#WEIRD noises were occurring outside my house tonight

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

been a wild ride tonight. got a boost of energy, saw our lost dog, probably almost got eaten by some Creature outside (cats being nervous saved me), the BABY FOXES are finally appearing on the fox youtube channel I follow after waiting for like FIVE MONTHS to see them, and I discovered an etsy shop with the TINIEST things I have ever seen. it’s been a rollercoaster.

[loneamaryllis]

Harrie and her Alpha, chapter 14 bonus

The bonus scene of Mathilda waking up Snape.

Severus was dreaming of the Yule Ball. He was dancing with Harrie, holding her close, looking into her green eyes. She was wearing a green dress, too, that showed off her breasts and hugged her soft curves.

"Why are you wearing green?" he was asking.

"It's a gift. For you."

"I don't want any gift from you, Potter," he said.

"But Severus, we're dancing," she pointed out, with a smile. "You know what this means."

"Yes. I do."

He woke abruptly, to the sound of banging outside his door. Instantly alert, he grabbed his wand, and, expecting an ambush (as always), approached the door slowly.

"Professor Snape! Wake up!"

Bang bang bang.

Throwing the door open, he glared at the culprit.

"Miss Walker. You better have a damn good reason for barging into my office and knocking on my bedroom door."

"It's Harrie. I think she's hurt."

His world went cold, narrowing down to what mattered. Harrie, hurt. Harrie, needing him. Harrie, Harrie, Harrie.

"Where is she?" he said, Accioing a couple of emergency potions as well as a satchel.

"Third floor, at the bottom of the stairs. She's breathing very quickly, and she was making weird noises of pain."

"What did she say to you?" he asked, leaving his office once he had everything he needed.

He walked quickly, and the Hufflepuff had to run to keep up with him.

"She just told me to get you."

"You didn't ask her what was wrong?" he said, with a sharp glance at the girl.

"It was more important to get help."

"Didn't you get a first aid class?"

"Um, no?"

Ah. It was in the second semester for third-years, he remembered now. She should have stayed with Harrie and called for help, or should have asked questions to make sure Harrie could be left alone safely. But there was no point berating the girl now.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, panting now from having to run after him.

"No," Severus said. "We're lucky you were roaming the corridors. Don't ever tell anyone I said that."

"Never!"

He smelled her first, and from the potent, heady tone of her scent, he knew what he had feared had occurred: she was in heat. She mewled when she saw him, whined his name in a breathy little gasp. Muttering a couple of reassuring words, he knelt down, cast a few diagnosis spells. Her heat had just started. It was good news, meant she could understand him still, that she wasn't completely overwhelmed by her hormones.

The Alpha in him was roaring at the sigh of the trembling Omega, at the smell of her need. The urge to protect was a fire in his chest, undeniable. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let go.

"Is she hurt?" Miss Walker asked.

Severus had almost forgotten her presence. He lifted Harrie into his arms, nodded at the Hufflepuff.

"I'll take care of her. Thank you for your help."

"Oh, you thanked me! Too bad I won't remember it."

He was surprised by how astute she was. He had planned to fire an Obliviate at her when her back would be turned.

"That doesn't bother you?" he said.

"No. That secret isn't mine to keep."

She was smiling at him, with such honesty and ease it was nearly disturbing.

"Just tell me, since I won't remember: you don't hate Harrie at all, do you?"

"Miss Walker, you are leading me to reconsider my opinion of the entire House of Hufflepuff," he said.

She smiled wider.

"I'm ready, Professor."

"Obliviate," he said, targeting everything about Harrie and him tonight.

He used the slight confusion the spell always caused to disappear from her sight. Harrie groaned something, squirming in his arms.

"Alpha..."

"Yes. Your Alpha will take care of you..."

[harveywritings92]

BNHA scenario: you sleepwalk/sleep talk.

Summary: You have a tendency to talk or walk in your sleep, it never really bothered your boyfriend, if you wandered off in your sleep he'd just follow you to make you don't get harmed and take you back to bed, or if you talk in your he'd humor you as he found it hilarious! but tonight was different... this night you seemed to channeled something paranormal and it scares you boyfriend shitless.  

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Shigaraki: It was around three am when Shigaraki was woken up by you sitting up in bed, he sighed tiredly assuming you were gonna stand up and walk around for couple minutes then wander back to bed, or you were gonna leave the room and he'll have to go make sure you don't hurt yourself and bring you back himself. After five minutes of you not moving Tomura turned around to look at you...

And was very confused you were obviously still asleep, but you were kind of glaring at something? Shigaraki curiously looked over his shoulder and surveyed his dark bedroom confused at what could be holding your attention and was more so stumped when you slowly lifted up your hand and pointed at the large antique mirror, he had set up near his computer; with this almost frustrated expression. "He won't stop starring..." you deadpanned causing your boyfriend to jump from you suddenly talking... 

"W-who won't stop starring?"

"Him, the man in the mirror!

"There's no one in the mirror, y/n"

"The man with no face he's right there...."

You huffed annoyed before laying back down, while Tomura was sitting there looking between you and the mirror shitting brinks! *Wake the fuck up! you think you can just go back to sleep and just leave me on edge like this!* He mentally hissed the froze when he heard a weird scrapping noise coming from the mirror's direction, his red eyes slowly turned to look at the mirror and nearly pissed himself when he saw it the mirror was swaying on the wall right to left, only to stop he made a move like he was gonna get up and check.

"Oh fuck to the no..."  he hissed before laying back down hugging you close, Shigaraki nearly smothered you to death with how tight he was holding onto you! 

The next day you were confused when you came back to the base to find what looked like a box of glitter and rotten woodchips in the dumpster out back, you went to Shigaraki's room and found the mirror gone! in it's place was a random poster and a shelf filled with video-games, comic books and random liquor bottles, Also you noticed that Shigaraki seemed to be avoiding playing any horror videogames involving ghosts for a while; opting instead to play Animal crossing or Pokémon.

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{Note: Ayane is the default name for the Dabi's daughter reader in the dad scenarios]

Dabi: He was coming in late from a mission, he sat down on his bed taking his boots off and nearly shat himself when he saw a figure standing up in the corner of the room, he quickly turned the lights on to find you just standing there staring dead ahead, he let sigh expecting you to burst out laughing any second now. "Y/n you scared the crap out o-..." You weren't reacting. "Y/n? Fairy?"  he stood up and waved his hand in front of your face and noticed your steady breathing, and realized you were sleeping... 

Dabi was going to grab your hand when you caused him to jump back, your eyes snapped up to look at him then pointed at the hallway, just in time for Dabi hear giggling and saw what he though was his 2 year old daughter running passed the door. "Ayane?" he called out as he sat you down on the bed and went to get the kid before she hurt herself. "Firefly what are you doing out of-...what the hell?" Dabi trailed off when he saw Ayane peeking out from behind a door, a door that was deadbolted shut, there was no possible way for her to reach the locks let alone open it!  

Before Dabi could take another step despite his instinct screaming at him not to, a faint voice whispered in his ear "You not supposed to follow when they call..." Dabi cussed and turned around to see you standing behind him still sleep walking! then you both heard the door "Ayane" was hiding behind slam shut then lock! Scaring the crap out of your husband and waking you and your daughter up, who started crying for you both as she could. "Touya? why am I in the hall-..." You husband didn't answer he just rushed to Ayane's room like bat out of hell!

"Put your shoes and coat on! we're getting the hell outta here!" he hissed at you while carrying Ayane, you did as you were told but kept asking what was going on? "Now!" he barked making you jump from shock, you've never seen him this shaken up before! "I knew this house was too cheap for a reason!" he growled as he strapped your daughter into her car seat, He told you what happened in the car after driving to a gas station a few blocks away, needless to say the three of you spent the night in a roadside motel and the next morning Dabi was looking for the landlord and some priests! 

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Izuku: He was woken up by the feeling of being stared at... Izuku woke up and rolled over to see a woman standing over him! He yelped nearly pissed himself before he realized it was you! "Y/n? why are..." his eyes adjusted and he saw the glazed over look in your eyes and realized you were asleep! "What did you have another nightmare again?" he asked getting up holding his hand out to you, but you didn't budge... 

His brows furrowed before deciding to try to take you back to your room and got up and went get the door but was shocked to it locked! but if he locked his door then how did you..." Izuku felt his blood go cold as he turned around ready for a fight! only to find...Nothing?  but no... Your were just here! he saw you! hell, he felt his hand brush against yours when he got up! he checked his closet, under his bed under his desk, you really weren't there! 

Izuku was rightly freaking out as he left his room and went to your room; He started knocking on your door as quietly as possible and waited a few seconds, before he heard you shuffling around as you opened the door rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "Izuku?...that's trippy." You yawned as your boyfriend looked at you confused. "w-what do you mean?" he stammered you were looking mighty creeped out!

"I just had a dream I was in your room and you were staring at me not saying anything, not matter how many times I called your name."

"*goes white as a sheet* h-huh.."

"What? what I say?"

"You...what- I just coming over here to tell you I saw the same thing! Except you were one staring! what the crap?!"

You both started freaking out about the whole situation, before Mr. Aizawa found you both out after curfew; giving you a real reason to be scared!

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Hawks: Hawks was up late finishing up reports when he saw his phone light up, Keigo checked and saw it was a photo of you sleeping... he hummed not really thinking about it, assuming you sent it sleepwalking, it wouldn't be the first time this occurred... and he was going to keep working when the blond froze. *if you were sleeping, who the hell took that photo?!* Something was wrong!? Keigo rushed out of his office and made it to your house out of breath.

Landing in your backyard he approached the back door he saw you cat Mr. Pants sitting outside refusing to go inside even when he saw Keigo, he very carefully opened the backdoor door and was about to hit the lights, when something in his head told him that was bad idea! that's when the smell hit him...Gas! the winged man cussed under his breath and made his way to your room, finding you passed out on the bed, phone resting on the nightstand, he grabbed you and ran out of the house; without even checking to see if someone else was there!

He laid you out on ground outside checking to see if you were breathing... to his relief you were! but barely! Keigo called the fire department and ambulance, while he feathers opened some of the windows in your house to air it out! the fire department determined that the cause for the gas leak was your new stove, one of the hoses wasn't properly installed.

Keigo asked if anyone else was in the house? The firemen looked at each other befuddled. "Sir, Your lady friend there was the only one in the house." the blonds brows furrowed as he looked down at his phone to look at the photo only to find it gone! in fact there was no history of you ever contacting him! Hawks thought he was going insane!

The next morning when he went to the hospital to check on you, he told you about the photo and asked who was at your house. "No one, It was just me and Mr. Pants!" you insisted but then remembered something. "Y-yeah I had a freaky dream, I thought I was sleepwalking around the house, but when I got to my room I saw myself passed out on my bed! I thought it was soo weird I grabbed my phone and...took...a" Hawks finished your sentence. " A picture." Both of you were pretty shaken up by this whole situation and decided not to say anything about it, unless someone brings up the topic of "creepiest thing that ever happened to you?" and the ghost selfie is your go to story!

[whatissleepeven]

Even If We're Betrayed by Destiny Itself (Obey Me! Drabble)

Thunder rumbled outside of the House of Lamentation, a crash of lightning following closely after and briefly lighting the sky.

Beel watched the sudden fat raindrops hit the windows, increasing in intensity until he could barely see the outside world anymore. It was currently 11:00pm on a Saturday, and he had found some leftover sushi from dinner to munch on before the sudden storm rolled in.

"Belphie's probably fast asleep..." He murmured to himself, remembering how his twin brother was practically cocooned in his blankets with a peaceful smile on his face.

"Tonight's gonna be a good one," the Avatar of Sloth had said sleepily before rolling over and clocking out for the night. Beel at the time was confused on what he meant, but now that he saw the storm he realized what the other was talking about.

Sometimes, I swear my brothers use magic.

A creak in the living room made him pause. He knew Levi was usually up, but his older brother rarely left his room at this time. Everyone else preferred to sleep in, but even Beel had to admit that there was a certain charm to having the House to yourself.

He walked over to the entryway and poked his head into the living room. Sure enough, the fireplace was lit and someone was nodding off on the sofa.

Beel finished eating, washing his hands and padding over to grab the blanket Mammon had haphazardly thrown onto the chair, making a conscious effort to keep his footsteps quiet as he rounded to the front of the sofa.

Honestly, it shocked him a bit to see Lucifer curled against the armrest, tucked away into the corner of the sofa; if Beel didn't know better, Lucifer was just lounging to anyone who passed by.

The dark bags underneath his eyes, tinged with the slightest bit of red at the corners, tipped him off.

He gently draped the blanket over Lucifer's body, his expression turning into one of worry. What could have possibly shaken the usually unflappable Lucifer? Mammon's debts? Asmo's spending sprees? Did you get into trouble again?

...Or is it -

Lucifer shifted, bringing the blanket closer to himself and settling in with a pleased hum, and Beel couldn't help the warm smile that formed at the sight. Whatever the problem was, they could tackle it together as a family.

I'm supposed to be his bodyguard, after all.

He frowned, his stomach growling at him to grab something else from the kitchen. That was in the past, though, and Lucifer was plenty capable of protecting himself. He used to be the Morning Star, an angel who shined brightly and seemed practically untouchable. Why would he even need a bodyguard in the first place?

- So that they had a way of subjugating him if he ever got out of hand, and that something like the Fall wouldn't happen. You were their contingency plan, and you failed. You failed both them, and your family.

"That's quite the expression you have on your face, Beel."

Beel blinked, eyes widening as he quickly located the source. Lucifer was sitting up, the blanket slipping off his shoulders and pooling around his waist as his crimson eyes shone with-...with something.

Beel shook his head, glancing him over. "It's not like you to be out here at this hour."

"Is it, now?" Lucifer's voice had an amused lilt to it, the elder brother patting the cushion beside him. "Sit down."

Beel stepped back with a frown. "I was gonna head back to my roo- "

Lucifer's gaze pierced him. "Sit."

Beel took a hesitant seat next to him, keeping his sight on his hands and on the ground as he rested his arms on his thighs.

Lucifer turned to face him. "Were you up for one of your nightly scavenges?"

Beel nodded. "Yeah. I saw the rain coming down hard; I don't think it'll let up until the afternoon tomorrow."

Lucifer made a noise of agreement, and all was silent for a few minutes. Beel wondered if he could leave, because like always he and his brothers had a bad habit of dancing around a touchy subject or outright ignoring it completely -

"I had a dream. About...About the Celestial Realm."

Beel's eyes snapped over to him in shock. Lucifer merely settled back into the sofa, letting out a short breath as he looked up at the ceiling.

The Avatar of Pride kept talking. "We were happy there. We were whole. All of you had such bright smiles on your faces back then, but now..."

- Oh.

Oh.

He could see where this was going.

"I think...I think we're happy here, too." Beel interrupted, feeling rather than seeing Lucifer's gaze trail over to him. "It's different from the Celestial Realm, but everyone still has fun. We're - We're still a family."

The last part came out less certain than he wanted it to. Lucifer picked up on it too, if him suddenly leaning forward to get a better look at his face was anything to go by.

Beel kept going, his hunger replaced by something softer, bittersweet. "I don't regret following you here, either. We stick together."

"Are you saying that because you want to, or because you feel the need to?"

Beel blinked up at him. Lucifer's gaze softened, a change so subtle that it was hard to notice. "Beel, what you say certainly makes me feel more at peace with my decisions, but your words seem to cause you pain. As your older brother, it is my duty to help you through this."

Beel didn't bother pointing out the irony of that statement. He was too wrapped up in his guilt thoughts, drawing a conclusion that hit him with the force of a hundred freight trains.

Why was I born if I couldn't even properly perform my role as Lucifer's bodyguard?

Is that all my existence amounts to? Does...Does that make me a failure?

"Beel."

Gloved hands cupped his face, turning his head to the side. Lucifer's own concerned face was a bit blurry, warping slightly from the warm liquid that pooled at his eyes, and wait why was there pressure there in the first place? He was fine a second ago, he needs to be fine -

"Is this how you've felt this entire time?"

Beel raised a hand to wipe the tears away, cheeks red with shame. Judging by Lucifer's reaction, he must've let slip what was on his mind ever since he found the older brother sleeping on the couch. He didn't mean for it to happen; he was supposed to be the Hungry Sixth Born, the one who focused on nothing but what to eat for his next meal. "...Yeah. Sorry about that."

"There's nothing to apologize for, Beel." Lucifer wiped a couple of tears away himself, and Beel marvelled at how caring he was again. He knew that it was thanks to your hard work, helping patch things up between the broken family and sewing it into something wonderfully new, and made a mental note to share some of his food with you during breakfast tomorrow.

"It's true though, isn't it?"

Lucifer removed his hands, eyes widening at his words. Beel was thankful for the lack of tears this time, his voice a bit shaky but overall stable enough to get his words across. "I was created with the intention of protecting you, but we still ended up here."

He couldn't even perform a simple task, for crying out loud, much less the only one he had. Their Father was surely laughing at him even after all of the centuries that have passed since the Fall, pointing out the irony of the protector turning into the protected.

Fate had seen fit to give him a clear role, but Fate also led him to utterly fail, even going as far as to take his sister away from his family due to one simple decision he made. It was a moment he would never forget; it was like a knife was plunged into his heart, cruelly twisting farther and farther as it ripped him to shreds the second Lilith's screams of agony pierced the air.

"Look at me." Lucifer's commanding tone seeped back into his voice, and Beel had no choice but to obey.

"No one faults you for what occurred back then. It took a irritatingly persistent human to point it out, but we cannot remain stuck in the past for the rest of our lives; we must move forward. What happened was painful, and will continue to be painful, but not once did I think of you as a failure.

"This merely means that your role isn't to be my guardian; it's to be my loveable younger brother."

To be...just a younger brother...?

Beel gaped at him. Was...Was that even an option? There was still so much he needed to do to help, and he was made to be both a shield and a prison for Lucifer (though he quickly discarded any and all thoughts associated with the latter, because he loved Lucifer too much to do that to him). "But - "

A finger flicked his forehead. "No buts. Nothing short of an affirmation will satisfy me."

Beel held a hand to the stinging spot, averting his gaze to the sofa cushions. This was new, this was weird, but if Lucifer said it was okay then... "Okay. I'll do my best."

Lucifer's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. "Good. Now come here."

Beel shifted closer as Lucifer beckoned him over, letting out a noise of surprise as he was pulled into a half hug.

"We rebelled precisely because we wanted things to change. Change isn't merely external; the most impactful are the ones that come from within. What matters the most is that we always stay true to ourselves, even if the entire world is against us."

Being in Lucifer's hold was...nice. Beel could feel his eyes dropping, threatening to close shut as he mumbled. "...Even if Fate stands in our way?"

Lucifer used his free hand to skillfully adjust the blanket so that it also enveloped Beel, staring into the flickering flames in the fireplace. Beel's breathing had evened out relatively quickly; the time and the sudden tears must've exhausted him.

His eyes softened into a gentle look as he glanced at his sleeping brother.

"Even if we are betrayed by destiny itself."

And if you found them the next morning wrapped up in a single blanket and leaning against each other, the other brothers having joined them sometime after and sleeping against them, you would never tell another soul.

...

Well, except for Simeon and Diavolo, who you immediately sent pictures to.

[peacockwinchester]

Hullo.  It is the Darry oneshot I have aspired to write and put on the internet lol.  Actually my first Darry fic since I came out as genderfluid.  Also thank goodness my Mom also thinks Darry is attractive /j it’s weird but whatever at least my sister can’t make fun of me.  Anywho-

Warnings: General Outsiders content, a singular Supernatural reference, mild language if you squint

~Misha~

     Darry and I were in the kitchen cleaning up some of the dishes.  Well, less dish washing and more absentminded straightening on my part.  God was I nervous.  I knew there wouldn’t be any weapons tonight, but people would still get beat up and I was nervous about my friends going into that.  I could tell that Darry knew what I was feeling, because he just let me do what helped with the anxiety.

“Dar, if you, Soda, or Pony gets beat into the ground I will actually finish the job,” I warned.

“You know I won’t let them get too hurt,” Darry assured me.

“Yeah, but who’s looking out for you, big boy?” I raised my eyebrow.

“Misha, I can take care of myself,” Darry gestured to his very muscular torso.

“Yeah, but still,” I huffed.

     For a minute the only noise in the house was Soda and Steve’s arguing.  I sighed deeply.

“You.. uh, you look nice,” I flushed.

“I do?” Darry asked, looking at me after he finished the last dish.

“Yeah... I mean, you know...” I gestured vaguely.

“I know,” Darry smiled at me, giving me a small kiss on the forehead.

“Just be smart,” I shrugged, completely changing the subject.

“I will.  And you’re cute when you’re flustered,” Darry laughed softly.

“Shuddup,” I stuck my tongue out at him.

.......

     I was sitting on the couch watching TV when the boys got back from the rumble.  I immediately got to my feet to meet them at the door.  I did a quick head count (minus Johnny and Dally) and noticed Ponyboy was missing.

“Where the hell is Pony?” I asked Darry.

“I don’t know, he left with Dally,” Darry replied.

“Oh, because that makes it so much better!” I scowled (Haha Supernatural reference).

“He’ll be ok, Misha.  We have bigger problems right now,” Darry put his hands on my shoulders t ground me.

     I sighed, putting one of my hands on top of his.

“You’re right.  Alright, guys.  I’ll get the First Aid kit,” I motioned everyone into the living room.

     When I had finished literally stitching up the guys, I turned to Darry, who had been helping me get the others patched up.

“Your turn, big boy,” I said.

“Absolutely not, Misha.  I’m just a little bruised,” Darry waved me off.

“Well, let me disinfect that cut on your forehead at least,” I put my hands on my hips.

“No.  I’m fine.”

“Darrel Curtis, I will hurt you if you don’t let me take care of you!”

“Misha-”

“Shut!  I’m doing it!”

      I got some peroxide and a bandaid ready.  Darry huffed and sat back in the chair.  The only way for me to get to him was to straddle him.  It was only a little awkward, because firstly I didn’t register that it could be read as overtly sexual, and secondly, I’m quite sure Darry didn’t think of that either.  Anyway, I disinfected the cut and put the bandaid over it.  While I was doing this, it occurred to me that Darry had slipped his hands around my waist.  I was a little startled, because I didn’t know he would be this comfortable around the gang.  Apparently he was.

“All done,” I said, swallowing any nervousness at the PDA, “Was that so bad?”

“Actually it was terrible and I think you owe me something,” Darry gave me a look.

“And what’s that?” I raised my eyebrow.

“Just a kiss,” Darry shrugged, grinning at me.

“You sure?” I asked.

“Positive.  You wouldn’t want to be in debt.”

“Hm.  I suppose you’re right.”

     I planted a small kiss on his forehead, just like when a kid scrapes their knee.  Darry frowned a little, though playfully.

“What?” I asked.

“You missed,” he stated.

     I laughed a bit and remedied the situation by kissing him on the lips.  It was just a quick peck, the sort of kiss we shared while making food for Soda and Pony.  However, this time we knew everyone was watching.  When I pulled back, I could feel the eyes on us.

“What are you looking at?” Darry scowled at the guys.

     I twisted around so that I was sitting in Darry’s lap instead of straddling him.  Every single one of our friends were staring wide-eyed at us.  Soda looked almost like he would have choked on water if he’d had it.

“You two... uh...” Two-Bit cleared his throat. “You’re together?”

“Yeah.  Have been for a year.  You lot are just blind,” Darry teased them.

“But-but-” Soda spluttered.

“How the hell did you guys not pick up on it?” I asked. “We dropped like, so many hints!”

“I just assumed you were just really good friends!” Soda defended himself.

     I sighed and facepalmed.  It was awkwardly silent for a minute, before Two-Bit spoke up again.

“So... uh, Darry, does that mean you’re, like...” Two-Bit trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

“Gay?” Darry clarified. “Yeah.  Does it matter?”

“I mean, not really,” Two-Bit shrugged. “Just never saw it comin’, is all.”

..

   Aight that’s it for now, guys.  If you liked it I wanna know, cuz it makes me happy knowing people actually like my shit.  Might write more in the future, might not.  Anyway, see y’all!!

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 27 - Spiritomb’s Revenge

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

NOTE: This is a pretty violent/brutal chapter. sorry if it upsets you. The madness of this fic reaches another level. Warnings for blood, torture, violence. 

Rating: General/Teen

@marydragneell​ here is the latest update

Spiritomb’s Revenge

…

…

["I suppose I should be upset, even feel violated, but I'm not. No, in fact, I think this is a friendly message, like ‘Hey, wanna play?’ And yes, I want to play. I really, really do.”

- Dexter]

…

…

Wyndon Police Station.

The station is in uproar. The lines have been ringing off the hook since early morning and have not stopped since. It is now lunchtime, but it looks like no-one will be able to grab a bite to eat.

In Postwick, roughly 11am, a man attacked a woman with her baby as she took a stroll near the Slumbering Weald. The suspect is still at large.

In Turrfield, twenty minutes later, an old couple were robbed at point-blank and subsequently beaten to death. The suspect then fled into Route 5. Searches proved ineffectual.

In Hulbury, half an hour later, a woman had reportedly jumped into the sea. Divers are still searching for her.

In Motostoke, ten minutes later, a middle-aged man fell to his death after he was pushed over the railing of the second level of the city by a young girl. The young girl has been brought into questioning but does not recall any of her actions.

In Hammerlocke, the CCTV of the vault picked up a masked individual attempting to steal the treasures within. The suspect was later apprehended but has no recollection of the incident. It was later revealed he is a kiosk worker at the stadium and he was on his lunch break.

There’s plenty more, at least five to six maximum cases of assault, robbery, suicide, manslaughter, murder or other petty crime per city and it’s doubling as the hours go pass, and Graves rubs his chin as waves upon waves of police officers report to him a startling increase of unrelated, independent events.

This is very strange. This has never happened before in Galar. This is madness. The reporters and journalists have already jumped on this, firing out Breaking News and Shocking Stories of a region overtaken by madness. They call it mass hysteria whilst some people are debating, calling it domestic terrorism.

There are worse reported crimes taking place in bigger cities like Wyndon and Hammerlocke, where concentrations of civilians are higher. Have all the criminals decided to let loose today? Is this some cult movement? Some online, social media movement?

After barking some orders to his colleagues and coordinates, Graves quickly weaves into his office and picks up his phone to call his goddaughter.

“Hello?”

He’s grateful she picked up. “It’s me.”

“What’s up?”

“What’s up? What’s up? Have you not been watching the news?”

“No, I’m outside with Jace. We’re at the airport to send Volkner off.”

He grumbles. “Goddamnit, go home when you’re done, you hear me? Stay home tonight. The whole region’s gone crazy.”

…

Wedgehurst.

The old woman knocks on the front door of the quaint little detached house with her Applin in her hand and waits. A short while later, footsteps can be heard approaching; it opens and a little boy peers through the small gap of the door.

“Hullo,” he says.

It’s Granny Smith. She lives next door and bakes him and his family plenty of apple pies.

She gives him a wide smile, the wrinkles on her face bunching together. “Hello Johnny!” she says in her soft and gentle voice, “is everything alright? I heard some very loud noises…”

The boy cocks his head to the side as she tries to sneak various peeks inside the house; he keeps blocking her, darting his head to the left as she bobs to the right and so forth.

“What loud noises?” he asks, the corners of his lips tugging upwards into a small smile.

“Just some very strange, very loud noises,” she says, “where's your mother?”

“Out.”

“Where's your father?” she asks, before she sniffs and giggles. “What a lovely smell.”

“Yes. My dad is in the kitchen, making lunch.”

“Oh, how lovely. And here I thought you were in trouble for a moment there. Have you seen the news? It’s utter chaos out there today.”

“No, as you can see…everything’s fine.”

She nods in agreement, stroking Applin’s tail. “I’ll be off then. Sorry for bothering you.”

“Goodbye,” Johnny says, then he promptly slams the door shut. It trembles violently in its doorframe with a loud ‘slam’.

“Oh," squeaks granny, a little startled.

She slips Applin into her bag and begins to shuffle out of their front lawn, throwing a glance over her shoulder; she sees him peeking at her retreating back behind the safety of the drawn blinds of their living room and when he’s caught, he ducks from sight.

When she’s away from view, Johnny leaves the lounge and into the kitchen where two chairs stand side-by-side and a man and woman are bound by plastic nylon cable ties, their arms fastened behind their backs and their ankles tied together.

Their mouths are covered by gags fastened securely around the back of their heads and as the boy approaches with a grin, they flail and shake their heads violently, their shouts for help muffled.

…

“Who was that?” Jace asks as you hang up the phone.

“Graves, he said there’s a sudden spike in crime in Galar today and told me to be careful,” you utter.

“That’s weird, I wonder what’s going on.”

You have a bad feeling about this. “Jace, let’s go.”

You are with Jace at Galar International Airport; Volkner has left Galar. He’s already boarded his flight to Sinnoh and should have taken off by now, having thanked you and Jace once again for the hospitality.

With coffees in hand, you and Jace head for the train station that will take you to Wyndon where you will get a Corviknight taxi home.

“I better give Leon a quick call,” you murmur, and Rotom quickly dials the Champion for you.

It rings for a few seconds before it’s picked up.

“Hey,” says Leon, and despite the noisy background, you can hear the excitement and affection in his voice when he greets you. You’re certain you can hear him grinning, too.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yep! Everything alright?”

“Graves said there’s a lot of crimes today, he told me to be careful.”

“I haven’t heard, I’m doing a photoshoot for Densoku right now,” he replies. “Where are you? I’ll be done soon; I can come get you when I’m finished.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, I’m with Jace right now. We’re good. I just wanted to check up on you, that’s all. I’ll check if Hop and your mum are okay when I get back to Wedgehurst.”

“Okay, thanks, that would be great."

As you continue your conversation with Leon, Jace sips his coffee quietly and you hang up. He’s still feeling lukewarm towards Leon, neutral towards your relationship with the Champion.

“Is he okay?” Jace mutters, and you nod.

Whilst you wait with tourists and commuters on the busy platform along with their pokemon, this a perfect opportunity to discuss with Jace about his new job.

“I thought about it for a long time, and I decided to go for it. I’ll be an electrician at Sunyshore gym,” he says, “Volkner’s always tried to get me a job but I didn’t complete my training in time and when I did, all the jobs were gone.”

“Oh, so…you really are going to leave Galar,” you mumble.

A brief silence occurs; Jace glances at you worryingly and you look at him with a thin, watery smile.

“I’ll come and visit you.”

“I know you will.”

Eventually, the tannoy announces the train is approaching and to stay clear from the yellow lines on the platform; the train finally arrives, chugging to a gradual stop and the doors whoosh open.

A mix of tourists, and men and women in business suits with their pokemon pour out and the travellers on the platform, including yourself and Jace, pile into the awaiting carriage. Unfortunately all the seats are swiftly taken so you’re the only unlucky folk who have no choice but to stand, so you and Jace hog a small section near one of the doors, holding onto one of the handles as the train begins to move.

The conversation continues.

“I’m sorry, chuck.”

“Don’t be sorry! You’ve been offered a job you’ve always wanted! You can’t pass up on this opportunity.”

“Y-yeah, I know...I’ll miss you,” he murmurs, and he shifts his gaze to the window, watching the peaceful Galar scenery roll by. It changes from the industrial-looking airport to a highway full of speeding vehicles. Jace says, sighing, “I’ll miss you a lot.”

“Me too, but I’m really happy for you, Jace,” you reply, following his gaze to look outside the window, at the sheep pokemon.

The train enters a tunnel with a loud fwoosh and the peaceful greenery is immediately replaced with an inky black screen; the windows go dark with your reflections and behind you, a tall and shadowy figure suddenly appears.

The carriage grows cold, the temperature dropping and your body begins to tremble. Jace speaks but you can no longer hear him, his voice fading away into the background. In a split second, fear grips you like a vice, your heart grasped and squeezed, your chest about to pop. Your eyes promptly widen when you realise what is responsible for this, yet somehow you are able to move, to whip round to face the entity only to greeted with empty space and the carriage begins moving again, Jace's voice returning.

"-so I know I've always wanted to be an electrician but-"

His words fall on deaf ears as you frantically search the area with your gaze. There was no-one nearby; the seats are all filled with sleepy businessmen whilst a couple stands in the corner near the opposite doors playing with their Pokemon, who aren't affected.

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"A shadow," you utter. "There was something standing behind me the moment the train went into the tunnel."

Jace raises a brow and looks around you. "No, I've been standing beside you the entire time and didn't see anything. Are you okay?"

Unsure what to think of it, you hastily clear your throat and force a nod. "Y-yes, I'm fine. Never mind. Sorry, um...I'm probably tired; it was... probably just a trick of the eye," In an attempt to return to the conversation, you say, “You said you've always wanted to be an electrician?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’m really excited. I start in two months. That’ll give me time to get used to the region and find a place to stay. Volkner’s letting me stay with him for the first few months of course, but I should really find my own apartment…”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

He looks at you and smiles widely. “Ah, sorry! No, I am sure, it’s just…maybe I’m getting too attached to Galar. Chuck, would you…ever go back to Kalos?”

“I’m not sure. Probably not. Too many bad memories.”

“Hm, I see."

When the train emerges from the tunnel, the sunshine seeps into the train and the highway disappears, revealing bountiful green pastures full of grazing Wooloos and Dubwool.

However, you cannot shake off what you saw.

Meanwhile, the small TV screen fixed on the train’s walls blasts out news of violent crimes appearing all throughout Galar.

When the train arrives in Wyndon, you and Jace split up and you take a Corviknight taxi to Postwick where you quickly check up on Leon’s family; they are fine, deciding to stay at home due to recent news.

Returning home, Sonia greets you. “Hey, you’re back! Ezra's here!”

"Huh?” you exclaim as you enter the house, slipping off your shoes.

You glance at the conservatory where you see a familiar old man in a black duster with an Absol seated quietly on one of the white sofas. A flowery teacup and teapot sits on the table for him, but he’s left it untouched. The fragile decorum contrasts heavily with his dark, grungy appearance.

“Ezra!” you squawk as you head over. “You're here! I was worried about you, and there’s something I need to tell you-”

His eyes are closed and as you approach, he begins to cough, blood leaking out from the corner of his mouth and as you grab a tissue for him from the box, he shakes his head and wipes it away with his sleeve.

“I’m fine.”

“You need to go to hospital.”

“No, not yet; we need to stop Spiritomb,” he grunts.

“Spiritomb??”

“Yes, those crimes. They’re all Spiritomb’s doing. It’s going on a rampage.”

Sonia exchanges concerned glances between you and the old man.

“It’s possessing people…specifically those with immense evil in their hearts, and carrying out attacks before quickly leaving the host. It’s the work of the one hundred and eight spirits we sealed away,” he mutters, “they are clashing and fighting for control, with one personality taking over at one time… hence why the crimes that have been reported are so varied.”

“Got it,” you reply with a nod, and Ezra shifts to get up and off the couch. “Any leads?”

“Yes. I detected its presence in Wedgehurst. Let’s go now before it escapes.”

“Okay.”

“Wait!” Sonia intervenes at once, waving her hands in the air. “No, don’t go, this is too dangerous!”

“Don’t worry, Sonia. Ezra and I know what we’re doing,” you tell her with a smile.

It’s been a while since you and Ezra have worked together.

…

“The hate is strong in this one,” says Johnny, before he glances at the helpless couple he’s kept tied up in the kitchen, “I guess he has you to thank for that since you're the ones who raised him into such a disrespectful and vile spoiled brat. Let me give you a little taste.”

Sidling to the microwave, the two begin to cry with fear and flail against their bounds as he opens the door and pulls out the crudely sliced and half-cooked body of a Spearow, sliding the slushy, gooey red remains of the bird pokemon onto a porcelain plate before he grabs a fork and returns to the couple’s side.

“Open up,” Johnny says as he steps behind the father’s chair and pulls the gag out of his aching mouth.

His lips are crusted all over with spit, dry and wet, and the man shakes his head fiercely in a futile act of protest, hot tears streaming down his eyes as Johnny grabs a handful of the meat. Mangled flesh and deep red ooze drips over the boy’s small fist before he promptly smears the meat over the man’s mouth, his fingers and nails soaked with rancid blood.

The man fights to keep his jaws clenched tightly together in a desperate bid to refuse, but Johnny counters by gripping his chin tightly and with two fingers, roughly forces his jaw open, allowing him to stuff morsel after morsel down the man’s gullet. He chokes, gagging uncontrollably but Johnny merely picks the pieces up and rams them down his throat once more.

“Don’t waste food. There are starving children in some parts of the world,” he says.

The woman screams relentlessly at the morbid sight, squeezing her eyes shut with fright whilst jerking fiercely against her bonds, shaking and flinging her back against the chair as with as much strength as she can gather, the chair legs scraping an inch across the floor.

When the meat is all gone and the man is left rasping and panting, a few red blobs and chunks of flesh drop to the floor in messy piles, and Johnny abandons the now-empty plate in favour for a plastic bag he’s kept near the microwave, looping it over the man’s head and tying the handles firmly around the front of his neck.

Terrified, the man’s eyes dart left and right, the insides of the bag fogging over from his shaky breaths.

“Johnny! Stop!” the woman screams, and the boy briefly pauses in his actions to slap her harshly across the face with the back of his hand.

Her head snaps viciously to one side, hair strewn over her eyes. She goes silent from shock before she begins to sob, her cheek stinging.

“How dare you hit your mother!!” Johnny's father yells, his shouts muffled. With each word, each laborious breath, the flimsy and thin plastic of bag sucks into his mouth and out.

“Shut up,” snarls Johnny, taking a few steps backwards so he can stand proudly in front of his parents where they can see him properly.

Johnny’s smirk reaches all the way to his ears, his eyes crazed and maniacal. It’s a face not belonging to their son at all but a monster, and it sends them into muted shock.

“…You’re not my son,” the man spits venomously, wheezing as he struggles to breathe.

“You’re right,” says Johnny, “I’m not.”

Nonchalantly, Johnny sidles over to a canister of gasoline he had kept propped up next to the fridge and unscrews the lid, allowing a strong but pungent, sweet smell to waft in the air.

With a hand on the bottom and the handle of the canister, the couple scream and splutter as he douses them, emptying the entire contents over their heads and bodies; the woman continuously shakes her head whilst sobbing and begging. The man howls in terror.

“Now for the grand finale,” the boy says, dumping the empty can to the floor and whipping out a lighter from his pockets, flicking it on with a jerk of his thumb and a little flame springs up and dances in the air, taunting the couple.

Relishing the sound of their screams, Johnny promptly drops the lighter.

A fierce barrage of red and yellow immediately engulf the kitchen in its entirety.

The fire licks at their bodies ruthlessly, and Johnny stands, his eyes dancing with delight. The flames reach his feet yet he doesn’t flinch; lifting his arms into the air horizontally, he throws his head up and closes his eyes and basks in the heat, failing to notice the letter box on the front door squeaking open and a voice whispering, “Prohibere eum.”

A delicate, white paper crane subsequently flits inside, flapping its little wings as it bobs towards the direction of the burning kitchen.

The boy whips his head round to the doorway, eyes narrowing.

“Who’s there?!” he snarls.

Spotting the crane, he stares at it limply for a few seconds until it unfurls, revealing strange symbols painted in red. Brows furrowing, his hand shoots out and he grabs it, scrunching it up tightly under his fist.

Unraveling his clenched knuckles, his palm is coated in patches of the strange red ink and before his very eyes, the ink blots merge together to form the symbols which promptly disappears into his skin like a dampened tissue.

“What?!” he yells in shock and confusion; the symbols soon make their presences known once again, this time, stretching all over his arm.

His body suddenly feels itchy all over. He dares to take a peek at a mirror magnet on the refrigerator to see the red symbols have appeared all over his face.

It’s too late; the exorcists are coming for him – and the boy immediately collapses over the floor, eyes closed.

His mouth is eased open and a purple transparent bubble slinks between the gap of his lips and continues to crawl out. It grows in size until it begins to form a distinct, ragged spherical shape, followed by a stone. A smooth, brown stone with a fissure in the middle. The creature crawls out of the boy’s mouth and slips over the floor in a puddle, just as the front door is abruptly kicked open and you step inside with Ezra.

“Sequimini eum!” Ezra yells, as Spiritomb attempts to make its frantic escape.

The pokemon is heading for the window – Gengar emerges from a shadow and fires a Shadow Ball at it – the attack misses and Spiritomb phases through the glass, vanishing outside.

“It got away!” you curse, but Ezra shakes his head.

“No, not this time. I’ll go after it,” he says, before he casts his dull gaze to the bodies on the floor. "Stay here and call an ambulance and the fire brigade.”

“Understood,” you reply, and Ezra abruptly leaves the house with Absol. “Gengar, follow Ezra, then come back to get me, okay?”

Your pokemon nods and merges with Ezra’s retreating shadow.

Water-type pokemon would be handy here but you do not have any so you hastily grab a blanket from one of their sofas, and with your pokemon’s help, you each grab a corner, soak it under the taps of the kitchen sink and throw it over the burning bodies.

The fire is extinguished at once, smoke fizzing out and into the atmosphere in thick wisps; the unmistakable stench of burnt flesh hangs heavy in the air.

Whilst you call for an ambulance, Mimikyu checks the fire alarm of the house which shows signs of being sabotaged, most likely Spiritomb’s doing. Vulpix slides a paw under the blanket to check the damage and shudders once she’s had a look, she settles the blanket back over their bodies.

Once the ambulance and firefighters are called, you leave the house.

Spiritomb is the most dangerous pokemon you’ve ever encountered.

It’s time to rejoin Ezra.

…

Meanwhile, Graves slows the car to a stop and pulls up at a gas pump outside Turrfield, Route 5. It’s been a crazy, hectic day and he’s on his way back to the police station when his car has run out of gas.

He rolls up his sleeves, pulling open the flap and feeding the nozzle inside. As the car fills up with petrol, Graves stands, whistling, looking around casually when he hears a woman’s earsplitting scream in the distance.

“What the hell…”

He eases the pump out, placing it into the holster and steps out, squinting his eyes at the horizon; a middle-aged woman comes running towards his direction, dishevelled and petrified beyond belief, the expression on her face full of nothing but terror. A short distance away, a familiar old man is limping after her along with an Absol.

It’s the homeless man called Ezra, whom his goddaughter is acquainted with. The ex-convict. The man who was jailed for murdering his wife and kid.

The woman he is chasing is screaming for her life, and when she spots Graves who rushes over, she heads for his direction and clings onto his arm. Her eyes are wide and panicky as she pants heavily, gesturing wildly to the pursuing Ezra.

“Help me, please! That madman is after me!!!” she shrieks. “He's trying to kill me!”

“Absol, attack!” Ezra commands, and the pokemon dashes towards them but Graves immediately reaches a hand behind his waist and pulls out Arcanine’s pokeball, tossing it into the air and releasing the canine pokemon.

“Stop! Take one more step or I’ll command Arcanine to attack!” Graves snaps, as Arcanine readies itself into an offensive stance, growling at Absol threateningly.

Immediately, passerby’s scream and begin rushing for cover, whilst the customers of the gas station run inside the gas station to hide.

Absol comes to a skidding halt, her paws kicking up dirt, but she snarls loudly at Graves and his pokemon and begins to pace back and forth as though ready to pounce at any time should her master willed it.

Ezra growls with frustration as the woman hides behind the Chief Inspector. “Inspector Graves. That woman has been possessed by an extremely dangerous pokemon,” Ezra barks, pointing to the woman. “A Spiritomb. It’s the culprit behind the recent crimes.”

Graves turns to the woman who throw her horror-stricken glance up to him. She blinks at him with widened eyes and shakes her head wildly. “He’s crazy!! Help me, please!”

“Arceus, you’re insane,” Graves utters under his breath, “ma’am, I’ll take you to the station where you can get help. Ezra, stay right where you are. Arcanine, watch over him and make sure he doesn’t move.”

“You’re making a damn mistake!” Ezra growls.

The old man takes a step forwards and abruptly stops, bowling over with a hand clutching his chest. Absol returns to his side, yowling loudly with concern as he enters a harsh coughing fit; his chest is on fire, his lungs pierced by a sharp, throbbing pain. As Ezra splutters and chokes, he drops on one knee, slapping a hand over his mouth in a futile attempt to prevent the uncontrollable rush of blood that’s spilling out.

Viscous red lines seeps through the gaps of his fingers, spilling over the concrete in little splotches. Absol wails with fright at the sight of her suffering master who inevitably collapses over the ground on his front, motionless.

"Ezra!" Graves yells, but he's effectively halted when the frightened woman tugs on his elbow.

“Oh, thank you,” she says, “thank you so much.”

“Ma’am, stay here.” He instructs. Graves isn't on bad terms with the priest though he doesn't trust him in any way, but he cannot leave Ezra like this so he recalls Arcanine, dips a hand to grab his Rotom phone to call an ambulance only to emit a cry of pain; the device falls out of his hand but luckily, the pokemon bobs back up before it completely meets the ground

“Sir, what’s wrong?” Rotom asks, only to witness the woman dropping to the ground as a purple swirl emerges from her mouth which has latched itself to Graves��� back; a purple mist encases his body and seeps into his chest as a purple tendril begins crawling towards his mouth. Horrified, the phone flits in the air helplessly. “Bzzzzrt! Zzztop! Zztop thizzz at once! Oh, Mazzzter, Mazzter Gravezzz! Zzomeone, help!!”

The creature vanishes and Graves’ eyes snaps open, now a bizarre shade of lime green; Rotom stares in horror as the entity grins and pats at his chest and looks at his arms before spotting the bridge that overlooks the Wild Area, connecting Turrfield and Hulbury together.

….

Gengar returns to tell you Ezra is in Turrfield, so you make your way over as quickly as you can and the shadow pokemon leads you to a gas station which is in chaos. Several vans belonging to various TV stations are parked outside along with their TV anchors standing and delivering live news and interviewing witnesses. A few locals stand behind the tape, pointing and whispering, whilst a puddle of blood has been outlined with a yellow chalk.

You manage to overhear the following:

“Yeah, so I saw this woman rushing up to this middle-aged dude, and then this old dude with an Absol came and the middle-aged dude pulled an Arcanine on him. Sick move, man.”

It’s utter pandemonium. Beside one of the gas pumps, you recognize Graves’ car from the license plate and head over, peering through the windows. It’s empty.

An ambulance is also parked closeby where you see Absol outside, howling mournfully with her head raised to the air.

“Absol!!!” you rush over, squatting in front of her. “What happened???! Are you okay? Where’s Ezra?”

Absol stops yowling for a moment to regard you before a voice worms inside your mind: "My father is inside. He’s unconscious."

“…..Cassie?” you breathe out in shock.

Absol blinks at you with her bright blue eyes before she continues howling once more. The doors to the ambulance subsequently open and you’re greeted with a paramedic who jumps out and you briefly see Ezra inside, lying on a stretcher with a breathing mask.

“Ezra!” you yell, “Can I go in? I know him.”

“His condition is stable, you can go in.”

“Thank you!” you climb inside the vehicle and the paramedics within are helping set up heart monitors and IV drips around him. “Ezra, I’m here.”

His eyelids open weakly and he mutters deliriously, “….Spiritomb….it’s taken your godfather…It took the guise of a woman…your godfather thought she needed help…Don’t mind me, go after the fool before he gets himself killed…he was heading for route five…”

“But-“

“Go,” Ezra urges, “I’ll be fine…..”

“O-okay. Take care.”

You nod reluctantly and leave.

…

You find your godfather in Route 5 as Ezra had mentioned, standing precariously on the ledge of the fifty-feet high bridge, overlooking the scenery of the Wild Area below. He’s barefoot and missing his suit, his hair messy, tie undone, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows and looking very unkempt.

None of the TV crew have arrived yet, which you’re grateful for because you do not want the media to get involved with this fiasco.

However, it’s unavoidable that some people and their pokemon have gathered around, standing at a safe distance several feet away. Whilst some individuals are recording this scene on their phone, others are trying to talk him down but to no avail. Some are actively asking if there are any trainers with ice-type pokemon that can freeze him (no-one has any, unfortunately). Ultimately, no-one seems to know what to do.

“Let me through! I know him, I’m his goddaughter!” you yell, pushing your way through the crowd and making your way to the very front. “Graves!! Graves – urgh, I mean, Uncle Chris! Don’t do it!”

Graves whips round yet you do not see his features, only a grinning mass of purple with green flecks. It’s Spiritomb, who grins maliciously at you.

“Get out of his body!” you growl angrily, gritting your teeth with rage.

“No, I like this body very much. The misery, the regret, the loneliness. He misses Ellen very much, he wants to be with her,” says Spiritomb, “and he misses your family, your father. He regrets not doing enough. You’re sad all the time because of him. He can’t do anything. He’s useless. He wants to die.”

The crowd go quiet, watching your interaction, though a kind-looking woman holds you back.

“Be careful, it’s best not to get too close because he’s very agitated right now. It’s best not to aggravate him or make sudden movements," she mutters.

You can hardly hear what she’s saying, the sheer panic and distress that you normally don’t experience during uncertain and dangerous times like these has suddenly kickstarted in your system.

“No!!!” you yelp in a desperate bid to get through to your godfather, “Stop it! Stop thinking like that!! I’m still here, I survived!!! You didn’t fail!! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re useless. You’re not! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I’ll enroll in the police academy, okay? I won't make you worry for me anymore. I'm sorry!”

And Graves falters slightly, grumbling incoherently under his breath. Spiritomb's visage briefly vanishes as your godfather’s brows scrunch with confusion.

“You’re the only family I have left and I can’t lose you too! Please, Uncle Chris, snap out of it!”

Graves grumbles and groans in response to your pleas, his eye twitching.

You throw a sideways glance to Gengar; he’s lurking in your shadow and giving you a nod, silently travels over towards Graves’ direction.

And Spiritomb snaps, “Shut up!”

Then he turns and jumps, just seconds before Gengar leaps out from the shadow to grab him. Missed.

People scream, whilst a few trainers release their bird pokemon and direct them to go after the fallen man and Gengar buries himself into the shadows once more.

You throw yourself to the ledge, peering over where you see Graves plummeting helplessly in the air. “No!!”

Your pokemon bursts out forth from Graves’ falling shadow but he is not close enough. His eyes glowing, Gengar’s eyes and claws turns red before he spins in the air and throws his arms up, forcibly extracting a purple blob out of Graves body – it’s Spiritomb, whom he’s now trapped in a glowing red forcefield. Spiritomb growls and resists, shooting several Shadow Balls against its confines to no effect. The attack hits the walls of the forcefield akin to cork bouncing against a brick wall.

However, Graves is still hurtling towards the ground despite Gengar’s attempts, and the bird pokemon swooping towards him aren’t quick enough either.

“Wait, what’s that in the air?!!!” someone cries, pointing to the sky.

Everyone follows the direction of his finger and you see a familiar flame pokemon heading for your group. It’s Charizard; he’s zooming towards your way and the crowd begins to cheer.

“It’s Charizard!!! The Champion is here!!!”

“YES!”

“Go, Leon!!!”

Charizard swoops past and dives, folding his wings close to his body to reduce the resistance of the air, allowing himself to barrel towards your godfather's direction in seconds; in his wake, he leaves a gust of wind billowing that blows the majority of the crowd off their feet and to the ground including yourself; as you sit up, slightly dazed, you look around frantically for Leon and there he is, sprinting towards you from the direction of Motostoke.

“Leon!!!” you cry with relief, scrabbling up to stand.

Charizard returns with a massive flap of his wings, shooting up and into the air before he lands on the ground, clutching an unconscious Graves in his arms.

“Charizard!!” you exclaim, “Thank you!!”

The pokemon snorts loudly and gives you a toothy grin as he lays the unconscious man on the ground in front of you as carefully as he can so you can inspect him. You breathe a sigh of relief; Graves is unharmed.

People begin cheering as Leon finally arrives whereas Gengar returns to the bridge with Spiritomb who is still stuck in the forcefield. When the flying pokemon return, the trainers all turn to the trapped pokemon and proceed to divert their fury towards it, using a wide range of fairy-type moves and others to attack it.

You hear Spiritomb croaking out in pain whilst the other flying type pokemon join in, whaling blows and pecking at the pokemon whilst their trainers cheer and pump fists in the air.

With half of the crowd focused on and bemused with attacking Spiritomb, the remaining crowd part ways to let Leon through and you look up at him as he moves to crouch beside you on one knee.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asks gently, but you are so shocked you merely throw your arms around him with gratitude.

“Thank you, Leon…”

He bundles you up in his arms, stroking the back of your head. “It’s okay, everything’s alright. I’m here….” He mutters soothingly in your ear, “I’m here.”

…

[stone-man-warrior]

June 20, 2020: 2:22 pm:

Nothing but the sound of peacocks when I step outside, and into view on my front walkway today. It’s a nice day, not hot, not cold, not sunny, not cloudy, it’s Solstice.

The longest day.

Last night, and again tonight, will be the shortest of nights for the year.

I did not hear the terror train last night. I went outside a few times, but no train was heard.

There was someone on the South side of my yard, near the fence at 520 making fake owl noises last night at about midnight, and the Strong terror cell was active on Russell road, as was the Chapman terror cell.

The owl bird call, is one that has been used by Clyde Baum for about twenty years. All of the local terror soldiers have and use a bird call that is unique to each one.

The Clyde Baum terror cell at 333 Jackpine has undergone some remarkable changes over course of this year. The place there has been nearly exactly the same for about fifteen years, with exception of Clyde’s habit of always changing the car he drives about once or twice per year, otherwise, the place has been unchanged for a long time, until recently. As I mentioned before, there are many very expensive looking pick-up trucks there now, a lot of nearly brand new modern cars, and a ever increasing number of trailers of different kinds and sizes. I don’t know what changed, but something at Clyde Baum terror cell changed at the start of this year, such that new, expensive vehicles are showing up there, and staying, travel and utility trailers are also growing in number, and, all of the big trees that were around the house there, have all been cut down slowly over course of the year. Some are still laying there in the yard. I want to make a reminder about a commercial air-travel airplane ride I took where someone produced a gun onboard.

It was a long time ago, and I don’t want to say too many details, but I will say that I needed to go to Las Vegas, made the arrangements, and when I went to Medford International to board my plane, Clyde was there at the airport. He, and a number of other terror neighbors, and some other people I knew from Grants Pass, basically, the “Grants Pass Chamber of Commerce” was there at the airport, and they all boarded the same airplane I needed to get onto too.

It was weird, I did not talk to any of them. On the ride back, is when the gun came out onboard the airplane. One of the Flight Attendants, a female, was shooting on the airplane. I was able to intervene. I don’t want to say how. I need to talk to national security personnel about that plane ride, and some others when things onboard the airplane turned into terror on the airplane. The thing I most need to say and have understood by national security personnel, is the Clyde Baum was also on the return flight, as well as some of the “Grants Pass Chamber of Commerce” people that were onboard the other flight. Clyde Baum, took credit for thwarting the person with the gun after the report was made about what happened onboard. Whatever agency, or officers, or investigative people may have been involved with questioning and investigating that incident, interviewed the wrong man, repeatedly, with help and support from local, terror, impostor law enforcement officers. No one has heard the real story about what happened on that airplane, or the others I was on when things went bad. One commercial airplane ride I was on, included that the pilot invited me into the cockpit, and there were US Fighter jets escorting us to the airport. Another, included that one of the windows in the passenger section, came out, broke. Passengers plugged it up with what we could find while in flight. No one has asked anything about any of that. All of those flights were either going to or from, Medford, Portland, or Las Vegas. All of those flights were about ten years ago. So, Clyde, took credit, and gave a false representation of what occurred on at least one of those flights.

I think he was in my yard last night making owl sounds. But I also was under the impression that Clyde was dead, died recently. I only know that the owl, has been Clyde, in the past.

=============================== Other things to think about: Rocky Mountain Power is the parent company of the five Electric Power Utility Companies on the West side of the Continental Divide.

Five corporations, under the same roof, supply power to half of the geographic area of USA. It’s not difficult to see the value that has as a terror army, when you consider the Britain is in the process of taking over USA. They took over Rocky Mountain Power, and all of the sub Utilities, replaced the linemen with Canadian Linemen, and there is a backbone of power, in the form of an army that controls all of the power. I remain optimistic that this information will reach people who understand it, and have authority to change the conditions back to conditions of Freedom.

End terror report: 3:09 pm.

[god-fucking-dammit-mizutani]

Just This Once

Word Count: ~3600 Part: 1/? Summary: Taichi gets invited along on a free vacation with the Izumi family to a quaint little cabin where there promises to be great food, plenty of activity, and sun in the forecast. The catch? The whole family thinks he’s dating Koushirou.

Taichi wishes it were true.

Read below or on AO3

"This has got to be the most ridiculous thing you have ever done," Yamato decides. Even under his sunglasses, Taichi can feel the heat of his glare. It could rival the sun today, already sitting at the highest point in the sky, without a single cloud in view to obscure it.

Taichi looks away, frowning. "It's not the most," he protests. Yamato takes a long, audible sip of his iced latte. Nothing in Taichi's memories leap to his defense. 

When they come to the longest patch of shade along the dirt road, Taichi feels their pace shorten to a leisurely, measured gait. Wind races past them, a wonderful reprieve from the heat. August has been brutal. Yamato reeks of several coatings of sunblock, masked ever so faintly by an overdose of cologne. Taichi's nose tickles with the repulsive combination; his iced tea tastes like chemicals just from the smell of it. 

Yamato pins his bangs up against his head with the slide of his sunglasses. Somehow the dark makes his eyes all the more brighter. He kicks at a collection of pebbles on the dirt path. Taichi watches them skitter along, some rolling into the tall, uncut grass on either side of them. "When are you leaving?" 

For a while Taichi doesn't answer. He can hear a mother shouting at her kid for something on the playground nearby. 

"Tonight," he finally shares, tugging at his shirt in quick bursts like it's a fan. Bits of the fabric are already damp with his sweat. 

Yamato stops dead in the path. A jogger who had been catching up on their tails just narrowly leans out of the way to miss bumping against him. Taichi watches her blaze down the pedestrian pathway, his muscles twitching with want to follow the same path, to enter a secret race against the other runners at the park fueled only by the desire to be faster. 

Maybe it's just his instinct to run away, begging him. 

It's too hot. 

"I told you it was too late to back out," Taichi mutters, picking back up on their previous pace. Yamato jogs up beside him a moment later and Taichi hates that he feels kind of sorry for how strenuous that must be when the air just tastes like heat. 

"Backing out," Yamato scoffs— wheezes—" is not the point. Have you no sense of self preservation?" 

Taichi can't argue with that. He's been wondering the same thing himself since the moment he woke up, since the memory of his promise had solidified from some fever dream into reality.

Maybe it was heatstroke.

Taichi frowns. He knows it wasn't. 

It had, after all, been Koushirou asking. With his eyes so wide on the other side of their video call, it had felt like Taichi was staring down a deer trapped in his headlights. "Just this once," he had pleaded and Taichi just couldn't say no.

Yamato kicks at another collection of pebbles sleeping in their way, his black slacks covered in a layer of dust so thick the fabric looks almost as if it were tip dyed beige. Taichi watches as the stones arc along the air, before sprinkling back to the dirt like a smattering of shooting stars. He wonders if he could make a wish on every single pebble, but he knows he'd only ask for one thing. 

He almost chokes on his iced tea, not preparing for the bath of pseudo chemicals it coats his tongue in. Throwing it out after all the money he spent would only put a worse taste in his mouth and so Taichi takes another long chug.

"Pretending to date the guy you're in love with is your most boneheaded idea," Yamato doubles down. He shakes his drink, ice shuffling around the barely there liquid. When Yamato sips around his straw it sounds like he's sucking on air. Taichi takes another chug of his own drink and wishes they could switch. "And on vacation with his goddamn family."

Taichi lets out a long huff. He hates to admit Yamato's right, even if it technically wasn't his idea, so he keeps it to himself, kicking at the ground instead. All it earns him is a blanket of dust on the cuffs of his jeans.

The line between the shade and the sun is striking. Heat clings around Taichi like a toxic friend welcoming him back, and he wishes he were anywhere else.

Almost anywhere else.

"Hey," Yamato starts, knocking his shades down over his eyes in a deft swoop. Taichi mourns the sunglasses he had every intention to grab on his way out of the house this afternoon as the light of the sun burns his eyes. "At least I've got a whole week to plan your funeral." 

Taichi feels the edge of his lips twitch into a sardonic half smile. "It's great to have friends you can depend on when it counts." 

Yamato crosses over into him for a moment, their shoulders brushing minutely. "Don't mention it." 

Taichi throws his drink out in the closest receptacle. His tongue feels heavy, like someone bathed it in sunblock. 

"I won't." 

Early evening does little to abate the heaviness of summer. Taichi had hoped they'd leave the mugginess behind in Odaiba, with the exhaust fumes and high rises. It's too cold with the wind of the highway whipping by them to keep the window down completely, but too warm inside the car to keep it shut. Taichi doesn't trust the air conditioner to not burn out again , and so he settles on leaving the window open just a crack. 

Even with little competition from the wind and other traffic, the radio can barely be heard. Taichi only knows what's playing because the station only seems to have the license to just three songs. 

He doesn't ask why they're leaving so much later than the rest of Koushirou's family. Taichi can guess that much himself; an attempt to stave off the inevitable embarrassment and barrage of intrusive questions. A breath of fresh air before the oncoming storm. 

Taichi wishes it would storm, just for the night. It's so hot.

His leg bounces without his permission. "Should we set some, uh, ground rules?"

Koushirou hums, tapping his fingers on the top of the steering wheel. Taichi hoists his seat back a little bit, watching Koushirou watch the road for a while before the other repeats, "Ground rules," quietly to himself. Just a little bit behind Koushirou's ear is a deep, inset stain Taichi had forgotten about from when Mimi had drunkenly thrown a ketchup-saturated burger at his head. Taichi frowns. He can't remember why. It was probably deserved, he decides begrudgingly.  

It's weird being the passenger in his own car, but Koushirou had insisted on letting him rest the majority of their ride. Taichi breathes in, tightly. It's a nice thought. 

Koushirou spares him a quick look, almost as if he's alarmed to see someone else in the car. Taichi’s fingers tap the console of his own door, a small impulsive voice in his head telling him it's not too late to tuck and roll. He withdraws his hand, playing with the bridge of his seatbelt instead. 

Koushirou looks back to the road. "What do you suggest?" 

Though it pains him, Taichi suggests, "No kissing?" He tries not to be bothered when Koushirou readily agrees, as if the thought is burning something unpleasant into his mind. 

"Anything that you find congenial," Koushirou decides a second later. "Short of kissing," he adds, "just treat me as any other partner you've had." 

Taichi turns his head to look out the window instead, the suggestion somersaulting in his stomach. Outside the trees and guardrails are nothing more than blurs of color. Taichi makes a game of trying to pin them into their proper shapes until it strains his eyes and makes his head dizzy. 

"What are we going to tell your parents after this week?" He asks as soon as the thought occurs to him. Taichi meets Koushirou's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"That we weren't compatible in a romantic capacity. Naturally," he adds. 

"Yeah," Taichi drawls out. "Naturally."

"We'll relay that we worked best as friends." Koushirou tilts his head back just enough to offer Taichi, what he suspects, is supposed to be a reassuring smile. It doesn't work. Taichi just thinks he looks cute, trying to still be attentive to the road and him. "Lay low for a few days," he continues. "Then we proceed as if nothing has changed." 

Sunset stains the sky above them, bright blues just giving way to rose-pinks and burnt-oranges. It looks like someone painting over a used canvas, and Taichi watches the colors bleed towards the horizon through the driver side window. He hates how pretty sunset looks on Koushirou, like the world created it just to softly compliment this boy. 

Taichi feels it when the car starts to roll along the highway slower. "Traffic," Koushirou reports without Taichi having to ask. "Seems we still hit rush hour," he tacks on apologetically. Taichi leans up from the chair just enough to see the forest of red lights glow all at once in front of them. They're still some ways off, but Taichi knows Koushirou is prudent when it comes to literally everything, so he refrains from commenting. 

He lets his head fall back down, the strain in his neck evident only now that he's resting. 

Taichi catches the sun by some far off mountains. He closes one eye, reveling in how the orange-red deathball seems to shift perfectly between the hills at his whim. He tries with his other eye, then back and forth. 

"I never asked," Taichi realizes when the car finally comes to a full rest. For a moment he worries that his words have been swallowed by the scream of emergency vehicles racing towards them until Koushirou hums for him to continue. "But what started all—" Taichi looks up at him for a moment, pursing his lips for the word to come to him. His leg bounces again. "You know, this ?" He gestures at the air between them. Koushirou snorts.

"Our ersatz relationship?" Taichi thinks the sentence would sound best without ersatz—whatever it means— but he makes a noise of agreeance. "My cousin obtained a partner this year." 

Taichi waits. In his peripherals he catches the bright, red lights of the emergency vehicles long before the ambulance comes up beside his car. Koushirou always drives in the slow lane. Taichi doesn't think he even moves to pass other cars. More often he's just content to ride shotgun while Taichi drives. 

He catches Koushirou watching the police cars as they pass, his knuckles on the steering wheel white and straining. 

"It was a calamity," Koushirou recalls, eyes back on the road. His stare looks more pointed, less dutiful. It's been a while since he cut his hair, Taichi realizes. It curls around the shell of an equally reddened ear and Taichi tries not to sound pushy when he asks him to continue. "My aunt started interrogating my mother if everything was okay, if I needed help finding someone because I'm a recluse and never get out." 

Taichi whistles.

"She means well," Koushirou says in defense, "but she is tenacious when she sets her mind to something." 

"Right," Taichi agrees. He's got a few of those, but he's lucky enough to have a large extended family, that he and Hikaru tend to mostly fly under the radar. 

Koushirou breathes in. He presses off the break briefly and the car rolls forward before jerking to another stop. Taichi watches his eyebrows knit, or twitch, like Koushirou's still in the middle of an argument with her. 

"My mother knows I have the propensity to like people," Koushirou continues, his cheeks now staining a pleasantly warm red, "so I couldn't lie there." 

Taichi nods along, twisting the seat belt around his hand, then again, and again, until there's no more give. 

"I started getting calls," Koushirou admits. His eyes are almost as wide with terror as they had been the night before. "She was giving out my number to her friends, for any of their interested children." His face pinches. Taichi understands, a bit. If it's not one of their friends, Koushirou will rarely answer his phone, text or otherwise. "She started making all these plans to go to bars during the trip, and then she offered to—" Koushirou swallows tightly. "Telling her I was already in a relationship seemed the only way to appease her." 

Taichi scrunches up his legs and straps the top end of the seat belt around his knees, let's the weight of them pull until the belt fastens around his midsection tighter. "So," Taichi starts, "you told them we were dating?" 

Koushirou hums. "Not," he stops. His one hand falls to the gear shift on the console between their seats. "Not quite. I'd hoped just saying someone was enough, but then they insisted I bring my partner to the family vacation, if my cousin was bringing his and I, well, originally excogitated asking Jyou, but," Koushirou presses his lips into a thin line, "it didn't quite develop that way."

"Oh," Taichi says intelligently.

Koushirou lets out a long sigh, as if he'd been holding the breath in this whole time. Taichi looks out his own window, at the dotting of stars already freckling the sky. With everything darkened, he can vaguely see Koushirou's reflection. Taichi frowns.

"We can turn around," Koushirou says all at once, his head turning towards the rear of the car. On instinct Taichi sits up and looks behind them as well. There's already a line of cars sitting all the way down from where Taichi can see. Koushirou thumbs the button, as if he might actually put the car into reverse and drive them out of there. 

"Koushirou," Taichi starts, putting his hand over the other's until he looks up, dark eyes still wide. 

"We can tell everyone the highway shut down," Koushirou asserts. "Or one of us developed food poisoning—" 

"Koushirou," he repeats, offering a vaguely reassuring smile. "It will be fine." Taichi sends a swift look back over his shoulder, and then a pointed one before them. Koushirou follows his eyes. Taichi squeezes his hand where they're still connected over the gear shift. He grins the best he can. "No matter what, we're going to have a fun week, okay?" 

Koushirou smiles back. The night sky halos around him and Taichi thinks that, maybe, the dark compliments him better because Koushirou looks so bright and ethereal. Taichi hopes Koushirou can't feel the rabbiting of his pulse when their hands are still connected.

"Thank you," he says, quietly. Taichi only moves his hand when Koushirou shifts the car into neutral, sinking back in his seat as if a weight had been taken from his shoulders. The radio blares loudly, now that it's hitting the first commercial break. Taichi reaches over to turn it off. It's really disconcerting to him, being the passenger.

"I really mean it," Koushirou enthuses a second later. "I'm very gracious you're here."

"Yeah?" Taichi says. He hopes his grin doesn't look as dopey as it feels. "That's what—" he pauses—"ersatz boyfriends are for." 

Koushirou laughs. The car in front of them moves forward just a second and Koushirou lifts his foot off the brake to follow along.

"You are perhaps the world's most superlative, ersatz boyfriend." 

Taichi throws a hand emphatically over his heart. "Thank you," he says, "all of my actual relationships have been simple practice for this moment." 

Koushirou snorts.

Cement eventually gives way to dirt roads, trees and boulders the only way to mark their journey. The car jitters back and forth on the uneven paths; Taichi worries they'll lose the right wheels when the vehicle jumps over a poorly laid stone. Mother nature is a terrible architect. 

The driveway is rectangular, paved sloppily with pebbles. Rustic, Taichi thinks. Koushirou kills the engine as soon as he slips Taichi's Honda right between the two SUVs already lined up.

"Looks nice," Taichi comments, slipping carefully out of his side of the car, keeping the door close enough to his body so as not to scrape the black paint of the other. Over the hood of his car, Koushirou settles him with a look. Quietly he repeats, "Looks nice." 

Koushirou beams at him. 

They meet around the trunk, Taichi already curling his fingers under the indent above the license plate, waiting. 

Taichi stares. 

Koushirou stares. 

"You have the keys," Taichi reminds him. He tempers his own laughter as Koushirou startles, almost dropping them from his hands. After a few seconds of him fiddling around with the key fob, the trunk opens with a light thunk . Taichi only lifts it part of the way open. He grabs for the green straps of the laptop bag first and offers it over to Koushirou. "You can go in first," he whispers as Koushirou takes his bag. 

Unsteady on his feet, Koushirou tilts his head as if to question him, and Taichi smiles. He insists, "Go ahead," unable to resist ruffling Koushirou's already untamed hair. His heart twinges when Koushirou does not push away, instead leaning against the weight of Taichi's hand, midnight eyes drifting shut. He looks as if he could rest there, with only Taichi's hand to keep him steady. 

"Thank you," Koushirou says, barely above a breath. 

"Yeah," Taichi answers, retracting his hand. "Get some sleep, I'll bring in the rest." 

He hears the drag of Koushirou's feet along the driveway, disturbing every stone on his way. 

Taichi grabs for the duffel bag Koushirou had helped him fill before they left, and the recycled grocery bag he'd filled with some odd snacks he'd meant to eat on the way and his swim trunks he’d almost forgotten. He checks the trunk to make sure the keys aren't there before frowning. He’d forgotten to take them back. 

He hears the lake before he sees it. Lights from distant cabins along the farther shore ripple infinitely in the dark water. Taichi breathes in and the residual smell of campfire reminds him of summer camp and barbeques and for the first time his chest swells with something other than anxiety. He takes a minute more to admire the scenery until the duffel bag on his shoulder reminds him how late it really is.

Taichi does his best to be quiet, taking every step up the porch deliberately, trying to pick up his feet— but it's the screen door he doesn't expect to betray him when it recoils back to it's post with a thunderous wham. 

He stands in the front room, stock still, waiting for a hoard of angry Izumi's to come rushing in and reprimand him. Instead only Koushirou turns around the corner, standing in the open concept kitchen just in front of him. He has a finger up to his lips, as if reminding Taichi to keep quiet. Too late. 

"My dad was waiting up for us. He just went to bed," Koushirou relays on a long yawn. Taichi notices he's already changed into a set of pajamas and he tries not to think how adorable he looks in them. Koushirou points somewhere past the wall and tells Taichi, "Our room's that way." 

Our room sits heavy in Taichi's stomach. He hadn't really given it thought before this moment as he follows Koushirou down the longest hallway. They'd shared rooms in the past, he has to remind himself, but it feels different somehow. 

His stomach somersaults again when Koushirou opens the door. 

"They were being courteous giving us this room," he explains, moving his laptop bag off the single bed. "Since—" 

"We're a couple," Taichi remembers. It is nice of them, he tells himself. They're being supportive. Not trying to kill him. 

Koushirou smiles back at him over his shoulder, his eyes muddled with sleep. "Bathroom's across the hall," he says and Taichi understands that he's really telling him to get ready in the most polite way he can. 

Taichi shrugs the duffel bag off his shoulder by the side of the door, and tosses the plastic bag next to it. He rummages through for one of his night shirts and tells Koushirou, "I'll be back."

Koushirou's already tucked into bed when he’s finally finished. Taichi turns out the light by the door. Little bits of light filter in through the barely closed curtains, and it is the only way Taichi finds his way in the dark.

"I'm sorry," Koushirou breathes out the minute the mattress dips with Taichi's weight. "For dragging you," he trails off for a long while. Taichi watches the ceiling. The fan in the corner of the room is loud. He hopes it becomes white noise. "Dragging you into this," he murmurs out of nowhere. 

Taichi laughs, adjusting on the bed until his cheek touches the pillow, facing the other. 

Moonlight sits lightly on Koushirou's cheeks, elongating every angle of his face. He looks otherworldly sometimes. "I'm kind of glad," Taichi says finally, huffing out the words like he's lost all of his rights to oxygen. "It's rare for you to ask for something like this." Koushirou hums, his eyes fluttering minutely. It sounds like a question so Taichi answers, "Something for yourself." 

Koushirou huffs, a nonverbal protest.

Taichi laughs. "Go to sleep."  

Taichi never falls asleep himself.  Even with his eyes closed his heart just feels restless in his chest, his mind racing with intangible thoughts. Even with the fan humming in the background it's too hot to feel comfortable.

Taichi decides that dawn is just as lovely as sunset, when it crests over the distant treeline outside their window and sits gently on Koushirou's cheeks and wonders how Yamato's doing, if his plans for Taichi's funeral are going swimmingly. 

[ittybittywaterlily]

If you look into the void, sometimes the void stares back

(aka i really just want to be swept away by something giant and unknown)

(edit: fixed some spelling/grammar errors because 4 am me was too tired to proofread.. I also added some stuff by the end since it seemed rushed lmao)

I have always preferred the night. It’s much quieter, much more… easy on the eyes. The only noise that resounds through the still air is the distant wooshing of cars and the occasional bark of a dog.

Sometimes, when the sky is clear and the air is just right, I leave my house with a blanket in hand, to head to the nearby empty lot. I go there to stargaze, or just think about things, or simply to get away from the civilized world for a moment and pretend that I am living in the open outdoors, with not a care in the world. Mostly, I just imagine impossible scenarios as the stars watch over me.

Tonight is no exception for my nightly escapade. The back door is the easiest to unlock, so it is there I enter and exit. There’s always a key hidden behind one of Mom’s flowerpots outside, which I use to lock the door behind me. My blanket is draped around my shoulders like a cape, and it drags on the sidewalk a bit as I begin the walk to the lot. My lot. My special place.

As soon as I reach my destination, I untie my blanket and spread it over a patch of grass. And there I lie, thinking about… I forgot what exactly I was thinking about that night, but it had to be interesting.

The next thing I remember is opening my eyes sleepily. Sleepily? No, I never fall asleep outside. I made sure to go home when that happened. Thankfully, it looks like it’s still dark; the stars are still out. Speaking of stars... it barely passes for plural. There are only two of them. Weird, I think to myself as I put my palms down to push myself up…

and find that I can’t. Now that I think of it, did one of the stars just wink out? No, stars don’t wink. Eyes... eyes do. And before I know what exactly is going on, I feel myself being dragged up… and up… and up, before the movement slows and I am face to face with... something. It’s too dark to really see anything else other than it’s eyes, which seem to sparkle in the moonlight.

It occurs to me that I am very, very high up. I’d scream, but I was one of those people who couldn’t really scream, no matter what the situation. I settled with a shaky “huh,” and everything went black.

———————

It watched over everything when the sun begins to set. Not because of any sworn duty or because it had been cursed to do so, but simply because it enjoyed watching the activity at night. An owl swooping in to catch a mouse, the bats flitting from here to there. It was much more interesting than the events that happened in the day, when all there was was noise and light and people.

It had always found these creatures— humans— odd. They always went around in every possible place in every possible way, only to head to their strange concrete nests when its favorite time came around. The whole endeavour seemed utterly pointless to a being such as itself.

But this was the first time it had ever seen a human up close.

The human had gotten its attention some few nights ago, which wasn’t hard, considering that all the humans had to be asleep at the time. The human walked to the same place each night, and after a few hours, would go back to the nest that they came from. Despite doing practically nothing, it found this human’s strange routine to be much more interesting than the animals of the night.

So it decided to get a closer look, see what made this particular human tick, why they were so insistent on this strange nightly routine. It had waited until the human had closed their eyes, and then it crept closer, closer, until they were right at the human’s side, watching as they slept. It certainly didn’t expect the human to wake up so suddenly. It occurred to the being that the human had seen it. That couldn’t be good. It had heard that humans were unbelievably social, and this one in particular could easily have it hunted down. No, it was probably best to scare the human into thinking otherwise. And it had also heard that humans were terrified of heights.

It stares at the creature in its palm. It had always found these creatures odd. They were said to be awfully resilient, but the one it held was surprisingly limp for a supposedly very active lifeform. It began to worry that it may have accidentally killed them. Well, if that was the case, it was best to dispose of the body, and what better place than its domain? Yes, that would probably be the better course of action. So it gathered up the cloth that the human had laid out on the grass and gently placed the human inside, and spirited them away.

[mydearestreaderfanfics]

Coat Closet Confessions (Shiro x Reader)

Warnings: swearing, cleithrophobia

Word Count: 3,311

Prompt/Request: shiro/female reader with like childhood friends and mutual pining ?? Flustered shiro is a bonus, u can add any other tropes u like (locked in a closet, sharing a bed, fake relationship etc) cheers xx

Summary: Shiro and you have been best friends for longer than you can remember, but when he helps you move into your new apartment that has a temperamental closet door there's no telling what could happen. Call this story a forest cause it's full of pining. (Sorry aout the pun)

Author: Mod Alex

It’s not that you didn’t like living at your parent’s house, but it was definitely high time you had your own space. Much to your relief, you managed to get just that. Somehow, despite it being in the inner city (and close to your college at that!) you’d secured a decently affordable apartment. The only downside- the coat closet was a major hassle. The structure was a bit on the older side and the wood had warped over the years leaving you with a closet door that had to be yanked open form the outside. Not that big an issue in the grand scheme of things, you figured, especially since the rest of the place was so nice and in your budget. You’d also managed to save some money by forcing your longtime best friend to do free manual labor for you.

“Shiro, where did you put the box that has my books?”

“They’re already on the shelf.” Shiro came out of your new bedroom, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. His white tank top sat snug against his skin from the sweat. You turned away, blushing. How dare he look that good.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Sure, I figured you’d probably want them the same way you had them before.”

“Jeez, are you like reading my mind or something?” You laughed, going to see his hard work. “No, but seriously, I don’t know what I’d do without you, Shiro.”

“Well, I know you wouldn't have your books put up yet.” He slung his arm over your shoulder and you shoved him away playfully. “Ew, gross. Keep your grody sweat off of me.” You stuck your tongue out at him and he grinned mischievously.

“You mean this sweat?” He pulled you into a full embrace and you jokingly pushed against his chest.

“Shiro, noooooo.” Truth be told you really didn’t mind. He actually wasn’t that sweaty and to be fair, you yourself weren't all that sweat free. Well, that and a hug from Shiro was never something to turn down. He looked down at you, you figured he’d look as though he was going to make some impish comment but instead a gentle smile played over his features. He was so close to you like this, your heart hammered dangerously in your chest. Shiro seemed to realize this too and quickly let you go, taking a step back and clearing his throat awkwardly.

“U-um, sorry about that. I um, n-nevermind. Should I go get the other boxes?” He looked around trying not to meet your eyes, but would occasionally do so anyway; his face blushing even redder when he did. Your heart twinged painfully at the reminder that Shiro only saw you as only a friend.

“Erm, yeah, might as well.” An awkward silence hung over you as you made your way back down to the first floor. Awkward moments like this seemed to be happening more and more frequently. You hated it. The two of you had been friends for longer than you can remember and suddenly you had to go and catch feelings for him like an idiot and ruin a perfectly good friendship. Shiro cleared his throat and bumped his hip against yours attempting to make the atmosphere lighter.

“So you’re definitely gonna buy me dinner after this right. I mean it is only fair.”

You snorted, bumping his hip in return. “After paying for the deposit on this place? You’re lucky if I can buy us ramen tonight.” You’d already planned on ordering a pizza as thanks and he knew that. Regardless he whined, slumping against you so that you had to hold up his weight.

“You’re forcing me to work for you all day in the sweltering heat and I don’t even get food out of it? I thought we were friends, (Y/N).”

“Oh my god, Shiro, get off me, you weigh like a billion pounds. I’ll buy you dinner, jeez you drama queen.” He stood back up laughing. This is how it should be, you thought, bumping hips against Shiro and joking back and forth. Still, seeing him with his head tossed back in laughter with the sunlight shining over his statuesque features made your heart thump a little harder in your chest. You couldn’t stop loving him, you’d tried, he was just too perfect for words.

It took the rest of the afternoon but between Shiro and you, you'd managed to get your necessities unpacked and put away, a bedroom mostly set up, a living room kind of set up, and the locks and nails changed on your door. It was beginning to feel like home. “I can’t even begin to thank you for this, I mean honestly, I’d probably be lugging this thing up the stairs right now, if it didn’t already mow me over on the way up.” You patted the couch affectionately, a thrift store find that you’d managed to upcycle.

He grinned, “Well, I couldn’t just let you get steamrolled by a couch, now could I?” His pinky nudged yours gently, the simple action sending flutters throughout you. You had to remind yourself that it probably didn’t mean anything, that the way Shiro was peeking at you shyly from the corner of your eye was absolutely just you seeing things that you wanted to see.

You laughed, the sound betraying how electrified your nerves felt. “I guess not. It would definitely be weird having your best friend become Flat Stanley.”

At that Shiro guffawed. “Oh my god, I forgot about that book.”

“I’m just glad I’m not living it.” Shiro kept laughing and you ended joining him. As your laughter began to settle, you leaned against him, relishing in the feeling of Shiro sliding his arm your waist to hold you closer. You tried hard not to be hopeful about the way Shiro leaned his head against yours sighed happily as if he was just as content to hold you in his arms as you were to be held.

In honor of finally getting your house set up, you decided to throw a party. Everyone was invited, not that you even knew that many people, but your friends had a tendency to bring along other people. Not that you cared, as long as they didn’t wreck yours and Shiro’s hard work. You fully intended to spend the evening clinging onto Shiro like you always did when it came to literally any outing ever, a habit you had even before you realized you had a huge crush on him. You’d just got the pizzas delivered when party guests began flooding in. Shiro was the first one there, dressed casually, but you still thought he should be on the cover of every magazine ever with how stunning he looked. “Hey, Shiro, good to see you.”

He chuckled, “I was here just this morning helping you set up your kitchen.”

“Alright, fine then. It’s bad to see you.”

He slung an arm around you in a sort of half-hug that he didn’t pull away from. “Don’t be mean, it’s good to see you too.” You looked around, pretending to look for something until Shiro began looking too.

“What are you looking for?”

“I just figured you’d have brought some sexy plus one? No cute guy from Planets 101?”

Shiro rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “First of all Planets 101 is not a real class, secondly I’ve got my sexy plus one right here don’t I?”

You nearly choked, even if it was a joke Shiro had just called you sexy. If you didn’t die of a heart attack, you’d surely die of joy. “Eh, you’re not so bad yourself.” You winked for good measure. Just then the doorbell rang and you left to go answer it if you’d stayed just a second longer you might’ve seen the way Shiro's chest and neck was flushing. Instead, he covered his quickly reddening face in his hands to hide his embarrassment and affection.

The party was going well, if not a bit wild. As expected there were way more guests than you had invited, making the whole ordeal border overwhelming. It wasn’t until Shiro got whisked away from you that you really began to feel the crushing weight of the social gathering. You needed air or at the very least somewhere to get away from everything. Your bedroom had been blocked off for this very reason, among other reasons, but it would be a burden to try and squeeze past that many people to get there. There had to be somewhere closer. That’s when it occurred to you- the closet. It wasn’t huge, but it would be a good enough space to get away from the crowd and cut off the noise. With some effort, you managed to make it there. You made it a point to close the door enough that it would muffle some of the noise but not trap you in. You breathed, this really wasn't so bad. You didn’t own very many coats so there was more than enough space for you to stretch and gather your bearings. Your heartbeat just started settling when a slam sent it back into a panicked state. The door! Someone must have bumped it. You tried the handle, but it wouldn't even turn from inside the closet. Maybe you could push it open? You rammed your shoulder up against it but it was stuck in place. Desperation crept up your throat until you were shouting pathetically, banging your fist against the door, anything to let someone, anyone, know you were trapped in here. Tears fell from your eyes as you slumped against the door pathetically. God, you didn’t even have your phone, you’d left it on the table. If you couldn't get someone's attention, though, there was no telling how long you’d be trapped in here. Despite your previous failed attempts, you went back to banging your hands against the wall, hoping that the noise might catch the attention of the closer party guests or possibly even loosen the door. In a stroke of luck, the door creaked open. At first, you thought all the pounding had nudged the door open, but you quickly realized it was being opened by someone. Shiro. You laughed, somewhat hysterically, of course, it had been your prince charming that just so happened to save you. “(Y/N)? What in the world are you doing in here?”

You flung yourself onto him, burying your face in his neck, relief outweighing any embarrassment you might have felt. “Thank you so much, Shiro. I thought I was going to be stuck in here forever.”

He patted your back bemusedly. “What are you talking about?”

“I got stuck in here. I was- oof!” Something bumped Shiro forward, you still in his arms. By some strange maneuver that left you pondering if physics really applied to Shiro, he had twisted himself so he landed on his back, you still securely snuggled into his chest. “Oh gosh, are you okay?” You frowned down at your savior (twice tonight), inspecting him for any visible signs of pain.

He smiled, his eyebrows drawn up slightly. “Fine. Just a broken back and a fractured hip.”

You laughed, rolling off of him and onto the floor next to him. “Slow down there old timer or we’re gonna have to get you to the geriatrician.”

Shiro chuckled, turning his head to look at you. “Is that sarcasm I hear?”

“Wha? From me? Never, I can’t imagine why you would even think such a thing.” You giggled along with him.

“Oh, you’re right. What could I have been thinking?” Your laughter gave away to a comfortable silence. You turned to look at Shiro only to see him already looking at you. All traces of discontent had long since vanished from his face leaving an adoring smile in its place. He moved so he was facing you and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, hand lingering a beat longer than was platonic. His skin against yours made you feel electrified as if every single cell in your body was charged. You leaned into his hand, watching as he leaned closer, closer than friends get you couldn't help but think. “(Y/N), I-”

“You..?” You prompted, but Shiro had turned his attention to the door. His hand retracted and suddenly he was getting up, whatever moment you were about to have moments ago was forgotten as Shiro tugged at the door.

“It’s locked.”

You got up, now realizing the true gravity of the situation. “No, it’s just stuck. It’s fine, you’ve got your phone on you, right?” Shiro’s hand went to his pocket instinctively, his shoulders slumping as he realized it was empty.

“No, Lance was borrowing it to record Pidge drunk dancing.”

You groaned. “Now how are we gonna get out of here? You’re the only reason the door opened last time.” You could already feel the walls pressing in on you, Shiro seemed to realize this too, because within seconds he was at your side.

“Hey, hey… Look at me, (Y/N), I need you to focus on me. No, no, focus on me, there you go. I need you to breath okay, you aren't breathing. Breathe with me. Good job, alright, just keep breathing. We’re gonna be okay. I would never let anything bad happen to you, I haven't before, have I?” You timidly shook your head no, eyes dropping to the floor. Shiro tilted your head back up gently. “Hey, it’s okay. Why don’t we sit down? When you’re feeling a little better I can see what I can do about the door, how’s that sound?” You nodded again, in all honesty, it sounded great. You were almost certain if Shiro let go of you right now you might just fall apart. He was the one thing keeping you from having a full cleithrophobia induced meltdown. Shiro situated you two so that he was sitting with his back against the back wall of the closet with you placed atop his lap, facing him so that you couldn’t see the full extent of the small room. He sat with you reassuring you until you were able to mumble out an “I’m sorry” to which he responded that you had absolutely nothing in the world to be sorry for.

“Shiro?”

“Mmm?”

“Can you talk to me about the stars?” He smiled and began a long speech that went into depth about his favorite subject in the world: space. You didn't mind in the slightest, it was interesting and Shiro’s voice had a soothing sound to it. You nuzzled into his chest, now more lying against him than sitting on his lap. With your ear pressed against his chest like this, you could hear the irregular sound of his heartbeat, like he was nervous. You peeked up, although he hadn’t tripped up on his words, he was looking down at you with a look you couldn’t quite place. You shrugged it off, you were too comfy and too tired to care. Slowly but surely in the arms of the person, you trusted more than anything you lulled off to sleep.

When you awoke it was daytime and the door to the closet was open. This didn’t register as important to you at first, what did strike you as important was that you were surprisingly comfortable for having slept in a closet. It wasn’t until you looked to your side that you found out the reason for your comfort. Shiro was still holding you, your head resting comfortably against his chest. It occurred to you that he must’ve adjusted the both of you so that you’d be comfortable; the gesture warmed your heart. You brushed his fringe out of his eyes, your touch ghost light against his skin for fear of waking him. He’d slept over at your place before but you’d never been close enough to him to see how gorgeously serene he looked as he slept. After a moment's hesitation, you leaned forward to press your lips against his cheek, a silent token of affection toward your knight. You pulled away as you saw his eyes flutter open and rested your head back where it had been. “Mornin’ handsome.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could register what you were saying, thankfully Shiro wasn't awake enough to fully realize it either.

“Mmm-morning.” He blinked the sleep away before peering over at you, a look of tenderness over his features. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good, thanks to you.”

His smile brightened. “That’s good to hear. Oh, hey, the door’s open.” You looked over, confirming what Shiro had said.

“So it is.” Despite the confirmation that you both could easily get up and leave neither of you made any move to do so. “You didn’t have to do this you know.”

“Do what?”

You patted his chest gently. “This. Being here, and not just cause we were stuck. You could've left sooner, or even just let me sleep against the floor.”

“But you’d have been uncomfortable.” When you looked up at him you saw he was blushing, fiddling with his hair as he continued to speak. “You should know by now that I wouldn’t do that to you. I care about you, (Y/N), more than you realize.” He was looking at you, determined despite how flustered he felt.

“Then tell me.” Could he mean what you thought he meant? You had to be sure.

He chuckled nervously, letting the last ounce of self-preservation he had slip away. His hand ran through your hair. “I care about you more than anyone I’ve ever cared about before. I- I don’t know where I’d be without you, and I don’t want to think about it. I’d do anything in the world for you, you don’t even have to ask, so long as you’ll just let me stick around,” his eyes searched yours, the intensity of his grey eyes making you look away blushing. You guess he found what he was looking for because he continued, even if you could hear his heart thrumming wildly in his chest. “You, (Y/N), are the stars collected into one ethereal being who I am endlessly and hopelessly in love with. If you seriously didn’t know that by now I don’t know what more I can do to imply that.” He bit his lip awaiting your answer, but honestly, you were speechless. He, Takashi Shirogane, the guy you’d had feelings for since like forever was here confessing to you that he loved you. After waiting for your response and getting none, he began to frown. “Say something, please. E-Even if you don’t feel the same way, please just say something.” How were words supposed to work right now, your brain was practically short-circuiting. Instead, you lifted yourself up enough to press your lips against him. It was clumsy and awkward, but it was the best kiss you'd ever had.

You pulled back after a moment to look at Shiro in the eyes, matching the intensity he’d had earlier. “I love you, Takashi Shirogane, and honestly I don’t think there was ever a point where I didn't.” With a grin, he pulled you back in for another kiss.

Extra: “I swear as soon as I finish these pancakes I’m gonna call someone about that fucking door.”

“Oh? I think you should keep it, after all, we might not have, well y'know, if the door wasn't stuck."

"Y'know? We confessed and kissed, Shiro you make it sound like we did something much worse. You giggled as Shiro blushed and mumbled a flustered dispute as he turned back to the pancakes on the griddle. “I guess the door can stay, but only because I got such a cute boyfriend because of it.” Shiro’s blush only worsened.

[vfdarkness]

Episode 9: Blue is...

Intro: 

You’re watching television alone in your living room.

Without your involvement, the channel changes.

A pale inhuman being stares at you through the screen.

You turn the television off. And now the creature stands feet away from you.

You need my help. 

This is A Voice From Darkness.

Hello, as always this is Dr. Malcolm Ryder, parapsychologist. Here to answer your supernatural questions, warn you of otherworldly threats that span our country, and teach you a bit of bizarre American history. We have a full show tonight, so why don’t we get right to our National Alerts.

National Alerts:

Our first national alert is for North Carolina. Bars and music venues in and around Asheville have hosted a rock band called Spirit Mirror. Following each of their performances, those who were in attendance have reported they can no longer see their own eyes in reflective surface. When they stare into a mirror, there are two black voids where their eyes once were. Their eyes are not missing. Anyone who looks at the affected see nothing wrong. Only those who heard the live music of Spirit Mirror cannot see their own eyes. The band has no website, no contact number, or any other means of getting a hold of them. When asked, each music venue was unsure how the gigs were booked. To those in North Carolina, do not attend any concerts or shows featuring the band Spirit Mirror. 

Our second national alert is for central Pennsylvania. Small towns across the region have relayed to me that a man in a grey suit missing his left ring finger has journeyed into their communities and parlayed with their people. Offering them  the extravagant and impossible in exchange for the seemingly inconsequential. To the people of central Pennsylvania, do not make any deals with The Traveling Salesman. Do not meet with him. Do not shake his hand. Do not even nod your head in response when he tells you, “Good morning.” Nothing pleasant can come from any interaction with him.

That is all for national alerts.

Quick Questions: 

For our next segment, I’ll be answering quick questions you’ve sent to us either via Twitter @vfdarkness or by email at avoicefromdarkness@gmail.com. If you have a question you’d like answered on the show, please tweet us at @vfdarkness or write us at avoicefromdarkness@gmail.com

Our first question comes from Sarah. She writes, “Dr. Ryder, I moved into a new house recently. Multiple nights I’ve gone to bed in the master bedroom, but I’ll wake and find myself in the closet of one of the other bedrooms. A loud banging on the door always wakes me. I’ll call out to whatever’s causing the sound, but they only answer by furiously hitting the closet door harder. When the morning comes the noise stops. I have no history of sleepwalking or hearing things that aren’t there. What’s happening to me in my new house?”

Well Sarah, if I were to make a guess, I’d say you have two entities in your house. One trying to protect you, and guiding you in your sleep to a place they feel is safe - that other bedroom’s closet. And then a second entity that means you harm. Are the entities spirits or some other unworldly creature? I don’t know. I’d be happy to get you in touch with a good spiritualist in your area. They’d better be able to assess the nature of the haunting you’re experiencing and help put an end to them.

Our second question comes from Bob in Minnesota. They write, “I was on the road, passing through Montana and I stopped at a diner one night. Place wasn’t crowded. A large man in a t-shirt that read: They Are Here. They’ve Always Been Here sat a few stools away from me at the counter. Before the waitress came over to take my order, she spilled a container of sugar, laughed about it, and asked the large man in the t-shirt what his plans were for the fourth of July. Thought that was weird, since the holiday’s months away. Didn’t say anything about it though. Just got my food, kept to myself, and left. The thing is, I had to come back that way on my return trip. Again I stopped at the diner, about the same time of night. Place was as busy as before. I sat at the counter. The large man, wearing the same t-shirt, was already there, eating the meal he had before. The same waitress came out. She once again spilled sugar. Laughed and asked the gentleman about his fourth of July plans. He was partway through giving the answer I’d overheard my previous visit - but I interrupted. Asked why they were having a conversation about the fourth of July - twice now - so many months out. They stopped talking. Both had concerned, nervous looks about them. The waitress pulled out a bunch of papers. Coffee-stained, held together with brass tacks. She came over to me and whispered, “That’s not your line. Aren’t you off book yet?” Her finger guided me down the page of a playscript. I saw stage directions and dialogue. For the waitress, for the large man. For myself. Her spilling the sugar. Her lines about the fourth of July. His response, my sitting down, my ordering a meal - all in the script. There were lines I was supposed to say to the both of them. Things that made no sense to me. Things I’d never say. So I ran out the diner. Ran out, got in my car, and drove as fast as I could for as long as I could. What did I walk into, Dr. Ryder? Please help me understand what happened.

Bob, I’m afraid I don’t know what you walked into. I could say something trite about how Shakespeare believed all the world’s a stage, but obviously he didn’t mean that literally. If you would, please send in more information - the name and address of the diner. I’d like to visit it myself perhaps or ask a colleague to stop by there. Gather some first hand intel, so I can better understand what’s happening at this Montana diner.

That’s all the time for questions we have for your written questions. Onward to Today In Odd America, and then we’ll open up our phone lines.

Today In Odd America:

Today in Odd America we find ourselves in Guilford, Connecticut. Earlier this evening, the children of Guilford put on masks sculpted from wax - made to resemble hideous monsters. They trampled through streets with a candlestick in one hand and a bag in the other. Children playfully hit adults with their candlesticks, and in return were given candy. A bonfire was lit in the middle of the town’s square. After the fire had been burning for a few hours, a skeleton in a misshapen wax crown, dubbed the Candlestick King, was thrown in. Children cast their masks off into the flames as well, and presented the Candlestick King some of their candy bounty. At the end of the night, children buried their candlesticks in their backyards - where they’ll remain until next year. This is a holiday that only exists in Guilford.

Most believe it is a second Halloween. And seeing how the holiday is celebrated, it’s understandable to draw that conclusion.

But that's not what the Candlestick Riot is.

To better understand the holiday’s true meaning, let us go back on this day to the year 1748, when the first Candlestick Riot occured.

William Martin was twelve years old at the time of the initial event. Forty years later, he’d write a few pages about the night in his memoir on his career as a judge. No other details in the book deal with the supernatural. Almost everything else he wrote can be corroborated with other documents from the era. So we’ll take William’s account of the Candlestick Riot at face value.

Sometime late in the night, William felt a compulsion to rise from his bed. I say compulsion, though William stated it was unclear if he were controlling his body at this time, and throughout the rest of the night, or if he were merely a spectator to the acts his body committed. He left his bedroom and made his way down the hall. Behind him came his two sisters from their room. His parents in front of him, coming from their bedroom. No one spoke.

The Martin family silently shambled into the dining room. On the table were several unlit candles in brass and iron candlesticks. Each family member grabbed a candlestick with one hand and held a candle in the other. Father turned to mother. Mother to father. William turned to his two sisters - and they back to him. All at once they rushed each other. William broke the jaw of one sister, and cracked several ribs of the other. They each offered him their candles. When they did, he stopped beating them. His mother was not so lucky.

His father, Mathias, beat his wife to death with a heavy iron candlestick. Afterwards, he reached down and grabbed the blood-soaked wax from her hand. He then turned to William - who presented his three candles to his father.

This offering was accepted. Afterwards, Mathias and William made their way outside. The sisters stayed behind with their mother’s body.

The Martin’s neighbors stood outside their own homes. Bloody. Bruised. Those holding candlesticks and wax charged at each other. From across streets and yards: men, women, and children were beaten. Dozens to death. More would die in the following days of injuries they sustained. But the night was not yet over.

Those who gathered the most candles from their skirmishes lit small fires all over Guilford. They melted their wax and rubbed it over their heads. They burned their skin and hair doing so. But it didn’t stop them. They molded the wax into monstrous shapes.

While they did this, those who lost their candles but who were not too injured to walk, gathered wood and carried it to the center of town. They lit a bonfire.

Soon all ambulatory members of Guilford gathered around the fire. Two circles formed. The outer, and bigger, was filled with those who lost their candles. The inner circle all wore wax masks and held bloody candlesticks.

The outer circle locked arms and swayed back and forth. They chanted: “Flame against the shadow. Flame against the shadow. Protect us from the echo. Protect us from the echo.” 

William chanted along with everyone else. The meaning of their chant, unclear to him.

The inner circle walked closer to the fire. They let their hideous wax masks melt. They held their candlesticks in the flames - until they burned their hands.

The third round of fighting began. The inner circle consisted of only a dozen or so. Mostly men. When it was all over, only one remained. Mathias Martin stood alone - victorious. The outer circle moved in. They took the wax from the dead and placed it over his body. Once encased, he could barely move. But he stepped closer to the bonfire.

Mathias shouted, “Who is your Candlestick King?”

The outer circle reformed with locked arms and chanted back, “You are the Candlestick King.”

“Who protects you from shadow and echo?”

“The Candlestick King!”

This call and response went on for sometime. But it ended when Mathias walked into the fire.

As his body burned the outer circle chanted, “Shadow and echo are defeated. Long live the flame.” Over the chanting, William claimed he heard his father’s last words: “Keep a candle lit, William.”

The outer circle chanted until only ash was left. Ash and a skeleton clutching a heavy iron candlestick.

The sun began to rise. The outer circle collected the candlesticks and dispersed. But before reentering their homes, they dug into the earth and buried their candlesticks. Only then was the night truly over.

_________

The dead were collected. The injured, looked after. No one was charged with any crimes for what occurred.

Townsfolk were terrified the events might repeat. But the next night passed. And the next. When the anniversary of what was now referred to as The Candlestick Riot approached, Guilford again worried the event might repeat itself. But it did not. For over a century, The Candlestick Riot fell into obscurity.

No one knows when The Candlestick Riot turned into an annual holiday. A strange, childish, almost mocking echo of what the first event was, but it’s now been celebrated annually by the community for decades.

My grandfather, Professor Duncan Ryder had a fascination with the ritual. He was the one who first told me of the holiday’s history. This will seem like a non-sequitur, but he also hated Frank Sinatra. Early in Sinatra’s career, in 1940, he recorded a song called “We Three (My Echo My Shadow And Me). My grandfather believed Sinatra had secret knowledge of whatever forces compelled Guilford to behave the way it did during the inaugural Candlestick Riot.

He once confronted Sinatra at a show sometime in the ‘60s. Demanding the singer tell all he knew about shadow and echo. Security grabbed my grandfather and hauled him away. But as they did, Sinatra said to him with a wink, “Keep a candle lit, William.”

Not since the first Candlestick Riot has anything like it occurred in Guilford. Was the sacrifice made by Mathias Martin enough to ward of shadow and echo? Was the event simply a mass delusion? Or was it real… and shadow and echo have since triumphed? And the world now waits for a new Candlestick King to defeat them? The answers to these questions remain a mystery. But maybe you should keep a candle lit, just to be safe.

And now back to our main show.

ACT II

Today In Odd America music fades out.

RYDER

And we're back. Well here's a change of pace. We have two callers on the line. Both in the Ozarks - where hidden within its mountains, dense forests, hills and hollers there have been countless encounters with the strange and terrifying. Callers, why don't you tell us your names and what you're experiencing down there?

Through the phone, the sound of cars can be heard driving on back country roads.

SAM

This is Sam.

EDDIE

And Eddie.

SAM

We're visiting from the UK. We have a paranormal podcast you've probably heard of - Ghosts n' Goblins n' Gravesend.

RYDER

I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your show.

EDDIE

Pretending to not know about your competition? Alright, Ryder. I see what you're up to. We talk about weird stuff like you.

SAM

But also video games. Ghosts n' Goblins is an old game.

EDDIE

Yeah, and we're from Gravesend. So you get it, right?

RYDER

Crystal clear. And what's the supernatural situation you've found yourselves in down in the Ozarks?

SAM

That's the problem. We're not in a supernatural situation.

RYDER

Have you listened to A Voice From Darkness before? Because normally people call in when-

EDDIE

(interrupts)

No, we get it. We came all the way to the US to encounter some of the crazy stuff you talk about, and so far we got nothing.

SAM

We spent a day in Saint Louis - went to the Lemp Mansion, even got to go into the underground cavern. No ghosts though.

RYDER

Wait, so if you're in the Ozarks driving around are you deliberately trying to summon...

EDDIE

The Unwelcome Riders? Of course we are.

SAM

The Ozark Family. They're supposed to be one of the more elusive, more dangerous ones, right? I bet we'd get a ton of downloads if we captured them on audio.

RYDER

You're driving together? Thankfully they're unlikely to appear in your car. You're lucky that-

EDDIE

(interrupts)

Oh no, we're not together.

SAM

Two cars. I'm driving about a mile behind Eddie. Is that enough distance? Should we space ourselves out further? There's so many contradictory rules online about the Ozark Family.

One forum said they're more likely to appear if you have an open wound. Another said they absolutely won't if you have a copy of the bible in your vehicle. But then another forum said if you travel with a holy book, you're more likely to attract them. Help us out, Ryder, what do we gotta do to get them to appear?

RYDER

Gentlemen, I highly suggest you-

SAM

(interrupts)

Eddie, why's your car stopped in the middle of the road?

A beat.

SAM

Eddie?

A beat.

SAM

I'm pulling up alongside you.

We hear Sam's car slow to a stop. The idle engines of both Sam and Eddie's rentals.

SAM

Eddie?

RYDER

Describe what you see, Sam. What's happening?

SAM

He's just... sitting there. Staring blankly ahead. Still holding his phone. What do I do? What's happened to him?

RYDER

Sam, I'm sorry, but-

EDDIE

(monotone)

I am here. I am fine. And I am here.

RYDER

Eddie, what happened? Are you all right?

EDDIE

(monotone)

Do not worry about my condition.

SAM

Dr. Ryder - I'm staring right at him. His lips aren't moving when he talks.

EDDIE

(monotone)

Hello, Sam. You are my friend. And I am fine. You don't need to worry about me. All is well.

SAM

You are not well. I don't know what's happening, but-

RYDER

(interrupts)

Who is this? What is this? What are we currently addressing that resides inside of Eddie?

EDDIE

(monotone)

I occupy the flesh. I have access to the memories. I am the I that speaks. Does that not make me Eddie?

RYDER

People are more than flesh and memories, you are not Eddie.

EDDIE

(monotone)

My tendrils move through the labyrinth of his being. If I am not all of him yet, no matter. I soon shall be.

SAM

What does that mean? Dr. Ryder? What does that mean? Help him.

RYDER

The Resident inside Eddie - what is it you want? What is it we can give you so that you move on?

EDDIE

(monotone)

Sensation. Physical sensation. It has been so long since I've occupied a being. Felt sensation. Experienced time. Experienced Qualia. Green is green. I forgot that. It is a tautology, but I forgot that. Epiphenomena. That knowledge became lost to myself... Red is... red. Blue. Blue is... Blue is...

SAM

Blue. Blue is blue.

EDDIE

Thank-you, Sam. You are right. Blue is blue. I forgot that.

RYDER

You remember now though. Take that knowledge with you. Take that knowledge and leave Eddie. That is his gift to you.

EDDIE

(monotone)

Sam. You are my friend. Let me ask you, what should I do? Is the knowledge of these qualia payment enough to abandon this flesh? To give back these memories?

A beat.

RYDER

If you want your friend back, you need to-

SAM

(interrupts)

Yes. That's payment enough. Blue is blue. You know that now. Eddie gave that to you, so please give back Eddie his flesh. And his memories.

EDDIE

(monotone)

Thank-you, Sam. I shall.

A beat.

SAM

Eddie? Eddie? Are you-

EDDIE

(interrupts, concerned)

What happened?

RYDER

Drive. Now. Eddie, if you can't drive, abandon your rental and get in Sam's and get out of there.

EDDIE

Something's wrong. What happened? Sam, what happened? You see it all too, right?

RYDER

What's going on?

SAM

See what? I don't see anything weird.

EDDIE

All the colors. They're wrong. All different. The grass isn't green anymore... it's... it's... I don't know. I don't have a word for it. The sky's not blue. I don't know what color it is. It's strange. All the colors are wrong. I've never seen any of them before. None of the colors I see have names. What happened to the world? Why has it all changed?

RYDER

Stay on the line. Both of you. Sam - help Eddie from his rental. Put him in yours. Drive. Get out of there immediately, but stay on the line.

RYDER

(to listeners)

I'm sorry, but we're going to cut the show off here.

Until next time, this has been A Voice From Darkness.

RYDER

(faint)

You need to get out of there immediately.

Outro Music fades in and out.

[harryandmolly]

Coconut Waffles - part 1

Summary: Shawn annoys a neighbor with his guitar and is charmed by her island knowledge.

Warnings: Overwhelming fluff, vacation!Shawn

Word count: 1720

Moodboard by the delicious and nutritious @the-claire-bitch-project

She stops typing again, sure she’s hearing something. But other than a gentle breeze slapping the palm trees against her window and the whir of her computer, it’s silent. She tightens her lips and squints, waiting for it. When nothing comes, she blinks her focus back to her word document and rereads her last couple sentences, trying to get herself in the zone. She should know better than to try to write this early in the morning but her creative output has been uncorkable lately and she feels the need to harness it, even if it is only creating Tom Holland fanfiction.

Then she hears it again. She narrows her eyes, trying to remember if hers or any of the surrounding houses have windchimes, because that’s almost what it sounds like. Then, as though the sound is moving, it becomes clear. It’s a guitar.

She frowns. It’s so close, it could almost be coming from her property. If her parents weren’t likely somewhere over Kansas on their way to her, if they were around to deal with a potential intruder, she would stay put without question. But she’s alone at the house and feels a responsibility. She stands and slides on her pink flannel meditating monkey pajama pants and walks out of her room, letting the door clatter on her way out so she doesn’t startle whoever is skulking around her house playing guitar at 5 AM.

She looks around from the driveway to the front entry and over the pool deck but doesn’t see anyone. She starts out further, shrugging into the oversized plaid men’s shirt she grabbed due to her bralessness, waiting to hear it again. She’s at the edge of the property peeking out over the hill down to the grassy area below when the sound calls to her from the right. She looks over to see someone tall, muscular and curly-haired with his back to her, bobbing his head as he strolls around the pool deck of the house next door.

She exhales, disconcerted. It didn’t even occur to her that there could be someone next door. In the dozen or so times she’s visited the house, she has never seen a single soul next door. Before she can regroup and head back inside to think about coffee and breakfast, he’s turning around to continue his habit of pacing and she’s desperately trying to look casual and not like she came out to confront him. She picks up some baby coconuts lying on the patio table and sweeps them off like that’s why she came outside at 5 AM.

“Oh shit,” she hears him mumble when he sees her. She glances up and offers a flat smile.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” he asks, wincing. She continues her sweeping and plants her hands on her hips, satisfied.

“No, no, I’m still on LA time so I’ve been up,” she explains needlessly, almost rolling her eyes at herself. He grins and she reacts visibly and he knows she recognizes him.

He continues strumming along and she looks for something else to do. She figures since she cleaned off the table, she should use it. She heads back inside for her laptop and returns moments later. He’s looking out into the grassy knoll below and bobbing his head.

He looks over when she pulls a chair out to sit.

“Will it bother you if I play out here?” he asks politely. She stares at him a beat too long before she answers, sure he must be a close look-alike and not Shawn Mendes standing barefoot and wearing a Burton Snowboarding t-shirt in the always-empty villa next door.

“Not at all, I’m just… scrolling. Not working or doing anything remotely constructive.” Again, probably more words than needed to have this kind of interaction.

“Cool,” he chuckles, nodding at her and heading back in the other direction on the far end of his property. She has her hands on the keys and is clearly not doing anything. She opens Facebook and closes it again when the first thing she sees is a repost of a Fox News story from a crazy uncle. She sits back in her chair, eyes popping open when it makes a loud creaking noise. He doesn’t seem to notice.

He doesn’t look quite as tall as she imagined he would, but maybe he’s just too far away to judge properly. He is wildly good looking in person. His whole ‘bedhead-gym shorts-blinky morning eyes’ thing is absolutely working for him. She has a flash of an impish idea to start playing his newest album (that she slept on for too long and only just bought last week) just to see what he’d do. She won’t, of course. He’s probably on vacation and doesn’t want to be saddled with a weird fangirl next door during his limited down time.

She wonders what he’ll do while visiting the Big Island. If he’s never been here, he’ll hit the classics – Volcanoes National Park, Akaka Falls, some black and green sand beaches. She has the sudden urge to make him a list of other stuff he might not know about unless he’s done a lot of research or runs into the right locals. Finding the best malasada truck, eating at Merriman’s up in Waimea, going deep sea fishing with that company her dad always uses when they come out here.

Before she knows it, he’s turning around and looking at her again. He doesn’t seem at all fazed by her obvious study of him. He’s used to it. She’s not leaping over the shrubs between their properties or pointing her phone at him for pictures, so he’s not worried. He smiles again, pleased that she’s nodding her head to the rhythm he’s trying to muddle out, but she doesn’t look to be aware she’s doing it.

“Sorry that I just keep playing this same part over and over again. I’m trying to figure out the bridge and it’s just not coming to me.”

She raises her eyebrows, surprised he seems willing to chat. Not that she imagined he’d be standoffish, he always seems cute and sweet in interviews. She leans on the table on her elbows.

“I can’t pretend to know shit about music, but it sounds good. Kinda reminds me of Iz.”

“That’s what I’m going for!” he laughs delightedly, stopping in his tracks and throwing his hand out in her direction as if to say, “yes, you get it!”

“Cool,” she giggles, pulling her feet up underneath her as she rocks in her chair, “I’m—”

She’s interrupted by a glass door sliding open from his side. A scruffy looking guy, late twenties, pokes his head out. He nods at her before focusing on him.

“Shawn, we’re leaving for breakfast at the hotel in a half hour.”

“Kay!” Shawn yells back. The door closes and they’re left alone again.

“I’m Shawn, by the way,” he introduces himself with a little wave.

“Lauren. Nice to meet you.”

He nods pleasantly and runs a hand through his hair. “So, vacation?” he prompts.

“Yes. With my parents. They’re flying in from DC tonight. I got here last night.”

“Cool, that’s fun. Where did you fly in from?”

“LA.”

“Nice. How long you here for?”

“Two weeks. You?”

He shrugs. “We haven’t really decided yet. We came out here to write and hang out. We’re renting the place from my buddy’s mom’s friend. Probably a month, I’m guessing. We’ve been here three days and I don’t ever want to leave.”

He looks very sincere and she understands. She wrote an article for her college lifestyle magazine once about vacationing on the Big Island. She knows the look in his eye all too well.

“I don’t blame you. It’s good, though, I never see anyone in that house when we’re here. It’s nice it’s being appreciated,” she hums.

“Oh, you’ve been here before?” He looks genuinely interested.

“This is my 11th trip. It’s my aunt’s place but she has family and friends here all the time. There’s nowhere else like it,” she confesses, solemnly appreciative as she looks out to the ocean on the horizon.

“That’s amazing, you’re so lucky,” he replies, and she can see he’s serious. He loves it here.

“You’re going to the Manta for breakfast?” she asks, a knowing smile making his chest thump. He nods.

“Get the coconut waffles. Trust me. They’ll change your life.”

She stands and closes her laptop, deciding to leave the conversation first in the hopes of seeming mysterious and nonchalant. He watches, tightening his grip on the guitar, suddenly realizing he doesn’t really want her to walk away. He hasn’t talked to anyone but his parents and writing team in days. He hasn’t talked to a girl in… well, it’s been a while.

“So if we need trip suggestions, we should come to you?” he calls after she’s a little too far away to hear the question over the steady early morning breeze. She turns and raises her eyebrows, hustling on her tip toes over the stone to reach him.

“Sorry, say that again?” she asks.

He ducks his head, bashful, “If we need suggestions for stuff to do, you know the island pretty well, we should come to you, right?”

She looks startled as though she wasn’t sure he’d want to talk to her again.

“Uh, yeah, I’m freakishly encyclopedic about this place now. Restaurants, beaches, activities, whatever. I’m around.”

He smiles and it could blind her if she looked too long. She runs a hand through her salty hair from the crown back to her neck, fluffing it across her soft back. It makes him smile bigger.

“Cool. If I need you, I’ll just come out and start jamming super loud.”

She laughs. “Perfect. Enjoy your breakfast.” She turns back to the main house. When she’s a few paces away again, he calls out to her.

“Coconut waffles?”

“Coconut waffles! That’s your first assignment!” she yells, waving cutely by opening and closing her hand before she heads in through the glass doors. He can still see her through the floor-to-ceiling windows as she wanders into the palatial kitchen. She knows he could still be looking so she disappears into the pantry to giggle and blush like an asshole.

Teeny tiny taglist: @the-claire-bitch-project @crapri

[rt-reader-inserts]

Valentine

Pairing: Trevor Collins x Reader

Word Count: 2,391

Description: You find yourself alone on Valentine’s Day, working after hours on editing with nothing better to do. That is, until a certain someone walks in. (This was a commission for @trevc0, thank you so much!!)

Warnings: None!

It is… somewhat disheartening to see all your coworkers leaving the office, either with their loved one, with gifts from/for a loved one, or with plans to see their loved one when they get home. Meanwhile, you’re just staying after to catch up on some editing, seeing as you had the time for it. No partner means no plans so, it’s not like you have anything better to do. Work’s better than staying in, watching netflix, and thinking about how nice it’d be to be with someone tonight.

That doesn’t stop those thoughts from lingering in your subconscious.

With a deep breath, you try to keep you entire focus on your work. Balancing the audio levels of six microphones, finding the best footage to switch to at different points in the video, it’s at least an easy thing to get fully absorbed in.

So it startles you when you feel a tap on your shoulder, and you look up to see Trevor standing behind your chair, shooting you a smile as you take your headphones off. “Hey, (y/n), is there, uh, a reason you’re still here? Office hours ended like, ehh two hours ago.” You check your phone to see that it is, in fact, seven o’clock, and it surprises you how fast the time went by. (It’s not surprising, however, when you see your only notifications are from Twitter and Tumblr.)

“I just stopped by to grab my jacket, wound up leaving it since the weather was so nice, and then I saw the light was on and… there you were, editin’ away.”

You laugh under your breath, shaking your head slightly before replying, “I dunno, figured I could get some work done since I have no plans; plus, you dorks aren’t here to interrupt with your ‘shenanigans’ so…” You shoot him a grin, and he rolls his eyes.

“Wow, you walk in on flinchless kickie doo one time—”

“It hit me right in the face, Trevor; and I had a fuckin bounce house dropped on me one time?”

“ —alright well, yeah, but it’s not like that really interrupted anything. Just… delayed things a bit.” He fires back, crossing his arms with a slightly guilty expression.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night,” you tease, sitting back in your chair as you look up at him. “Is there a specific reason for tonight’s interruption? Outside of curiosity, of course.”

“Well, uh, since you don’t have plans or anything,” he rubs the back of his neck, gaze darting over to a random spot in the room before looking back at you, “would you, like, wanna go get dinner?”

As if to answer his question, your stomach rumbles, and you both laugh. “Yeah man, I’m absolutely down for dinner.” It doesn’t occur to you until after you’ve already answered the question, but you realize you have no idea what the connotations surrounding dinner are.

Well, too late now.

He shoots you another smile, moving to grab his jacket from the couch. “Better save your work then, cuz I’m a hungry boy,” you can’t help but snort at that. You’re a dork, that’s what you are. “And, judging by the whale noises, I’m guessing you’re in the same boat.”

“You know I’m the hungriest boy around,” you shoot back, spinning around in your chair and quickly saving what you have. “Honestly, I would devour the entire McDonald’s menu right now, and I don’t even like McDonald’s.”

“Dammit, there goes my plan for good ol’ MickeyD’s.”

With a slight eye roll, you sit and wait for your computer to shut down, placing your headphones on your desk.

You can’t help but let out a surprised gasp, almost squeal, when your chair suddenly begins moving backwards. “Let’s get movin’, kid,” Trevor says as he starts rolling you toward the door, unable to keep from chuckling at his own dumb antics.

With slight difficulty, you jump out of the moving chair, quickly stepping to the side and laughing as he stumbles through his momentum. “Hang on, dude, I can’t leave my bag behind,” you tell him as you walk back to your desk, “and I can walk on my own, thanks.”

“Well, if you insist,” he retorts, sliding your chair back to your desk as you pick up your bag. Tossing your phone inside, you turn back to him, and he smiles. “Ready to roll?”

“If by roll you mean walk, and not take my chair out in the parking lot, then yeah, let’s roll.”

“I mean, there aren’t any cameras around, so I think we can leave the safety violations at the office tonight,” he replies, walking backward toward the door as he waits for you to follow.

With a combination of a laugh and an exasperated sigh, you walk after him, hitting the switch on your way out.

The two of you wind up at a hole-in-the-wall Italian place, one that your coworkers have been raving about (and that was thankfully small enough to not be completely booked on Valentine’s Day). You’d felt somewhat embarrassed when you’d had to admit to Trevor that Steffie was normally your ride home, and you’d been planning on taking a Lyft home tonight. Of course he assured you that driving you home was no problem, and that it made things easier anyways, not having to figure out what to do with two cars.

He had a point, but that doesn’t stop you from being anxious about inconveniencing him.

However, the weird conversation you find yourself in does more than enough to distract you from that anxiety.

“Wait, wait, so hang on,” Trevor speaks through suppressed laughter, “you’re telling me— that you were afraid of swimming pools until you were nine??”

“Listen, it was a valid fear!” you defend yourself, crossing your arms in a slightly exaggerated manner. “I mean, at least at the time. Of course I knew that sharks probably didn’t swim in public swimming pools, but was I one hundred percent sure? Nope, and I wasn’t about to take that chance.”

“Had to wait until you were at least ten for that.”

“Now you’re getting it,” you shoot back with a grin, which he cheekily returns.

You’d been at the restaurant for only twenty minutes, when suddenly the waiter sets down the appetizer in front of you; it looks nothing short of amazing. Of course, neither of you are surprised, suggestions from the podcast crew rarely let anyone down. In all honesty, it’s really just the price makes the quality astonishing.

“Jesus christ, I could eat that entire plate in two seconds flat,” Trevor absentmindedly mumbles, and you’re drawn back to the present, quickly grabbing a ravioli as you narrow your eyes at him.

“You better fuckin’ not.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, fork still between his fingers. “Hey, I said I could, not that I will. You think I’m gonna pull something like that when you have a fork and knife at hand?”

“I mean, we have the same silverware, you could technically defend yourself, if it came to that.”

He rolls his eyes, leaning back against the booth, “Please, I was born to fence with silverware. I would crush you, easy.” He can only keep up his cocky demeanor for another small moment before cracking, shooting you a grin.

“Oh, is that so?” you raise an eyebrow before sinking your fork into the toasted ravioli on your plate, twirling it around as you hold it up. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You take a bite of the ravioli, and he’s quick to retort, “Are you challenging me to a duel? In the middle of this refined establishment?” His voice is practically dripping with faux shock and horror, and you can’t help but let out a small laugh.

“I’m just saying, you gotta be able to put your money where your mouth is, Collins.”

He smiles, grabbing a ravioli for himself as he replies, “Well, maybe sometime when we aren’t surrounded by innocent civilians, I’ll prove my fork dueling skills.” After a quick bite, he adds, “Besides, I don’t think that old lady would be too thrilled about it, our laughing was offensive enough.”

You glance over to where he subtly gestured with his fork, and see a very old couple. It’s almost as if the woman can sense you looking, because she immediately turns and meets your gaze, with a glare that you think could probably kill you. You return your eyes to Trevor, trying to hold back a laugh as you say, “Holy shit, yeah, no, let’s hold off on this duel for now.” He doesn’t have time to respond before you add, “She also definitely caught me staring so… pretty sure I’m on her shit list now.”

Trevor locks eyes with you, deadly serious as he tells you, “You better watch out, pretty sure that red wine she’s drinking isn’t actually wine.”

You mimic his demeanor as you lean in closer, whispering, “Can you see her reflection on any of the silverware? Is there any color in her cheeks, like, at all?” He quickly glances over, and shakes his head. “Well, fuck.”

“Listen, you’re cool and all, but if you’ve got a vampire after you, you might have to find your own way home tonight.”

Your eyes are still locked as you stay quiet for a moment, the two of you almost daring each other to break the stare, but then the corner of Trevor’s mouth quirks. You can’t keep from laughing at that point, and neither can he, neither of you paying any mind to the dirty look the same woman throws your way.

“If we get kicked out of here before my pasta shows up, I’m blaming you.”

Trevor laughs under his breath, grabbing another ravioli as he replies, “I mean, you’re the one staring at harmless old ladies.”

“You told me to! And I’m not sure how harmless she’ll be when she catches me in an alley, ready to snap my neck; did you see the look she gave me?” You try your best to keep your voice accusatory, but the smile on your face immediately betrays you. God, how could you not smile when this man was smiling right back?

“Eh, you’re a tough kid, you’ll manage.”

You laugh as you chew your next bite, swallowing before adding, “Thanks for that vote of confidence.”

“Oh, anytime.”

You’re not sure how someone’s smile can look so smug and so sincere in the same moment.

It’s surprising how easily the conversation flowed between the two of you at dinner. Sure, you talked to each other at the office, got on fairly well, but that was usually with other people around. You never expected to spend so much one-on-one time with someone and not fall into an awkward silence at some point.

And yet, here you are, in the passenger seat of Trevor’s car as he drives you home, the silence between the two of you something comfortable, safe. He hums along to whatever Spotify playlist he has going, tapping the steering wheel, and you watch the Austin city streets go by in a blur of lights and nightlife.

“I had no clue you were in the same neighborhood as me,” you break the silence, “but I’m glad you don’t have to go too far out of your way to get my dumb ass home.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t have minded going out of my way to get your dumb ass home,” he fires back, shooting you a grin. You roll your eyes with a laugh, and he adds, “For real though, don’t sweat it; Lyft fare is bullshit, and I’m more than happy to help.”

You smile over at him as you reply, “Well, thank you.”

He pulls his car into the one available spot outside your townhouse, meaning one of your roommates is out for the night, and he parallel parks with an ease you can’t fathom. As he puts the car in park, you unbuckle your seatbelt, turning towards him to say, “Thanks for the ride, and for the company. I definitely had a way better time than I thought I would tonight, working after office hours on Valentine’s Day.”

“Hey, anytime!” he says as he opens his door, and you get out of the car as well. “I had fun laughing at old ladies and disturbing the peace with you.”

“I mean, the latter is Achievement Hunter’s specialty, isn’t it?”

“Gotta represent the brand,” he adds as the two of you make your way to your door, both exchanging dumb smiles.

“So, can I ask a dumb question?” you ask, standing in front of your door, shifting on your feet slightly.

“Hit me with it.”

You know you’ll probably regret asking, but you’ll also regret not asking so, might as well. “Would you wanna, um, go out again?” Before he can even respond, you’re quick to add, “I understand if this like, wasn’t a thing, though; I just, figured I’d ask.”

He laughs under his breath, smiling down at you. “This definitely was a thing, yeah. I would’ve asked you out legitimately weeks ago, but I kept second guessing myself; and when I saw you in the office tonight, I finally kicked my own ass and said something, though uh… clearly not well.”

“Hey, we got there eventually, and I had a great time so, I’d say you did well enough.”

Your smile is incredibly teasing, and honestly, he looks like he wants to kiss you right there. But, instead, he settles for kissing your forehead, and you can’t fight the blush that rises to your cheeks. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early,” you reply, unlocking your front door, “and I’m taking that as a yes, you do wanna go out again?”

“You’re a nerd.”

You stick your tongue out at him as he smiles, kissing your cheek before continuing, “But yes, that’s one hundred percent a yes.”

You’re practically beaming as you say, “See you tomorrow, Collins.”

“Bright and early,” he grins before walking back to his car, stopping before he opens the door. “Goodnight, (y/n).”

As you say goodbye and close the door behind you, you can’t keep from giggling to yourself, still blushing. Maybe, maybe Valentine’s Day was kind of okay.

If it was with him, anyways.

[lennox-ainsley]

II. The Words I Spoke Became Song

This episode was revealed to me one day while I studied. Only the words to the music were included. I could not hear the music proper. 

"...as a melody thrills us with a new feeling when we hear it sung by the pure voice of a boyish chorister;" -George Eliot

Miguel hadn't always been so sure that he made it to Coco in time. The first seedlings of doubt had begun to sprout within him that fateful day in late August. The boy would relive it again and again: he walked into her bedroom, in one hand his guitar, in the other a tangerine. He sat down by her side, kissed her cheek and placed the family guitar on his lap.

“Abuelita  told me I could go check up on you after my chores were done.”

Coco didn’t respond and her face didn’t lose its slack expression. After pressing the tangerine in her hand, the boy began with some scales, arpeggios. Slowly, by quarter notes, then in triplets, and in doing this he led into singing “Un poco loco”.  After a few minutes of playing, strangely, there manifested no discernible change.  Maybe she's dozing, thought Miguel hopefully. Sometimes it took a second for her to pipe up in response.

So he tried “Remember Me”. That one always worked. Even if Coco didn’t sing along with him, she always smiled at hearing the song. Sometimes she would repeat a well-known anecdote about Héctor, her eyes shimmering with nostalgia. Miguel’s favorite story probably had to be the time where Héctor had tried juggling baseballs, but one flew out of his hand and into Imelda's plate, sending young Coco into a fit of laughter. This time, however, she remained completely still, as if imprisoned in some sort of stasis. A jolt of fear electrified Miguel’s body.  Is she - ?

“Mamá Coco? Mamá Coco,  me puedes oír?  ” Miguel began to shake her forearm. And the  pobrecito  would never forget what happened next  .  His  bisabuela’s  head fell back in her chair like that of a  muñeca , mouth agape. Without any part of her moving a single inch, a high pitched squeal stumbled out from the back of her throat. The boy recoiled and covered his ears, wide-eyed as he began to tremble. He had never heard something more unseemly than this. Some seconds passed, and the formless shriek began to take shape as a disfigured melody. Miguel knew it immediately; it would have been absurd if he couldn’t recognize it even through this repulsive racket. It was his secret weapon to summon his  bisabuela’s  favorite anecdotes of Héctor, but at that moment he had no idea what demonic presence he may have unwittingly summoned  . Coco’s slack, corpse-like body rang and began to quiver with the century-old lullaby. The impression was as if the melody had trouble recalling its own contours. Then suddenly, the strings of the guitar, without the boy so much as laying a finger on it, began to vibrate with the noise. It took Miguel a second to register the haunt. A little yelp escaped his throat as the instrument slid off his lap and fell to the floor with a  clunk. It continued to repulsively resonate, now loosely keeping time with the shrieking.

The youth suddenly felt the room grow cooler by the second. He reactively wrapped his fingers around himself as his senses absorbed the terrible spell that had trapped his poor grandmother. He swore he was going deaf, as the cacophony kept growing louder, and louder, the guitar and the shriek delighting in their mutual bastard natures, until finally, with a loud inhale from Coco’s lungs, the shriek quieted as some invisible force re-tuned the guitar pegs back to a comfortable tonality. Her hand slacked and the tangerine slice slipped from her hand, landing on the floor with a soft thump; the ghostly melody sounded out again, now without any shriek to accompany it. As the guitar hung on the final D flat, Coco’s body suddenly deflated to half its original size, exhaling as it went, while a sourceless single phrase reverberated in the air and filled Miguel’s ears:  Gracias.

Coco’s spirit had been confined deep within its torpid, corporeal prison, but, in a miracle invoked by the familiar sound of her father’s enchanted guitar, she finally left the Land of the Living at the age of 103.

Miguel stumbled out of the room, disoriented and numb. Neither his tongue nor his hands could relate what he had seen to his family, but they recoiled upon seeing his distress. The Riveras soon-after found Coco's corpse, and for another four hours he remained unusually mute, until finally he collapsed, struggling to breathe as he sobbed.

Miguel broke the little promise he made to himself, that at the very least he wouldn’t cry at his bisabuela's funeral, that he would stay strong for his family. Seeing the humble casket descend into its final resting place proved too much and he gave voice to his stifled sobs, burying his face into Tía Gloria’s chest as the rest of his family watched on. He, alone of all the people he knew, knew for certain what happened after a person died. He could console himself that she had been reunited with the rest of the Riveras, and that he would inevitably be in her presence again. Besides, just the next Sunday, Luisa bought him a crisp, pale blue guayabera and he went to church and held Socorro above the baptismal font while the priest doused her small head with water. Wave goodbye to one life, and greet another. Sorrow yesterday, joy tomorrow. Así es la vida. Yet, Coco’s absence still stung. It felt like part of him left this earth with her.

What's more, an unseen, unspeakable spectre oppressed Miguel’s spirit. With Coco’s death, the boy lost the only connection he had to his friend in the Land of the Dead. And without her, he couldn’t be so  sure that he pulled in for Héctor. While this spectre rarely externalized, and the Riveras (even the shrewd Elena) noted no drastic change in his disposition as they grieved, it would so occur, occasionally, that Miguel would be going about his normal business, doing his chores, making a sale, reading, practicing, or playing with the twins that suddenly that  thought  crept into his mind. He quickly became mindful of it and made sure to exterminate it at the source before it could take root.  Coco told so many stories of my  tátarabuelo  that it’s impossible he isn’t alive. It’s ridiculous to think he faded away when we talk about him so much.

That said, no matter how much he buried it, Miguel couldn’t shake the feeling that he proved a failure to his ancestor. He had so much to say to him, but feared that his words would have no audience. His uneasiness only worsened as autumn approached, and with it,  Día de Muertos. If there was any way he could know definitively whether Héctor still lived, it would be then, when the corporeal and semi-corporeal worlds grew close.

The Riveras sensed that this year’s festivities would be challenging. Not only had a new death occurred for the first time in five years, they also had to figure out what food pleased Héctor the most in life. Imelda had effectively locked up any stories she had of her husband, wanting only for her memory of him to shrivel up and die. Coco, in her moments of lucidity, had been reliable for a fair deal of anecdotes surrounding the family patriarch, but even she professed to have no knowledge of his favorite food. No one could have predicted his rehabilitation on the ofrenda. An exhausted Elena resigned to cook some simple tamales for the spirit.

Suddenly, Miguel had an idea, which came to him as he whistled in the kitchen, struggling to piece together a song he heard in his dreams while helping his abuelita cook. He rushed into the workshop, saw Luisa breastfeeding Socorro, and asked his mother if she had a pen, an envelope and some paper.

“Why?” she asked.

“I’m gonna write something. It’s for Day of the Dead.”

She laughed then pursed her lips. “Ay Miguel, you don’t exactly strike me as the writer type. Is it a song?”

“Maybe!”

“Well, after you’re done, make sure to help the twins sprinkle the marigold petals to the ofrenda room.”

“Thanks! Love you!”

She lent him the materials and he rushed outside, guitar in one hand and the writing materials in the other. He found Dante sniffing through a trash can, whistled at him, then the two ran to the side yard of the house. Miguel slid down the wall cross-legged, clicked out his pen, bit his lip in concentration, and wrote:

  Dear Papá Héctor,

  I’m not even sure if this letter’s gonna make it to you in time, or even make it crossing the barrier into your world. If it does, Dante will for sure know where to find you. I just hope he hasn’t slobbered too much on the envelope XD.

  First time crossing the bridge, eh? Excited? I know you’ll make it across just fine. We have your photo up on the ofrenda, so there’s no need to worry about it giving out under ya. From what I remember, the bridge is really soft but also kind of firm. You might wanna take off your shoes as you cross to really feel it under you.

  Mamá Coco might’ve already told you this, but I played “Remember Me” for her soon as I got back, and that’s what probably saved you. Our family all saw it, and they all changed their mind, even Mamá Elena! They told me that as long as I always keep family first and help out with the family business that they’ll let me play music. I get to sing and tap my feet whenever I feel it, even when making shoes!

  I’ve got a mariachi costume all ready for tonight. You’ll see me wear it. It’s red and it has a little orange thing sticking out on the neck (don’t know what it’s called but mariachis wear it). You’re going to be so proud seeing all of your descendants, just like how I’m proud to know I'm Héctor Rivera's great-great-grandson.

 But you wouldn't believe, I had this crazy dream last night, where we spoke with each other, but like we were singing our conversation. Weird, right? I can't remember what it sounded like however. I remember thinking how beautiful it was. I’ve been trying to write it down and here’s what I have so far:

Here the boy crudely sketched out a treble clef, staff and half a little melody in F.

(oh I forgot I’m also in a band! My teacher, profesor Cavalli is teaching me how to read and write music! I'm still practicing tho. You might see him tonight.)

  You know, I have to thank you, ‘cause without your help, I’d still be stuck as a shoemaker. Now at least I’m a musical shoemaker! XD

Un abrazo fuerte, tu tátaranieto,  Miguel Rivera

P.S.  Mamá Elena wants to know your favorite kind of food! For the ofrenda!

He folded the paper, put it in the envelope, licked it shut, wrote Héctor’s name on the front and asked Dante “Do you know where to find Héctor?” The dog barked the affirmative, whereupon Miguel patted the Xolo’s head and gave him the envelope. “Vete,  find him and give him this. Quick!”

The dog dutifully took off into the setting sun, missive in his mouth. Miguel relaxed as he realized he could do nothing else but wait, and pray for his tatarabuelo's soul.

Right before night had blanketed Santa Cecilia in cold darkness, before the warm candlelight had barely begun to caress the revelers’ painted faces, Miguel received his answer. But it came in a way that he would have never expected.

He remembered sitting in the ofrenda room, leaning a bit against the left wall adjacent to the offering, letting the warmth of the candles’ glow bathe his face. He remembered the feel of his  great-great-grandfather's guitar in his smallish hands. Up to that point, he hadn't really created This day, upon Elena's orders, was his only opportunity to use the instrument. All the other days of the year, the dreamy-eyed boy would have to leave it in the display outside with Héctor's letters. Miguel thought the guitar sounded way better than anything he could ever create. So much history had seeped within the aged woodwork of the instrument that it tinged it's sound with melancholy. It had so many tales to tell, of friendship and betrayal, of love and hatred, of comedy and tragedy.

He remembered trying and struggling to whittle away at the song he heard. Nothing he came up with sounded remotely like the ephemeral dream-music which made him quiver with delight the night before. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he set down his guitar and cast his gaze upon the ofrenda, letting his eyes climb up from Coco’s portrait all the way up, passing three generations, resting on the stern gaze of his  tatarabuela  and the contrasting grin of her husband. His breathing grew shallow.  Where is Dante? He thought. He feared the dog would come back empty-handed...or worse, with his original letter.

Suddenly, Miguel heard the light trot of a dog approach, and his eyes widened as he saw Dante... with an envelope in his mouth. A strange looking cat sneaked followed Dante inside after the Xolo, stopping right at Miguel's side. The boy felt his heart skip a beat.

“Dante, wha-?”

The alebrije dropped the dampened envelope on the floor before him and gave Miguel an excited lick on the cheek. Wide-eyed, the boy gingerly turned it over to find his name scrawled out on the front of the envelope. The handwriting...it looked like Hector’s!

He opened it, and the letter read:

  Ey chamaco!

  Yes, your letter came absolutely covered in drool. But it’s pretty cool you figured out a way we can communicate. You’re always so creative, so I shouldn’t be surprised, Miguel.

  My favorite food is anything having to do with chapulines. It’s been a long time since I’ve had them. They don’t have any in the Land of the Dead, which makes having them during Día de Muertos *that* more special. I hope by the time Dante reaches you, you will have enough time to prepare some. If not, don’t worry, there’s always next year, right?

  I don’t have a lot of time because as I’m writing this we’re getting cleared to cross the bridge, but you’ll feel me come in, I hope. Little nervous, but your letter calmed my nerves a bit. I’ll follow your advice about walking across the bridge barefoot.

Un abrazo devuelto, Papá Héctor

 P.S. that song seems pretty interesting. Maybe I can help you when I arrive?

Miguel read and reread the letter, fixating on some lines, skipping to others. Then a little gasp escaped his throat as he realized the handwriting was unmistakably Héctor’s. The musician wrote just like he did a century ago in his letters to Miguel’s bisabuela (he, out of all people should know. He had only read and reread those lyrics again and again). The boy looked at Dante and embraced him, kissing and thanking the  alebrije  profusely while the dog gave a few more sloppy licks to the boy’s cheeks. The cat ambled over and rubbed herself against Miguel's side as he giggled, sharing the affection between the two animals. He skimmed the letter again.  Help me when he arrives? How does he figure he can do that?

A great and ponderous silence straightaway oppressed the room as the air grew thick and humid. A little wind stirred the trail of marigold petals that had otherwise sat fixed upon the ground, causing the cat to let out a meow. Absentmindedly slipping Héctor’s letter into his right pocket, Miguel suddenly recognized the little creature. "Pepita?" The cat sat unmoved, looking through the door outside the ofrenda room. She seemed transfixed.

Dante let out a bark, drawing the boy’s attention to the spot where the Xolo stared intently. He was looking at the trail, at the marigold petals which began to illuminate, shining bright orange with a light flicker. They lit up in little clusters, one by one, as if weighed by some footsteps that belonged to an invisible someone with a slight limp. With each loosely synchronized group of light, they closed the distance between them and the spot where Miguel sat. Soon he saw a cluster of petals linger with their radiant light, right in front of him, and Miguel stood up, fixed where he stood, tightly gripping Héctor’s guitar. As he slowly angled his head upwards, he began to feel little pinpricks of energy tickle his skin, drawing out a great big blush on his face as he realized that he was standing in Héctor Rivera's presence. But as he opened his mouth to say his tátarabuelo’s name, his vocal chords sang it instead. He covered his mouth, reeling from shock. He tried to speak Héctor’s name again, but instead he let out a two bar melisma, jubilant and proud. A wide grin spread across the boy’s face, and a glimmering sensation of euphoria consumed his body and spirit. Tears spilled passed his eyelids as he instinctively shouldered the family guitar, his fingers almost mechanically finding the right notes. And in one attempt, Miguel Rivera remembered the song he heard in his dreams, singing:

  Say that I'm crazy, or call me a fool

  But last night, it seemed that I dreamed about you

  When I opened my mouth, what came out was a song

  And you knew every word, and we all sang along…

Miguel didn't have to hear Héctor’s voice to  feel  it. His very being vibrated with the moment’s pure spirituality.

The boy rushed outside singing as loudly as he could to this rediscovered melody. He couldn't keep himself still as he began to dance and improvise to the once-forgotten music. Dante rushed out and barked, dancing around his feet. The Riveras rushed outside to see who was causing all the noise and they became transfixed at the wild spectacle. The song did not let one pair of eyes stay dry as Miguel guided them on a journey with his playing, leaping and twirling and laughing with Dante mirroring his movements. As soon as Miguel had finished, they all applauded.

“Miguel, that sounded...beautiful!" Enrique admitted as he wiped his eyes. Even Tío Berto wore a soft expression.

Miguel expected to sing his reply, but the euphoric sensation had already left his body. He trembled, as if he had just disembarked from the most thrilling rollercoaster ever created.

“Héctor’s here! I felt him, he's here!” These words he repeated, in more or less the same order.

Elena became instantly skeptical. “What? None of us even knew him! How can you be so sure it's him?”

“I got a letter from him! He said his favorite food was chapulines!” The boy's voice cracked with his excitement.

"Impossible..." Elena replied, shaking her head.

"No, see, take a look!" Miguel reached into his pocket to show them the letter, but his fingers grasped nothing. He turned his pocket inside out and checked the other one, which produced nothing as well.  Where - ?

“Oh,  Miguelito, you don't have to make up stories about any letter. But I believe you felt someone come in. Perhaps Julio?" offered Elena.

Miguel almost glared at his grandmother, his brown irises sparkling with certainty. “No, I'm not making anything up, abuelita. I received a letter from him. It...was right in my pocket. He came in to the ofrenda room and I felt so overwhelmed…I began to sing and I couldn't stop. And earlier I was all struggling with it!”

“A miracle!” interjected a convinced Luisa, to which the whole family agreed.

“Well, whatever it is," Elena said, dismissing the topic for the time-being, "we now have a song for Día de Muertos, so let's really make things festive. Get your instruments, you two, and Miguel, get your costume on and help me set the table. We'll be having guests soon."

Abel and Rosa dutifully went off, Dante following them in hopes of scoring some dinner before Elena shooed him away. As Miguel followed his cousins inside, he couldn't help but absentmindedly strum the chords to his new creation, reliving its bold melodies, submerged in a mix of giddiness and confusion.

[spectraling]

Aftermath

Ao3 link

The giant, all-consuming sky burns his eyes as Jonathan squints at it, leaned back against the door of his car. He closes them for a moment and tries to gather his frayed mind, but the loud chatter of people getting out of school on a Friday afternoon overpowers him.

The latest couple of hours have been a nauseating blur and if people thought he was a weirdo already his distant looks and teachers having to call out to him three times before getting a response probably didn’t work in his favor. He didn’t particularly care for that, though, but he did care when Nancy had asked him if he was ok when he couldn’t answer her question about them meeting up this weekend, eyes flickering down to the floor constantly. Usually he was really good at hiding his emotions behind standoffish glares, but not with her, and she could always tell. Something was holding him back, though. He just couldn’t find it in him to casually mention that he had been through a living paranormal nightmare this afternoon while pulling math books out of his locker. That he’s terrified and feels like he’s losing his mind. Was it even real? Had what he thought had happened actually happened? He had no idea this might be what El goes through when she goes to that place. What that place even was. What this even means. How the hell this even happened-

He jumps suddenly, startled. Somebody just called out his name. He looks over and breathes a sigh of, to some extent, relief. It’s Will. He’s got El with him, tumbling out of the main entrance in a hurry while the rest of the party look on in confusion. He buries his hands in his pockets and gives them a nod, trying not to look too shaken as they approach him.

“Hey,” he pants at them even though he wasn’t the one that just bolted. Will repeats it back to him with appropriate panting but El stays silent. He searches her eyes and find them staring back at him closely, curious but also worried. His stomach churns. Well fuck. She knows. The tiny voice that has been trying to assure him it was all a fluke, some kind of weird version of fainting, that he’s just imagining it, dies horribly.

“Didn’t you get out of school already?” Will asks.

“Yeah?” Jonathan shrugs, trying to relax his tense shoulders. “I’m just waiting for you guys.”

“We’re supposed to go to the arcade tonight, though,” Will remarks, motioning towards his friends still looking very much confused by the entrance. “We told you…”

Right, fuck, they’re supposed to hang out with the party tonight. He totally forgot. “Oh-”

“We’re not going, though,” Will assures him.

“We need to talk,” El says, keeping her eyes fixated. Will nods.

Jonathan glances at them both and nods in return. “Let’s go,” he mumbles and gets into his car.

“Hey, wait a second!” Dustin suddenly calls out as the party approaches them. Jonathan rubs a hand over his temples trying not to look too exasperated. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Will stops mid motion opening the backseat door and fumbles for a good excuse. He’s never been very good at lying.

“Oh, uuh, I-I'm sorry guys, Jonathan just told us we gotta do some family stuff tonight!”

Well, he’s not wrong.

“Aw come on,” Dustin protests. “Family stuff? It’s Friday, we were gonna go to the arcade! Lucas got some serious coin from his grandma this-!”

“Like I’m gonna share my birthday present with any of you idiots,” Lucas deadpans.

“Fine,” Dustin moans, “but El, how are we gonna cheat if you can't pull the coins back into-”

“Will!” Jonathan yells from inside the car, more a call for help than he wants to admit, and it startles the other kids.

Will grabs El’s hand, waves goodbye and pulls her into the car with him. Jonathan practically steps on it, leaving the party in the settling dust.

---

They don't say a word during the entire ride home. Jonathan can feel Will and El’s eyes on him from the backseat, but they stay silent and he cannot drive and talk at the same time right now. He’s not usually a reckless driver, but he can’t even pretend he’s not dying to get home as quickly as possible, taking any shortcuts and close calls he can. He slows down a little bit after almost running over a crossing cyclist, though.

It’s a weird, quiet understanding that later makes them go into their house, taking off their jackets and leaving their bags, walking down the hall into Will and El’s room and closing the door - all in complete silence. They sit down in a ring on the carpet like they always do when they’re having their sessions, only this time without blindfolds and radios. Jonathan stares at a point somewhere in the middle of them, rubbing his shoulders, and he feels their stare at a point somewhere in the middle of his face for what seems like forever. Eventually his hands come down, twisting into themselves while he manages a deep sigh.

“It’s not like meditating,” he finally blurts out, looking up to face El. “It’s more like lucid dreaming.” Or a lucid nightmare, he adds to himself.

El blinks. “Lucid...dreaming?”

“Yeah. It's when you're in a dream but you're aware of it, so you can sort of think about it. You can control what happens.” She looks at him intently, intrigued, and he continues. “Everything is weightless and in the back of your mind you realize that you're not actually there, but all impressions tell your brain otherwise. You can’t see or hear or speak, but at the same time everything is...clear.”

El nods slowly. Suddenly Will pipes up, unable to contain himself any longer.

“You…you did the thing!” he beams. Jonathan and El break their stare to look at him. “You totally did the thing, right El?”

“Yes.” She turns back to Jonathan. “You talked to me.”

“It was so weird,” Will interrupts, excited. “We were outside during lunch break and El, she was looking at some flowers on the ground, and then she just suddenly stood up and looked at me, and she said your name-!”

Jonathan must be giving his brother a grim look because he sinks down, smile fading. “We...we knew something was up.”

“How did it happen?” El asks. Jonathan leans his head into his hands and sighs.

“I don’t know. I was…in the darkroom. Developing pictures. I was just going to prepare the latest film I’d been using in the prep-” He looks up to find them looking slightly confused. “The darkroom? You- The film is sensitive to light so you have to go into this pitch black little room to cut it and roll it onto this wheel and put into this tank to prepare it for developer fluids and-” He’s not getting anywhere with them. He sighs again. “It’s very dark, basically.”

El leans back. Will keeps looking confused.

“Wait, so you can’t see anything?”

“Not a single thing.”

“But how do you know what you’re doing?”

Jonathan shrugs. “You just do it a lot.”

Will mouths a small “Oh”.

“You just have to go on feeling to get things right,” Jonathan continues as his eyes start to wander around the room. “I guess I was sort of zoning out like I always do when I'm-”

His eyes fixate on one of his photographs that El has put up over her bed. His face drops as it dawns on him. The pictures of her. The static on the radio.

“What?” Will asks anxiously. “When you're what?”

“I was developing a lot of pictures of you,” Jonathan says, looking back at El. “They were fresh in my mind. And there’s a radio there that never works right so it fades into this static noise constantly.”

She nods. “That’s why you came to see me. Because of the pictures.”

“Yeah.” He remembers now how El managed to contact Will and Barbara on the other side that time in the kiddie pool using only photographs. She’d never even met them before that. “I guess I fell into some kind of...trance? It was very weird. Like I was…” He blinks a few times, trying to make sense of it. “Like I was awake and asleep at the same time.”

El keeps nodding, encouraging him. Then his breath catches in his throat as it comes back to him.

“There was...blood,” he mumbles. His hand comes up to cover his mouth briefly, subconsciously telling. “And the lights were going crazy.”

“Could you take me there, Jonathan?” Will pleads. “I want to-”

“No.”

“But-”

“No, alright?” Jonathan bites. “It's not a good place to be. When I came to, it was…I was….” he trails off, eyes darting down to look at his twisting hands, heart suddenly racing. Then El reaches out and lays one of her hands over his. For some reason it calms him.

“You were scared,” she says knowingly. He curls his fingers to hold her small ones gently.

“Yeah,” he admits under his breath.

She squeezes his hand. “It won't be the same if we’re with you. It's not as scary when you're not alone.”

“You...you think that I actually…” Jonathan shakes his head in disbelief. “That I actually managed to do this…thing?”

“Mind reading,” Will concludes.

Jonathan licks his lips, brows furrowing. “It...it isn’t quite like how that would work. I mean, I think,” he looks to El, seeking her recognition. “I didn’t read your mind. We just...talked, somehow.”

“It’s something like that,” El agrees.

“But how...?” Jonathan presses. “Why?”

“I don’t...know.” She pulls her hand back, seemingly as lost for answers as he is.

Jonathan’s eyes flutter down to the floor for a moment before he looks up at them again, pained. “I don’t know if I want to go there again. Wherever there was.”

“What? Why not?” Will protests. “You can’t just not do it! Don’t you understand what this means? What if you can do things like El can? What if you can move things too?”

The thought that there might be more to this hadn’t even occurred to him. He scoffs. “Will, that’s ridiculous- There’s no way I could-”

“Maybe,” El cuts him off. He raises his eyebrows at her.

“Really?”

“I’m not sure.” She looks around the room like she’s searching for something. Words probably. Then her eyes come back to him. “Some can find people.” She looks over at Will. “Some can’t.”

Will looks defeated. “So you’re saying I can’t do it?”

“I don’t know. People are different. Sometimes it takes time to find it.”

Jonathan frowns. “Are you sure it wasn't just you trying to contact me in this case? Without knowing, maybe...?”

“Jonathan, your nose was bleeding,” Will deadpans. “You don’t get those unless you’re using powers.”

“People get nosebleeds!” Jonathan reasons. Will gives him a skeptical look. He resigns.

El shakes her head. “You have to focus for it to happen. And…” She trails off into thinking.

Will and Jonathan lean forward. “And?”

“There’s...something different. About you. When I tried to talk to Mike before, in the cabin...he wouldn’t answer.” She catches Jonathan’s eyes with that intensity that only she knows, wisdom beyond her years in them - as if she could peer into his very soul. “You spoke so clearly. You saw me so clearly.”

Jonathan opens his mouth to say something, but instead a familiar voice calls out to them from outside the room. Mom is home.

They all shuffle to their feet quickly, giving each other a look.

“Don't tell mom,” Jonathan hisses. “Or Hopper. Ok?”

Will and El look skeptical, but nod briefly before they all scurry out of their room down the hall, Will closing the door behind them. They find Joyce by the front door. She lights up when she sees them.

“Hey!”

They all stammer their greetings to her. She turns to Jonathan, smiling expectantly. “Did you start dinner yet? I’m starving, I barely had time for lunch today.”

Jonathan needs a moment to go through the latest hour or two to even understand her question.

“Oh!” Oh right. He was supposed to start dinner tonight. Considering the circumstances he’s willing to cut himself some slack for forgetting, though. “Uuh, I’m sorry mom,” he stammers folding his arms, one hand squeezing the back of his neck. “I...I forgot?”

Joyce’s smile fades and she sighs as she drops her purse on the couch. “Jonathan! You forgot?”

“I'm sorry! I was picking up Will and El and-” he motions to them and then up to the ceiling for some reason, seeking answers from above.

“You could’ve called me. What have you been doing all afternoon?”

“We just got lost uuh, doing uuh-”

“And what are you two doing home so early anyway?” she probes, looking at Will and El. “Weren’t you going to the arcade with your friends tonight?”

“No, they’re just-” Jonathan tries.

“Ok mom, we didn't want to tell you this,” Will suddenly but firmly interrupts, stepping forward. “But the reason he forgot and why we’re home is because we were in our room making something for your birthday.” A spark of innocence lights in his soft, wide eyes. “Don’t get mad.”

El quickly joins in, perfectly replicating Will's doe-eyed look. He’s been teaching her, Jonathan notes. Both he and Joyce have a hard time saying no when Will pulls that face. Not that he does it very often, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Joyce blinks, tensed shoulders sagging down. Then a smile spreads across her face. “What? For me? But that’s not for another month! Oh, but sweetie!”

Jonathan just looks on with eyebrows raised as his mom pinches the cheek of his brother, making kissy noises, and Will laughs what is hopefully not too nervously. Maybe he wasn't such a bad liar after all.

He clears his throat. “So, uh, Ray’s? I’ll pick up a movie on the way as well.”

Everybody stops what they’re doing. Will and El direct their eyes to Joyce in anticipation. She sighs and roll hers playfully. “Sure.” She turns to the couch.

“It’s fine mom, I’ve got it.”

“Can we go too?” El wonders.

“To pick up?” Joyce asks. Before they come up with an answer she gives them a knowing smile - of what they’re not sure. “Oh. Yeah, of course honey! You can all go.” She starts to shoo them away with her hands. “I’ll just prepare some dessert for later in the meantime.”

---

Jonathan throws his head back and stares up into the ceiling of his car for a moment as Will and El fumble for the seatbelts.

“Now she won’t ask us what we’re doing in our room for a while at least,” Will says.

“Yeah, that’s...that’s good,” Jonathan nods. Then he sighs deeply. “Now there's only one problem.”

Both of them looking troubled, Will leans forward. “What?”

Jonathan swings one of his arms up on his seat and turns to look out the rear window, starting to roll out of the driveway. “We have to make something for mom.”

[cassburger215]

‘Til Death - Part 3

Dean x Reader

Summary: When the reader finds herself in need of outside help, she calls the Winchester brothers to cash in an old favor. A call that changes everything.

Word Count: 2100+

A/N: I’m so so so sorry that it’s been so long since I’ve updated this. It was a combination of work life, personal life, holidays, procrastination, and figuring out how to move forward on it. So I tried to make it long for lost time. Hope you enjoy and please comment!

P.S. Who’s waiting to see Danneel on SPN tonight?!

MASTERLIST

"Could you turn that down? My ears are bleeding," you yelled over the loud rock music. 

Dean turned to look back at you from the driver's seat, his head bopping and mouthing the lyrics. He gave you a cheeky grin in response. You glared, reaching forward to turn it down yourself instead. A sigh of relief left your mouth as Led Zeppelin became background noise. Now you could actually think.

"How much longer?" is your second question. You'd been on the road for at least eight hours already. Food sounded good right about now too.

"At least another four hours," Sam said. "There's a town not too far that we can stop in for fuel."

You nodded your head. You just hoped this worked.

It'd been two weeks since you left Indiana with the brothers and so far nothing had come of it. There was no hint of where Sara could be. Sam searched everywhere from online to public records in libraries. Nothing. It infuriated you that you couldn't remember anything about where she had been taken. The only information you had was the name of the agency that Sara was adopted through.

Which is why you were currently on your way to your hometown in South Dakota. A place you hadn't set foot in in years.

With nothing else to do, you let your hands fall to your lap and stare out the window. Not that there was much to see. Iowa was all flat land. Boring.

Your mind runs back through the past couple weeks.

The most prominent thing to happen was meeting Castiel. Because apparently, angels exist now. Your head was still throbbing with the revelation. Being an atheist, it was difficult to be forced into changing lifelong held beliefs.

Oh, and they could magically heal people. You placed your hand over the area that was once crudely stitched together skin. Now there wasn’t even a scar. Frankly, it creeped you out. But for the purposes of your mission it was helpful.

When you had asked Sam and Dean why they had an angel in their pocket, you didn’t get much of an answer. ‘Long story’ was the offered response. Then they were weird around you sometimes, doing their little silent conversations or whisper-arguing to each other when they thought you weren’t watching.

They were hiding something from you. Something big.

You decided not to push it though. You had Sara to worry about and you weren’t going to get far without the brothers’ help.

In no time, the impala was driving up to the entrance of Harmony Adoptions.

“Alright, what’s the game plan?” Dean spoke up, looking to me through the rearview mirror. Right. This was my deal.

“Umm... FBI?” you said uncertainly. You hadn’t really done anything like this before. Most of the cases you hunt don’t require posing as authority to get answers.

Sam shook his head. “I wouldn’t. Not with adoption agencies. They will be tight-lipped. You know, red tape and all. They’ll request a warrant before releasing anything to you.”

“Well, that’s all I got,” you shrugged. You all sat in silence for a moment, watching the place as you thought.

The front door pushed out to reveal a couple holding hands, speaking to what appeared to be an employee as they left. They looked hopeful, the man smiling widely before planting one on the girl’s temple. Then they departed.

“Lightbulb,” you suddenly said, pushing yourself up to the front seats. Dean crooked an eyebrow at you. You gestured toward the couple that just left.

“Pose as a couple wanting to adopt,” Sam finished your thought out loud. You nod. “That could work. It would get us into the building, get a tour of the facilities...”

“Exactly,” you said. “So... who’s the lucky couple? I personally think gay sells.”

Both screwed their faces up, a clear shutdown of the idea - which made you chuckle. Sam wagged his finger between you and Dean.

“You two go ahead. I don’t think me and Y/N would really pass as a couple.”

Dean quickly scrutinized you two. “Yup, you got that right.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean shot back with a crooked grin. He then looked straight to you. “Guess it’s you and me, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Your heart beat slightly faster. You cleared your throat before continuing, “It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Make an appointment.”

With a plan in place, the impala pulled out of the lot in search for a motel. Something that had been interesting in terms of sleeping arrangements the past couple weeks. If there was a couch, usually that’s where you slept since neither Sam or Dean could fit comfortably with their large frames.

However more often than not, a couch was out of the question in motels. By then it’s a game of rock, paper, scissors for the floor. It made you feel slightly guilty because Sam usually got the short stick.

You would get your own room, but that meant more money that neither of you had. You tried not to use your fake card more than necessary. You know, keep the felonies to a minimum.

It took a minute to find one that wasn’t completely skeevy, but finally a small family owned place was found on the outskirts of town. Which was even better. Less likely to run into trouble.

After you all checked in, and Sam relegated to the floor once again, Dean announced he was going on a food run. Which likely included a bar stop, so we’d not see him for a while.

And now, during this down time with Sam, it was hard to ignore your growing thoughts about the town you were currently in.

Something else occurred to you too.

“Hey Sam, I’ll be back in a bit,” you said as you pulled on a coat. Sam was looking for something in the leather journal the boys always carried around. He quickly looked up after you spoke though, the journal closing as he raised from the bed.

“Woah, hey. Where are you going?”

“It’s not really any of your business.” You got defensive. You couldn’t help it, but the look on Sam’s face made you backtrack. “It has nothing to do with you, okay? I just need to check something.”

“Well, Dean took the car and the only thing within 5 miles of us is a quickie mart.”

You forgot about the car.

“I’m walking,” you declared. It’s not like you didn’t know how to get there from here. It would just take 3 times the amount of time. You gave a sharp nod to yourself, cementing the new plan into your mind.

“I’m coming with you.”

Ugh. You shook your head at him again. He was a cool guy and all, and he was helping you out big time with your sister, but sometimes you questioned how this kid hunted with his personality.

“I’m 26 you know. Just like you,” Sam said, his lips turning upward. You had muttered your thoughts out loud by mistake. “And as for my character… well, there’s a lot you don’t know Y/N.”

Again, you wanted to know what him and Dean had been whispering about behind your back. It unnerved you, not knowing. Yet, the way he said that made you think he was talking about something else.

Sam cleared his throat after a beat. You just stood there lost in your thoughts but snapped out of it when he spoke again. “So, where to?”

Deciding to give up on getting rid of the bodyguard, you let out a sigh and opened the door.

“Somewhere painful.”

Barren. The place was nothing but old walls and scratched floors. There wasn’t even a folding chair or an old lamp sitting in a corner. Just empty. Forgotten.

Kind of like how you felt.

You began to ask yourself why it was a good idea to come back to your old home. Wondered what possessed you to travel across town by foot to a place that held more bad memories than good.

Sam wavered at the front entrance, settling for leaning against the door jamb and staring at the opposite side while you trailed your hand along the wall of what used to be the den.

It wasn’t a big house. One story, two bedrooms, one bath. The tiny kitchen and  den shared space, then the rest was down a hallway. It surprised you, how much you remembered.

There used to be a horrid plaid couch that sat in the dead center of the room, facing the small window. You used to abhor that couch. The color, the smell, the texture. You hoped it went to a dumpster after you were taken away. Or lit on fire.

You could still imagine the bookcase filled with cheap board games and puzzles since you didn’t own a tv. The kitchen had a drawer next to the oven that would stick unless you banged on the counter. The leaky roof. The tire swing in the neighbor’s backyard. Your sister singing along to Bon Jovi with a hairbrush in hand and an air guitar that rivaled your own.

A sob left your lips.

“Y/N?”

With wobbly knees you eased to the floor. Sam had joined you, shoulders knocking into each other. He didn’t say anything as you felt a single tear slide down your cheek.

Suddenly you slammed your hand into the laminate flooring. The smacking sound that accompanied it made Sam flinch.

“I hate her,” you slammed your hand again. “I hate her for dying.”

Sam got more comfortable, spread his legs out. “Your mom?”

You nodded your head. Memories of your mother were bombarding your mind. Good and bad, but mostly bad. Like the nights she’d come home drunk at 2 in the morning or the time she sold your bed frame to make rent that month.

You wished there were more times like when you’d all played monopoly, or being taken to the park on a Saturday morning because mom insisted it was too nice to stay inside. 

Wished for more times when you loved her rather than resented her.

It didn’t matter much now, though. She was gone and left a shit storm behind for you and Sara to deal with alone. You’d resigned yourself to that a long time ago.

After a moment of silence Sam opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

“Just ask it.”

He blew out a breath.

“Your mom. Did she die because of…” he trailed off before gesturing to himself. ‘A monster’ was what he was trying to say. You gave a hard chuckle in response.

“Not even close,” you said with a shake of your head. “No, she died driving drunk and running right into a pole.”

Mom was a struggling recovering alcoholic. She would try so hard to stay sober, but never made it past a month or two. You remembered walking into the kitchen one night after she’d fallen off the wagon again. Saw her stare at the empty liquor bottle before bursting into tears.

I’m so sorry, baby. I’m not strong enough.

You looked to Sam again when he gripped your shoulder and gave him a grim smile.

“Why come back if you hate the place?”

“I had to see if it was still there, I guess.”

His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “It?”

“The light,” you replied softly. The good. The happy moments. You swiped at your now dry cheek. “And it is. Come on, I just remembered something. Then we can go.”

You hoisted yourself up and Sam followed you down the short hallway. You opened the creaky door to your’s and Sara’s old room. It was weird to see it so bare, but the walls were still blue and funnily enough the plain white sheet that acted as the partition to your closet was still there.

Walking over and pulling it back, you found what you were looking for with the natural light filtering in from the window.

Your hand brushed against the uneven surface of your name cut into the baseboard of the back closet wall. Right next to it, was Sara’s.

One boring night you two decided to immortalize yourselves and all you had that was sharp enough was your house key. It took forever with the dull edge, something you both groaned over after the fact. You had to have been fourteen at the time, making Sara seven. 

And now it was going to be the second thing you had of your sister.

“Help me take this out.”

An hour later and you were back at the motel, Sam in tow and the pried piece of wood in your hand.

TAGS

Forever/Everything: @deangirl-samcurious-0124-0502 @katsanders

Dean: @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @dreamilysparklyenthusiast @nerdwholikesword @angelsandwinchesters @iwriteaboutdean

Til Death: @trexrambling @pokemaniac1 @quackerstheduck663057