#That includes you too Ochre... fucking take them idiot

[ochrearia]

If you still wanted prompts? I like the headcannon that Pico has medication for paranoia or anxiety but absolutely refuses to take it out of surviors guilt. But BF and GF stick pills into treats and meals like you would for a dog, and they truly honestly believe he can't tell. Pico thinks their effort is too sweet to fight it.

(Hope you don't mind that I changed the prompt a little, nothing wrong with it but personally I have meds of my own that I have the same problem with (not from survivor's guilt but you get my point) and I don't like the idea of writing out bad behavior I already have on purpose. So instead it's more like Pico just forgets to more often than not)

In PoPr Universe, BF -> Keith, GF -> Cherry

If you asked Pico how this started, he'd actually tell the truth for once. The truth being that having to take multiple medications a day was annoying as fuck even if they did help him feel better and in the event that he does, actually, take care of himself, it's still half assed.

Antipsychotics on top of benzodiazepines, why he needed both was beyond him. Why couldn't there just be one that solved all his problems? Being reliant on more than one pill made him feel weak and frustrated. And it was already annoying to have to keep track of more than one per day, and eventually it started just slipping his mind more often than not. Taking one, forgetting the other. Not the greatest situation, but one was better than none at all, right?

Well, that was until even Keith and Cherry picked up on his bad habit. It took a while for either of them to actually recognize patterns of habits, but once they did it was like trying to move hell itself to get them to stop trying to help. Well, at least they were using his trust in a good way instead of trying to poison him.

Pico started noticing his forgotten pills ending up hidden in his food. Originally they'd been actually pretty well hidden, and he only figured it out when a there was the strange feeling of a hard foreign object on his tongue while he was chewing. Keith and Cherry became very insistent on making him lunch every day, taking turns doing it. And he wasn't entirely sure if they knew that he knew, but...

Would they stop if he spoke up? Being dependent made him feel horrendous, but at the same time he couldn't shake the warm feeling in his gut over the fact they were doing this. Pico didn't have a lot of experience with being cared for. His partners were here, willing to do this for him for what? Because they loved him? Something about that made him so damn giddy, in the back of his mind trying to figure out how he could shoot the metaphorical butterflies in his stomach.

Pico fell into a new habit instead. On the days he actually did remember to take both, he made an effort of taking them in view of either one of them. That way it wouldn't end up as a double dose by accident. Sometimes when he took his meds alone, the 'hidden' pill would be not at all hidden in his food. A way of his partners still reminding him without having to ask if he actually took it or not, and if he did he could just take it out of his lunch. None of them ever verbally spoke about this, but that was fine. He liked it better that way.

It was nice. Being able to develop good habits instead of bad ones. Pico would never have the words to tell them how much it actually meant to him, as he was never good with words like that to begin with. But something about their knowing, proud smiles every time he took his meds told him they knew.

[radiant-flutterbun]

A Little Lost and Lonely

The Murder Trio Part 4

Previously

        Nullity was the first to leave. Without bothering to communicate with her siblings she sought out Inkdrop and asked her to take her back home to her girlfriend's house. Nos left not too long after that. They went back to their mother's house.

       Only Nepenthe remained in Sornieth. She wanted to track Naperone's trail. But Sepulchral stopped her.

        “Guerra is already on his trail,” He pointed out “I think he wants to kill him himself.”

         “But I was supposed to!” Nepenthe growled “I was supposed too…”

         “Maybe you were wrong.”

          Nepenthe glared at Sepulchral “I'm the Goddess of Revenge! What better destiny than to take revenge on my father by taking his life? He's ruined plenty. It only makes sense to take his to make up for everything that he's done.”

           “Listen Nep, I'm not trying to defend Naperone. I know he's a bad guy and I hate everything he's done too but… I don't know it's just worrying that this is all you care about.”

            Nep’s feathers rose along her neck as she growled once more “I thought you of all people would understand why this is so important to me! I guess I was wrong. About you, and my siblings.” She sulked away from Sepulchral and slumped in a lonely corner of the clan’s lobby.

           A black nocturne with hot pink spikes, and a nose ring approached her.

           “Hey,” he said and held out a paw “Name’s Eumoirous, I'm the God of Shared Interests and I don't believe we've properly met before.”

           Nep stared at his outstretched paw for a moment and did nothing “You're Sepulchral's friend.” She said.

           Eumoirous put his paw back down “Yeah. Why?”

           “He told you to come talk to me, didn't he?”

           “No. I came over because you looked like you needed some company. But if you don't want any that's fine. I'll leave.” He began to turn around when Nep looked up at him.

           “Wait! Please… please stay.”

         “Alright,” Eumoirous sat down next to her and they were both silent for a moment “Hey, you wanna come over to my place? I live in the Land of Love. You ever been there?”

          “No and it sounds awful.”

         “Oh it is. My sister has decorated it with pastel colors and flowers. It's absolutely appalling.”

         “Why do you want to invite me?”

         “Because I think you need a friend other than Sepulchral.”

         Nepenthe puffed up again “I have friends! There's… there's… I guess Nullity was my friend,” she frowned “Whatever. I don't need any other friends. I lived most of my life alone. I can live the rest of it alone too.”

         Eumoirous shrugged “Alright. You wanna live an eternity alone. That's cool. You do you.” he began to get up again when Nepenthe grabbed his arm and yanked him back much harder than she intended.

       “Wait! Fine. I'll go. But only to see how stupid those flowers look.”

       Eumoirous smiled “Alright. Let's find Inkdrop.”

       ***

      Inkdrop dropped the two gods off next to the palace gates.

The Land of Love was exactly as Eumoirous described it. Full of pastel colors and fields of flowers. Hummingbirds and butterflies darted from flower to flower, and all of the buildings resembled dollhouses. The palace was no different. It was pastel pink and built like some sort of giant Barbie doll mansion.

Now away from Sornieth both Nepenthe and Eumoirous were in their true humaniod forms. Nepenthe stood taller than Eumoirous with freckled dark ochre skin and long black curly hair. She had the same dark red eyes as her dragon form, and thick muscular arms. Her feline ears were tufted with black fur and at the end of her long tail with a neon green pitch fork symbol.

Eumoirous was not only shorter than Nepenthe, but was skinnier with no muscle and he had pale white skin. He had neck length black hair that fell over his face, covering one of his purple eyes. Nepenthe could tell his hair was dyed because his natural brown roots were starting to show. Like Nep, Eumoirous’s ears were also tufted. Unlike Nep his face and ears were covered in piercings included his classic nose ring and snake bites. He was dressed in all black and on the tip of his tail was a pink heart.

“Well you weren't lying,” Nepenthe said “This place is horrid.”

Eumoirous snorted “Tell me about it! But hey, at least it makes my sister happy. C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

Eumoirous led Nepenthe inside the pastel pink mansion. The inside wasn’t much different. It was pink with lacey furniture and more flowers. Eumoirous took Nepenthe onto the second floor, where a black door stood out among the pink. Signs were plastered onto the door that included a skull and crossbones, a ‘do not enter’ sign, and a Green Day American Idiot album poster.

“Is that your room?” Nep guessed.

“That it is,” Eumoirous confirmed and opened it, revealing black painted walls that were mostly covered with posters of various things. From a quick glance Nepenthe spotted Undertale, The Walking Dead, and Panic At the Disco Posters. Snugly fitted in the corner of his room was a single bed with messy skull print covers. In the front of his room was a desk that held up a holographic computer with a monitor that was two feet across. The room had several windows but it was dark from the heavy blinds that blocked out the sunlight. From large speakers in the room My Chemical Romance played.

“As much as I love MCR, I’m going to turn it off just this once,” Eumoirous said “Because I brought you here for a reason. You’re lost, Nep.”

Nepenthe frowned “You brought me here cause you pity me?”

“No. That’s not what I said. Look, Sepulchral is your only friend isn’t he?”

“... So what?”

“I’m not trying to make fun. It’s just, as great as Sepulchral is he’s not always around when you want him to be. He’s been my best friend since we were kids, and i’ve learned that even though he wants to always be there for me, he just can’t. And that’s ok. But you can’t rely on him for everything.”

“I don’t. Because I don’t rely on anyone.”

“Yeah and that’s not good either. There’s no shame in wanting to be close to people. What I’m saying is… I don’t really have any friends other than Sepulchral either. And I’m not the best with people but… I don’t know. I just thought maybe i’d be able to help you with something I have trouble with myself.”

“So… You brought me here because you wanted to be friends?”

“I guess? If… If you want to be?”

“I don’t know you.”

Eumoirous’s ears flattened “So… that’s a no?”

“No it’s just… I don’t know what to think of you yet. But… yeah. Sure. I’ll try to get to know you. Why not? It’s not like anyone else wants to talk to me.”

Eumoirous perked up “Cool! Cool… um so. Let’s get to know each other better I guess? What sort of things do you like to do?”

“What do I like to do?”

“Yeah. Like any hobbies? Interests?”

“... I’m good at hunting. I can track and kill animals and cook them and skin them.”

“I know you had to do that stuff while living on your own but like… Do you actually like to do that?”

Nepenthe blinked “Like… Do I enjoy killing things so that I don’t suffer myself?”

“Yeah. I mean that’s cool if you enjoy hunting. Lots of mortals do. There’s a few moral and ethical concerns that could be debated about the practise when it’s just done for sport but that’s a whole ‘nother conversation.”

“I would never kill an innocent creature for sport. Only out of necessity.”

“I see… So. You don’t really enjoy hunting, do you?”

Nepenthe bit her lip “No… No I guess not.”

“So what else to you like? Like… any goals you’re aiming to accomplish?”

“I wanted to kill my father.”

“But that can’t be all that you wanted to do with your life.”

“I… I can worry about that after I kill him. Him being eliminated from existence is the only thing that matters now.”

“So, you literally don’t care about anything else?”

“Naperone is a monster. Of course killing him is everything that matters.”

“I already know he’s a monster. He took my mother away from me and tortured her.”

“... That’s right. You are Oxytocin’s son.”

“Yeah. So I already know just how much of a monster Naperone is,” Eumoirous sniffled “Knowing how much Oxytocin was suffering because of him, and knowing there was nothing we could do for her… It hurt. It fucking hurt so much. But you know what I did? What my sister did? What Reflection did? We lived. We continued to live and do the things that made us happy, because that’s what Oxy would have wanted. Sure maybe they were just distractions from the horrible situation Naperone put our family in, but it was something. What I’m saying is, I think you need to find some distractions too.”

“But don’t you want Naperone dead for what he did? Don’t you think he deserves it?”

“Of course I do. If it were up to me, I’d make him experience everything he made my mother feel. But you know what? It’s not up to me. Naperone is somewhere on the dragon planet. I wouldn’t know how to find him or capture him. So I just have to accept that and move on. My mother is safe now. She’s damaged, but repairable, and as long as she’s safe she will heal. So rather than focus on some impossible revenge, I’d rather support my loved ones. I’d rather just continue to live my life, and not let Naperone taint it anymore.”

“So I should just… let it go? Let Naperone go?”

“Yeah.”

“But I can’t do that.”

“And why not?”

“... Because… Because I don’t know what else to do.”

“Then, why don’t I help you? I’m the God of Shared Interests after all. It’s literally my job to track the interests of mortals and how they use these interests to connect with each other. It’s how the mortals find purpose to their limited lives. It’s how they distract themselves from demon influences. It’s how they live,” Eumoirous gestured to the posters plastered on his walls “It’s worked for me. These are some of my favorite things that mortals have created. Playing horror games, reading fanfiction, listening to punk rock, they’ve all worked as excellent distractions from the awful reality that is the world. They helped me be me. They helped me find happiness even when the Goddess of Joy herself was miserable.”

“So… You want to help me find another interest other than wanting to kill my father?”

“Yeah. I think it’ll be good for you.”

“But what’s in it for you?”

“Uh… Friendship?” Eumoirous smiled awkwardly.

“I still don’t understand why you’d want to be friends with me.”

Eumoirous shrugged “Why not? You don’t seem like a bad person. Maybe a little lost, but that’s ok. I mean if you don’t want to be friends that’s cool too but… I don’t know. I’ve never been very good making friends. I’m lucky enough to be friends with Sepulchral, but he’s a busy guy and he can’t always be there when you want him to. It’s not his fault. And i’m ok with that but. It’s lonely.”

“Well… I guess that’s one thing we have in common then,” Nepenthe said “And friends are supposed to have some things in common, right? So, I guess we’re on the right track then.”

Eumoirous smiled “Yeah! Yeah, I guess we are. So uh. You wanna figure out what sort of things you like? You don’t seem like the type who’d like video games, or My Chemical Romance very much. Or maybe you do, but I think I know something you will definitely like. So you don’t like hunting because that involves killing something, but what about target practise? You’ll be using what you already know from hunting, but without killing anything! We have some targets out back. Believe it or not, i’ve got a pretty good aim at a crossbow. So why don’t we go outside and do that with our favorite weapons?”

Nepenthe shrugged “Sure. Why not?” She summoned her spear.

“Ok great!” Eumoirous summoned his crossbow and led Nepenthe outside where the targets were. There were already a few arrows lodged into some of them.

Nepenthe aimed her spear, and she threw it. It just nearly missed the middle.

“Wow! Good shot!” Eumoirous said, clearly impressed.

“Feels weird to aim at something that’s not alive.”

“Yeah. I think i’d feel weird to hit something that’s alive,” Eumoirous said “I’m lucky. I’ve never had to use my crossbow on anything, or anyone.” He aimed and shot. His arrow didn’t hit to middle, but it wasn’t too far off.

“You certainly know how to use that though,” Nepenthe commented.

“Yeah. I like to practise with it. But I think I’d be too scared to actually try to hurt anyone with it. Even if they’re a monster.”

“So you wouldn’t even hit Naperone with it?”

“I would if I have to. But I wouldn’t be happy about it. Don’t get me wrong. I want Naperone to be in pain. I’m just a coward.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Nepenthe said as she retrieved her spear and threw it again, this time it hit the target dead in the center.

“Holy shit. Good job!” Eumoirous cheered “But what do you mean?”

“You’re not a coward. You’re gentle.”

Eumoirous was in the middle of shooting his crossbow again, but Nepenthe’s words made him jerk back and the arrow missed the target completely “Sorry, what?”

“You’re gentle.”

“What? No I’m not!”

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean it to be an insult.”

“I’m not gentle. I’m tough. I’ll admit I’m a coward. But I’m a cool tough coward! I’m not sweet or gentle! Not like… Not like Niossa.”

“Of course you’re not sweet and gentle like Niossa. You’re sweet and gentle like Eumoirous. And that’s not a bad thing.”

Eumoirous’s ear flicked “But I… I don’t know. Sorry. I just don’t want to be seen that way. That’s the way my sister is supposed to be. That’s how I was expected to be. Because gentleness… That’s typically a pretty feminine coded thing, you know? It’s not that men can’t be gentle or that women have to be gentle… But… I’m… I’m a trans guy. And I don’t want to be associated with typically feminine things if I can help it. I know it’s stupid. Maybe it’s wrong. But I just don’t like it, ok?”

“Ok. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to offend you. But if you don’t like it, I won’t call you that. But gentleness really isn’t something to be ashamed of, and it doesn’t invalidate your gender.”

“I know. You’re right, but. I’d really rather not talk about this.”

“Fine. Subject dropped then.”

The two continued their target practise, neither saying anything.

Finally, Eumoirous spoke “So uh. You having fun? Or you wanna go do something different?”

“Yeah. This is pretty nice. It’s relaxing too. But I’d like to try something new. I want to listen to this My Chemical Romance you keep talking about.”

Eumoirous’s eyes widened “Uh… I don’t know… It's just this edgy angsty music mortal teens listen too…”

“But you seem to like it.”

“Yeah, But I like a lot of dumb stuff so…”

“Hey you’re my friend. So I’d like to try out some of the things you’re interested in.”

Eumoirous grinned “I’m your friend?”

Nepenthe smiled back “Yeah. Yeah you are.”

“Then yeah! C’mon I’ll go find my favorite song and we can listen to it together! And… And if you want we can play some horror games. Only if you want to though!”

“I think I’d like that.”

Eumoirous smiled “Awesome!” He took a step forward.

“Oh and Eu?” Nepenthe stopped him.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. I think… I’m a little less lost now. And a little less lonely.”

“No prob. I’m glad to help. I really am.”

“Now lead the way! I want to hear your favorite song! And then I want to play your favorite games. Even if I don’t like them, I’ll still be happy to learn more about the things you like.”

“Yeah! And if you do like them, then that’ll be really cool!”

The two gods entered the dollhouse looking palace yet again and made their way to the second floor with Eumoirous’s bedroom. Once inside Eumoirous turned his music back on, and Nepenthe found herself excited to hear it. She was excited to share the moment listening to her new friend’s favorite songs. Maybe the music wasn’t exactly her taste, but it was clearly important to Eumoirous, and that fact made it enjoyable to listen to.

Nepenthe and Eumoirous spent the night playing horror games and listening to various albums of My Chemical Romance, Panic! At the Disco and Fall Out Boy. And not for a single moment did Nepenthe think about her father. She was too busy having fun.

[sailorb00]

Uhhh this is just a self-indulgence side fic that’s been swimming ‘round my head recently. It’s a bit rough, and parts of it need to be rewritten (most if the second half ahahahaha...), but I’m kinda sick of looking/rereading it all the time lol. SO YEAH.

UH contains coarse language and abandonment themes (kinda??), so y’know read at your own risk I guess? Idk. I’m not your mum.

Also includes characters belonging to @saibutt (i.e. Wolfe & Koan) too.

A voice, soft and muffled by walls covered in off-white paint, wake Faye in the middle of the night. She looks around the dark room for a moment, before rolling on to her back to stare at the ceiling.

It's her father's voice, that much she can tell. He sounds frustrated and angry, but who he's talking to remains a mystery. She doesn’t hear a second voice in the room. Maybe he’s on the phone? Shutting her eyes, she strains her ears, ignoring the painful throbbing in her temples to hear his side of the heated conversation.

"—sake I'm not your 'son'— No. It isn't that simple, okay, Koan. I can't, she’s my— Koan— I'm not—"

Suddenly, there's a pause, a deadly silence that echoes through the apartment. It seeps into her bedroom, filling it to the brim. The air around her feels cold, like a ghost has entered the space. It sends chills up Faye's spine; a force so cold, she opens her eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling again as a shiver runs down her spine.

Then in the darkness, through the walls, she clearly hears her father growl menacingly into his phone, "You talk about her like that again, Koan, and I'll rip your fucking throat out. I don't need to take a goddamn test — she's MY daughter."

Faye immediately sits up in bed, her head snapping to face the door. He’s talking about her. Why is he talking about her?

Slowly, she pulls the covers off and swings her legs over the edge of her bed. Like a thief, she sneaks on her tip-toes to back of the door, pressing her ear up against the wood. Her heart beat quickens, banging against her ribs as she listens in, praying her father's sensitive hearing won't pick up on the sound of her footsteps or huffed breaths through the thin walls.

"How do I know? Koan, she's the fucking spitting image of me! It's like looking into a mirror! I—" she hears her father snarl, his voice growing louder as he becomes more and more frustrated.

“What? Ooooh, fuck you, asshole." He sneers. Faye thinks she heard her father's phone screen crack in his vice-like grip. She winces and bites her lip. "That's fucking low, even for you. Phoebe wasn't a saint, but she would never—"

He snarls, his voice becoming a grumbling growl. "Don't call me 'son'."

There's another chilling pause and Faye shuts her eyes, bracing for the impact. Her hands grip into little tight fists against the door and she swallows. She knows her father is about to explode. She can feel it, the tension filling the apartment; so thick a knife can slice it cleanly in two.

On the other side of the door, her father raises his voice. "If you ever, ever, say that again about her, Koan, I'll fucking kill you. Do you hear me? —the truth? Fuck you, Koan. Don't act like you knew her: you never wanted anything to do with her. You fucking hated her from the start. Oh? Fucking try me, Koan—"

Faye reaches for the handle and pulls on it lightly, just enough for it to open without making too much noise. She cracks her door open a little and peeks through. Under the bright lights in the kitchen, she watches as her father paces around the small, circular dinner table.

She has never seen him so angry. It's not visible in his face — his back is turned to her — but she can see the anger in the tightness of his shoulders, in the gait in his walk as he stalks around the table and the way he runs his hand through his hair, pulling at the black strands as he pushes it through.

The hairs on his head, arms and beard grow longer and wilder the more she stares. So do his teeth and fingernails; they're almost beastly in shape now — more claws than fingers. But it's his eyes that hold her attention, unable to look away from them as he turns and hunches over the table.

Usually they're a deep red ochre, like the rich clay her mother let her play with on rainy afternoons, but now, even from this distance, she can see that they're an alarming shade of crimson red; the purest colour of rage. They glow menacingly, even though his face is covered in a dim light, almost shadow.

"You listen here, Koan. I'm not going to—"

Faye leans forward slightly, pushing the door open just a little more. It squeaks.

Her father looks up from the table, startled, and sees her peeking out from behind the door. His face falls, eyes widening as his jaw snaps shut. For a moment, he's silent, locked in a staring contest with his daughter, while the man on the other line rages and rants, snarling through the receiver.

Faye wants to back away, to run back to her bed, but she's stuck, like a deer in the headlights. She has never seen her father look so horrified. The guilt hits her hard, like a punch to the gut and tears prick her eyes. Quickly, she turns away, closing the door.

It shuts with a soft 'click'.

She turns, pressing her back to the wood and slides down to the floor. She hugs her knees to her chest and stares into the darkness as the voices in her mind begin to swarm, buzzing with loud, unwelcome thoughts. However, one stands out, louder and pushier than the rest.

She knows it's a silly thought to consider — a fool's self-loathing — but sometimes, in situations like these, she wonders if it would be better if she hadn’t been born at all. At least her mother would still be alive. At least her mother wouldn’t have had to sacrifice herself for her.

The solidest piece of evidence to her claim is her grandfather’s words, uttered a week before her mother's death.

Faye remembers hiding behind a couch, listening in as he ignored her mother's plea for help. 'I told you there would be consequences when you decided to keep her, Phoebe,’ he hissed, hands clenched tightly at his sides. ‘I told you to get rid of her that night when you wound up at our doorstep, after disappearing for years; that she wasn't worth the sacrifice you have to make now.'

The words ‘sacrifice’ and ‘consequences’ have stuck with her weeks later, echoing in her ears or in the back of her mind. They have never left her, even when other thoughts have clouded her head.

Despite her young age, Faye is intelligent. She understands things adults assume she can’t comprehend – she just can’t explain it in words when she tries to explain. She knows she’s a burden; an unwanted weight that was placed upon her family’s shoulders. They didn’t want her, and now they’ve passed her on to her father, a man, who until recently, had no idea of her existence – a man who admitted to her face that he ‘wasn’t happy with this arrangement either’.

Faye breaks into soft sobs and buries her head into her arms.

The last few weeks in his care haven’t been the greatest, but they’ve been a welcome distraction from the pain and guilt she feels over her mother’s death. She has started to warm up to him, see him as more than just the man she’s been told is her father.

She fears that all the bright smiles and surprisingly warming moments they’ve shared during their short time together hold no value to him; that he’s only biding his time until he finds someone to offload her too. Only appeasing her with false happiness and promises until he doesn’t have to anymore.

She bites her tongue as she chokes back a sob.

Faye knows she can’t blame him if he doesn’t want her around, but she hopes he does, even if it’s only a little.

She hopes he wants a daughter just as desperately as she wants a father.

Wolfe swallows and breaks his gaze from his daughter's closed door. There's no longer a monster forming in the kitchen; there's only a father — an idiot who let his daughter see the dark, monstrous hatred he harbours inside.

He stares down at the phone in his hand. He can hear Koan’s voice, snarling his name, demanding he reply right now 'or so help me, I'll come over there and force it out of you'.

He glares at the phone’s screen, thumb hovering over the little red circle that says 'end call'. He's tempted, even seriously considers it for a moment – it would be so easy, just a quick flick of his thumb – before bringing it back up to his ear. He knows it would be too much trouble than it’s worth.

"Look. I've got to go— No— Fuck, Koan it's late, okay?" He sighs, uttering quietly into the receiver. "Yeah, right. Fine. See you tomorrow night."

He ends the call and places the phone on the bench.

The screen is bright; an image of his daughter stares up at him, bush leaves and twigs caught in her hair as she holds up a puzzled squirrel she had caught in her dirt-covered hands. She looks so happy, so proud of her catch as she smiles, two sharp canine teeth gleaming, stealing the show. She is a stark contrast to the Faye he saw moments ago.

He sighs and presses his palms into his face, pressing them into his eyes. Her face, oh God, her eyes; Wolfe has never seen her so scared. Even during her first few nights in his care when she cried for her mother, or when he had shown her that he could change shape – showed her what she could do if she tried – she never once turned away or cried. Hell, she looked so excited, thrilled at the prospect of what laid in store. It was more than he ever showed at her age.

He saw it as a curse; she saw it as her family lineage.

Wolfe turns away from the table, leaving the phone behind as its screen fades to black, and walks up the hall. When he stops at her door, he can hear her sobs from the other side. They tug at his heartstrings; a force so strong it almost makes his knees quake. He lays a hand on the door handle, pulls it down, but doesn't push. He waits, patiently.

On the other side of the door he hears shuffling, tiny feet rushing across the room and the squeaking of a mattress. Then silence.

He takes a breath and opens the door.

Even though it is shrouded in darkness, he can see the room clearly. He can see the new chest of drawers he bought from Ikea, and the large duffel bag beside it, messy and overflowing with half-folded clothes and socks. He can see the small bookshelf in the corner, cluttered more with stuffed animals and dirty clothes than books. He can see the matching Ikea bedside table, and the single daisy in a vase sitting atop it. He stares at the bed, nestled in the corner of the room. There’s a lump in the middle, hidden under the thick duvet. It doesn’t move, trying desperately to blend with the darkness. It doesn’t work – he can see it plain as day.

Wolfe steps forward, floorboards creaking under him. He stands over the bed, staring at the lump. He can hear her breathing, smell the salt on her cheeks. He closes his eyes and sighs.

"I know you're awake, Faye," he says quietly as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. The mattress groans and falls under his weight. He hears a tiny gasp from under the covers.

"Come out, I want to talk to you.” He pats the top of the duvet, coaxing the lump to move.

At first lump is motionless, but after a silent pause it begins to move, wriggling like a caterpillar in its cocoon. Soon, at the top of the duvet, a mess of black waves and two round, wet eyes peek out from underneath. "Am I in trouble?" Faye asks softly, hands gripping the edge of her sheets.

He shakes his head. “No.”

Slowly, Faye wriggles further out of her warm duvet and sits up. She places her hands in her lap, stares and fiddles with them to avoid her father's gaze. She tries not to hiccup as she speaks. "I'm sorry I eavesdropped on you."

"It's alright. It wasn't like I was being quiet," he says as he reaches down and wipes away the water on her cheeks. He tries not to look heartbroken as she flinches at the touch. "You okay?"

Faye shrugs, silent as a ghost, still staring at her hands.

Wolfe sighs and runs a hand through his hair, parting the strands and pushing through day-old wax. His bangs, usually styled up in a small quiff, fall across his brow.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," he whispers.

An awkward silence fills the room as Wolfe scrapes the recesses of his brain for something comforting to say. He opens his mouth to speak, but Faye cuts in.

“Do you like me?” she whimpers.

Wolfe blinks and stares down at her, eyes wide. Tears are pooling in her eyes and her body begins to shake as she closes her fists, nails pressing hard into skin, leaving crescent moon indents in her palms. He opens his mouth and closes it several times, before placing a hand on her shoulder. He doesn’t squeeze, just lets it sit there – a comforting weight. Not too heavy or too gentle – just enough to be a reminder that she isn’t alone.

“Of course, I do,” he says softly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

The tears fall. She opens her mouth, but instead of words, she hiccups in between sobs. Wolfe doesn’t push her. He just sits there and waits, patiently.

She croaks out, “I’m a bad person. No one likes me because I bring bad luck.”

Wolfe can’t take his eyes off her as she breaks down into tiny sobs, sniffing and continually wiping at her cheeks. This tiny child, his daughter, is so smart, so observant, yet so quick to conclusions.

He sighs. He knows it makes him sound like a broken record, but damn, she’s so much like him – there’s no denying whose daughter she is.

“Hey, hey, shhh,” he coos as he scoots closer and pulls her into his lap. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close to his chest. At first, she freezes up, solid as ice, eyes wide. This isn’t the first time he’s held her or carried her, but it’s the first time he’s comforted her so intimately – like a father.

“You’re not a bad person Faye,” he tells her, chin resting atop her head. “I’ve known many bad people, and you’re not one. Far from it.”

“But I bring bad luck! No one wants me—“

“Your mother wanted you,” he interrupts, leaning his head to the side to look at her. She’s stopped sobbing, but tries to swallow down a hiccup. He wipes away a rolling tear and whispers, “don’t ever forget that okay? Your mother wanted you, and she kept you. I know she loved you so much Faye.”

Faye stares up at him with glassy amber eyes. “But she’s dead.”

He nods, sadness lingering in his eyes.

“Yes, but that doesn’t make it any less true, does it?”

“I guess,” she mutters. “I miss her.”

“So do I.”

For a while they sit there in the dark on her bed, Faye’s head resting against his chest. She listens to his heartbeat. She closes her eyes and taps along with the beat with her finger on her palm.

Wolfe watches quietly, not bothered in the slightest. It appears to be calming her down, which is a relief and he’d be lying if he wasn’t just a little amused by it.

“Phoebe used to do that too, you know,” he tells her.

Faye nods. “She did it a lot to me too. She said she liked listening to people’s hearts, since she didn’t have one.”

His brow began to crinkle into a puzzled frown. “What?”

His daughter shrugs and looks up at him. “She said she lost it when she was small. She had the scar to prove it too.” She momentarily runs a finger down, over where her heart would sit, to illustrate her point. “Though, she didn’t like many people knowing about it. It made her sad, but she said she was going to get it back one day.”

All of a sudden, Wolfe realises a truth he hadn’t considered before. The scar across Phoebe’s chest: the result of a ‘surgery’ she had when she was small. This mysterious ritual that Eva mentioned some weeks ago. It was all coming together.

He feels his blood run cold and the nerves in his limbs go painfully numb, paralysing him to the spot. This ritual Phoebe was put through, an act that haunted her all her life and brought her an early death – someone wants to do the same to his daughter.

Some sick bastard wants his daughter’s heart.

For what, he doesn’t know, but he’s sure as hell knows that he’ll put up a fight before they can lay a finger on her. Instinctively, he holds Faye tighter, pressing her closer until her head fits nicely under his chin. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck bristle as he bares his teeth like a wild animal.

Faye seems shocked at first, but quickly returns to her rhythmic tapping, barely fazed at the way her father’s hands grip her leg and shoulder a little too tightly. She hums along to the beat, soft and melodic. It calms him a little, his grip loosening just a touch.

They sit in silence again, surrounded by a peaceful darkness. Eventually, Wolfe speaks up, trying his best to remain calm and collected.

“Faye,” he says. “I know it’s only been a few weeks, and they haven’t been the easiest for either of us, but—Well—I—“ He sighs and silently berates himself for stalling. She’s his daughter for fuck’s sake. This is the right thing to do, he tells himself. It’s time he just came out with it. He swallows and clears his throat. “I was wondering if you wanted to live with me. Y’know, for good.

“I know I wasn’t the best dad at the start, but I’ve been thinking about it and, well, I think that if you wanted too, you could stay here, with me, all the time. This could be your actual room. We can get you a desk for when you start school again and a bigger chest of drawers and a wardrobe for your clothes. We can go pick up some of your things from your Mum’s to make you feel more at home. Whatever you want. Would that be good?”

No response. He realises that the humming and the tapping have stopped.

“Faye?” He says softly, looking down at her. Her eyes are closed, like before, but now her hands lay in her lap as she leans against his chest, mouth slightly agape as she breathes evenly. “Ah. And you’re asleep. Of course.” He sighs and runs his fingers through her hair.

“Guess we’ll talk about it tomorrow then.”