#AND THEY JUST DUG THEIR OWN METAPHORICAL GRAVES

[boypussydilf]

dont think about betty on her own thinking about how she gave up so much in her life and so much she wanted to do and so much of her own independent identity to follow simon and do what he wanted to do. oh god dont think about simon telling betty he wants her by his side and she cancels her trip to stay with him and when he spins her around he leaves her standing just one step beneath him. but in the theoretical reality where he goes with her they stay on the same level the entire time. and who knows what would’ve happened. but it didn’t happen and they’ll never get to know. no changing it. betty doesn’t regret anything. they made their own choices. and don’t think about simon having this realization that changes everything way, way too late, with absolutely nothing left to do about it but just. know. and keep going. and don’t think about that being how it ends. they never see each other again. Yeah it’s too late I’m crying so much

[thevoidstaredback]

It all seemed to start within a snap of Time; the tick of a clock; the drop of a hat; the blink of an Eye.

Just before any of the assembled Justice League could leave the Watchtower, every alarm went off and pandemonium re-erupted across the space station.

"What the hell is going on?" Batman demanded as he and Robin re-entered the meeting room they'd just left.

Constantine and Zatanna were both using several different ways of communication, talking in frantic tone and jumping between conversations without losing any of them. Deadman had disappeared completely. The America based heroes were all getting calls, all just as confused as each other as to what was going on.

Batman pulled up a map on the projector, the one that was shown in the Observation part of the Watchtower, and glared at the red dot that was slowly taking over Illinois. "Constantine, Zatanna. What is this?"

Constantine glared back at Batman, "What we were trying to avoid by calling a meeting today!" He went right back to whatever conversation he was having in Esperanto.

"Yeah, look what good that did us anyway," Zatanna scoffed between conversations, "We were both late and ignored." She, too, had started speaking on Esperanto.

"That's where Red is based," Robin said quietly from beside Batman. "I-I need to call- make sure she's alright!"

Batman put his hand on Robin's shoulder. "Don't panic, chum, we'll get a plan started and then you can all Red Huntress." The boy nodded, but opened his own communicator anyway, likely to contact his team. Batman turned to the heroes in the room. "Everyone!" He waited until all eyes were on him before continuing, "Calm down. Constantine, Zatanna, find out what's going on-"

"Already doing that, Batsy!" the man hollered before jumping into a fourth conversation.

Batman's eye twitched behind the white lenses of his mask, but he otherwise didn't react to the interruption. "-the rest of us need to go and isolate the threat. We'll plan from there. Make sure your comms are on. Robin, get your team ready for rescue efforts and try to contact Red Huntress to see if she knows what's going on." When the heroes started moving, he grabbed Superman. "Where's Deadman?"

Superman shook his head. "No idea. He was gone by the time any of us came back in here."

Batman nodded and let him go. Everyone was on their way to Illinois right now, but there was something that Zatanna said that struck him as strange. He didn't have to wait ong before her three ongoing conversations all came to a stop. "Earlier, you said that Amity Park liked to stay in Illinois. What did you mean?"

Zatanna jumped when he spoke, obviously not realizing he was still there, but she answered him, "The city's been prime for supernatural activity since its founding. On top of the two dimensional rifts, that much magic contained in one area is bound to give it some form of sentiance, especially because most of that magic is death and life focused."

He hummed and left the room with a sweep of his cape. Containing the issue will be tricky if the source manages to move around them. Regardless, it needed to be done fast.

***

It took another twenty minutes before all five on Constantine's conversations ended. He had gotten the same unfortunate answer from all five of them, and, judging by the look on her face, Zatanna had been given the same news as him.

"We tried to warn them. We fucking tried-!" she slammed her fist down on the table, "But we were too fucking late!"

He ran a hand down his face with a heavy sigh. "C'mon, mate, let's go make sure they don't fuck anything else up."

"And help them defend the idiots that started all this? No way. Let them lie in the grave they dug."

"Horrible metaphor, love. And, as much as I hate to say it, we can't let the world get taken over."

"Why not? They've been practically begging for it to happen since Superman was first introduced. That's why the Green Lanterns had to step in and lay down the law, quite literally." She huffed. "Besides, the Realms won't be gunning for the world. They're looking for their child."

"And if they don't find the kid in perfect condition?"

"...I see you're point."

"Good! We're on the same page, then."

She sighed again. "How're we going to play this? Are we running interference?"

"No," he shook his head, "The only thing we can do is keep anyone from dying or attacking."

"Without Deadman to talk to the Realms?"

"Yep,"

"You realize how hard this is gonna be, right?"

"I'm gonna make Batsy pay me in hard liquor."

"Agreed."

***

The Justice League had set up a perimeter around the town of Amity Park, Illinois. They were a few miles out from the town, close enough to see it but far enough away as to not set off any panic. When Constantine and Zatanna arrived, they had made it very obvious that the town and it's citizens were probably very aware that they were there. They called another meeting, though only taking a few heroes away from watch. Zatanna was the one to explain things to them while Constantine kept tabs on the town in case it decided to move.

The heroes still weren't exactly sure what they meant by that.

Zatanna stood at the front of the heroes she'd pulled aside. Batman, Wonder Woman, Superman, Aquaman, The Flash, and Green Lantern stood in a half circle, all very clearly anxious to keep their eyes on the town. Too bad for them, this was her specialty, so she got to keep facing it while they turned their backs.

"They aren't going to listen to you guys," Zatanna said, "Like we tried to warn you earlier, their looking for a child that the US Government took from them."

"The one in the pictures?" The Flash asked.

"Yep," she affirmed, "His name's Phantom, like we said. He's this town's hero."

"I thought Robin said Red Huntress was the town's hero?" Aquaman wondered.

Zatanna pushed down the flare of anger with a deep breath. "Phantom has been operating for several months longer than Red Huntress. she is closer to being a hero while Phantom leans more towards being a vigilante."

"Is that why he doesn't stick around after his fights?" Superman tilted his head slightly in question.

"Yes," she glared, "Can I get back on topic, or are we wanting to waste even more time?" The heroes fell silent and she waited for a few seconds before continuing. "From what Deadman explained, Phantom is technically still a baby ghost because he's only been dead for about a year." She ignored the expressions on the heroes faces. "Not only that, but he's the favorite of several Ancient Beings. Think Primordials or Titans."

"Oh, dear," Wonder Woman whispered. Several had paled slightly.

Zatanna nodded. "Don't attack any of the Realms' people, not even in self defense. We're going to have to help them find Phantom, keep them from attacking the US Government, and keep the Government from attacking them."

"A bit late for that!" A new voice joined the group. They all startled, reaching for weapons and dropping into ready stances.

Above and slightly to the side of the group was a girl who looked to be in her late teens. She had teal-grey skin, a slight teal glow, and flaming teal hair tied in a high pony, bangs framing her face. Her eyes glowed the same radioactive green as Phantom's had in the picture, though less so. She was wearing black pants, a black crop-top, grey knee boots, and a single black elbow glove. There was a guitar strapped to her back that gave off a slight purple glow. Even from where the Justice League heroes were standing, they could feel heat radiating off of here.

"And you are?" Batman asked.

"Don't matter who I am, does it?" the girl sneered, "What matters is that you dickheads took one of ours." She very obviously assessed the small group, looking each person up and down with a frown on her face. "Phantom told me that this place had other heroes, so where were you?"

Superman blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Where were you?"

"I'm, uh, not quite sure what you mean."

"You're talking about when this place was catalyst for world threats, right?" Zatanna stepped forward.

The girl turned her full attention to the magician. "So, you knew?"

Zatanna nodded. "Me and my colleagues were keeping on eye on Amity Park after the rifts opened up last year."

The girl seemed to reassess the magician. "You're one of the ones Deadman told us about."

"You know Deadma?" Green Lantern asked. He was ginored.

"Yeah?"

"I'm Ember." She landed and held her hand out for a hand shake. "Deadman got the Council to agree to hold ourselves in Amity until the end of the day. After that, we move on our own."

Zatanna shook her hand. "I'm Zatanna. We're gonna find him."

Ember glared, tightening her grip, "You better. He's done more for this world than you heroes even know." She turned her glare on the others before flying back up. "And once he's back with us, where he belongs, we'll think about a cease fire." She left before anyone could get another word in.

Zatanna fell into a squat, her hands covering her face. "This is a nightmare," she whispered, "That definitely could've gone much better." She popped back up to her full height. "Well, you heard her. We've got 'til the end of the day to find Phanom."

The group shared looks, nodding at each other before separating to spread the word to everyone else

The first plan was the same one they had for every mission that needed quick recon done. Flash was sent out to get a location. Once he had one, they'd set off.

Part 1 Part 3

[stevie-petey]

episode seven: the mind flayer

Steve, who is leaning next to Dustin and you, snaps his finger. “Like the Germans?” “Uh… The Nazis?” Your brother looks at you, silently urging you to shut the teen up, and you pinch your nose again and sigh. “Oh, buddy.” You loop your arm through his and pat Steve’s shoulder. “Let’s just listen, okay?”

Summary: jonathan is back and has a lot of questions and you have even more for him, the gang gets back together and ties will to a chair, you tell the kid a story to distract him from his demons, steve is a confused mess but at least youre with him, and someone makes a surprise appearance (her name rhymes with shell).

Rating: general, cursing

Warnings: use of y/n, fem!reader, talk of death and grief, violence and blood

Words: 12.1k

Before you swing in: long time no see ! lots has happened, and this chapter was a pain for so many reasons, but shes here and i love her and i so sincerely hope yall enjoy :)

-

Stumbling blindly through dark woods while holding your bloodied ribcage has never been your favorite activity. Neither is following after a bunch of Demodogs to probably once again sacrifice your life to save others, yet here you are.

Steve has a gentle hand resting on the small of your back as he helps you navigate the woods. Dustin is to your left, scanning for anything that could possibly trip you as the three of you walk in a line. Lucas and Max follow, both of whom watch you with weary eyes.

Sure, you probably don’t look too good, but honestly. You’ve been objectively worse.

“You’re positive that was Dart?” Lucas asks, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” Dustin sighs next to you, kicking at a twig in your way. “He had the same exact yellow pattern on his butt.”

“Why do you have his butt memorized?” You mumble under your breath, which Steve chuckles at.

Max shakes her head. “But he was tiny two days ago.”

“Well, he’s molted three times already.” Dustin kicks at another twig, this time with more anger behind it. He’s on edge, and you know he’s worried that somehow Lucas will figure out that he kept Dart all this time.

You’d help the kid, but he dug his own grave.

“Malted?” Steve asks, looking over to you to see if you’re hearing what he’s hearing.

“No, buddy.” You shake your head at him, slightly endeared by the confusion on his face.

“Molted,” your brother clarifies. “Shed his skin to make room for growth, like hornworms.”

“I don’t think Steve knows what hornworms are, Dustin.”

The boy sighs, knowing you’re right, and continues to walk.

Max, however, won’t let the topic go. “When’s he gonna molt again?”

“It's gotta be soon.” Dustin responds, now looking around tiredly. He doesn’t have to tell you, but you saw how quickly Dart grew overnight; he’s grown at an alarming rate. “When he does he’ll be fully grown, or close to it.”

“And so will his friends,” you say grimly.

It’s quiet for a moment after that, your words unnerving the group. Everyone but Max had to deal with a fully grown Demogorgon last year, and none of you have forgotten how terrifying it had been. You all still have scars from it, both metaphorically and physically.

After a minute or so, Steve tries to lighten up the situation. “Well, at least there isn’t another cat for them to eat–”

“Steve–” But you’re too late, Lucas has already picked up on what the teen is saying.

The boy shoves past you and whips around to face Dustin, angrier than you’ve ever seen him. “Wait, a cat? Dart ate a cat?”

“No, what? No!” Your brother is a terrible liar.

“What are you talking about? He ate Mews–” Your elbow digs into Steve’s side, causing him to hunch over and wheeze. “Shit.”

You force Steve’s head up so that he looks at you while you forcefully whisper, “Stop. Talking.”

“Mews? Who’s Mews?”

You turn to Max. “It’s nothing–”

“It’s their cat,” Steve wheezes out, still not at all understanding the situation.

“Steve!” You and Dustin screech at the same time. God, maybe it does make sense that he’s barely graduating high school.

“I knew it! You kept him!” Lucas shouts at Dustin, before turning to you with hurt in his eyes. “And you let him hide it from the party?”

You wince. “I had a suspicion, but by the time I found out it had already been too late and–”

“He missed me. He wanted to come home… and Y/N just happened to not know about it for a while.” Dustin interrupts, trying to appease his friend, but it doesn’t work.

“Bullshit!”

“I didn’t know he was a Demogorgon, okay?”

“Oh, so now you admit it?”

You try to intervene, you’ve always hated when the boys fight. “Listen, what’s done is done and it’s too late to be angry now.”

Lucas scoffs. “I crawled into a dumpster to find Dart!”

“And that was a conscious decision that you made–”

“Guys!” Max steps in. “Who cares? We have to go.”

“I care!” Lucas faces Dustin again. “You put the party in jeopardy! You broke the rule of law!”

“So did you!” You’ve never heard anger like this come out from Dustin. It isn’t an anger that spills over from a regular argument. Your eyes flicker to Max and you know that the anger is one that stems from hurt.

You remember how excited Dustin had been to tell you about his crush on the girl. Now, after she came here with Lucas, you fear you may have to have a code blue soon with your brother about young love and heartbreak. Unrequited crushes suck.

The kids all begin to scream at one another and you’re too tired to try and intervene again. Technically, they’re all right. Lucas shouldn’t have told Max everything, Dustin shouldn’t have hid Dart, and both boys shouldn’t continuously treat Max like some weird outsider.

As they argue, Steve rubs small circles in your back, sensing how exhausted you are. While your bleeding may have stopped, you still feel woozy from the blood loss and could really go for some water and food right now.

“They’ll figure it out,” he assures you, breath warm against your ear, and all you can do is sigh.

You’re about to tell Steve that maybe you should all walk back home, it’s late and the kids are all too mad at one another to be of any help, but then you hear screeching coming from the distance.

You both freeze.

Slowly, the two of you step away from the kids to follow after the sound. They’re too busy arguing to notice, but the screeching continues to grow louder and you share a look with Steve. This isn’t good.

“Hey guys?” Steve calls towards the kids, hand never leaving your back.

The kids continue to argue, ignoring him, and you bring your fingers to your lips and let out a high pitched whistle. “Idiots!” Lucas, Dustin, and Max all go quiet, looking over at you. More screeches fill the silence, and you tilt your head towards the sound. “Hear that? Shall we continue to fight or are we done here?”

Steve flashes his light towards the source of the sound and beckons for the kids to follow. You stay behind, both of you silently agreeing that he’ll lead and you’ll make sure everyone is safe. Lucas and Dustin immediately follow, but Max lingers.

“Hey, you comin’?” You ask, motioning towards where the boys have all gone.

“Why are we headed towards the sound?”

“Because it’s what we do,” you shrug. “Welcome to the party.”

Max blinks at you, in disbelief, and it breaks your heart that she has to come to terms with all of this. Taking the risk, you reach towards her hand, offering her time to pull away, but she doesn’t. She lets you grab her hand and you squeeze it, giving her a soft smile. “I’m right here.”

The girl exhales, still guarded, yet she finally nods at your words. She seems to believe you, which you’re thankful for, and together the two of you follow after the others. The five of you approach the overlook, all of Hawkins visible. There’s a layer of thick fog covering the town, the screeches ominous as the town is blanketed.

“I don’t see him,” Dustin mumbles next to you, though he slowly links his fingers through yours, quietly confessing to you that he’s scared.

You squeeze his hand. “Lucas, do you think your binoculars can see that far?”

The boy brings them up to his eyes, and within a few seconds he seems to have spotted the source. He swallows, lowers the binoculars, and says, “It’s the lab.”

“They’re going back home.” You whisper, feeling defeated more than anything else. It somehow always comes back to that fucking lab. Will’s episodes, Mike’s silence, Nancy and Jonathan taking the burden of bringing the entire lab down themselves.

You now understand the immense anger Nancy felt that day during lunch, when you had all been at Jonathan’s car and she created her genius plan. How badly she wanted to make the assholes pay for what they did to Hawkins. To Will. To Barb. To sweet El.

“We have to follow.” You say, an edge to your voice. Your side sears with pain, your ankle sending phantom pains up your leg. Dustin clings onto your hand like his life depends on it. You’re sick of suffering the consequences that Hawkin’s Lab has brought upon itself.

You begin to walk down the overlook, steps slow and careful, and while the kids glance uncertainly at one another, Steve doesn’t hesitate to follow after you. –

As you approach the gate to the lab, you see a car with headlights parked in front of it. Two figures stand at the edge of the forest line, watching.

Other people are here.

You bring your knives out and flick the handle so that the blades extend. Steve stands next to you, his own bat raised after seeing your fear, and you nod at one another to slowly begin approaching.

“Hello?” One of the figures shouts, their voice oddly familiar.

You stop.

“Who’s there?” The voice shouts again, and this time you recognize it.

It’s Jonathan.

Immediately you start to run, damning the pain in your side, and when you break through the treeline and see Jonathan standing there with Nancy, both of them safe and sound, you start to run even faster.

When Jonathan sees that it’s you, he starts to run as well and within seconds the two of you are a tangle of arms and limbs. He hugs you fiercely, his cologne familiar and you hadn’t known how homesick you were until you felt his arms around you.

“Bug,” Jonathan exhales with relief, squeezing you even tighter. He brings a hand to your hair and cradles your head, his fingers sure and strong and familiar as always. You bury your face in his neck, feeling all the pain and exhaustion from today begin to dissipate.

Nancy walks over and lays a hand on your arm as you’re still wrapped around Jonathan. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad you guys are okay,” you sniff, you’re not sure why you’re crying. “God, I’ve had the weirdest two days of my life–”

“Steve?” Jonathan and Nancy suddenly say at the same time.

You pull away from your friend and let out a chuckle. Steve and the kids have now joined, confusion on all of their faces. “Like I said, it’s been a weird few days.”

“Nancy?” Steve walks over, his eyes going back and forth between you and the girl. He feels an overwhelming mixture of emotions overtake him. He notices the way Jonathan’s arm is still wrapped around you as you stand close to his side, and he notices the way Nancy avoids his eyes. Something burns within his chest.

“Jonathan?” Dustin narrows his eyes at the boy, and you can’t help but laugh.

Jonathan and Nancy approach the others and you slowly follow, taking your time. Nancy reaches Steve first. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Steve retorts.

“We’re looking for Mike and Will.”

You grab Nancy’s jacket. “Are they okay? Did something happen?”

“They’re not in there, are they?” Dustin motions towards the lab, fear in his voice.

Nancy lowers her voice. “We’re not sure.”

Jonathan senses there’s something else going on. “Why?”

Right on cue, the Demodogs begin to screech from the lab. Next to you, you feel Jonathan stiffen with fear. You know, without having to ask, that his family is stuck inside the lab. Suddenly the gash in your side stings in pain and you clutch at it and let out a wince. Hearing this, Jonathan finally realizes that you’re covered in blood.

“Oh my god,” his hands fall to your side as he scans for any other injuries. “You’re bleeding, oh my god.”

“I’m okay–”

“Fuck, bug. It looks bad–”

“Had a minor setback, we’re all good now though.”

Jonathan shakes his head at you, his eyes dripping with guilt; you know he’s already placed the blame upon himself long before he speaks. “I should’ve been there. I knew something was wrong when you didn’t call, and then Nance and I came back to my home being wrecked and you weren’t at your place and I was worried sick and thought you were dead–”

You grab his hands, forcing him to slow down and breathe. “Hey, look at me.” Slowly, his eyes meet yours. “I’m okay, bee. I had to protect the kids, and I had Steve. I’m right here.”

Jonathan looks over at Steve, who is stuck in some argument between Nancy and the kids, and he lets out a tired laugh. He can’t believe that he’s here right now, tired and delirious from a long trip with Nancy as you hold his hands, your own blood covering them, while Steve spares you worried glances. “Friends with him again, then?”

“It was inevitable.” You sigh, knowing how heavy your words are. Truly, it was inevitable. He’s too much like you, your wounds a matching pair, and you never stood a chance against the inevitability. He’s an extension of you now, you can no longer deny this.

“Are you really okay, though?” Jonathan asks you, still concerned about how much blood is on you. He feels this tug within him, pulling at his chest to encase you within his arms and to never, ever let you out of his sight again.

There’s still a slight limp in your step that Jonathan sees when he thinks you aren’t looking, the scar on your upper arm is harsh against the smooth skin he’s come to memorize, disrupting the topography of your body. Now, you’ve once again gotten hurt because of him. Your favorite cardigan is ripped and bloodied and Jonathan knows it’s one more scar he’s inexplicably given you.

The scars may fade, but he knows he’ll never be able to forgive himself. It’s the same heavy weight you feel within yourself over Will’s disappearance.

You notice that Jonathan’s eyes have glazed over in despair and you kiss his knuckles, bringing him back to you. “I promise I am.”

He nods, though he still looks unsure, but he pulls you in again for another hug. For a moment, everything is still. It reminds you of when you had been in Jonathan’s car last Christmas as he drove you home, the memories between you had gone still. You close your eyes, like you had last year, and for a moment nothing has changed.

“The power’s back!” Nancy exclaims, effectively shutting everyone up about who has seen what when.

You pull away from Jonathan. The urgence in her voice reminds you that everything has changed. There’s a scar on your upper arm that now has a matching scar on your ribcage. Jonathan has bags underneath his eyes that seem like they'll never go away.

You look away from him and look over at the kids and see, in Dustin’s and Lucas’ faces, the familiar fear and acceptance that they’re inevitably in danger. Steve catches your eye and he nods, indicating that whatever happens next, he’s ready whenever you are.

The seven of you quickly make your way back towards the lab’s gate, and Jonathan is the first to get there with you following close behind. The two of you stand in the patrol panel, Jonathan aggressively hitting the button designated for opening the gate, but nothing seems to be happening.

Suddenly Dustin barges in, roughly shoving past Jonathan and mumbling a soft sorry to you.

“Let me try.” Jonathan doesn’t move, which only aggravates your brother further and he flings the teen back. “Let me try, Jonathan!”

Jonathan looks at you incredulously, still having no idea why Dustin seems to suddenly hate him, and you stifle a laugh as you watch the boy repeatedly hit the button while nothing happens.

“Son of a bitch!” Dustin groans, still trying and failing to open the gate.

“Move over,” you shoulder past the kid and start pressing the button yourself. “It probably just doesn’t like you guys.”

Dustin and Jonathan both scoff at you, but you ignore them as you continue to press the button. You were mostly doing it to distract yourself, give your anxious mind something to do, but after a simple few taps, the gates unlock.

You cheer, immensely happy with yourself. “I did it! You guys just really do just suck!”

Jonathan shakes his head at you but offers his hand for you to high five, which you gladly do. As for your brother, he sticks his tongue out at you in retaliation. You ignore the kid and follow Jonathan outside to join the others.

Once the gates have fully opened, you, Nancy, Jonathan, and Steve all begin speaking at once.

“I’ll go,” you all say in unison.

The kids all stare at one another, wondering how this will go. It didn’t escape their notice that Jonathan and Nancy were alone together, and that Steve’s worry over you has strings attached to unspoken truths.

They may be young, but they can sense the tension between you and the teens pretty easily.

“No, someone has to stay with the kids.” Nancy reasons, looking over at Jonathan to back her up, and his eyes draw to hers naturally.

You see this, and you wonder when they became such a cohesive team.

“Bug, what are you thinking?” He asks, knowing that ultimately it’s your call. When it comes to the kids, you’re the one to turn to.

You bite your lip, unsure. Max, Lucas, and Dustin all stare at you, and you know the two boys want you to stay with them. They’ve been through hell tonight, so have you, but then you think about whatever has happened in the lab to Will and Mike.

Sighing, you walk over to Jonathan. “Nance is right. I’ll stay behind with Steve while you and her drive to the lab. They’ll need all the help they can get, and I’m currently in no condition to fight.”

Jonathan’s eyes once again fall to your wrapped side, uncertain if you’ll be safe enough out here. “You sure?”

“I’m sure, bee.” You kiss his cheek, fucking terrified something will go wrong. The lab is crawling with Demodogs. “Promise you’ll be careful?”

“Always,” he cups your face and brings his forehead to yours. “I’ll come back.”

You relish in the warmth and let out a shaky exhale. “Go get Will.”

The moment between you two is intimate; everyone around you looks away. Nancy stares down at her feet while Steve clenches his jaw.

After a few more seconds, you finally release yourself from Jonathan’s hold and turn towards Nancy. “That goes for you as well, Wheeler. Stay safe.”

She nods at you, spares Steve one last glance, and then follows after Jonathan into the car. Within seconds, they speed off down the road, towards Hawkin’s Lab as more Demodogs screech in the distance.

“Well that was awkward.” Max breaks the silence. “Sensing there’s a lot of history there.”

You snort, admiring the girl’s wit, and tiredly lean against the gate’s post. “Still have a lot to catch up on, Max.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, he just gently leans next to you against his own post and flips his flashlight in his hand.

Dustin starts to pace while Lucas stares at the sky, as if willing away every problem from the day, which you want to do yourself. However, your best friend is currently very close to a death lab that Will and Mike are inexplicably trapped in.

You try to calm your breathing, knowing it’s no use getting yourself worked up, but you’re terrified. Steve sees your unease and does his best to comfort you. “Hey, they’ll be okay. Jonathan is a smart guy and Nancy is tough as hell.”

Hearing Nancy’s name coming out of his mouth makes you realize that you haven’t asked him how he’s feeling about all of this, which makes you feel even shittier. He confessed to you last night how he still loves her, and here you are, worried about your friend who the guy’s ex girlfriend showed up with.

“Are you okay?” You ask him softly, worried you’ll scare him away.

Steve doesn’t ask what you mean; he knows and lets out a dry laugh. “Not the most ideal situation.”

You’re about to say more, but something seems to catch Max’s attention. “Guys?”

You look towards where she’s pointing and you hear the faint sounds of tires squealing against concrete. The same sound Billy’s car had made in the school parking lot days ago. As you piece this together, headlights light up the gate and the honking starts.

Immediately you and Steve rush over to the kids and push them away, narrowly avoiding being hit. As soon as the road is cleared, Hopper’s familiar truck brakes in front of you.

“Let’s go,” the man gruffs out, and you’ve never been happier to see that obnoxious cop’s face.

Steve runs over to the passenger door and holds it open while you usher the kids to go inside. “Come on, let’s go! Go, go, go!”

One by one you get the kids seated in the truck, and once you and Steve make sure they’re in safely, he motions for you to go next before he climbs inside and slams the door shut. You end up squished up front, in between Hopper and Steve.

“Drive!” You scream, and Hopper doesn’t need to be told twice before he stomps on the gas and follows after Jonathan’s car.

It’s silent for a few minutes as everyone steadies their breathing, processing what’s just happened. You rub at your side, the rough movements from earlier having upset the wound. Hopper notices this and raises an eyebrow at you. “Lose a fight?”

“Mhm,” you see that he’s dressed in hospital scrubs and raise your own eyebrows. “Got checked into a psych ward?”

Hopper lets out a short laugh and you can see the exhaustion behind his eyes, but he plays along and you’re grateful for it. “Yeah, figured it was time.”

–

The Byers’ home is a disaster when you walk in. The walls are covered with pictures drawn by Will, a map that he somehow came to piece together, of an entire underground tunnel system that the Demodogs now reside in.

You sit on the ground next to Will, who has been placed on the couch while he’s still unconscious, and you hold his cold, limp hand as Jonathan kneels next to the boy and strokes his hair.

“I’m sorry, bud.” He whispers, voice breaking. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should have been there.”

You grab Jonathan’s own hand. “He wouldn’t blame you. You couldn’t have known.”

Nancy places a hand on his shoulder as she watches over him, a certain concern in her eyes that you’ve never quite seen before. She’s always been the most guarded out of the three of you, but now she’s rubbing comforting circles into Jonathan’s back; you’ve never seen her so open before, so affectionate with someone.

You noticed how much closer they seemed earlier at the lab, how the tension between them now appears to be gone. You know that something happened on their spy adventure, you know they’d been alone together, probably gotten a motel room, even. Your stomach twists at the thought, but Will’s cold hand is a reminder that none of that matters right now. Like last year, he comes first.

“We’ll figure it out, bee. We always do.” You kiss Jonathan’s cheek, not knowing how many more times you’ll be able to do so, and you try to memorize how his face feels pressed against yours, the way your nose buries into his skin and the way he leans into the kiss each and every time.

Jonathan sniffles and thanks you, pulling you into his side as he continues to stroke Will’s hair. Nancy remains standing, and when you look up to offer her to sit next to you, you finally notice Steve standing in the corner, watching.

He’s holding himself as he watches the three of you and, despite how he tries to hide it, you see Steve wipe at his nose and blink away tears; he’s never looked so small before, and your heart breaks for him as he walks out of the room.

You excuse yourself to follow after him, bypassing Hopper who is angrily trying to contact some government people to alert them about Hawkin’s Lab.

Steve walks into the kitchen and faces the drawings on the wall, his back turned away from everyone in a pathetic attempt to gain some privacy. Slowly, you approach him and stand to his left. You know he senses your presence, but he continues to stare straight ahead.

“You want to talk about it?” You ask, voice low so no one else in the kitchen can hear.

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head, it’s all of a response he can give you right now. He’s worried that if he tries to speak, he’ll start crying. His worst fear has come true. He’s been replaced.

Tentatively, you grab his hand and bring your lips to his ear. “Can I?”

You feel Steve shiver, his breath is shaky, and though he isn’t quite sure what you’re asking him, he nods anyways.

He will always say yes to you.

The moment Steve nods, you tug at the hand you’re holding and bring his arms around you; he practically melts in your arms. Releasing another shaky breath, he buries his face in your hair and inhales your perfume as if gasping for air. He brings a hand to your hair as he cradles the back of your head, bringing you even closer together.

For the first time in Steve’s life, his mind goes quiet.

You’re aware of everyone else in the room, you know you’ll have to deal with the kids’ nosy questions later, but you don’t care. Steve needs you, and the way he’s clinging onto you as you hug tells you everything you need to know.

He’s barely holding it together, so you discretely shift so that the others can’t see as you attempt to piece him back together with your arms tightening around him and your fingers intertwining through his hair as well.

Your ribs scream in protest as you lean against the boy, but the pain reassures you that you are alive and sharing this pain with someone you’ve come to care deeply about.

“I’m here,” you whisper, feeling Steve’s body shake at the reassurance. “It’s just you and me right now, okay?”

He nods, still too scared to speak. The two of you remain interlocked in the kitchen you grew up in, surrounded by Will’s drawings and memories of early morning breakfasts with Jonathan, and Dustin watches from the kitchen table.

Lucas watches as well and shares a glance with your brother, who can only shake his head and sigh. He knows, sooner or later, that he’ll have to ask you about Steve, he’s never seen you like this before, not even with Jonathan, but for now he leaves you both alone.

When Hopper angrily hangs up the phone, Dustin uses it as an opportunity to distract himself. “They didn’t believe you, did they?”

“We’ll see,” Hopper sighs, tired.

“‘We’ll see’? We can’t just sit here while those things are loose!” Mike exclaims, his foot tapping nervously underneath the table.

The chief sighs again, now spotting you and Steve still holding each other in the corner. “Hey, Henderson and pretty boy, get a room. Mike, we stay here and we wait for help.”

Hearing your name, you finally break apart from Steve and send Hopper an embarrassed glare, clearing your throat. Steve clears his throat as well and takes several steps away from you. His cheeks flaming red.

“Did he call me pretty boy?” Steve whispers to you, but you shush him, instead walking over to Mike, who has now started to tap his foot even more aggressively.

Standing behind the boy, you rub his shoulder, unsure how to help the boy. You know he’s worried about Will and he’s always hated waiting almost as much as you do. At your touch, Mike turns his head to look up at you, and the fire that’s always been in his eyes has died.

You look around the table, it’s quiet. Max is playing with her fingernails, Lucas is staring at the table with tears in his eyes, and Dustin is watching as you try to comfort Mike. All the kids are in their own state of shock and grief. They’re too young for all of this.

Meanwhile, Steve hangs back by the corner, knowing that this is what you do best: you take care of people. He watches as you furrow your brows for a second, a slight quirk he’s picked up about you, and slowly he sees you piece together how to help the kids you love so dearly.

You start with leaning against the table, wedged between Dustin and Mike, and somehow–Steve has always wondered how you do this–you light up the cold room with warmth.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of this by yourself,” you stroke Mike’s hair, it’s rare that you get to do this, but he remains numb to your touch. “Had I known any of this would happen, I would’ve made you more fudge brownies.”

Though it’s small, almost imperceptible, Mike lets out a tiny huff, a placeholder of a laugh.

At least it’s a start.

You whisper more words to him as Dustin leans against your back, grounded by your presence, and Max watches this with interested yet envious eyes. She still has yet to grow used to your kindness, to the love you share with the boys: a sibling relationship she’s never had before.

As you’re comforting Mike, his eyes wander towards the living room and suddenly he gets up. You watch, curious as to what he’s doing, as he grabs a cube and delicately rolls it around in his hand.

“Did you guys know that Bob was the original founder of Hawkins AV?”

At the mention of Bob’s name, you bring Dustin closer to you. With everything that’s happened tonight, the reminder of the man’s death fills you with raw, unfiltered grief. When you arrived at the Byers home and found a distraught Joyce, you knew.

Bob is dead, and he has taken all the kindness he shared with you. He was a sweet man, one who took you in without any question as soon as he started dating Joyce, a man who offered you rides to work and encouraged you to stop by his own job any time. The same man who brought the woman who is like a second mother to you, back to life.

Your heart breaks for Joyce, for Will and Jonathan and all the other kids.

Bob Newby truly was a superhero, everyone he ever interacted with came out a better person because of it. He never left anyone without a smile on their face, and now he’s gone.

Once you’ve managed to swallow down your grief, you voice from the kitchen, “I didn’t know that.”

Mike turns to you. “He petitioned the school to start it and everything, and then he had a fund-raiser for equipment. Mr. Clark learned everything from him.” There’s light in his voice as he approaches the table again, a spark as if the fire is trying to relight itself. “Pretty awesome, right?”

Dustin and Lucas nod, faint smiles on their own faces. “Yeah.”

Mike sets the cube down. “We can’t let him die in vain.”

You agree with him, but how could you possibly accomplish something like that>

“What do you want to do, Mike?” Dustin lifts his head up, frustrated. “The Chief’s right on this. We can’t stop those Demodogs on our own.”

“Demodogs?” Max finally speaks up.

You sigh, tired of hearing your brother’s explanation of his made up name. “Please don’t ask–”

“Demogorgon, dog. Demodog.” Your brother explains, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Demodogs. It’s like a compound… It’s like a play on words–”

“Okay!” You and Max say at once, cutting off his spiel.

“I mean, when it was just Dart, maybe…”

You snort at Dustin. “Tell that to my ribcage.”

The boy glares at you and Lucas takes over, reigning you both back in. “But there’s an army now.”

“Precisely,” Dustin sighs in defeat.

Mike, who has been quiet the entire conversation, realizes something. “His army.”

Steve looks around, confused. “What do you mean?”

“His army!” Mike faces everyone, and the fire behind his eyes now fully alive, and you know he’s come up with some genius plan like his sister always does. “Maybe if we stop him, we can stop his army too.”

Dustin and Lucas share a glance and seem to be understanding what Mike is saying, but you look to Steve, equally as lost as he is, before Mike runs out the room while the others follow.

“Any idea what that kid is saying?” The teen asks you, but you shake your head.

“On a good day, I understand maybe a quarter of what Mike says. However, with significant blood loss and no real meals in me, I’m afraid I have no fucking idea what’s happening.”

“Cool,” Steve steps closer to you and motions for you to guide the way. “Let’s follow, then.”

You find the kids in Will’s room, all standing over a picture that the boy drew. In it is a looming figure with four long limbs, its figure thin and haunting as it stalks over the picture. Seeing the drawing, you get an uneasy feeling.

“The doctor said it was like a virus, it infected him.” Mike is explaining, speaking so fast you can barely keep up as you and Steve stand in the doorway.

“What virus?” You ask, now standing next to the kids.

Mike hands you the picture. “The shadow monster, it got Will that day at the field.”

“And this virus… It’s connecting him to the tunnels?” Max seems to be following along better than you are, which is quite depressing.

“The tunnels, monsters, the Upside Down, everything.”

Something within your stomach drops, the familiar weight of guilt follows it. “Will is still connected to the Upside Down?”

“Whoa, slow down,” Steve steps in now, sensing your panic, and tries to rectify the situation. “Let’s all just slow down.”

Mike groans. “The shadow monster is inside everything, and if the vines feel something like pain, then so does Will.”

Again, guilt throws itself against you with all its weight, and you feel each thud against your body like a hammer feels a nail.

Lucas nods. “And so does Dart.”

“Like what Mr. Clark taught us. The hive mind.” Mike follows.

You’re silent, staring at the picture still in your hands.

Steve crosses his arms. “Hive mind?”

“A collective consciousness, a super organism.” You hear Dustin clarify, but it’s all beginning to blur together for you.

All you can think is that you’re the reason Will has become entangled in all of this, in alternate dimensions, infected with a monster so powerful that it can create vast tunnels underneath your feet and monsters bred to kill.

Mike is on a roll now, it’s all clicking together. “And this is the thing that controls everything. It’s the brain–”

“Like the mind flayer,” Dustin realizes, which causes both Lucas and Mike to stop in their tracks.

It seems the boys have figured it all out, then.

And it seems to you that old scars will never fade, not in the way that they should.

Swallowing down your nausea and tears and guilt, you finally speak. “Explain everything to me.”

–

Dustin throws the DnD book onto the Byers’ kitchen table, beginning to explain everything as everyone gathers around.

You stand next to him, Steve to your right, and watch as your brother commands the room as if he was born to do so. As he explains, you look around and everyone. Jonathan stands next to Lucas, facing across from you, and Nancy finds herself standing to your left, worried.

“Oh my god, none of this is real,” Hopper is already over the entire situation, which annoys you. “This is a kid’s game.”

“I’m sorry, but those Demodogs that just attacked us are logical to you?” You snap at the cop, completely baffled that he for some reason decided to draw the line at a DnD reference rather than literal demons from another dimension.

Hopper narrows his eyes at you, but before he can say anything, Jonathan shrugs his shoulders. “Y/N has a point, you know.”

“Okay, before we all start fighting, I just want to point out that this,” Dustin points to the book on the table. “Is a manuel, and it’s not for kids. Unless you know something that we don’t, this is the best metaphor–”

“Analogy.” Lucas interrupts.

“Analogy, that’s what you’re worried about?” You grab at Dustin’s jacket to try and settle him down, but he’s angry and annoyed and you know it’s been a long day for everyone. “Fine. An analogy for understanding whatever the hell this is!”

Nancy sees you struggling with the boy and tries to step in. “Okay, so this mind flamer thing–”

“Flayer,” you gently correct.

“What does it want?”

Dustin bites his lip. “To conquer us, basically. It believes it’s the master race.”

Steve, who is leaning next to Dustin and you, snaps his finger. “Like the Germans?”

“Uh… The Nazis?” Your brother looks at you, silently urging you to shut the teen up, and you pinch your nose again and sigh.

“Oh, buddy.” You loop your arm through his and pat Steve’s shoulder. “Let’s just listen, okay?”

Steve tries to say more but you hold your finger up, indicating that you won’t listen to whatever he’s about to say, and he rolls his eyes at you but rests his free hand against the one you have on his arm.

However, when Lucas announces that you could all be dealing with the end of the world, Steve lets out a dry laugh and tries to pull away from you, freaking out. “That’s great! That’s really great, jesus!”

You pull him back by the arm, forcing him to stand next to you and calm down, and he doesn’t try to fight it. Though he’s scared out of his fucking mind and in over his head, he listens to your silent command and comes back to you. Once he’s still, you unwrap your arm from his and bring that hand to the back of his neck, playing with the baby hairs there to try and soothe him.

Steve leans into your touch, his shoulders start to relax, and you know he’s slowly calming down.

Jonathan sees this interaction and catches your eye, and when he has your attention, he flashes you a knowing smirk as he mouths, friendly, aren’t we?

You narrow your eyes and subtly point between him and Nancy, mouthing back, you’re one to talk, which effectively shuts Jonathan up and he diverts his eyes again, going back to focusing on what Dustin and the others are saying.

“No, no fireballs,” Dustin is explaining to Hopper. “Instead, you–uh. You summon an undead army and… Uh, because… Zombies, ya know? They don’t–uh, have brains and the–the mind flayer, it, uh, likes brains.”

When your brother sees you shaking your head in disappointment and Hopper’s barely controlled anger, he quickly finishes with, “It’s just a game.”

You nudge his shoulder with yours. “You did well explaining, buddy.”

Dustin gives you a weak thumbs up as Hopper angrily throws the book down. “What the hell are we doing here?”

“I thought we were waiting for your military backup.” Dustin retorts, and you quickly raise your hand for a high five, which he gladly accepts.

Hopper sees this and rolls his eyes. “We are!”

“But even if they come, how are they gonna stop this? You can’t just shoot this with guns!” Mike quips, and you give him a high five as well.

“You don’t know that! We don’t know anything!” Hopper roars, and it takes everything within you not to flinch at his raised voice.

“We do know, actually.” You say, voice quiet but stern as you try to steady your heartbeat. You’ve never, ever been able to hear a man yelling at you without some form of panic clawing at your chest. “Ask Nancy about the guns. We fought a fully grown Demodog last year, you seem to conveniently forget that.”

Hopper clenches his jaw. “Every time I start to like you, you piss me off again.”

“It’s a skill.”

Everyone begins to argue again, Hopper with you while Dustin, Lucas, and Mike take your side to try and reason with the cop, before a frail, broken voice silences you all.

“They’re right.” Joyce stumbles from her room, her face still wet with tears as grief overtakes her.

“Mrs. Byers,” you breathe out, immediately walking over to the woman to stand by her side, but she gently pushes you away.

“We have to kill it.” Anger slowly spills into her voice. “I want to kill it.”

Hopper joins your side now, the two of you surrounding the woman. “Me too, Joyce. Okay? But how do we do that? We don’t exactly know what we’re dealing with here.”

“We don’t know what could happen to Will,” you urge, understanding Joyce’s anger but terrified of how it may affect her son.

“If anyone knows how to destroy this thing, it’s Will.” Mike begins to walk over to the boy, who is still knocked out cold on the couch. “He’s connected to it. He’ll know its weakness.”

Everyone stands in the living room now, and dread encases its hand around your throat. You don’t want to make Will any more involved in this than he needs to be, he’s been through too much.

Max cocks her head. “I thought we couldn’t trust him anymore. That he’s a spy for the mind flayer now.”

“We can always trust Will.” There’s an edge to your voice, and Jonathan has to grab your hand to steady you.

Mike nods, understanding what you’re trying to voice. “I know, Y/N. We can always trust him, and he can’t spy if he doesn’t know where he is.”

–

Somehow, Steve gets paired up with Nancy to cover the inside of the Byers’ shed with tarps.

One minute Steve had been standing behind you in the living room as Mike explained his plan, and the next minute he was being auctioned off to join his ex in a small shed while you got to happily team up with Jonathan and his mom.

It was unfair, really.

While he’s moping about his luck, Nancy hesitantly looks at Steve, clearly also as equally uncomfortable in the silence. She lingers as Steve begins to hang up another tarp and she tears a piece of tape for him, waiting.

She watches as Steve’s body stretches the length of the wall and realizes that this is the first time they’ve been alone together since their conversation at school, and that his languid movements are foreign to her.

Nancy hasn’t seen him so at ease in a long, long time.

She thinks about how you’d been with him these last few days while she had been with Jonathan, and she wonders what else may have possibly changed in such a short amount of time.

“Hey,” she finally says, the silence clawing at her. “What you did, um… Helping the kids, that was really cool.”

Steve still looks at Nancy with such sincerity and warmth, something that makes her stomach twist with guilt. He doesn’t know what she’s done just yet, and she doesn’t know if he has a right to even care at all.

“Yeah,” he exhales, breaking the eye contact first. “Those little shits are real trouble, ya know?”

Nancy finds herself laughing, grateful he seems open to talking to her. “Believe me, I know.”

“It’s a miracle that Y/N survived so long on her own.” Steve says absentmindedly, returning to hanging up the tarp.

Hearing your name causes Nancy’s stomach to twist again. Steve may not have pieced everything together just yet, but she knows that you have. You’ve always been able to read people well, too well, even.

Jonathan wasn’t yours and she wasn’t Steve’s, yet Nancy feels an overwhelming sense of guilt for the two of you.

“It’s nice that you were there for her,” Nancy avoids looking at Steve again.

“Y/N has been there for everyone else, so I figured it was time that someone was finally there for her?” He shakes his head, unsure what he’s even saying. “I just… I wanted to help her.”

Nancy doesn’t say anything, she only nods and continues tearing off more pieces of tape.

You’re too good, everyone knows this, and sometimes Nancy finds herself resenting you for it, even though none of it is your fault.

–

Jonathan tears down another bedsheet from the clothing line and tosses it into the growing pile of sheets and bedding in your arms; he yanks them down, you catch, and then he cuts the lines with the knives you loaned him.

“You sure this is gonna work?” Jonathan asks his mom, who has joined the two of you to collect her own pile of sheets to cover the shed.

Joyce nods, the familiar frantic look in her eyes from last year is now back. “He knew who I was. He’s still in there. It’s gonna work, it has to.”

You peek from behind the pile of cloth you’re holding. “Who knows, maybe we can finally prove whether or not Freud’s theory of consciousness is correct.”

Jonathan doesn’t understand what you mean, but Joyce sends you a grateful smile, appreciative that you’re trying to remain optimistic despite the situation, and then leaves before her son can question the plan once more.

As soon as the two of you are alone, Jonathan puts your switchblade in his pocket and then faces you, not wasting a second to finally have you to himself. “Okay, tell me everything I missed while I was gone.”

His eager curiosity makes you smile. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but aren’t we on a time limit?”

“I think we can spare a few minutes, bug.”

“Fine, but at least grab some of these sheets so I can actually look at you while I talk.”

Jonathan laughs and does as he’s told, grabbing some of the cloth you’re holding and lessening the weight of it for you. Once he’s able to see your face, he smiles warmly at you. “Hi,”

“Hi, bee.” The greeting drips from your mouth like pure honey, and with two simple words, Jonathan can feel himself finally begin to relax.

“So,” he wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Go on.”

You take a deep breath, knowing that what you’re about to tell Jonathan will remove the carefree smile on his face. He’ll only blame himself, and you hate the responsibility he seems to feel for you.

“The only major thing, well… Besides the Demodogs, is that I spilled milk all over Billy, the guy you punched at the Halloween party.”

Jonathan gapes at you. “What?”

“Yeah, it was kinda awesome, honestly. He was being a bitch, accusing me and Steve of getting together to piss you and Nance off, and he was just being an overall creep, so… I spilled milk on him to get him to shut up so that Steve wouldn’t end up knocking the guy out.”

“Wait, Steve was there?” He tries to keep his voice level, but even Jonathan can hear the underlying hurt within his voice.

He’s not sure why the hurt is there, or why the thought of Steve being the one now protecting you sends a punch to his throat.

“Yeah,” you frown at him, confused by his sudden shift in mood. “He was with me in the lunchroom, wanted to know where you and Nance had run off to.”

Jonathan swallows. “I’m glad he was there, bug.”

And he is, he knows he is, but he also knows that it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the shift that has come between the two of you. How it was only thirty minutes ago that you had wrapped your arm around Steve’s, not Jonathan’s.

He clears his throat. “So, about Steve…”

“What about him?” You feign ignorance, but Jonathan sees the blush that has started to spread across your face.

“You’re blushing, bug.” It hurts him to tease, but he knows he has to. Jonathan has to play the role he had been given when he was twelve and had met you that day on Nancy’s front porch.

The same girl he slept with last night, who he has come to love with such devotion that he still struggles to accept within himself.

They haven’t talked about it, at least not yet, but all the unsaid truths between you and Jonathan hang over him. He can feel the lines and threads and strings all closing in on you two, and he knows you can also sense it as well.

“It’s nothing, bee.” You start walking towards the shed, uncomfortable now. You don’t want Jonathan’s teasing, not when it comes to Steve; it’s too painful, you still haven’t quite come to terms with your newfound feelings for the boy.

Not when you haven’t laid your feelings for Jonathan to rest, yet.

It wouldn’t be fair to Steve.

Jonathan steps in front of you, blocking your path. He feels as if he’s about to lose you, and for the first time since he’s met you, he doesn’t know how to make you stay. “Hey, I’m sorry. It’s just… I know you.”

His words burn.

“Let’s just get back to the shed–”

“Bug,” he blocks your path again. He’s not ready to lose you just yet, but he knows he will soon. It’s inevitable. “I know you, and when you’re around Steve, you just… You’re different, a–a good different, and–”

“Jonathan, I really don’t want to talk about this,” you plead, but he hears the at least not with you that goes unsaid. “Why don’t you focus on your newly formed relationship with Nancy, okay?”

Jonathan stumbles over his feet. “You–you know?”

“I know you,” you echo his words from moments ago, with its melancholy and all.

He sighs, steps to the side, and lets you go.

It’s quiet after that.

–

In the shed, everyone busies themselves with their tasks.

You, Steve, and Lucas run around with nail guns and tape for those who need it. The rest of the kids work as a unit, helping one another with covering every inch of wall they can find. Meanwhile, Nancy wraps newspaper around the poles while Jonathan carries Will through the door.

Seeing Will, limp within Jonathan’s arms, only reminds you of the dead body that had been pulled from the quarry last year.

Only this time it really is Will.

Together, you and Jonathan gently place the boy in the chair and tie him. You ignore the way your heart clenches as you knot the cords together; you’re doing this to save him. Joyce prepares the medicine needed to knock Will out, in case anything happens, and as you watch, Lucas and Mike switch on the overhead lamps, blinding you.

“Christ,” you mumble, holding your hand up to shield your eyes from the light.

“It works,” Mike looks at you, hopeful. “It’s gonna work.”

Hopper steps forward, facing everyone. “If you aren’t related to the Byers family, get out.” While everyone begins to leave, you and Mike remain where you are. When Hopper sees this, he frowns. “What did I just say?”

Dustin and Steve linger in the doorway, both silently asking you what the plan is, and you give them a slight nod to indicate that it’s okay. You’ll join them later, right now Will needs you and you sure as hell aren’t leaving Mike and Jonathan alone to deal with this.

“Y/N is family, Hop.” Joyce stands next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You smile at her before facing the chief. “I’m staying.”

“Me, too.” Mike echos, standing his own ground against the man, and you refrain from giving him another high five for his bravery.

Better not to upset Hopper too much more.

The man in question groans, too tired to argue. “Fine, you two can stay, but only because I know that if I don’t let Henderson stay then Jonathan will probably have a panic attack or something.”

Jonathan shrugs. “Probably.”

Dustin rushes over to you and gives you a tight hug. “Be careful.”

“I will,” you kiss the top of his hat, catching Steve’s eye in the process. “Take care of him, please?”

Steve nods, without any hesitation to do as you’ve asked. “Of course.”

And with that, the door to the shed closes as the last of the group leaves.

It’s silent after that, and you take a second to admire the work everyone did. The shed is completely unrecognizable, and the lights will only further limit Will’s vision. A part of you truly believes that this plan could work, but you’ve long since stopped letting your hope get the better of you.

“Alright, you ready?” Hopper looks over at Joyce, holding the ammonia needed to wake Will up.

“Yeah,” the woman crosses her arms, and you want to reach out and hold her.

Everyone is quiet as Hopper crouches in front of Will and dabs some ammonia onto a cotton ball. Then, slowly, he brings it up to the boy’s face and waits for him to inhale. When he does, Will’s eyes snap open and he inhales so sharply that you’re worried he’s hurt himself.

You stand in between Mike and Jonathan, and seeing the pure fear on Will’s face brings tears to your eyes. He reminds you of a deer, small and frail, with eyes so full of fear that it makes you ache.

Will’s eyes dart around the room, and when he notices that he’s tied to the chair, he begins to tug at the cords. “What–what is this? Why am I tied up?”

“Will, we just wanna talk to you,” Joyce softly tells him, now eye level with the boy as she does her best to calm him down. “We’re not gonna hurt you.”

“Where am I?” The fear that had once been in Will’s voice is gone, now replaced with an anger that seems so foreign to associate with the boy.

Hopper joins now, showing him the picture of the mind flayer that he drew. “You recognize this?”

Will shakes his head and looks over at you, now realizing that you’re there, and you force yourself to look away. He’s always been the sweetest boy, but he killed so many innocent people today, even if he hadn’t meant to.

You trust Will, you do, but you remind yourself that the boy in front of you isn’t really him.

“We wanna help you,” Joyce tries to reassure him again. “But to do that, we have to understand how to kill it.”

At the mention of killing, Will’s eyes widen as more anger seeps through him, now shouting at his mother, “Why am I tied up? Why am I tied up? Why am I tied up?”

He begins to thrash around, throwing his head back against the wall as he repeatedly screams and begs to be let go. The lights are now flickering and immediately you draw Mike into your chest, trying to mask your own tears as you comfort him.

Jonathan clings behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist as he buries his face into your shoulder, and blindly you reach behind yourself so you can hold him as well. When you feel his tears spill against your skin, you wrap your arms tighter around Mike and cry.

Will continues to scream, becoming more and more violent, and something demonic seems to crawl into his vocal chords as he screams.

You hold Mike and Jonathan tighter against you, doing everything you can to be there for the boys. You knew this would be difficult, but as the lights continue to flicker and Will’s pale face quickly becomes paler with every plea, you feel weak.

With Jonathan behind you and Mike in front of you, both boys clinging onto you as sobs wrack your own body, it becomes unclear who is being held up and who is the one holding.

Hopper has his own arms wrapped around Will, and slowly, miraculously, his pleas begin to fade off. Exhaustion seems to overtake the boy, as he starts to mumble more than scream, and with every exhaled breath, the light’s flickering settles down.

Finally, silence.

The only sound in the shed is Will’s labored breaths, alongside your own.

Joyce sits in the chair placed in front of Will, takes a moment to find her words, and then asks the boy, “Do you know what March 22nd is?”

You do, it’s Will’s birthday, and you listen as Joyce talks about his eighth birthday and how she had gotten him a giant box of crayons and he had used all the colors to draw a rainbow ship. With every word, more despair and love fills the woman’s voice as she reflects on how proud she is of him, how much she loves him, and you have to turn away for a moment to wipe at your eyes.

After Joyce has finished her story, you all see something within Will. As if he’s coming back to himself, his eyes no longer holding the malic from earlier.

Jonathan detangles himself from you and wipes his eyes as well, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Do you remember the day dad left?”

You turn around, already knowing the story that he’s about to tell, and you press a soft kiss to Mike’s forehead before joining Jonathan at Will’s side. He can’t be alone when he retells this story, because he hadn’t been alone when it happened.

“We stayed up all night building Castle Byers,” Jonathan reflects, nudging you as you crouch down in front of Will as well. “It was Y/N’s idea to build it just the way you drew it.”

“You loved the idea,” your voice cracks, but you try to hide it so that you don’t scare the boy.

You remember how Will’s face lit up when you surprised him with the idea. He hadn’t left his room in hours, blaming himself for Lonnie leaving, and Jonathan had shown up at your window, in tears as he confessed that he didn’t know how to help Will.

After yanking the teen into your room and sitting him down on your bed, you had told him that Will simply needed someone there for him, to remind him that he was good and lovely and that everything that Lonnie had ever said was wrong.

Later that day, the two of you showed up to the hardware store; two young teens with only pocket change as currency, and you’d bought all the supplies needed for Castle Byers.

“And it took so long because you were so bad at hammering.” The fondness of the memory causes Jonathan to laugh, and you do so as well as you remember just how many times Will had accidentally hit his fingers rather than the nail. “You missed the nail every time.”

“I thought you’d lose a finger, honestly.” You add, which Joyce laughs at.

Jonathan continues. “And then it started raining, but we stayed out there anyway. All of us were sick for like a week after that… But we just had to finish it, didn’t we? We just had to.”

You squeeze the teen’s hand and lean in closer to Will, sensing that it’s now your turn to speak. “Do you know what my nickname is for you?”

Will slowly nods, his eyes going to Jonathan and then back to you, indicating that he understands he’s your little bee.

“Little bee, that’s right.” It isn’t difficult to reminisce on your favorite memory with the boy, it comes to you immediately. “After we all had gotten the cold, do you remember the awful flu that Jonathan and Dustin somehow got like a week afterwards?”

Jonathan snorts, remembering how annoyed he had been for being so sick for so long. He had missed two whole weeks of school, and you were the one who had to bring his assignments to him and help with his homework.

“That weekend, our moms decided that it made more sense to send Jonathan to my house so he and Dustin could quarantine together, so I stayed at your house and we spent the entire weekend alone. Just you and me.”

You smile softly, the memory fresh and warm like an early spring day. You love Jonathan and Dustin endlessly, but being alone with Will was special. A rare occasion that the two of you always relished in. “That weekend, we watched all your favorite movies and I taught you how to bake the cookies you love so much… You taught me how to draw, and together we were happy.”

Your voice breaks again, the warmth of the memory slightly stings as you gaze into Will’s sunken eyes. Two years ago you had all of Will, his happiness genuine and his heart kind, and now you’re terrified you’ll never have that version of him back ever again.

Jonathan notices your hesitancy and strokes your face gently. “Go on,”

You grab the hand on your face and kiss it, grateful for the strength he’s loaning you. “We–we were almost sad when Dustin and Jonathan got better, because we had enjoyed our little weekend getaway.”

Joyce lets out a shaky breath as she reaches for you as well, her hand landing against your shoulder, a place she has long since inhabited for herself whenever she wants to express her love for you. She knows how fiercely you love her sons, and she remembers all the laughter and joy she heard that weekend within her home, a home that had long since stopped being warm for her.

“That weekend…” You force down the sobs that threaten to spill over. You have to finish the story, to remind Will of who he is again. He has to come back to you. “That weekend, you became my little bee.”

As soon as you say Will’s nickname, you lean away from the boy and try to collect yourself. You’ve said all that you physically can for now, and you hope it was enough. You hope, more than anything, that it will be enough to bring Will home again.

Mike steps forward now, and Will turns his head to him. “Do you remember the first day that we met?”

You notice the tear that falls down the boy’s face, and you lean your head against Jonathan’s shoulder in exhaustion as you listen to his story. It’s one you’ve never heard before, and it’s rare to see Mike so vulnerable with his feelings.

“It was… It was the first day of kindergarten. I knew nobody. I had no friends, and–and I just felt so alone and so scared but–” More tears come. “I saw you on the swings and you were alone, too. You were just swinging by yourself.”

Jonathan’s hand finds your hair as you both listen, and you know he’s thinking the same as you. How finding your person in a world so vast and lonely can bring you to life.

“I just walked up to you and… I asked. I asked if you wanted to be my friend, and you said yes.” Mike swallows, now diverting his eyes away from everyone. “You said yes, and it was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Mike finishes with more tears, and you walk over to him so that he can hide his face against you. You know he wants to be alone right now, that he hates how exposed his emotions are, and as soon as you’ve wrapped your arms around the boy he buries his face in your chest and softly cries.

You do your best to shield him from the world.

Meanwhile, Joyce tries again to reach Will. “Will, baby. If you’re in there, just please… Please talk to us. Please, honey, can you do that for me? I love you so much.”

Something seems to collapse within Will, he fights back tears as his breathing becomes labored again. For a moment, you think it’s worked, that he’ll finally come back and you’ll have your little bee again.

“Let me go.” Will demands again, and you feel everyone’s heart in the room drop.

It’s quiet for several moments, but there’s a faint tapping that you hear. You don’t know where it’s coming from, but you’re sure that it hadn’t been there moments ago. You look around the room and see Hopper doing the same.

When your eyes meet his, he tilts his head at you as if to ask if you hear it too. You nod, and Hopper looks around once more before he freezes.

“Out,” Hopper suddenly orders, leaving no time for anyone to argue as he flings the shed door open and marches towards the Byers home.

–

“What happened?” Dustin immediately asks as soon as you enter the house.

“We think we found something,” you inform him, pointing to Hopper, who has now sat down at the kitchen table with a pen and paper.

Everyone gathers around him as he starts to scribble a series of lines and dots. “I think he’s talking, just not with words.

“What is that?” Steve asks, lost as to how lines and dots are so important.

“Morse code,” all the boys answer in unison.

Steve leans over you and whispers, “Why do they always do that?”

“You get used to it. Now shush.”

Hopper spells out the letters he remembers Will tapping. “H-E-R-E.”

“Here.” Everyone says out loud.

“Will is still in there. He’s talking to us.” The chief says, looking at Joyce.

Your eyes meet Jonathan’s and an idea comes to you. “If the memories we’re telling him are working, then what about music?”

Hopper thinks for a moment, but Jonathan has already run to his room to grab his stereo and cassette tapes, understanding exactly what you’re thinking.

A plan forms from there.

You, Jonathan, Mike, and Joyce all take turns telling Will stories while his favorite song plays. Should I Stay or Should I Go? Plays within the shed as memories fill it with warmth and Hopper taps out on a walkie everything that Will taps.

Inside the house, the kids, Nancy, and Steve all listen to the walkie and write down the morse code to decipher what Will is saying.

Jonathan tells him about real music, Mike recounts the time Will saved the party during one of their campaigns, Joyce talks about a kind moment from his childhood, and you tell him about the wonderful drawing he made for your birthday. The one of you, Jonathan, and the party fighting a dragon.

“You drew me as a princess and Jonathan laughed when he saw it. Said it was very fitting.” You say, nervously watching as Will frantically taps against his chair. “When you gave me the picture, I think I almost squeezed you to death when I hugged you. It’s still the best birthday gift I’ve ever been given–”

The sound of a telephone ringing cuts you off, and Will snaps his head up, no longer paying any attention to you.

You freeze, now realizing that the music has shut off. Will has to have heard it, and you know he’ll figure out where you guys are. His eyes droop shut and you slowly back away into Jonathan, who grabs you and pulls you even further away. He’s tense, you both are.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Joyce tries to draw Will back in, but he’s starting to pant as his eyes flutter rapidly underneath his eyelids.

“It knows. It knows where we are.” Hopper says as Joyce reaches for the sedative.

With one fluid movement, she injects Will and immediately he knocks out. His head falls forward, his breathing now back to normal. You pull at Joyce so that she faces you. “Did we knock him out in time?”

She doesn’t say anything, and Hopper runs outside while Jonathan and Mike join. The two of you stand in the shed alone, silent, both filled with dread.

Jonathan comes running back in. “They’re coming!”

“Shit!” You scramble to help him untie Will and you and Hopper use your knives to speed up the process. Your hands are shaking, but there’s no time to steady them.

Once Will is untied, Jonathan throws him over his shoulder and runs to the house. Joyce and Hopper follow and you grab Mike’s hand to make sure you don’t lose him. As you run, you hear the familiar screeches of the Demodogs and the hair on the back of your neck stands up.

They’re close.

Inside, you take the lead and shove everyone out of the kitchen. “Get to the living room. Now!”

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Steve is at your side now, his voice soft with fear.

You’re about to reassure him that it’ll be okay, to lie through your teeth, but then you see the kids by the windows and groan. “Get away from the windows!”

They scurry away and Hopper steps in, holding a shotgun that he offers to Jonathan. “Do you know how to use this?”

Jonathan looks around as if Hopper has asked someone else. “What?”

“Can you use this?”

While Jonathan stumbles over his words, Nancy confidently walks over. “I can.”

Hopper nods and tosses her the gun before turning to you, “I saw the switchblade earlier. Use it.”

You flick your wrist and extend the blades, doing as you’re told.

Everyone gathers around, with an assortment of weapons, and you get the insane urge to laugh. Of course you’re back here a year later, standing in Jonathan’s living room as monsters from another dimension threaten your loved ones.

Jonathan stands in front of Joyce while you stand in front of Dustin, knives raised to your face. Steve stands in front of you, his back facing you as he wields his bat, ready to defend you and your brother.

You make sure to keep an eye on Lucas and Max, who are to your left, trusting that Nancy has Mike as she and Hopper raise their guns.

All eyes are on the windows, no one says anything as you all wait. With every passing second, the howls and screeches outside get louder. Then, a loud screech comes from your right, and everyone turns around.

“What are they doing?” Nancy asks no one in particular, her voice shaky but her aim firm and strong.

You see the bushes rustling through the windows, and another snarl comes from the other side that causes you all to scream. There’s commotion outside, a series of screeches and thuds, and your body tenses, preparing itself to fight.

Suddenly, the screeching stops, and through the window a giant body gets thrown.

You scream and Steve shoves you and Dustin further behind him, but your brother realizes before you do what’s happened. “Holy shit.”

The Demodog lays motionless on the floor, its body limp, and you realize with a relieved sigh that it’s dead.

“Is it dead?” Max asks, as you all begin to approach its corpse.

“It is,” you confirm, too scared to ask the question of what the fuck killed it.

As Hopper pokes at the Demodog with his shoe, the front door creaks open, and everyone turns in alarm with weapons at the ready. The lock turns, and you feel a familiar sense of static. It’s been a year since you’ve felt the sensation, a year since the girl who could control things with her mind disappeared and left her memory behind.

It’s El.

She walks in, and you drop your knife in shock when you see that it’s her.

She’s grown so much since you last saw her, her hair is longer and she’s gotten taller. Her clothes are all black, her eyes smudged with makeup. Mike steps forward, you see the way his eyes fill with adoration.

You let out a soft cry, all the guilt and grief you’ve felt over the girl finally lifts, and you can breathe again.

She’s back.

El is alive.

-

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[moonagedaydreamsofrhiannon]

IN DEFENSE OF TRAVIS MARTINEZ:

Because I’m sick and tired of seeing travis hate everywhere I go.

“Travis was sexist.”

Did he spout some sexist rhetoric in the beginning of the show? Sure. But it’s important to recognize that: A) he changed, and by season 2 he completely stopped, B) he was a teenage boy in the 1990s, and that kind of rhetoric was normal at the time, C) most of his sexist macho tough guy attitude was a complete act that he likely put on to compensate for his insecurity about his own masculinity, and internalized homophobia. (More on that later.)

(Also let’s be real, Travis is basically one of the girls anyway and I’m tired of pretending he’s not.)

2. “Travis didn’t care about Javi.”

Did we watch the same show??? Granted Travis may have had trouble expressing his feelings (also related to his insecurities about masculinity, likely learned from his father, as well as growing up in a patriarchal and homophobic society), but he cared deeply about Javi. In S1E4, Travis literally DUG UP HIS DAD’S GRAVE, through horror, tears, and vomit, in order to retrieve his ring to give to Javi. When Javi disappeared, Travis kept looking for him every day for months, and never gave up, even when logically it would have seemed impossible for him to still be alive. He comforted and reassured Javi when neither of them drew the card. He cradled Javi’s dead body and ate a bite of his raw heart (which was a metaphor for how much he loved him, and a parallel to Shauna eating Jackie’s raw ear.) Maybe Travis wasn’t always there for Javi in the way he needed, but he absolutely loved him, and it’s important to remember that Travis was also a traumatized, grieving, kid who just lost his dad.

3. “Travis slut-shamed Nat.”

As we are literally shown in the show, Travis was not trying to slut shame her, he asked how many times she had done it because he was embarrassed about the fact that he was a virgin, and worried that she would judge him, or that he wouldn’t measure up because he was more inexperienced than her. When she told him she hooked up with Bobby Farleigh, he did not get mad at her because she slept with another guy (he already knew about that, and was fine with it), he got mad because she hooked up with his bully, and then lied to him about it. I don’t blame Nat for this, she didn’t know about it at the time, and didn’t want him to get mad once she found out, but I also don’t blame Travis for being hurt and embarrassed and upset with her for lying about it.

4. “Travis was just kind of a dick.”

Sure, but so were all of them. He acted like kind of a jerk in the first season. So what? Shauna had an affair with her best friend’s boyfriend, lied to her about it for months, and refused to apologize. Misty tried to drug Coach Ben. Nat faked his brother’s death to him (yeah, she was trying to help him move on, but still not cool). All of them called him “Flex” (y’know, the nickname that was used to bully him for years). None of them are perfect or nice or likable all the time, and that’s ok; that’s the whole point. They’re realistic, complex, flawed, morally gray and sometimes unlikable people. They’ve all done bad things, but nothing Travis did is worse than what anyone else on that show has done. He was a traumatized teen whose dad literally just died. Also, me personally, if everyone around me was constantly calling me the mean nickname that was used to bully me since middle school, I would also probably act like a little bit of a dick.

5. “Travis is a straight man.”

Wrong. (Also not really a valid reason to hate someone… But most importantly, just wrong.)

Travis Martinez is clearly a bisexual.

So many of his issues: the insecurity, the bullying, the macho tough guy act, the whole weird complex about his masculinity, all of it stems (at least partly) from the fact that he’s bisexual and has internalized homophobia. The whole “Flex” thing is just thinly veiled homophobia. The main reason why he got bullied is because Bobby Farleigh spread a rumor about him getting back surgery to better suck his own dick. The unsaid implication there is that he’s a man who sucks dick, which is inherently queer, even if it is his own. If you look even slightly past the most surface level interpretation, it’s pretty obvious that Travis was bullied because of homophobia. His performance of stereotypical toxic masculinity was clearly over compensation for the fact that he doesn’t fit into the box of traditional straight masculinity, and was a reaction to the bullying from his peers, abuse from his dad, and internalized homophobia from growing up in a homophobic and patriarchal society. As the show progresses he starts to unlearn that toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia, and he allows himself to be more vulnerable, emotional, and feminine, and as a result, he becomes stronger, more confident, and more respectful of the people around him.

As for Travis being a man… Is he though???

In season 1, Travis is a man (narratively speaking); there is a clear distinction between Travis/Coach Ben and the girls. However, in season 2, we see a stark shift in how Travis is depicted. The separation between Travis and the girls pretty much ceases to exist. Narratively speaking, there is no distinction made between Travis and the other girls; they are one entity—one hive mind. Instead, the emphasis is now placed on the distinction between Coach Ben and the girls/Travis. When Coach Ben watches the Yellowjackets eat Jackie in horror and disbelief, Travis is right there with them, dressed in ancient greek robes along with the rest of them. In season 2, Coach Ben is the only real Man of the group (Travis has narratively become one of the girls, and Javi is just a boy, not a man) and he is shown staying separate from the rest of the group, and growing more and more uncomfortable with the cultish dynamics, while Travis, on the other hand, becomes more and more integrated with the group, as he falls deeper and deeper into cult beliefs, until he is a full-blown devout Lottie worshipper. Of the three males on the show, he is the only one who actually participates in cannibalism with the other Yellowjackets. Also he lost his virginity to a lesbian.

Whether or not you choose to believe that Travis is transfem (I do) you cannot deny that, at least narratively speaking, Travis is literally just a girl.

6. Travis is a victim.

I don’t know why nobody in this fandom seems to acknowledge this, but Travis is a sexual assault victim and I’m tired of people constantly overlooking and ignoring that fact. In Doomcoming, the girls (excluding Jackie, Nat, Tai, and Van) chased him down, sexually assaulted him, and then tried to kill him. That’s not something that’s up for debate or denial, that is literally canon. Stop pretending it didn’t happen. Stop pretending it wasn’t assault. Stop shaming him and making fun of him for struggling with sex, or not always being able to get it up. That’s a normal trauma response after being assaulted/raped. You guys are literally proving the point. This kind of treatment from society towards masculinity and male victims is just playing into the patriarchy and toxic masculinity, and is exactly what made him act the way he did in season 1 in the first place!

[hunnylagoon]

Take Me to War

PT2 Metaphor

Streamer! Ellie Williams x reader

Where do I pour my love if you take away my pen and paper?

Premise: You are starting to like your annoyingly loud neighbour more than you want to admit.

PT1 Here!

Warnings: Raunchy humour

The gym was busy on this particular day, I absentmindedly judged others for being at the gym at noon on a Saturday like they should have been doing something more interesting with their time until I realized I was at the gym at noon on a Saturday with no other plans for the rest of the day "And she's hot?" Abby asks me while she effortlessly benches something around 170 and I do nothing more than lean on the wall behind her.  

"She's hot," I answer, scrolling through her feed on Instagram like the weird little stalker I was. I hadn't gone full FBI, just looked her up and possibly watched some of her videos "It's kind of cool that I have an internet celebrity living next to me."

"Define cool," Abby props the bar back onto the saddles of the machine and sits up, taking a chug from her water bottle.

"She is cool," I defend "It's not that weird Minecraft roleplay that your grimy cousins watch, it's just like video games and vlogs, that kind of stuff."

Abby looks back at me, sweat drips from her blonde hairline and rests above her brow "How is that even a career?"

I shrug in response "Sponsorships and donations and shit." 

"Why do people throw so much money at streamers?"

"Parasocial relationships, I wrote an article about it last year which you said you read."

She sucks a sharp breath through her teeth "You were writing a lot of articles, hard to keep up with."

"Define a lot," I mock Abby's words. I glance at a guy in between the rows of gleaming machines, their metallic frames reflecting the obnoxious glow overhead. He had been using the leg press upside down, his neck hunched over into an almost horrifying posture, his shoulders pressing against the top plate. It might've been the most normal thing I've seen in New York.

"So are you going to ask her out?"

I wrinkle my nose, thinking about it "I met her last week, I just don't think I know her that well." Within the past week that I've met her, I've been crawling out to the fire escape every morning just so her drowsy eyes could peer into my vacant skull and in recent months I had given up on dating, like a spider, I devoured my own heart.

"That's kind of the point of dating," She lays back down on the bench press "Getting to know each other."

"I think I'm too busy to date," I tuck my phone into my pocket, crossing my arms while I watch Abby. I wasn't entirely sure that I was too busy to date but I tended to consume myself entirely and make everything far more complicated than it needed to be. I still perform autopsies on conversations I've had years ago, clinging to every word like I need them to survive.

"Why don't you wanna be happy?" She asks, furrowing her eyebrows "You're always getting in your own way, is it a tortured poet type of thing?"

My breath hitches in my throat. How I hate when she's right. The last serious relationship I had was in college and even then I had sabotaged myself, I didn't know where it came from other than a nagging feeling that I wasn't deserving of the love that had been offered up to me on a shining silver platter. "I do I'm-

"Just not ready?" Abby cuts me off, finishing my sentence so perfectly as if it had been words on a script for some boring play about a woman who hates her life and won't do anything about it.

"Yeah," I say, my voice is quiet, she's got me in a box here.

"If you're not ready to date, you might as well be friends with her," She puts the bar back onto the saddles but this time, stands up after completing her reps. "You need to get out and it seems like you get along well."

"I guess," I say and Abby raises an eyebrow "No, you're right, I need to dig myself out of the grave I've dug for myself." What added to my overly apathetic mood was the season, I was so sick of February. It felt like winter had forced mold to grow on my bones to way me down onto the dirty city pavement where careless New Yorkers would gladly stomp over my body.

"How's it going with the family?" Abby is writing something down in her notes which I assume is her number of sets and reps.

"Nothing new," I answer.

She peers at me over her phone, digging for a more solid answer "Are you still sending your parents money?"

"Yes-

"Why?" Her arms dropped to her side, her phone still in one hand "You shouldn't have to play caretaker for two people who don't care about you," As true as it was, it didn't hurt any less to hear it out of my best friend's mouth. 

"It's easier said than done, those are my parents," I'm almost overtaken by a delicate drowsiness from the thoughts of leaving behind the one connection I had to my small-town life. My parents were so careless that I would run around barefoot on the road with the neighbour's kids for hours, narrowly dodging cars that flew past us like it had been a game; everything was a game back then, when I came home to my father's drunkenness, I could hide away in the treehouse and read Harry Potter until the screaming came to a stop.

I was bonded to them like I was to the stray cats who raised me. There was no getting rid of them, we ricocheted between hatred and love like the game of catch I never got to play.  

"I'm sorry," She says though I know it is ingenuine "I shouldn't get in between your family."

Abby didn't know them the same way I did. All she knew was the bloodiness of the relationship that I had cried into her arms, she didn't know how kind the wolves were after they tore me apart. The way my father would cheer for me the loudest at my soccer games and how my mother baked for me after a fight, wasn't the apology that I yearned for but the one that was shoved down my throat.

I dug through my brain to search for a way to change the topic "I saw Owen at the market yesterday and he said he wanted you to call him."

"You're fucking kidding."

My deadline had passed with no issue and I was finally blessing myself with a day where I wasn't chained to my desk. I could finally let my poor bloodshot eyes rest and for once I didn't have to drown them in eyedrops.

I was freshly out of the shower when I heard a knock at my door, Margot yelling at me to answer it. I slipped into a matching pyjama set that Abby gave me on my birthday, hurrying as fast as I could to the door. Margot's consistent screaming did nothing to aid this. 

Ellie was the last person I expected to see on the other side of the door but there she was. I couldn't help the smile that cracked onto my face "Am I the one being loud now?"

She grins at me "No-it's just that my chat has been begging for you to come back all week and I was wondering if you maybe wanted to do a stream with me?"

I looked down at what I was wearing and suddenly felt like the scrouge, all I was missing was a nightcap and a taper candle. "Can I change first?"

"Go ahead but I think this is one of your best looks."

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow "You have poor judgement since you've never seen me in anything other than pyjamas."

"We should probably fix that then."

"I guess we should." I smile. I decided against changing, it wasn't like I was going out, just heading to my friend's apartment that was three feet away.

"Say as much or as little as you want," She opens the door to let me in "I owe you big time," Ellie says this like I don't want excuses to spend time for her. Like I haven't been freezing my ass off every day just to talk to her when she watches the city wake up as she prepares to rest her head. 

Ellie's apartment is more lively than the last time I visited, she's adapted some plants that are already beginning to wilt "Have these been getting any sunlight?" 

She furrows her eyebrows "No? They're fake."

"Ellie," I stifle a laugh "I'm like ninety percent sure that fake plants don't wilt."

"Nuh-uh," She walks toward one just rubs its wilting leaf between her thumb and index, it begins to crumble in her hand and she sucks a sharp breath through her teeth "I guess they are real," Ellie pokes a finger into the bone dry soil and wipes the dirt onto her pants "How much do you know about plants?"

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess more than you."

 She nods "Sounds about right," Ellie walks over to her sink to fill a Game of Thrones mug with water before circling back to water her plants "Drink up little buddies."

"looks like you need some sunlight too," I watch her attempt to revive the dying plants and 

"Yeah," She keeps hyper-focused on the plants but she cracks a small grin, I could've sworn her smile burnt down the library of Alexandria "I think I'm turning into a vampire."

"The sparkly kind?"

Ellie shakes her head as she stands back up to put the mug on the kitchen island "Like the guy from Sesame Street."

I wrinkle my nose "Yeah, you're looking kind of purple."

"Damn, I was worried you would notice," She smiles again as she opens the door to her office, the purple LED lights are still running but the overhead light is turned on and washes away the colour.

The second I step into the room, Ellie rushes ahead of me and almost jumps to grab the folding chair. She sits herself down and pats her fancy gaming chair for me to sit in it. "Guys, she came!" 

I stare at her, eyes wide, jaw slack. "Ellie."

"What?"

"Do you hear yourself?"

She takes a minute to think about it before nodding her head, I could see the exact moment it clicked "No, I hear it," She addresses the camera "Not like that guys but I don't know what she did with her day, not our business though."

Ellie looks at me like she's waiting for approval of her chosen words. After a moment's reflection, I answer dryly "Thanks." 

"Sorry for taking so long, I had to water some plants," She watches the chat bar scroll by, squinting before she leans back in her chair, hand running through her hair "No, that's not code for sex."

"Could be," I shrug.

"They wanna know what your name is."

"Top secret."

"Okay," She reads some more comments from the chat "Can you tell them what you do for work?"

"I'm a ghostwriter," I say, giving a little thumbs up. I saw myself in the monitor and wanted to throw my hands at myself for being so awkward.

"Spooky," Ellie smiles "She writes about people instead of interacting with them, that's why she's socially inept." She reaches for her soundboard and presses a button, sounding a prerecorded effect of a crowd cheering and laughing.

"She's never had a girl in her apartment, that's why she can't flirt." I counter as she throws her hands up, I can tell she's about to retort with something before I cut her off "So what were you doing before you kidnapped me?"

"Guys, I didn't kidnap her, she willingly walked in here without the use of excessive force and I have had many a girl in this apartment," Ellie tells the chat before clicking something on her screen "So, they send in videos and we have to not laugh, which isn't hard because they aren't very funny." 

"You're not funny either but they watch you," I tease, Ellie fights a smile trying to uphold our image of back and-forth pocking and prodding at one another.

"Laugh three times and you're out."

"Of the apartment?"

"No, you just laugh three times and you lose."

"What do I get if I don't lose?"

"Fuck, I dunno," She furrows her eyebrows, searching the room for something. Her eyes land on a small silver tin, she snatches it up into the palm of her pale hand and sits back down "You get my dill dough."

"I'm sorry!?" My head snaps to look at her "Are you sure you aren't a cam girl?"

"No," She pauses "No, I mean no it's not what you think, yes," Ellie backtracks again "I mean I am sure I'm not a cam girl, not that that I'm not sure I'm not a cam girl, because I'm not," She looks like she's sure of what she said like it made perfect sense "Not a cam girl."

"You're not-not a cam girl?" I ask, pointing out the double negative "So you are a cam girl?"

"No," Ellie runs a hand down her face "Can you guys please tell her that I'm not a cam girl?"

Dcknb4llz:She's a cam girl

Nataliadepressed:I just subbed to her only fans!

Mclovin_fury26:She just wants to show you her dill dough 😕

Yayayalorde:I wish she was a cam girl 

The3nd_isn3ar:Ellie pls stop joking about it and become a cam girl already 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Ewmarryme:hahaha Ellie ur so funny now get serious and make an onlyfans

"Anyways," Ellie ignores the chat as they clearly aren't helping her case "This is my dill dough," She shows me the small tin she picked up, there's a picture of a pickle on the front. Over the translucent lid, it surely enough says 'Dill Dough! pickle scented'. It was just green silly putty with an oddly incredulous name.

"I weirdly want that," I answer.

"If you win, it's yours." She tucks it away into the pocket of her sweatpants "Mods, let's get this moving."

We sit through about fifteen minutes of videos; mainly people getting hurt, occasionally one of some type of animal. Nothing funny enough to make either of us laugh except for one of a man falling through a glass table which gets a little chuckle out of Ellie who denies it. 

Another video began playing, it was Ellie in this exact spot, screaming during a game of Fortnite. It looks like it's from the first time she showed me her odd job choice. In the distance, you can hear a knock on the door and this is when I'm sure it's from the day I had been thinking of. Ellie pulls her headphones off and looks at her camera "Shit, I think that's my hot neighbour again."

I slap a hand over my mouth and turn to see Ellie who's looking disappointed at her chat, shaking her head at the camera. "Whoever sent that is fake as fuck."

"So you think I'm hot?"

"Pfft, no, dude, you're ugly as fuck," Ellie makes an overexaggerated confused face like she has no idea what I'm talking about "I was talking about my other neighbour."

Kaylnncourting:Ellie y r u fumbling so bad???????

Overdam00n:You guys were right for saying she doesn't get 🐱🐱🐱🐱

Sestwouth:bruh she's ruining it for herself

Connerstollit:WHY DID SHE SAY THAT 

Cruel_summer:What is wrong with Ellie? Genuinely

F0gg4t:If El doesn't want her, I do

Aliinnnnnaaaaa:First girl she's ever met and she's ruining it

Randelwthehandle:Ugly as fuck??????? who says that 😭😭

Dcknb4llz:wow nice cover up Ellie

Marie_739:Bro Im gonna start calling the girls I like ugly as fuck

"Mr. Quigley?" I ask to which Ellie nods immediately "You think the eighty-seven-year-old veteran who is missing a foot and has swallowed four of his teeth is hot?"

"Yeah," She says, immediately regretting the hole she was digging herself into "I have a thing for older men."

"I don't think you have a thing for men at all, actually."

Her eyes go wide, Ellie opens her mouth to say something and she leans forward in her chair so fast that she falls out and smacks her head on the desk, folding over and onto the ground. I have the biggest smile on my face as I reach for her soundboard and press the cheering crowd effect.  I'm laughing too hard to offer her help, clutching my stomach and keeling over so my head is out of frame. Ellie gets up, and puts herself back in the folding chair pointing at the camera "Do not clip that."

Almost seconds after she says that a video gets sent in of her smacking her head on the desk in slow motion while I burst out laughing and now I'm cackling even harder. You can even hear her yelp in slow motion and she sounds like the dinosaurs from Jurassic Park "You guys are way funnier than Ellie," I say, addressing whoever was watching the stream. 

Another video pops on the screen right after the last one ends, it's Ellie again. She screams at something on her computer and you can hear me bang on the wall on the other side. Ellie goes quiet immediately going back to her game and muttering "She's so hot guys."

"I think my mods hate me," Ellie shakes her head.

"Thank you mods!" I smile at the camera.

A little clip of Ellie back at her desk pops up, she's wearing a Garfield shirt. This time she isn't playing anything, she just sits in front of the camera with that familiar lopsided smile "Guys, how do I trick my neighbour into going out with me?"

There's another video, it's a longer one with the caption 'Ellie Williams calling her neighbour hot compilation' Ellie's eyes go wide and she clicks off the video immediately, the camera goes to us full screen. "That's enough of that."

I pull my phone out and type in the caption of the unfinished video into YouTube, it comes up right away and I click on it. Ellie clicks around on her computer, unaware of my viewing until she hears her voice, echoing in low quality from my phone. She reaches for my phone but I pull it closer to myself. 

I'm dead set on finishing the video until something on the other side of the door, catches my eye. It rushes past the small crack in the slightly ajar door and instinctively, I drop my phone with a slight jolt "What the fuck is that?"

Ellie takes this opportunity to snatch my phone and place it face down on the desk, out of my reach. "That's just Kitty." She pushes herself out of the folding chair and steps out of the room. She walks back in carrying what looks to be a mound of cotton balls, looking a little closer, I realize it's a rabbit. He looks more fluff than flesh.

"What the fuck," My mouth falls open in awe "Can I hold it?" She places him in my lap "He just walks around your apartment?"

She nods "He's litter trained so he just kinda hangs out." 

I pet him, he's soft as a million feathers, and he looks like a mascot for a paper towel company "You are the only person I know that would name their bunny Kitty."

Ellie tries to wipe off the mass amounts of rabbit fur on her, it seems the more she tries to get it off, the more firmly it refuses to budge. "This is a good time to show you guys this new shirt that Dina ordered for me," Ellie stands up walking off camera. She has a couple of Amazon boxes stacked on her couch, she reaches into one of them and pulls out a T-shirt. Ellie turns towards the wall so her back is facing me, she pulls her hoodie off over her head.

All I can see is the back of her sports bra but I force my eyes to go wide "Guys, Ellie Williams has a tramp stamp that says cum dumpster," I lie and the chat goes wild and I grab my phone off her desk as she turns around in her Five Nights at Freddie's tee with a 'Seriously?' face. I take a picture of her with the flash on "I'll sell this rare image of Ellie for six hundred dollars on eBay."

Ellie walks back over to the desk with a stack of Amazon boxes "Every donation goes toward my tattoo removal," She jokes, digging around in the boxes. "I'm a little over your videos, you bunch of snitches so I think it's about time I finally open these up." 

I look in the boxes too, leaning over slightly, being very careful of Kitty where he sits in my lap. I see something and pull it out to hand to Ellie "You should try this one."

"World's hottest gummy bear," She reads the package "Why is there only one? What if I want another?" Ellie yanks the gummy bear, squishing it between her fingers. It looks like Red-40 personified. 

Melanie_felony:She's setting her up lmao

Dcknb4llz:Nobody say anything pls I rlly wanna see this

Elliewsidechick:YALL SHES TOO WHITE FOR THIS STOP

She eats the gummy bear in one bite. As she begins to chew it, she seems absolutely unfazed and partially confused about why it was labelled 'World's Hottest Gummy Bear' A moment later she begins to cough, balling her hand up into a fist and pounding on her chest. Ellie's little cough quickly turns into a deep wheeze.

Ellie lets out a scream, her face going red as she slams her hand onto her desk with watering eyes. I could see visible sweat on her face as she dry heaved, it only took thirty seconds until she sprinted out of the room.

"Oh my god," I watch her run out of the room while I give Kitty a little pet between his ears, he's so still I almost think he's taxidermy. "Guys, I think we killed her." You can hear her vaguely screaming and gagging from the kitchen "So what did everyone do today?"

Thelastgreatamericandynasty:wrote a fanfic about you and Ellie

Dcknb4llz:I got jumped at waffle house 

"Yikes, sorry to hear that." I suck a breath through my teeth "Tell me what I should know about Ellie." Her name feels so right on my tongue.

Jesse_chang:She's a virgin

D4aughter_:OMG HI JESSE

A_birthday_card:The only s3x she's ever had was in Minecraft

Whathasshegot:She has a crush on you 

Touching_theyouth:She's lactose intolerant 

Dcknb4llz:She sold me ketamine in an ally 

Gusty_queefqueen:She homophonic 

Torxhmydreams2:Pretty sure that’s two words that have the same pronunciation but different meaning

Gusty_queefqueen:Bruh it means she doesn’t like gay people

Heytheredelilah7:She has a boyfriend

When Ellie comes back she's filled her Game of Thrones mug with milk and has a bag of shredded mozzarella cheese. She reads the chat "Can you guys be cool for once?"

"They're cooler than you."

"Very funny," Ellie eats a handful of mozzarella before she digs back in the boxes "What's next?" There's one box huge envelope that looks like it has a slip of cardboard in it. Ellie tears the corner open with her teeth and rips the rest of the top off with her hands. She pulls the content out of it, throwing the envelope over the computer for it to land on the ground. Just as suspected there was cardboard in it, not just a slip but it unfolded into a cardboard cut out of Ellie, she looked to be a younger teenager in it, giving an awkward little peace sign and showing her green braces off with a huge smile.

"Aww, you actually look cute in that."

She disregards me "Chat, interrogate Dina about this and report back."

"Dina?" I ask "Is that your girlfriend?"

"Nah," Ellie props up the cardboard cut-out and places it behind us, right in the middle to watch over us "She's my enemy as of right now."

"What did she do?"

"Send this shit," She eats some more mozzarella, holding the bag out to offer me some, to which I decline. Ellie shrugs it off and eats another handful, washing it down with a long chug of milk and putting it on the desk. She grabs a t-shirt, he eyes go wide and she pushes it against her chest so I can't see. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, ma'am," I watch a smile spread across her face as she turns the shirt around to show me a graphic of her on it. In the picture, her face is close up to the camera covered in a white powder (presumably flour). "Oh, wow!" I feign shock.

"I know!" She holds it out toward me "It's yours, you deserve it."

"Wow," I draw the word out, taking the shirt from Ellie "This is really great, I was always hoping I would get a shirt of you covered in flour." Sarcasm drips from tone but I accept the gift regardless.

"I know!" Ellie grins brightly "You should put it on now."

"That's fine, I think I'll save it for our date," I tease.

She perks up just the slightest "Ooo, when's that?"

"The second this stream ends."

"On that note," Ellie looks at the camera "Thank you guys for hopping on tonight and thank you to my neighbour who came here without putting up a fuss," Ellie clicks around on the screen a little bit before addressing them again "Alright, go bug Dina now."

With that the stream comes to a close, the blinking light on the camera turns off, and Ellie and I are left alone with ourselves and Kitty.

“So,” Ellie thumps her foot up and down repeatedly like those anxious kids in high school. “Do you maybe wanna get coffee tomorrow?”

“I don’t drink coffee but I’ll pretend to so I have an excuse to hangout with you.”

A smile splits onto Ellie’s face “Phew, I hate coffee I just thought it was an adult way to ask you out.”

A/N: This is super short but I’ll make up for it in the next part, thanks for reading! We got some angst on the way 👀

Perm tag-list: @veeveeisgay @whenlostinthedarkness @gold-dustwomxn @ellslvr

Series tag-list: @diddiqueen @camillecrellin @fullmachinegirl @eveshyper @lmaoo-spiderman @camicocom1a @elliessweetheart @melanie-watermelon @lanafresitas

[marypsue]

I just finished watching the 1966 Hammer flick Plague of the Zombies, and I'm fascinated by it. The premise is that the squire of a small Cornish village, who was raised in the Caribbean before being called home to take over after his father's death, has turned to voodoo to try to get workers to reopen the tin mines that made the village's fortune.

The movie sits neatly in an uneasy horror space between the original horror of the zombie - of your will being overridden by another's, of continuing to be enslaved even after death should have released you from all earthly woes - and Romero's ghouls and everything that they spawned. A nightmare sequence features hands pushing up out of fresh-dug graves, dead faces closing in all around one of our protagonists - but in the end, the only person the zombies are truly dangerous to is the man who created them. The true horror of the story is the absolute power that the squire holds over the people of the village, made metaphorical as voodoo.

The tin mines were closed after multiple fatal accidents caused the men of the village to refuse to work there anymore, so the squire removed their ability to refuse by killing and raising them as zombies. At the end of the day, he owns these people, body and soul, and there's nothing that the police or the vicar or anyone else who is supposed to be responsible for the villagers' wellbeing can do, so long as the squire holds this position of absolute power.

If you feel you simply must transplant zombie horror based in voodoo into a white European context, I feel like using it to highlight the injustices of a system of government directly descended from feudalism is not the worst choice you could make.

[deepreviewvoid]

- Trust has no value -

pm Dazai × gn Reader!

Genre: Shenanigans,,

Synopsis: a game of two truths and a lie in an abandoned warehouse quickly turns into a dangerous game of trust.

Background: Reader is also a mafioso, and has known Dazai for a good while after being recruited under his wing, but time alone establishes nothing mutual, especially in a place like the port mafia.

Triggers: this is the port mafia, really, what else should I say? (Knives, Suicide mentions, Blood)

The mafia is a cruel organisation, that is an understatement, it is nothing short of a demonic one that reaps its privileges forcefully without second thought. You didn't have any bright plans in mind, or even a clearer line of morality, so you decided to join for the benefits, the money, and the thrill.

Climbing the ranks wasn't awfully difficult, you were smart and knew your way between the thugs and the knives, sure you've had your scoldings, but each sharpened your will and hardened your tenacity untill eventually, you were recognised by one of the executives, who later took you to work under his team.

He had weird subordinates...to say the least.

An orange haired kid with an attitude? apparently, he manipulates gravity and its the strongest ability known out there. It would be a random beautiful day, but not for Chuuya because he'd always curse the fact that he and Dazai worked almost too perfectly together, infact so well that they were known among the mafia as Double Black, or something like that. He instead preferred to talk about wine and motorcycles, and both topics never interested you, so really, you and Chuuya never found common ground unless it was a battleground.

Then there was Akutagawa, he was quiet, tense, and with a comical amount of temperament. His ability had a personality of its own, which safe to say, it stems from his deepest core which is filled with pure loathing. After working with Dazai for a while, you pretty much realised that Akutagawa was like an orphan he picked and made a punching bag, no wonder he's traumatised.

Anyone would be naive to think that Dazai cared about these two with any possible shred of genuine concern, empathy or even bondship, no.. no no, you'd be gravely mistaken, Dazai intentionally dug out his heart long ago, thus, he solely relies on his mind, his thought process and wit that has kept him alive, and will soon make him the next Mafia head.

You are no exception, you knew that he doesnt trust you, and you never trusted him either but this is the mafia right? We're not here to make friends and share our woes as we cry our hearts out in loving trust. Yes, we're one big family, but that's a metaphor, afterall, we're a family armed with guns, everyone has a gun, anyone can play the game.

You knew the rules and you played the game, you only focused on your tasks and nothing else, however, you also kept one eye out at the suicidal executive, human nature was a personal interest of yours and you couldnt just ignore the opportunity to study how that man works, from afar, of course.

It's been months since you've been here, and today you learnt something new, Dazai has a little something for abandoned warehouses.

________________________________________

"Thank you for joining me tonight y/n!" Dazai said with a hint of sarcastic cheerfulness as he sat crossed legged a top of an empty shipment container, it was practically rusting everywhere.

"I was quite bored, think nothing of it" you were leaning on the container from bellow, staring at nothing in particular. "now why did you actually even bother inviting me is what I'm interested in" you didn't bother making eyecontact, the empty warehouse was already doing its job at echoing your voice loudly enough.

"How should I word this?-" he flipped the pages in his book as his eyes scanned the pages with the help of the dim moonlight. "Think of it as an opportunity, for the both of us" he said in a deadpan voice, not curious or interested, just simply stating.

When Dazai speaks of opportunities, its always about his opportunities. You're not going to get anything out of it, and you knew that too well, so you simply rolled your eyes.

but ... you were willing to play his game.

"Tell me more" you asked, and he replied almost immediately, "do you trust your superior?" and you replied bluntly, "orders are orders so yes, but if we were to sit in a room as strangers with one gun, I don't think so".

And so, you two lashed out in a series of questions being asked by him, to be immediately answered by you.

"Feeling is mutual with the latter, next question, where do your loyalties lie?"

"To the Mafia's prosperity and continuous succession"

"Guns or Knives?"

"Knives, give or take"

Dazai made a sound close to humming just for the notion of the conversation, the page of the book he was holding made a sound as it turned once more, but then the book was abruptly shut right after, as if the new page's contents were boring.

"You know, you're such an interesting person to strike conversations with!" You rolled your eyes at his comment before blunting replying "Do you call this one sided conversation really interesting?", he was the only one asking, but then again, do you even dare ask? There's no guarantee that this man won't play around it.

"Don't get me wrong y/n, I value honesty, you may go ahead and strike me for this ground to be fair" his voice echoed from above the container, and soon enough, he jumped down gracefully to impose direct eyecontact. It was always his way of intimidation, but you also knew your way around, so you burned more fuel into the game by throwing the dice.

"Guns or Knives?"

"Guns are more reliable, they're the embodiment of aiming your will at who you choose to kill, I did notice that you're more of a knife type of person..." his answer ended on a question, and for the sake of this, you didn't entertain him the pleasure of giving an answer, instead you pushed for another question, which made him faintly smirk at the realisation.

"Are you a masochist?"

He chuckled lowly "I don't take pleasure from pain, infact I hate it... and you already know about these" he lifted his arms, "they're just suicidal tendencies, is all"

You took in his words as you both made unwavering eye contact, Dazai was almost always confident in his words, they're a result of his trusty mind afterall. "I'll take my turn now, what do you think of my prowess as an executive?" He said.

"You get things done effectively, your manipulation skills are intimidating and you know how to control the pawns, out of all executives, it seems that you have the least casualties among your men"

"How astute of you, I must say it's even quite flattering" he dramatically raised a hand in fake admiration.

It's your turn now~

"Tell me more about Ango and Odasaku, from my observation, I know that you spend a lot of time with them, what about them? do you trust them?" You didn't break eyecontact as you asked.

"Ango is an informant officer, secretive but rely on him, Odasaku is a great drinking buddy, dont underestimate his low ranking" he effortlessly answered a vague answer, without giving a single hint of doubt in his half assed answer.

At this pace, there's no way you can use this chance to learn more about him, so why not make things more interesting for the both of you? "Do you want to play a game, executive?", his single eye showed signs of intriguement for a moment before a smile ever so faintly crept on his face, he likes games doesn't he? "a magnificent proposal"

"Let's play two truths and a lie, simple, and i'll do you the honors by going first" you smirked slyly as you imposed your three sentences, to which one was a lie.

"I trust you"

"I prefer knives over guns"

"I'm completely loyal to the mafia"

You wanted to play that game, you wanted to make the answer obvious, so you chuckled and nodded when he chose the first statement to be the lie. He found this entertaining, it's entertaining when a game losses its rights to be called a game, because the answers are already there from the start. This was unusual for him, most games he played were of cat and mice in real operations, but this harmless game? Oh it was something else for him, so he proceeded with his three statements.

"I trust you"

"I prefer guns over knives"

"I'm a suicidal"

You both were practically staring daggers at each other when you chose the first answer, and when he revealed it to be the correct one... You both chuckled in quiet irony, the warehouse sending your eerie voices echoing around.

"Chuuya is not as half as entertaining, unless I make him to be, this is more fun, I must confess" he said first between his laughs, and you replied right away with your own confession.

"I agree, Akutagawa hates my guts, I can't even start to have a proper conversation before he lashes out rashoumon at me" you replied dryly, also between your laughs.

Two people just confessed that they don't trust each other and there they are laughing like a bunch of maniacs. What kind of insanity is this? You asked yourself, but in reality, you asked him something far more unusual...

"Then humor me, since we don't trust each other, would you be willing to take a dare from me?" Dazai gave you the most unhinged look for a couple of long seconds, probably out of an act of suspense, he agreed in the end. "If you humor me as well with the same request, then gladly"

Dare for a dare, eye for an eye. You can ask him to do anything and he can do just the same, what enticing possibility should you choose? Knowing yourself, you were already going to choose something psychological, the excitement was apparent in your voice as you placed your dare on the table.

"Close your eye for ten minutes, ten minutes of pure truth where you'll answer any questions I impose with atleast some material honesty"

Without hesitation, nor comment, he closed his one remaining eye as he stood infront of you ever so casually, it was like you're staring at a corpse if it wasn't for his chest heaving as he took his long breaths and his brown locks that were fluttering in the gentle wind of the open warehouse, it made him a pinch more alive.

The executive is already committed to the dare it seems.

"So, how does it feel to close your last eye?" You crossed your arms as you stared at him, making sure to not move yet, as that will give him some hints.

"I would be lying if I said I'm closing the bandaged one, but don't worry, I see nothing" he chuckled, "some people think I hurt my eye, but I didn't, and I wouldn't go far as to visually impair myself. I only wear this patch to switch between my left eye when I'm in a darker environment"

"So you wouldn't go far as to visually impair yourself, but you jump in rivers? Seriously.. Hirotsu made me fish you out before because that old man's back couldnt swim" small cries of laughter escaped your lips as you giggled at the memory.

"Don't question a suicidal, what if I told you that my true love in life is a fine rope?" He said in amusement, sighing also in mock amusement.

Now that's entertaining, you thought. But hey, let's press for more questions, so far his answers are genuine, or atleast appear to be.

You made an intentional sound of shuffling as if to grab something from your attire to give an illusion, to let his mind wander. You approached him untill you were only two steps apart, he stood unflinching.

"Tell me, what's your mind thinking?"

"Two things, you're attempting to psychologically trick me, and what the hell is y/n doing, honest" his lips curved unto a high smile, a sly one.

"It's kind of hard isn't it? You always trust your mind and the judgements it provides because your eyes play a crucial part in providing sources, but without your eyes, what can your thoughts even produce?"

"You know, a blind man can still become a mafioso, they can strongly rely on their other senses to produce judgements that are just as accurate as someone with perfect vision. I don't think there's a difference in my judgement, but I must confide in the fact that I enjoy this test nevertheless"

"What if I told you that I'm holding my knife?"

"That's a lie"

"How could you tell?"

"By sound..., oh, now you're holding it~"

And it was true, this time you were holding your favourite little knife, you ended many lives with with one. It surprised you, but then again, it shouldn't surprise you that he was able to tell the tiniest sounds that a normal human wouldn't hear, that's because our ears don't focus on the little things in life, unless we force them to do so.

"So what about my knife? How do you feel about it?" You made a show, only to yourself of course, by masterfully flickering the knife around, it obviously made sounds as it cut the air.

"I've always liked the shape of your knife's handle, it's very grotesque, which is why I like it. I'm also thinking of all the ways you could stab me right now, it's exciting, can you believe that there are over a hundred of ways to stab someone?!"

You rolled your eyes yet again tonight, he was way too enthusiastic in his mentions of suicide and harm, you probably already know atleast half of his most read book by now, the complete manual of suicide.

"Well? What's the liberty of the knife holding?" He asked, still unhinged, and still he stood in the same position and posture since the ten minute clock.

You shrugged, "it's fun to swing it around", your knife deviously coming close to his own body, you were also enjoying this...

He was only smiling during the whole thing even as you brought the edge of your knife over his non-bandaged cheek.

"So it's true, you really don't fear death" you whispered, as you glided your knife over his cheek, in truth, this knife was a dull one, not your sharp one that you usually kill with so really, It was a pathetic knife that you held so dear, it was a knife uncapable of hurt, it didn't even spill one drop of blood,

unless you applied more pressure,

which you did.

"You know, I don't think I'll prefer to have a bandage on my good side, try not to make it too ugly", his skin tingled with a familiar feeling, the feeling of being cut. "Bandages on both sides? Really?" He sighed at this trouble as if it concerned him greater than the fact that you're running a knife across his cheek, and that a drop of blood is begining its race to his jaw.

He didn't stop you, and this was too prexpeling that you forced yourself to stop.

You wiped it off the drop with your finger, the wound is too weak to spill more than two drops anyway, and you seathed your knife back to its place. You noticed yourself unable to stop staring at him, your stomach slightly flipped at how morbid a human can really be. It fascinated you, but at the same time, you realised you were dealing with a challenge...

This man doesn't tick like a clock, because there were never batteries to begin with.

"It won't scar" you said while looking at your finger, wiping the blood away in your clothes, ah, the privilege of wearing black clothes, you took a few steps back, he's the same, he didn't move since the start. He's an executive.

"That's good to hear" he let out a huff, "what a dull knife you have, why do you keep it with you? If I had to guess, its because it holds intrinsic value."

"Hey, you don't get to ask questions here" you said in mocking sarcasm, he immediately refuted "I get to, ten minutes have passed-" he opened his eye again with a faint smirk.

Already? How long have you been staring? How long have you been trying to stab his cheek? And does he count time just like that? You didn't dare check your phone, you knew he was right when you estimated the time and went over the events in your head, you gave up and sighed.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, hooray" you said in a stern tone, almost mocking him once more. Dazai doesn't hold grudges much, in fact, this guy is a sucker for insults, especially when the enemy insults him.

He simply smiled mischievously "now close your eyes for ten minutes, and answer my questions truthfully" of course, that freak chose the the same dare and you can't complain at your own game, so you immediately shut your eye lids, and the last thing you saw was his face, a finger that he swiped across the little cut you gave him, and a smile.

"Tell me, if I were to do the same, would you let me? Would you flinch?" You thought of the question, and truth be told, an answer immediately popped in by heart, so you answered truthfully.

".. no, not really, eye for an eye I suppose"

"Why do you think that I don't trust you?"

"We've worked together before, we both saw what each of us are capable of, even one of the most valuable lessons you've taught me is the fact that evil expects evil from others"

"Astute, but not the answer I seek"

"Wait, let me guess again"

He let out a huff, you could imagine that he was smiling, "go ahead" he said as if he'd be patient for eternity, even if you took two minutes out of the previous ten.

"Perhaps because trust is a weak word... Does it even have any value to you?" You realised that you just asked him a question, so you didn't keep your hopes up for an answer, however.. he replied.

"It's hard to say, trust is a personal debate of mine, that said, 'trust no one' is a motto some live by, but in reality, if one were to never to trust anyone, then no real progress would pursue. As much as I despise it, Double Black is based on trust, and as much as the head of the mafia despises it, he too must rely on his executives." Dazai's answer was nothing short of well thought and well constructed, still it left you puzzled even more, what was his stance? Is there anyone he trusts?

But alas, don't push your luck is what you've convinced yourself in this moment.

"Over to you now, why don't you trust me?"

"I don't think anyone should trust you, truth be told and I be damned for saying this"

"Oh? Don't worry, do continue, I want to hear your reasoning"

"With all due respect executive, you're awfully good at manipulation, nothing short of a master manipulator. I don't think you'd blink twice before picking up a card and discarding another, you choose not to be a piece in someone's game but always to be the player in everyone's game."

Dazai chuckled darkly, almost too darkly for this. Suddenly, this game has went ten degrees colder. "This is too good" he said a simple sentence, but who knew what it implies, even worse, you can't tell what it really implies when you can't see anything.

Then you heard his footsteps, the sound between each step was consistent so he took normal strides... about four steps, you already estimated that he's one step infront of you, too close.

"I told you, we have the most interesting conversations" he said in a cheerful tone which was now closer. "Do you remember that operation that sent us flying?" His voice wavered a little as he quietly chuckled "the bomb situation at one of our warehouses, it was a chaotic one"

That time, an enemy gang placed a bomb at a mafia warehouse, unknowingly, and unluckily, you and Dazai happened to be near the explosion radius, it was one of the worst casualties that the mafia had in years and after it, came in days and days of endless work to amend the losses and seek revenge.

"That happened almost two months ago, yet I almost forgot you still have that bruise" you can feel his eyes trace that place you know well, there was originally a glass shard that impaled your skin dangerously at the backside of your neck.

"I broke an arm and your neck was bleeding like no tomorrow, yet we held our ground. I'm still surprised you didn't pass out that day" you felt some air on your nose, it didn't take you long to realise it was his breath. Needless to say, he smelled terrible.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Just saying my thoughts out loud, by the way, ten minutes have passed" you waited a few seconds to open your eyes, he was already back where he originally stood.

"Fair game executive, fair game" you smirked at him, sure, he's mysterious, witty and suicidal, but the past hour has been the most interesting thing you'd done since you joined the mafia.

He let out a crooked smile before taking out something familiar, your dull knife. "Do you remember? I asked you if this knife had any intrinsic value to you..."

Once again, you rolled your eyes, of course, he swipped it off you earlier. "What's got you so hooked up on that knife, Dazai?"

"You did just cut an executive's cheek, what privilege already!" He joked tauntingly as he swung the knife across his fingers in a careless manner.

"Says the executive that would let anyone murder him~" I cooed as I slugged ny shoulders.

"Come on, quit blabbering, I deserve an answer" he pouted dramatically.

Eventually, you just let him have what he wanted, he was like a kid demanding candy, and that was scary enough.

"Fine, this is the oldest knife that I have, that's all there is to it. I found it on the street too"

This is also the knife that got you first blood.

"Oh, so that explains why it's so ugly" he flipped it left and right observing it once more, as if the new information provides a whole new picture to the knife.

You sighed before swiping it off his fingers, "Seriously- gimme that" he let you take it, but his smirk was forever plastered on his face for somereason. "Don't even get me started on your taste in river spots!" You seathed the knive back into your little leather holder before looking back him with a teasing taunt, it's almost baffling how he manages to flip between kid and executive.

"You choose the spots that are next to port- I repeat- next to port- that means murky water, contaminated with oils and rust. Is that what you really want to fill your lungs with? In that case, I'd consider suffocation, or even lethal poisoning instead of drowning in pollution. Have some self worth atleast for your dead body"

Dazai didn't say a word, at first which made you second guess you existence, but oh well, he broke into giggles, little by little, into a full blown laughter, even holding his chest with his hands as a form of dramatic flare or perhaps it was genuine. You couldnt hold yourself back, why did that sound come from your mouth, why were you laughing too over suicidal methods? You couldn't help it, you knew half of his damn book.

Eventually, you both calmed down from the hysteria.

"I still don't trust you" he crossed his arms, turned his head slightly away, still in eye contact. "so that means, I can't trust your choice in suicide methods"

"I don't trust you either" you copied his exact same posture, also crossing your arms. "I can't trust your judgement in knives"

"Drink with me tonight?"

"Only if you'll humor me with another dare?"

"Deal".

-End

And that's how pretty much Dazai introduced you to his go to bar, Lupins.

A/N: I'd really appreciate feedback since this is my first. Thanks :) that was fun to write.

[arc-misadventures]

Mothers, And Father

Jaune was currently helping with the dishes as he watched his daughter play with, Velvet, and Silk through the open door leading to the kitchen. He smiled as he heard, Juniper laugh at, Velvet’s silly antics before his focus was broken by a soft hip check, that caused him to look into the smiling face, and beautiful red eyes of, Ilaria Scarlatina.

Jaune: Sorry, I was just watching, Juni play with the others.

Ilaria: That’s okay, Jaune. Every father should be watching over his kid.

Ilaria looked past, Jaune to see, Velvet putting on a puppet show for the small girl who was resting in, Silk’s lap laughing at her silly antics.

Jaune: It’s nice to see her smiling, and laughing like the way she does. It’s a welcoming sign to show that after everything has happened, that she can be happy.

Ilaria: That’s because she has you looking after her, Jaune. You should be proud of yourself, you make a wonderful father.

Ilaria grabbed his arm, gave it a reassuring squeeze as she smiled warmly at him, on that he returned in kind as he squeezed her hand back.

Ilaria: It’s a shame such a sweet innocent child had to lose her parents though. It was hell for me, but I had my sister besides me to pull me through it all. She’s lucky to have someone like you to help her deal with the lose of her family.

Jaune removed his hand from atop, Ilaria’s as he looked away, a sour expression writhed across his face as a ill memory resurfaced. Iliara back away as she had fear she had brought back some foul memories at the fate of, Juniper’s dead parents.

Ilaria: I-I’m sorry, Jaune… I didn’t mean to bring up any painful memories about, Juniper’s dead…

Jaune: They’re not dead.

Ilaria: What?

Jaune: Juniper’s parents, they’re not dead. Although I wish they were dead. Those fucking bastards…

Ilaria: I…? Wha… Jaune, I’m confused, what do you mean by, ‘they’re not dead?’

Jaune grabbed a towel, and dried his hands before turning around, and rested his hands against the sink. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he look heavenwards

Jaune: I told you how I found, Juniper; she was hiding in a bush after the, Grimm attacked her home village.

Ilaria: Yes you said she was covered in scratches, and brusies.

Jaune: Yes, the more recent scratches across her face was from when she went into the bushes to hid from the, Grimm. But, the scratches… No, the cuts across her back, and the bruises she had didn’t happen before the Grimm attack…

Ilaria: …?

Ilaria: Wait…?! No, no don’t tell me she was…

Jaune: Abused? Fraid so…

Ilaria: No…

Jaune: Her father would get drunk, and in a drunken fit would whipped her with a belt, or just took out his general frustrations upon her. Her mother would slap her, lock her up, and deny her food when she, ‘misbehaved.’ She was a twig when I found her…

Ilaria: They did all of that to such a sweet, innocent girl?

Jaune: They did… If they hadn’t already dug their own grave from doing that, the fact that they left her behind as bait sealed their fate. I gave, Juniper to, Pyrrha to hold while I beat the father to a bloody pulp! It was satisfying hearing him plead for mercy as I coldly ask him if he ever gave it to her mercy when she pleaded for it when he beat her…

Ilaria: I-I see… What about the mother, what happened to her, did you beat her up too?

Jaune: Nora beat me to the punch.

Ilaria: That’s not a metaphor I assume?

Jaune: Nope. Nora hit that woman, and sent her flying. She made a pretty nice dent in the wall of the house she hit.

Ilaria: Oh gods! D-Did she kill her?

Jaune: No, but she easily could have.

Ilaria: But, why would she do that, Nora is such a bubbly, happy girl. That sounds like she had a grudge to settle.

Jaune: She did. Nora’s own mother abandoned her when she was just a kid. She probably felt like she was getting revenge on her own mother when she punched that bitch into a wall.

Ilaria: Did you face any consequences for what you did.

Jaune: No. We had just saved the town so they let us go. So I took, Juniper along with us, and I unlocked her aura, to help heal her wounds. Actually, Juniper is not he birth name.

Ilaria: It’s not?

Jaune: Nope. After we left I asked her what her name was, and she refused to tell me. So I gave her a new name, and said I am her father now, and I would die to protect. She asked me if it was a promise It was the first time she said anything to me. I told her an, Arc never goes back on their promises. She then buried her face in my shoulder, and hugged me. Thanking me for saving her. I mean what I said, I will die to protect her, and that precious smile of hers. It’s the least I can do as her father.

Ilaria smiled longingly at, Jaune before she pulled him down into a hugging she was just under a foot shorter than her his face was nestled comfortable between her cleavage.

Jaune: Emph?! Uhh… Ilaria…?

His voice was muffled from between her massive cleavage as she gently ran her fingers through his hair as she hummed reassuringly at him.

Ilaria: You’ve been a father for two weeks, and you’re already well on your way to be a better father than those have been at it for half a century. I’m proud of you, Jaune. Juniper is going to grow to become such a good, strong girl with your comforting hand guiding her along.

Jaune: Thank you. Can you let go now?

Ilaria: But, don’t you like resting between my humongous mommy milkers~!

Jaune: Yes, but this angle is killing my neck!

Ilaria: Whoops!

Ilaria quickly let go of, Jaune who stood up, and twisted his neck, letting loose several resounding clicks from his neck before giving the white haired rabbit an amused look.

Jaune: Ow.

Ilaria: Sorry~!

Jaune: It’s okay…

Jaune smiled as he turned to look at his daughter being flung into the air with wild, joyous laughter by, Rumi.

Jaune: It’s nice to hear someone say that. My dad didn’t really say anything, but he most certainly fawn over his new granddaughter. While mom was crying over how her granddaughter ran from the sight of her… It’s reassuring to hear that I’m doing okay raising, Juniper from a parental figure.

A faint blush spread across, Ilaria face as she nervously squirmed on the spot.

Ilaria: Oh think nothing of it.

Jaune: Well, Juni now has a responsible father in her life, she just needs a mother. Every child needs a good, mother, and father in their lives.

Ilaria: Why do you need to look for a wife, you’re already married?

Jaune turned to look at her with a very confused expression across his face.

Jaune: What? What do you mean by that?

Ilaria: Oh, I forgot you’re not a rabbit faunas. Although you certainly fuck like one~!

Jaune: What was that?

Ilaria: Nothing~! Anyway, among us rabbit faunas there is a custom of sorts to attach ourselves to a shared male. One whom each of us have become close to. That usually entails becoming physically close to to them, and your, well for the lack of a better term, your harem sisters.

Jaune: What?! Sure I slept with you, and everyone else… I-I won’t deny that, but shouldn’t I ask you to marry me before we become husband, and wife?!

Ilaria: Normally yes, and I should clarify if we are all willing to enter such a relationship with you. But, I doubt anyone would be opposed to such an arrangement, many of us would be for it actually. Well, bar my little, Velvet, she has been so against you sleeping around with us from the start. And, yet she was the one who brought you here, and recommended that you should bed each, and every one of us. She’s just being a little jealous, don’t worry, I can fix that.

Ilaria: …

Ilaria: Unless she’s complaining on purpose because she likes the idea of you being stolen from her, and if so you, you are such a naughty little bunny, Velvet~!

Jaune elected to not comment on anything. He found, Velvet’s rage against him sleeping with her family members to both confuse, and frighten him. Instead he walked over to, Ilaria, and gently grabbed her waist, and pull her close. a motion that cause a soft, but excited giggle to escape from the milf rabbit’s lips.

Jaune: Listen, about this whole… harem family thing… Do I… Can I get you a ring before you all start calling me your husband?

Ilaria: You can… but I would prefer a swollen belly over a ring myself~!

Jaune: I can arrange that…

Jaune leaned down, and planted a loving, and passionate kiss upon his wife lips. A kiss that, Iliara returned in kind with one of her own, one filled with, hunger, desire, and above all, lust. The broke the kiss as they started gasping for air, deep blushes spread across their faces as the pulled apart.

Ilaria: Now that is how you kiss someone~!

Jaune: You seemed quite hungry with that kiss. I have to feed you later.

Ilaria: Aww, but can’t we do that now? Everyone is busy watching our daughter, can you excuse yourself, and play with mommy for a bit~?

Her words were whispered with a breathless moan of lust as she pressed her body against his to entice him, her hope that he would take her there on the spot, audience be damned. However, ilaria had said one word that broke him out of his stupor. One he hadn’t taken into consideration when his new wives were involved.

Jaune: ‘O-Our child…?’

Ilaria immediately back away from him, seeing the shock that rang out in his voice at her innocent words.

Ilaria: I’m sorry! I didn’t mean…

Jaune shook his head as he grabbed her hand in his, and softly spoke to her.

Jaune: Nononono… I’m not angry, it just caught me off guard. It’s nice to see that you already see her as your daughter. But… That’s not your choice to make, it not even my choice to make…

Jaune looked over to see, Lily taking photos of his daughter as she slowly started falling asleep within, Lulu’s tender embrace.

Jaune: It’s, Juniper’s choice to make. Let me talk to her about this whole new family dynamic thing. If she wants to see you, all of you, or just one of you as her mother than so be it. It’s her choice to make. Until then, lets leave this whole husband, and wife debacle alone. Okay?

Ilaria: Okay. Just don’t too long, promise?

Ilaria smiled as stood up on her toes, and kissed his cheek. Before , Jaune kissed her forehead in turn.

Jaune: Arc’s promise.

Jaune turned, and walked over to the group of rabbits, and picked up his daughter, and took her to bed. All as, Ilaria smiled warmly as she watched the pair leave.

Ilaria: Mrs. Ilaria Scarlatina Arc~! Ohhh~! It rolls off the tongue, and this lady loves it~! Oh soon, my dear, soon you will be, but until then, I’ll enjoy being Ms. Scarlatina just a little longer. But, not too long my dear knight~!

[five-rivers]

Buried in the Woods

@snops Hello! I'm your Truce gifter this year! I went after your 1st and 3rd prompts. Cryptid vibes and Corpse AU. Enjoy! >:)

.

They’re waiting for him, this time. 

They don’t, always.  Usually, he’s faster than they are, and sometimes they can’t make it at all.  A few, very harrowing times, he couldn’t make it. 

But here, now, they’re waiting, each one leaning against a tree trunk.  The hillside below then is dotted with charred and broken tree stumps that rise straight from the ground like monuments.  The moon is high, white, and sharp, cut from the sky with a razor.  Everything is cold, still, quiet. 

Sam raises cupped hands to her mouth and blows through them, ignoring the dirt on her fingers and under her nails.  It’s not any worse than digging in her garden.  The shovels are a bit bigger, that’s all. 

Tucker has taken out his PDA again.  He shouldn’t.  Not here.  The screen is bright, and someone might see it.  But he can’t help but check the time, again, squinting through the fog of his breath to see the numbers.  It’s late.  But that’s not going to change in a hurry. 

Almost as one, they look down the hill, their attention drawn taught.  Something is moving down there. 

Surreptitiously, Sam puts a boot on the blade of her shovel, levering it up and into her hand.  Tucker reaches out for his, fingers brushing the smooth wooden handle, not yet pulling it free of the ground. 

They wait, still and cautious.  No matter how many times they do this, they’re never entirely at ease.

Then two spots of green, bright and alien, flare up at them from the dark.  If either of them had been carrying a flashlight, the green could have been mistaken for an animal’s eyeshine. 

They weren’t.  It wasn’t. 

Slowly, the thing in the dark comes up the hill.  It walks slowly, ponderously, its gait uneven.  Every once in a while, that green flashes again. 

The clear cold light of the moon provides a silhouette, eventually.  A black hole in the night.  A human-like figure, a body thrown over one of its shoulders, a shovel propped on the other.  It is stooped, slightly, under the weight, but the way it moves could tell anyone it had done this before.  Its eyes are flat, green coins. 

Sam blinks once, twice, three times.  Tucker just waits, still as stone.  Reality shifts.  No longer is the thing in front of them a shadow cut from nightmare, but their friend, Danny.  Normal, human, puny, blue-eyed Danny, who, for some reason, thinks it’s acceptable to wear a t-shirt in this weather and at this time of night.  He looks exhausted, and perhaps a little embarrassed.  Nothing frightening here.   

Other than the fact he’s carrying his own corpse over his shoulder. 

“You didn’t need to bring your own shovel, man,” says Tucker, compulsively pulling his PDA out again.  “We already got everything dug.”  He sounds worried. 

Danny cringes.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait that long.”  He drums his fingers on the shaft of his shovel and adjusts his grip on the body. 

“It’s fine.  Let’s just get under cover.”  Sam turns and walks back, into the less-burned part of the forest.  She can hear Tucker following her.  Danny is, as always, silent. 

“Oof,” says Danny. 

“Huh?  Something wrong?” asks Tucker. 

“Just walked over my own grave, that’s all.”  Danny offers them a smile that could have been made from the same fabric as the moon – although with a far less steady hand. 

The response is a groan, as loud as they dare. 

“We’re going to have to change locations, soon.”

And isn’t that the truth?  Accidentally digging up one grave was one grave too many, and it isn’t as if they could mark them.  What they are doing is illegal, both in the ‘this is literally against state, federal, county, and municipal law’ sense, and the more metaphorical ‘this is an affront to the laws of nature’ sense. 

They reach their handiwork of the night before much longer.  The grave isn’t nice and rectangular, but they gave up on that early on.  It’s deep, and big enough to take what Danny’s been carrying.  That’s enough. 

Danny promptly drops his corpse into the hole.  The sound of a corpse hitting the ground like that—It isn’t exactly indescribable, and it isn’t exactly unique, but…

It sure is a sound. 

They stare at it, for a long moment.  It feels, even after all this time, that they should say something, do something, to commemorate the moment, to lay the body to rest. 

But they don’t.

Danny hefts his shovel and starts the work of pushing the dirt back in.  Shovelful by shovelful, the body is hidden from view.  Covered up.  Tucked in. 

“Well,” says Danny.  “That’s that for tonight.”

 They go back, down through the trees.  Sometimes, when he steps into the shadows of the trees, Danny goes dark again, his eyes green and glowing, but those moments become fewer and further between as they leave the fresh grave behind.  As they leave Danny’s latest death behind.  As Danny becomes more alive.

“Who was it tonight?” asks Tucker.  “Or was it more of a what this time?”

“Ember,” says Danny.

“That was fast, for her.”

“She wasn’t here for a fight, this time.”  Danny shrugs.  “Convinced her to ride my death back across the line pretty easy.  It’s almost as if—”

He stops, tilts his head to one side.  Shadows strobe across him. 

“Danny?” asks Sam. 

“Something’s here,” says Danny, his voice flat and empty, and then he's gone.

If there is one thing that is impossible for Sam and Tucker to get used to, it is the sight of their friend dropping dead. 

Sam hisses through her teeth and crouches down.  “He couldn’t even tell us who it is first?”

“It can’t be anyone too strong,” says Tucker.  “He wouldn’t risk wasting a death.”  He thumbs open the timer on his PDA.  Six minutes.  On average, a human death held a viable door open for six minutes. 

Sam shoots him a skeptical look and he winces.  There is, on occasion, a wildness in Danny's eyes beyond the green. 

But it’s too late to talk about that now.  The moon-cast shadows undulate across the ground, twitching and fluttering like living things.  It's ink and blackness and the trees bending away from the sky to reveal stars that were both too close and too green. 

The dark isn’t the only thing there.  There's something artificial, a presence the forest resists.  An intruder.  An outsider.  A predator, stalking, hunting, not looking for them, but it doesn’t care about collateral damage. 

Sam curses under her breath.  “Skulker.”

The two ghosts clash and writhe, dead, unmade things in a place they should not exist.  They give the body, the corpse, a wide berth, Skulker not willing to get close enough to the body and the door for Danny to push him through, and Danny clearly not wanting Skulker to get too close to Sam and Tucker. 

The problem with Skulker is that he’s always been out for blood.  Danny is his current prey, but that isn’t a good thing to count on. 

“Do you think Vlad let him through again?” whispers Tucker, his words standing stark against the silence. 

It’s probable.  There aren’t enough human deaths in Amity Park to justify how often certain ghosts return.  Any death can make a door, even a plant’s, even an animal’s, but those doors are usually too small and too brief for ghosts like Skulker to get through, if they aren’t called to them specifically.  But someone like Vlad or Danny can die again and again, as many times as needed. 

Tucker sees Danny’s body twitch and he yelps, putting a tree between him and it.  Sam is more proactive.  She brings the flat of her shovel down on its head.  The ghosts that leak out are stripes of neon against dark grass.  The light is swallowed by the empty places between the trees. 

“How much time?” she asks Tucker breathlessly. 

“Three minutes,” he says, holding up his PDA.

“We need to get out of here.”

“What?  But—”

She grabs his wrist and hauls him into the dark.

It isn’t only black in there.  Star-flashes and moonlight twinkle and strobe as they run.  There are eyes, green and uncountable.  There is sound – gunfire swallowed by snow, the twang of bowstrings, the last gasp of prey, devoured.  The trees slide by them, studiously avoiding their path.  Soft mounds of earth flicker with gentle stars, the ground beneath them a mirror of the sky above.  It is like running between two mirrors.

This landscape, Sam realizes, a little late, does not favor Skulker very much at all.  Not here, in Danny’s own personal graveyard.

And the shadows retreat, pulled away like ink being absorbed by a napkin. 

Sam and Tucker look back, over their shoulders.  Two green eyes stare at them from what isn’t, in retrospect, very far away at all.  Danny’s body lies on the ground below, barely visible.  The eyes do not leave them, even as the shadow they are in stoops to pluck the shovel from the limp hand of Danny’s body and start digging. 

The shadows beneath the trees don’t seem very dark anymore.  The moonlight is almost blinding. 

The timer on Tucker’s PDA goes off, loudly.  He hisses at it, annoyed that, somewhere along the way, he’d turned the volume on. 

“Heck,” says Sam. 

“Yeah,” agrees Tucker, vehemently.  “Where’d my shovel go?”

They find it before too long.  There aren’t too many places it could have gone.  They join Danny in digging.  Two graves in one night are really too much, but they’ve done more, and they’ve done worse.  They aren’t like Vlad, can’t just let them build up until it’s efficient to dispose of them, or whatever he does.  Something tells them that whatever is probably worse than they’re imagining. 

Between blinks, Danny is himself again, and the grave is finished before the moon starts to set. 

It is late.  It is early.  It is time to go home. 

The thing about three teenagers with shovels walking the city streets at night is that they’re noticed.  Amity Park isn’t New York, but any city worth its name stirs in its sleep.  Midnight flights to the airport, inadvisably long bachelor parties, late movies, insomnia, homelessness. 

Tucker’s been monitoring the ghost hunting and cryptid forums for a while, and he’s emailed Danny links to each one that mentions him.  Sam has clippings from the paper about calls to animal control about something with green eyes, about something that couldn’t possibly be human.  Then, of course, there are the calls to the police about something dragging or carrying bodies from all sorts of places. 

There had been an investigation at one point.  There had to be.  But nothing had been found.  There hadn’t been anything to find.  No missing bodies, no mysterious disappearances, no deaths.  Just a green-eyed shadow and its mysterious companions. 

Sam knows her parents, at least, think the whole thing is a prank.  Tucker’s think it is people seeing things when there was nothing there, like bigfoot.  The less said about what Danny’s parents think about it, the better. 

Sam’s house is furthest from the center of town, and they drop her off first, the shadows on the trellis giving her a boost when she climbed.  Tucker and Danny then have the typical argument about whether it’s better to bring Tucker or Danny home first.  Danny, Tucker argues, has just fought not one, but two ghosts.  Tucker, Danny argues, cannot come back from the dead.  Danny wins, as usual. 

That leaves Danny, real and not, alive and not, to wander home.  He waves cheerfully at a drunk who watches him pass with wide eyes and turns onto his street.  He breathes in, deeply, tasting the ash that still flavors the air all these months later.  He opens his eyes just in time for the winter sun to beam through the skeleton of one of the buildings that bracket the crater that was once Fentonworks. 

No one lives here anymore. 

No one is waiting for him.

Danny walks down into the darkness and disappears. 

[thevampiricnihal]

Catherines and Bogs and Transitions and Death

“We ran from the top of the Heights to the park, without stopping—Catherine completely beaten in the race, because she was barefoot. You’ll have to seek for her shoes in the bog tomorrow.”

(Chapter 6) (italics mine)

“The place of Catherine’s interment, to the surprise of the villagers, was neither in the chapel under the carved monument of the Lintons, nor yet by the tombs of her own relations, outside. It was dug on a green slope in a corner of the kirk-yard, where the wall is so low that heath and bilberry-plants have climbed over it from the moor; and peat-mould almost buries it.”

(Chapter 16) (italics mine)

“‘Eh, dear! Mrs. Dean!’ she exclaimed. ‘Well! there is a talk about you at Gimmerton. I never thought but you were sunk in the Blackhorse marsh, and missy with you, till master told me you’d been found, and he’d lodged you here! What! and you must have got on an island, sure? And how long were you in the hole? Did master save you, Mrs. Dean? But you’re not so thin—you’ve not been so poorly, have you?’

‘Your master is a true scoundrel!’ I replied. ‘But he shall answer for it. He needn’t have raised that tale: it shall all be laid bare!’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Zillah. ‘It’s not his tale: they tell that in the village—about your being lost in the marsh; and I calls to Earnshaw, when I come in “Eh, they’s queer things, Mr. Hareton, happened since I went off. It’s a sad pity of that likely young lass, and cant Nelly Dean.” He stared. I thought he had not heard aught, so I told him the rumour. The master listened, and he just smiled to himself, and said, “If they have been in the marsh, they are out now, Zillah. Nelly Dean is lodged, at this minute, in your room. You can tell her to flit, when you go up; here is the key. The bog-water got into her head, and she would have run home quite flighty; but I fixed her till she came round to her senses. You can bid her go to the Grange at once, if she be able, and carry a message from me, that her young lady will follow in time to attend the squire’s funeral.”

(Chapter 28) (italics mine) (I will forever wonder whether Heathcliff spread the rumor himself at the village he merely took advantage here of an already existing one).

“He turned abruptly to the fire, and continued, with what, for lack of a better word, I must call a smile: ‘I’ll tell you what I did yesterday! I got the sexton, who was digging Linton’s grave, to remove the earth off her coffin lid, and I opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed there: when I saw her face again—it is hers yet!—he had hard work to stir me; but he said it would change if the air blew on it, and so I struck one side of the coffin loose, and covered it up: not Linton’s side, damn him! I wish he’d been soldered in lead. And I bribed the sexton to pull it away when I’m laid there, and slide mine out too; I’ll have it made so: and then by the time Linton gets to us he’ll not know which is which!”

(Chapter 29) (italics mine)

From Janet Gezari’s The Annotated Wuthering Heights

“Her father-in-law went up, held the light to Linton’s face, looked at him, and touched him; afterwards he turned to her.

“Now—Catherine,” he said, “how do you feel?”

She was dumb.

“How do you feel, Catherine?” he repeated.

“He’s safe, and I’m free,” she answered: “I should feel well—but,” she continued, with a bitterness she couldn’t conceal, “you have left me so long to struggle against death alone, that I feel and see only death! I feel like death!”

‘And she looked like it, too!”

(Chapter 30) (italics mine)

For both Catherines, bogs seem to signify a transition from one house to the next and the death caused by this transition. Catherine Earnshaw is literally buried in a bog. It is apparent that Catherine Linton’s metaphorical death is a manufactured fake one by the fact that she was never really lost in the bog, it was just a rumor probably spread by Heathcliff.

Just some thoughts I had ahead of reading @vickythestrange ‘s short story about bogs.

[shostakobitchh]

Chapter 58 sneak peek!

The girl’s fingernails were digging into the varnish on the desk.

She’d stayed like that all class, not moving, not even her eyes. They stayed glued to some distant, unreachable place Severus surmised wasn’t even in the room. Granger had been sending worried, panicked glances between Miss Evans and Weasley-twerp the entire time, while also somehow frantically copying every goddamn word that came out of Severus’ mouth.

And now, with the rest of the little dunderheads gone, Severus had the girl exactly where he wanted her.

And it seemed as though she knew it.

“Miss Evans.” Severus said.

She did not move. She glared at the tabletop like she was planning on turning it into kindling.

He moved to stand right in front of her. He rapped the space in front of her twice with his knuckle. “Miss. Evans.”

Her black eyes snapped up to meet his. “You made Hermione cry.”

Fuck — of course she would have taken it personally.

Severus let his palms rest against the surface and leaned forward so that he was nose to nose with the girl. She did not flinch or look away, matching his gaze with a defiant glare.

"You will not address me in that manner," he began dangerously. “and Miss Granger was speaking out of turn.”

Her entire face rippled, like a stone skipping across a pond. It actually looked like she was having some kind of spasm, the waves moving all of her emotions to the front before she could school her expression back into cold, hard anger. She’d been doing a nearly admirable job — Severus supposed he had himself to commend for that. Lily would have thrown a chair at his face, by now.

“You made her cry.” Miss Evans said again. No emotion there — flat and void. The brat was Occluding from him again.

Well, two could play that game. He had been meaning for her to put it to use.

“Are you capable of saying anything else, or shall I throw you out?” Severus asked, keeping his voice as smooth as glass. He really should have taken more House points, should have read them all the riot act when all he was trying to do was protect the stupid little fuckwits from their werewolf teacher —

The girl’s dark eyes flashed wildly. Already slipping — it was almost disappointing. “I’d like to see you try.”

How very like her mother she was — so quick to anger — even if he deserved every bit of it, but she truly understood so little. How he wished he could shatter the illusion, but the werewolf had done enough, lying about Potter. He’d dug his own (metaphorical, regrettably) grave.

"Mind your tone, girl.” Severus said softly, letting a dangerous edge slip into his tone. "You may be my daughter, but in my classroom you are still a student. Do not make the mistake of believing yourself above consequences."

“I’ll do that, thanks,” the anger was bleeding into her voice, now, cracking through the syllables. “Thanks so much for the reminder.”

“Clearly you need one,” he snapped.

“I reckon you need something a lot stronger.” she said, without missing a beat.

Miss Evans clearly knew she had overstepped. Her eyes went a bit wider, as though she were shocked that those words had come out of her mouth, but her lips tightened, locking down her choice, making it impossible to take them back.

“I’d like to know what you mean by that, you little cretin.” Severus snarled.

The girl flinched, but her eyes were burning into his. For a moment, it seemed like she was battling something from within, but then she took a deep breath and said: "I mean that you're a right foul git sometimes.”

Severus stared at her — only slightly taken aback — seeing so much of himself in those defiant, dark eyes. The anger — the need to make someone hurt. The difference was that she was doing it because she cared about Granger, but the blasted know-it-all just didn’t know when to fucking shut up. She wrote more than she needed, blathered on more than necessary, desperate for — whether it was attention or some other unfillable void, Severus did not know or care — but it was something that got under his skin. The fact that Granger was his daughter’s dearest friend drove him mad, sometimes, but he did have to admit that the brat was smart. Severus could only imagine the daily idiocy Miss Evans would find herself involved in had she only befriended Weasley-twerp — or those horrid bloody twins.

She’s all alone —

“And you,” Severus sneered. “Are about three seconds from finding out just how foul I can be. You’ve seen nothing, if you think putting Granger in her place was too far.”

“If you’re mad at me for being late, take it out on me, not her!”

“That has nothing to do with this, you ridiculous girl.”

“Then what is it?”

Severus's lip curled in a sneer. "You truly understand nothing. That insufferable know-it-all is a menace in my classroom. She possesses the amount of restraint a Blast-Ended Skrewt has for its own tail."

Miss Evans narrowed her eyes. "So just because she's smart and wants to participate in class, you felt the need to humiliate her in front of everyone?”

“I was trying to illustrate a point. I did not care about the correct answer — she was the only bloody one of you that knew. Lupin is an imbecile.”

“Yeah, you’ve only said it twenty-billion times.” she retorted, her eyes narrowing. “That’s what this is all really about, isn’t it? You can’t stand that Professor Lupin is a good teacher.”

Whatever was left holding the last of Severus’ restraint — the frayed ends of his self-control that had gotten dangerously close to splitting in the Shack earlier that morning — finally broke.

“No, Miss Evans,” Severus said softly. “Do you know what I can’t stand?”

Her face hardened. “Go ahead. I reckon it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Severus glared wildly at her. She glared wildly back. He continued to hover there, something scathing on his lips — the perfect thing to put her in her place — when she finally averted her eyes, and turned, as though she could not bear to hold her head up any longer. The Occlumency had broken.

Miss Evans’ face began to fill with something else, like a bathtub being filled to the brim, as her dark eyes began to shimmer.

Severus felt his stomach plummet to his feet. He immediately straightened, jaw tightening as the girl grappled for her rucksack under her chair.

Goddammit. God fucking dammit, he’d gone too far. The girl had been asking for it, though — but he couldn’t. The thought was mortifying, that he could not summon every ounce of his apathy and make the girl squirm anymore. It had been effortless, once. Now, Severus possessed the will of a wet paper towel.

He moved to block her from standing as she braced herself on the tabletop. His knees knocked against hers and she glared withering up at him.

“Listen to me,” he pinched the bridge of his nose — if she started crying, he was going to light Lupin’s classroom on fire. “You know that public appearances must suggest that I find you reprehensible. Especially in front of my Slytherins.”

She wiped frantically at her face, but her voice was thick. “I could give a damn what your Slytherins think.”

“Watch it,” Severus snapped.

[pretzel-box]

I have been secretly using your writing as inspiration when I write my own stories and I had to write this down

Because the Mafia au got a grip on me , I'm drawing up in this au cause it's too good

-----

The air was tense, so tense you probably can cut a slice from it and be able to eat it like a thick mousse cake. The bright blue eyes of the leader of this gang studied and watched the latest person let into his office.

He had been informed today someone wanted to come forth and join his growing numbers wasn't surprise but really caught his interest and made him smirk

Was the fact this was a doctor , a nurse recently announced to be wanted by the law

"you really sure you want to do this ? Once you join there is no going back " he commented. His tail ever so slightly flicking agonist the ground from joy to be able to fuck urban shade over a bit more metaphorically.

Once brown eyes , now a shade of unnatural yellow with slitted pupils turned to look at the Mafia boss. His once introverted self gone , out the window now replaced with bitter , snarky and sassy person he was.

"they dug me a grave to lay in and rot ....I refuse to do so ..." He started the haunting reminder of the crash etched to every nerve in his brain. He wished he saved him , he tried so hard - why didn't the ambulance come sooner ....Leo ...his poor baby brother was only eight ...yet he went ahead and above

Hands clenched "I'll be your doctor , your medic in turn I only ask for one thing among joining your group " he was straight forward as a knife chopping down.

This perked Sebastian's up as he grinned flashing a toothy smile seeing a good deal , there wasn't much to ask but there were many potholes he can use in this deal. "and what is that ?" He asked slow and low.

Allo paused and thought carefully to not mess this up , his sea angel tail and wings curling . The crash was caused by an urban shade employee. To keep things covered over said important scientist urban shade had kidnapped allo. Injected him with the DNA he now was mutated with .

And given a curse of immorality through hyper regenerative healing. It was a pain to remember bullets hitting him when he escaped that aweful lab even banned a few research to further convince the Mafia boss to let him join .

Fountian of youth project be damned he's never a drop of his blood

"as your doctor I simply ask protection from urban shade ...you and I know they shouldn't be allowed to grasp immortality to sell " he pointed out

Victory was a sweet taste "alright deal ...welcome to our group ...doctor allo" Sebastian said as he pulled out a makeshift access card "until you shown your loyalty you will be watched and monitored ...show your dedication enough and you'll be allowed to roam as pls " he explained showing he wasn't going easy and keep the new people under a harsh claw

Allo's hand reached out grabbing the pass studying it as he felt finally ...some sense of relief from his running from urban shade

"I understand boss "

"good now go , tonight you start , so grab what ya need in the supply room"

"oi" without being told twice the new doctor of the Mafia gang walked off to prep his office for healing

[I couldn't help but add my share to this amazing writing. Reading it really motivated me.]

Footsteps echoed from behind as Miss Lazarski strode confidently ahead of the dark-haired man. Her gaze lingered briefly on the door where the new doctor had just exited.

"My, my, adopting my people now, are we?" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air with a venomous sweetness.

"I came here to settle business, but it seems you’ve already made the decision for me, Solace."

Sasha knew Allo—his Number, his Identity, his background. He was Urbanshade’s research property, and he didn’t belong in the filthy hands of that bastard, Sebastian.

Yet the man simply sat there, lounging in his chair as he lit another expensive cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke directly onto Sasha's pristine white uniform.

Sebastian watched her from his chair, the flicker of his lighter casting a brief glow over his sharp features. He let the silence settle between them, thick with unspoken threats. The smoke swirled lazily in the air, a direct affront to Sasha’s rigid, polished appearance.

“Business, huh?” Sebastian’s voice was low, rough, a lazy drawl that belied the power humming underneath. His eyes never left hers, cold and calculating. “You seem to think you still have some left here, Sasha. That’s adorable.”

Her jaw tightened, but she refused to let the sharp jab rattle her. Instead, she stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor, each one a deliberate beat in the tense atmosphere. She leaned over his desk, her face inches from his, her lips curling into a sharp smile.

“You think you can keep him?” she whispered, the venom in her voice more palpable now. “Do you even know what you’ve gotten yourself into? Or are you so desperate for leverage that you’d risk everything just to spite me?”

Sebastian's eyes flashed briefly, the only hint of irritation beneath his calm mask. He took another drag from his cigarette, the ember flaring bright, before he crushed it out on the edge of the ashtray with a deliberate slowness. “Everything, huh? You always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

He stood up then, suddenly and without warning, his tall frame towering over hers. The playful arrogance in his demeanor vanished, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. The tension crackled between them, almost tangible.

“You talk like Urbanshade still runs this city,” Sebastian said, his voice a quiet, menacing murmur. “Like you still hold the cards. But here’s the thing, Sasha—your people? They aren’t yours anymore. Not Allo. Not anyone. This city bends to me now.” His lips twisted into a grin, mocking and cruel. “And you’re standing on my turf.”

Sasha's eyes narrowed, fury bubbling just beneath her icy exterior. “You think this is over?” she hissed, stepping closer until there was barely an inch between them. “You’re playing with fire, Solace. The world will be on fire and you are here to stay, and burn with me.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “but until then, the city, and allo, are mine."

She held his gaze for a moment longer, the silence between them thrumming with tension, before she spun on her heel and headed for the door, her expression unreadable. But as she reached the threshold, she paused, her voice cold and cutting as she spoke over her shoulder.

“Watch your back, Solace. You’re not the only one who knows how to play dirty.”

Without waiting for a response, Sasha slipped out, leaving the heavy air of confrontation in her wake.

[necroromantics]

🧺 — Laundry And Taxes

chapter 12. // (masterlist)

After a drawn out goodbye from his family, Toby had once again made his way back to his new home in North Dakota. He never stayed long in his childhood home, as if every time he set foot in that place, there was a scorching feeling within him that beckoned him to escape. On the way to the train station, he had stopped by an old antique store hidden in the recess of downtown Denver, a hidden gem it seemed only he knew about; his own corner of the world. In that little shop, Toby had spent his last trip savings on a small pocket watch for Natalie. He couldn’t seem to get the hands to move, but decided to tell her it was a deep metaphor for time, or something of the sorts.

The excitement of Christmas lingered, frost flushing the boys pale cheeks as he hurried through fields of snow, eager to arrive at his warm destination. The only ounce of color that painted the winter-blanketed countryside was Toby’s wild brown hair, which too had been dusted with falling snowflakes. As he ran up the creaky steps of the front porch, and fumbled with the house key, the boy could already feel the glow of the lit fireplace. He had hoped he left enough wood when he came back home, and to his luck, it seemed he did.

Natalie sat on the couch in the living room, leaning into the crackling flames, a sketchbook propped up on her raised knees. She turned her head up to look towards the noise of Toby walking into the room, and raised her eyebrow at him as he began to dig into his backpack.

“Here, I got you a little something on my way back,” He said as he pulled out a small box, and handed it to the girl who looked entirely indifferent, maybe uncomfortable.

“Hey, welcome back. And I thought we agreed on no gifts.”

“Yeah, well, I just saw it in passing and thought might as well. Don’t be a bitch Nat, just open it.”

Natalie rolled her eyes as she awkwardly dug her fingers under the lid of the box, and pulled it open. She stared down at the pocket watch for a moment as Toby eyed her blank expression. He thought he may have seen a hint of happiness in that typical glare of hers, or maybe it was disgust. The same type of look she’d always give him.

There was a tense silence for a moment before Natalie took the clock out of the box, and examined it closer, before putting it on the coffee table beside her and picking up her pencil once again.

“You really shouldn’t have wasted your money,” She said quietly as she avoided his gaze, continuing to work on whatever it was she had been drawing. Toby tried to choke back his anger, and took a seat next to her.

“I guess I shouldn’t have,” he sunk into his seat, “when’d you get back home?”

“Really early Christmas morning.”

“I got back to my mom’s place early. I think she was happy to see me, I scared the fuck out of Lyra though.” Toby smiled to himself as he sat himself up straight, and tried to lean over to see what Natalie had been working on, to which she turned her sketchbook further out of his view.

“But it was nice to see them regardless. It’s weird being able to visit my mom anytime I want, like actually go up and see her. And on Christmas I get to hangout with my sister, not just visit her gra-”

Toby trailed off with his words as they caught in his throat. He shook off the bubbling feeling he didn’t have a name for, and tried not to think of all the Christmases he had spent in the old world standing over his sister's grave, placing little trinkets he’d found down alongside flowers. Natalie glanced over at the boy, and noticed a strange type of sorrow settling itself on his face. A grief for something he hadn’t lost. A love for something that had only left him once.

“So you had a good time?” She asked.

“Oh yeah, great time. Last night was just spent with Lyra and I arguing over what movie to watch. Obviously I won, so we watched Die Hard. And apparently my mom was actually planning on surprising me by coming up here, but I got to her first.” Toby rambled on as a smile crept back onto his face. Though relieved at his returning excitement, Natalie couldn’t stop herself from ruthlessly beating down any feelings of envy for what her best friend had. Even in a world where nothing was wrong, her family was still a mess. She couldn’t seem to feel as happy as she should’ve been for him. There was only the sense that he was leaving her behind; that he was going where the grass was greener, while she was stuck with graveyard dirt and rot.

Natalie gripped her pencil a bit too tightly, and stood up.

“I’m going to go make a pot of coffee.”

Toby held a large bunch of freshly chopped firewood in his arms, his hatchet remaining in his free hand that draped around the wood. He dropped the lumber down onto the ground outside the backdoor, and took a deep breath in. He stared down mindlessly at the wood for a moment as the cold outside air danced around him. It was a chilly afternoon, and he could feel the frost build a home on his calloused hands. Toby continued to stare as time passed by him, slowly tightening his grip on his hatchet. The boy took another deep breath and the windchill overtook his tired lungs. He shook himself off, snapping himself back into the moment, and left to go back inside. Toby made his way into the bedroom, slowly opening the door so as to not wake his friend who had once again been sleeping in. Natalie had been sleeping so much that she was almost only awake for work, going back into her room as soon as she got home. The Christmas excitement had worn off, and had left them both miserable and bored. There was no more holiday cheer, only a cold, dead winter that surrounded them. Toby quietly closed the bedroom door after watching the sleeping girl for a moment, and sighed to himself.

Later that winter, Toby had begun to hunt animals as well, selling the meat to the local butcher shop which processed it for him. There was a rich population of deer and rabbits in the area, and Toby bought himself a shotgun off of Hank, the owner of the bar Natalie had been working at. The boy would often make the impulsive decision to leave the gun at home; he enjoyed the thrill of the chase when he used a close-range weapon like his hatchet. He always pushed his body to run as fast as it could to catch up to the prey. And a sick satisfaction that added to it when he finally caught it, holding the squirming animal down to cut its head off in one quick swing. To him, that was what made hunting so fun. To him, that was what he was built for.

He would often stay out late at night in that forest. Natalie never bothered to ask what he was always up to in his midnight lonesome. Toby would typically come home to find her fast asleep, or on some nights, still awake in that quiet farmhouse watching cable TV. When she saw how blue his hands had become, how red his cheeks, she would scold him for nearly getting frostbite, and Toby would brush her off as he crept up close to warm himself by the fireplace.

The afternoon sun glistened off the snowy fields as Natalie stared out of the kitchen window, a warm cup of coffee held in her hands, her eyes heavy with residue from her long sleep. She took a long sip before turning around and heading into the livingroom where Toby laid, lifting his head up to look at the girl entering the room, dropping it back down as he caught a glance.

“My mom called me again the other night,” he said.

“What’d she say?”

“I dunno, I didn’t pick up. I have a hard time talking to her.”

Natalie looked down at the boy sprawled out on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

“Before all of that proxy bullshit happened, I was only her son. I keep forgetting that.” He sighed to himself as he sat up, bringing himself to his feet.

“I’ll go call her back.”

Toby pushed past the girl as she stared at him with an awkward sort of sympathy. There was a part of her that still wished she too could be lucky enough to be able to call her mother. There was a strange feeling that Natalie only lived in Toby’s shadows. That he had the luxury of family, connection, life, while she only had her morning cup of coffee that she held in her charcoal stained fingertips.

Once Toby had finished with the call his mother kept dragging out, Natalie suggested they go for another one of their walks around the forest near their house. She noticed that Toby would always have something new to share with her about the area. Some strange facts about the trees he cut down, some casual stories of a random happening. He always had something to talk about, and she always had time to listen. It had gotten dark out early into the evening, as the nights typically did that long winter. The two strolled down into the abyss that engulfed the gravel roads near the decaying farmhouse they lived in, heading towards the lights of the town in the distance. The birds had all flown south, and no deer dared to cross their path. It was another quiet night, only the sound of the pairs passing laughter and chatting filled the chilly winter air in the dead darkness.

“You seriously broke the hands?” Natalie said, holding the pocket watch Toby had gifted her in her palm. She had made it a habit to carry it around with her everywhere.

“I didn’t break them! I just couldn’t get them to work,” He replied, throwing up his hands in defense as they walked down the desolate streets of the town, only a few flickering street lamps lit up the dark roads.

“You told me it was a metaphor for time.”

“I lied.”

Natalie laughed as she collided her body into the boy's side. Toby smiled back and snaked his hand around her waist as they walked around aimlessly together. Though her heart was as cold as her hands, as dead as the winter roads the two walked through, she liked him. She liked him to ruin, to ash. And he liked her with a warmth greater than the fire between them. They could’ve burnt that town to the ground if they wanted.

It seemed that through all the suffocation and massacre of the wintertime, the two still found solace in each other. Partners in crime. As they walked in the dark, there was a remaining memory of all the things they had done together. All the blood they shed, all the things they stole, everything they tore apart. It was them against the world, they were both far too stubborn to let the mutual destruction go. Toby wondered who else could stomach them, and not choke them back up. Who else could see that girl in all of her wild insanity, her sharp gnashing teeth, her ruthless tongue, and not run for the hills. Who else could fight with each other, and for each other, as mercilessly as they did.

Through the sound of their banter, teasing, and rough laughter, there was a harmonizing symphony of something breaking, like glass, or a window pane, that screeched through the open air. The two stopped in their tracks, standing silently in the dead of night, glancing around the lifeless neighborhood for any signs of movement. Suddenly, they heard a scream, and a loud bang of a gun, and then silence again. Toby quickly ran towards the noise, watching as a man wearing a face mask scrambled frantically out of the house and down the streets, past the boy. Natalie rushed after Toby as he bolted up to the shattered window and peered in. The only thing he saw was a woman on her knees, wailing over the body of her dead child. The snow fell gently down onto the ground below his feet, the boy stood frozen, stuck in place, looking into the window of that dark house. Through shallow, shaky breaths, he inhaled the stench of blood and death. The world stopped for a moment, the cries and pleads from that mother were so loud, so guttural, it almost strangled him, and that murder wasn’t his burden to carry this time.

“Toby we need to get out of here,” Natalie whispered harshly at the dazed boy, the sound of approaching sirens mixing with the screaming sobs coming from within the house. As soon as the girl grabbed the boy's hand, he quickly snapped back into the world, and turned to face Natalie before she began to pull him away from the window, running through the icy streets.

They ran as fast as they could, back through the quiet abyss, down the gravel roads, up the creaky front porch steps, into the warm farmhouse. There was no laughter, no cheers of victories that they had escaped the police. Only the sound of panting as they desperately chased after their breaths. Natalie looked up at Toby, who looked to the floor as he breathed heavily. She calmed herself before he did, there was a contorted look on his face, as if he was about to vomit.

“Toby?”

Toby snapped his head up towards Natalie, and shook his head, brushing her concern off and walking towards their bedroom. She followed after him and watched as he took off his sweater, shirt, then socks, and climbed into bed without another word. Natalie silently flicked off the light, the cold air still burning in her lungs, and laid herself down next to him. The warmth from his body heated her icy hands as she pressed up against his back which was turned towards her. Natalie closed her eyes and tried to drift off to sleep, listening to the quick breathing from the boy next to her. It seemed he still hadn’t caught his breath.

That night, Toby dreamt he was walking alone under the early morning sky, barely dawn, only the birds were awake. He had blood on his hands, a gash in his cheek, goggles around his neck. He gripped his hatchet in his hand as he walked past a playground, and noticed a little girl alone, playing on the monkey bars. Toby kicked the dirt with his mud-crusted and blood-stained sneakers as he hoped she wouldn’t scream at his crimson soaked appearance. Then, he noticed how empty the area was, how quiet. And he noticed the girl was now standing in front of him.

“Where are your parents?” He asked, irritated.

“I don’t know, they leave me here.”

“They leave you here alone?”

“Mhm. A man took me from my momma and he leaves me here sometimes.”

Toby stared down at the little girl who couldn’t have been more than 7 years old. He furrowed his brow with annoyance, and brushed her off, walking past her and into the forest that surrounded the park. He didn’t look back as he left that little girl there alone. He had better things to waste his time on.

The boy fluttered his eyes awake, the night skies still darkening the room. Natalie slept beside him, occasionally muttering to herself. Toby felt a deep, soiled sort of feeling in his chest. Like he had just swallowed mud, or buried a body. He pulled himself up out of bed, and walked sluggishly through the dark, down the hall, and into the bathroom. Toby rubbed his eyes, and leaned over the sink, spitting down the drain to remove the sour taste in his mouth. His hands gripped the edges as he held his weak body up, spitting again, and glanced up into the mirror. He stared at himself for a moment. He looked at the circles under his eyes, and how they’d gotten darker since when he had first come to the new world. He looked at his young face, still only a seventeen year old boy. He looked at how his scars were no longer there, how the gash in his cheek was still gone. Toby had avoided mirrors for so long, he almost forgot how strange he looked. Everything in that reflection looked like a rotten mutt, like he was looking at the decomposing body of a man who knew he wasn’t going to see the pearly gates when he died.

It made him sick. And that sickness crawled its way up from his gut, and into his throat. He gagged for a moment, glancing away from the mirror, and spat into the sink once again. Then, Toby began to throw up. There wasn’t much to remove itself from his stomach, but he retched, and he spat, and he choked. Toby felt as though something horrible was about to happen, like maybe against all odds, he’d finally collapse and die in that bathroom. And like he did back on the floor of his childhood home, he half-wished he would.

Toby wiped his mouth and rinsed his hands off before heading back into bed. He made sure to not touch his body up against Natalie’s as she slept. He made sure to keep that distance between them. And though he tried, Toby couldn’t seem to fall back asleep. He listened to the sound of the old bell alarm clock Natalie had bought tick away, creating a gentle ambiance that cradled him. It reminded the boy of the times he’d fall asleep with her back in the old world. Under trees by a dim campfire, in old abandoned cabins, on torn up mattresses. Toby always had struggles sleeping, there was always something to consider before he gave himself the right to rest. Was his father up late drinking? Did he have a job to do? Were there any dangers? Did he reinforce the door? Was he given orders? Had he done something terrible?

Countless nights afterwards, Natalie would wake up to find Toby shaken, trying to find God in the bathroom light, trying to wash something off his fingers. Sometimes, he would scrub so hard he would bleed, and that red was only confirmation to his beliefs that his hands were still stained. In his reckless mind, he would never escape what he was, what he’d done.

“Toby, come back to bed,” the girl groaned through a tired voice, shaking the sleepiness off of her heavy body as she made her way to the boy's side. Her hands gripped his, in a tender telling that everything was fine. She pulled him with her back into the bedroom, and the two sat together on the mattress, a gentle creak giving way under their weight. The girl nudged his body with her arm as a form of tough intimacy. Natalie never knew how to express herself besides roughness. Toby knew this, and let her show herself to him in her entirety. It worked out well for the both of them that he couldn’t feel pain. But to him, as long as it was her, it wouldn’t have mattered either way.

“You shouldn’t let it get to you, you know. It’s not like you’ve done anything bad here besides steal a few things, and who gives a shit about that?” Natalie said as she leaned into Toby.

“Yeah, I know. I just keep having weird dreams.”

“About what?”

“Killing people, I guess.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that, it’s just a dream.”

“It feels more like a memory.” Toby looked down at his hands which had been scrubbed to the bone, pieces of skin flaking off, bleeding from his nails and the cracks in his fingers. Even when he washed, the blood didn’t come off.

“Yeah, Toby, you’ve killed people. I have too. But damn we’re lucky we get a clean slate. All of those people you hurt are probably still alive and well in this world.”

“That doesn’t matter Nat, it doesn’t change anything. At some place, at some time, I killed people, and now it’s all gone like it was for nothing.” Toby swallowed and breathed in the darkness surrounding them.

“I killed people for no reason at all. All of that shit was for nothing. You- You think I wanted any of that? You think I wanted to be stuck in that fucking place, doing all those things just to survive?”

“I know-”

“No! Nat, you don’t know shit. All the fighting and screaming and blood. All the losing time, losing my fucking mind, losing everything. And for what? I was supposed to die in that forest fire, I never asked to be saved” Toby raised his voice into a shout as he stood up. Natalie looked up at him as Toby ran his hand over his mouth, shaking his head as he tried to calm himself down.

“I’m just really tired, Nat.” His voice cracked as he spoke quietly. Natalie reached over and grabbed his hand, pulling him down into her. She leaned back as the boy pressed his body on top of hers.

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault. I know you never wanted it to be this way. Neither did I,” she hushed as she ran her fingers through his hair. Toby sniffled to himself in the dark silence of the room. Natalie dragged her hand down his spine, rubbing his back as she quietly hummed the tune of ‘you are my sunshine’; something her mother used to do with her when she was young. It was almost like an undressing of the soul, a symphony of the past that assured the angry boy the world is better with him in it. Toby buried his face into the nape of her neck and breathed in.

“I don’t want all of that to be for nothing. I never became anything great after it all. I didn’t get stronger, or better. I’m seventeen again and the only thing that changed is that I just suffered more.” He whispered in a low confession. Natalie ran her hand over his back, over where the Slender Symbol was once branded into his right back shoulder blade.

“You’re a dumbass.” She whispered back.

Toby stood silently in the midst of the forest on a quiet January morning, a shotgun in his hand. He aimed it at a deer who was staring back at him, neither of them looked away. Toby placed his finger on the trigger, a perfect shot. The deer remained still, as still as the trees, as the wind, as the snow, as the boy's finger lightly tapping the gun. Toby felt a dizziness take over him as he continued to stare at the animal across from him, his hands trembling. A wave of sickness choked him as he dropped the shotgun, the sudden motion startling the deer which quickly ran off.

The boy began to feel his body get weak, and his chest get tight. The world around him was spinning. He assumed The Slenderman was punishing him for disobeying again. He knew he should’ve been strong enough to pull that trigger. Toby collapsed to his knees as he tried to catch his escaping breath, his hand pressing against his chest as his heart beat faster and faster. He heard the snapping of a branch across the woods, and he quickly looked up to see the deer once again standing distanced from him. Toby glared at the animal.

“I already let you go, so fuck off,” he yelled out. The deer didn’t move.

“What? You want me to kill you? I’ll blow your fucking brains out, go already you dumbass!” And still, the deer didn’t move. Toby sat on his knees for a moment, his hand resting on the shotgun beside him, and stared back at the animal. He took in the world around him. The soft warmth of the morning sun, the white glistening snow, the curious deer, the naked tree branches winding up into the blue skies overhead. There was something so unfamiliar about it all. The dangerous knowledge that there was no command from central, that there was no need to kill. For once in his wartorn life, the soldier boy was given a choice. And for once in his life, the ruthless boy gave mercy.

“You’re not worth my time,” he scoffed as he stood up, taking the shotgun with him as he walked back home.

[sparklywaistcoat]

Foreshadowing in The Stepford Wives (1975)

Foreshadowing is an important storytelling technique that plants breadcrumbs that the audience can follow as a story unfolds. In horror films such as The Stepford Wives (1975), foreshadowing helps to create suspense in addition to creating a sense of retrospective inevitability that gives the film coherence as a whole once we reach the end of the story. Foreshadowing in The Stepford Wives, particularly, is pretty heavy-handed, although it is weirdly effective even so. It's possible that this heavy-handedness is just a convention of the horror genre, but I can't speak to that as a general rule because horror isn't something I watch very much.

I'm not going to go through and make a complete catalogue of all the incidences of foreshadowing that happen throughout the film. There are only a few that I really want to discuss in any detail, starting with some more generic foreshadowings and then moving on to the ones that affect the main character, Joanna Eberhart (Katharine Ross) most directly.

Of Men and Mannequins

One of the early foreshadowing incidents happens within the first few minutes of the film. The Eberharts are getting ready to leave New York City for Stepford, and while Joanna is waiting for Walter, she looks across the street and sees a young man carrying a naked store mannequin across the street. Joanna, an aspiring photographer, is intrigued by this, and so she gets out her camera and starts snapping pictures.

The foreshadowing here is very obvious: although she doesn't know it, Joanna is getting a preview of what she is to become—a very sophisticated, very expensive mannequin.

[The rest is below the cut, or you can read it on my WordPress site]

Digging a Grave

In act II, Joanna makes friends with Charmaine Wimperis (Tina Louise), an avid tennis player who convinced her husband Ed (Franklin Cover) to buy their house because it came with a tennis court. When Charmaine gets Stepfordized, Ed hires a bulldozer crew to come and dig up the tennis court, ostensibly so that he can put in a pool instead. Joanna and her friend Bobbie Markowe (Paula Prentiss) are shocked that not only is Charmaine letting Ed dig up her beloved tennis court, she actually adores him for it.

Of course Charmaine's behavior telegraphs something of what will eventually happen to Bobbie and Joanna once they have been turned into robots, in that they will no longer have any will of their own except to meet their husbands' needs and stroke their husbands' egos. But more chilling is the last shot in this scene, which is taken from the point of view of someone who is inside the hole being dug by the bulldozer as the bulldozer pushes in a pile of earth. The Stepford women don't voluntarily leave their feminist ways behind: they are killed and buried and replaced with robots.

The Yellow Wallpaper

The very first thing we see at fade in is the wallpaper in the bathroom of the Eberharts' New York apartment. The wallpaper is a lively print of yellow leopards in a flowering tree. Joanna opens the medicine cabinet and regards herself in the cabinet's mirror. As she does so, the focus of the camera changes such that the wallpaper reflected by the mirror in the background blurs out a little bit. When Joanna steps out of frame, the focus of the camera remains unchanged: the yellow leopards are still blurry. Then Joanna closes the medicine cabinet door. Neither Joanna nor the leopards are visible any longer; the camera is too close to the mirror to show us a clear image, so all we get is a pattern of vertical lighter and darker stripes, also in soft focus.

This seems to be creating the leopards as a metaphor for Joanna herself. In New York, she is a living being, an elegant, intelligent woman with goals and a good life. Her transition from New York to Stepford is the beginning of the end for her, and just as the leopard wallpaper blurs out and shifts to greyscale stripes as Joanna steps away from and closes the mirror, so too will Joanna's identity and life become a blur until nothing is left of the living being at all. The door of her life will close, and it won't reflect either herself or the richness that life has to offer any longer.

The Empty House

The scene in the bathroom cuts to a shot of Joanna sitting on a windowseat alone in her empty New York City apartment. She is pensive and sad. She doesn't want to leave the city to move to Stepford.

We then follow the travels of the family as they drive out of New York and into Connecticut. The kids rush into the house when the family arrives, excited to see their new home. Joanna follows more slowly. She walks into the empty house and looks around, still pensive and sad. The initial shot is taken from the top of the stairs, making Joanna seem very small and lorn, while the second shot, taken from Joanna's POV as she stands near the front door, makes the house seems cavernous, with its bare hardwood floors, high ceilings, and pristine white walls and doors.

Joanna has a rich inner life as a woman and an aspiring photographer who is passionate about her art, but both the New York City apartment in the very first scene and our first look at the inside of the Stepford house show us how empty and barren Joanna's life is about to become. Her body will become a shell intended for the service of the actual humans who live with it, and nothing of the human woman will remain.

Windows of the Soul

The focus on Joanna's face and eyes in the very opening scene of the film wasn't chosen at random. This foreshadowing moment especially comes full circle through the end of act III and into the denouement.

We can see that Joanna has grey (or maybe hazel) eyes in the cap where she's looking in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes and their color become significant at the end of the film, when Joanna has been tricked into going to the Men's Association building, where Dale "Diz" Coba (Patrick O'Neal) is waiting for her, along with a partially activated android-Joanna. The android-Joanna's eyes are completely black; real-Joanna got there earlier than expected, and so the android isn't quite finished yet.

In the denouement that follows, we meet the fully complete android-Joanna. The camera moves closer and closer until Joanna's face blurs, mirroring the blurring of the leopards in the bathroom scene, and then finally focuses in on her eyes, which are now brown instead of grey.

The transformation is complete: not only is Joanna's mind gone, but her body has been irrevocably changed as well to meet Walter's own personal tastes (including bigger boobs), and the story has come full circle.

[idiotwithanipad]

Sharp Tongued

Amy (my OC) catches ear of the other ghost's treatment of Humphrey in the past and takes matters into her own hands...

(TW: Threats of violence, Anger, Amy being feral to protect her dad friend, The ghosts getting slandered so beware all of them get shit😂👍🏻, Cursive language)

"I mean- don't you ever want to spend time with anyone other than me? I'm boring as hell" Amy questioned, gazing toward the sunlit window. The head of the Tudor man rested on her lap, her fingers gently scratched through his hair, a gesture she'd never been able to shake; call it habit, call it a stim? 

"Well, truth be told, you're the nicest with me" Humphrey mused, a slight chuckle echoed the end of his sentence. 

"Really? Not even Kitty?" Sheer confusion swamped Amy's words, unable to comprehend any of this situation. 

"Oh no, not Kitty. She's a dear little thing, asside from accidentally kicking me from time to time- uh, by accident of course..." Humphrey emphasized. 

A twinge of uncomfortableness struck at Amy's heart at the thought of Humphrey's head being discarded and left on the floor like a rock; it seemed barely any ghost in the house paid him any mind. 

"And- no one else, for real? Like ANYONE?" Amy bit her tongue and retracted her fingers from his hair. 

"Well, I DO like being able to join in, but it usually comes at a cost. I'm either used for something or left behind again while the conversation leads elsewhere in the house" Humphrey explained, he tried his hardest to mask the slight hint on sadness in his voice as he admitted the unfortunate truth. 

Amy's brows lowered, her eyes flicking over towards the door to the passageway. 

"Used for something?" Amy asked, more to herself than the head. 

"Yeah. Maybe one day I'm on guard duty or the next I'm a football" He joked, his eyes flicking up to try and meet the girl's gaze. 

"And who does that?... "

In the Common Room, the group chatted amongst each other. They blissfully ignored the livings who booked in and checked out, the staff typing away at the front desk keyboards, and the golfers seeking shelter from the hot sun. 

The novelty of new livings to watch had dwindled down to being just another everyday occurrence; though there was much excitement in watching them go about their day, the group still favoured food club and 'what would you wear today?' club. 

"I still reckon Ryan would've gotten a birdie if he'd stuck to using his putter" Pat reasoned. 

"No no, it was his aim, that's his problem. Not enough accuracy in the swing" The Captain commented as he tucked his stick beneath his arm. 

"Why not just kick ball into little hole?" Robin questioned with a sharp itch to the back of his ear. 

"That sort of defeats the purpose of the game, mate" Pat replied, bouncing on his heels. The caveman disregarded Pat's answer with a dismissive wave of his wrist before he reclined further back into the chair. 

A whistful sigh cut the group short as they turned their attention to Thomas who sat idle by the window. 

"You alright, mate?" Pat asked, his eyes shifting amongst the others, deciding whether or not he'd just metaphorically dug his own grave deeper by asking the poet what troubled him. 

The romantic averted his gaze from the window and towards Pat. 

"I heard her crying again today. Weeping so dearly. To think... That fool of a man with whom she showered with her affections would dismiss her so coldly... " Thomas lilted in sorrow. He had become beguiled with a woman who had been staying at the hotel for a few days now, and had caught ear of her boyfriend cheating on her. 

"So coldly..." Thomas repeated, his brow arching as his eyes fought back from watering. He brought his bloodied cuff up to his mouth and blinked a few times. 

"I'm going to collect myself, and maybe prepare a poem should she die here..." Thomas said, an exaggerated crack in his voice led the others to believe it was just another one of his over-dramatics.

As Thomas neared the doodway to the stairs, Amy blocked his path, Humphrey's head tucked under her arm. Her face held determination and mild fury. Thomas halted quickly and straightened himself. 

"Oh! Evening, Amy. I hoped you wouldn't see me in such a state of-"

"Your poems are crap!"

A shrill and flabbergasted shriek fell from the poet's lips as he clutched at his face, his eyes buldged wider as he started at the girl in shock. The sound caused the group to spin around and notice Amy's presence. 

"THAT'S for kicking Humphrey in the head all those times!" Amy spat, tightening her arm around Humphrey's head, who's eyes were now glued onto Thomas. 

"What's going on here? What's the reason for all this hostility?" The Captain asked as he stepped around the sofas towards Amy who walked past Thomas who still stared in horror. 

Amy's eye twitched. She looked amongst the seats for the next ghost who had done Humphrey dirty in the past. Her eyes scanned each of them until she spotted Julian sat opposite Robin by the fireplace. She paced towards him before The Captain blocked her path. 

"Did you hear me, young lady? What's the meaning of this?" He demanded. 

He was caught of guard by Amy's finger pointing up under his chin, threatening to jab her finger into his throat harshly. 

"You better keep your petty little demands to a minimum, or I'll shove that stick up your nose..." Amy threatened, overdoing the amount of fury in her eyes, although she did mean business in this moment. 

The Captain reeled back and stuttered, brushing off his front and seemingly searching for a comeback as Amy shoved past him and towards Julian who now fiddled with his tie in trepidation. 

"I know about your little volleyball game with Humphrey's head. If I hear it happen again, there's four inches of solid platform heel on the end of my foot and it'll be right up the bollocks for you, mate!" Amy growled, holding onto her exaggerated glare. 

Julian shuffled back in his seat and stuttered something incoherent. A gruff chuckle caused Amy's eyes to flick to the right. Robin seemed to be finding the situation amusing and tried to hide his smile behind his hand. 

"Oh, your turn then?" Amy said, tilting her head slightly. Humphrey's eyes screwed shut and he clenched his teeth as Amy stood before the caveman who now looked between the girl and Julian in concern. 

"... No?" Robin said, hiding the tremble in his voice. 

"You-" Amy paused, she couldn't recall anything Humphrey mentioned that was caused by Robin specifically, apart from one thing. 

"Y-you scared him when he died!" Amy bent down towards Robin, her eyes wide; she really had no dirt on Robin in this situation, but she didn't want to let her defensive mask slip just yet, there was still much to say. 

Amy righted herself and turned towards Fanny who gawked at her in shock. 

"And you..." Amy spat, leaning her weight on one leg. Under her arm, Humphrey mouthed a brief 'sorry' as Fanny brushed at her knees. 

"He's like half your age, AND you didn't ask permission with your little... games" Amy cringed, remembering the grizzly story of Fanny and Humphrey's body's little fling. 

Fanny gasped in horror and straightened her back. 

"Excuse me!?" She blurted as Amy paced towards the door, Humphrey's head still clutched under her arm. As she reached the doorway, Amy spun around and pointed to all of them who watched her in shock; the usually mild and quiet girl reduced to a mindless bundle of thuggery and insults. 

"And this one goes out to all of you.." She blurted. Humphrey practically bit his lip, hoping that it wouldn't cut the group too deeply. 

"I know about your little incident with that Alison woman. Yeah. The crazy bitch who tried to take her money? You guys tried to stop her, but it was technically Humphrey who warned Alison about the- fraud business! But did you invite him to your little dinner party? No you bloody well didn't!" Amy shouted, that one hit closer to home than she would've thought. 

The group seemed taken aback to recall that night. They didn't even bring him to the table that night. None of them even bothered to go back and pick up his discarded head after he'd been kicked away. How long HAD be been left out there for? 

Even The Captain cleared his throat and lowered his gaze. The rest of the group shared his guilt. Amy nodded and scoffed. 

"That's what I thought..." She sneered as she ascended the stairs with Humphrey's head who didn't dare say a word. 

"She's right..." Pat whimpered, adjusting his glasses. 

The group mumbled in agreement and sat in silence for a while, thinking back on all the times Humphrey had been absent for any occasions the rest of them gathered as a group. 

Upstairs, Amy paced back and forth in front of Humphrey who's head rested against a cushion on a chair, watching her go back and forth waving her hands and cracking her knuckles. 

"I mean- who do they think they are sometimes? They can't just- ABANDON you ALL the time! What if I hadn't died? Would you still be under a table or outside?!" Amy ranted. 

"Poppet?..." 

"I'm actually surprised at Kitty, she's one of my best mates aside from Silver, and even SHE didn't go find you?" 

"P-Poppet?.." 

"I swear, sometimes I'd love to just- punch them all in the mouth- maybe not Kitty or Robin, but- MOST of them-"

"Amy"

Amy paused and turned to face the head who looked at her with a straight and serious expression. She scuffed her boot on the floorboards and jammed her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie. 

"That's enough" Humphrey asserted. He began to regret telling Amy any of those things, for her sake. 

"Sorry. It's just- I thought they were better than that..." Amy said quietly, a heavy sigh leaving her lungs. 

"Don't get yourself wound up over me, I'm just a talking head at this point" Humphrey mused, though his assertive tone still trickled through his words. 

Amy averted her gaze lower, feeling guilty for putting Humphrey through all of that little fiasco downstairs. 

"But if I don't stand up for you then they'll-"

"That's not your job, Poppet. You do enough for me as it is" Humphrey smiled. 

Amy was about to combat him with more reasons for her to defend him, but all that came was a soft sigh and a shake of her head. 

Her brow creased as she wandered over to a small shair by the wall, dropping herself down onto it. Humphrey's eyes followed her every move, watching to make sure she had calmed down. 

"I just don't understand why they do it to you. They either neglect you or hurt you..." There was a pinch of hate behind Amy's words as she flicked her eyes towards the closed door. 

If Humphrey could shrug right now, he would. 

"I dunno either. Perhaps they just miss being able to touch things- you know, carry things around, play. I don't mind the throwing and the catching, it's just the kicking and the whacking and the hair dangling that bothers me a bit..." Humphrey said truthfully. 

"Well THEY'LL each be kicked and whacked where something else dangles if they carry on, for real..." Amy growled"

Humphrey tutted and rose his brows, flashing her an assertive sideways glare; he loved Amy dearly, but this tone on her really made her someone he didn't recognize. He admired her spark, but he wanted to bring back her softness. 

Amy shrugged and adjusted her useless headphones, for a brief second she felt as though she were back in the head master's office at school for misbehaving. 

"Hey?.." His voice gathered Amy's attention again as she glanced back up at him from her chair. 

Humphrey gave her a warm smile and a blink. 

"Thank you"

[angelus-a13]

Grave Expectations

So here's something that is less of a poem and more of a micro-fiction. It's not poetry at all but I did have fun scribbling it. If you would prefer to read it over at AO3, you can find that here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49494334

It's about a trans grave robber, and a possible vampire. CW for blood, murder, graverobbing etc. You can read below!

Kit cursed the frost that had settled on the ground - it would only make his job that much harder tonight. Getting the shovel though the frozen earth, even freshly dug, would be a nightmare. That was if the crunch of his every footstep didn’t alert the watchmen around the cemetery first. His hands were already red and numb at the tips, and even the wool around his joints did nothing to dull the ache that had settled in. Damn it all, he thought, damn every circumstance that had led him to take this life. Anyone sane was bundled up in front of any hearth they could get in front of, within any shelter they could get in this godforsaken city. Kit wasn’t sure that kind of comfort would be in his future anytime soon, not unless something miraculous happened, and this wasn’t the kind of city that you found miracles in. Not for people like him.

Kit picked his way across the kirkyard, he bet you wouldn’t find the anatomists and surgeons out of doors in this, not for anything. They were far too busy indoors with their scalpels and knives, well off enough to not need to stain their own hands with such a crime. Hunger drove them all, only it was less metaphorical for the poor resurrectionists like Kit and the scores of others in rookeries or slums dotted around the city that did whatever they could to keep food in their bellies. Hunger: for money, for knowledge, for a hot meal. That was what kept turning the cogs of the machine they called progress. He’d take what he could get, and keep taking until he had enough to run from this life and to whatever he could grasp. Kit knew the odds were stacked against men like him. Men with secrets buried better than anyone in this kirkyard could be.

He was for once, grateful for the linen bindings around his chest - at least they were extra protection from the cold. His shabby coat was in desperate need of repair, although he’d been recommended it would be better served to fuel a fire, but Kit was damned if he was spending any of the paltry coins he earned on something so frivolous. This one would do. He wrapped it tighter around himself and tried not to shiver. He had to remind himself he’d chosen this, that he was strong enough to weather a night like this. What other option did he have? Crawl back home to the town houses, look upon his parents faces again and beg them to take him back? That he’d do anything they asked, deny who he was and marry that dull-witted fool Sir Edward they’d settled on? No, he couldn’t do that. Being blown apart by grave guns was a more appealing fate than that.

Kit stumbled over a mound of earth, hidden in the poor light and the mist that had settled. No surprise he lost his footing now that his chilled feet could barely tell what they were trampling over anymore. The grave he’d marked out as his prey, the grave he’d watched filled in earlier that afternoon, was hollow. If he didn’t know how crucial his silence was, he’d sit back and howl in frustration. So few burials had taken place the past week with the weather continuing to conspire against him and his ilk, suitable bodies were few and far between. No honour among thieves and all that: you had to be quick, and Kit hadn’t been quick enough tonight. The dearly departed loved ones were probably relieved to know the bitter cold and the blasted snow would keep the graverobbers away for just long enough for their sons, mothers, sweethearts to earn their promised rest and escape the doctor’s theatres.

There was a thud. Nearby, not close enough to be any real danger, but near enough that Kit’s pulse picked up. It wasn’t the soft thud of earth being moved, the crack of a coffin, even the shock of a gravegun. Like a body hitting the ground. Oh, the irony. Kit hoped whoever it was had fallen in an empty grave and broken a leg. He was not feeling charitable tonight. If it was someone struggling with what should have been his prize, he should go and help lighten their load. He’d maybe strike it lucky with someone who’d split whatever they could get for the cadaver - maybe he’d have something to eat and a place for the night after all. Anything would be better than nothing.

As Kit quietly gathered his tools to move off towards the source of the noise, which had already stopped. He knew he should be more wary, really, this wasn’t his first circus, but it was nearly two in the morning and he’d really had enough of it all. A shadow split away from the night, beside the marble monument 3 graves over. Kit froze. He wouldn’t scream, it’d be the end for him either way. There was something familiar about the tall imposing frame materialising in front of Kit, the cut of that coat, the suggestion of lamplight playing off of the coal black waves of his hair… Clem.

“Tough night for you?”

The shadow stepped forward, a flash of white teeth and clothing far too fine to be worn to a cemetery in the small hours of a winter’s night noticeable in the dim lamplight. Kit bit back a curse.

“Come on, you could be happier to see me! I’ve got something for you.”

And that couldn’t be anything good, not coming from Clem. The sharp featured young man had his own reasons for sneaking around here, and Kit suspected they were far worse than his own. At least Kit only took the ones that had finished with their lives, not to get too moralistic about it, but he wasn’t a murderer likely to find himself on a surgeon’s slab himself. Clem could suit himself, it wasn’t any business of Kit’s how he spent his nights.

Clem stepped forward, reaching to take the lamp and shovel from Kit’s grip, whose knuckles were white and flesh turning a pallid blue. He shoved his now free hands deep into the pockets of the stolen overcoat, and decided not to analyse why he wanted to return the grin on Clem’s face. Lack of sleep gets to a boy after a while, that’s all. It meant nothing, he didn’t feel any draw to the other man other than pure curiosity.

“Did you follow me here? Is that what happened?”

Clem laughed, a sharp and quiet laugh, “Oh darling, I was here hours ago - saw your little friend dragged out as soon as I arrived. Bad luck by the way, but you did take your time coming back. That’s a lesson to you - early bird and all that.”

He turned to bestow a pitiful look at Kit, the pout on his lips sparking annoyance in Kit’s gut. Kit was having none of it, not after the mess that tonight had shaped into.

“Either help me out or fuck off, in case you didn’t notice it’s bloody cold out here.” A quiet laugh came from in front of him, the lantern’s light dancing around as they ducked behind a masoleum.

“Such a temper! Come on, just over here and you’ll thank me for earning you a decent night’s pay.”

Clem set the light down and leant on the shovel and Kit peered around the hedge. The pale flesh peeking from the swathes of fabric almost made him baulk, he didn’t want to think about why Clem would have been here with someone else after dark. What was the best excuse for this? Was Clem the one who took his prize? The alternative was a little too unsavoury to bear thinking about.

“You..? You took.. The other grave?”

Clem shook his head and snorted.

“Darling, do you think I spent my evening knees deep in that horrendous dirt? And still looking so immaculate?” Clem spun so the skirt of his coat danced around his calves. Kit didn’t want to say he’d not be able to tell if the deep jet of Clem’s coat was coated in gravedirt or not, and didn't feel pointing out the now obvious differences in their night vision, or their sensibilities, would be worth the time to say them out loud.

“Look, she’s perfectly fresh if that’s what you’re worried about. No maggots, no rot; I promise you.” Kit stared blankly at the barely lit side of the corpse’s face, the slender pale neck, the dark rust smear beneath the ear. The crisp whiteness of the skin, fragile as first snow. Bloodless and cold. You had to have a strong constitution in this line of work, but clearly he hadn’t worked on it enough. The sight disturbed him more than it had any right to.

“What’s wrong? I can help you carry-” “I can’t take her, I can’t,” Kit turned his horrified gaze from the ground, and to Clem’s bewildered face, “They’ll notice something’s not right. She’s not right, what did you do?”

Clem sniffed, delicately. “Only what’s natural to me, darling.” He pushed the shovel into Kit’s bundled chest. “You can’t hate me for surviving as best I can, how hypocritical you would be.”

Kit spluttered. It was clear Clem had a comfortable existence, didn’t have to beg and scavenge for every scrap he won for himself. How else would he still dress like that, keep himself so well groomed?

“Take her, or leave her to rot. What’s it to me?”

And before Kit could say anything else, Clem had turned on his heel and melted back into the misty darkness. Kit stood there, wordless and stunned. He supposed he should fetch the cart and do what he’d come to do in the first place. Plenty of surgeons wouldn’t ask a single question, wouldn’t worry about the how’s and why’s.

Clem had given him a gift, and he was in no position to refuse it.