-Theo,” she stammered. “I’ll cooperate if you tell me what’s… going on.”

Her head pounded and the overhead lights flared brighter, the room spinning around her.

“It’s alright ma’am, in a moment you’re just going to black out. How old are you?”

“Twenty- twenty-one… but, blackout?”

She tried to roll over, to move, to do anything- but her body was immobile and the man placed his hand on her shoulder, his voice soft but stern.

“There’s no need to worry, Theodora. Just lie back there- that’s it.”

Theo began to feel incredibly drowsy, but something he had just said registered in her mind and before she drifted unconscious she managed to get out a “how’d you know my full name?” Before her eyes fluttered shut and her head rolled to one side.

~

The fire alarm began blaring and Milo ran back through to the bathroom again; the girl was unconscious and Percy stood over her, sword drawn.

“Right, that’s everyone clearing out. How’s she doing?” He asked, leaning against the wall across from the two. Percy looked concerned.

“She’s completely out of it. Unusual, considering the strength of the demon on the tracker. I thought it would’ve come through almost instantly…”

“Tracker could be faulty? Or maybe the reading’s messed up.”

He shook his head. “No. I got Sebastian to check just a minute ago and he says they’re still pretty high.”

Milo frowned, “she must be putting up one hell of a fight. Are you sure it didn’t just kill her instantly?”

“She’s still alive,” he scoffed. “Should we chance moving her, or just wait?”

The girl’s hands suddenly clenched into fists and her back arched upwards. Her eyes began rolling visibly behind her eyelids and Milo drew his gun.

“We’re go then, I guess,” he sighed. The girl’s body lurched forwards, a haunting screech emitting from its mouth along with faint black particles. It stopped, turned to face them, and then began to shake. Percy’s frown grew deeper, something wasn’t right.

“No, no this has never happened before,” he muttered, poking the body with the tip of his sword. More black particles swarmed over the blade and he shook them off, returning it to its sheath. “She’s casting the demon out herself.”

“She’s- what?” Milo exclaimed, lowering his gun. “But that’s…”

“Incredibly rare, yes. But we still have jobs to do. Get Sebastian to send medics over here, she’s not going to get out of this easily, and if we’re lucky we’ll still have to deal with the demon.”

“Righty-o,” he said, pressing his hand to his earpiece and talking into it. Percy watched the girl’s body warily as it jerked and emitted black particles every so often. She was putting up a good fight, and from the few possessions he’d seen like this, she was lasting the longest.

All of a sudden she stopped moving and crumpled to the ground, Percy drew his sword as her mouth opened and out came a shifting black mass that formed claws and teeth and other unholy artifices.

“Milo, get her to the medics!” He barked, before lunging towards the demon and slashing with his sword. He distracted it enough so Milo could drag her out of the bathrooms, which left him fighting alone. The demon screeched and lashed out with its claws, it’s maw gaping wide to reveal needle-like teeth. They very rarely had teeth.

“Ah, you’re a nasty blighter,” he scowled, piercing its hollow chest with his sword. Another painstaking sound was emitted from the creature and it fell back, stumbling.

“My, you’ve already been weakened.”

As if in response the demon dissipated into particles- which flew out of the room through the gap under the door. Percy cursed and chased after them as best as he could, but they were out of sight within seconds.

“Bugger,” he said, before tapping his earpiece. “Milo, how's she doing?”

“Not awake yet,” Milo replied, “but the medics say she’s in fine condition. She’s not been weakened much, if at all.”

“Fine?” Percy exclaimed, backtracking down the corridors to where the rest of them sat. “She can’t be fine!”

He entered the room where she lay, and Milo looked up at him from a sofa and shrugged. The medics regularly checked her pulse and had a monitor strapped into her arm and it was seemingly true, she was fine.

“I… take her back to HQ, get Sebastian to prepare a room- room, not a cell. I’m going to sort out the public and pick some stuff up.”

“Righty-o Boss,” Milo said, leaping off the sofa and mocking a salute. Scoffing, Percy gave another glance towards the unconscious girl and left again, heading outside to where the visibly annoyed restaurant customers were. Milo had approached the manager already and so she was quick to deal with, and by no time the customers were filing back into cold food.

He jumped into his car, drove a couple of streets and then pulled over in a random lay-by. He opened up his laptop and searched the police database for a Theodora, 21- giving only a handful of results. He eventually found the right one, noting down her address and downloading her medical records, before heading in the direction of her apartment. He just needed to pick up a couple changes of clothes and basic toiletries- he reckoned she’d be in their facility for a while.

“Perc, she’s woken up,” came a voice into his earpiece. Sebastian, this time.

“What is she saying?” He asked, “showing any unusual signs?”

“She’s fucking pissed,” he chuckled, “but she’s normal. What do you want us to do? We’ve kind of just left her, you know how Milo is with ladies-”

“Yes, Sebastian,” he sighed. “I’m grabbing some of her stuff so just make sure she’s comfortable, but leave the explaining to me. She’s going to be a tricky one to work with.”

“Alright. Anything else? She’s harked on about a boyfriend named Dylan for a bit.”

Well, that would make things a little bit more difficult.

“Get his details and I’ll sort him out tomorrow. If you’re bored later, you can come up with the cover story.”

He could almost feel Sebastian grinning through the earpiece, and he squeaked a thank you and disappeared. Percy sighed as he pulled up outside Theo’s apartment.

This was going to be a long night.

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for September 30 of 2021 with Proverbs 30 and Psalm 30, accompanied by Psalm 9 for the 9th day of Astronomical Autumn and Psalm 123 for day 273 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 30]

[The Mysterious Sayings of Agur]

These are the collected sayings of the prophet Agur, Jakeh’s son—

the amazing revelation he imparted to Ithiel and Ukal.

God, I’m so weary and worn out,

I feel more like a beast than a man.

I was made in your image,

but I lack understanding.

I’ve yet to learn the wisdom

that comes from the full and intimate knowledge of you,

the Holy One.

[Six Questions]

Who is it that travels back and forth

from the heavenly realm to the earth?

Who controls the wind as it blows and holds it in his fists?

Who tucks the rain into the cloak of his clouds?

Who stretches out the skyline from one vista to the other?

What is his name?

And what is the name of his Son?

Who can tell me?

[A Pure Heart Is Filled with God’s Word]

Every promise from the faithful God

is pure and proves to be true.

He is a wraparound shield of protection for all his lovers

who run to hide in him.

Never add to his words,

or he will have to rebuke you and prove that you’re a liar.

God, there are two things I’m asking you for before I die, only two:

Empty out of my heart everything that is false—

every lie, and every crooked thing.

And give me neither undue poverty nor undue wealth—

but rather, feed my soul with the measure of prosperity

that pleases you.

May my satisfaction be found in you.

Don’t let me be so rich that I don’t need you

or so poor that I have to resort to dishonesty

just to make ends meet.

Then my life will never detract from bringing glory to your name.

Never defame a servant before his master,

for you will be the guilty one

and a curse will come upon you.

There is a generation rising that curses their fathers

and speaks evil of their mothers.

There is a generation rising that considers themselves

to be pure in their own eyes,

yet they are morally filthy, unwashed, and unclean.

There is a generation rising that is so filled with pride,

they think they are superior and look down on others.

There is a generation rising that uses their words like swords

to cut and slash those who are different.

They would devour the poor, the needy, and the afflicted

from off the face of the earth!

There are three words to describe the greedy:

“Give me more!”

There are some things that are never satisfied.

Forever craving more, they’re unable to say, “That’s enough!”

Here are four:

the grave, yawning for another victim,

the barren womb, ever wanting a child,

thirsty soil, ever longing for rain,

and a raging fire, devouring its fuel.

They’re all insatiable.

The eye that mocks his father and dishonors his elderly mother

deserves to be plucked out by the ravens of the valley

and fed to the young vultures!

[Four Mysteries]

There are four marvelous mysteries

that are too amazing to unravel—

who could fully explain them?

The way an eagle flies in the sky,

the way a snake glides on a boulder,

the path of a ship as it passes through the sea,

and the way a bridegroom falls in love with his bride.

Here is the deceptive way of the adulterous woman:

she takes what she wants and then says,

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

[Four Intolerable Things]

There are four intolerable events

that are simply unbearable to observe:

when an unfaithful servant becomes a ruler,

when a scoundrel comes into great wealth,

when an unfaithful woman marries a good man,

and when a mistress replaces a faithful wife.

[Four Creatures Small and Wise]

The earth has four creatures that are very small but very wise:

The feeble ant has little strength,

yet look how it diligently gathers its food in the summer

to last throughout the winter.

The delicate rock-badger isn’t all that strong,

yet look how it makes a secure home, nestled in the rocks.

The locusts have no king to lead them,

yet they cooperate as they move forward by bands.

And the small lizard is easy to catch

as it clings to the walls with its hands,

yet it can be found inside a king’s palace.

[Four Stately Things]

There are four stately monarchs

who are impressive to watch as they go forth:

the lion, the king of the jungle, who is afraid of no one,

the rooster strutting boldly among the hens,

the male goat out in front leading the herd,

and a king leading his regal procession.

If you’ve acted foolishly by drawing attention to yourself,

or if you’ve thought about saying something stupid,

you’d better shut your mouth.

For such stupidity may give you a bloody nose!

Stirring up an argument only leads to an angry confrontation.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 30 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 30]

A song of David. For the dedication of the temple.

I praise You, Eternal One. You lifted me out of that deep, dark pit

and denied my opponents the pleasure of rubbing in their success.

Eternal One, my True God, I cried out to You for help;

You mended the shattered pieces of my life.

You lifted me from the grave with a mighty hand,

gave me another chance,

and saved me from joining those in that dreadful pit.

Sing, all you who remain faithful!

Pour out your hearts to the Eternal with praise and melodies;

let grateful music fill the air and bless His name.

His wrath, you see, is fleeting,

but His grace lasts a lifetime.

The deepest pains may linger through the night,

but joy greets the soul with the smile of morning.

When things were quiet and life was easy, I said in arrogance,

“Nothing can shake me.”

By Your grace, Eternal,

I thought I was as strong as a mountain;

But when You left my side and hid away,

I crumbled in fear.

O Eternal One, I called out to You;

I pleaded for Your compassion and forgiveness:

“I’m no good to You dead! What benefits come from my rotting corpse?

My body in the grave will not praise You.

No songs will rise up from the dust of my bones.

From dust comes no proclamation of Your faithfulness.

Hear me, Eternal Lord—please help me,

Eternal One—be merciful!”

You did it: You turned my deepest pains into joyful dancing;

You stripped off my dark clothing

and covered me with joyful light.

You have restored my honor. My heart is ready to explode, erupt in new songs!

It’s impossible to keep quiet!

Eternal One, my God, my Life-Giver, I will thank You forever.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 30 (The Voice)

[Psalm 9]

I’m thanking you, God, from a full heart,

I’m writing the book on your wonders.

I’m whistling, laughing, and jumping for joy;

I’m singing your song, High God.

The day my enemies turned tail and ran,

they stumbled on you and fell on their faces.

You took over and set everything right;

when I needed you, you were there, taking charge.

You blow the whistle on godless nations;

you throw dirty players out of the game,

wipe their names right off the roster.

Enemies disappear from the sidelines,

their reputation trashed,

their names erased from the halls of fame.

God holds the high center,

he sees and sets the world’s mess right.

He decides what is right for us earthlings,

gives people their just deserts.

God’s a safe-house for the battered,

a sanctuary during bad times.

The moment you arrive, you relax;

you’re never sorry you knocked.

Sing your songs to Zion-dwelling God,

tell his stories to everyone you meet:

How he tracks down killers

yet keeps his eye on us,

registers every whimper and moan.

Be kind to me, God;

I’ve been kicked around long enough.

Once you’ve pulled me back

from the gates of death,

I’ll write the book on Hallelujahs;

on the corner of Main and First

I’ll hold a street meeting;

I’ll be the song leader; we’ll fill the air

with salvation songs.

They’re trapped, those godless countries,

in the very snares they set,

Their feet all tangled

in the net they spread.

They have no excuse;

the way God works is well-known.

The shrewd machinery made by the wicked

has maimed their own hands.

The wicked bought a one-way

ticket to hell.

No longer will the poor be nameless—

no more humiliation for the humble.

Up, God! Aren’t you fed up with their empty strutting?

Expose these grand pretensions!

Shake them up, God!

Show them how silly they look.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 9 (The Message)

[Psalm 123]

A Prayer for Mercy

A song of the stairway

O God-Enthroned in heaven, I lift my eyes toward you in worship.

The way I love you

is like the way a servant wants to please his master,

the way a maid waits for the orders of her mistress.

We look to you, our God, with passionate longing

to please you and discover more of your mercy and grace.

For we’ve had more than our fill of this scoffing and scorn—

this mistreatment by the wealthy elite.

Lord, show us your mercy!

Lord, show us your grace!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 123 (The Passion Translation)

[dumbbitcharchives]

there are several things about this story that stay the same. first: you were seven or nine when i saw you fall off the play structure and break your wrist. did you know that i saw that? it’s okay. i don’t know if i did, or if i heard about it so many times that it morphed from a story to a memory.

but there you were, seven or nine or both, i guess, if this is my memory anyway, and your wrist bent in a direction wrists aren’t supposed to bend, and you didn’t cry. you just kind of looked at it. you just kind of wondered.

what a weirdo, you know? maybe if i asked you to cry, you would have done it.

okay. so here’s an actual memory: there was this one lone tree in the middle of the asphalt, and there were three rocks around it. two gray and one red like brick. the tree: not climbable and therefore useless. the rocks: very much navigable and therefore excellent. the tree: a patchwork shadow full of holes that let the sunlight through. the rocks: there you were, ten years old (i’m sure), with a book. sun-dappled. or something.

i plucked the book out of your hands, that time and every time, and i know you were mad but you just kind of looked at me. you just kind of wondered. but anyway, i’m not going to lie--i think i took that book because i wanted to and because i could. sometimes you can’t make poetry out of nothing. maybe if i asked you to yell, you would have done it.

do you remember when we went to camp? a whole grade full of eleven-year-olds away from home. very grown up in these animal-themed cabins that we were assigned (we were mammals). okay, here’s the good part. we were in the dining hall cleaning up, maybe, and someone liked someone else but someone else didn’t like someone, and the whole affair felt like the most exciting thing in the world - unbidden, you know, the world had been turning and all of a sudden we realized we’d been turning with it.

what happens next changes: one, i realize that i’m in love with you. here, it’s a choose your own adventure story. do you want to pick one? two: nothing happens because i will it not to happen and memories don’t really exist at all, i don’t think. every time you remember something, aren’t you remembering the last time you remembered it? so it might as well be a story, a bedtime story, a kid’s story, a beat-up copy of go dog, go that my mom donated in 2012.

“in love with you” skips a step or seven, maybe. but it sounded good, didn’t it? so dramatic! what actually happened is you said something that made me think, for the first time, that you liked me (i guess if we really want to tap into that eleven-year-old vernacular, that you liked me-liked me, like that), and while you were talking i looked into your eyes and realized that they were no more brown than the soil is. i could clear away the upper layers--golden in some places, green in others black and teeming in others--and find miles and miles of roots trailing down to some unknowable core. you blinked and i saw the soil bloom, and i think a dandelion seed found its way into my throat and into my stomach and my whole body still blooms yellow in the spring. 

i think it was a big misunderstanding. i think you were just a kid saying some dumb stuff. what was it that you said? words are hard. if i’d known what was going to come next i would have made a bouquet out of them.

big thoughts. life could be divided into before and after that camping trip. before: sun-dappled rocks and the club about unicorns i made up for attention. after: questions and questions and questions. because, here’s the thing: if you liked me, just for that one moment and then never again, then maybe i could like - well, naming things is the hard part. but maybe i could like her. once at recess everyone was talking about how she was so small she would blow away, the wind would carry her away, and it was me who volunteered to ground her. my heart hurt with jealousy. my heart heart with ------------.

i remember this as a time of introspection and confusion. i don’t think this was the case. i think when you’re eleven the world revolves around you and my world was small and comfortable, and you were at the center of it, even if i didn’t want to admit it to myself. you were always weird. once you spent recess reading the bible, just for fun, just to see what it was like, just to have that experience. i was deeply fond of you, you know. that’s why i threw orange peels at you at lunch sometimes. you know that. did you want to yell or scream or cry? you know that.

here is where we come to the dreaded fork in the road. i didn’t actually let you choose your own adventure last time, so you can do it this time! to the left: gifted kid middle school. to the right: the local middle school. no, really. choose. you’d choose the same, if you had to choose again, i know (i know!!!!), but i still want to see you do it i think.

we parted.

here is something you should know: i have hated every atom that makes up my body since i was three years old. i know! so long to carry around this obsession with the spaces i filled. here is the thing: that hatred is my whole world sometimes, because i am so deeply concerned with myself, so deeply concerned with the ways i traverse the world, the ways i fit my footsteps into existing footprints on beaten paths. the usual. you’re waiting for the answer to the question. i said, here is something you should know, and if you’re being cooperative, you said why? well, there isn’t one. an answer. it’s just something you should know. here’s something else: the center of a black hole is called the singularity. here’s something else: hippos have pink milk!

middle school... is not tinted with childhood whimsy. there is nothing glowing or hazy or bright about it. to be thirteen is a punishment. to be thirteen and in love with your best friend is almost comical, but only through the kaleidoscope lens of time and distance and space.

in the moment i felt sadness that crumbled slowly into rage. your absence, the space you used to fill, was incidental and then intentional. you stopped wanting to fill it, and the more this became clear the more i needed you to -- needed you to fill it. needed you to want to fill it. needed you to miss me like i missed you.

here is where i start the self-pity. here is where you leave me.

did i want to monopolize you? or was this something less self-centered for once? for once. what did i want from you? because love tasted like poison, and i thought, this can’t be right. i thought, you have so much love in your heart and none of it is for me. i thought, i am sad enough that the whole world is just a series of numbers, of binary code. radio fucking silence.

i am still mad at you. when i closed my eyes back then i saw your broken wrist. i saw you hurt before i knew your name; you were something before you were anything to me. and you could walk away.

is it silly, to linger on things that happened when i was thirteen? i don’t think so. i can’t be mad that you loved again and again and again and it was never me, because it’s never going to be me, thankfully, but i can be mad that you could walk away like that. i can be sad for the kid who listened to you talk about them, to watch them become your best friend and then (too quickly) the object of a love i didn’t think you were capable of.

i wrote shitty space-themed poems about you until i was sixteen. i compared you to the sun over and over and over and over. embarrassing! i compared you to a black hole more times than i can count. quiz: what is at the center of a black hole? are you paying attention this time?

i am trying not to make this about me, but i am still mad at you. i am still mad at you. i am still mad.

because in every language i could think of i was screaming love me -- love me -- love me and you missed it still. that’s not your fault. it’s almost funny to think about the things i would do to get your attention. half the time i would hold you at night, too tight, not really sure when i would get to see you again; watch your mouth while you talked; touch your hair here and your hand there and the delicate skin of your eyelids there. and the other half of the time i would hate you so much that i ceased to exist. a cycle: look at you on the pedestal, knock it down in rage, build it again. ceaselessly.

we both have the same fatal flaw, i think: the art of compartmentalizing. the art of tense silence. i’ll never tell you this, obviously, like i never could have told you back then, and you’ll never tell me if you would have yelled if i’d asked kindly enough.

i didn’t think about you for a long, careless time.

on the night before you went to college we were laying under the two-hundred glow-in-the-dark stars pasted to my ceiling, and the walls were humming, and i was facing the red glow of my alarm clock in the darkness. and you said my name. and i turned to you. and your face in the dark was not a face but a memory or a story or both, told in crude shadows, and mine was right there, too. i’m really going to miss you, you said.

you see, that’s what i needed you to say, but there is, as you know, this thing that lives in my stomach that will not die -- maybe ever -- that made me want you to say something else. something else? yes, something else. take a guess. and it had been so long since i thought of that tree and those rocks and outer space and black holes and sleep away camp and unicorns but my whole body shut down, when you said my name, because i really didn’t know what i would do. if you had breached the distance between us, then, i thought for a second -- what am i going to do. i thought, i know, maybe, what i have to do.

anyway. it didn’t matter. i said yeah, i’m going to miss you, too, and rolled over to hold you close one last time, and

we parted.

one more thing about this story that stays the same, day after day: these days, i am just fine. i think somewhere along the line i must have spit out that choking cluster of weeds, and it must have not been as big or as strong as i thought because i couldn’t tell you where or when or how it happened. these days, you are my friend, my oldest friend, my friend who broke her wrist when she was seven or nine and whose book i stole when she was ten and who broke my heart and didn’t even know it when we were thirteen. now we are adults, i guess. huh. anyway: these days, this is enough.