#Fissures Of Nothingness

[wickedzeevyln]

The Pulp of a Sour Smile

Cardboard Bed On the birth of a sweltering day,he found tomorrow gagged and taken,plastic-skinned people in a van,green-eyed dwellers of glass towers,the hours flattened into a card,and the screen on the machine reads declined. For a decent meal for the lot,signed a waiver, signed his life away,wet cardboard and shopping bags for a blanket,this life is nothing but a deathbed.dragging down the…

[chiscribbs]

This is something I'm calling the Disconnected AU.

It's an alt-movie-ending AU which focuses on the bonds of the four brothers (primarily: Leo and Mikey, Raph and Donnie) and how each of them fights to keep their family together when circumstances threaten to tear them apart possibly for good.

I originally wanted to fit all four of the brothers' perspectives onto one page, buuut it ended up being too massive that way, so I decided to just divide it into two separate posts instead, lol.

RAPH & DONNIE

MIKEY & LEO (coming soon...)

Summary below the cut (TW: loss of limbs, implied death, mind-control):

In an alternate version of the movie's finale, Donnie is not conscious to help Mikey open the portal; Mikey and Raph don't have enough power between the two of them to keep it open, so the portal ends up collapsing, taking Mikey - and one of Raph's arms - with it. Donnie awakes just in time to see two of his brothers vanish into nothingness...but before that, he sees something strange as the portal is collapsing, something that gives him reason to believe they could still be alive...

In the weeks following the invasion, the remaining members of the Hamato Clan each deal with the loss in various ways - some grieving, others not yet willing to give up hope. Donnie - certain that his brothers are not dead, just lost, and determined to get them back - spends every waking moment in his lab, pouring over any scrap of footage or evidence of the event that he can get his hands on. Meanwhile, Raph - eaten with guilt for failing to protect his brothers and constantly reminded of it due to his new arm - becomes closed-off. This worsens when Donnie starts spending more and more of his time in isolation; Raph believing/fearing that it's because he blames him, too. He copes by trying to be there for the rest of his family - the ones that will let him in.

As time passes, the others gradually start to move on, accepting that Leo and Mikey are gone for good. Donnie becomes increasingly frustrated with them (namely Raph, who he thinks must have seen what he saw, since he was also there) and desperate to prove that his brothers aren't dead. Tensions between the two finally hit a boiling point when a shrine is dedicated in Leo and Mikey's memory, resulting in a heated argument that ends with Donnie retreating back to his lab. Unable to find the clear evidence that he needs (and having no luck with contacting Draxum), Donnie decides to take matters into his own hands - he builds a device that can tap into his mind and recover the memory of what he saw the moment the portal collapsed. Unbeknownst to him, however...

When the portal collapsed, it left a fissure between the dimensions - one that made it possible for the Krang to connect with, and take control of, the mind-altering tech Donnie built to save his brothers.

Things quickly go from bad to worse when the Krang-possessed device causes Donnie to become less and less like himself and more like a cold, emotionless machine with only one objective: find the key and free the Krang. In a moment of clarity, Donnie flees the lair to put some distance between himself and the others until he can fix the problem. Unaware of what's causing the sudden change but nonetheless bound and determined not to lose another piece of his family; Raph puts together a team to find and bring his brother home before he, too, is forever lost.

Meanwhile, in a distant dimension: Mikey is also on a quest to find & save his lost brother...before it's too late...

(To be continued...)

[hamborgerz]

Starve a Fever (dpxdc)

Act 1: The Aftermath Never Looks Pretty

Scene 1: Hot Knife

Danny thought he was safe from disaster after everything he’d been through. He’d saved Amity Park from Ghosts and their Hunters time and again. Ancients, he saved the entire Ghost Zone—the Infinite Realms itself—from its very own tyrannical ruler when the fruitloop woke that damn Pariah Dark up from his forever nap. He even saved the world from his own future self, and it horrifies him to think about the thermos and its inhabitant locked away in the Long Now.

Yet, disaster strikes. It always has to in Danny’s life. Danny’s starting to think he was never meant to exist without disaster. That he’s cursed to forever half-live with everything crashing down around him no matter what he does. In another timeline, all it took for his entire family, his best friends, and the one good teacher in his life to be killed was him cheating on one stupid fucking test.

And in this one, all it took for the destruction of everything Danny ever cared about was for him to have a sleepover.

He should’ve known. He should’ve expected those bozos in white to try their luck again in destroying the Ghost Zone. Ever since they started kidnapping and experimenting on Ghosts, Danny has been working overtime to thwart them; he’s been endlessly ruining their bases, freeing their captives, and scaring them off of his streets.

But they’re like roaches, always coming back. It had gotten to the point that Amity Parkers, including his very own parents, got tired of their shit and started retaliating against their presence.

So, he should’ve expected this. Should have known that the GIW would take advantage of his parent’s portal once again. But this time, instead of the GIW getting permission to use the Portal, they invaded his home, killed his family, and shot a bomb into the Zone before Danny even woke up.

At least, that’s what Danny assumes is what happened, because there’s nothing left of his home to even figure out what really happened. If he had to make a guess, Danny would say the Ghost Zone acted on its own to protect itself, pushing out as much ectoplasm as it could to combat all the anti-ectoplasm that was shot in. Because that’s about the only thing Danny can think of that would destabilize the portal and the Zone that badly. The U.S. and the world is lucky that the explosion only took out half of Illinois.

Yeah, Danny thinks as he stares at the ashes of his home, lucky.

That’s what he must be too to have survived it all. From what Danny can remember, he’d woken up to the start of the explosion and didn’t even have enough time to transform before he felt like the portal opened up on him a second time. The tearing of his entire being, the evisceration of what makes him human—of what makes him a Ghost—and the subsequent nothingness until he woke up again.

It must have been weeks, months, maybe even a year. Danny couldn’t know for sure. All he’s done since he woke up is float above the remains of his home and feel every fissure in his core grow wider.

He failed them. Danny failed. He’d let go of his responsibilities—took a day off—and this is what happens. He’s lost everyone. His mom, dad, Jazz, Tucker, Sam—everyone. And there’s nothing he can do to fix it. He has no way to access the Ghost Zone, not unless he bows down to Vlad, if the fruitloop is even still around, or conveniently finds a natural portal. And even if he could get into the Zone and find Clockwork, it’s likely that if Clockwork could have done anything to stop this reality from happening then the Ghost would have done so already.

Which leads Danny to know this from deep within his heart, his core—

This was always meant to be.

Danny was always meant to lose everything.

The pain from accepting this breaks him, and all he can do is collapse into the ashes of his haunt and wail.

Scene 2: Genesis

Danny can't remember another day where his core didn’t throb, and his heart didn’t hurt. It seems like he's in a perpetual state of pain with his Obsession screaming from within him to fix what was done to his haunt, snarling at him to pick himself up and take on his responsibility (whatever that could be now that the Ghost Portal is destroyed along with his entire town).

Danny is starting to see how Dan truly came to be inevitable. He’s tried to block out his Ghost half by staying in his human form and depriving himself of any ectoplasm-rich environment, but his core still thrums with his heartbeat even though both his human body and his Ghost is weak. He’s so weak that he's even wound up passing out multiple times in random alleyways in random cities, or on the side of highways, walking toward a destination he doesn’t know and doesn’t care to figure out. If he feels himself coming across a place with higher ambient ectoplasm, he turns tail and runs.

What's worse is that there’s an anger within him that incites an even greater fear. It’s so strong that, in his lowest moments, he begs for the Ancients to be merciful. It’s gotten down to the point where all Danny can think of to stop himself from going ballistic is truly to bite the bullet.

But then he thinks about how Dani might still be out there, and it makes him continue walking. Vlad’s still missing; the fruitloop being the first person Danny tried to find, but there was no trace of him in Illinois nor in Wisconsin. Danny can only hope beyond anything that Dani might still be around, maybe even searching for him too. She said the last time they met—which from what Danny learned was around seven months ago and a month before the incident—that she’d be in the states for a while. A while being anywhere near one week or a full year. Danny desperately wants her to have meant a full year.

With no way to easily track his clone—the very last of his family, his people, his haunt, his responsibility—since every single piece of Ghost Hunting equipment blown up with the GIW and his parents inventions, Danny has been going off of his internal compass, letting his core direct him. It’s about the only thing that he lets his core do, no matter how much it screams at him to let out everything he’s holding inside.

Anyhow, it’s a very wishy-washy way of tracking since he’s trying to avoid areas rich with ectoplasm and other such places like Fawcett city that are so intertwined with the extranormal that they’re bound to affect his Ghost-half. He doesn’t know exactly where he’s being directed, but there’s a definite path. Every time he’s strayed from going due East, his core would roar and thrash within him until he redirects himself.

Danny almost regrets going off the whims of his core when he winds up in Gotham, a city bound to death and debauchery. He can feel his core sucking in every ounce of ectoplasm it can. The only thing keeping him from getting the hell out of dodge is the tugging on his core, the distant feeling of ectoplasm so familiar that he’d think it was his own if not for the fact he knows it’s not. If he digs into the feeling, Danny can make out all that makes Dani’s ecto-signature unique from his own, almost like an appraiser seeing every little detail defining an art piece as unique to its artist’s style.

Danny knows with every fiber of his being, even betting on his non-existent grave (something that somehow carries more weight than one would think), that Dani was at least in this city recently, if not in it now.

He drags his starving body through the bowels of Gotham, letting his eyes wander to the neon signs that mingle amongst the gargoyles. Danny doesn’t know much about the city, other than what his parents told him; of which was that he should never go there unless he wants to gamble his life away or die in a shoot-out between the various mobs, or in a rogue attack. He also remembers his parents trying to spook him with a rumor about there being a crime-lord so powerful that he strikes fear into the hearts of every criminal, rogue, and mob-boss in Gotham. A single man—the Batman, his parents would whisper as if simply saying his name could summon him even though they were nearly a thousand miles away—who stops at nothing to fulfill his mission.

Now his parents never told him what that mission was, but Danny really didn’t care to know and even just thinking about his mom and dad drives the hatchet deeper into the fissures of his core.

His feet, bare and bloody, scrap across the concrete, and Danny pushes himself to go faster as his nose picks up the actual scent of Dani—his clone, his cousin, his sister, his family, his haunt. Danny doesn’t even care that the nighttime stragglers—the gamblers, the drunks, the working girls, the homeless, and everyone else—are giving him an even wider berth as he starts to fling his head around, trying to catch the trail his core cries for him to follow. He forgets the pain from his hunger, the glass digging into his souls, and the strengthening of his Ghost as he finally, finally has a direct path to Dani.

Danny doesn’t even realize that he’s running until he’s already coming upon an abandoned building that’s drenched with ectoplasm. In the back of his mind, Danny makes the connection from the gaudy sign out front that this must have been some Ghost Hunter’s business, one that could actually do their job based on slight tang of blood blossoms. But the thought stays in the back of his mind until Danny rushes into the basement and sees it.

There, in the very center of the musty basement, is a circle of dried blood blossoms surrounding a very intricately written spell that Danny can’t make out because there’s a massive splatter of ectoplasm soaking the concrete. A splatter of ectoplasm that his core recognizes. A splatter that he lets himself drop onto his knees in front of, desperately grasping at the dissipating ectoplasm that smells like his own, but he knows it isn’t because it’s—

It's—

His core stalls like a car engine when you've pressed too hard on the gas. Danny feels the electricity inside of him crackle. Goosebumps spread across his arm, and his hair stands on end. The static in the air climbs, and there’s half a second before Danny’s humanity slips away in a lightning strike of pure white.

Danny takes that time to breathe in.

----

uuhhhhh okay well this is from my Thomas Wayne Batman thing here's the description lmao

Thomas Wayne (Batman) wards Danny Fenton (Phantom) after shenanigans and Amity Park plus half of Illinois exploding itself due to the Ghost Portal destabilizing after the GIW send a rocket of anti-ectoplasm into it. The Ghost Zone acted on its own to protect itself, pushing out as much ectoplasm as it could to combat all the anti-ectoplasm that was shot in. Luckily, it only took out half a state instead of the entire country.

[sacredwrath]

P8. A little extra suffering as a treat

Torture, stress position, salt in the wounds, suicidal ideation, death wish, medical inaccuracies, confusion/ delirium, dissociation, surrealism, touch starvation

The man leaves him there. Adrian tries to not fall apart immediately. He tries to acclimate to the pain. Feel it as just another sensation in his body.

"It's just pain," he mutters to himself "just pain, just pain... you can deal with pain" but he can't. He never can.

Before long he's whimpering, trying to hold in sobs, but not for vanity's sake this time. Every tiny movement sends sharp crystals burrowing into his wounds, aggravating the burned flesh. If he lets himself cry now he won't be able to handle the pain of it.

He can't take anymore

Since when has that mattered?

Can't do anything to make it worse.

Uncaring tears slip down his cheeks despite himself

His muscles ache. It's only been what? Like five minutes? He has no idea. He'll start shaking soon, jerking as his muscles cramp up. Cracks, now fissures in his composure, let in ice cold panic. It rises, choking off his air. Pathetic, powerless, helpless-

Stop

Where is he?

Brick walls, cracked cement, he digs the sharp edge of his chipped molar into his tongue

It's been an eternity, or maybe an hour? Less? How long is the man going to leave him like this? Part of him shouts in his head, warning him how unsafe this is. It's too far, too far for a stress position, he can't plan to leave him like this for long. Can he? But the man doesn't know what he's doing, he's new to this, and doesn't care if Adrian dies.

For the first time since coming here, he wishes he'd just thrown himself off the bridge. What's wrong with him? He knew this would happen. Of course it would. He needed it to. It hurts.

Agony throbs in time with the beating of his heart, pulling his focus back to his body. His muscles are trembling now, salt crystals tearing into the ruined flesh of his knees and shins. He can feel the crystals disolving in blood.

He tries to pull away, to escape it even if just for a second, heaving himself into the air. The relief is minimal, and soon the strain on his battered ribs force him to relax.

As his knees make contact with the salt again he can't suppress the noise that claws its way from his throat. He wishes the man would've just shot him in the street.

Soon, he's trembling in earnest, salt shredding his resistance like wet tissue paper, turning his whimpers to tortured sobs. It's not real crying. He knows that by now, but he lets his body have its release anyway.

He loses himself in screams.

Shrieking in mad, useless abandon, flaying his throat raw.

Another eternity passes before he realizes he's no longer choking on sobs. He's just choking. Air burns his lungs and his vocal cords refuse to cooperate. Each breath wheezes in and out of him in quick rapid gasps. He tries to slow down, but it feels like there isn't enough air in the room.

"Thank you," He whimpers soundlessly "thank you, thank you, thank you..." the familiar light headed feeling of his body giving up soothes him into black oblivion.

...

He's lost again.

Where is he?

Wandering somewhere dark. It burns.

It hurts.

But it always hurts

Please! He begs silently. Please, please...

He doesn't know who he's begging or for what, but he lets the word form a mantra in his head, chanting it over and over between bouts of obliterating agony.

Each wave unmakes him anew, leaving him raw and spinning

Where is he?

He can't find it. But what was he looking for again?

He desperately snatches at fragments of thought, but they slip through his fingers, burning him even as they dissolve to mist

He's slipping again.

He must be.

It hurts

Consciousness eludes him, but so does peaceful nothingness. He floats somewhere in between, expelled and anchored to himself by pain.

Please-

Where is he?

He can't find it.

Centuries pass.

He feels cool hands. He follows them

There's a voice too, but it speaks an unintelligible language. He tries to listen, but only meaningless noises filter down to his hell

It hurts the closer he gets

But the hands become arms and he feels himself pressed against another body.

It hurts

He clings to it

Please...

The arms leave him, and he cries out

A cool hand against his burning forehead.

Soothing, almost gentle

Then it's gone too, leaving him alone again in the dark with his pain.

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Tag list: @whumpacabra @turn-the-tables-on-them @kiichu @whatwhump

[boneblushed]

But on a Wednesday, in a cafe

muggle!au, James x fem!reader, I’m going through a really tough break up right now so writing this = therapy

I’ve been spending the last eight months / Thinking all love ever does / Is break, and burn, and end

Perhaps you should be used to it by now, this never-ending chasm of pain that begins and ends at the base of your ribcage.

It’s a deep, aching hurt, the kind that promises to linger until you’re forced to surrender. A draught of cool air pulls through your chest, alerting you to the tired heart squeezed within it. Every time you think about him—about the life you shared—it breaks and splinters, rocketing another of its shards into the surrounding structures. A dreadful pang.

Who knew love could hurt this much?

It’s taken a while for your heart to look the way it does. A few weeks ago, it was held within your shaking palms, wrung through with desperation as you begged him to return. Here… take it, please? It belongs to you… it’ll always be yours.

Prior to that, when the aching wounds were still fresh, you wove bandages from hopeful ignorance, fastened them with blind faith. No, love couldn’t possibly be as fickle as he was making it out to be; you couldn’t let yourself believe it was, you’d simply have to bide your time until he came to his senses.

Until he told you how wrong he was, how much he didn’t mean any of it. Of course I didn’t fall out of love with you, of course that can’t just happen; I love you, I’m sorry, forgive me?

And pathetic as your broken heart is, you would be ready to do so, no matter the stakes.

It makes you stomach roil as you think back on it now — the power he had over you, how callously he wielded it every time you spoke. Has. Present tense. The fissure deepens.

It’s terrifying, how quickly your world can shrink into nothingness. Once upon a time, you’d considered him your soul-mate—your person—and now it’s as though the pair of you are strangers, even less than.

It’s true what they say, indifference pierces deeper than hatred. After all that you’ve been through with him, all that you’ve shared, how are you supposed to simply move on and find love elsewhere?

The cobblestone path you walk along is well versed with your rumination. A quilt of autumn foliage crunches underfoot, a petrichor rich scent present in the air. Every shop window you pass boasts Thanksgiving deals that you ‘just don’t want to miss!’; it’s nauseating as much as it is heart-breaking, having to do the holidays without him for the first time in six years.

It’s probably pity more than it is fate that leads you to the new cafe in Godric’s Hollow — you’ve shed far too many tears for the Universe to bear, plagued with motion sickness from how quickly your sadness turns yearning again.

You miss him. It’s right there in your eyes, how much you miss him. James’ on barista duty whilst his colleague Remus mans the register; the latter may discern the melancholy in your features, but it’s James who recognises the exact significance of it.

He’s been through it before, you see, with Lily Evans. His gaze softens, dappled brown eyes falling over you in paces, and he wracks his brains for things he’d have wanted when he was going through the worst of it.

Except, the one thing he wanted no one could realistically give him — Lily. Who’s your mystery boy? Is it truly as over as your eyes say it is?

“Uh, hey,” you greet. Your voice doesn’t crack as much as it’s barely loud enough to register.

“Hey,” Remus responds, sending you a small smile. Playing it cool whilst his knee nudges James’ under the counter. “What can I get for you?”

“Just an iced latte please,” you answer. “With oat milk, if you have it.”

Remus punches in your order as you reach for your wallet. The cappuccino James’ making overflows.

“Shit!” He curses, jerking back his hand hastily, the skin scalded. Droplets of burnt coffee fly onto the machine as he shakes them off.

You startle, turning to look at him. “You alright?”

“Coffee’s on us,” James replies, reaching over Remus to cancel the order. His peripheral vision catches the incredulous look he sends him, but he thinks it a disservice to look away from you in this moment. The melancholy in your eyes ebbs a little. James’ heart soars.

“Really?” You ask, your voice a little louder now.

“Oh yeah,” James responds, faux-serious. “You’re our fiftieth customer today.”

“You’re lying,” you say, a flicker of a smile on your face.

James shrugs, grinning handsomely. “D’you want the free coffee or not, oat milk?”

You raise your eyebrows in response, pretending to zip your lips and throw away the key. James nods approvingly.

He discards the dregs of the cappuccino he was making, starting anew with his gaze flitting over to you intermittently. You watch the trees sway through the high windows to the left of you as you wait, your hands clasped in front of you, one wrist held in a palm. He knows, as he watches you, that you have to go feel all of the pain to see a way out of it.

So he keeps his mouth shut for now, and hopes this cafe will become a regular haunt.

Weeks, a month, two passes. He takes it slow. He thinks your dreadfully pretty but that’s besides the point right now; when he was grieving his relationship with Lily, all he wanted to do was mope and be left alone. No number of Sirius’ “friends” could quell that deep, overwhelming hankering in his chest.

“Hey,” you greet one day, resolute.

James raises his eyebrows at you. Remus is off sick. “Hey?”

“I’m paying today.”

James snorts, shaking his head. “No way.”

“I’m tipping heavily,” you warn.

“Wow,” James sighs sadly. “Like you would any other employee, huh? And here I thought we were friends.”

“Shut up.” You scowl. Not really; it baffles James, how your features can still look so sweet when they’re contorted all angrily. “You’re right. You don’t even need this job.”

The thing about James is, his family owns half the establishments in town square. He’s one of those enigmatic personalities that you’ve always known to rule your hometown; around when you are, dancing around the corners of your gaze, kind and ever-present but never very important. Until now.

He grins handsomely, dropping into a curtesy. He oozes fondness and it makes you forget things often. “Nepo baby at your service, sweetheart.”

“That’s what I don’t get about all this,” you say. “You don’t… why’re you wasting your time here? Is this gig just a way for you to pick up chics?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“James.”

He grins wider, raising his arms in surrender. “Full disclosure?”

You cock your head to one side, intrigued. “I’m listening.”

“Well… it actually started as a way to fill my time,” he answers, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I went through a pretty tough break up last year, and I couldn’t bear to be sat at home hurting over the same shit over and over.

“So dad got me this gig. I didn’t even get paid in the start, honest. I barely did anything; made like, one coffee over eight hours. But I was around people, and that helped. I don’t know.”

You swallow. It sounds far too familiar to your own circumstances, and a distant ache rings through your chest — a reminder. “I know the feeling.”

“And then I met Rems, and introduced him to my mate Sirius,” he continues, raising his eyebrows. “Turns out they’re fucking mad for each other, who’d have thought it? And it just reminded me… I don’t know, that there’s still hope.”

Another pause. You know what he means, but you want him to say it anyway, for your own sake.

Your lashes flutter closed. “Hope?”

“To love again. Eventually.”

His rough timbre reverberates through your insides. You nod, slowly, and when you open your eyes, unshed tears darken your lashes. James frowns, but he doesn’t intervene. He knows this feeling; his own heart mourns its melody.

He hands you your coffee soundlessly.

“Thanks,” you says, your voice cracks.

When you turn around, you know you’ll be back tomorrow. And then the next day, a few days after.

You aren’t sure when you start believing it too. But slowly, slowly, without even knowing you are, you begin smiling more. Ruminating less. No one’s ever given you this many free coffees in the past. James’ tally surpasses your ex-boyfriend’s by week four; the small talk’s more about you than about him, and he learns your quirks with this startling sincerity that you didn’t think you’d ever experience again.

The more you see of James, the more you recognise how much love your past relationship lacked. Strangers, friends, more than. All you did was blink.

Though of course, you’d be lying if you said the melancholy didn’t wax and wane, flow through you in waves that make your entire being crash ashore.

James knows this. He still feels the odd pang of heartache at the thought of Evans.

On Christmas Eve, the air feels different. The melted snow in your hair glistens in the warm light of the cafe, and for the first time since he met you, James sees it reflected in your gaze.

“The usual?” Remus asks in lieu of greeting.

“Times two, if possible Rem,” you say. You turn to James. “Coffee?”

James startles for a moment before he regains his composure, his wide, brown eyes falling over your in paces. You’ve always been breathtakingly beautiful, but something about your features seems different now, better.

Softer. Healed.

“You’re paying though, right?” James asks, faux-serious.

“I see,” you reply, folding your arms across your chest. “As long as it’s not a date, you have no problem paying for things?”

“Shit,” James wolf-whistles approvingly, jumping over the counter so he’s standing right in front of you. You gaze tilts, messing with your centre of gravity. “This is a date, huh?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Do you want it to be?”

James raises his in tandem. “If that’d make you happy.”

A pause. “You know,” you say quietly, breaking eye contact. “After my break up, I didn’t think anything’d make me happy ever again.”

James’ features soften. He reaches forward and cups your jaw, returning your gaze to his. “And now?”

“Can’t you see it in my face, James Potter?” You smile poignantly. “Yes is the answer to your question, by the way. It’d make me very happy.”

Behind you, Remus begins to clap. James groans and drops his head to your shoulder, deftly flipping him off. “Don’t fucking start, Moons.”

“Are you kidding? Coffee’s are on me, by the way. Pads is going to fucking die when he finds out.”

But on a Wednesday in a cafe / I watched it begin again

[jwritesalright]

If you're a team member from Royal Road; Hi! Yes, this is in fact me. I got denied for plagiarism twice because I'm stupid and forgot I posted this here.

Prologue: A Grim Foreshadowing Fire. It was all she could see. Climbing the wooden walls, covering the floors, and turning the thatch roof of her family home into ash, raining down onto her. The occasional heavy rafter croaked against the howling of flames. She was trapped on the upper floor of the home. The snapping above her grew from faint to noticeable. The rafter, creaking in the balance, rocking, suddenly toppled towards her. She leapt out of the way barely moments before it crunched against the floor, falling through, leaving behind a gash, a wound in the building. She stumbled, crawled to the fissure in the wood. Through it, she saw Hell itself. The wooden furnishing of the otherwise stone-and-brick-built had created an inferno, with the enclosed, stony space serving as the kiln. Flames licked against the hard clay walls, turning the previously white walls into a puss-gray color. A similar snapping to before was heard. This time, below her. The floorboards had been weakened by the high flames, and also by the crushing blow of the fallen rafter. Crackling. The wood gave out, and she fell into what was, for all intents and purposes, a furnace. Her last sight, as she was falling, were piles of scalding embers and ash, laying on the floor. It felt as if it would be better if she were born without her eyes. Because they’d reminded him of her mother, her father always said he liked their deep blue color. But she’d far prefer sparing herself the burning agony of her pupils being touched by embers and ash. And as her eyes were sizzling, she realized that her crying made it no better. It was as if her tears were fizzling out before they could attempt to cleanse the burning out of her eyes. And the smoke. The smoke made her light-headed. She was about to pass out. She needed to get out, she knew that. Blinded, feeling around the nothingness, she lost strength in her knees and fell to the floor. As her consciousness was taking to the backstage, [She] began remembering some of her past experiences. Was this really the end of her tale, when she felt like it had only began? Her mind flipped through all the memories of living with her father in that home, which is now soon to be charred ruins. In her last moment before blacking out, she heard a muffled shout: “There’s one more in here!”

[citadelofmythoughts]

Probably going to be a while before I get to explore the time travel idea that anon gave me yesterday but here's a little something I wrote just to get the idea down.

As Jaune, Ren, Oscar, our reluctant companion Emerald and I,  walked through Atlas’ underground tunnels we saw what could only be described as a fissure in the air…a gray nothingness with rainbow colors dancing at the fringes and suddenly there was a group of eight girls standing before us. Some about our age, some a little younger. 

At the front were two girls, one with dark blonde hair kept in a neat ponytail, the other was raven-haired and kept it loose about her shoulders. Both had heterochromic eyes, the same colors but on different sides but both were amber and lilac. 

They looked at our group and then focused on me and hesitantly approached. “Who are you?” I asked in astonishment.

The girls looked at each other and then back at a curly red-headed girl behind them who smiled encouragingly. 

“I…we’re Teams SREN and ORCD.” The blonde girl said. “And my name is Sandy Xiao Long.” then she indicated the older girl next to her. “And this is my sister, Rose.”

“Xiao Long….” I muttered not quite understanding what was happening when they suddenly wrapped me in a hug. 

“Hi, Ma.”

[genork-the-fandork]

Fissure

Word Count: 494 Prompt: Mystery Labyrinth Featured Characters: Shinigami A/N: Some major liberties have been taken with this one. It's simply a theory of what might have happened after we leave Shinigami. I'm probably totally wrong, but all I can hope is that Kodaka won't come after me, haha. Anyway, I love Shinigami, and though she's not quite my top favorite (more like second from the top, perhaps), I wanted to give her something to make up for that ending. Here's to our favorite death god! @raincodeweek

All alone again. As a death god was meant to be.

It was boring as hell. HA! HELL!

Nothing was mysteriful anymore. Shinigami knew it was because she'd given Yuma the out. Was it so wrong that she'd hoped, somewhere deep down, that he wouldn't take it? That it would just be the two of them, trying to find a way out of the Mystery Labyrinth? Find a way around reaping the soul of the culprit? Out of everyone she had ever formed a contract with, he had definitely been her favorite. Even if their entire relationship was based on a lie.

She sighed, twirling a strand of her pink-and-white hair. There was no point returning to the Book of Death. It was unlikely anyone interesting was going to open it now. After Yuma, there was no one who was going to be quite so entertaining.

If a death god was capable of love, Shinigami liked to think she had found something akin to it in Yuma.

Floating over to the entrance of the Mystery Labyrinth, Shinigami touched down on the ground for the first time in centuries. It felt weird, putting all of her weight on her feet. She turned to the Labyrinth and stared up at it. The manifestation of Kanai Ward's Ultimate Secret. What would happen to this place, now that all had been revealed? She hadn't reaped Makoto's soul, but surely this labyrinth would have to disappear now that the truth had been revealed?

Wait a minute.

Shinigami summoned her scythe and stared at it. She tapped the blade on the ground beneath her feet. A fissure appeared at the point of contact. With a grin, Shinigami leapt into the air, swinging the scythe up, up, up—and with a violent swing down, she hit the labyrinth with as much force as she could. Much like the fissure below her, the entire labyrinth, including the giant skull affixed to the front, cracked right down the middle. She cheered as the Mystery Labyrinth collapsed, along with all of the secrets that only she and one other person remembered. A third would only remember if the universe decided it was right.

What a shame that she had a tendency to ignore the universe.

She rested her scythe on her shoulder and watched the Labyrinth crumble into nothingness. There was no point in a Mystery Labyrinth that had been solved, for the most part, where the truth had been revealed to the entirety of Kanai Ward. Kanai Ward's Ultimate Secret was not quite so secret anymore. It never would be again. Not after everything Yuma had done to find the truth.

"Guess I'll have to take a peek in the human world," she mused to herself. "Though I might want to find a different outfit. Would hate for Master to recognize me right away."

If Shinigami had anything to say about it, all hell was about to break loose. In a good way.

[quirkle2]

hi who wants excerpts from my wip fic recondite. don't answer that ur getting them anyway

Tome tuts, juts her lip out a bit into a pout as she stares at the rusted ceiling, arms crossed over her chest. Shigeo watches her watch the leaves sway there, hanging onto vines with skinny stems that the breeze pecks at. “Of course I’m a genius, I know this. It’s just… frustrating. It’s like I don’t even know what I don’t know.” Shigeo feels something in him pause, and he finds himself understanding those words in a visceral, molecular way, but he feels he’s linking them to unrelated things. Things that have nothing to do with math.

-

The energy in the room coils and bursts out like a water balloon, hard-hitting and sharp. Reigen yelps from behind him over the ear-splitting whine. Shigeo can feel an odd prickling of static along his skin in little dots, like acid spraying out from the fissures in the spirit’s bloated soulskin. Somehow he tastes every splatter even when none of it reaches his tongue—it’s a motley of sparkling water and freon, cold against his skin until the aftertaste gets uncomfortably warm and sweltering in his joints. His palms feel like dry ice. He hears Reigen make an odd noise, something between a whine and a gasp, as the rustling of clothing spells out one of his strange, quick squirms. “Holy hell, Mob—you didn’t have to go that hard!” One of the cardboard boxes in front of him sizzle and crack at the edges, some unknown chemical interaction between corrugate and psychic mana. A flap along the top falls off and hits the ground pathetically, smoking from pure heat and making a low crumble sound in his ears that sounds quite alien. He didn’t. And judging by the ever-so-slight tremor of the building, he’d say he shouldn’t have. He hadn’t even meant to, is the concerning thing.

-

“I just mean my powers… I didn’t mean for that to… ya’know,” Shigeo explains, and Teruki’s goofy persona softens into something more genuine, “They’ve been kinda weird today. I don’t know why.” His partner hums, sitting in the quiet music for a while. His fingers drum against Shigeo’s knee to the beat. “You have seemed… preoccupied, lately.” Shigeo cannot help but notice that he says it carefully. Like he’s afraid of using the wrong word. He can’t think of a synonym for preoccupied that could possibly offend him—he’s heard it all before, anyway, from other people. From people who didn’t care nearly as much as Teruki. No, Teruki isn’t like that. Teruki doesn’t think he’s oblivious. Something ugly pierces his gut there, at the thought, at the idea that Shigeo could think so lowly of his partner like that. Not everyone is out to get you.

-

“Are you doin’ alright?” Ritsu utters slowly, softly, and Shigeo thinks back to a few weeks ago, on Teruki’s (Reigen’s) couch, and how the answer he’d given to a very similar question had apparently been the wrong one. Ritsu asks this question a lot, though. And Shigeo never answers with anything but affirmatives. “Yeah,” he gives, because it feels impossible to say anything else. This feels like a ritual to him—Ritsu asks, Shigeo lies, they part ways. He doesn’t have it in him today to disturb the peace. “I’m fine.” He lets the answer hang in the air between them for a moment, lets it settle atop their shoulders like it always does, because the answer is light and made of helium and Shigeo wants it to retain that nothingness. It’s a nothing answer. It’s a nothing answer to a question about a nothing problem. Simple, really. He counts the seconds it takes Ritsu to say it. He makes it to seven and a half before his brother opens his mouth. “If you’re sure… but I’m always h—” —ere if you need me, Shigeo finishes in his head, recites it by heart. He knows. He knows Ritsu is here if he needs him. He appreciates it, he really does. But it’s a nothing problem, and it therefore needs a nothing solution.

[perlen-gold]

A Fenris x Hawke story

(Chapter 7)

Another step. More insecure than the last. Yet another step.

The days rose and fell like cataracts of frothing light, shaping and reshaping themselves.

There was no incandescent sun, its rising and falling to tell the tale. Only the everlasting, unending blackish prongs and turrets of the city in the churning sky, slashed against the tireless whirling of poisoned, ash-floating light. 

Sometimes, it appeared indeed, that light was creeping into the wakening sky. Sometimes there was night. Sometimes there was day. And sometimes there was none.

Eyes, aloft and afloat, peered at Fenris gaunt outlines from under dark, shaded corners. Watching. Gazing. Staring. Approach him they did not. Spirits and demons alike. They merely observed him as the gray-faced wolves in the dark-green forests, ripe with wonder, had done.

After a while, an indefinite weariness clung to Fenris’ limbs as if he was dragging a cracked shell behind them.

And on walked Fenris, on the fissures of his being.

Over dried lakes, gaping with choking thirst. Through dells and dales dense with crumbling stone temples and wafting statues. Through vast caves went Fenris, lush with blazing torches and orbits of light. Forests there were, cold and abundant with stone stems and rock barks. Across a desert he wandered, twisters of sand spiraling into the sky and sucking pools of rimless waters. Chiseled balustrades and coned pavilions, hovering above the ground, their pieces scattered around. Bone-clattered cliffs and spirit-roamed ruins.

At times the sky was lustrous with burning flames, and otherwiles mere sparks streaked across it as glimpsed comets on the night sky.

And all the while, the airy, thinning nothingness and thickening wind were whisking around him, whip-lean and kingfisher-swift they flapped his limbs and lashed strands of Fenris’ pearl-dulled hair.

Through doors of flaming fire and up stairways of rippling water he went. Through doors next to the nodding of bushes crowned with iron-tipped flowers.

An old, forlorn battlefield brushing his ankles as if they remembered a long-lost brother returned, one of their own. They murmured to him. From afar, spirits and demons watched alike.

Did spirits battle their own kind? Some scholars said yes. Others no.

Was he becoming one of them?

A demon of rage?, some seemed to ask from the lurking shadows. A spirit of vengeance?

Of grief, Fenris thought.

He dragged his toes over the stone-shard ground.

Another step. More insecure than the last. Yet another step.

He called Hawke’s name no more into the hum-filled, smoking silence.

Keep reading on AO3

[inherlight]

Genesis

The Eternal Serpent, a creature with no Feet, nor Hips, nor Tum, nor Bosom, was became to be. It never seen a light, but It was Envious from the first moment It saw Joyful and Gorgeous Meora dancing in an anew existence.

The creature was jealous, greedy, selfish, angry… but It was also weak and scared. It cut a hole into perpetual nothingness and hid there. It was hating Meora, and It was hating itself – both for the fact of existence, for it was Its the nature – to hate; and in rage It started to consume oneself. The Serpent was biting and swallowing, yet what was eaten would always grow back. For eternities It was feasting on Its own flesh… until infinitely growing hunger transcendent the fear, and the Serpent crawled out of Its hollow.

It sensed Meora and followed Her trail, salivating with cosmic sludge.

For many star lives It would swim in Her path – always hungry, always envy. The creature, The Alleater, would leave the corruption in tail, consume or twist everything Its descried, as everything was touched by Meora – and that disgusted the Serpent.

It was eating and growing, fearing less with each bite, envy more with each swallow… However, when the creature caught up with Meora near one of stars, It felt the forgotten dread again, and It howled with despair.

That’s when Meora herself saw the Serpent for the first time. In Her eyes It was crying, and so She felt pity. She approached and touched the creature without fear, wondering what pains It… in this touch The Envious felt warm love, but The Joyful felt only cold madness and evilness. Too in that close moment the creature finally understood what It always wanted to taste – It wanted that love, all of its warmness… Every. Single. Drip… and so It attacked.

***

For eons they would fight. Inside boundless nebulas until new life is formed and through shadows of singularities until they stop spinning.

The Serpent was vast, coarse and blunt – grown up from a life of no imagination, gorging on what was already created. It would try to devour with its maw, rake with Its teeth and entangle in Its roots. However Meora was faster, elusive and clever.

In the beginning Meora was hesitant to even hurt the creature and avoided Its every charge and swing, running away from It when Its tired. Yet, after ages of fleeing and hiding, She inevitably forced herself to fight and end the Alleater. And She felt deep sadness after seeing It dead. Even centuries later after leaving Its carcass behind She would sorrow – both for Its death and for Its killing… until It was dead no more…

The Serpent would follow Her again, and their fight would repeat, and then She would kill It again… and again… and many times more. Yet every time She slay the Serpent – It would live, as the Serpent was Eternal… though Meora was not.

The Serpent was not able kill Meora in one life, but It has infinity. It would bite, die and live anew; unlike Meora who would bear Her scars and wounds forever… Her smoldering wings, Her crumbling horns, Her broken arms, Her scarred body and a lost eye. They both could feel how She is getting weaker, slower. The Serpent was laughing. It was laughing louder with each death, and that laugh was snuffing out stars across galaxies.

Realizing the inevitable Joyful Meora would kill the creature one more time.

***

When it was a new age of calamity, when the Serpent was lifeless again, Meora dragged Its carcass to the nearest star. She made a crack in one barren dead planet and tossed the creature in its core. For sixty nine more days she was walking on the surface, coating land meticulously with Her stardust tail and hair, entombing the Enemy of All withing.

After sixty nine days, tired and wounded, She collapsed. Seven of Her arms shatter into the sky, feather from Her broken wings followed them, Her noble crown and cosmic mask cracked. Her skin dried out and fissured… A death – a concept Meora understood, but never expected for herself in all of visioned existences.

And so She accepted the end.

And so She breathed eight last times.

Her first breath was deep, like a veil it wrapped the planet – for us to breath.

On Her second breath She cried from pain, and Her tears made oceans and seas for us to venture, rivers and lakes for us to drink.

During Her third breath, from wounds on Her flesh, roots and trees and flowers grew, for us to harvest.

Her fourth breath gave life to creatures of sky and land and water, for us to feast.

On Her fifth breath our ancestor came forth from Her womb, perfected in Her image – in body and spirit.

On Her sixth breath She gave us knowledges and Gifts of Creation, for us to proceed.

On Her seventh breath she said farewell… and so we cry.

Her eighth breath was the last… It was for herself – to rest for once.

And so, Joyful and Gorgeous Meora… …our Allmother… …was…

…

And so… the Age of Crumbling begun…

[snowmis]

January, 1st.

Wooden branches hit the window of the deaf mother, bound to live for Adam and his valuables, now she is lamenting in front of her worst spectators.

Outside, where the cold rules, coats don't burn the ice in that core. Living with nothing and looking for everything, crossing with races of all types, had so far cost 16 lives.

I breathe, enjoying the serenity of the house, denying the guilty sobs of the foolish Eve who still prays and cries out to some divinity left in virgin books.

"What a waste of time." I shoot myself, diving into rivers of nothingness, letting myself be carried away once again, judging the phases of life that only left me to rot. Nothing, it will be nothing, stones dazzling and beans jumping, hilarious, they mourn and I die.

"What a waste of time." The mill runs slowly against the ice, a dance without harmony or line, sick of persisting, I accept the ballet accompanied by the snow. A unique and solid union, shattered by pure will, the blame is the remaining beans.

"Loss." The snow already covers me and the excessive cold fades the tiny drops of the burning flame, fissures that were abandoned around us return, still developed in the calm of this night. I left and no one noticed my absence. Like the seasons I reappeared, just with a fresh face.

Today is May 1st.

- poem made by me.

[zorossugarmama]

I'll Bring You Home Myself!

A parallel piece to Sun Sailors story-- a different timeline, a different outcome.

Or, I just wanted to self-indulge with my own OC and fix the mess that happened at Marineford.

Word count: 1429

Content: General Audience

Pearl's tie with Whitebeard was set into the cosmos, nothing could break it. Yet, as she stood by his side her tears welled in her auburn and red flecked eyes. It was mere minutes to the time Ace was set to be executed– no murdered. He was going to die, all because he was a remnant of a man the Marines didn’t know. She scowled and her fists balled themselves so tightly that blood ran from her palms. Her God, Fenghuang, was silent. The tie between Whitebeard and Pearl is holding strong. 

Pearl gazed up at Whitebeard and pleaded, “Let me fight! You know I have the power, I can change the tide of this war and end it for good!” she yelped. She looked away from her stalwart captain and back at the chaos unfolding in front of her. Why the hell had she made that damn tie with him in the first place? She could have said no and that would have been the end of it. Now she was bound by his word and his word alone. She couldn’t break that unless she wanted a shard of her soul to drift off into the nothingness that surrounded the great cosmos. Lost forever. She had already done it once and it was an agonizing experience to live through, but if it meant that she would be able to save Ace’s life and save the souls of those on the field then she would gladly give up a part of her soul to achieve her goal. 

“Have faith in the fight, Luffy must be the one to get Ace.” He replied. Whitebeard’s eyes never left the fight in front of him, in fact, he was solely looking at Ace. His son, his second in command. The snot-nosed brat was a spitfire and deep down Whitebeard wished that things never turned out as they did.

Pearl clenched her hands tighter. She was digging into muscles now. Though it didn’t matter, Fenghuang was feeding her enough power to regenerate those wounds. It didn’t even hurt. 

In the back of her mind she could feel Fenghuang ache, she felt her worry and wondered if she too had fallen for the freckled second commander as she had. They were inseparable. Platonic twin flames meant to conquer the seas together.

“What if he fails, tell me you’ll give me your word and set me free. I can’t stay here and just watch!” Pearl grated. 

Whitebeard hesitated, this was the fissure that ensured her win.

“If he loses, you will have full reign to leave and do what you want.” There was a grimace plastered on his face but Pearl didn't care, those words sealed themselves into the tie and allowed her to break it without fear of losing her own soul. If luffy fails in his duty to set his brother free then she would step in and achieve his goal for him. 

Pearl slammed her fist in her palm and smirked deviously, “So then it is sealed, I’ll rip apart this dusty old fortress and save Ace!”

Fenghuang stirred within her as she too felt the shifting of the tie that bound them to Whitebeard.

A tie was a singular thread that wound itself through the souls of the party that agreed to the verbal terms and drew and shared blood– the needle was the one who called the shots while the thread followed along, willingly or not. It was pure and stronger than any other force within the universe. Only the void that surrounded the outerbanks of the universe could break it, or when the users agree to un-sow the vow to one another. It was a binding spell only used to reign in Gods. 

As the battle raged on Luffy ever so slowly closed in on the podium that held Ace. Her gaze never drifted far from his figure as he raced to save his brother. It wasn’t long until he reached the podium and unlocked Ace from his shackles, however, in an equal turn of events Akainu rippled and stormed after the duo. For a short time the two brothers danced in fire and stretchy limbs. Pearl hoped beyond the Gods themselves that they would come out of this alive, but when Akainu shoved his grisly fist through the throng of marines Fenghuang instantly knew that Ace’s death was imminent and that Luffy had failed to save his older brother. 

Whitebeard's eyes widened in horror– everyone's eyes widened in horror as the burning hot fist barreled through the pool of marines and towards its target. The tie snapped into its new order and without another word Pearl blasted from her spot beside her captain and flew with great strength to Luffy's side. Shoving both him and Ace out of the way. Luffy was awestruck at the force and speed of her movements. She was above them all, Fenghuang made sure of this. 

Just in time to the fierce attack of the Admiral she captured his fist in one fell swoop and laughed maniacally. “You’re getting nowhere near these boys.” She said cruelly as she threw Akainu’s fist right back at him. The surprised and growing rage on his face was immaculate to witness first hand.

“Pirate scum!” he yelled as his attention was focused on Pearl now.

“5th Gate– Solaris’ Rage!” She bellowed as she charged the admiral. “I’ll fucking kill you, shitty fist!” Fenghuangs rage was so close to her soul that it singed and burned and shackled her own rage as the Gods' own, billowing it ten times its original force. She had no devil fruit to call upon the strong wings of Fenghuang, her rage and burning fire was her only ally.

“I’d like to see a bitch like you try.” Akainu growled.

Pearl's power here was reminiscent of a life she had lived before. Her fight with Akainu was hot, fierce, and filled with molten lava that spilled from both sides. In the heat of battle she couldn’t place the memory, but the strength and moves she had used in her previous life were burned into her soul that she just knew it wasn’t from this lifetime. Flashes of green and blood orange filled her vision for an instant before leaving her breathless. 

In the raging heat of her own skin and blood red vision the fight had come to a close. Ace was saved and had assisted Luffy in warding off any other attacks the marines may have hidden up their sleeve. Death was equal amongst both sides. After Koby’s fiery speech the war of the best had come to a close. Akainu himself was buried deep into the dusty old fortress– hopefully dead. Remnants of their fight were burned and melted into the very ground where pearl stood. Turning from the fortress her eyes fell upon her friend, her twin flame and his baby brother. A warm smile wrapped itself onto her face as her blood boiled below her skin. 

Get to the water to cool off. The velvety voice of her God called to her in her mind. She all but nodded and wandered to the water that was slowly melting from Aokiji’s attack. As she jumped into the water it bubbled and sizzled immediately. She had grown accustomed to the heat she radiated but sometimes it was always a surprise. 

“Pearl!” Ace’s voice called from behind her as she floated in the cold water. He knelt beside her and smiled widely, his baby brother standing behind him with an equally large and goofy smile. “I want to say thank you for coming in there like that. I wasn’t sure I would have made it out alive if it wasn’t for you.”

“I was just doing my job protecting my favorite brother!” Pearl responded as she folded her arms on the rapidly melting ice floor.

“I coulda had him!” Luffy rebutted half-heartedly. Pearl just laughed and got out of the water. She walked up to him and just patted his head. “I’m sure you would have, but I wanted to ensure your brother's safety first hand, I know you mean a lot to him and I’m sure the feelings are reciprocated in equal measure!”

Luffy laughed heartily. 

Turning to Ace, Pearl held her hands out in an opening gesture for a hug, Ace immediately complied and pulled his friend into a strong and warm embrace. He was safe, everyone was safe. 

“It’s time to go home.” Pearl muttered into his neck. Her worry slowly slipped into the oblivion of the outer banks.

[aventvrina]

songbird #12 - achilles come down featuring Sunday (@halothes) & Aventurine

summary: in the midst of nothingness, madness and harmony, aventurine sees the person who's responsible for it all.

"You crave the applause yet hate the attention, then miss it, your act is a ruse. It is empty Achilles, so end it all now. It's a pointless resistance for you."

'We've got to make good use of death.'

Such were the words he told Ratio before walking to his execution and such was the truth even if masked in deceit. The near omnipresent gaze was meant to hinder their plan as it should be impossible to lie under such circumstances. With every move read and every word analyzed the slightest misstep could be fatal but Aventurine is used to this pressure. After all poker had always been his favorite game.

The confident smile speaks of coercion, an early silencing of the dove that could shatter a million hearts across the universe but none would bleed harder than that of her brother. Tied to the altar as he was, it was impossible to move without stirring the delicate strings of the knot that held Penacony together.

How fortunate of him that Aventurine was there to hold his hand. A faithful servant who had offered himself so graciously, forfeiting his own freedom and power to Sunday as promise of his unwavering loyalty. He was to uncover the truth in his name, perhaps even bring the criminal to his trial, standing shoulder to shoulder with the head of the family as the sinner is sentenced for the murder.

Too bad The Family is not fond of games of deception.

With the barrier broken between the layers, Nihility and Harmony bleed into each other in a slow dance. The fissure reveals a hidden world submerged in slumber, far too big to be ignored but small enough to be temporarily contained. And although Aventurine should be walking beyond the barrier, he finds that there's still some defiant interference in his way.

He should not be seeing Sunday in front of him right now.

'This is all but a fleeting dream.'

They stand on what could be described as a roof top, the black waters gently dismantling the building from beneath but never quite allowing it sink. A silent devouring that should cease as the knot begins to mend itself whole again. But for now, IX remains in the horizon, uncaring of his travel to it's immense shadow and oblivious to the grappling resistant pull of The Harmony.

Sunday's hand is extended, expectant.

"Is this your last effort to keep me?" He can't help but to laugh. The trial should be over and the Harmony's connection severed from him. Whoever, Whatever he's seeing right now is not Sunday, but they managed to make him stop nonetheless.

'Do you love your family more than yourself? '

There is an underlying rage as he recalls the question. To force him to admit such truths to be used as punishment on him was foul. Even after decades of having his origins held against him by everyone he comes across, none hit quite as hard as having the fictitious promise of being reunited with his family again.

A new beginning, free from pain and eternally happy under the merry tune of the harmonious orchestra. It's disgusting. A laughably terrible joke.

Perhaps this is how they attempt to lure him back. If not by love then at least by hate. Surely he wouldn't pass the chance to have one last shot at winning his trial. They studied him so well, they gave his younger self the perfect day of a lifetime, his future a mocking smile that insults him from even daring to fight back, and his present. He was made captive in the dream, isolated from everything and everyone he has come know and forced to walk the Golden Hour in excruciating torturous pain under the guise of investigation. All the while he gave his cornerstone to whoever would accept, the broken aventurines are to spread fortune and wealth to those who need it most.

Such a magnanimous selfless act. He can't believe they fell for it.

The etched marble like smile remains ever so gentle as he approaches. Immaculate gaze elated as if the pain he has gone through was well earned and washed whatever crimes he had committed. All that is left is to do is take the hand and he is forgiven.

Aventurine finds that divinity and economy act the same way. They think themselves superior and justified as they bring ruin for those who swear to their name. Calling mercy to their guiding hand, promising sweet nothings that wouldn't be real had they not destroyed everything beforehand. But the worst of it all, is their self entitlement to punish those who do not comply.

Gaiathra Triclops punishes him for being born. The IPC punishes him for surviving. Sunday punishes him for doing his job.

The only difference is that Sunday is tangible, even if not quite at the moment.

"What a miserable move." He takes the waiting hand and guides it to his waist, letting it rest securely behind him as he crowds the figure. " You should never gamble, your bluff is terrible."

He really shouldn't be entertaining this but Aventurine doesn't know when to quit. Doesn't realize where the edge of the building and the sea of abyss is and how close to danger he truly is. He just keeps walking, guiding the ethereal figure in an embrace towards their destiny. And just as he has continuously done since he set foot in Penacony, he takes a gamble.

"Don't worry." His cynical smile doesn't match his gestures. Caring hands cradle the unmarred face, fingers webbing through soft feathery locks as he lures Sunday ever so close.

He's uncannily surreal, the precious gold doesn't shine in reaction, in fact, he continues to maintain the image of a merciful saint who knows of his past sins and has absolved them. It's a pity he can't have the satisfaction of seeing real fear in such a perfect face.

"I am still on your side." There's some honesty to every lie but the betraying kiss should be for the real one and not for this joke of a fabrication.

With a step back he jumps and then all is black.

[moonkissed-rambler]

“

I

So you have swept me back,

I who could have walked with the live souls

above the earth,

I who could have slept among the live flowers

at last;

so for your arrogance

and your ruthlessness

I am swept back

where dead lichens drip

dead cinders upon moss of ash;

so for your arrogance

I am broken at last,

I who had lived unconscious,

who was almost forgot;

if you had let me wait

I had grown from listlessness

into peace,

if you had let me rest with the dead,

I had forgot you

and the past.

II

Here only flame upon flame

and black among the red sparks,

streaks of black and light

grown colourless;

why did you turn back,

that hell should be reinhabited

of myself thus

swept into nothingness?

why did you glance back?

why did you hesitate for that moment?

why did you bend your face

caught with the flame of the upper earth,

above my face?

what was it that crossed my face

with the light from yours

and your glance?

what was it you saw in my face?

the light of your own face,

the fire of your own presence?

What had my face to offer

but reflex of the earth,

hyacinth colour

caught from the raw fissure in the rock

where the light struck,

and the colour of azure crocuses

and the bright surface of gold crocuses

and of the wind-flower,

swift in its veins as lightning

and as white.

III

Saffron from the fringe of the earth,

wild saffron that has bent

over the sharp edge of earth,

all the flowers that cut through the earth,

all, all the flowers are lost;

everything is lost,

everything is crossed with black,

black upon black

and worse than black,

this colourless light.

IV

Fringe upon fringe

of blue crocuses,

crocuses, walled against blue of themselves,

blue of that upper earth,

blue of the depth upon depth of flowers,

lost;

flowers,

if I could have taken once my breath of them,

enough of them,

more than earth,

even than of the upper earth,

had passed with me

beneath the earth;

if I could have caught up from the earth,

the whole of the flowers of the earth,

if once I could have breathed into myself

the very golden crocuses

and the red,

and the very golden hearts of the first saffron,

the whole of the golden mass,

the whole of the great fragrance,

I could have dared the loss.

V

So for your arrogance

and your ruthlessness

I have lost the earth

and the flowers of the earth,

and the live souls above the earth,

and you who passed across the light

and reached

ruthless;

you who have your own light,

who are to yourself a presence,

who need no presence;

yet for all your arrogance

and your glance,

I tell you this:

such loss is no loss,

such terror, such coils and strands and pitfalls

of blackness,

such terror

is no loss;

hell is no worse than your earth

above the earth,

hell is no worse,

no, nor your flowers

nor your veins of light

nor your presence,

a loss;

my hell is no worse than yours

though you pass among the flowers and speak

with the spirits above earth.

VI

Against the black

I have more fervour

than you in all the splendour of that place,

against the blackness

and the stark grey

I have more light;

and the flowers,

if I should tell you,

you would turn from your own fit paths

toward hell,

turn again and glance back

and I would sink into a place

even more terrible than this.

VII

At least I have the flowers of myself,

and my thoughts, no god

can take that;

I have the fervour of myself for a presence

and my own spirit for light;

and my spirit with its loss

knows this;

though small against the black,

small against the formless rocks,

hell must break before I am lost;

before I am lost,

hell must open like a red rose

for the dead to pass.

”

Eurydice

- by H. D. (1917)

Image: An Allegory of Power (1918 - watercolor) by Georg Janny

[werdlewrites]

The Season of the Witch: Allumage

Chapter Thirty-four: Something Follows

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summary: And with that touch, comes something familiar. A viper to strike and plunge its venom deep into her skin, burning and rotting away her insides on the climb higher, and higher. It seeps into every fissure of her mind, the acid burning away at her walls until there are flashes of blackness as death approaches. As it looks her in the eye. warnings: death, blood, hospital uuhh idk wc: 5,044

Blue. All there was, was blue. It held a glow as brilliant as the clear sky, shining like a beacon of light. It was unavoidable. Dare to look away and it would pull you back in, a calling to know its story, to allow your skin the grace of its smooth and cleaned surface. It’s unknown how long it’s been here - lying in wait beneath a heavy stare. It stands out amongst its black canvas, standing before it like a framed photograph - surrounded by it like the ocean had swallowed it whole, letting it sink in peace to the shadows of the abyss. But there is no flash of light, no sound from crashing waves or the deep rumble at your feet as the Earth shifted. There was only the girl, and an empty car.

She’s studied it from great distance, taking notes of the white detailing on the exterior, the rounded edges and shimmering windows - clear from smudges or other defects. She’s been waiting for the engine to roar, for it to move on into the nothingness - but it’s a moment caught in time, frozen and left behind. She wonders of the occupants, if it ever held any. Where had they gone? Were they watching through eagle eyes? Had it always been like this?

She blinks and suddenly there’s light - blinding and disorientating, yet she fights through the ache in her eyes until there’s a better view fading in. A clear picture of a story unknown. It’s just as blue, now filled with sunlight from the afternoon’s sun. The reflections force the girl to squint, burning away at her retinas yet unable to break away from the scene. Winds unfelt to take hold of her chin, keeping her focused as the branches sway above in the heavens. Shadows dance against the light, creating small pictures in her mind as leaves bend together, some falling to litter the gravel at her feet. Gravel.. Her toes flex over the surface, the pressure of pebbles rolling beneath bare skin, digging small holes where tire tracks lay. A once set, straight path veering towards the roads edge with ease before letting it sit in peace, alone. The only company to keep are the tall trees to give it shelter, and the open field beckoning weary travelers for a rest. The girl wants more - and the mystery is calling with a grip on her heart, tugging forward with no result. She can feel the tension in stiff legs as she tries to move in closer, but she too had become frozen in this world - stuck, while life bloomed around her shell. There’s panic rising, it’s deep in the girl’s chest. Tightening and squeezing around the lungs to cage a rapidly beating heart, forcing the air from her body. Her chest heaves and lips part in search for the soul that’s been stolen, finding only emptiness until the moment comes-

“Poor thing,”

It floods in, wide eyes fill with a flash of light, attention now directed towards the dense brush where it echoes into nothingness - or was it locked in her mind? But it calls to her. A vibration against her skull that only eases with a step to the side, waiting at the treeline for someone to be seen, buried in shadows.

“You’re so lost.”

Curiosity takes hold and this new sense of freedom guides the girl deep into the woods. A once shimmering sky is dimmed, a heavy canopy to cast out its brilliance. A dream turned to a nightmare as she continued down the path, pushing her way through low hanging branches. The girl hopes with every pass, something will emerge - an answer to something unsettling. It digs at the walls of her skull. It lies at the tip of her tongue, choking as it works its way back down to hide away. Yet nothing comes, no relief to the aching wonder. She merely stands in a small clearing, watching as the leaves settle into an eerily still position. No gust of wind or small animal to shake life back into this deepening shadow.

“It didn’t have to be this way.”

The girl turns on her heel to find emptiness - no vibrant blue forcing its way through heavy foliage. No man, woman, or beast lingered in the expanse. The sun had died, and she was truly alone no matter the echo that swims through thin air. No sign of life - no sign of help should she need it. And now lost within nowhere, it’s all she thinks of.

“I can help you.”

It’s not the distorted voice to leave her frozen in place. Joints locked in with fear as something else makes its presence known at her back. There was no snap of twigs or movement from branches, only the sudden realization that her space had been filled..with something. There’s a jagged breath just over her shoulder, terror quickly sweeping in from the unknown and all of its possibilities. She turns slowly, eyes pained as they reach to the corners where her vision remains clear.. Until color invades in multiple hues. The girl is soon faced with a woman, expression concealed by the low tilt of her head. A delicate hand rests just over her chest, shielded by a dress in angelic white. There’s another gasp from the woman. A wince just at her lips as fingers tighten around the fabric. Yet as quickly as it starts, it seems to come to a sudden halt. Her discomfort gone, posture straightening with shoulders held back, decorated by pinned curls. Eyes meet, and the girl begins to feel sick. A woman once shrouded in mystery beneath the afternoon's glow, now held more concrete features. There was softness - kindness swimming through saddened eyes and a forced smile on tinted lips. She wants to ask what the woman wants. Why she’s been there - haunting. A lingering soul at the front seat of an abandoned car. But all remains silent, and the smile soon falls to a flat line as crimson pools at the corners of her mouth, falling to stain the material. The frail hand begins its slow departure from her torso, revealing a darkened spot - a hole. Torn through precious cloth and ripping through flesh, bleeding and dancing through her dress like heavy rainfall.

The girl doesn’t reach out to help, arms frozen at her sides as fear strikes deep within. It carries every step she takes, watching as the woman becomes smaller with the added distance. Then it’s spiraling - the figure moving far from her view as something catches the heel of her foot, sending her tumbling down into nothingness.

Her throat is dry - scorched like the desert as a gasp fills her lungs. The air tastes of chemicals, freshly washed linens laced with something metallic. There’s no more peace in the darkness. Gentle tones of machinery blend in with the ding of a bell - and then another. It seeks attention, only silencing when someone’s answered its call to echo down the halls. The sight before her is blurred and bright, heavy eyes working to force away the drowsy feeling to weigh her down. A thin blanket at her fingertips doing nothing to protect against the cold chill to sweep through. And there’s a shadow..moving against the light. The sound of heavy footsteps and jingling keys pushing through small alarms in the distance, then, a voice. “Hey kid.” It’s deep - clear signs of exhaustion in his tone, paired with a hard sigh as his tall figure stands at the side of a hospital bed. “Hop?” Autumn’s voice cracks, tired arms lifting for fingers clutch weakly at her throat as if to soothe the ache it held. Hopper is quick to act, offering out a styrofoam cup filled with water - though it feels as though lead sits inside. Hands struggling to grip and arm too weak to carry it through the short journey, so he helps to lift the load, guiding it in closer.

“How’re you feelin’?” he asks, watching as the cup is quick to empty - barren fields now blooming with life as the water floods in. “‘m not sure.” The girl manages to choke out, waiting for the icy shock to settle. “What happened?” The chair just by her side is filled with his tired form, lazily spread out with hands gripping at the hat he refused to be seen without. With sight now clear, she can see him pondering, lips pressed thin and hidden beneath his thick mustache as he stares off at the corner. He’s lost in unheard thoughts - a storm to damage his foundation. “You and your friends stupidly offered yourselves up as monster bait. Ringing any bells f’you?” The Sheriff's words bring a sudden shift - a memory rising to the surface as a powerful force crushes her against the wall. Its presence making itself known through an unclear vision - feet hovering just above tiled flooring as it cried out in pain, in anger. She remembers the heat pooling in her chest. Suffocating and burning through every small vein before it all slipped away, just like the monster to trail her every thought. Gone. “Now that you mention it,” Autumn replies in a grunt, using every ounce of strength conjured up to push herself upright, wincing with the ache in her bones. But despite it all, there’s a hint of a smirk spared - dismissing his look of disapproval. “Sounds pretty familiar.” His stare is bone chilling, deadpanned with eyes screaming numerous harsh remarks of their stupidity. He doesn’t take her teasing as lightly as she had hoped. “Jonathan said y’got a beating.” “To put it lightly,” the girl answers with a short chuckle - immediately cut short by the twisting pain in her ribs. Now reclined against the stack of thin pillows, she takes a moment to study her surroundings. It was sterile, and void of life other than the man at her side to share a stern look. Where were the others? The ones to face such horrors together, bound in blood. Was there something she didn’t know? Had her father even come for her? “You’re lucky y’didn’t get killed,” Hopper boldly states, luring her gaze back in. Lips part to speak - to question and seek reassurance, but he’s there before her words are spoken. “They’re in the lobby, waiting.” “Waiting? Waiting for what?” His answer is joyous, filled with relief yet there’s no smile to etch over his expression. His soul still trapped in the nightmare beneath Hawkin’s - and how the girl before him walked amongst its destruction, according to Joyce.

“No, no!” she cries out into the dark. Her voice carried with heavy pain as she moved towards the wreckage of Castle Byers. All rotted wood, moldy fabric and once beautiful artwork now covered in mud. A place he called sanctuary now desolated without a trace of the boy to once occupy it. His life lay out on display to the horrors of his mother. “No!” She digs and rips at the pile, pieces falling away or crumbling with the smallest touch. “She said-” Joyce pants in her panic, moving every few inches to continue a fruitless search. “You were here. She said you were here! Will!” she calls out into the night, a silent prayer he would stumble from the shadows and into her loving arms, never to be lost in the nightmares again. “Who, Joyce? Who said-” “Autumn,” she answers without thought. “She saw him right here. Will!” The confession deepens the pit he stood within - further down into mystery, and confusion. Though light still shines above to give guidance, a clue as to what was really going on in the Reid home. Something not so easily explained.

“They’re waiting for the Byers boy.”

Autumn’s reaction is instantaneous. Blankets are ripped from her legs and she begins to shift towards the edge, boots finding the cold floor before her vision fades in and out from disorientation and overwhelming relief. No longer thinking of herself and the monster that was set alight, but rather on Will. Hopper is standing by her side within seconds, a strong hand placed over her shoulder to keep her locked in place. “Easy there,” he says in a light scold. “You’ve been out for a while.” “I want t’see him,” the girl interjects. “I know. Just-just give yourself a few minutes, okay? He’s not goin’ anywhere.” The girl finds herself too weak to argue back, leaning into his weight as she was still dreary from a long slumber. She wonders what he’ll say. If he’ll hold her at fault for not getting him home sooner - or if he even remembered, while the guilt was more pronounced for the girl. In Autumn’s unsettled thoughts, her focus begins to shift. She looks for her belongings, though zeroing in on something to stand out above the pale, boring colors of the hospital room - something shockingly red and shining beneath the fluorescents. “Those yours?” she asks, attention unwavering from the Kit-Kat bar and cookie wrapped in plastic to sit on a nearby table. Hopper follows her gaze without question, a small smirk playing across his lips. “Nope. Your pal; Steve brought ‘em. Said somethin’ about you needing sugar, or whatever.”

Steve.

A shared memory flashes before her - panic in familiar eyes piercing through the girl, digging deep to break through the barrier she was consumed by. Projected nightmares dancing where she could only see, taunting. His touch to squirming arms is long lasting - felt even now despite their distance. His lips move, though all remains unheard. The veins in a freckled neck protrude as he fights to gain her attention - to bring her back before reality slips from her hold. “Really annoying kid, actually. Actin’ like a fussy mother,” he finishes with a small sigh, plucking the chocolate from its place to lay in eager hands, fingers ripping at the plastic. She does well to ignore the tickling in her chest at the thought of Steve acting on memory, knowing how to care for her, no matter her constant glare. No matter the painful words to echo, breaking a girl's heart - and potentially his. Hopper stands tall above the teen, finding himself back in a time where doe eyes were full of sadness, lighting up with a smile as she spots him in a crowd of people. He would shake her fathers hand, accepting the praise with humility before watching the pair drift deeper into a holiday celebration. Her smile would fall, and Hopper would never question the chill to race up his spine the moment he locked hands with the other man. Yet now, far too late, does he realize that Ian Reid’s background check had come up empty, keeping himself fully off of the radar with purpose, or by sheer coincidence. “I should get the doctor now that you’re up. Get you some more water, or somethin’.” He adjusts his heavy coat, inching closer towards the doorway with reluctance. Autumn’s mouth is filled with melting sweetness, hand concealing it all as she calls out his name, leaving the Chief to linger in the opening to find her just as lost as she always had been - seeking out answers. “It’s-it’s over, right? That thing. It’s gone?” His chest swells with what he wants to say - what he wished for. But her stare reaches through him, plucking out the chilling honesty to provide little comfort. “I really hope so.”

The doctor comes and goes. Every second spent under the man's care is a second too long kept from the boy just down the hall. He studies, pokes and prods, shines lights in her eyes until he’s content with his findings. Bruised ribs with a few bumps and scratches. Her excuse being she had slipped and tumbled while on a nightly walk. He spares a scolding remark of staying more alert, and to try limiting the walks to the day. Though all is said with a brilliant, condescending grin. He has her medical history in hand, informing her to get home and rest for the sake of mind and body. With discharge papers in hand, she’s buried in Hopper’s shadow as she trails closely behind, looking into every open door to witness someone else's reality on full display. Smiles and laughter, a silly accident from a game of sport to go wrong, ending with a shattered ankle or broken arm. Looks of something somber, hands delicately wrapped with another as someone slept peacefully. She wonders if she’ll soon rejoice, or carry more heartache from the boy's unknown condition. But soon, there are familiar voices booming down the hall. Not a moment is spared as she pushes past the Chief, and he doesn’t seem to mind - watching as she flies into an opened room filled with delight and sobs of relief. Joyce holds a tissue to the corner of her eyes, yet smiling as young boys run their mouths about all of the things Will had missed. There’s happiness in his face, but frailty. Skin gone pale with sleep deprived eyes, sunken in and arms to lay heavily at his side. A boy pulled from death's grip.

“Hey,” a soothing voice sighs out, filled with relief at the sight of the girl now standing. Jonathan’s at her side in an instant, hands hidden away in pockets and a furrow of his brow as he takes her in. It’s as though nothing happened - like he hadn’t witnessed the terror before her downfall. Clutching at thin air with eyes blown wide, chest heaving in search of the life that was draining away. She bares a weary smile, not to show her strength but rather tiptoeing around her friend, unknowing of his state after all he’s gone through. “You okay?” “‘m fine, yeah,” A hand gently waves the papers on display. “I’ve been set free.” There’s a huff of amusement in his chest, before her name dances through crowded bodies, parting the sea to give way. It’s like breathing for the first time. The ache of suffocation now dull as hazel eyes meet her own, bright enough to hide his fear. Small fingers reach and she’s quick to take them, cradled close to her chest as she leans in to hold the weak child. And with that touch, comes something familiar. A viper to strike and plunge its venom deep into her skin, burning and rotting away her insides on the climb higher, and higher. It seeps into every fissure of her mind, the acid burning away at her walls until there are flashes of blackness as death approaches. As it looks her in the eye. The silent torment has her hand gripping tightly onto his much smaller one, and he doesn’t seem to notice. Face stoic, and cold compared to the light that shined in his eyes only a moment ago. A darkness had followed after Will - gripping at his back for security and seeking shelter.

He’s only a boy - dragged back to the land of the living, and forever haunted by his days on the run. She swallows down the poison, burying it deep for his protection and her own - hoping this was only a passing moment. “Welcome back, Will The Wise,” she speaks within a whisper, watching as his icy stare shifts to something more pained - despairing as lips quivered. “You were there.” His words grip at the girl's heart, constricting until there’s a shuddering gasp. He remembers the connection, and the sudden vanishing as she tried to take hold. “I thought you were dead.” There’s a hard swallow before a gentle shake of her head, spare fingers brushing away his dirtied hair. “I didn’t want you t’be alone.” He doesn’t respond, letting it all simmer and soak in with the nod of his head, still happily locked in her hold. “You’re about t’be sick of me, y’know. I’m coming over every single day t’bother you. I’ll even cook whatever you like,” Autumn declares in a lighthearted tone, watching as lips begin to turn upward in a smile. “Mud Pie?” At the suggestion, her focus shifts to his mother for approval, but she can only beam at the sight of her youngest son, filled with life. “Yeah, even Mud Pie.”

The reunion is short lived, nurses coming and going as well as the doctor to politely shoo away anyone that wasn’t immediate family. So she slips from the room along with the three boys, dismissing their quizzical stare to study her, before exchanging looks and quickly gathering up in a corner just a few feet away. Mr. Right spares a few looks over his shoulder, a nervous smile and timid wave sent her way before he returns to hushed conversations. A heavy set of steps pull her attention away to look down the other end, finding Hopper moving in closer - expressionless and full of mystery. He doesn’t speak at first - chewing at his cheek and leaping through the obstacle course locked away in his mind. “I’ll have someone get your car,” he says. There’s no relief to the pressure - his true thoughts held back by force to not spill out on the shining floor. “One step at a time,” he tells himself, before he offers the girl his assistance. “I’ll take you home, if you’re ready.” There’s a questioning look towards the now closed door - hoping to see Jonathan’s face peer out to welcome her back inside, but the murmurs of the doctor's voice drag on - forcing her to admit a surrender. “Yeah, I’m ready.” It’s a lie that seems to miss Hopper's attention entirely, nodding in acknowledgement before ushering for the girl to follow after him. There’s still uncertainty just behind the walls of her home - unknowing of what her father would do, or say after an argument that she barely remembers. His words acting as a ghost to haunt her as she moved out into the cold night, eyes finding a pair standing just off to the side to share a private moment. Steve holds Nancy close to his form, yet she does not return the gesture. Arms are crossed, and face concealed by his sweatshirt, accepting his comfort but only just. Nancy is lost in her mourning now that life has seemingly returned to normal, and Steve is there to catch her tears and sway them side to side.

The boy spots Autumn across the way, lifting himself from a resting place at the crown of his girlfriend's head to get a better look at his old friend. She won’t break the bubble the two reside within - won’t speak or pull his attention from where it was needed. But a hand raises, revealing the cookie he had purchased just for her, offering him a nod and smile in thanks. Her appreciation is given back in warmth - another nod and a relieved smile to see her now standing, before he settles back against Nancy.

The drive back home is filled with silence. Not even the radio to play the latest tune, easing down the adrenaline they still felt deep in rattled bones. It’s almost peaceful rather than uncomfortable. Almost. They move in their own world beneath the moonlight, contemplating all that’s happened and how it would change the rest of forever. The occasional glance falls on the girl - hoping to read her - to know every unspoken thought yet she remains turned away, her reflection without emotion. It isn’t until they slow to a stop that the Chief notices the change in her. A deep breath filling her lungs, holding it captive while taking in the sight of her home. Ian’s car is gone - though his presence lingers like a foul taste as windows emit a glow from within. Autumn is slow to move - wincing with every stretch as her body slips from the passenger door. But he’s there - a hand placed gently to her back as a form of encouragement, and support should she need it. “Dad not here?” “Guess not,” she replies in a mumble, rummaging through the depths of her bag just on the welcome mat, searching for her keys. “Must be doin’ somethin’ way more important. Whatever,” the girl scoffs, pushing through the front entry of the quiet home before turning to meet his stare. “Thanks again. Y’know, for - for everything.” Autumn doesn’t refer to only this day, but to each moment that placed them here. Their first meeting at Hawk Theater, to every offered ride to school and check in when they two crossed paths. For saving Will - being on their side when no one else was. “Anytime, kid.”

He doesn’t wish her a goodnight, lingering under the porch light as the door slowly closes. Gears caught on the track as his thoughts raced, and he continues to bite down on his tongue. Until.. “Hey,” he begins, the once narrow opening now pulled open for the two to share a connection. The words are still a struggle to push forward, nearly painful as he fidgets. Fists tighten as he leans into the frame, thumbs snapping in panic until the blockade is cleared. “Will you, uh,” Autumn tilts her head, brows knit together in anticipation. “Just give me a call when your dad gets home, okay? Just - uh - I want t’make sure you’re not going t’be alone.” It’s a partial lie, and she doesn’t seem to notice as her expression relaxes. “Yeah, I will. ‘Night Hop.” He bids the girl a farewell with a nod of his head, satisfied enough to pull away and let her tuck away into sanctuary. The home is still, and quiet. The sound of the kitchen clock ticking away, catapulting Autumn deeper into the night. Her bag is discarded at the door along with her boots, the world she steps into far from a comforting memory. The island remains clean. No late night meal called in once realizing she would be late, sink empty of any dishes - like he had never been there. But he was, and the evidence was laid out in scattered clutter across the carpet of their den. Books pulled from their shelves, their resting places here and there. Small plants and other fineries ripped from the windowsill, dirt sinking deep into soft fibers while shattered glass from hung photographs glisten in the light from passing cars.

The sight is a realization it had all been real - no matter how hazy and vague. The burn in her throat as she screamed something lost in the fog, and his skin painted red from anger as he met her in the middle of the battleground. But there’s a memory of something unknown brushing against her ankles - the back of her thighs. An unseen storm, while he merely watched it unfold with fear swimming in his eyes.

A portrait from school lays at her feet, soon pulled from the devastation to rest in a delicate hold. Her face was much younger, eyes shining with blissful ignorance and a silly grin. Life was a never-ending journey in those days, stretching on through time and space. Wishing to be more grown up, just to see it all, then wishing you could go back in time when things seemed simpler. Or at least, her version of simple. When all she did was soak up the knowledge to expand her mind. Now, kneeling in the rubble, she wonders if it's gone too far. She was chaos walking and without the strength to reel it in. Hidden behind doors, then spilling out without warning until it’s satiated. Leaving bruises along Jonathan’s back, ripping her own home apart, and the unmistakable stare the creature gave her once falling away from its prey. She was losing control - but of what?

A gasp of air moves through the room, unable to hold the anguish back from years spent in silent torment. The unexplainable, the nightmares and voices that followed. She only wished for silence, and to become another nobody in Hawkin’s, Indiana. The picture blurs with hot tears pushing forward, spilling over the edge to dampen the image. In the gentle whimpers, she can hear the remaining glass crack beneath her fingers. She wants to say the fragile material merely buckled under pressure - but is not so certain it’s from something else entirely. With fire now boiling and the sadness taking the shape of anger, she stands to toss the picture into the garbage - along with broken pottery, and the dirt she scrubs from the floor. Books are set in their rightful place, spine facing outward and what photos survived the collision, were simply hung back on the wall. And her back turns on it all - storming up the stairs to seek shelter in the bathroom where mirrors fog and skin burns. She scrubs away the small specks of blood to dirty her hands, the only remnant of the monster to remain. The overwhelm of emotions pours out until she’s weakened, exhausted. Standing beneath the water to watch all negativity flow down the drain. She remains in this state of detachment. Dressing herself for the night and combing through a once mess of hair, dodging her own reflection.

A timid, yet firm knock shakes the door from below. Too fearful to disturb the residence inside, yet still seeking attention and waiting in the stillness. Autumn’s heart is lurching forward, frantic and wild with every possibility that could just be on the other side. Her father clearly annoyed about losing his own set of keys, or perhaps Hopper lingered in the neighborhood just to be sure. Would it have been Jonathan? An easy check in as he made the trip back home. Or a stranger, lost in the night and searching for a way out.

But the guest is tall, bruised and freckled. Surprise in honey colored eyes before split lips form a weary smile, uncertain if he should have been there at all. “Steve?”