#I CAN FEEL ITS SHADOW LOOMING OVER ME LEAVE THE TEENAGERS ALONE

[brionysea]

so like, conceptually speaking, a conspiracy theorist character who's overly invested in both The Plot and A Wheeler and breaks through to nancy when she's lied to herself about her true feelings and who she wants to be and who she wants to be with for so long is like. I see what they're going for. I see the vision. however, in practice, it's creepy and all these grown men need to stay OUT of nancy wheeler's love/sex life

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Getting fucked by ghostface!Billy in an alley on your way back from Tatum’s. He tried to scare you and pull this little stunt, but you figure out it was him

More Billy, YES (this is 1.5k, enjoy)

Please read the warnings before reading this one, some of the content might make you uncomfortable or be triggering for you

Warnings: 18+, dub-con, semi-public sex, p + v, non-protected sex, creampie,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Dewey to drive you home? He should be there at ten,’’ Tatum asked again as you were getting ready to leave. ‘’The psychos are out at this hour...’’ 

You declined her offer. ‘’I can’t. My parents will have my head if I'm not home before curfew.’’ You grabbed your backpack and opened the door. ‘’See you tomorrow!’’ You waved at her before stepping out and closing the door. 

The chill autumn air brushing your face and the fallen leaves swished on the ground around you as you walked down the Rileys’ driveway and took the sidewalk. You didn’t particularly enjoy walking alone at night — no women did, honestly —, but Tatum’s house was only a few blocks from yours. 

On the way, you admired all the carved pumpkins out on the porches and other halloween decorations, making you miss when you were kids. Halloween was still fun as a teenager, but no parties could beat trick-or-treating and exchanging candies with your friends. 

As you turned on Elm street, a growing unease pricked at your senses. Someone was following you. Your steps became quicker, but not quick enough that your change of pace would alert the person behind you. The last thing you wanted was to let him know that you knew he was following you. He could take a run after you and it would be done for you.

You thought of going back to Tatum’s, maybe Dewey was home from work, but you were almost home. Instead, you took the shortcut to your house and turned in an alley, thinking you could kick a trash can at your pursuer's feet in case he tried anything, but a shadow loomed over you. Panic surged through you, and before you could react, a gloved hand swiftly clamped over your mouth, stifling the scream that tried to escape.

Fear pulsed within you, your mind racing to comprehend the situation. You struggled against the grip, your instincts kicking in as you fought to break free. The scent of leather filled your nostrils as you twisted and wriggled, attempting to loosen the stranger's hold.

A distorted voice pierced the air, its chilling words sending a shiver down your spine. ‘’Don’t you know walking home by yourself at night is a danger-magnet? Especially with a tight little skirt like yours,’’ he said as the hand that wasn’t over your mouth slid up your thigh, making your heart race in fear of what was going to happen. 

A sickening feeling twisted in your stomach. Maybe you should have waited for Dewey to drive you home. Your parents would have been mad for not respecting your curfew, but at least you would have been safe. 

You tried to scream again, and fight back, but the stranger only laughed at your attempts. 

‘’You’re not gonna escape me, babydoll,’’ the distorted voice laughed, tightening their grip and pressing your front against the brick wall of a building. ‘’If you try, I’ll gut you like a fish.’’ Something cool touched your leg and tears pricked in your eyes. 

A knife. 

Tatum was right about psychos being out at this hour…

You turned your head slightly, trying to see who was holding you, but all you saw was a strange halloween white mask with a black hood. 

‘’Have you ever been told how good your ass looked in that skirt? Bet your boyfriend likes to take you from behind, uh?’’ The hand that was on your thigh moved up, pulling your skirt and lifting it up, making your skin crawl. 

The night air hit your bare ass, completely exposed to the masked stranger, and you pressed your thighs together. You doubted it would stop the man from doing anything, but you could at least try. 

‘’Mmh, what a nice ass,’’ he pointed out, smacking his hand on your ass-cheek, the sound resonating in the alley, and grabbing it. You squeaked at the impact. ‘’I can’t wait to feel it against me as I pound in your tight pussy.’’

Your stomach churned. Your night was turning into a nightmare. 

‘’Now, I’m gonna take my hand off your mouth, but if you dare scream…’’ he trailed with a threat.

You nodded, having no other choice. He was the one with the knife.

‘’Spread those legs, hands on the wall,’’ he ordered, the distorted voice glitching a little, causing you to hear the man’s real voice. It sounded familiar, like you had heard it before, but a lot of men had similar voices. 

Shaking that thought, you obeyed and parted your legs, holding a hiss when pressing your hands against the rough brick.   

‘’Now what?’’ you spat, looking over your shoulder.  

The stranger chuckled, then pushed himself up against the curve of your ass, letting you feel his erection through his clothes, the hardness and heat radiating from his body admittedly kind of hot. ‘’Now I'm gonna stick it in you and rearrange your insides, you dumb fucking bitch.’’

You gasped at his words, arousal leaking through your panties. 

A car drove by on the other end of the alley, making the both of you go completely still. Minutes ago, you would have been relieved that a car was driving by. Not anymore. A sick and twisted part of you wanted the masked stranger to fuck you against that wall. 

Once the car was out of earshot, the masked man another grope of your ass, then pulled aside your underwear, running a gloved hand over your folds and discovering your little secret. 

‘’Is this…turning you on?’’ 

You kept quiet, disgusted and ashamed of yourself. 

He laughed, keeping going with the teasing by pressing a finger inside you, making you gasp as you automatically clamped around it. ‘’It is turning you on.’’ You heard the smirk in his voice. ‘’Dirty little slut.’’ 

You whined at his words, his finger moving in and out, but not nearly enough. ‘’Please,’’ you surprised yourself by saying, chasing his finger. ‘’I need more.’’ 

If anyone were to see you right now, you would be mortified. Not only were you getting sexually assaulted by a masked stranger in an alley, but you were enjoying it. It was sick.

Much too soon, he removed his finger, making you whine in protest. You turned your head to glance at him, but his head was down and you couldn’t see much. 

‘’Think you can handle my cock in you? Your slutty little cunt is weeping around my finger,’’ he said as he reached beneath his robe, fighting with his belt buckle and zipper to free himself. 

Your stomach bubbled with excitement, your teeth catching your bottom lip when you felt his hard cock pressing against your entrance. You pushed back against him, the hard press of his tip prodding at you, his pre-cum mixing with your leaking arousal. 

Your jaw dropped as you felt his cock part your folds, pushing himself all the way inside before stilling for a few seconds. Fuck. His dick was filling you so good. He gave a first snap of hips and a moan escaped from your lips, louder than you were expecting. 

Behind you, the masked man stopped moving, clamping a hand over your mouth as he hissed in your ear. ‘’Keep quiet or I’ll stop playing with your cute little cunt. Can't get caught, can we?’’ he warned, forgetting to use the voice distorter and giving himself away. 

‘’Billy Loomis, you sick fu—’’ 

Your words were cut off as his thick cock plunged back into you, making you moan instead. 

Billy laughed. ‘’Surprise, babydoll.’’ He gripped your hip firmly with one hand, the second coming around your throat while he was pounding in you from behind, stars flying around in your vision as the pleasure filled your whole body, explicit groans and muffled moans filling the dark alley.

‘’Always so fucking tight,’’ he grunted, getting really hot under the mask. Halloween costumes were not made to be worn during sex. 

You tried your best to brace yourself, both hands flat on the brick wall as Billy kept pistoning into you, your legs were shaking with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving you. ‘’Ahh, yes, just like that!’’ 

After he emptied himself and rode the waves of your respective pleasure, Billy slipped out from you, a white string of hot cum connecting you to him. He smirked under the mask, loving to watching himself leak from your abused pussy and drip out and down your leg. 

‘’You’re insane,’’ you said, turning around to face your boyfriend, your wrinkled skirt still bunched up at your waist. 

Laughing, Billy pulled the mask off his face, his lips curved into a wicked grin. ‘’The best people are.’’ 

You both fixed yourself in silence, having enough played with public indecency for tonight. As thrilling and exciting as this had been, you didn’t want an actual stranger to see you exposed like that.  

‘’How did you know I just left Tatum’s?’’ 

‘’Stu,’’ he explained. ‘’Tatum called him saying you just left, so I put on that sweet little costume and decided to surprise you. Did you like it?’’ 

You grabbed the front of the black robe and kissed him in response.

—

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[inkykodo]

Obedience and Punishment

Warning: This smut is intended for AMAB readers, this smut also contains Rough sex, Degrading, Cock warming, Breeding kink Miguel and a few other kinks I don't even know the name of but I'm sure its in there so BE ADVISED!!

Word Count 2.7k words

Another Dom!Miguel x sub!Male reader cus why not lol

During an intense chase for Miles Morales, You and the rest of the spider people chase after him. Miguel sends out orders to catch him by any means and by all costs. You lurk by the shadows and follow him, Miles thinks he's alone therefore he lets his guard down. it was easy pouncing on him and pinning him down. Miles looks frightened and stressed. Taking pity at the poor kid you decide to let him go. after all, he was just a teenager wanting to save his dad from dying. you also lost someone close when you were around his age and it took a long time to process that; let alone recover from it. wanting not to let the young boy be burdened of letting his dad die you chose to give him another chance.

When Miguel finds out what you did he was pissed. not in a way that he broods and puts his hands on his hips while he stays in his empty office. He was beyond angry, he was throwing shit around and yelling on the top of his lung. "GET ME (y/n), NOW!" He yells an order at the spider people, the tension in the room worsening as you enter his office. "Miguel? what's this? you're throwing a temper tantrum now?" Miguel stops dead in his tracks and slowly turns his head at you. "everyone out now." Miguel says in a cold and stern tone while the rest of the spider people leave immediately. "What is it now Miguel?" You say in an unamused and deadpanned manner while crossing your arms. "you let Miles Morales go didn't you?" Miguel's eyes were bloodshot and his veins were at the verge of popping.

His voice was deep and intimidating yet controlled and calm. the way he speaks slowly approaches you in a calm manner makes your skin crawl as his talons slowly flex while awaiting your answer. "He was just a kid Miguel he-" Miguel cuts you off mid sentence as he violently lunges at you and slams you to the ground, his weight crushing your whole body, the mass of his very muscle directly pressing directly against your tiny frame. "Don't be mad at me Miguel! Miles is just a kid!" Miguel growls and slams you again with such force it felt like a whole ton was dropped on you. making you wince in pain "agh!" You let out a heavy grunt as Miguel's arm slowly crushes your chest.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do," Miguel snarls, his eyes practically glowing with unbridled rage. "Miles is an anomaly, and he deserves to be contained. And you, you're just as bad for aiding in his escape."

He looms over you, his breath hot and heavy against your face. You can practically feel the heat emanating from his body.

"I won't let you go and risk him escaping again," he says, grabbing hold of your wrists and pinning them above your head. "Maybe if you had been loyal to me instead of helping an anomaly, we could have avoided this." Miguel's talons dig into your bare skin. it was painful but he didn't care, he only wanted to punish you hard enough you wont even think twice when he asks you to do something.

"Miles is just a kid Miguel! for fuck's sake give him a break! knowing that he's not even supposed to be a spider man and his dad might die is enough punishment for him!" You defend Miles Morales with all your strength, your hand gripping Miguel's strong and firm arms trying to prevent him from squishing you completely. "Shut your damn mouth." Miguel spat bitterly, he ties your hands up and shoots a spider web at your mouth silencing you and muffling your tiny voice. You squirm and struggle but Miguel's organic silk is too strong. Miguel chuckles as he gets up and watches you shift on the floor like a bug that's been tipped on its back. "Traitors need to be taught a lesson" Miguel's lips curl into a devious grin, he stares you down; his towering stature making you look like a speck of dust against him. As Miguel eyes your body down his eyes widen and he places a finger on his chin as if an idea popped into his head. Miguel grabs you by your waist effortlessly and places you down by this desk, your chest pressed against the wooden table; your lower body exposed while your legs and arms are bound. Miguel smacks your ass which induces a muffled moan from you, Miguel watches as your plump ass jiggles in front of him. He grabs a handful of your ass, his talons ripping apart your suit revealing your bare ass to him.

A smirk tugged at his face as he sees your rear in front of him, his eyes that was once fueled with rage now turned into one that resembles lust and desire. You try to kick him off but your efforts were futile as he dodges it with ease. he grabs your legs and spreads them. your entrance reveals itself as he forces your legs wide open. "You're quite the fighter," he said, his voice low and menacing. "But you're no match for me." Miguel's chuckle echoes through the room, deep and husky just enough to send shivers down your spine. He grabs your waist and turns you on your back. he removes the webs on your feet with ease and puts your thighs on his shoulders. "But you know what?" he murmured, his voice almost intimate. "I like a challenge." He places soft kisses against your thigh, his fangs grazing against your skin. His sharp canines threatening to pierce and cut your skin. Miguel's hands roams your sensitive body, feeling every curve and slopes of your smooth skin; Miguel suddenly presses his knee against your ass and balls making you squirm and making your cock twitch "mmmph! mm!" you say muffled with the spiderweb still on you mouth. You stare daggers at Miguel but that didn't stop him, he wanted to go even further

Miguel chuckled darkly as he felt you squirming beneath him, his body pressing even harder against yours.

"Your body betrays you," he murmured, his hands roaming even lower. "You might be fighting me now, but your cock is already hard and ready for me."

He dug his knee even harder into your backside, making you squirm even more. He loved the feeling of power it gave him, knowing that he had you completely at his mercy.

"But don't worry," he continued, his lips ghosting over your ear once again. "I'll take care of you. I'll make you feel things you can't even imagine. I'll teach you a lesson you will never forget." Miguel leans dangerously close against your neck, his fangs protruded and visible; He opens his mouth as if to bite you, you squirm and shake in fear as you watch his fangs prick your skin but instead he licks your neck, tasting your supple skin. The sensation of his warm tongue on your neck makes you tremble in relief. Miguel murmurs against your flushed complexion, "all you need to know is that I'm in charge. And I'm not going to let anyone threaten the safety of this multiverse."

He pulls away from you, admiring the sight of your beaten and half-naked body. "You look so good like this," he says, his eyes dark with desire. "All helpless and at my mercy."

Without another word Miguel leans in to kiss you, the warm exchange of his tongue brushing against yours makes you moan in pleasure. As he grinds his hips against yours, you can feel the hard length of his bulge pressing against your own. He's big, much bigger than any man you've ever been with, and you can't help but feel both excited and scared at the same time. "You like that, don't you?" he murmurs, his lips just inches away from yours. "You like feeling my cock pressed against yours, like this" He presses his cock harder against yours, his shaft squishing your balls; this sudden sensation makes you groan and squirm instantaneously.

He presses even harder against you, his body pinning you to the desk as he grinds his hips against yours. You can feel the emanating heat and hardness of his cock, and it's driving you mad with desire.

"Now, submit to me," he orders, his voice low and dangerous. "And maybe, just maybe, I'll spare you." You can feel your tense body start to slowly relax. You look into Miguel's eyes that looks like a furnace fueled by his desire to ravage you and swallow you whole. With that you nod slowly while breathing heavily through your nose.

Miguel smirks as he watches your body react to his touch, your cock hardening beneath the torn fabric of your suit.

"Good," he murmurs, his lips just inches away from yours.

With a flick of his wrist, he breaks the webbing holding your wrists up, allowing you to move your hands freely. He guides one of your hands down to his hard cock, urging you to touch him.

"Feel how hard I am?" he growls, his eyes locked with yours. "Feel how much I need you?"

He reaches down, teasing your cock through the fabric of your suit as he continues to grind his hips against you. "Now show me what you can do." your hands graze against his firm dick, Miguel's warm and veiny cock throbs against the palm of your hand. You move lower touching the tip covered by his foreskin, You slowly peel it back and reveal the slit of his member dripping with precum.

Miguel groans as he feels your hands wrap around his cock, his body shuddering with pleasure as you explore every inch of his erection. When your fingers finally reach his tip, he can't help but let out a low growl of desire.

As you peel back his foreskin, he hisses as the cool air hits the head of his cock, causing it to throb with anticipation. The sight of his precum dribbling down your fingers only serves to heighten his desire for you.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his hips bucking against your hand. "Don't tease me like that."

He takes your hand and guides it back to his cock, urging you to stroke him harder and faster. "That's it," he murmurs. "Just like that. Make me feel good." Miguel snarls while leaning his head back, He sighs and groans as you stroke it faster; you can feel his legs tense up knowing he's close to the edge, you abruptly stop deciding to play with him.

Miguel's eyes glint with anger as he feels you stop pumping his dick, his entire body tensing with frustration.

"Don't fucking test me," he growls, his hands grasping your shoulders tightly. "You don't want to know what happens when you make me angry."

He grabs a handful of your hair and tugs your head backward, his hips grinding against your hand. His hands roam your body, exploring every inch of your flesh.

"You're mine," he murmurs, his lips just inches away from your ear. "You always have been, and you always will be."

With a flick of his wrist, he tears your suit further, exposing even more of your bare skin. "And now, I'm going to take what's mine."

Miguel violently tears off the webbing from your mouth, but before you can speak his tongue invades your mouth. now your mouth is completely filled with his, the heated exchange felt like forever; your head started to feel hazy while Miguel kept constant pressure on your lips making sure you wont escape his grasp. finally, he pulls away a string of saliva connecting your lips to his. The room just got plenty hotter, you catch your breathe while wiping away the rope of saliva hanging from your lips. As if you just ran a marathon, your breathing became labored Miguel laughs in satisfaction, "that was just a kiss and you already look worked up" His eyes glued at your swollen lips and exposed body. "Prepare yourself boy, I wasn't even starting yet" Without wasting a second he presents his pulsating cock before you, urging you to start doing your job. "now... where were we?" Finally, you take him inside your warm mouth; your tongue swirls around his tip making him groan in pleasure, he grabs your head and plays with your hair as you suck him off.

Miguel's eyes roll back in pleasure as you take him into your mouth, your tongue exploring every inch of his aching shaft. He leans back against the desk, his hands gripping your hair tightly as you bring him closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck," he groans, his hips bucking against your face as you feast on him. "You really know how to work me."

He moans again as you stroke his base, eliciting even more precum to spill from his cock. "More," he murmurs. "I need more."

With a low growl, he grips your head tightly, forcing you to take more of him into your mouth. "That's it," he hisses. "More." You continue to take him inside your mouth. every inch of his girth occupying your throat; his length pressing against your tongue, the tip of his dick hitting the back of your throat and his balls pressing against your chin.

He leans in, his lips just inches away from yours as he towers over you. "You think you're so strong," he hisses. "But you're nothing compared to me."

With that, he grabs you roughly, pulling you up from the floor as he presses his body against yours. His hands roam your body, exploring every inch of your flesh as he asserts his dominance over you. "And now," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "You're going to submit to me, whether you like it or not." He moves his hands lower, teasing your crotch through the torn fabric of your suit. "And I can feel how much you want me," he growls. "Don't even try to deny it."

With one swift motion he inserts his finger inside you soft anal walls, his long and rough fingers stretching you out one by one. with every digit making you more and more loose for him; he then slowly inserts his tip inside you; starting slow at first, with caution and care but shortly after that you can see his lips turn into a malicious grin as he rams his whole length inside with wild abandon. he leans down, trailing hot, wet kisses along your neck and chest as he prepares to take you to a level you have never been before. Taking the opportunity, Miguel sees you in a cock drunk state with that in mind he sees that as a chance to start establishing a rhythm. He moves faster and faster, his hips slamming into yours with a power that leaves you gasping. "And you're going to come for me," he hisses. "You're going to come so hard, you won't even know your own name." Miguel focuses his attention to your hard and dripping cock, he slowly starts to stroke it with the same pace as his thrusting. Your body quivers and shakes with pleasure as Miguel over stimulates you; without another second you start to feel something erupting from your core. "yeah... that's it lose control" Miguel continues to pound your poor and beaten up rear, his thrusts now getting sloppier but rougher making sure to reach the deepest part of your sensitive spots.

"Miguel ah-" you try to formulate words but before doing so you finally reach your peak and orgasm. Your whole body quickly tenses up along with your soft anal walls squeezing down on Miguel's dick; you tilt your head back and let out the most ear splitting moan. "Mmm... that's it fuck-" With one final thrust Miguel buries his dick inside you as deep and as far as possible making sure your guts would be painted in his thick white-hot cream. Miguel doesn't pull out just yet, he leaves his cock inside you to make sure your guts remember him the next time you decide to be disloyal to your leader. "look at you, already on the brink of passing out" Miguel grabs your throat and starts to slowly thrust again, the seed in your gut slowly spilling out as his huge dick pushes everything out. "We're not done just yet" Miguel's deep and husky voice resonating fear and anticipation within your heart as he positions your legs above your head and starts to pound and blow the living shit out of your ass. You know this wont be the last time he treats you like this, his hard and rough touches scorches your mind as he fucks you deep into the night without any signs of stopping.

[honey-badgers-library]

The Mistwalker’s Must-Have Mixtape

II. Movin’ Right Along

Eleonora looked at her Walkman 2192. She clutched it in her hands. A life line within the slowly receding fog as she curled up beneath a tree. The tree’s shadow loomed over her; the branches slowly crawled away from the trunk and hung low. Eleonora knew she should be frightened—and she was. But then the branches of the tree twisted and curved. Downward toward Eleonora it went. Wrapped around her, in front of her. Much like the old poem “The Giving Tree”, protecting its favorite human and giving her all she could.

She sighed and snuggled closer to the tree. “Thank you,” her voice sounded much softer, weaker than when she was at home. “I don’t know what your name is, so it feels kinda rude to tell you thank you without a name—”

A small laugh erupted from her throat. Small and hysterical, Eleonora felt the tears tear through her as the tsunami of emotions overcame her. She shook with the utter fear and rage at being alone. Her ringletted brown hair frizzed with the rising humidity almost immediately. And she smelled the shift before it occurred. The ions bounced and changed and danced around this little forest or moor that she found herself in.

How to describe the smell before it rained? Eleonora knew what her home smelled like. The flowers bloomed just in time for the thunderstorms. They smelled clean and citrusy with some form of spice. A homey clean smell came from these flowers that only bloomed when it thundered and lightning. On top of the thunderflowers, the air carried a distinct fresh smell. Something everyone associated with rain, that fresh clean smell that made a person stop to take a deep breath in. Memento Mori, after it rained, was the best place to be for Eleonora.

Wherever she was didn’t smell like that.

Instead it smelled sweet. Honey and sugar peppered the air as everything shifted. The smell of fresh baked cookies ended up filling her nose the moment the thunder cracked and the rain began to pour. Just as the rain splattered across the grass, the tree’s branches fanned out. The leaves looked vaguely umbrella-like and acted as a tent for Eleonora. “T-thank you again,” Eleonora sniffed softly. “I wish I could give you something in return.”

“You sing, don’t you?” A booming accented voice surrounded Eleonora. Out of shock, the fifteen-year-old jumped up and hit her head on a branch. The branch then moved out of the way, and the voice continued. “Oh, I’m sorry dearie! I shoulda warned ya about the branch above your head there.”

Eleonora paused.

The voice, matronly in its tone, kept rambling. “I always forget to warn the travelers that take shelter in my tree. My branches are heavy and I prefer to keep them closer to the ground. I hope you don’t mind, dearie.”

As she rubbed her head, the ringletted teenager found her eyes widening as she realized the voice was coming from behind her. Eleonora stood as straight as a rod. “You can speak!” She exclaimed.

“Aye, so can you,” was the tree’s amused response.

“I’m sorry,” the girl began. Her bright blue eyes widened as the singular thought replayed in her head. I am talking to a tree. I am talking to a motherfucking tree and it’s talking back. Holy fucking shit! “I’ve never spoken to a tree that talked back before. I’m a bit shocked.”

“Ah! A new adventurer is in my midsts then!” The tree’s trunk began to move and reform. Suddenly, a spirit of an older, slightly rotund woman popped out of the door that replaced the trunk. Her skin seemed leathery with wrinkles that mirrored the pattern of the tree bark. “My name is Cottage, and I am the last of my kind. Come in, and allow me to give you some warm food and drink.”

“How would I repay you?” Eleonora asked, slightly wary of the woman. “I don’t have any money, and I just walked into the woods through the mist. I wouldn’t know what to give in return for the hospitality.”

“Nevermind that now dearie,” Cottage responded with a lackadaisical wave. “Perhaps a song would be a good trade, but, for now, come in and receive some shelter from the rain. It’s been a while since a Mistwalker has been at my table.”

“Mistwalker? What’s a Mistwalk—”

Eleonora couldn’t finish her sentence as Cottage took her hand and led her through the door. Confused, and feeling the stabs of hunger, the teenager followed the very granny-looking woman who wore a mushroom cap atop her head. Better to eat something warm than accidentally poison herself with some random plant.

Movin' right along in search of good times and good news

Cottage’s space within — or was it below? — her tree felt like how Eleonora imagined the homes of her neighbors to feel like. Cottage rummaged around the messy kitchenette. Flowers and leaves hung down around the handles. Everything looked rustic and old with the wood covered in moss and some form of fungus growing in beautiful patterns. Eleonora glanced at Cottage, who’s poke-a-dotted mushroom cap looked skewed, and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Cottage, but where are we?”

“You’ve never seen a Cottage Tree before?” was Cottage’s equally bewildered reply. The older woman — dryad-tree-nymph-thing? — struggled with grabbing a few plates and cups.

“No, sorry,” Eleonora apologized as she rushed to help Cottage with the dishes. “Want me to place these on the table?”

“Oh yes, dearie, thank you!”

Cottage went back to the pot on the stove as Eleonora set the small table. It grew out from the floor, with ivy vines forming the chairs around it. The kitchen table contained another covering of soft, green moss. She placed each wooden plate and cup in front of the two seats. The fifteen-year-old watched in awe as the leaves on the vine came to life and grouped together as a back and seat cushion.

“Now, dearie,” Cottage began practically out of nowhere. “You asked what a Mistwalker is, correct?” She came around the table with two oven mitts made from some sort of plant. It looked waxy and furry at the same time. Still the organic matter wouldn’t burn, nor did the wooden pot now that Eleonora thought about it. All the child could do was nod in agreement as her mind was filled once again with one single question — WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!

“Well, lovely, I wish the Overworlders would actually explain to their saplings what happens to them when they hit puberty. By the Land!” Cottage groaned in annoyance for her fellow living beings in the world. She took a ladle practically out of thin air. She placed it in the large pot and Eleonora smelled something salty and bitter from the pot. There was an underlying scent of cooking meat — it reminded Eleonora of the Cuban skirt steak David made her for dinner one day.

Her stomach thundered across the small space before Cottage continued. “Oh dearie, sit, eat! Make yourself at home, you look bone-thin now that I get a good look at ye!”

So, Eleonora took a seat.

We're storming the big town—yeah, storm is right, should it be snowing?

“You’re in a Cottage Tree currently,” Cottage finally said after they ate their fill of stew and biscuits. “Cottage Trees were abundant centuries ago as way stations for weary travelers when they need a—”

A small bouquet of bell flowers appeared between the two ladies at the table. They jiggled three times, the sound of church bell tolls erupting from their vines.

“We have a visitor.” Cottage grinned widely.

[fandom-imagines]

October

Fandom: Halloween

Pairing: Michael Myers X Reader

Warnings: Death, attempted rape (not by Michael), hurt. (also not proof read because it’s 4am and I’m very inspired so I’ll proof read it another day).

Summary: Y/N hates fall, but that changes upon meeting someone special.

Words: 2.8k

A/N: I’ve been obsessed with the song ‘we fell in love in October’ by Girl in Red and yeah this just kinda happened because of it.

Fall had never been Y/N’s favourite season. As a matter of fact, it was one she hated and dreaded the most each year. Well, until she met him.

They met during October, nearing Halloween.

Sure, she had heard the whispers about the infamous Michael Myers who murdered his sister and many others. Did she care? No. Not really anyway. It wasn’t like she’d ever see him… right?

Well, that’s what she thought. She had never believed that she’d ever meet him, nor see him. But, everyone can be wrong sometimes.

The stars glistened brightly as Y/N lay on a blanket, gazing at them dreamily.

It might have been cold, freezing actually, and the jacket that hung loosely from her body provided very little warmth, but she still enjoyed it. Despite hating fall, she did particularly like the late nights. Not many people would be around on the nights due to the cold weather which meant that she was able to be alone whenever she wished, except for Halloween of course when children and teenagers alike would be wandering the streets of Haddonfield.

Lost in her thoughts whilst staring at the stars, she finally realised something.

“Shit I’m lonely.” A slight chuckle left her lips at the words.

As if on cue, a sadistic voice sounded behind her causing her whole body to tense, “Do you often talk to yourself late at night?” She could almost hear the smirk through his words which was followed by numerous laughs.

Quickly climbing onto her feet, she turned to face the people, who she quickly assumed was a gang after seeing their similar outfits and weapons ‘hidden’ in their pockets.

“Sometimes, yes.” She gave a casual smile, doing her best to hide how afraid she truly was. Despite the shaking of her hand, she showed not true fear, her eyes simply filled with determination. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

“I believe you can, pretty lady.” The man, who she believed to be the leader of the gang, stepped towards her with a huge smirk on his lips.

“How so?” Y/N’s head tilted to the side, hair falling with the movement, covering her face in a cute manner that almost made the men feel guilty; key word being almost.

Nothing could really change their beliefs after it being instilled in them from being children.

All five of the men walked towards her, an action that made the girls strong stance falter. Both her stance and demeanour crumbled into tiny pieces as the first guy grasped her shoulder tightly, leaving her unable to shrug it off despite her attempts.

“Let go of me.” She mumbled, eyes darting towards the ground.

“Awe, you sound so cute when you say that.” Another man chuckled, beginning to palm himself through his, almost too tight, jeans which made her realise what was about to happen. “Say it again.” He stifled a moan at her small, afraid whimpers.

“Please.” Her tone was a pleading one, simply sparking the enjoyment and pleasure in the men’s eyes.

“Awe, she’s so cute guys. Maybe we should kee-“The leaders voice was cut short by a knife to the heart, blood quickly making its way to his mouth, pouring down his lips. Everyone, besides the perpetrator of course, stood frozen still.

Y/N watched in horror as each of the men were slaughtered in front of her.

It was only once the last man fell to the ground that she finally looked up to see the man who has rescued her.

“Michael…” The name left her lips before she could even stop herself. All she got in return was a simple head tilt from the extremely tall man. “Thank you.” She whispered to him before taking a step forward. “Even if it was a strange last sight, I still appreciate it.” Her words came out hoarse now as she realised that it was the end of her life.

Michael simply tilted his head again, looking almost like a confused puppy. In fact, it was cute to her. Sure he had just murdered five men, but he saved her and she couldn’t thank him enough for that, even if he was about to kill her.

Y/N’s eyes closed as she stood in front of Michael, his body towering over her in a way that intimidated her significantly. Her body braced herself for the stab.

One second…

Two seconds…

Three seconds…

She wasn’t sure how long she was stood there, but the stab never came. Her eyes flew open, wondering as to why she was still breathing, only to reveal Michael was no longer stood there.

That was at the start of October.

It had been over a week since then and she was still alive as well as extremely confused.

He saved her and then didn’t kill her? Michael Myers? Willingly sparing somebody’s life?

From what she had heard, she assumed that that wasn’t normal for him. But the more she thought about it, the more confused she became.

Each night was spent wondering why he spared her life; why he saved her.

Sure, maybe it was the bloodlust. But why would he spare her? She didn’t know him, he didn’t know her and he was some bloodthirsty killer.

She thought nearly every hour of every day, pondering why he spared her, but she was unable to think of a valid and reasonable answer.

Little did she know, she would receive her answer that day.

Y/N’s lips formed into an O shape as she puffed out the smoke from her lips, cigarette limp in her hand which hung beside her thigh.

The roof she was on was one she visited often.

Nobody was able to come up here, meaning that she was the only one here.

She did love to be alone, like she was right now.

Or so she thought.

Behind her stood a tall, masked man that the entirety of Haddonfield knew as Michael Myers, the guy who killed many, including five men a week ago.

He stalked towards her, knife nowhere in sight, simply store in his pocket, close to reach if he needed to grab it, but hidden enough to not scare the girl.

He watched fascinated as she lifted the lit cigarette to her lips. He caught sight of her painted fingernails, a nice shade of red. It was strange of Michael to pay attention to such simple things, tending to be focused on the colour of the blood pouring from his victims. Maybe that was why he noticed her nails; the blood red reminding him of his victims.

Michael himself wasn’t entirely sure as to why he spared her life. He had stalked her for the past week ever since the incident, the feeling in his stomach leaving him irritated. He became especially irritated when he couldn’t bring himself to force the steel knife into her chest whilst she slept soundly, oblivious as to the fact that there was a killer hovering over her, unable to strike.

There was a small part of him that understood what the feeling was, an extremely small part that he ignored.

He was infatuated with her.  

Maybe it was the way she did her best to stand up for herself, or the way she walked towards him unafraid despite having just witnessed him kill five other men. It could also be how she thanked him, despite knowing who he was. Or maybe he just liked the way his name sounded falling from her lips and he wished to hear it again.

He wasn’t sure which reason it was, maybe a combination of all of them. But he was fully aware of the fact that he couldn’t kill her; he had tried multiple times in the week following the incident but, despite the voices screaming at him to do it, he couldn’t bring himself to end her life.

Michael was now behind her on the rooftop, nearing the edge where she was stood, gaze focused on the scenery ahead of her, blissfully unaware of the shadow looming over her.

His huge hands gripped her shoulder, pushing her gently, a big enough push for her to be scared, a scream leaving her lips, but his grip tight enough making sure that she wouldn’t fall.

He didn’t want that.

Eyes wide, she spun around to face the person who had almost killed he.

Her eyes widened even more as she saw who stood in front of her,

“Michael…”

He simply nodded before leaving.

“Don’t go.” She called for him, pleading for him to stay, almost like she had pleaded for the men to stop.

She watched as his body came to a halt.

“Michael,” His body tensed, “please stay.”

He did.

That was how their relationship, if you could even call it that, began.

That was two weeks ago.

It’s only a week until Halloween.

Until Michael next killing spree.

Y/N wasn’t sure how it had happened, but Michael had ended up staying at her house nearly every night.

Sure, he crashed on the couch, surprising her, but he did stay with her.

The two grew attached to each other, even if Michael was unaware as to this fact. He was, however, aware of the fact that he couldn’t kill her; he couldn’t even harm her, even if he wanted too.

It was another night with Y/N lounging on the couch, watching some random movie that was playing on the TV. Weirdly enough, she was alone tonight. She had no idea where Michael was, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t worried. But she knew him well enough, or at least she liked to think she did, to know that he could take care of himself. He’s a big man, quite literally.

A knock on her front door pulled her attention away from her thoughts as curiosity filled her body. She didn’t know who it could be. She wasn’t exactly expecting somebody, and it wasn’t Halloween so there’d be no kids looking for free candy, something that Y/N began to curse at herself for, remembering that she had meant to pick some up today.

The knocking grew louder and more aggressive the longer she waited.

“Hello?” Her voice was confused as she greeted the weird man on her doorstep.

“Y/N, right?” He was straight to the point.

“Uhm…?”

“Dr Loomis, I need to speak to you.” He barged past her, startling her immensely and she internally begged Michael would be here soon if things went badly.

“Okay?”

She carefully closed the front door, turning to face the guy named Loomis who was now stood in the middle of her lounge.

“What is it?” Her words were cautious, chosen with extreme carefulness as she wasn’t entirely sure who this man was.

“I know of your relationship with Michael Myers.”

Crap.

“My what?” Her words sounded confused, despite her knowing exactly what. “Michael Myers? As in the killer?”

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N. I know he’s been staying here, and you’ve been letting him. In fact, I know you’ve become quite attached to him but let me tell you this, he is evil, and doesn’t feel anything for you. I’m quite sure he’s simply here for a place to stay and will kill you when he finds another place.” Loomis’s words were sharp, he wasn’t playing around.

“I seriously don’t know what you mean. Now, I think you should leave before I call the police.” Y/N demanded, walking over to swing the front door open for him to leave.

“I’ll be back to deal with you.” He spat before having the door slammed in his face.

~

Y/N wasn’t too sure how long it had been as she was curled up on the couch, wondering what she could do.

Should she tell Michael? Should she keep it from him? How did this guy even know? Why did he want to know? What should she do?

The back door swung open, Michaels way of alerting her to his presence.

She payed on attention to the noise, simply remaining in her thoughts.

It wasn’t until he was in front of her did she finally break from those thoughts, looking up at him with such fear in her eyes, shortly followed by tears leaking from them, trickling down her cheeks.

“S-sorry.” The girl hiccupped, tilting her head in order to make her hair fall in front of her face, not wanting Michael to see her like this.

Once she realised that Michael wasn’t leaving, she glanced up.

He stood there, bloody knife still in hand as though he was preparing to attack, not her but somebody else. His masked head was tilted, the same as he did when he was confused.

“I met someone today.” Y/N’s words were quiet, not noticing the way Michaels grip on the knife tightened at the sentence, knuckles turning white as his whole body was strained with anger. “He knows you’ve been staying here. He said his name was Dr Loomis.”

Michael left.

~

That was two days ago now.

She hadn’t seen him in two days, and it was safe to say that she did miss him. And, weirdly enough, he missed her also, in his own Michael way.

She wandered the streets, unaware of the gaze focused on her and her alone. Y/N had decided on a thick jumper today which hugged her body in a way that actually provided warmth this time. Her jeans were also a source of warmth. The wind blew through her H/C locks, tossing them behind her.

She looked beautiful.

The girl had arranged to meet a friend today in order to take her mind off of Michaels disappearance.

She had let Loomis’s words get to her, assuming that he had found somebody else like he had said. But, he hadn’t killed her, not yet at least.

Her steps slowed down, eventually halting as she realised something. Something she wished she hadn’t.

She loved Michael.

She couldn’t think about this for more than ten seconds before hearing her name leave somebody’s lips behind her.

“Y/N! Hey, why’re you stood still you weirdo.” Jessica, Y/N’s friend, giggled as she jogged to catch up to her.

“Hey.” Y/N’s smile was forced, the daunting realisation from moments ago still on her mind.

“How’re you doing?” The other girls smile was not forced, genuinely happy to see her friend after three weeks.

“I’m good.” Another forced smile, “How are you?” She tensed as Jessica’s arms wrapped around her friends shoulder.

~

A relieved sigh left Y/N’s painted lips as the door closed behind her.

The thought of it being unlocked didn’t even cross her mind, desperate to get inside, change into comfy clothes and just sit down. However, those plans were stopped when she felt a rough hand tug on her elbow, turning her to face him: Loomis.

“What the fuck?” She did her best to rip her arm from his grasp but to no avail, “Let go of me you creep!” She yelled, violently tugging her arm again.

“Tell me of your relationship with Michael Myers!” Loomis yelled back, refusing to let go of her, despite how hard his grip was, both of them unaware of the fact that bruises would be left.

“I don’t have one!” Another yell from her.

“Yes you do! Where is he?”

Tears began to pour down her cheeks and Y/N wasn’t sure if it was from panic, stress or the pain in her arm.

“Please let go of me.” She whispered quietly, tears falling to the ground.

“Only if you tell me where he-“ Loomis’s words were cut short due to a stab through the heart, reminding Y/N of the way Michael and her met.

She felt the grip on her arm loosen before watching the body drop to the floor, revealing a shaking, panting Michael. “Michael…”

He was covered in blood, shaking with both anger and hatred.

How dare Loomis touch what is his.

His…?

Michaels sudden realisation was similar to Y/N earlier that day.

Michael had seen that realisation happen, however he wasn’t sure as to why she simply stopped in the middle of the street.

He wanted her to be his and his alone.

He wanted her to belong to him and him alone.

No, he needed her to.

Michael showed no sign of the internal conflict he was facing as he stood in front of her.

“Are you okay?” Her words were concerned, more worried about Michael than the pain in her arm as well as the bruising.

A simple nod from him followed by a head tilt, wordlessly asking her the same.

“I’m okay.” She gulped, unable to look him in the eyes, something which irritated him.

His annoyance was evident in his stride towards her, leaving her afraid.

She gulped again once he was in front of her, watching as his arm raised towards her, hand tightly gripping her jaw, forcing her to look him in the eyes, his eyes showing a strange emotion for him.

Trust.

They fell in love in October, and that’s why Y/N loves fall.

[dorki-c]

My Guardian Demon |Chapter 1, Part 2: Two Dreams

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X (Reader)

Rating: 16+

A/N: Hey! Hey! Hey! Everybody! I just wanted to let you all know that in the beginning of this series like prologue story arc wise, I will only be highlighting the main points of said story arc.

TW: Suffocation and depiction of injury!

[Masterlist] [<--- Previous| Next --->]

(Song reccomendation for this chapter: Feeling Good by Michael Bublé)

PROMPT QUESTION FOR THIS STORY ARC: Are all demons ‘bad’?

When leaving the school gates with a silent warning that he gave to (y/n), there were a few minor details bothering him when traversing through the empty streets leading home.

At least he was able to walk alone to clear the commotion of todays events.

Sure, Izuku was used to Bakugou’s harassment towards him. For the most part, his mind always filtered out the nasty phrases that were thrown at him for the longest time.

However, what Bakugou had said was completely out of line.

Telling Izuku to commit suicide? Wow, what a great friend he was (if you could even call him that…).

Though the green-haired boy could easily say that about (y/n) as well. Even though its him and his stupid demon against society.

Was he sure that something may happen today? No, absolutely not. Even when turning a corner of the semi-suburban area that was closest to Aldera Junior High school, Izuku isn’t clairvoyant to anything that involves him.

Nope, not at all.

Even when making his way under the dark tunnel (to which he ignores his demon trying to hold him back from going in there, saying something along the lines of “W-w-wait! I don’t want to go down this way…”), Izuku still holds his head up high and ventures down the tunnel.

Like I said before, the green-haired boy isn’t clairvoyant that involves around him.

Plus, that shouldn’t exempt him from being cautious about what might lurk in the shadows.

Until this point, (y/n) only spoke in short sentences, though the only thing that caught Izuku off guard was the shaky utterance of “Izuku…L-Look behind you!”

He regrets looking behind him; A thing manifesting as a large murky green glob, paired with two large eyes and razor layered teeth (that scarcely resembled shark teeth), loomed over the 14 year old’s body.

I-I-It’s a villain!

As soon as Izuku blinked, one moment he was free and scrambling to his feet (fearful of the sludge villain) and the next, his body was trapped in something slimy… The green sludge body dripped with viscous thick globs as it wrapped like a vice around the boy. With a waterfall of pleading cut short and shown through desperate green eyes as Izuku squirmed annoyingly to the villain, there was no chance of escaping because he would be dead “in a minute” tops.

In a vain attempt to free Izuku from the grasps of the villain, the demon’s futile attempts to scratch away at the slime, only resulted in their misty hands to pass through the slime like their hand was non-existent.

Fuck—If a damn hero isn’t going to save Izuku, then it has to be his demon’s duty to do so.

Though it’s quite challenging for (y/n) to grip Izuku’s shoulders and pull him forward, it doesn’t have enough energy to stall for time.

 Was fate cursing (y/n) again? The sun was up high in the sky, yet it always deceived the unguarded and weakest of them all. Didn’t it? If it wasn’t for the saving grace of a frisbee object hitting the villain in the eye, the sludge villain recoiled backwards and (thankfully) released its hostage, where the boy’s limp body met face first into the pavement.

.

.

.

Staying close to Izuku’s unconscious body, (y/n) watched as the pro-hero blatantly invaded their owner’s space and didn’t hear their screeching of something along the words of “DISGUSTING!!!” and “AAAAAAAH BEGONE! BEGONE! BEGONE!!” And the boy wasn’t woken up because of the cheek slaps, it was because of (y/n)’s obnoxious protests of the pro-hero’s cheek slaps.

Let’s not forget the loudest sigh released by the demon when one, Izuku (finally) woke himself up, and two, when that (god forsaken flimsy, annoying, outrageous) hero, was actually the number 1 hero, has retracted his hand from the demon’s owner.

(And (y/n) definitely called the number one hero “a filthy maggot that is followed by an equally filthy contra-” before they were tuned out of Izuku’s ears.)

“Ah! Thought we lost you there!” Announced the hero (to nobody in particular).

This, unfortunately, caused Izuku to pale- where it practically looked like his whole face lost all of its colour, including his eyes- and for (y/n) to think (if they even have thoughts in the first place…) that if there was a camera pointed straight at their face, it would show the most horrifying deadpanned expression on the demon’s non-existent face which would break the camera lens.

Screaming and scampering backwards, Izuku only managed to utter the words “C-C-CAN I HAVE AN AUTOGRAPH!!” before seeing his notebook (which was coincidently fish food a couple of minutes ago) signed by the hero and bowing to said hero out of gratefulness, although knowing their owner; (y/n) figured that Izuku would obviously cherish this autograph as a ‘family heirloom’.

(Izuku may or may not have blurted that out in the moment. Oh well. You can’t take everything you say back.)

.

.

.

“I have a question…” Murmured the green haired boy as the hero turned tail to “deliver this villain to the police station!” Sadly, the hero didn’t hear him and was about to leave the boy, where his demon was shaking their head in disappointment- “Why bother asking him?” Whispered (y/n), leaving the faint trace of their empty temperature to scarcely brush his cheek, “The man in front of you is a mere façade of bravery.” - it’s not like Izuku cares about his demon’s opinion.

Even when it’s in situations like this.

(And by situations, I mean when Izuku and his demon are clutching for dear life on the infamous hero’s legs when flying more than fifty feet above the ground.)

Looking below his feet, Izuku is always reminded that great power also has a greater price to it.

And well, All Might would probably agree (if it weren’t for being airborne).

Additionally, why did it look like you were enjoying him scream in fear for his life, when you know that if he dies, you die too.

(Was his demon secretly a sadist?!)

.

.

.

The landing was rocky and rough, but at least his feet managed to stand on their own after a few moments of wobbling and the small rub of your hand against his to beckon him to stand “tall and proud for being uniquely him”.

Glancing towards the hero, (y/n) scoffed in disgust at the retreating soldier whereas Izuku only begged him to “Wait,” continuing along with an unspoken prayer casted off to the sky and “one second!” to remain.

“No!”

It’s typical of a hero to say that word, but situations like this aren’t.

“I don’t have any time.” --- “I have to know!” --- “Why do you bother with him, Izuku?”

The years of quirklessness weren’t new to him. Though he wanted more.

“Even if everyone thinks I’m useless…” Izuku wanted more fulfilment for himself.

“Despite what anybody thinks.” (Y/n) wanted freedom for themself.

“I need to know.” The two of them had dreams.

“Is It possible to become a hero, without a quirk?” Even with a fearless grin, the man before the aftermath was the symbol of peace.

Well to put it simply, the embodiment of peace was secretly a human coat hanger. Now, how would the murky red demon and green haired boy react to said human coat hanger?

Uh…Yeah, they’re both screaming; Izuku was doing it out of horror, (y/n) was doing it out of disgust.

(This is a typical occurrence.)

“WHERE’S ALLMIGHT?!” The worn-down skeleton of a man looked like a couple of popsicle sticks were stuck together with Elmer’s glue as the artist called it a day. Looking left to right, then again, and finally- just for good luck- glanced left and right, as society always said, “Third time is the charm”.

“You! You’re not him!” Izuku profoundly screeched, where in fact both his demon and scrawny adult rolled their eyes. “Izuku, you don’t even have his birth certificate to prove that he—” Though poor (y/n) got cut off by Allmight proclaiming “You know how guys at pools like to suck in their muscles and flex at the same time?” The flaxen haired male then said “I’m kind of like that…” which did nothing to soothe the teenager’s shock.

“What! No! Allmight isn’t some scrawny—old—depressed looking human being!” Oh boy, your owner was as stubborn as an old mule.

“Izuku, stop what your—” Again, (y/n) was cut off by another person, “All Might’s is a hero with a fearless grin who beats every obstacle!”

.

.

.

“Kid, there’s plenty of fear behind a smile. Don’t be fooled.” The rustling of a white shirt caught the attention of the demon and human alike. And what it revealed…well…it was pretty nauseating.

“Pretty gross, isn’t it?”

The merged sickening stitching of skin pulled together in a makeshift attempt to preserve as the hero’s body, at the epicentre of the wound was a thick encircled glob of pink that seemed to allow an abundance of conjoined violet speckles to extend outwards in an attempt to infect the rest of his body.

“I got this in a fight around five years ago.” Relaxing his body, and moving the shirt downwards, the hero continued, “My respiratory system was destroyed, I lost my stomach, and the rest is history.” Even if his shitty joke didn’t lift the depressing tone of reality, all Izuku could do is stand there in shock—maybe a tad bit of horror— however he would’ve never thought that the one and only top hero of Japan had an injury!

(Izuku’s naïve thinking always rubbed his demon the wrong way sometimes.)

“W-wait! Does that mean Toxic Chainsaw gave you this injury!” Chuckling and turning his glance to the side, All Might shook his head. “I’m impressed, you know your stuff- however, that punk couldn’t land a couple hits on me, even if they wanted to.” “Most of the world wouldn’t have known about this fight, regardless of how much you dug through any news articles.”

(And most of the world would’ve never known about the deadly purple miasma growing on their precious hero’s body.) .

.

.

“This job isn’t easy, and to be nice—” At least Izuku would listen to All Might, whereas he ignored you at least 50% of the time, “—I think you would be better off picking a better profession, like a Police officer!”

------------------------------------------

“I mean he is right…” (Y/n) said to Izuku, as they continued their trek back home, with the boy loathful to agree at the red mist’s statement.

“Heroism isn’t easy.” Maybe he should give up his dream?

“You saw how disgusting his wound was.” He could be horribly injuried like All Might if he tries. “It’s practically oozing with miasma.” But Izuku can’t bring himself to give up his dream.

And if Izuku ever asked you to give up your dream of freedom, you would answer back with defiance.

“I know it isn’t easy (y/n).” 

 “I know I could die or get a wound like that.” 

“But I’m not giving up on my dream, if you aren’t going to give up on yours.”

Alas, the gloriously golden sun highlighted the features of the old dusk that was soon turning into their new dawn. 

(And might I say, if society got in their way, they will pay their dues the hard way.)

Taglist:

@glitterfreezed, @izukubabe​, @sweater-weather-seven, @nyanyabisjjj, @quietlegends, @dragonsdreamoffire​, @candybabey, @honeylavender13​​

CREDITS:

All content and art used within this story belongs to their respective owners. PLAGARISM WILL NOT BE TOLERATED!

Art credits: Dorki-C and @glitterfreezed​

[MASTERLIST OF “My Guardian Demon”]​ [MAIN MASTERLIST]

[malikmata]

Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like  “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

[rosy-cheekx]

"Don’t do that. don’t shut me out” and / or “We can talk through the door” - from the trauma sentence starters :)

Okay so this started as a one-off but, as usual, it spiraled outwards! The actual line will be in the next chapter. (That’s right, this bitch has two chapters! AND A PERSPECTIVE SHIFT)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201191/chapters/69105681

-

It had been hard for Martin to adjust, after the Lonely, after the months of spiraling into the quiet, cold dark, imprisoned in an ever-expanding labyrinth of his own isolation. A therapist he had years ago told him it takes three weeks to manifest a habit, and in the months without his mum, without Jon, Sasha, Tim, god without even Elias to irritate his last fraying nerve, he had time to form hundreds of new habits, his habits of loneliness.

When Peter had given him Elias’ old office, under the guise of space, focus, and mental health (Martin could spit at that looking back, the cruel irony), the room had been rearranged. The desk, which had previously sat in the center of the room, with two slightly uncomfortable chairs positioned in front of it, chairs Martin had been eager to burn in celebration of his new space, had been rearranged. The room was starkly empty, the chairs removed on his behalf, and the desk had been moved to the side of the room, out of view of the door and in fact behind the hinges, so the door swung open in front of his desk, blocking anyone who may sneak a peek in his office a view of him at work. After a while, it was natural to be in the corner of a room closest to the hinges; where the coatrack or a rubbish bin would typically be, there instead was Martin Blackwood, comfortable, solitary. Alone.

The habits expanded outside of the office. Soon enough he was shopping at markets in the quietest hours: during the airings of football matches, at the early-morning markets, at two in the morning because he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get warm under his duvet. His warm conversations with cashiers and barkers turned to solemn nods and gruff thank-yous, the refreshing smiles they associated with the sweater-clad figure reduced to slow blinks and nods of acknowledgement, and then not even that. They didn’t even wonder what had happened to that nice auburn-haired man who worked “down the street at the old spooky building, did-you-hear-about-those-worms?” Even takeout was too much to bear. The nights where leaving his flat was unconscionable, his delivery requests would always add, “leave outside the flat, tip is under the doormat.”

His neighbors didn’t remember him after a while. Mabel, the kind woman who lived across from him, introduced herself to him, asked when he moved in. Eventually she stopped noticing this new auburn man she hadn’t seen before. Hadn’t seen at all, actually. No one lived across the hall from her, not in her memory. And she had an excellent memory, didn’t-you-know? It was all those crosswords.

Martin started locking his doors. That had been after Jon had returned. He knew that distinctly. Most of these habits loomed over his life slowly, like an ever-expanding fog, until he didn’t realize where they had begun, but the doors? That was a choice.

He wasn’t one for locks overall; his childhood home had forbidden them, save for the exterior doors. It hadn’t bothered him back then, though, and as he grew up and out of the shadow of his mother it never occurred to him that he could just shut people out like that. So easy, so simple, but so unnecessary for so long. Martin was the one breaking down those barriers, especially at the Institute. Getting Sasha to talk about her anger when they first moved into the Archives, her quiet confession that she had wanted that job for so long, had been told by Gertrude she was a promising candidate. That had been fixed with a cup of tea and the promise that he would support her if she wanted to quit, but that it seemed like Tim needed her, Jon too. Getting Tim to open up about Danny, his sorrow that had been simmering so long under the surface, a grief Martin didn’t quite know how to fathom. But he tried, with comforting touches and warm voice, trying to ease Tim back from the precipice over which he had been hovering. Not enough. Never enough. Even Jon had begun to be kinder to him, after Prentiss, after Martin had proven he wasn’t a waste of space in the Archives, begun to be honest and open about his take on the weird things they experienced here. He had even texted him rather frequently, towards the end, updating him on his trip to America and of the occasional sights that caught his eye (‘In Pittsburgh they put chips on sandwiches and salads, Martin, look at this! Image_0102 attached’ Even in text, his grammar was impeccable.) But after Jon recovered from his coma, lapse with death, whatever it had been, Martin had been too far gone. He couldn’t risk Jon bursting in, bothering him, worrying and fussing. So he’d called in a locksmith to install the simple bolt, enough to stop a distracted, harried Archivist (who had never quite learned it was polite to knock) from bursting into his office at all hours.

But after all that, after the Lonely and Peter Lukas and “look at me and tell me what you see,” it was hard to break the achingly comfortable habits. For the first few days in Scotland, Martin didn’t really remember what had happened. While out of the domain itself, he was still trapped in its cloying embrace, and everything felt too real, too looming, too much; it had been easy to slip into silence for hours in Daisy’s safehouse. Too easy to pull the fog around him and watch himself sit, drawn up behind the door, as he watched and listened and waited for Jon to forget about him. It had never happened though. No matter how many hiding places he found, cold and dark and solitary, Jon always found him, blanket and tea in tow (always a little too sweet for Martin’s liking), and his scalding embrace was enough to drag him back to reality, shivering and sweating, whispering apologies.

-

They needed supplies. Daisy had left behind plenty of MREs in her pantry, stuff they could theoretically rely on, but it was all very basic nutritionary needs and both Martin and Jon were vegetarians, (more or less, Martin had stopped eating red meat as a teenager and Jon entirely after working in the Archives) and the dehydrated pasta alfredo was gone, seemingly the only vegetarian item in Daisy’s stock. Martin hadn’t even tried to touch the canned fruit, the orange-yellow of the peaches haunting him.

Martin suspected it was also a desperate attempt for the pair to practice feeling normal again. To be just two friends? Companions? Coworkers? Boyfriends? people stocking up their fridge and going on with a normal, non-horror filled life. A secluded, bare safehouse was certainly not helping them adjust any quicker, though neither man had dared leave quite yet, be it the risk of losing what little security they had accrued here or the inability to leave the other alone quite yet.

“Is-Do you know if it’s busy today?” Martin had asked, trying desperately to shape his voice into calm curiosity.

Jon considered the question for a minute, expression soft, and dear lord Martin wasn’t sure he would ever get used to the way Jon’s shadows seemed to darken and solidify when he Learned, his whole form shifting in and out of focus imperceptibly like the background was blending into him and not the other way round, the way Martin was accustomed.

“Mm, not bad. No one interesting. A couple families shopping for the week, twelve customers, four employees, total-oh, fourteen, mum and son just walked in…” Martin’s eyebrow was raised. “Ah,” Jon cleared his throat. “Sorry. Fourteen people. If that’s too many, I can go by myself, you know. I’m not going to force you.”

“N-no, no. I should go. Exposure therapy, right?”

Jon had smiled warmly and tentatively rested a hand on Martin’s shoulder, before sliding the hand, scarred and calloused, to squeeze Martin’s own cold one.

-

The grocery was small, a locally run place playing tinny jazz through the speakers. As Martin stepped through the doors with Jon, he was struck by how warm it was in the store. He could feel the prickle of anxiety burning under his skin, bringing a flush to his cheeks. He could hear the whine of the electric lights piercing his skull and settling behind his eyes. He gripped the trolley’s handle tight, firmly keeping his eyes forward. He was fine, he could do this.

Martin was not fine. They had worked their way through the aisles quickly, Jon using his Knowledge to figure out where every item they needed had been located. Martin was on autopilot, quietly steering the cart and flinching when anyone came to close to him. The heat of life was radiating off everyone in the store, even Jon, and it was scalding, blinding, debilitating. He hadn’t noticed Jon asking him a question until, Jon carefully, gingerly, brought his hand to hover near Martin’s cheek, not touching, just waiting for a response.

“Martin?” he heard distantly, calling him back to reality, where fog didn’t drift over the aisles and the soft rush of waves didn’t echo in his ears.

“-mm?” The hand was gone, his skin tingled with the rush of cold returning to his face. He wished it would come back, to hold his face and promise it would be alright.

“I was wondering what tea you wanted to buy? I’m no expert and I know you have your preferences. I miss-” Jon cleared his throat. “I’ve missed your tea in the Archives. All the staff drank coffee after you left. Disgusting.”

Tea. This was something Martin could do. He took a step away from the trolley, his life raft, and studied the aisles, trying to will his mind to focus.

Tea, tea, tea. Rooibos and chamomile for sleepless nights. Herbal for variety. Jon likes caffeinated teas. Maybe some chai? That’ll be good when it gets really cold…god how long will we be here? Through winter? Forever? He could stay here forever if it meant Jon was there too.

He grabbed a couple of boxes of familiar brands, throwing them in the trolley, as well as whatever felt familiar, what he’d usually pick up.  

“I thought you didn’t like oolong.”

Martin frowned, glancing down at the box in his hand. “I don’t. Uh, force of habit I guess.” He set the box back quickly, as if it was burning his hand. “M’mum liked it so I would pick it up for her. Guess its been a while…” he trailed off, uncertain of what he was about to say. He’s bought tea since she died, hasn’t he?

He thinks back, through all his months in Elias’s office and at home.

Oh. Guess not.

Had he really not drunk tea at all? God, he had really changed more than he thought under the influence of Peter. Tea had been such a staple of his life, his personality, he was the one dragging Jon and Sasha and Tim to teahouses for his birthday and insisting he make a cuppa for everyone on the days that felt too dark. The last time he could remember holding a warm cup of tea in his hands was when he was sitting at Jon’s bedside in the hospital, reading him Keats in the desperate hope he would hate it so much he would wake up, even if just to scold his assistant.

Martin knew serving The Lonely had changed him. But here, in the aisle of a Scottish grocery, he was realizing how entirely debased he had become. Was he even Martin Blackwood anymore?

Martin blinked to see the grocery around him cloaked in fog. No, that wasn’t right. He was cloaked in fog. The world was a pale blue-grayscale, slightly translucent. He hadn’t been here in a while but the cool balm over his anxiety settled like cool cloth and he felt distantly quiet. Calm.  He left the store in a haze and began the slow trudge up to the safehouse. Jon wasn’t here in this place, which was probably for the best. Martin couldn’t hurt him here, couldn’t burden him with whatever pesky emotions he had felt in the grocery, whatever they had been. They were a distant memory now, oolong and guilt.

-

By the time Martin had hiked up the hill to the safehouse, he felt safe enough to leave the Lonely, and felt the cool numbness drift off him like steam as the world sharpened around him. With the world came the sharp sting of his realization came with it; the understanding that he wasn’t the same person he had been when he had said goodbye to Tim, Melanie, and Jon, and certainly not the same person he had been when he had backed through the doors to the Institute and let that dog in, what felt like decades ago now.

Martin Blackwood let the door swing shut behind him as he made his way inside, hearing the rumble of Jon’s car rolling up the gravel driveway. He moved quickly through the house, looking desperately for a place to escape as he heard the faint call of his name outside. He couldn’t-he just couldn’t talk to Jon right now; he didn’t know how to explain how betrayed he felt and by on fault but his own. The closest room was the bathroom, dark and clean, and pressed back against the door as he clicked the door shut, turning the latch on the door.

Click.

The bolt slid into the mechanism of the door frame, and that sound was what sent Martin spiraling.

he was alone he was alone he was alone.

[theamazingsakuma-chan]

Chapter 1: The Boy Who Dances with Ghosts And the Girl Who Believed

Prologue

This is the story of Higurashi Kagome.

Kagome was an ordinary girl, or so she claimed.

She was as normal as a girl born into a long lineage of priests could be, at least.

People had always told her that she would be someone great, someone special, and someone extraordinary...

But she decided that was something—a life, that she did not want for herself.

No. She never wanted that.

She never wanted to hear that.

Ever since she was small, she hated when people told her how special and different she was—how unlike the other children she was.

Perhaps it was because she did not want to believe that she was different.

Perhaps it was because she did not want to be looked at so strangely by the people around her.

Kagome did not believe in the supernatural, demons, spirits, or even the gods who she was supposed to serve.

She liked cute things. She loved shopping. She enjoyed giggling and gossiping with her friends.

And she dreamed of a beautiful marriage to a handsome prince...

At least—that's the person who the girl wants to be, and that's what she wants to believe...

There had always been a small inkling that she felt. There were times that her six sensed picked up on things that others could not perceive.

As she grew older, the inkling became strong vibes that called out to her.

Her friends, her classmates...they thought of her as an oddity.

On her thirteenth birthday, she abandoned her family shrine and fled all of the shadows looming over her shoulder.

From a shrine on the outskirts of Tokyo to a small house in a quiet neighborhood in the inner-city, Kagome moved. Although she was only thirteen years old, she was now living alone. Tomorrow would be a fresh start—the beginning of her new life.

The lone girl focused a stare down at her shopping list. Her blue eyes read over the contents before a small smile graced her lips. She nodded to herself before tucking the paper into her pocket.

She would change her life, starting with her first day at Shinra Private Academy.

As her mother had suggested, the girl spent a week exploring the area and acclimating to her new life alone.

Despite the week that she used to get to know the neighborhood, Tokyo was still a big place for a small person.

So oftentimes when she went out for errands or out of boredom, the girl ended up getting lost for hours on end.

It was today, Sunday, that Kagome decided to do something a bit more exciting—something that her family would not approve of. She was going to go out and do her shopping late in the day. So by the time that she finished, it would be well after dark. As a young teen, being out alone at night was one of the most exciting things to do after all!

The shopping went without a hitch.

But it was navigating the foreign territory under the curtain of nightfall that proved to be a challenge.

Blue eyes blinked as she spotted a tall hill in the distance.

'Maybe I can spot my house from there...' that thought alone urged Kagome forward and into the cemetery.

Unbeknownst to the girl, she would soon be living the life that she tried to escape...

 Chapter 1:

The Boy Who Dances with Ghosts

And the Girl Who Believed

The traditional chime of the dismissal school bell was like music to the student body's ears. They were finally relieved of their scholarly studies and free to go home, fool around, and other typical teenage endeavors. Once the tune quieted down, a teacher closed her special teacher's edition textbook and announced to the young faces before her, "That will be all for today, class." The sight of her smile and the sound of her reminder to study hard and get home safely went on blind eyes and deaf ears.

Some students eagerly gathered their belongings and began stuffing them into backpacks that were already bursting at the seams. Others momentarily stopped to stretch their aching limbs before scurrying out of class into the busy hallways. As with most cram schools, night had already fallen after classes had ended. As friends and acquaintances went their separate ways, shouts of "Take care!" and "See you tomorrow!" filled the air.

This particular evening a rather small boy, thirteen years of age, hurried across the street on his way home. It was still difficult to carry a bag that was almost as big as his body but Manta still managed to make it to and from school and tutoring every day. Stopping in front of the entrance to an old cemetery, Manta paused as he glanced up at luminous orb in the sky.

The moon—it seemed so close and within reach.

It was as if he could run up that nearby hill and be close enough to lay his hand on the moon and caress its rocky surface…

He shook those absurd thoughts out of his head.

Something like that was not possible.

He had to focus on reality—. Looking down at his wristwatch, Manta shrieked in panic, "It's this late already?!" Anxiety washed over him when he realized that there was no way that he would be able to make the last train home! He scowled as he looked at the black iron gate of the cemetery next to him.

He had no choice. This was the only shortcut that he could take to make it in time.

Manta entered the quiet land through the gates that eerily creaked open with a reluctant push from his shaky hands. The cemetery was as grassy as any other one. Tombstones of all shapes and sizes protruded from the green-covered earth and gray cement stairs led upward to grassy hills where thousands were buried. There was also a small shrine for any mourners to pray for their dearly departed.

Being the meek and studious type, Manta was not one to normally in a place like this one...or think such nonsensical thoughts.

'When I realized I was just standing there…

Somehow I felt…

That there was someone calling me'

Was he creating make-believe thoughts about some supernatural influence on his detour home? He could not help but laugh at himself as he hurried up the hill. Manta's jog and self-brought laughter were soon interrupted by a content sigh followed by an unfamiliar voice, "The stars are so pretty…" it stated in a tone so calm and content. It was as if the speaker's life had already been fulfilled although the voice sounded young.

"Stars…?" Manta questioned, blinking as he slowly turned his gaze to the dark blue heavens. His brown eyes lit up in wonder. It was if God poured a handful of glitter on the midnight blue sky. The sparkles and twinkles of the stellar lights were breath-taking. This was the moment that the boy had truly noticed the celestial glory for the first time. Never before had Manta appreciated the stars until that moment. "You are SO right!" he agreed absentmindedly before a thought clicked in his head...

...who on Earth was he talking to anyway?

A chill ran up his spine. "Who are you anyway?" The small boy asked as he literally shook in his shoes. He looked across the way and saw the source of the stranger's voice. Someone was sprawled out on the grass beneath a lone tree atop of the hill.

"Did you come to watch the stars too?" A brown-haired boy asked as he slowly stood up. "Come on over," he continued, walking in Manta's direction. Although he appeared friendly enough, anyone who sat alone in a creepy place like this could not be normal, or at least sane for that matter. "We can watch them with everyone." The stranger lifted his head, allowing the light of the moon to illuminate his tanned, smiling face.

"N-Nah…" Manta declined nervously, inching away slowly. "It's getting pretty late." He certainly did not want to offend the stranger, and it was a legitimate excuse. He then scratched the back of his head and smiled sheepily while pointing out, "Besides, you can't say everyone since it's only the two of us here."

"Oh no. I can say everyone." the brown-haired boy insisted, unintentionally sounding eerie.

"Huh?" Was the only word that could escape Manta's mouth. He looked left and right. There was no one else in sight.

"The spirits—" the smiling boy began while aiming a thumb over his shoulder, "—are here too~." On cue, the boy's incorporeal companions made their presences known to Manta. Their wide, friendly grins not only disturbed Manta but also a certain, lost girl who happened to wander onto the scene. Both stood there for a moment, frozen, their feet took root into the ground.

"Eh—," the girl’s voice hitched. 'This boy must be a—.'

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Manta added as he high-tailed it away from the scene. He sped past the shocked girl along the way.

The boy who mingled with the spirits then turned his welcoming grin towards the girl, blinking when she stiffened and ducked behind a tree.

She crawled away on her hands and knees, leaving the other teen scowling at her reaction.

S.H.A.M.A.N.K.I.N.G.

That night was filled with restless sleep for Kagome.

The shock of earlier followed her into her dreams.

["The spirits...are here too."]

Images of the scene played in her mind as she tossed and turned in her bed.

Kagome panted and gasped for air, clutching at her chest.

'No way... Not now... Not ever... I don't believe...'

The weight of her haunting reality had followed her to Tokyo and into unconsciousness.

The girl shook her head and bit down on her lower lip.

["The spirits...are here too."]

Kagome stopped running and fell to her knees. She squeezed her eyes shut as she slapped her hands over her ears.

It did not matter how fast or how far she ran. She could not escape that voice.

["The spirits... are here too."]

All she could do was deny what had happened, again.

If she did not acknowledge it, it did not exist to her, right?

'I didn't see them. I never have and never will.'

["The spirits... are here too."]

'I didn't feel them. I don't feel anything... I never did.'

Kagome would not believe it.

She refused to...

She was a normal girl...Higurashi Kagome.

Higurashi Kagome was a normal girl...

Beep!Beep!Beep!Beep!Beep!Beep!Beep!Beep!Beep!Beep!Beep!Beep!

S.H.A.M.A.N.K.I.N.G.

"GHOSTS?!" came the collective cry of Manta's middle schoolmates.

"Yeah! I saw them on my way home from cram school!" Manta confirmed. "There was this weird boy at Crow Cemetery. Then suddenly, all these ghosts appeared! The place was loaded with them!" He explained before shivering as his mind replaying the scene," It was so scary…"

"Manta… I think you're going a little dead in the head," one student told him nonchalantly.

"What?!" Manta shouted defensively, "You think I'm crazy?! I saw the ghosts with my very own eyes!"

"Oh, come on, Manta," another classmate cut in with an exasperated sigh. "Stop making up stories."

Manta faltered, hurt that they did not believe him. "I-I'm not making it up!" He insisted with a deep scowl.

"You're seriously not trying to scare us?" A boy asked with raising a suspicious eyebrow.

A bubbly girl who had eavesdropped on the conversation speculated, "Maybe he's been reading too many horror stories." She then giggled him and smiled down at him, "But do continue Manta, I like scary stories!"

"I'm not lying!" Manta shouted with all of his might, finally fed up with them not believing him.

The group of classmates stared at the usually reserved boy with surprised expressions. It was unlike him to have outbursts like this one. After a moment of silence, they all exchanged looks with each other.

"Yup, he's gone nuts," the girl stated nonchalantly.

An angry vein ticked on Manta's forehead as he shouted again, "I'M NOT CRAZY OR LYING! THERE WERE REALLY GHOSTS!"

"You're probably just studying too hard. You need some rest."

"Or maybe…" A playful boy whispered eerily. "He's being haunted," he added with a grin. Manta's other classmates shared a laugh with the jokester.

The boy tightened his tiny hands into balls. His fists began to shake in silent anger. Not only was he angry, but Manta also felt frustrated and humiliated. He was not the type to play pranks. So why did no one believe him?! "But it's the truth!" He insisted once again.

"I want to believe you, Manta," the girl explained. "But there's just no proof that your story is true at all."

"…Proof…?" Manta asked in a low tone as he bowed his head. The word flashed him back to that night… Up to the moment when the ghosts appeared. There had been a girl there too… "That's right!" he exclaimed, remembering the girl who had screamed her head.

"Eh? What is it?"

"I have a witness! Other than the weird kid, there was a girl too!" Manta told them excitedly. His almost defeated spirit had been renewed at the thought.

"A girl, really? What did she do? Did she see the ghosts too?"

"Yeah, she did! I can tell because she screamed and ran away too!" The blond teen explained.

"But still… We don't know this girl… So for all we know, you could be making that part up too."

"None of my story is made up!"

Finally, their teacher entered the room and glared at his students that were behaving so casually in school. "Everyone, get in your seats. Homeroom is starting." Manta cursed silently, feeling agitated that his classmates did not believe him. Still, he was a model student so he resigned himself to his seat...

Manta's eye twitched when he saw the boy from the previous night casually saunter into the room behind the teacher. The shocked boy could not help his reaction. He screamed while jumping out of his seat and pointing an accusing finger at the other boy. Manta's sudden outburst startled the students sitting around him, but did not seem to faze the source of his shock and ire.

The instructor quirked an eyebrow while questioning, "Do you two know each other?"

"Uh…" Manta replied lamely as his cheeks lit up. He did not know the boy's name or anything about him. There was no way to answer the question without embarrassing himself. "Um, no…" Manta stated in a lower voice. His head lowered in shame as a few classmates chuckled at his expense. His entire face was feeling unusually hot. At this point, he could not tell if he was blushing from embarrassment or flushing from anger...

"Then hurry up and sit down."

"Okay…" Manta whispered obediently before complying with the command.

The teacher slowly introduced the new student as Asakura Yoh. Yoh stared almost blankly at the class as the teacher explained a few things about him. All the while, Manta glared at Yoh and thought about everything that had happened. From their encounter last night, to how his classmates did not believe him, a lot of things were on his mind. But on the bright side, now he had proof! Suddenly in the middle of the short introduction, the door slid open and in stepped a girl...

"And it's you TOO!" Manta yelled, jumping up in his seat once again.

The girl blinked before sending him a puzzled expression. It was if she did not recognize him at all.

"Another interruption, Oyamada?" the teacher asked in an annoyed tone.

"Eh?! Err—!" He paused as he was snapped back to his normal self "...I'm very sorry, Sensei," Manta mumbled before sinking into his head.

The girl then bowed deeply before straightening up. "Please pardon me, Sensei, " she stated in a polite tone. "I got lost on my way to school..." She then smiled sheepishly while scratching a slightly pink cheek, " Then I got lost again on my way to class."

The teacher uncharacteristically smiled at the girl, instantly taken in by her charming demeanor. He waved his hand dismissively before announcing to the class, "This young lady is also a new student here. She recently moved from the suburbs. Please welcome: Higurashi Kagome."

Kagome smiled brightly at her new classmates and waved. "Let's get along, okay?" she asked of the class. She looked at her cohorts a smile, which was a stark contrast to Yoh's stoic and apathetic expression.

One transfer student was an amicable girl who seemed ready and willing to make new friends.

While the other was a standoffish boy who did not bother to greet the class at all.

Manta could not believe his luck—or was this some sort of crazy coincidence?

Did situations like this one really happen in real life?

"T-That's the girl too…" He whispered shakily to a classmate sitting directly to his right.

"Is she really? She doesn't seem afraid of the boy like you were," was the response that he received.

S.H.A.M.A.N.K.I.N.G.

It was their lunch period. Manta had waited for this moment for hours. He could finally have the boy tell the others that he was not crazy, sleep-deprived, or a liar. The ghosts were real! And he could have the girl tell them too! The others would have no choice but to believe him with the two new students corroborating his story!

Manta glanced at Kagome, who was napping at the back of the classroom with her head resting on her folded arms. "I better not bother her," he stated to himself. He would just have to settle on Yoh for now.

With a newfound determination and anticipation, he walked across the classroom to the second row to the front so that he stood on the right side of Yoh's desk. The brunette wore a small, content smile as he listened to the music blasting from his orange headphones. With his closed eyes and peaceful smile, the boy appeared to be in his own world.

"Hey," Manta greeted.

Yoh did not respond. He was too preoccupied with his music.

"Hey!" The blond raised his voice a bit.

But it was for naught. It had been a long, frustrating day so he could not help the growl that rumbled in his throat.

"HEY!" Manta's voice finally reached past the headphones and Yoh opened his eyes.

"Huh?" Yoh blinked and looked down at Manta curiously. On cue, Manta's associates surrounded the two of them. They wanted to find out the truth for themselves so they could just drop the topic.

"We met each other last night at the cemetery, didn't we?" Manta asked of him.

Yoh only stared quietly...

"You were hanging out with those ghosts, weren't you?" The agitated boy pressed on. He knew the truth, but he needed answers to clear his name!

Yoh stared at Manta silently for a few moments before asking, " …who are you…?"

"W-WHAT THE—?!" Manta sputtered in shock and outrage. How could this person do this to him?!

"I knew you were sleep-deprived, Manta," the normally giggly girl stated in a deadpanned tone.

"So that's why you're haunted," another friend teased again.

Cue more laughter and teasing at Manta's expense...

S.H.A.M.A.N.K.I.N.G.

'I'll prove that my story is true, for sure,' Manta thought spiritedly while side glaring at Yoh who was staring off into space. 'Even if I have to—Ah…?' His train of thought was cut off when a small folded slip of paper was discreetly passed onto his desk. Manta looked around the room and saw no one staring at him or looking his way to signify that they wrote the note. He unfolded it until it was completely open. It read:

"I believe your story about the ghosts and Asakura from last night

"Meet me after school and we can talk about it (if you want)

See ya later,

-Higurashi”

Manta was tempted to show the note to the classmates that did not believe him. But he refrained from acting impulsively this time. Nothing good would come of it. Higurashi Kagome would most likely hate him for it, and they would both end up embarrassed. He would meet her after school... And maybe they would both expose Asakura! 'Yes...!' Manta grinned at the thought. Things were finally looking up for him!

S.H.A.M.A.N.K.I.N.G.

"I see," Kagome stated, tapping her chin with the tip of her finger. "So no one believed you?" Manta nodded in response. "But I guess that is kind of normal. Most people don't believe in ghosts, you know." She could not blame them either. She accidentally slept in because of the haunting dream that she had last night...

Manta nodded again and replied as his hands began tight fists, " I know! So that's why we have to work together to prove my story is true!" In his excitement, he did notice how Kagome looked genuinely surprised at his conviction. "So, you're going to help me out, aren't you?" He looked up at his new classmate with hopeful and determined eyes.

'He...wants to pursue a matter like this...?'

The girl looked at her new classmate's face. His eyes were burning with passion.

This was something that he truly cared about...

Kagome then nodded and smiled sweetly," Sure!"

Moments later, her smile transformed into an unsure frown that was almost a pout.

"What's wrong?" asked the short boy.

"Nothing, but…" Kagome slowly peered around a telephone pole and peeked at Yoh, who was standing at bridge watching the serenity of the river. "Don't you think this is a little extreme?" She asked.

Manta peeked around the pole to glance at Yoh too.

Kagome sweatdropped as she looked down at Manta. This was getting weird...but she would settle for weird as long as she made new friends.

"Why are we spying on Asakura anyway?" She questioned in a tone that was half curious, half incredulous.

"Because we want proof!"

"I understand that part, but isn't this considered… Stalking?" Kagome asked skeptically.

"…Eh heh," Manta sweatdropped as well while letting out an embarrassed chuckle. He did not expect to be called out so bluntly. "Let's just call it a private investigation," He proposed.

"If you say so…" Kagome sighed softly as the duo continued to watch Yoh watch the river...

S.H.A.M.A.N.K.I.N.G.

Three hours later, Yoh was still minding his own business, watching the river with not a care in the world. The brunette seemed lost in thought as he leaned against the guard rail with his propped up elbow supporting his cheek.

From his hiding place behind the telephone pole, Manta gritted his teeth together in frustration. "How long does he plan to just stand there like that?!" He was red-faced and seething.

Kagome sighed for the umpteenth time that day. After the first uneventful half hour, she had already given up on watching Yoh and decided to leave that part to Manta. The girl settled for sitting on the pavement next to him, not caring about dirtying her green, pleated skirt. "I don't know but I'm getting bored with this…" She admitted, almost huffing with her confession. "Maybe he—."

"Ah?" both witnesses blinked as Yoh suddenly stretched and yawned aloud.

"Is he finally doing something?" they asked in unison, both now standing and watching the strange boy.

The brunette sighed in contentment as he offered the river a satisfied smile, "Ahhhh~! It's good to be so in touch with nature!"

Manta angrily jumped out from his hiding place and pointed a shaky finger at Yoh. "What the hell are you talking about?!"

"Huh?" Yoh turned around, only to see nothing.

Kagome had pulled her comrade back into hiding at the very last second. She held the small boy between her legs as she waited for Yoh to look away again.

The calmer then Manta pulled Kagome's hand from over his mouth and sighed in relief that Kagome bailed him out. He then got up and looked back at Yoh to find that—. "He's gone! We lost him!" The blond cried out.

"Really?" Kagome inquired as she moved from the hiding space and looked around. There truly was no trace of the boy anywhere. "How did Asakura just disappear like that…?" She wondered aloud.

This situation was becoming more and more strange.

"What the hell?!" Manta screamed while tugging at his hair. He was at his wit's end! How could this happen?!

Kagome's eyes suddenly hardened in determination as she balled up her hands. "Oyamada-kun! We can't give up just yet! We can do it if we put to our minds to it, right?" she asked, offering Manta an encouraging smile. The small boy stared up at the girl's face for a moment before nodding in agreement and making a fist of his own.

"Yeah!" Was his simple but energetic response. She was right. They just had to be more diligent!

S.H.A.M.A.N.K.I.N.G.

Manta smirked as he held a flashlight below his face and turned it on with a click. Kagome laughed and joked, "Your face is scary like that!" The duo shared a short, light-hearted laugh before putting on their serious faces.

"We'll stick around here for a while until we meet up with him," Manta stated. The young sleuths were hiding behind the miniature shrine in the Crow Cemetery. He pulled out a camera and explained his plan to Kagome, "and with this instant camera, I can snap a picture of him when he's with the ghosts!"

'I wonder…' Kagome silently thought as Manta chuckled at his master plan. 'Will a ghost even show up on camera? And more importantly, this little guy is stranger than I thought.' She sweatdropped when her partner began rubbing his hands together like a criminal mastermind.

Suddenly their chatter and chuckles were interrupted by a group of voices approaching them.

"What did you say?" a deep, masculine voice hissed out. The owner of the voice did not sound too happy about some news.

Manta and Kagome stiffened as they peered around the shrine and spotted a tall, older teen with a distantly long pompadour and a white suit. 'Uh, people really still wear pompadours?’ Kagome thought while sweatdropping at the prospect that another weirdo entered the scene.

The young man was surrounded by a crowd of lackeys and was angrily discussing rumors of a boy who hung around in "their territory".

"Crap," Manta whispered. He looked up at Kagome with fearful eyes and informed her," That's Ryu of the Wooden Sword. He and his gang are notorious for beating up anyone who comes onto anything that they consider their territory."

"And it sounds like they're talking about Asakura," Kagome added with a concerned. She knew nothing about the guy, but no one deserved to be hurt over something so petty and trivial. She looked down at Manta but he was too scared and engrossed in the conversation to care.

Ryu huffed and kicked over a tombstone to show his dismay and display his strength. He looked annoyed when gang members did not admire his power, but gasped in fear, staring at the damages with wide eyes and dropped jaws. "T-That was the tombstone of Amidamaru, t-t-t-the demon samurai from six-hundred years ago!" Despite the warnings from his comrades, Ryu was not bothered in the slightest. He was too busy caught up in his machismo. With a single downward swing on his wooden sword, Ryu sliced through the stone and left it in pieces.

Both spies watched and listened to Ryu and his gang's conversation about the curse of Amidamaru. Kagome frowned when Ryu broke the tombstone in half with his wooden sword. "If he can do that to stone with only a wooden sword, think of what he can do to us if we get caught," Kagome said in a grave tone.

Manta shivered and looked at Kagome. "L-let's just go home for tonight." He slowly backed away and froze when his foot knocked over a tin can. The sound of it falling and rolling to the ground seemed as loud as the school bell. It was as if the can wanted them to get caught spying on Ryu and his gang.

"Eh?" Ryu asked as he circled around the mini shrine and spotted the younger teens, "Who the hell are you two?"

Manta smiled nervously and innocently, "We're nobody. We were just passing through." He raised up his hands to show he was unarmed and harmless.

Kagome nodded as she followed Manta's example and put her hands up, "Yeah! We're just innocent passersby!"

"Um, uh… Honestly!" Manta added with a nervous smile.

"Little man, you're the kid, aren't you?!" Ryu asked while looking at Manta, "The kid that trespasses in this area?"

"Of course not! What are you talking about?" asked Manta, still frozen. His legs glued to the ground.

Ryu and his gang shared deviously grins with each other before taking deliberately slow steps forward.

"Leave him alone, you creeps!" Kagome then stepped between the gang and her new classmate. She knew where this was going and she would not tolerate it! The girl glared them down while spreading her arms out wide protectively. "If you want to hurt my friend, then you'll have to get through me!" Manta's eyes widened at her choice of words.

"And what's this?" Ryu squinted, "A girl?"

A cloud that covered the moon drifted away in that instant, allowing the light to shine down on the scene. Ryu felt his heart his accelerate when he finally could make out the girl's features: a sweet with big blue eyes, long dark hair, and a rather generous body for someone her age! "Eh—" Kagome's eye twitched. "What's with this guy?" She deadpanned while looking to the rest of his gang for questions as their leader's eyes began pulsing, pink eyes.

They merely looked shocked or embarrassed as Ryu dropped his sword and dashed over to Kagome. He collected the girl's hands into his own while staring down at her, completely lovestruck, "Miss, you're absolutely gorgeous! You should run away with me, and together, we can find our best place!"

Kagome sweatdropped and forced a twitching smile at the proposal, "I have no clue what you're talking about." She then looked over her shoulder at Manta and tried to communicate a message of 'Run away while he's distracted!' with her eyes. The blond blinked but quickly caught on. He nodded and began inching away slowly and quietly...

Only for one of Ryu's gang to point out, "The little man, he's trying to escape!"

Ryu snapped back into reality and narrowed his eyes, "I see... So you used your feminine wiles in order for your friend to escape."

Kagome then yanked her hands away from the older teen and shouted back indignantly, "I did nothing like that!" A moment later, she found herself restrained by two of the gang members as Ryu and the others crowded around Manta. "Oh crap..."

Later that night, the boy who Kagome and Manta had been searching for arrived at the cemetery. He looked down at the crumbled pieces of Amidamaru's tombstone and scowled deeply. Only someone distasteful was capable of desecrating someone's eternal resting place. Something had to be done...

S.H.A.M.A.N.K.I.N.G.

The following day, collective gasps filled the classroom as Manta and Kagome entered together. Manta had a black eye, a cast on his left arm, and his head had been bandaged up. And Kagome entered the room with an ordinary bandaid on her cheek. "What happened to you?" someone asked surprised.

"I got beaten up by Ryu of the Wooden Sword," Manta replied glumly, with his head lowered in shame and defeat.

"Ryu of the Wooden Sword?!" Came another student's shocked reaction. "How did you end up fighting with gangsters?"

"Higurashi and I were trying to snap pictures of the ghosts," he admitted honestly but pitifully.

All he wanted to do was validate his claims and earn back everyone's trust and respect...

"You're still talking about that ghost thing?!"

"And why are you getting Higurashi mixed up in all of this? Why she is not… banged up like you?"

"Last night they beat up Oyamada-kun. Then at the end, Ryu gave me a warning by scratching my cheek…" Kagome stood beside Manta as she explained. She looked down at Manta's broken expression and felt guilt. All of the passion and excitement that he showed her yesterday had been beaten out of him. The poor guy did not deserve any of this... "And besides..." As much as she wanted to start her life anew as a normal girl, there was no way that she could turn her back on this person. He looked so deflated and he was being humiliated. "I was there when Asakura-kun was with the ghosts that night..." She confessed. Yes. Here she was, admitting something like that. "I saw them too."

The other classmates looked at each other before one of them asked, " Higurashi-chan, how much did Manta pay you…?"

Kagome blinked, " …pay me…?"

"Yeah, to lie about being the so-called girl from the ghost night. Is he blackmailing you?"

"WHAT?" Manta bellowed while glaring at his classmates. Hearing those accusations rekindled the anger that he felt since yesterday. "Why would I do something so horrible to Higurashi?!"

"It's nothing like that!" Kagome shot back at them. "Oyamada-kun and I aren't lying, seriously! We both saw them! There's no reason to lie about that!"

"Then what were YOU doing at Crow Cemetery that night…?"

Kagome stiffened.

"Aha! I knew you were lying!"

"That's not it…" Kagome muttered. "We're not lying… It's just that…" she bowed her head in shame. "I got lost on my way home from the grocery store! I had been wandering around town for hours!"

"I see… That is pretty embarrassing."

"Oh, whatever! It's because you're so determined to be weird that you got beat up by Ryu of the Wooden Sword!"

Kagome looked down at Manta with nothing but sympathy. No one believed him, even when she vouched for his claims. What else could she do...?

"NOTHING WE SAID WERE LIES!" The bruised and battered boy bellowed.

The class froze and stared at their classmate who had a surprising amount of wind in him. Then came the fateful statement from Asakura Yoh himself, "yeah, it's not a lie." The brunette said it so straightforwardly and casually.

Tears flew from Manta's eyes as he looked up at Yoh, who had just entered the classroom. The blond's eyes were full of anger, relief, and surprise.

Yoh looked back down at Manta then at Kagome and smiled. "There are spirits," he confirmed.

The classroom filled with silence...

And no one spoke to Manta, Yoh, or Kagome for the rest of the day...

S.H.A.M.A.N.K.I.N.G.

The three middle school students, who were now permanently labeled weirdoes were now taking off their school shoes at their lockers and putting on their regular shoes. Kagome watched as Manta silently slipped on his walking shoes. "I heard about what happened from my friends at the cemetery," Yoh told them solemnly.

"What are you talking about?" Manta snipped in response. "I'm a person busy with studies. I can't waste my time the way you do." He could not help but feel spiteful and stung about the entire ordeal. He had gone out of his way to prove that he was not a liar. He ended up getting beat up. And now that Yoh told everyone the truth, both he and Kagome were labeled as weird and ignored. He ended dragging a girl who probably would have been popular down with him...

"Oyamada-kun…" Kagome whispered, her eyes softening. She wanted to comfort him. He was the closest thing that she had to a friend after all of this time... But what could she say? She failed him, and herself. She tried being a good person by helping Manta out, but she ended up being an outcast again. And it was all because she not as normal as everyone else...

Not as normal as she wanted—No, pretended to be.

"You're Oyamada Manta…" Yoh asked curiously. Then he turned to Kagome and asked, "And Higurashi Kagome, right?" Kagome blinked and watched silently as Yoh grabbed Manta's wrist and began leading him away, out the front doors. "Well, come on. Let's go."

"Wai—Wait a second," Manta yelled. "Where are we going?!" He questioned as this stranger dragged him away from school.

"We're going to see Ryu."

"Ehhhh?!" Manta's eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

Yoh looked down at Manta as he continued to dragging the shorter teen, "My grandfather once said evil cannot see spirits. So you must be a good person. I can't stand by and let a good person like you get bullied like that."

Without uttering a word, Kagome looked to the ground. Suddenly she felt forgotten.

She was alone already... And this was only her second day of school, and the beginning of her second week in Tokyo.

The girl silently watched them walk away.

She was uninvited.

She was unwanted.

Unneeded.

Unwelcome.

Again.

"What are you saying?" Manta asked, yanking his arm away. "Ryu is a total bad guy with many scary goons and you're just a scrawny kid! What can someone like you do?!" He protested.

Yoh agreed with a mutter of, "No doubt, I am pretty weak."

"Then why are you—?!"

Yoh grinned over his shoulder, "it's alright. I'm sure things will work out somehow…" Yoh grabbed Manta's wrist again and stated. "So let's go." Before proceeding on his trek to see Ryu, Yoh looked back at Kagome who stood idly watching the entire scene as if she was not even there. That was odd. Her eyes seemed duller, emptier as she stared at them with a hollow expression.

That look on her face... He recognized that look.

Suddenly, Kagome's eyes widened when she realized that his eyes were on her.

Finally, their eyes met. Yoh's warm chocolate pools found the depths of her blue oceans.

"Are you coming, Higurashi?" Yoh inquired curiously. His question was accompanied by a friendly smile.

That acknowledgment...

Kagome was surprised to find that the heavy grip on her heart had been released.

She could breathe.

She didn't even realize that she had been holding her breath.

The girl returned Yoh's smile with a watery one before she nodded enthusiastically.

She did not ponder about how her sorrow suddenly disappeared when she saw Yoh's smile and the warmth in it. There was no time for that. She just had to enjoy this brief happiness while it lasted. "You bet!" she chirped.

"Good, now we'll go see Ryu together," Yoh replied as he allowed Kagome to catch up with them. Kagome smiled fondly at Yoh and Manta as Yoh apologized to Manta about pretending to not know him.

It was truly a heart-warming moment.

Despite walking behind the two boys, Kagome could sense that Manta was finally smiling too...

S.H.A.M.A.N.K.I.N.G.

The night seemed peaceful enough. The moon was almost staring Manta in the face as he and his new classmates waited for Ryu and his gang to arrive. The tiny schoolboy stared at Kagome and Yoh's backs. The black-haired girl was nearly cuddling with Yoh in order to hear the music from his headphones. "Um…" Manta began nervously. Yoh did not seem to hear him and Manta guessed Kagome was too sleepy to care at the moment.

"Hell-o!" Manta called over to them.

Yoh looked at Manta from over his shoulder, bumping the back of his head against the side of Kagome's face. "Watch it!" she exclaimed, pouting slightly.

The brunette lifted one side of his headphones and asked curiously, "Did you say something?"

"Well…" Manta began with a twitching smile. "Why am I the only one tied to a tree?"

"If I untie you, you'll run away," Yoh replied.

Manta looked at Kagome and asked, "And what about her, huh?"

Kagome answered the question this time, "Well, I came here willingly so there would be no need to tie me to a tree, Oyamada-kun."

Manta sobbed, "But why do I have to be here? Isn't Higurashi being here good enough?"

Yoh laughed then promised, "When all of this is over, I'll untie you. But for now, I just want you to watch."

"Watch what, Asakura-kun?" Kagome asked curiously.

"Watch you get beaten to a pulp by Ryu of the Wooden Sword?" Manta asked with doubtful, teary eyes.

Yoh smiled again, just a bit awkwardly this time. His desire—He did not know how to explain it that well. "That is, I mean…" He scratched his cheek as he tried to find the words," I want you to watch…me."

Just then a familiar deep voice hit Kagome and Manta's ears.

"It's…" Kagome stated as they all looked up.

"Ryu." Manta's courage and calmness level plummeted from 10 all the way down to -100 as they watched Ryu and his gang approach.

"Huh?" Ryu asked as he looked up at the three younger teenagers. "Who goes there…?"

Kagome watched as Yoh slowly stood up and brushing imaginary dirt off his pants. 'I hope you know what you're doing Asakura-kun…' she nervously thought.

Yoh grinned as he introduced the three of them to Ryu. "Yo. My name is Asakura Yoh," he pointed at Manta then at Kagome, "and these two are my friends, Oyamada Manta and Higurashi Kagome." Kagome sweatdropped at Yoh's casual politeness in this situation.

"H-How do you do…?" Manta asked half-heartedly. He was more scared than anything.

Kagome only waved a little and added, "Yeeeeeah...hi."

One of Ryu's minions whispered something to Ryu and he replied something in a low tone.

"It seems to me that my friends paid you some debt, now I'm here to return the favor," Yoh announced confidently.

"Favor?" Ryu inquired before chuckling and placing a hand on his hip. "Are you saying you are going to avenge them? You've got a lot of guts. You must want to see the other world so soon."

"Even the people of the other world say that you're a nuisance," Yoh replied with an agitation that seemed unbecoming of him.

Kagome stood up then took a place beside Yoh and asked softly, " What are you planning to do?"

"Apologize! Kneel down and just apologize!" Manta pleaded from his place on the tree.

"Ryu-san! We'll take care of them!" One of his minions said. Another cracked his knuckles and added,

"There is no need for Ryu-san to get his hands dirty playing around with kids like these."

Ryu nodded and instructed, "As you wish. But leave my angel out of it." He then shot her a dreamy look, "So your name is Kagome-chan, is it?"

Kagome's jaw dropped at his inquiry, "How dare you address me so casually!?" She pointed at him and glared, "Don't treat me differently just because I'm a girl!"

"But I'm treating you differently because you're cute, not because you are a girl," Ryu admitted with a shameless shrug and easygoing smile.

Yoh gently used one arm and push Kagome back behind him. "I would appreciate it if you left Higurashi alone," Yoh told Ryu. "She's not interested in whatever you're thinking."

"A-Asakura-kun…?" Kagome whispered, blushing a bit. Sure, she was brave enough in her own right. But there was something about someone else wanting to protect you...

Ryu's growled at Yoh's fearlessness and interference, "I'll do whatever I want, you little—!"

"It's fine, Ryu-san, like we said." a minion stated. "We'll take care of them, of course, we won't harm the girl."

"See?!" Manta asked looking at Yoh while kicking his legs. "Now they're interested in Higurashi and want to kill us!"

"I already told you, it'll be alright," said Yoh reassuringly. Kagome placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded.

Manta's jaw dropped, he could not believe that Kagome had so much faith in Yoh already. This was their first time meeting, right? The blond boy tried to snap some sense into the girl, "He can't do anything on his own!"

"I am not alone!" Yoh yelled.

Kagome gasped and took a step back when a large spirit appeared behind Yoh and beside her.

"I shall grant thee an opportunity to redeem your mistakes, so you should be thankful!"

This spirit was unlike the carefree ones from the night of their encounter. This one was a silver-haired man dressed like a samurai.

There was no doubt about it...

'Mistakes…?' Kagome thought.

Manta was thinking the same thing, 'Could… Could it be…?'

"Kick his ass!" Ryu commanded his sidekicks.

"Manta…" Yoh whispered solemnly. "Watch me closely."

Kagome gasped when she realized what was going on.

"Shall we do it then? All right! …Amidamaru!" Yoh called, raising his arm. Kagome and Manta watched awestruck as Amidamaru went into Ghost-ball mode. But the minions who charged at them did not seem to notice the spirit.

"I am a shaman," Yoh stated calmly. "The one who links this world and the next…"

'Asakura-kun is a…'

"Sha… Shaman?!" Manta asked stunned.

"Let's go!" Yoh called out before pushing the Ghost-ball into his chest. "Over-Soul Merge!"

"The spirit went into his body?!" Manta's eyes were bulging from what he was seeing. Seeing ghosts was one thing, but watching a human put one inside of himself was another!

Meanwhile, The edge of Kagome's mouth slowly began to twitch then curve upward.

The two men, who did not notice Amidamaru merge into Yoh, foolishly charged at him. Manta gasped when Yoh drew his wooden sword and easily defeated the two with a single swing.

"T-That was awesome, Asakura-kun!" Kagome cheered from behind Yoh. A big smile was plastered on her face as she watched Yoh and Amidamaru with excitement. Adrenaline rush through her veins as the shaman made quick work of more goons.

"What the hell just happened?!" asked one of the shocked gangsters.

"It was too fast to see anything!" one of his comrades replied.

Yoh pointed the wooden sword at Ryu and told him, "You're next."

Kagome gasped, though the smile did not disappear. She could see him. She could see Amidamaru's spirit inside of Yoh…

"Are you prepared for it?" Amidamaru asked from within his host.

'Who is this bastard…? He's completely different from a moment ago,' Ryu thought as he began sweating nervously. 'What the hell just happened?'

Kagome balled up her fists and yelled passionately, "Waste that gangster Asakura-kun!" 'And you too… Amidamaru-sama…!' she added mentally.

"What's wrong?" asked the smirking brown-haired boy. "Are you afraid to fight me… Rookie?" He taunted.

Manta could tell that hit one of Ryu's nerves, but for once he was not screaming for Yoh to apologize. He was amazed and awestruck… All of this was too cool to be real. But it was real.

"This kid…" Ryu stated as he gripped his sword and charged full speed at Yoh, "Is a real bastard! Don't underestimate me!"

Kagome gasped and moved from behind Yoh to a safer place beside the tree with Manta attached to its trunk.

Just as Ryu was about to strike, Yoh grinned and seemingly disappeared. He reappeared behind Ryu, ready to strike with his wooden sword in his hands.

"Ryu-san! Watch out!"

Everything happened in slow motion…

Yoh and Amidamaru swung.

"Hmph, I won't kill you. I don't want someone like you to become one of us," Yoh mumbled, though Kagome and Manta knew it was really Amidamaru speaking through Yoh's body.

"Way to go!" Kagome cheered when she saw Ryu fall flat on his back. A second later, half of his pompadour fell flat on the ground.

"Ahhhhh! Ryu-san has been defeated! Run!" Came the scream of one of Ryu's lackeys. The remaining members scooped up Ryu and their other fallen comrades before making a hasty retreat.

Manta quietly replayed what happened in his head. 'Shaman… To unite with a spirit… the spirit's movement, skills, everything… Reappears using his body…'

A single bead of sweat ran down Yoh's face.

"Amazing!" Manta finally cheered. He would have pumped his fist if he were not still restrained.

'I guess… It's over now…' thought Kagome as she breathed a sigh of relief. The adrenaline was finally leaving her body as her shoulders slumped a bit. This was a lot more excitement than she had expected.

S.H.A.M.A.N.K.I.N.G.

Yoh stuck Amidamaru's wooden sword into the soil. He and Kagome closed their eyes and recited a small prayer.

"Alright! It's perfect!" Yoh announced while admiring his handiwork with a satisfied grin.

"What do you mean?" asked Manta as he looked at the tombstone that had been glued back together. "It has cracks all over the place."

"Well, don't mind such petty things," the brown-haired boy said with an easy-going smile.

"That's right," Kagome stated after finishing her prayer. She ran her hand over the stone and smiled, before winking at Manta. "Besides, the cracks give it character."

"That's the ticket!" Yoh chimed in as he placed a hand on her shoulder and grinned even wider.

All three laughed at what seemed to be nothing at all.

"You two don't seem afraid," Yoh suddenly pointed out. His face calmer and warmer than what it was in the classroom.

Kagome blinked, "Afraid? Of what Asakura-kun?"

"Well, you saw me unite with the ghost," Yoh stated simply, unwilling to expand on what he was thinking...not yet.

"Well, the first time we saw you was with the spirits after all," Manta explained.

"Hm, oh yeah?" Yoh smiled.

"Yeah!" nodded Manta.

Kagome smiled and suddenly slapped Yoh on the back, laughing merrily, "You did a good job with Amidamaru-sama, Asakura-kun!" She blinked when Yoh's shoulders trembled. "Eh—What's the matter?"

Yoh grinned at her over his shoulder and said, "That kinda hurt."

"Oh, you…"

Yoh sat down on the hill. Manta and Kagome exchanged looks before following his lead. The shaman looked up at the night sky and marveled in its beauty, "Ah! Today's stars are really pretty too!"

"You're right again," Manta agreed, looking up too.

Kagome smiled softly and admitted, closing her eyes, "I'm happy."

Manta and Yoh blinked.

That statement seemed out of the blue. "Because Yoh-kun beat Ryu of the Wooden Sword?" Manta asked curiously.

The girl shook her head while laughing lightly, "I moved here from the outskirts of Tokyo, you know. When I first arrived, I have to admit, I was pretty lonely... But I had to go on because I made the decision to come here in the first place."

Kagome did not know why she was telling this to these two boys—these two people who she had just met yesterday. All that she knew was that it felt good to talk about it, and talking about it came easy with them.

"I came here to start a new life, and I thought you two screwed it up already," Kagome looked down from the sky and smiled at Manta and Yoh. "But now, I'm glad I met you."

Yoh placed a hand on the girl's shoulder and grinned, "Then you're real lucky, Kagome-chan."

"Ka…gome-chan…?" Kagome asked slowly. "What happened to just Higurashi?"

Manta told her smiling "Well, we're friends now, so you can call me Manta-kun."

"Same with me. You can call me by my first name too," Yoh added.

Kagome nodded and smiled happily. "I'll do that!" she told them.

From that moment on, the three classmates watched the stars contently with Amidamaru quietly leaning against a tree behind them.

It truly was the beginning of a new life, together...

[volturialice]

twilight quarantine ficathon 2020

I’m late but here’s a thing I wrote

oneshot, 1.7k words

prompt

warnings: graphic violence, blood, minor character death

rating: T

pairings: gen

the mission

“You know your orders. Get in, get the girl, get out.”

Headlights flicker past the opening of the tunnel, making everyone’s shadows crawl over the walls, lengthened and distorted.

Riley keeps talking. “Kill whoever’s with her, but don’t get distracted. The girl is priority #1. Whoever brings her back alive will be rewarded.”

Bree can’t help but think all this “reward” talk would probably be more effective if they hadn’t just gorged themselves on half of Seattle’s homeless population. Whoever this human is, Riley is taking no chances that one of them will slip up and kill her.

He surveys the six of them, lined up like a squad of superheroes in a movie. Too bad the Spiderman kid wasn’t picked to come on this mission.

“Any questions?”

Kristie raises her hand like they’re in kindergarten. “What kind of reward?”

Typical. Of course that’s all these morons can think about, even with their eyes practically glowing with the blood of a fresh kill.

“That’s for her to reveal. Trust me, you won’t wanna miss out on this one.”

Translation: Riley doesn’t know. Bree was ready to ignore all the reward stuff and just focus on staying out of everyone else’s way long enough to survive, but now she can’t help but wonder what the reward is. Maybe it’s some type of special, super-mega-delicious blood, blood like they’ve never smelled before. Bree wouldn’t care, so long as she could feed alone. That would be the best reward—to be able to lose herself in the taste, the exhilarating red rush, without having to protect her back.

Why did Riley pick Bree to come on this mission in the first place? She’s half the size of the others. She thought she’d been doing a good job making herself invisible, acting meek and pathetic enough to be overlooked, hiding behind Freaky Fred night after night. It’s hard to miss Fred, exactly, but Bree wishes like hell he were on this mission with her. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so exposed, like she’s walking into a trap.

It makes her uneasy, not knowing the whole story. What’s the deal with this mysterious girl, and why do they need her alive?

Screw it.

“What’s so special about this girl? Why does…she want her alive?”

Riley pins Bree under a Look, like she’s the last person he expected to question him. Shit, she’s got his full attention now. So much for flying under the radar.

“I didn’t ask. We don’t question orders from her,” he says, a warning. “But if you want my best guess…I think she wants to change the girl. For her to join us.”

A groan goes up from the others. Another “soldier” means more competition for blood.

Idiots. Didn’t they notice how Riley avoided answering the first question? Since when does he go to all this trouble to change one lousy human? Riley recruits delinquents, addicts, desperate pickpockets and starving runaways—easy prey. He doesn’t bother with anyone who can’t be lured into a dark alley by the promise of a cheeseburger.

“All right,” says Riley, marshaling the troops now. “We all know the mission. I handpicked each and every one of you because I know you’re the best ones for this job.”

Bree catches Raoul side-eyeing her. Yeah, she doesn’t know why she’s here either. Riley fixes each of them in turn with a serious-business look as he talks.

“This is your chance to prove yourselves. I know you won’t let me down. After we pull this off, it’ll be unlimited blood for each of you. Now it’s go time. Get into position and wait for my signal.”

The others take off down the tunnel, already frothing at mouth at the mention of unlimited blood. Bree moves to follow when she’s cut off by a sharp command:

“Not you, Bree. Hang back a minute. I have a very special task for you.”

Nearly 1 AM. The smeared reflections of neon lights on wet pavement. The cinema is in a run-down part of town, its marquee lit up in garish reds and greens, advertising Face Punch 2: Knuckle Sandwich and Love Spelled Backwards is Still ‘Love.’ Whoever put the letters up ran out of E’s, so that it actually reads “Love Spelled Backwards is Still Lovc.”

The street is deserted—shuttered bodegas, a darkened McDonald’s, an empty pawn shop next to what looks like some kind of loan shark office. Missing posters flutter on a telephone pole—nobody Bree recognizes. Some unfortunate meal, most likely.

There’s a burst of sound as the cinema door swings open and two humans stumble out of the brightly lit lobby. Teenagers, not much older than Bree.

She zeroes in on the girl—white, brunette, and dark-eyed, totally average-looking. Whatever makes her special, it sure as hell isn’t visible to the naked eye. Does she have some sort of weird gift, like Freaky Fred? That has to be it. Why else go to all this trouble to kidnap and change her?

There’s a guy, too, but he doesn’t matter. His heartbeats are numbered.

Bree’s eyes find Riley, silhouetted on the roof, a shadowy figure looming above the marquee like a gargoyle. He gives her a single nod. Showtime.

Bree is across the street from the cinema, in the mouth of an alley that smells like piss and rotten garbage. At Riley’s signal, she heaves a pitiful sob.

“Whoa,” says the guy. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

God, humans are useless. Bree sobs louder, hunched forward in a pathetic ball. She tries to remember what it felt like to cry for real—her face hot and wet, pressure building in her head, heaving the air from her lungs until her chest felt raw. The only constant now is the burning in her throat.

“Oh shit, it’s a kid.”

With her hair falling into her face, Bree knows she looks even younger than her real age. She hears the human take a step toward her, pulling his companion with him.

Bree tries out a fake sniffle. It earns her a few more steps—the guy’s. The girl is hanging back, hesitant, poised on the edge of the curb.

“I don’t know…”

Bree can practically hear Riley’s voice in her head: focus! You know what’s at stake here!

She heaves her most heartrending sob yet, a quavering, abject sound that makes her hate herself a little.

“Come on, it’s just a kid. Are we supposed to leave a crying kid out here?”

That’s right. Take the bait.

The girl heaves a sigh and steps off the curb. Still hidden under her hair, Bree hears rather than sees the humans approach.

“Hey there. Are you ok?”

Bree looks up at the guy, watches his eyes widen as they scan over her face. What is he seeing? She remembers how Riley looked to her that fateful day with the cheeseburger—movie-star hot, like unreal hot. She had thought to herself, no one should be that beautiful—that it was unfair. Maybe she’d jinxed herself.

Now she gets to her feet, slowly, clumsily. She swipes roughly at her eyes—shit, did the human notice their color?—dashing away imaginary tears. “I’m lost,” she says, letting her voice hitch just a little. “I…I was walking home and my phone died.”

The girl is still hanging back, peering at Bree over the guy’s shoulder. Not good enough. Bree takes a step backward, into the alley. “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m fine.” She shrinks away from the Big Scary Human Male.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” says the girl, stepping around him. She holds out her hands so Bree can see she’s not a threat. Closer…closer…at this distance the girl’s warm scent hits her like a wave, making her throat burn even though she’s just fed.

Alive, alive. Bring her in alive. The back of Bree’s neck prickles under the weight of six hidden, red-eyed gazes. It was stupid to make seven vampires compete for one human girl and expect her to come out unscathed. They’re gonna tear her apart the second Bree makes a move.

Unless she makes a different move. It’s a complete contradiction of her orders, but maybe there’s a better plan here. Maybe she can have her cake and eat it, too.

Faster than the humans can see, Bree darts out—don’t breathe, don’t think, just do it—and rips.

The guy hasn’t even had time to feel her nails tearing out his throat before she’s tossed him behind her, into the alley.

Shocked silence—then the human girl’s high, piercing scream as five many-limbed shadows erupt from their hiding places to descend on her companion. The guy can only manage a pathetic, choking gurgle.

The scream cuts off as Bree claps a bloody hand over the girl’s face—gently, gently, don’t cave it in—and yanks her around the corner.

Guttural snarls erupt in the alley, drowning out the wet tearing sound—an arm?—and the clatter of stone limbs on pavement, on each other, amid the biting, ripping frenzy.

Riley appears at Bree’s shoulder and she almost snarls at him—back off—my prey—no, not prey. Still holding her breath, she shoves the girl into Riley’s arms.

“Well, well,” muses Riley, lip curled the slightest bit as he inspects his quarry. “That was unexpected. Not quite what I had in mind, but you’ve done well. I’ll be sure to let her know who’s responsible for this victory.”

Thank fuck, it worked. He’s not angry. Bree almost lets out the breath she’s been holding, until a sickening crunch from the alley reminds her not to.

The human girl is shaking like a leaf, hyperventilating. “Wh—what’s—I—I don’t—please—”

“Sshhhhh,” soothes Riley. “Don’t worry. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

Riley grins over her shoulder at Bree, like they’re sharing a joke, and Bree finds her own lips curving up in response. Victory, he’d said. The reward is all hers.

The girl blinks up at him. Beneath the shock and terror, something flares in her face—recognition.

“R…Riley? Riley Biers?”

Riley’s grin widens.

“Hello, Jessica,” he says. “Long time no see.”

[starryviolentine]

Color Me Blue (That’s Me Without You): A Pre-Apocalypse Story

(Sequel to Brody’s Diary) The events of a long weekend have twelve-year-old best friends Violet and Brody feeling all kinds of blue. Not quite the homey, familiar blue of a diary cover, nor the glittery liquid blue of their roommate’s nail polish. Gloomier, more melancholy shades of blue.   

Part 1/10: Violet

Violet is unbelievably, incredibly bored.

All the students at Ericson’s Boarding School have a four-day weekend this week because of teacher conferences, or training… or something or other – Violet’s not sure of the exact reason, but all she knows is that it’s going be boring and lame because Brody will be gone the entire time, like always. Every time there’s a holiday break or even just a long weekend, the Burress family comes to pick Brody up so they can spend the time together.

Which completely sucks.

Well, not for Brody. Violet’s really happy that her friend gets to do lots of stuff with her family. When Brody comes back she always has interesting stories to tell, and sometimes she even brings back a little trinket as a souvenir for Violet, like one of those really pretty, colorful rocks from the science museum, or one of those pennies that you stick into those machines and it comes out imprinted with a picture. It’s just that it would be cool to be able to hang out with Brody and do those things together instead of being stuck at this boring, lame school.

Their bedroom was dark and quiet this morning, as is usually the case when Brody’s away. Brody’s the one who gets out of bed first and likes to let in the sunshine. If it’s particularly warm and the weather is nice, she’ll open their window and Violet wakes to a gentle breeze that always feels really nice. Their other roommate, Therissa, will sometimes grumble about Brody letting the pollen in or, if she’s really not in a good mood, just bang on the wall from her bunk and tell her to “Shut the damn blinds!”

Without Brody shuffling around the room doing this and that, Therissa, in typical teen fashion, is still sound asleep when Violet finally decides to get up. For a brief moment, the younger girl considers waking her roommate up so she has somebody to eat breakfast with, but she quickly changes her mind. Therissa can be scary when she’s woken up against her will. Violet decides that it’s not worth the risk.

After breakfast, Violet realizes that she has nothing else on her agenda for the day, so she purposely takes the long way back to the dormitories, hoping that she’ll think of something to do on the way. She could go for a walk outside… or practice her dribbling in the gym… or she could hang around the dormitories to see what other losers are stuck at Ericson’s on a long weekend and maybe do something with them. Violet scrunches up her nose at the thought of socializing and shakes her head. Nope. Not today.

And so that’s how Violet finds herself standing outside of the library.

Now, Violet has never been that big on reading. She reads sometimes, but only if there isn’t anything better to do, and only if the reading material is something she really cares about. Violet wanders slowly, aimlessly, running one finger along the spines of the books she passes. Her feet carry her quite effortlessly through the literary labyrinth to a familiar section in the back, near the tables and chairs. Going over to one of the bookcases in particular, she crouches down until she’s eye-level with a row of pastel paperbacks.

It’s a series about a group of teenage babysitters, and although Violet wouldn’t ever read it herself, she knows of a certain auburn-haired girl who’s currently hooked. Brody sped through the first thirty volumes in less than two weeks, and almost every evening before curfew she would drag Violet here so she could return one book and check out another (or two or three). Violet narrows her eyes at the triple digit number on the last volume, wondering how in the world the author could write over a hundred books about the same group of kids and not run out of ideas.

Hand hovering over a book with a yellow cover, Violet pauses and double – no, triple checks the area around her to make sure nobody’s watching. There’s not a soul in sight, but the back of her neck still prickles with embarrassment as she plucks the book from the shelf and flips through the first few pages. Violet just wants to see what Brody finds so fascinating about these books, that’s all.

Before she knows it, though, Violet is fifty pages deep and has nestled herself in a corner, back resting against one of the tall wooden bookcases. Unfortunately for her, she’s so focused on the words lining the pages of the book in her lap that she neither sees nor hears anybody approaching until there’s a shadow looming over her. Violet jumps and slams the book shut as her cheeks start to burn. Taking a moment to mentally prepare herself to face whoever just caught her red-handed reading what could honestly be the most embarrassing book series in the world, she slowly lifts her head while throwing in a quick prayer that it’s nobody she knows.

By some miracle, it’s not Marlon… or Mitch, both of whom Violet is certain would never let her live this down. She’s lucky that it’s nobody from her class, either. And thank god it’s not Therissa. Violet counts her lucky stars for that because her roommate would definitely tease her about this for the next century… and would absolutely tell Brody about it when she gets back.  

It’s actually the school librarian, Mrs. Wilson, who’s looking down at Violet with a soft, apologetic smile. “Didn’t mean to startle you, dear. I just thought you might be more comfortable moving to one of the chairs over over there.”

“No! Um, no thank you,” Violet hastily replies, scrambling to her feet and tucking the book back into its space on the shelf. Now that she’s been seen, she has no intention of sticking around. “I-I have to go anyway.”

The blonde hightails it out of the library without looking back. Mrs. Wilson is probably the kindest, most helpful lady in this entire school, but Violet’s been in a strange sort of mood all morning and kind of just wants to be alone. Her library encounter leaves her feeling as though there’s nowhere safe to go without potentially running into somebody else, so, instead of continuing her little detour, Violet begrudgingly returns to the dorms.

She wonders if Therissa’s awake yet.

Ever since the whole bell tower incident, things have been a lot better between them. Of course, old habits die hard and Therissa is still Therissa, but she doesn’t rag on her and Brody as much anymore. They’ve been talking a lot more, too.

And it’s not that Violet’s hoping to hang out with her roommate today or anything like that. She’s just so bored and… well, it might be kind of fun to pester the teen for a bit. To kill time, of course.

Definitely not because she’s lonely without Brody.

[beccarooni]

Missing You

(A.N: rough sequel to Armour! This just was in my head and I wanted to get it out. Enjoy some thorhulk angst idk)

Thor awoke, and the bed was cold. 

That alone was enough to put him on edge. Because nothing was cold, not since Nivadellir. No, after the forge, everything burned until it was numb - but it was never cold. His lightning burned, the fake eye that the rabbit gave him seemed to be short-circuiting whenever it got the chance, and some kind of unnatural fever had pushed him into dreaming even when he’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t. 

But no cold. 

His hand crept out across the covers, feeling the empty expanse of pillows and blankets where Bruce should have been. 

Of course, he might have left. Might have had things to do, after helping Thor off to sleep. But, as much as he wouldn’t blame Bruce for leaving him, the scientist didn’t share his sense of loathing. Thor might’ve been content to abandon himself to an evening of suffering, but Bruce was once again stubbornly insistent that they should spend the night together.

And he was grateful. He’d been grateful for Bruce’s arms running through his hair, coaxing pieces of armour from his torn body. Grateful for the whispered words of comfort and the faint smell of coffee that somehow always seemed to cling to Bruce’s clothes. 

So, him leaving was somewhat alarming. 

The bed creaked as Thor swung his feet to the floor, biting back a wince as his aching muscles protested his movement. 

He’d long since learned to stop listening to the rational voice inside his head. The one telling him to go back to sleep, to rest, and to look for Bruce in the morning.

That voice could frankly mind it’s own business. Thor was going looking for Bruce and no voice in his head or concern for his own wellbeing was going to stop him. 

Not even the looming corridor, the usual bright colours darkened to shadow, or the late-night moon making monsters out of coat rails. 

He couldn’t deny that he felt just a tad uncomfortable, though. It reminded him too strongly of home, of tiny feet pattering down corridors and tinier hands knocking on his mother’s door after a nightmare. Or of his teenage years, when the sleepless nights seemed to stretch out forever, and all he had to do was walk down a few corridors to find Heimdall who would show him the stars. 

Looking down the corridor now was like looking at a eulogy. A timeline of events, of things passed. Things and memories that weren’t coming back, no matter how much he wanted them to. 

He dragged a hand down his face, groaning softly.

If he was getting this sentimental over a corridor then maybe he should go back to bed. 

Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, he was about to turn away to the comfort of his room, when something brushed against his neck.

A puff of hot air, too hot to be a draft from the window, and a low grumbling sound.

He span with a yelp, lightning flashing through his fingertips, illuminating the corridor in front of him - and, apparently, his ‘attacker’. 

Hulk stood in front of him, eyes cast down to the ground, feet shuffling awkwardly against the carpet. 

“Oh my g- Hulk! You can’t just sneak up on people like that in the middle of the night!” 

Thor shook his hand in an effort to rid himself of the few lingering sparks that still darted around his fingertips, trying to force the newly found adrenaline out of his system with a rough sigh. 

“Sorry.” Hulk mumbled, twisting his head to stare firmly out of the window, eyes carefully tracking a stray raindrop as it made its way down the glass.

Thor frowned, whatever anger he’d been feeling being quick to melt away. 

“It’s fine, honestly. You just gave me a fright.” He paused, taking a few careful steps forward to tap Hulk gently on the arm.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. Bruce said you’d gone quiet - wouldn’t even come out for the battle, apparently. Is everything ok?”

Hulk shrugged in response, turning slowly back to face Thor, his face unreadable in the dark. 

“Not really.” 

“Well, that’s understandable. Half the universe did just die. I’d want to take a sick day too.” Thor tried for a smile, but ended up with something more similar to a pained grimace. 

“Thought you were dead.” 

Thor froze. 

“You...You what?”

“On spaceship. Got sent to earth, without you.”

The floor shook slightly as Hulk made his way towards Thor, voice getting louder and louder with every word until he was almost at his usual self. A fact that would’ve been comforting, had it not been for the shaking in Hulk’s shoulders, or the tremor in his words. 

“Got here, and Thor not there. Thor not anywhere, and Asgardians gone, spaceship gone. Didn’t show up until big fight and…”

Hulk trailed off, words evidently catching in his throat and…

Oh no.

Hulk was crying. 

Surprisingly, he didn’t make all that much noise while he was doing it. It was more of a silent shaking than anything - Thor didn’t even see the tears until a stray flash of lightning illuminated his face. 

His body was moving forward before he even registered what he was doing. His steps were stumbled, somewhat, like a puppet being dragged on some invisible string. His hands flew up to grab at what they could, which at that moment happened to be Hulk’s arm - pressing large fingertips over his own to try and prove to his friend that he was here, he was fine. He wasn’t dead, left to drift among the stars. He was here.

“I’m okay now, Hulk. I promise. Please.”

Thor tried to trace patterns onto Hulk’s skin, but he doubted the green giant could even feel it. 

Instead of a reply, Hulk promptly bent at the waist, shoving his face deep into the crook of Thor’s shoulder, and almost knocking him to the floor in the process. But, he kept his feet. Stayed stable, as much as he wanted to collapse into the night.

Thor bent his own head, ignoring the shooting pains of his neck, and tried to mutter his own words of reassurance. He wasn’t even sure what to say, aside from telling him again and again that he was alright. That he was alive.

He couldn’t say he was fine. That would be a lie, and lying to Hulk was something he was trying never to do again. 

But he could offer his life. He could offer his pulse, the faint thrum of lightning in his veins, proof that he was here and solid and wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Didn’t get to say stuff. Before…” Hulk shook his head, burrowing deeper. 

“I’m here now, Hulk. You can tell me things now, if you like.” 

Hulk looked up at that, straightening so abruptly that Thor almost lost his balance. Green eyes swept up and down the corridor, as if checking for intruders, and Hulk’s posture was so unsure and so unlike him that Thor was really starting to worry over what was going to be said - until Hulk said it.

And then, he couldn’t quite register it. He’d heard the words, sure, but hearing and listening were another matter entirely. 

“I’m sorry,” Thor cleared his throat, his fingers lightly pinching the skin of his wrist even just to prove that this was real.

“Could you repeat that?”

“Love Thor. Both do.” Hulk glanced away again, but was quick to refocus, eyes intently studying Thor’s expression for a reaction.

“Hulk and Banner.” 

“What…”

Thor laughed nervously, although with none of his usual mirth. His hands wound into the fabric of his shirt, clutched at his hair, did anything to keep them from being still and focusing on the matter at hand. 

“What do you expect me to say to that, Hulk? We’re not exactly...That is to say I’m not...I just don’t think -”

“Thor not like Hulk?” 

“No, no, Norns no. Of course I like you, Hulk - both of you, for that matter. It’s just…” 

Thor turned away, ears burning and lungs tightening as the weight of it all began to build back up. As the roaring of the dying star once again rang in his ears, strong and true, as if he was still standing in front of the forge. Still staring out at the rings of metal, trying to find the stars in between. 

Forcing words through his throat seemed so much harder than holding the gates open. Because that, well, that was a task he was well acquainted with. Bearing the unbearable was somehow not so unbearable anymore, not after all he’d lost. 

But voicing this fear, (because that’s what it was ; there was no sense in lying to himself further, no sense in plastering on another layer of armour when the first had been so painful to remove) it took so much more precision than clumsy hands against cold metal. 

It took so much more from him to admit that he was afraid his friend was going to die. 

“Thor-”

Hulk began, but Thor cut him off with another sharp turn.

He lay his hands against either side of Hulk’s face, bruised and bandaged tan against deep forest green. His own heart hammered in his head, and Hulk looked concerned and so unbearably confused that…

Thor couldn’t hold this back any longer. Bruce had pushed through his first layer of illusions, had coaxed him into allowing feeling to trickle back into his nerves. But the trickle had become a flood, a tidal wave of sadness and anger and despair and it was useless trying to build dams against that sort of thing.  

So why even try? 

“You don’t see. Of course you don’t see - you’re much too kind for that.” 

He spoke softly, pressing his still-burning forehead against the cool expanse of Hulk’s. 

“You don’t see what happens to the people I love? They die, Hulk. They die and I can’t even say it’s peaceful. It’s horrible and brutal and just so pointless. I can’t…I can’t see that happen to you. You cannot ask that of me.” 

His eyes burned with tears he didn’t even realise had started falling, at least, not until one careful green finger had risen to his cheek, brushing feather-light against the skin with a reverence that felt sacrilegious. 

Thor wasn’t worthy of this. Not of Hulk’s gentleness - the side of him so many didn’t get to see. A sight that was hidden from the universe, privy to only a select few. He didn’t deserve that. Hadn’t earned it. Not in the slightest. 

He hadn’t earnt the feeling of warmth that enveloped him as Hulk pulled him inwards, cradling him against his chest. 

His shoulders shook, and his throat ached, and Thor finally gave himself up to the wave that he’d tried to outrun. 

Fragile fingers clutched at Hulk’s shoulders, and he sobbed. Clinging to the gigantic frame like an animal seeking shelter under the tallest tree. And what a shelter Hulk was - green eyes casting their faint glow down onto him, brows that wrinkled into a frown of quiet concern, deep tones rumbling like the thunder he held in his heart close to his ear. 

Hulk even had the audacity to sway, rocking him gently back and forth until they both ended up back on the floor, crouched in the middle of the room. 

The howling rain outside, the slamming of shutters, the faint sound of someone watching the news - it all started to grow quiet. Even the ringing in his ears that hadn’t faded since Nivadellir - in face had only gotten that much worse when he’d landed in Wakanda - that seemed to ebb under Hulk’s watchful gaze and cautious words. 

“Hulk not leave. Just...needed you to know. In case.” 

“M’sorry. I think I’ve made rather a mess of what could’ve been a lovely confession.” 

Thor sniffled, wiping harshly at the tears still streaming down his face. 

“I think I’m just a little tired of it all.”

Hulk nodded, his cheek moving against the top of Thor’s head. 

“Could go to bed.”

“Only if you join me.” 

“Thor soft.”

“Well.” 

He paused, feeling his face lift in the ghost of a smile.

“Only for you.”

[nozomijoestar]

Pt. 1 of my LL! x TMA crossover is finally here. Crossposted on my FF.net!

TWs: Gore, warfare, being buried alive, body horror

---------

With the world plunged into the apocalypse of never-ending fear thanks to The Eye and The Archivist, two stories intertwine. Statements of Nozomi Tojo later the entity called The One Alone- pre and post mortem of humanity. Recorded direct from subject.

------

“The Lonely is the most insidious of the powers. It doesn’t need to tell you lies. It waits for the lies you tell yourself.”

There is a wind that rides amidst the expanse bare of clouds that dares to call itself a sky still. It rolls ever onwards like a wave beneath the ever shifting Eyes; the Eyes with presence to match the same that crowns a panopticon. The tower it calls home stands higher than anything conceivable by Man. Though she has tried escape she knows there is nowhere on this barren land it cannot be seen. The gaze of the Beholder sees those who suffer in sacrifice below; it too sees the servants, the avatars, of its fellow Entities revel in a Hell once thought promised to one devotee or another now open for all. She is reminded of the amusement parks she yearned to step foot in as a child until it made her sick.

She is reminded it sees always through her disembodied form. It knows where none other should know; ever thirsty for the forbidden and beyond boundaries The Eye (The Beholder, The Ceaseless Watcher, It Knows You, names are irrelevant in its pursuits. They are attempts to describe an aspect of what people called impossible.) sips her essence with precision a mosquito could envy. The fog that is and is not her whenever she molds it to a human shape whips about in fury. It is tainting her loneliness. It wants to dip its finger in her blissful isolation just as it has every other monstrosity made manifest.

Her Entity is a kind being, an understanding one that divides the Who from They into an intimacy; one so singular and gentle to allow those within it to banish all others. She can still remember the first time grasping it brought her to tears. Both it and she cannot escape what it is to be known. Not now in the presence of that damned thing which exists to play voyeur. She looks down.

The trench that scars the earth and stretches beyond the horizon marks the domain The Slaughter calls a feeding ground. Even as high as she is the stench of cordite, gunpowder, gore, and all that tears apart wafts into her. Within the trench figures once store clerks, families, businessmen, teachers, students, children, fire enough bullets and shells to massacre what was once Tokyo. Each cracks sharper than thunder while the rat-a-tat-tat from infinite machine guns never stops. In between the gun nests slump people lost within war that is not satisfied with surface destruction and swallows the mind. They are worse than those casualties who scream, in their silence.

On the fetid breeze bagpipes in a mockery of ‘Scotland the Brave’ wail enough to vibrate No Man’s Land. She can spy the tanks advancing ever forwards peppered by shrapnel; flayed bodies can vaguely be made out strapped to their armor. The edges of her fog wiggle in place of a shudder. Neither now nor in her meaningless days as feed, as human, had butchery in any form brought anything from her but nausea. From that barren hell a bulky creature towered over its victims; it made way for her as their eyes locked.

She knows this monster well no matter how tiny the ribs spiked out its chest appear at this distance. It stamped its clawed bloody foot and snarled. Its teeth glistened red in a multitude of fangs arranged row after row like a shark mouth. The pointed shoulder blades protruding out its back drip viscera; she knows it has fed. Feeding is all it can do now; she knows it laments the conveniences a human form had after all. That like her it loathes having the terror it creates tainted under The Eye’s ruling gaze. Its face comprised of exposed wounds for flesh and two smaller faces twisted in pain on its neck, glares at her unflinching. Its black and orange pupiled eyes are beady as if carved from revulsion, from hate. Around them no soldiers aim and the tools of war bend paths to avoid harm. The monster shouts in a growl that booms over the din of murder.

“Forsaken! Have you come to strut and brag again you little shit? Making fun of me showing up like that are you?-“

The Slaughter avatar’s insults fell on empty air; she glided onward without a destination. Suddenly several stones passed through her leaving holes that reformed instantly. Not a glance did she spare back; U’ral-whatever-her-name-was could shout her distain till her throat bled. The One Alone would not stoop as weak as her to hold reservations about their paradise.

On this ride no one would get off.

She stopped above a circle of candy colored lights that formed the outline of a carousel. A few meters around its dim shine run shadowed shapes. Shape is the best word she has to describe those frantic wretches who pile atop each other; their fingers peel faces reused again and again among their number. They long to no more ask themselves Who Am I? but know beneath the ache they will never be whole.

They could have counted her among them, once. Almost.

Though reason reminded her it’d been months those days, the idea there’d been a time before, was impossible. Had she always been what she’d embraced or had her human shell been her true home? Some days before the opening of the Door she was ashamed to still ponder it.  Not in this world however; here she at last knew her peace. The edges of her form swirled outward. She continued to watch. The Stranger’s victims continued their frenzy as another face was for the taking. Cries of triumph clashed with envious screams not unlike the battle-shouts of one brought under Slaughter.

If she squinted she made out the current victor. The teenage girl bolts across the fairgrounds in a random direction; her red-orange hair waved in its ragged bob cut like a dancing flame. Where once she had pale skin and…had they been yellow eyes? The One Alone saw her now a shambling thing that slapped its prize atop a carmine skull. Something in her puzzled to think she remembered the girl’s face, and yet nothing of her name. Nothing of what their connection had been in another life.

Not a fiber of her cared to linger longer; yet as she made to leave one final sight stopped her. This time the name and everything with it returned. Kotori busied herself on a cross-stitch of skin and sinew when she saw The One Alone above. Did she too remember? Did she know who they both once were? Even if she did The One Alone couldn’t bring herself to care. It would be unnecessary and in a way always had been. She had never existed. Kotori’s eyes gave her a look filled with the briefest solidarity, before the indifference reclaimed her. The blessings of The Stranger have created fissures along her skin; it ceased to be skin so much as it resembled a potato weak enough to tug, in its fragility.

Not for the last time she feels the deep, deep truth twist her at the chance that in another world, she joined in the stitching. Disgust shook her fog at the idea of companionship looming before her. A semblance of sympathy even if in the imagination; avatars do not trust. Not each other. The smartest ones, her, saw trust for the waiting betrayal it was. For the lie it had been since the moment she was born.

She flies beyond the circus of the damned toward a thundering in the distance.  At the passing over a spot of darkness that stretches miles, she swallows the urge to stare. It is a black void so absolute it cannot cast shadows; nor can any bottom to its depth be found as though you’ve entered the essence of nothingness. Eli was there. She felt the knowledge wash over her like rain. Eli was there, transformed into something that drowned her victims into obscurity.  This was a comforting thought; their domains weren’t too unalike.

It’s enough to almost make her wish Eli had joined The Lonely. She smothers it before it can bloom further. The Dark chooses its chosen and there is nothing she can do. She is alone, as she was meant to be. Ahead the thundering slams into her ears snapping her from ruminating. Niko appeared no bigger than a dot from this high. The shovel she pointed above her head reflected the Eyes that’d replaced the sun on its blade. Above her a pink man with shriveled skin stuffed into his suit smiled. It was knowing and unbothered; he stared down as calm as if he were choosing a sandwich. Simon Fairchild.

Of course The Vast would entertain a challenge from The Buried. The space around him appeared more than air; his very presence distorts that not bound to earth. His true distance away is impossible to gauge, he is both forever distant yet under only sky, a neighbor. She watches his wisplike white hair flap in the breeze. His calm slides into amusement. Niko’s curses and yells have grown louder now. She stops at what serves best for not too close; she observes.  

None of it is productive. Niko, poor desperate, witless Niko still clung to a blanket stitched from emotions. If she was an annoyance in the old world, now she was insufferable. She remained a prisoner as she’d always been. She’d been a prisoner of her desires, slave to her circumstance, yet another decimal point on a statistic. Yes The One Alone remembers those days before they’d embraced their natures; however faint the memories Niko had been a worm inching for the sky, for escape. Anything was better than bills and so many mouths to feed with so few helping hands. She notices the pockmark of holes littering the ground around Niko’s feet.

There are at least a hundred here. A hundred other worms that’d cherished denial at the crushing that finally bound them physically. They would never know the suffocation of an illusion of control as Niko does. They will smell rancid air and gargle on sod in those depths; they will wonder why them. There will be no answer; no release for their attempts at freedom. It is not the freeing isolation she has accepted. You weren’t even allowed to enjoy it; you couldn’t if you didn’t embrace it. She hears the curses grow louder followed by an earth splitting crack.  

Indeed the ground dents under Niko’s tap against it. A chorus of screams ring as one at another tear in the soil. The worms that’d never lived neither as humans nor now were rattled within their prisons. Simon answered the challenge and so their game at which Fear dominated the other began another wasteful chapter. Though it wasn’t her domain she felt a faint pulse spinning in the bottomless emptiness of the Falling Titan. If Simon knew she saw into his world he didn’t show it.

Honoka was there among his captives, falling, and falling. Falling with a soundless scream against the whipping winds; she was begging like the rest for a splat, for some grounded, definite end. Silly fool, nothing in this world had an end anymore. Once Honoka had been marked by The Vast; had she accepted it Simon might’ve welcomed another for his kind. The One Alone laughed in a sound near breathless and let her fog curl. Avatars serving the same master; they’d have torn each other apart.

One remained the superior number; alone the greatest of words.

Niko’s voice calls after her as she fades from view.

“…Nozomi! Always watching like a creep huh?”

The name reaches her faster than an arrow and pierces the impenetrable within her. It nests in what remains to be called her soul. It was a poison, a gate however small to expose the person long dead within her. To call out to what had been defined by failure, naivety, and longing.

The One Alone shudders as fog might. She makes her own way until silence embraces her tight.

[chuffyfan87]

Growing Pains. Part 3c

"You're just trying to butter me up..!" She giggled, feeling his hands roaming and something else pressing against the underside of her thigh as she sat across his lap.

“I’m not. I’m trying to make you feel better. More sexy and confident. Don’t forget Mrs F, you’re wank bank material. You sexy milf!”

"Charlie!" She blushed.

“What?”

"Stop finding that so funny!" She whined, pouting at him.

“Does it not even make you a tiny bit wet?” He whispered.

"I prefer men not boys." She smirked.

“A certain man with a certain cock.” He whispered and kissed her earlobe.

"So long as he doesn't keel over on me again. Which he will do if he keeps up with these!" She remarked, gesturing with the cigarette that was still in her hand.

“I only have one. Or two. Just when I’m sad and need to think about things.” His hand moved up her and groped her breast, “I could just fuck you right now.”

"So I did make you sad?" She sighed.

“No I...” He paused, “I didn’t know what to do or how to broach the elephant in the room without you taking my head off.”

"I just hate that it's always there looming over us like a shadow - that it's the first thing your mind jumps to."

“Your weight?”

"That you think I'm gunna relapse."

“I worry that you will relapse and I won’t notice.”

"I can't seem to hide anything from you for long."

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

"Its probably a good thing. It's those blue eyes of yours, they do funny things to me!"

“Just like your green eyes do funny things to me.”

"You don't seem to be looking at my eyes most of the time." She teased.

“No it’s your breasts and arse.” He admitted.

She giggled before giving him a kiss. Pulling back she wrinkled her nose. "You taste like an ashtray!"

“Sorry Mrs F.” He cupped her breast again, “Do you fancy going upstairs and... reacquainting ourselves with one another?”

"We're supposed to be watching a film with the girls..." She reminded him, a naughty twinkle in her eyes.

“We’ll watch the final film with them.” He smirked.

"You never know what might be in store for you later." She smiled as she stood up from his lap and handed the cigarette back to him.

“I look forward to finding out.”

11pm

Peter had gone out into town with a few of his friends from work.

"Fancy a round of shots?" His colleague Damian asked.

“Yeah why not?”

Damian ordered the drinks and placed two in front of Peter. "Get those down your neck and go talk to that blonde who's been giving you the eye for the past hour!" He encouraged.

“What blonde?” Peter asked before he knocked back the two shots with Damian.

"Her over there." Damian attempted to point her out subtlely.

Peter followed Damian and nodded. “Alright, I will.” He took a few seconds but he found himself heading over to the girl.

She gave him a dazzling smile as he approached. "Hi."

“I’m Peter.” He smiled, “You look gorgeous:”

"Thanks. I'm Holly."

“Can I buy you a drink?”

"Sure. Vodka and coke please."

He smiled and went to the bar. He ordered two vodka and cokes and a short while later, returned to Holly. “You here alone?”

"With a couple of mates. You?"

“Yeah, same. You from around here? Holby I mean.”

"Yeh, grew up round here. Came back a few months ago after uni. Are you from Holby?"

“Lived here all my life.” He smiled, “What did you study?”

"I just qualified as a vet."

“Oh woah. A vet? Congratulations.”

"Thanks. What do you do?"

Peter sipped his drink, “I studied chemical engineering at Uni, I work in that sector.” He blushed.

"Cool." She leaned slightly closer to Peter. "This place is really rubbish, do you know any better bars or clubs?"

“Yeah. I know a better bar we can go to if you fancy it?”

"Sure. Lead the way!" She giggled.

He finished his drink and held his hand out for her.

She took hold of his hand. "Aren't you going to tell your mate that you're leaving?" She giggled as she allowed him to lead her outside.

“Nah. He knows. He was the one who encouraged me to come and talk to you.” As they left the club and got further into town, Holly began to shiver. So Peter took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Thanks." She smiled.

“It’s alright.” He took her to a bar just by the river on the outskirts of town. “Another vodka and coke or something else?”

"Another vodka and coke thanks."

He didn’t let go of her hand as they waited to be served. His thumb stroking the back of her hand.

"I've not been here before, it's nice." She remarked.

“It’s my first time here too.” He admitted.

"But you said..?" She giggled.

“That I knew a better bar?” He laughed gently, “I remember my mates telling me it was a good place. Kinda figured it would be a good idea to try it out.”

"Ah, thought you'd chance it?" She smiled.

“Yeah.” He smiled.

Eventually they managed to get served and found a spot by one of the windows overlooking the river.

He found himself gazing at her. Damn, she was gorgeous!

"Like what you see?"

“Yeah, you’re really pretty.”

"I thought seeing as how it's new year's I'd best make an effort."

“You look good! Great in fact. That dress suits you.”

"It wasn't just the dress I made an effort with." She winked.

Peter nearly choked on his drink. “Do I get to see what’s under your dress at some point?”

"Depends..."

“Depends on?”

"Well, it takes more than buying me a few drinks."

“I’d like to take you out for dinner one night.”

"I'd like that." She smiled, moving closer to him.

He met her eye and then looked at her lips. “Can I kiss you?” He asked, a little nervous. For the first time in a long while, he really liked someone who wasn’t Sarah.

"I was hoping that you would ever since you first came over." She smiled.

He smiled and lent forward, his lips brushing against hers.

She slipped her hand around his neck as she kissed him back.

He deepened the kiss, his hands on her waist.

Holly moved her other hand to grope Peter's arse.

He slid his tongue into her mouth.

Her tongue dueled with his. She was pleased to discover that he was a great kisser in addition to being really fit.

Eventually pulling away to catch their breaths, Peter let out a small giggle.

The general hubub in the bar was getting louder - it was almost midnight.

They began to count down for new year.

12am

"Happy New Year!!" Tilly and Lottie yelled as they watched the fireworks display on the TV.

“Happy new year, you troublesome three.” Charlie smiled brightly at his three daughters. “Happy New Year, baby.” He kissed Duffy tenderly.

"Happy New Year." Duffy smiled, snuggling up closer to him under the blanket that lay over them.

“Here’s to another year with you and our children, driving me crazy.”

"Cheeky! You're the one that drives me crazy!" She giggled.

“I don’t.” His hand slowly ran up her inner thigh under the blanket.

She shifted her leg slightly, flashing him a mischievous grin.

His fingers began to stroke her jeans.

Duffy tried to keep her attention on the firework display but Charlie's wandering hand was proving very distracting and she found herself melting under his touch.

Charlie’s hand slipped into her jeans though he was mindful of their teen daughters being in the room.

Emily was busily making some notes in a sketchpad she'd brought down from her room just before the display started.

Charlie whispered in Duffy’s ear. “Fancy sneaking off?”

"You are a bad man!" She giggled softly, moving to get up from the sofa as quietly as possible.

As she stood up, Charlie slapped her arse hard.

All three girls groaned, “Urgh! You and mum are so gross!” Tilly replied.

Duffy blushed scarlet as she turned and playfully pushed Charlie through the door into the hall.

Charlie chuckled and pulled Duffy in the direction of the stairs.

The sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs pulled Jake's attention away from Krystal. Turning he recognised one of the lads from his year. The teenager looked panicked.

"Jake, dude, your brother's puking in the garden!" He gasped.

“What?” Jake stood up hurriedly, he looked panicked. “Shit!”

"He was just chilling and then suddenly his eyes went all funny. He slumped over and puked."

Jake apologised to Krystal and ran down the stairs and into the garden. “Louis?”

Krystal followed Jake into the garden just as Louis appeared to be improving somewhat.

“What’ve you taken!” Jake demanded to know.

Louis blinked at his brother several times, a dopey smile on his face. "Hey bro." He slurred.

"He's fine, just take him home." One of the other boys shrugged.

“Come on! Get up! I’m taking you home.”

Louis giggled as he tried to get up, tripping on his own feet.

With great difficulty, Jake managed to get Louis home. “Our parents are going to kill us!”

Louis just giggled. He didn't understand why Jake was stressing so much, everything was just fine.

Jake tried to quietly get Louis inside the house, he didn’t want to alert their parents. “You’re stoned, aren’t you? Fucks sake, bro!”

Emily walked out of the kitchen as her brothers arrived home. The twins were aleady upstairs and she was just getting a drink before going to bed. Her eyebrow rose instantly at the sight in front of her. "What the..?"

“Where’s mum and dad? Are they in bed?” Jake asked, a hint of worry in his voice. “Help me get him into bed, Em. Please.”

"Yeh, they're otherwise occupied." She smirked. "What happened?" She moved to help Jake.

[thewritewolf]

Rekindle Chapter 16: Ghosts

The day after their defeat of Hawkmoth.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30  31

@marichatmay

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

The morning lights filtered in through the windows, forcing Marinette to accept that the day had begun. Still mostly asleep, she groped blindly toward the other half of the bed, searching for the familiar source of warmth that had helped her sleep so soundly last night. When she didn’t find it, she sat up on her elbows and blew aside an errant lock of hair with an irritated huff. Excluding herself, the bed was empty.

Had it all been a dream? No - his overshirt and shoes were cast aside at the foot of the bed. He’d at least been here. And unless he intended to go walking around in his bare feet, then he was still here. She sniffed the air hopefully, but couldn’t smell any delicious scents, much to her disappointment. Although maybe that was to be expected. She certainly wouldn’t have felt in the mood for cooking if that all had happened to her.

She rolled over to plant her feet on the ground and forced herself out of bed. There was a lot to do in the newly Hawkmoth-less world. She hesitated as she looked down the hall at the guest room. Maybe he had gotten up in the middle of the night to sleep alone? Poking her head in, she saw the bed was still perfectly made and waiting for a guest. So he’d spent the night with her. Her heart fluttered before remembering why he’d had to stay at all.

The living room was as she remembered it last night - restored by the Ladybug Cure, but blankets left astrew from their impromptu movie marathon.

“Adrien?” She softly called his name, not wanting to alert the neighbors. “Are you there?”

“Marinette?” Tikki replied. She turned around to track its source and found her kwami sitting on top of an envelope in the kitchen, working her way through a cookie only slightly smaller than herself. “They left before I woke up. But they left a note!” She floated off of the envelope as Marinette walked over to pick it up.

The message was simple and frustratingly vague: “I’ll be back tonight. Discovered something about Hawkmoth.”

She frowned at that. Hawkmoth. Not dad, or father, or even Gabriel. Hawkmoth. Before she could dwell on it further, her eyes widened and she frantically looked around. The Butterfly miraculous was missing!

Taking a deep breath, Marinette forced herself to calm down and think things through. “Tikki. Can kwami appear if there isn’t a wielder of their miraculous?”

Tikki considered this for a long moment. “Well, yes, but we don’t like to. It is super tiring because it means we have to manifest without a living anchor in this world.” She nibbled a little at her cookie, looking pensive. “Do you think that Nooroo spoke to Adrien?”

“Nooroo? That’s the name of the butterfly kwami?” At Tikki’s nod, Marinette continued. “I don’t see why else Adrien would take the butterfly miraculous. But I don’t understand what Nooroo could’ve told Adrien that would make him leave without saying goodbye.”

Putting a comforting paw on Marinette’s cheek, Tikki replied, “I’m sure he had a good reason. Chat Noir wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

Marinette flashed a smile at Tikki’s concern. “I know. But thanks for saying it. It makes me feel a little better. Especially with what we have to do next.” Marinette ran her fingers through her hair and suddenly realized how dirty she felt. Even if the sweat and grim had been cleaned off by the Ladybug Cure, she’d feel better after a shower. “Finish up your cookie. We need to talk with the mayor and call a press meeting.”

And if Adrien wasn’t back after that was over… then she’d let herself start to worry. But for now, she put on a brave face and got cleaned up. Who knows? Maybe she would meet someone new today.

--------------------------

Adrien entered his childhood home, just another shadow among many. The mansion’s defenses hadn’t been difficult to weave through. They were like an old friend to him, a hurdle he would have to constantly evade back during his teenage years. Only slightly more arduous to get around was the police sentry posted outside, but even then, the early morning ensured the guard wasn’t exactly at the top of his game.

Maybe they didn’t have a warrant yet, or maybe their lingering fear of Hawkmoth kept them from entering. Either way, only his footfalls echoed in the spacious halls, halls that felt even emptier without Gabriel’s presence looming over everything like an omnipresent shadow. Finding himself in the foyer, he looked up at the giant painting Hawkmoth had commissioned shortly after the disappearance of Emilie Agreste.

Disappearance. Adrien remembered Gabriel’s very careful choice of words, remembered how he had brushed it off at the time as him just being a strange person. Even years later, Adrien just thought that Gabriel hadn’t given up on finding his wife someday. That he was unable to move on.

His claws hands clenched into a fist. He hadn’t been entirely wrong. Gabriel hadn’t been able to move on, but that was partially because he had known something that Adrien didn’t. Something he had kept hidden from Adrien for ten years. Something that Nooroo had told Adrien after forcing himself outside the tainted miraculous. Emilie Agreste, Adrien’s mother and the wife of the person who would become Hawkmoth was alive… at least for now.

Adrien climbed the staircase and entered Gabriel’s study. Just as he remembered it, a painting of his mother hung on the wall at the back of the room. Years ago, he had discovered a safe containing the miraculous book behind it. But there was more to it than that. Pressing the hidden buttons that Nooroo had described, Adrien felt a brief rush of panic as he sunk through the floor and ended up inside an underground facility.

All his questions faded away to background noise when he saw her, resting peacefully inside a sarcophagus of glass and metal. She didn’t look a day older than how he remembered her, wearing her favorite white suit with a vibrant rose attached to her lapel. Her expression was serene, as if she was sleeping. Or was he sleeping and this was just another dream of his, the sort that he had stopped having a few years after she had vanished?

Before he could find a way to pinch himself through the suit, a tiny but ragged voice sounded near his ear. “She doesn’t have long left.”

His head jerked to the side, where he saw Nooroo, looking at him with weary eyes. He hadn’t even considered that kwami could become sick, but those doubts were put aside when he took in how frail Nooroo looked, the way that his big kwami eyes had bags under them, the way he shivered in the chill of the underground. Nooroo was looking even worse than he had before, when he had woken Adrien up in the early hours of the morning.

His words caught up to Adrien. “What do you mean? Isn’t she fine while she is in there?”

Nooroo shook his head sadly and Adrien heart dropped. “The machine is effective, but imperfect. Her sickness has advanced through the years. On the tenth anniversary of her internment, she will succumb to the infection.”

“Sickness? Infection?” He fought to keep his voice from breaking. It was hard to grasp that his mother was still alive, making it all the more painful that she was about to be ripped from him all over again. He was starting to get tired of all the tears.

“Gabriel and her used to run across the rooftops of Paris, using the miraculous not for evil but for simple pleasure.” Nooroo sighed. “But Duusu’s miraculous had been damaged during the Fall. It wasn’t safe to use. We tried to tell them but...” Nooroo looked over at the still form of Emilie. “...They didn’t listen.”

“So… Gabriel somehow built this,” Adrien gestured to the wires and tubes leading into the machine, “and put mom in it. Right?” Nooroo nodded. “Can’t I just get her out now, take her to Master Fu? There is still a week until the anniversary. That should be plenty of time to heal her, right?”

Nooroo watched him with sad eyes. “I’m so sorry, Adrien. She will last a week inside the machine, or maybe an hour or two outside of it. Even if she did live a week, there is nothing Master Fu can do. The infection is beyond mortal power to heal. There is only one thing that could possibly save her now.”

Adrien looked at his ring and frowned, deep in thought.

-----------------------------------

As much as Marinette would love to have Chat Noir by her side right now, it was for the best that he didn’t see the crowd of reporters gathered in front of her. Most were wearing bright smiles and there was an excited energy arcing around the space. And why shouldn’t they be excited? Their long nightmare was finally at an end.

She clamped down on her nervousness, remembering the lessons Chat Noir had given her way back near the beginning of their superhero career. Deep breaths. Stay focused. She had always been curious about how he knew so much about making public appearances. Now she knew.

“Citizens of Paris!” The voice of Ladybug cut through the chatter, silencing conversations immediately. “Hawkmoth, now known to be Gabriel Agreste, has been defeated for good. I am in possession of his miraculous and he is now in police custody.” She allowed them to cheer before she continued. “I will now be answering questions by the press, but keep in mind that some things must remain secret.”

“Was Gabriel Agreste working alone? Do you know if his son or any of his employees were involved?”

Marinette’s heart leapt to her throat before she got her feelings under control. It was a question she had been anticipating, but not so soon. Still, she rolled out the answer she and Tikki had prepared.

“I can only say for certain that Nathalie Sancoeur had some involvement in Hawkmoth’s plans, as evidenced by her willful assistance during last night’s battle. Adrien Agreste, meanwhile, we believe to be completely innocent of his father’s wrongdoings.”

“And where is Adrien Agreste?”

Showtime. “Since we believe he may be in danger, Adrien agreed to be hidden for his own protection. Chat Noir and I believe that this is the ideal solution for the time being. Rest assured that he is being looked after.” Hopefully that would buy time for everything to die down a little before Adrien returned to the public eye. The reporters jotted down her answer, not fully pleased with it, but at least accepting it.

The questions continued to come, but nothing made her react the way that the first one had. Some she had to turn down entirely - where the miraculous would go or how they intended to track down Nathalie, for instance.

All the while, worry gnawed at her in the back of her mind.

----------------------------

“Hey, Adrien,” she settled next to where he sat on the stairs in the foyer of his old home, in the shadow of a horribly dour painting of his father and him. His head was in his clawed hands as he stared at the ground.

He seemed startled at the sound of his own name and looked over at her with red rimmed eyes and a wavering smile. “Hey, Mari. How’d you find me here?”

She dropped her transformation and wrapped an arm around his and wiped away his tears with the cuffs of her sleeves. “It wasn’t hard. Where else would you have gone? And with the Butterfly miraculous too.”

“I could’ve taken it to Master Fu,” he offered feebly.

“Then you would’ve taken me with you.” She cupped his cheek and smiled sadly. “Sorry, kitty. I don’t want you to be alone.”

He swallowed heavily. “I found out what Hawkmoth was trying to do.”

“Was it something to do with your mother?” It was an educated guess. What else would Gabriel Agreste, the fabulously successful and rich fashion star, want?

“Yeah…” He stared off into the distance again before looking around the foyer. “You know, this place used to be my whole world. I rarely ever got to leave when I wasn’t doing stuff for his business. I didn’t mind much at the time, though. I didn’t know anything different. Besides, mom was there, so even if it wasn’t lively, it was warm and welcoming.”

She just watched and held onto him. It was clearly something he needed to get off his chest.

“We had a funeral for her three years ago. There hadn’t been any sign of her for years, so we just gave up hope.” He scowled. “Not Gabriel though. Refused to go to the funeral, so I had to go alone, see family I’d never met before and try to explain why he hadn’t show up to his own wife’s funeral.”

There was a long silence between them before Marinette said, “I’m sorry about your parents, Adrien. Your mother sounds amazing. I’m wish I could’ve talked to her, thanked her for raising such a good son.”

Adrien turned to look at her with those wide Chat eyes and for a moment she was worried she said something wrong. Then, he smiled. It was small, but it was genuine and heartfelt. “Come with me, Mari. There's someone I want you to meet.”

[clockworkmorningglory]

Broken Images

So this is a story I’ve been working on for the past 12 years. I add a little bit or edit a little bit every now and again but have yet to finish. So far I have 7 chapters.

All characters are my own and so is the story line.

@authoressskr @unleashthemidnight @fictionalabyss @sorenmarie87 @kdfrqqg 

Prologue

The rain beat down upon her body, mixing with the blood that slowly oozed from the hole in her shoulder. The pain was fading, mostly due to her fading in and out of consciousness. She looked around, her eyes tried to focus on her surroundings, but that was useless she'd lost too much blood. The prep had gotten away, not much she could do about it from this angle anyway. Back up would be here soon, and she could hear her father, the mayor yelling already, not to mention the rest of her family. She had been sheriff of Cottonwood for less than a year now, the most dangerous the job had been was when Bobby Ray Stills had decided to get roaring drunk and bust up Sammy's bar. Earlier this evening she had gotten a call from old Mrs. Hawkins's about someone messing around the old Jackson place. Thinking it was just a bunch of local kids playing around she had decided to just go check it out for herself. Crime had never been a problem in Cottonwood, but it had just come in a big way to the back woods Tennessee town, and Sheriff Amelia Rochester was going to make sure that it didn't stay long.

Chapter One

“Hey, Lia, how’s it going down at the station? Nice and quiet I hope.” Mayor Matthew Rochester’s concern for the town and especially for his only daughter came through in his voice.

If you would have told him twenty years ago that it would be his daughter taking his place as Sheriff instead of one of his four sons, he would have laughed, but now it made him proud. His little Amelia graduated from Tennessee State four years ago with a degree in Criminal Science and was a better shot then any of her brothers. When she told him a year ago that she was running for Sheriff he had given her his full support. After all, nothing major ever happened in Cottonwood.

“Things are goin' just fine Daddy. Bobby Ray and Melvin got into it over at Sammy's again so I went over to break it up. The Cameron twins broke Miss Somerville's window. So now I have two in the drunk tank and the twins will be mowin’ and fixin’ up Miss Somerville's yard for the rest of the summer.”

“Well, I need to get back to work. Tell Mama I'll see her at dinner on Sunday.” She listened as her father said his good byes and hung up the phone.

Her desk was messy but it was organized. She looked out the window; night had fallen on her little town and the evening shift had begun two hours before. Her youngest brother, Jeff, sat in the outer office reading the paper, with his feet propped up on the desk.

Marianne, the evening dispatcher, stood in the doorway to her office. “Sheriff, Mrs. Hawkins's was on the line; seems that there is some strange happenings over at the old Jackson place. Says she's seen lights out there and some strange noises have been gettin' her dog all in a lather.” Marianne was in her late fifties and had been a dispatcher at the Cottonwood Sheriff's Department for what seemed like forever. Lia sighed and pushed away from her desk.

“I'll head on out there and take a look, probably just a bunch of teenagers burning off some energy.” She said and pulled her gun from her desk drawer, clipped it onto her belt, then grabbed her jacket.

“Want me to rouse your brother from his reading so that he can come with you?” Marianne asked, looking over at Jeff still lounging with the evening paper. Lia just shook her head; nah wouldn't need to bother him. After all, nothing bad ever happened in Cottonwood.

Rain soaked her as she ran to her Explorer. She'd parked it in the shade earlier thinking it would stay cooler if it were out of the hot Tennessee sun. But around three that afternoon a storm system moved in and the sky had broken, letting loose a much needed rain. She drove the four miles to the old Jackson house. Its porch sagged, but the house itself was still sound. Unfortunately the old barn in back had lost the battle with time long ago; all that remained of it now was a ruin. She stepped out into the rain and pulled her cap down tighter on her head, then turned on her flashlight. Slowly she made her way to the old house, first checking the perimeter. Then making her way inside she started her sweep of the house. First the kitchen, the once pretty wallpaper hung off the walls in spots, the floor was littered with trash and the remnants of old furniture. Next was the living room, its once beautiful hardwood floors now had a slight green cast to them, and the remainder of a sofa sat in front of a broken picture window.

She worked her way around the outside of the house, until she made it to the back bedroom window. She swept the light slowly through the room until she came upon a scene that’s memory would haunt her life forever.

“Sweet Jesus” There in the middle of the room tied to the frame of an old metal bed was a naked man, or what was left of him. His arms were stretched above his head, tied with what looked to be baling wire. It looked like he had put up a struggle, because the wire was embedded deep into his wrists. His face was ashen with death and his eyes....…“Oh Lord” His eyes had been cut from his head. The rest of his body was covered with incisions, all over major arteries. Lia took a deep breath; the taste of bile invaded her mouth. Oh no, she couldn't get sick now, she needed to radio for back up, get the lab guys from Chattanooga here. Lia made her way back to the Explorer, her hands shaking and her stomach threatening to revolt.

“Marianne, this Lia, come in.” She slid from the side of the truck down to the ground, losing the battle to stand up.

“I'm here, Sheriff. What’s goin' on out there? Bunch of kids partying,” Marianne's voice crackled over the radio. Lia took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Marianne I need to you get all the boys out here ASAP, we have a homicide. Call the Lab boys too. Jesus, Mari this is a mess.”

Silence answered her for a moment. “Right away Sheriff, Jeff and Lyle are on their way there now.”

Lia was still sitting by the truck when she heard a noise. She stood slowly and drew her gun. “Come out! Come out with your hands up. I'm Sheriff Lia Rochester of the city of Cottonwood. Throw down any weapons and come out with your hands up!”

Silence answered her; she scanned the area around the house. Nothing moved. She swept the darkness again when a shadow melted out of the inky blackness behind her. The coppery smell of blood reached her first. Reacting on instinct she spun around, her weapon ready to fire. As she spun her gun was knocked out of her hands, and she was knocked to the ground. The shade loomed over her; the dim light from the truck gave off just enough light that she could make out a knife in its hand, just as it swung towards her. She moved quickly enough so that it struck her in the shoulder instead of through the heart. The knife went in to the hilt, pinning her to the ground.

Pain exploded causing her to cry out. The shadow loomed closer; she could smell the drying blood on him and feel the heat of his breath.

“Tell the Wolf that I'm back and I'm just getting started.” A gravelly voice whispered out. Then with a jerk he pulled the knife from her shoulder, and was gone. Lia groped for her gun, and found it a few feet away. She propped herself against the truck, tears ran down her face. The pain in her shoulder slowly over whelmed her. She heard the sounds of sirens in the distance as her world slowly faded to black, and she wondered what type of hell had just come to Cotton County.

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

The pain was the first thing that she noticed, next was the smell of antiseptic, and then there was the chaos going on around her. She could hear her mom and dad talking to someone, and her brothers threatening all sorts of retribution on the man who had hurt their baby sister. The loudest of the four was her oldest brother Jed, his deep voice rose above the others.

“I don't care what you have to do, get me the best damn man you have down here now! The Sheriff is out of commission until further notice and I want you to get your asses down here and find this maniac before he kills again.” The last of his sentence all but a shout, he flipped his cell phone shut with a loud CLICK.

“Where the hell, were you Jeff? Couldn't you have gotten off your lazy ass and gone with her? Christ Jesus. She could have been killed!” Lex said, as he glared at his youngest brother. Lex was the quietest of the four. His voice was barely above a whisper but caused the rest of the room to go deathly still. Jed and Lex both looked at Jeff, their faces grim. The color left Jeff's face, his mouth thinned with strain. Guilt made the young man look years older than he was.

“L-leave him alone, it....it was my decision. I'm Sheriff and it was my call.” Lia said weakly. Her whole body hurt; she tried to sit up but the pain in her shoulder kept her from it. Slowly she looked around the room, taking in each one of her brothers. They were all tall, and loomed above the doctor and their mother. The only one who stood toe to toe with them was their father. All of them had dark brown hair and deep green eyes; she was the odd one out with her light brown hair and hazel eyes, not to mention her height. At barely five foot three, she only came up to their chins; they had a good foot on her.

“Oh, Matt!! She's awake, my baby girl is awake!” Hazel Rochester's frail voice echoed in the stillness of the hospital room. “Oh darlin' Mama and Daddy's here and we'll take good care of you.” She said as she brushed the hair out of Lia's eyes, her hand trembled slightly.

“I'm alright Mama, I'm just fine. The guy just caught me unaware is all. Next time I'll know better, he won't get the drop on me then.” Lia said her weak voice slowly gathering strength.

“Damn it Lia there won't be a next time!” Her father's voice shook with rage and helplessness.

The room went quiet, and Lia's head tilted up stubbornly. '“I was elected Sheriff Dad and I will get this guy. I won't have you blame Jeff because he wasn't there to protect me, if you want to blame someone blame me. It was my stupidity that got me into this mess.” Lia said, finally mad enough to force herself into an upright position on the uncomfortable hospital bed.

“The FBI is going to handle this, Lia. This guy is totally gone in the head. Dad and I read the file earlier. He has been killing people for the last five years.... No one has been able to get a lead on him 'cause he leaves no evidence and no witnesses. Did you hear me, Lia? NO WITNESSES! You’re lucky to be alive; Doc says that if that knife had been over a little bit to the right you WOULD be dead.” Jed's voice had a quiet threat to it. The softness of it made the nurse in the room look nervously around and then, excusing herself, left the family alone in the room.

“I'm a big girl Jed. I don't need you or one of the boys to look after me. Just as soon as Doc okay's me I'm out of here and on the phone to the boys at the FBI office. I refuse to let this psycho win, and if I give up and let ya'll handle this for me, well that’s exactly what I'd be doing. I'd be showing this guy my fear and guys like this feed off of fear.” Her voice rose above the denials of her parents and brothers.

From the door way, a tall man listened as the young woman in the bed told her family that she would not bow out. That she had every intention of finishing this fight. He felt a strange kind of pride in the fact that she would stand up for herself even when she was wounded. He ran his fingers through his long black hair, not exactly company Okayed but he liked it. His tailored black suit fit him like a second skin and whereas others looked out of place in it, he looked elegant. . . . And lethal.

Zeke Wolf looked FBI, but underneath he was as far away from company issue as the cowboy boots he wore. Zeke slowly took in the room, Cotton County Prosecuting Attorney Jed Rochester stood over his sister's bed while two of her other brothers, Jeff and Lex stood in the corner glaring at her. The Mayor and his wife sat in the two chairs on the right side of the room doing the same. He took a deep breath and threw himself to the lions that were the Rochesters.

Jed was about to tell Lia exactly what he thought of her heading out on a call on her own, when Wolf walked into the hospital room. Jed sent a glance to his brothers who quickly moved to block the man’s path to their sister.

“This is a private room, and we'd like to keep it that way so why don't you go back out the way you came in.” Jed said, as he slowly evaluated the big man in front of him. The guy had a good five inches on Jed's own six foot, and was built like a linebacker but moved like a jungle cat. Whoever this man was, he was someone who would strike fear into a lesser bunch of men, but the Rochester men could and would hold their own.

“Mr. Rochester, I'm sorry to interrupt but I'm from the FBI office in Nashville, I'm here to talk with Sheriff Amelia Rochester.” Zeke said, a slight smile played on his lips for a moment and then was gone. He looked at the woman on the bed. This time he was able to see her more clearly. She reminded him of a pixie. She was small framed, but he could see the strong sleek muscle that stretched and bunched in her uninjured arm. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her bright hazel eyes were spitting fire at the men standing around her.

“Well you'll just have to wait; she's in no shape to be talkin' to anyone right now.” Lex said. The other two brothers nodded their agreement. They looked like three big dogs protecting an adopted kitten from attack. Zeke was looking each of them over in turn when the quiet of the room was broken; a low growl sounded from the bed behind the men. A loud THWACK sounded as a pillow beaned the oldest Rochester boy upside the head.

“I have told ALL of you that I'm a big girl now. Hell not just a big girl, I'm the damn sheriff!! Now if ya'll will excuse me, I'd like to talk to Agent.......Agent.....I'm sorry sir I didn't catch your name.” Lia’s voice still a bit raspy from the pain medication. Her brother's parted enough so that she could look at the man who had entered the room. His face looked like it had been cut from granite, his skin told of a mixed heritage. His nose a thin blade, his cheek bones high and prominent, he had a strong honest face, but his eyes held her. They looked like storm clouds, a mixture of blue and gray.

“I'm Special Agent Zeke Wolf, with the Nashville branch of the FBI. I'd like to talk with you Sheriff.......If that's alright?” Lia looked around at her brothers then she looked to her mother. Holding her daughter’s gaze Hazel Rochester nodded her head then started to shoo her husband and children out of the room.

“Agent Wolf, please remember that my daughter has just been through a very tough night and isn't her full self yet. Lia, darlin' if you need anything your daddy and I are just a holler away.” With one last look at Zeke she walked out, closing the door behind her.

“Now, Agent Wolf, what can I do for you?”

Zeke pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. “Well Sheriff I need you to tell me all that you can about what happened last night. Let’s start with what you did when you first arrived on the scene.”

Lia closed her eyes and thought back to the night before, then taking a deep breath she began.

“The rain was coming down cats and dogs.... but Lord did we ever need it. I stopped in front of the old Jackson place; I could hear Mrs. Hawkins's dogs in the distance. Couldn't hear them real well though, the rain on the old tin roof was makin' too much noise. I started to do an initial sweep, first I looked in the windows of the kitchen, the living room, and then the back bedrooms. It all looked normal at first, and then I came to the last bedroom. Where the other floors had a green tint to them from the years of mold and mildew this one looked like it had been cleaned and polished. I looked through the room slowly and then I came upon the victim.” Stopping Lia took a calming breath, trying to push back the nausea that assaulted her at the memory, and then continued. “His wrists were wired to the bed, and he looked like someone had used him as a pin cushion. Jesus, all the crime scene photos in the world never prepare you for the real thing, do they Agent?”

Zeke sat for a second as he took in everything that Lia had just said, then ran a hand down his face. Three years before he'd been assigned to the Wraith murders. The victims all varied in age and sex. The only thing that stayed the same was the method the killer used. All the victims had been found in abandoned houses, their wrists tied to the bed with wire and their life's blood drained out of them. Three years ago he had been hot on the trail of the mad man, when the unthinkable almost happened...... He had almost become one of the killer’s victims.