#ajay shut up

[year-of-the-rabid-dog]

Ajay u fuckin nerd

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: Simon had wondered what any of it had meant. Maddie's death, why he'd been the only one who could see her. And then he'd learned that, perhaps, everything that had happened...it hadn't been about him or Maddie at all.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.25

A roaring white noise erupted in the theater, smothering all other sounds. A TV static howl that seemed to come from within your own head, building and building until it was unbearable. You slapped your hands over your ears, gritted your teeth, pulse thundering almost as loud as the unnatural noise in your ears.

Muffled as if through cotton fluff, you heard someone yell, "What's happening!?" but no more than that, the voice swept away by the bellow. You lifted your head away from Xavier's shoulder and turned your body as much as you could within the tight band of his arms. Where the trapdoor should be, rising like a nightmare from its grave, the farmhouse door materialized in the middle of the stage. Your eyes widened in horror as the familiar screams from behind it began to gnash at the edges of the noise like teeth, "STOP! COME BACK! STOP! LET ME OUT!!"

You cast around, saw Maddie and Wally huddled together, Charlie tucked between two rows of seats, Ajay shielding Mina with his body, and Rhonda with her arms crossed in front of her face as the noise crashed through the theater like a physical force; a tempest of rage and violence that pierced the veil. The ground and walls shook, windows rattled, a stage light fell and smashed on the stage. The quake vibrated through your bones, motivated you to act, but you couldn't move. Xavier clung to you both protectively and in terror, his eyes pleading as he seemed to figure out what you planned to do. He trembled, fingertips bruising into your flesh through your sweater.

You'd never seen him so scared. Not once. Not ever.

Driven by adrenaline, "I'm sorry," you shoved Xavier off you, spun and rose in one fluid motion, and charged at speed down the center aisle toward the stage. The wind was sharp and stinging, pieces of glass and metal from the shattered stage light picked up and whipped about, but you didn't stop. Hurdled into it. Leapt onto the stage. Close, so close. Hand extended, fingers brushing the knob, about to brace against it to keep the monsters from escaping.

The door ruptured at its center, fragments of wood bursting outward and immediately captured by the storm. The force of the sudden explosion sent you sailing backward, followed by a tsunami of blinding, iridescent light that fell from the breach in the door and reached toward you. Cold. Clutching. You barely made out your name being shouted in varying degrees of desperate concern and fear. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter. Because as soon as you landed, hard—enough to knock the air from your lungs into your throat and choke you—the world shifted on its axis and went black.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Question 1.

Why did Frankenstein create the Monster?

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon lay in bed and stared at the ceiling above him, cracked and pillowed, a yellow-brown rash bloomed in patterns that he tracked in meditative circles with his eyes. He needed to shower, he thought dully. He hadn't had time that morning before being chauffeured to the station for another damning interrogation by Deputies Hayes and Stewart.

"Where is she, Elroy? Where's Maddie?"

"I don't know."

"Don't lie to us, kid, it'll only make things worse for you."

"I'm not lying, I don't kn—"

"God dammit, quit playing dumb!"

"That's enough," Mrs. Grace had snapped before Stewart's jaw had shut with an audible click. "Without substantiated evidence, this is all hearsay. Simon has given you everything he knows in his statement. Unless you intend to further make fools of yourselves, we're leaving."

Simon needed to get up. Get up. Get up. Get. Up.

He didn't move. Couldn't; his limbs grafted to his sheets, muscles like stone, bones elastic. His back was sore, his skin ached and he wanted to move around, stretch the discomfort out of his body, but...he didn't. Instead, he kept staring at the ceiling as the morning looped in his mind. Questions and suppositions, two manilla folders, one map, and then a tense drive home where he'd felt little-boy scared of his parents—his father—for the first time in years, their disappointment and anger palpable in the tight confines of the car.

Simon had been shown Maddie's file. A couple of graphic photographs that looked staged for a prime-time procedural drama. His best friend's blood splattered on the boiler room wall, evidence of the pain and torture she'd incurred when she'd been killed. Murdered in the bowels of the school while Simon had been three floors up in homeroom, bored and bleary-eyed, dozing on his backpack, mentally preparing for a night at the APEX with a group he felt a little on the outskirts of.

"Fuck." He choked, eyes stinging, rubbing over them with his wrist.

The photographs were seared into his retinas; there even when he tried to distract himself or ignore them or pretend that Maddie was still within reach and not one resolution away from vanishing forever.

Blood. Her blood. From a swing so violent that it'd projected onto the wall when the weapon had been hitched for another strike. How many blows had been delivered before Maddie's eyes had dimmed and her breath had stopped? His stomach lurched, but still, Simon didn't move.

The deputies thought Maddie was out there. Not enough blood on the scene to warrant a murder investigation, Stewart had informed Simon as if suggesting that Simon and Maddie might've tried to fake her death so no one would look for her. It was half-assed and ridiculous. Even Hayes seemed to think so, though she wouldn't have admitted it aloud.

Desperate to repress the images, Simon tried to remember the other file he'd been shown. The deputies insisted the cases were linked: Maddie's "escape" and a string of break-ins that spanned two neighborhoods that would've been one if it weren't for a railway track splitting it down the middle like a stapled wound. Simon had recognized the first immediately. Riverden Heights. A low-income area that had been chosen by the town council for regentrification, spearheaded by none other than Claire Zomer's stepfather.

The other, Warren Meadow, had taken him a moment to recognize, but when he did, it'd been a feat to conceal his surprise. He'd been there the night he'd found Mr. Anderson's stash, sat on a swing in the play park behind the house you called home.

What did it mean?

As he pondered the possibilities, a crisp gust of wind coasted over him, disturbing the curtains and ruffling the posters on his walls. At last, he moved, prompted to investigate because he was sure he'd closed it. He swallowed thickly, tense, heartbeat ratcheting up a notch. Propped on a hand, he looked in confusion and dread at his, yeah, closed window.

A slow, eerie creak snapped his attention toward his closet, the door open a sliver when he knew that, too, had been closed. The darkness within seemed even blacker than was natural. Inexplicable. Otherworldly. A shiver ran down his spine. Similar to the feeling he'd had when he'd caught Maddie's reflection in the classroom window on Monday.

The floorboards squeaked when he stood. Simon took one cautious step after another, muscles flexed, not prepared at all for an attack but willing to be brave.

Two. Three. Four. Five steps. His chest was tight. Hands shaking. Breathing shallow. As he hooked his fingers on the door to open it further, it started. The sound was faint and he had to strain to hear it, but it was unmistakable. Wet and rattled, punctuated by thick sniffles.

Someone was crying.

Someone was crying in Simon's closet.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Rhonda remained couched, braced against the wild, unholy wind until, bit by bit, she realized it'd stopped. When she opened her eyes, she gasped in shock, collapsing forward onto her hands. The world around her had changed; the theater was replaced by a span of paved ground enclosed by a chain-link fence, painted games bright against the black asphalt. A tingle crept down from her scalp to her nape, goosebumps pebbled her arms, and she panned her head to glance over her shoulder.

Panicked, she spun, landed on her ass, shoving herself backward with her feet to put distance between herself and the eerily suspended door. The void at its center flickered. It felt like a black hole trying to drag her into oblivion.

Rhonda flipped over and pushed herself up. Ran. Ran harder and faster than she'd ever done in life or death. Down the side of the building she'd found herself behind to skid around the corner and come to an abrupt stop.

She turned this way and that, disoriented, chest rising and falling quickly as she tried to suck in enough air to keep her upright.

"What the hell is happening?" She wheezed, every alarm in her brain going off at once as she began to process her surroundings: Outdoors. Too dark for how early she felt it should be, the air thin and cold, biting, and the sky obscured by a dense layer of gunmetal grey clouds. It was raining in sheets so thick Rhonda could barely make out the line of British inspired maisonettes on the opposite side of the street. "Where—?"

She cut herself off when the wide, double-door entrance to the building opened, releasing a soft glow from within that illuminated the pathway ahead of it. Children in raincoats and rubber boots bounced down the front steps, giggling as they jumped and splashed through puddles on their way to join clusters of adults who waited under umbrellas on the sidewalk.

"No. Fucking. Way." Rhonda walked toward the pathway, jaw slack, gaze fixed on the words etched into the stonework. She nearly tripped over her own feet, only just managing to correct herself as she turned fully toward the building.

Adelaide Meheive Schoolhouse for Boys.

The brick and mortar was as old as Split River itself, named after one of the town founders' wives. The school had been reestablished as Adelaide Meheive Elementary in the early '40s, ten years before Rhonda's family had moved from rural town Romania to Wisconsin. Rhonda had still been curious then, unjaded and excited and eager to learn. Her fourth grade desk had been right there, beside that window. Where she'd daydreamed as she'd stared at the houses across the street and had wondered what it'd been like to live somewhere so unlike her own home in the low-income district that bordered the factories.

Pressure stuffed her nose, her vision blurred, and suddenly she was overwhelmed by the memory, instantly missing her parents, her sisters, her grandmother in a way she hadn't in countless years. Unfortunately, she didn't have more than a moment to grapple with it before her attention was forced back to the school's entrance.

Two figures emerged, one was small, obviously a child. A little boy, Rhonda discerned, with a Spiderman backpack and rainboots to match. The second was taller, slender, the hood of their sweater up so it concealed their face. They hauled the little boy by the hand as they complained, "Come on, stop messing around, I want to go home," as the little boy kept trying to gleefully splash his way through every puddle on his way to the front gate.

A spike of foreboding shot through Rhonda as she watched the pair.

She found herself trailing after them as they turned onto the sidewalk. That sense of unease continued to worsen, churning in her stomach like a bad premonition. Although it felt like every other bad gut feeling she'd experienced in her young life, it was somehow distinguished. And when the taller figure got so frustrated by the little boy that they pushed their hood off and threatened, "I'm so serious right now, I will leave you here and tell mom you ran away," Rhonda was once again stunned into stillness.

The taller figure was a girl, no older than eleven or twelve with features identical to ones Rhonda had seen mere moments before the theater had turned into a category 5 hurricane zone. Your hair was longer and your face was rounder, softer, yet you looked exactly as you had when Rhonda had joked about getting Wally a new wardrobe.

You began to tug the little boy along again, your foul temper tween-girl extreme to the extent Rhonda questioned whether or not it was really you. Regardless of whether or not it was, Rhonda decided, she needed help, needed an explanation. Where the fuck was she? When the fuck was she? How did she get here?

"Hey!" Rhonda yelled after you, "Wait!"

You didn't notice Rhonda. In fact, she was entirely nonexistent to you as you yanked and heaved Aiden every single step forward. He enjoyed being a pain in your ass, always elbowing his way into every sleepover, usurping attention, whining until you gave in and put on movies for babies because he didn't like what you and Xavier and Hana wanted to watch.

You'd already been grumpy when your mom had called to ask that you collect Aiden from school on your way home, consumed by thoughts of Xavier and Hana ditching you to hang out with another couple because, apparently, that's what boyfriends and girlfriends did.

Your face twisted in displeasure, jealousy seeping into your veins like toxic sludge as you barked again, "Aiden, come. on. Stop it!"

Xavier and Hana hadn't even kissed on the mouth yet, you grouched internally. Plus, they were still going to Dave & Buster's with Mrs. Baxter like all three of you did. As a group. Every Friday since 1st Grade. It wasn't fair that just because you didn't want to be kissed or have some gross boy who smelled like B.O. hold your hand like that, you weren't allowed to go too.

The rain came down harder, thunder rumbled overhead and lightning cracked across the sky. Aiden continued to resist, stomping in and out of the stream that flowed along the curb. Stupid mom being held up at work. Stupid Aurora being at university. Stupid Andrew for being away. And stupid, stupid Aiden, not listening to you when you were obviously in a bad mood.

"Aiden!" You yelled, tugging him back onto the sidewalk, "I said stop it!"

Your clothes were drenched, your limbs were frozen, and all you wanted to do was go home, rant to Nanna, and have her comfort you and tell you to forget Xavier and Hana and their dumb relationship had ever happened. Just as you were contemplating how upset your mom would be if you abandoned Aiden right then and there, you heard a car pull up behind you and a male voice call, "Hey, can I give you a ride?"

Rhonda stopped when she saw the car stop. More specifically, when she saw the face of the man behind the wheel. She didn't recognize him and he looked normal enough. Buzzed, military brown hair and a friendly smile and eyes that crinkled charmingly at the corners. Rhonda moved to peek into the open passenger window, squinting at him. Despite how normal he appeared, there was something inside her soul, a niggling feeling that made her gums itch, that told her that the man's aura was several shades of wrong.

Clumsily, she reared back and turned to urge you, "Don't go with him," as that prickly sense of unease increased, blaring like an air raid siren in her brain. Rhonda couldn't tell if you were familiar with the man and decided quickly that it didn't matter, "I know we aren't exactly besties," She said, standing directly in front of you now, "But you have to listen to me."

You looked right through her.

Leaning across the console was a man wearing a uniform like your dad's, his face familiar though you couldn't quite place it. Your grip tightened around Aiden's hand and you narrowed your eyes at him. A thousand and one speeches had been delivered throughout your life on the subject of which strangers are good and which are bad. And random men in cars were at the top of the bad list.

"You don't remember me?" The man chuckled and then explained, "We met at the barbeque on base. I'm Christopher." He raised an amused eyebrow, "You got me with your water gun a few times."

Rhonda's gaze ricocheted between you and Christopher as you hesitated, tilted your head, and chewed your lip, studying Christopher like a Wanted poster. That nagging feeling in Rhonda's gut swelled into a sick panic when the tension bled out of your shoulders, showing signs of finally recalling who Christopher was.

"Oh yeah," You grinned and stepped closer. Christopher was in the same unit as your dad. He'd been at the barbeque with his wife and daughter, the latter having hung out with you and Xavier all afternoon while the adults drank beer and got rowdy. "Xavier pushed you in the pool."

Christopher snorted and hung his head in mock shame, "That's me."

Rhonda shook her head, her mind screaming at her to stop you from going with him. That if you did, all the happiness and joy and pure, unconditional love in the world would be snuffed out as easily as the flame of a candle. Rhonda had felt similarly when Mr. Manfredo's demeanor had shifted in the split second before he'd revealed his true colors.

"Don't go with him," She repeated, trying and failing to grab your hand, shoulder, face, anything. But her hands kept missing, sliding away, your energy and hers two like poles that would never connect. "You need to listen to me!"

You smiled down at Aiden, "A ride would be great, right Aid?"

Aiden wasn't paying attention, staring off into space. He did that whenever you asked him to stop being annoying. Acted like he hadn't heard you or that you weren't there. Glaring at him, you repeated the question, only for Aiden to tug your hand so you had to bend to his level to hear him.

"What?" You demanded under your breath.

Aiden whispered, "I don't think we should go with him."

Relief flooded through Rhonda, however, it was short-lived.

You rolled your eyes, "Seriously, Aiden?" God, could he just not? For once, one time, could he be on your side instead of making everything difficult? You knew he was complaining just so he could keep splashing in the puddles, but you were over the wet and the rain and the cold.

Aiden stubbornly stared into space again—stared at Rhonda—and refused to budge until you poked him in the cheek. He reluctantly dragged his eyes to yours, looking up at you with a pout, "I don't want to, Sissy." Lip wobbly, brow furrowed. The same expression he pinched his face into when you refused to let him use your Switch.

You heaved a careworn sigh and put your hands on your knees as you spoke to him, forcing your voice to a sensitive register, "How about this: If you get in the car, I'll make you mac 'n' cheese with chicken nuggets when we get home. Alright?"

Rhonda lurched forward, "No no no!" She begged you to change your mind, to hear what Aiden was trying to tell you, her voice strangled, throat closing. "Don't!"

Aiden chewed his lip as he considered your proposal, eyes on the ground. At last, with an apologetic glance into the middle distance, he nodded. It was a small gesture, almost disappointed, and he mumbled, "Okay."

You grinned and hugged him, praising him for listening to you as you opened the car door and helped him into the backseat. Once he scooched over, you climbed in after him, thanked Christopher for his kindness, and made Aiden do the same.

"Thanks," Aiden muttered, staring at his lap, looking for all the world like he'd just been told he wasn't allowed dessert ever again.

Though she knew it was useless, Rhonda bodily flung herself at the car when you closed the door, banging and slapping the window with her palms until they stung bright red. "Don't! You have to get out! GET. OUT!"

You buckled your seatbelt, then Aiden's, and the car pulled away.

Rhonda stumbled into the street, shouting after you. Her hands gripped her head in panic, pulse racing. She watched the car stop at the corner and saw Aiden rise to peer out of the back window, chubby hand up as if he was waving goodbye. The emotion in his big, green eyes—

She inhaled sharply. Without any doubt, Rhonda understood that she'd just witnessed a child's future turn to ash. And she felt in her bones that Aiden knew it, too.

"Come back." She begged, tight and weak. Then, with everything she had in her, "COME BACK!"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, an ominous creak drew her attention behind her. The farmhouse door. The deep, black void at its center. Eyes wide in fright, she shifted to run after the car but didn't get even a step before the blackness shot out, wrapped around her arms and legs, and wrenched her into its depths. The door slammed closed and disappeared.

In the backseat of the car, you asked Aiden, "What're you looking at?" when he continued to stare out of the rear window. You peeked over the seat in confusion, not seeing anything worth that much scrutiny.

Aiden slowly slid his gaze to meet yours and what you saw in them made your stomach twist, the look in them far too old for a six-year-old boy. Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to brush it off, fixing Aiden in his seat after he'd lowered himself to sit properly.

"Nothing," Aiden responded, tone solemn. He began to draw a little stick figure in the condensation on the window, and then an upright rectangle with curly cues coming out of it.

You watched him for a moment, suddenly feeling uneasy. "You sure?"

Aiden nodded.

You wouldn't have believed him anyway.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Question Two.

Does Frankenstein learn from his mistake in creating the Monster?

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You roused in pained stages, groaning as you hoisted yourself onto your hands and knees. The world was spinning, vision cloudy for a moment before the room settled around you. The damp and dark didn't feel right against you, pushing in from all corners like pressure in the depths of the ocean. Heaving a breath, you wobbled to your feet, blinking rapidly as your eyes adjusted to the dim light.

Even in the thin light filtering through the high windows, you recognized that, wherever you were, it wasn't the theater.

"Wally?!" You called out, "Maddie!?"

No answer.

"...anyone?"

It took a minute for your eyes to adjust. The space was wide and empty, the ceiling low, walls exposed slabs of thick stone. A cellar, you realized, stepping carefully across the packed dirt floor. Faded Persian carpets had been placed down in the center; thinner, longer ones like runners led from the base of the polished wood steps to the back wall, the tail end of the last carpet disappearing beneath the stone.

"Where am I?" You wondered, glancing about.

A few items of furniture stood against the wall directly opposite the staircase. A tall, fat cabinet with glass windows that displayed a variety of trinkets that reminded you of curiosities Victorian nobles had collected to be admired by their unworldly peers. Beside it was a sarcophagus, Egyptian-inspired but certainly not original. It was far too dark, menacing, the face demonic with ruby eyes that seemed to burn from within.

You kept a wide berth around it, its aura unsettling. Like walking into a forest after nightfall with no flashlight.

On the other side of the cabinet were wrought iron hooks nailed into the stone, neat rows of ten across, seven down. Most of them were bare, though a few still held gruesomely painted masks in the Venetian style. Some with long, pointed noses; others more feminine.

"What the hell is this place?" You murmured to yourself as you reached out to run your fingers delicately down the smooth nose of one of the masks.

It felt familiar. The exposed beams, the packed dirt floor, the draft that chilled you to the bone. You followed the runners to the back wall, turned, looked out the window above you. Twisty, naked branches speared the sky, a large gap in the middle where...where the road... Oh, God.

Your breath caught and you began to feel queasy, bile burning the back of your throat. This wasn't just any cellar. It was the farmhouse cellar. The place you'd been when you learned exactly how many minutes it took for a human body to die.

The room swam as your vision blurred and all at once, you doubled over, retching into the dirt, swaying on weak legs when it was over. Breath after breath felt like ice as you tried to get air into your lungs, your heart to calm down, your head to stop spinning.

"It's not possible," You choked, collapsing against the wall, "I shouldn't be here, this isn't right." You sank to the floor, completely devoid of energy in the wake of your realization. As if the darkness had sucked it all out. You sat there for minutes that dragged into each other, hitched little inhales and drawn, stuttered exhales. "I want to go home," You whimpered, but there was no one around to hear you.

In that instant, voices rose and the floorboards above creaked under the weight of several people. Panicked, you shot to your feet, casting about for something to protect yourself. Nothing good had ever happened in this farmhouse, you knew, and you doubted that now would be any different.

There was nothing. And when you tried to open the cabinet, a taser-like shock jolted through your arm and knocked you backward onto the floor. You didn't have time to question it, the door above opening—that door, the door, the one that had haunted you for six years—and the voices getting closer.

"Surely, Lord McNair, you jest. A stablehand!" A woman's voice spoke, sounding giddy as much as disturbed. "How on earth did that happen?"

A deep, male voice answered, that of Lord McNair assumedly, "I haven't a clue, Liza." He sounded dismayed, "He took off with all the money and my daughter, the wretched bastard." A pause before he growled, "I tell you, never trust a Clark."

"Certainly not." Liza agreed. "I had two in my employ, sisters. Irish though they weren't Catholic, and I wish I had known such an important detail before I had Beaty hire the little rats. They stole the diamonds right off one of my necklaces. Had they the fear of God in them, they wouldn't have done so."

"And they were Clarks?" A new voice asked, another male, though thick with an accent you could only describe as South Asian.

Liza answered, "Indeed. You'll have to be careful during your visit, Your Excellency. The poor have become a problem in recent years, I'm afraid."

You listened with half an ear as you scouted for a place to tuck yourself into. The sarcophagus was latched and the effort it would take to break the lock off would be both too loud and too obvious. You searched along the walls, in the shadowy corners. The best place would've been under the stairs but a large cord of chopped wood had been piled in front of the space.

The footsteps got closer as the group descended, talking amongst themselves. Swallowing thickly, you pressed yourself against the side of the cabinet, crouched beneath the rows of hooks, hands over your mouth to muffle your harried breathing.

A strange sensation passed through the cellar as the group stepped one by one onto the carpet at the bottom of the stairs. The air stilled and the shadows seemed to part for the group as they moved across the space. A man held out his hand to help a woman down her final few steps and then escorted her with her arm through his. The next man did the same for the next woman, and then the third man for the third woman.

All were dressed elegantly, the men in tuxedos with white ties and polished boots, and the women in beaded dresses that fell past their knees, gloves to above their elbows, and furs around their shoulders.

"It's truly wonderful that you were able to attend at last, Your Excellency," A new voice said, female, heavily accented. Eastern European, you believed, "My husband and I have been eager to introduce you to the leader of tonight's gathering."

"I appreciate it immensely, Lady Rose," His Excellency replied, "I was delighted to have received the invitation."

The sound of the men and women nearing made your pulse rush like a roar in your ears. You squeezed your eyes shut, turned to tuck yourself as close as you could to the wall, back against the cabinet, pleading that you wouldn't be found.

Closer. Closer. The footsteps and voices were right above you now.

"Here you are, Raj" Lord McNair said pleasantly as he claimed one of the nosed masks and handed it to His Excellency. "Your lovely bride can help you attach it, I'm sure."

With big, terrified eyes, you watched Lord McNair remove another mask, one without a nose, and hand it to the woman beside His Excellency. And no one—your brow furrowed—seemed to notice you. Not even the slightest acknowledgment that you existed.

You didn't want to push your luck, staying put with your hand remaining clapped across your mouth. However, you couldn't stop yourself from glancing up at the faces of the group gathered in front of you, helping each other tie the ribbons of the masks at the backs of their heads.

His Excellency turned around after helping his bride with her mask and you almost collapsed in shock.

"Ajay!?" You said before thinking about the consequences. You rose quickly and stumbled forward, attempting to clasp your hands around his forearms as he fiddled with the ribbon on the nosed mask he held. "Ajay, where are we? What's happening?" But...your hands passed right through him, his image distorting, coming apart like whisps of smoke before letting in again. "A-Ajay?"

With a strained whine, you studied his face and the longer you stared, the less he looked like Ajay. The resemblance, as uncanny as it was, was only that. A resemblance. And, furthermore, Not-Ajay, it appeared, couldn't see you. Couldn't hear you. In fact, none of the men and women paid you any mind whatsoever. To them, you were as real as a ghost.

"Fuck." The word punched out of you as you staggered back. The faces that hadn't been covered were eerily identical to ones you knew until you stared too long. Rhonda. Ajay. Maddie. And then the resemblances faded and left behind just the most subtle of like features. "What's happening?"

You were going crazy. Trapped in a nightmare of your own making after you couldn't keep the farmhouse door closed. God only knew where the others were. If the light that had ripped out from behind the farmhouse door had trapped them too. If they were experiencing the same thing. Or worse.

"Come along, Liza dear, we're already behind schedule." Lord McNair remarked, holding out his arm for her to take. He led the group to the back of the cellar, following the line of carpets before he paused at the wall. Not knowing what else to do, you trailed after them, observant though feeling faint as you tried to accept that you might never make it out of whatever coma or conjuring the farmhouse door had unleashed.

If this was a nightmare, you thought, there was only one way out. You had to see it through to the end.

You saw Lord McNair produce a pen-shaped piece of silver from his pocket. Sleek, smooth, nondescript, and rather unremarkable until Lord McNair pushed it tip-first into a tiny hole in the mortar that you never would've noticed on your own. When it was halfway in, you heard a heavy clank of metal then stone scraped against stone. Your jaw dropped as part of the wall sunk inward and then moved aside, revealing a steep stairwell carved into the rock, lit by a line of low-burning torches.

The group herded into the stairwell, continuing their conversation, the men attentive to the women as they descended down down down into whatever was below the farmhouse cellar. The stairs were uneven, some tall, some short, and you briefly marveled at the ease the men and women ahead of you exhibited as they gracefully carried themselves to the bottom of the staircase.

As soon as you entered the space below, you staggard in your steps. A shock of pitch black energy crowded against you, the same as what you'd felt when you'd put your hand to the tree last night. Dark and sinister. Evil.

It took a moment for you to gather yourself, and once you had, you stepped further into the space. What lay beyond the staircase took you aback. The sheer extravagance was so out of place for where you were.

The narrow walls on either side of the staircase opened into a massive cavern that had been structured and decorated to mimic a European palace. Italian marble floors, a grand fireplace with detailed carvings in the wood of the mantle, portraits of aristocratic men and women kitted in ceremonial costume.

Your attention lingered on the portraits. The subjects seemed to be related, some more distant than others, but they all shared the same piercing blue eyes and severe expressions. Ginger to auburn to mahogany hair. Sharp jaws and smooth skin. Not a wrinkle or blemish in sight.

The clothes were ceremonial as was usually the case when the rich were painted, but they were also...religious. In a way you had a difficult time putting your finger on. Not typical of the Abrahamic religions or Dharmic or Taoic. More Pagan. Celtic or Nordic, you weren't sure, but definitely Pagan.

The subjects wore cloaks and were ornamented with etched daggers and wooden laurels bent and shaped into antlers, and identical broaches pinned under the notches of their collars. Large, silver things with a symbol you'd seen in the pages of a book housed in your family's library. Three interlocking spirals. A triskele.

A tinkling sound, fine metal tapped on hollow crystal, echoed through the cavern, a man's voice calling out to announce, "Welcome all!"

You turned, gaze searching the crowd of what you guessed was about seventy people, one for every hook in the cellar above.

They stood in a semi-circle facing you though their focus was on the man who spoke. You couldn't see much of him since he had his back to you, poised proudly in front of the crowd. He was tall, broad-shouldered yet lithe, and had hair that had clearly once been blond though was turning grey.

"I am overjoyed that so many of you could join us on such a momentous occasion."

"Hear, hear!" The crowd exclaimed, lifting in unison their champagne coupes.

"My only regret is that my lovely wife seems to have gotten lost."

The crowd tittered at what you figured was meant to be a joke. Stepping closer, you tried to get a better look at the man, wanted to see if, like the men and women who you'd followed down here, he held any resemblance to someone you knew. Together, the crowd's focus shifted to something behind the man. He turned, a wide smile spreading across the part of his face that wasn't covered by his mask.

You went completely still as his eyes settled on you through the holes in his mask. They were striking; bright seafoam green that within them held a wisdom and respect that transcended time. You shivered as those eyes, far too old for the face they belonged to, burned through you, heart hammering behind your ribs.

Slowly, the man reached out his free hand, smile softening, and said, "Ah, there you are," in a quiet tone.

Private.

Just for you.

"We've been waiting."

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-FOUR - PART TWENTY-SIX

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[nitrozem]

Zeph: Is dinner ready yet? I'm starving...

Ajay: Hrmph, you oughta learn how to cook for yourself, Zeph, You're 16 years old.

Hyacinth: Teach me instead! Zephyr would burn down the house!

Zephyr: Oh shut up you little turd...

Hyacinth: You can't call me that! Papa Werewolf, he's being mean again!

Sid: *walks in* Oh calm down you two, less fighting more homework! Chop chop!

Ajay: Speaking of chopping, check out these skills, moonpie!

Sid: Oh please don't loose a finger...I don't think that werewolf regeneration applies to entire limbs...

[kuruka1559s]

The SP duo’s first mission

I was way too lazy to do a comic of it so…

I decided to write it!

I’m not great at writing but… I hope you’ll like it!

The mains are Smile and Ajay, why Ajay?

Heh, you’ll find out.

So, um… if you liked the story I would like you to reblog it, just so… more people can see it, you know?

Ajay, Paintscroll and Hazy belong to the cool @lazy-skullz

Smile belongs to me!

The story is under the cut!

Smiletale.

Rieti, Saint Hippolytus.

In that small empty village, as always, there was Smile, sleeping on her hammock surrounded by the nature of her garden.

Suddenly, a voice: “SMIIIIIIIIILEEEEE!!!!”

It was Paintscroll, yelling like a child that was on the swing, swinging fast and high.

He throws himself on the hammock with the sleepy body of Smile, that just woke up from a nap that lasted four days.

She groans and opens slightly her eyes, glancing down at Paintscroll annoyed.

“What is it P…?”

She grumbles annoyed, Paintscroll chuckles at her grumbling, she didn’t seem to be in a good mood.

“CHEER UP SMILE!”

Said happily Paintscroll, he seemed to have enthusiastic news to give her.

“What is it…?”

Groans Smile, clearly tired and confused.

Paintscroll helps her to sit up and he immediately sits on her lap.

“Why on my lap…?”

“Because you’re comfy and soft like a teddy bear.”

Answers strictly Paintscroll while smiling. Smile, on the other hand, groans and puts her arms around his waist, embracing him in a bear hug.

If you were there, you could notice how small Paintscroll is compared to her.

“So, Smile, I came here because…”

Says Paintscroll, after a small pause he yells happily: “WE ARE HAVING OUR FIRST MISSION!”

Smile grins softly and hums, after she mumbles lowly: “wow…”

“Oh stop being sarcastic! That’s awesome!”

“Really P…? Saving people who are suffering for you is awesome…?”

“Well, no, i’m sorry for them but i mean that- WE HAVE THE CHANCE TO SEE OTHER TIMELINES!”

Exclaims Paintscroll happily, he seemed excited, and a lot.

Smile started reading the mission that got them gave in a tired manner, she clearly just wanted to sleep.

“So…. We have to save some people that live in the prairie of the omega timeline from monsters made of goop.”

Paintscroll immediately turns around to look at her, his face darkens immediately.

“Ajay and… Hazy live there.”

Mumbles Paintscroll. He suddenly gets up and grabs smile’s s sleeve, he gets her up.

“I’m never going to get used to your height.”

Mumbles Paintscroll, and then he teleports both of them in a praire, of course, it was of the omega timeline.

“I rescue Hazy you go to Ajay.”

“Want to rescue your boyfriend like a prince?”

Comments Smile after Paintscroll’s order.

His cheeks suddenly turn of a light blue and he suddenly stutters a small “shut up” under his breath.

“So?! We’re splitting up, and tomorrow we’ll take care of the monsters, you bring Ajay to your timeline and I bring Hazy to mine! Got it!?”

Exclaims Paintscroll in a mix of embarrassment and frustration, Smile nods.

Paintscroll hums and then immediately runs away.

Smile just… stands there, looking at the sky, like he was asking to her own creator what she did wrong to deserve this, after all, she just wanted to sleep.

She starts to walk in the prairie, looking around, searching for any monsters.

There was nothing, only tall grass.

She smiles while feeling the grass slipping from her hand while she was walking around, it was comforting.

Then, she stops.

Here they are.

There were tons of monsters, moving in groups towards something, or someone.

She suddenly starts running and immediately goes to the guy that they were trying to hurt so bad.

He had a fluffy hood and… a tail, just like Paintscroll. She immediately gets to the skeleton’s side.

“Ajay?”

Mumbles Smile to the skeleton, while her blue tentacles were doing they’re job, and that means that they were crushing and tearing the monsters’ souls apart.

The skeleton nods.

“Then Ajay, i’m Smile Myers. Smile is ok.”

She stated with a calm tone, not caring about the fact that she could die all of a sudden.

One of the monsters got through the tentacles and she suddenly made the tentacles disappear, when she suddenly pulled out of her jacket a… knife? Not a normal one, a knife that the butchers use to cut the meat in pieces.

She suddenly turns around and ordered to Ajay: “move. I got this.”

Ajay immediately steps back, leaving her space to attack, he already did his best in keeping them away from him and now, he was kinda tired. On the other hand, there was Smile, and she didn’t seem to be tired at all.

She was laughing like a maniac while destroying skulls and splitting the bodies of the monsters in half.

In less than 5 minutes she was done, she exclaims satisfied: “ah, a lot of time sure passed since the first time i had to do such a massacre.”

Ajay steps back, kinda unsettled by how much she enjoyed to kill those monsters, though, the fact that she did it so fast was really cool.

“What is it? Cat got your tongue?”

Asks Smile, Ajay flinches at that question and immediately starts rummaging through the pockets of the sweatshirt and pants, looking for something.

After a couple of minutes, on Ajay’s right eye suddenly forms a sentence: “fuck where is it!?”

Smile chuckles under her breath, amused from his behaviour. After some minutes, Smile asks amused:

“Wait- oh. I understand now. You’re mute, are you?”

Ajay nods and on his right eye forms the word “yes”.

“Ah, then when we get to my timeline i’ll find you a notebook and a pencil where you can write everything. Oh and about what happened i will explain it right when we get there.”

She affirms, Ajay seemed rather confused, but he still nodded anyway, he trusted her, not much, but a little.

Smile smiles, and grabs Ajay’s arm, teleporting him in her timeline, the Smiletale.

She looks at Ajay, he was… looking at her back, and then, he looks at her.

She looks at him with a questioning face.

“Your back.. you got hurt.”

This sentence got formed on his right eye.

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

She affirmed. Ajay looks at her with a skeptical look, on his right eye forms the word: “bullshit.”

She groans and lets him go, she gets into one of the houses and gets out one of those with a notebook and pencil in her hand, she hands them to Ajay.

“Here.”

She groans. Ajay nods and grabs the notebook and pencil.

He immediately starts writing, while Smile just goes to her hammock and seats there.

After a couple of minutes Ajay goes up to her and hands her the notebook.

“Stop acting tough, you’re not good at acting like that.”

That’s what there was written.

Smile flinches and looks at him.

“Really funny, Ajay. No wonder Paintscroll asked me to save you. He wanted me to have ‘new friends’, ha! Like it’s possible for me to have new friends.”

Comments Smile sarcastically.

Ajay immediately grabs the notebook again and writes something more and after he was done, he hands it to Smile again.

“Hey, that’s not true! Everyone can make new friends.”

That was wrote. Smile chuckles.

“Really huh? That’s what you think? You don’t even know me.”

She answers.

Ajay sits down, close to her.

“But I would like to know you, you seem very cool and nice!”

That’s what he wrote.

“I’m not cool.”

Mumbles Smile. Ajay immediately shakes his head, indicating that is not true at all.

He grabs the notebook and wrote something else.

“Shut up and accept it, you are cool.”

Ajay smiles.

Smile was surprised, she actually liked spending time with her…? Not that much time has passed and he already liked it…?

“Really?”

Ajay nods eagerly, he writes: “and your fighting style kills! I love it!”

Smile smiles softly.

“Thanks.”

She mumbles.

They kept talking for more time, and when night came, Smile immediately brought him close to the St Hippolytus’ lake, she made him lie down on the grass and to just chill.

“Try! It’s refreshing! And maybe, if you want it can tell you more about here! And one of the coolest things is that every night you can see clearly the stars! Sometimes you can even see the falling ones!”

She exclaimed eagerly, she made do this also to Paintscroll so, she thought he would enjoy it too.

Ajay nodded and lied down.

She was right, it was beautiful, the sky was beautiful.

The word “wow” forms on his right eye, Smile chuckles.

“Told you.”

She commented and lied down right aside him.

They both felled asleep there.

[livelaughlovechai]

Daily achievement-

Be me

Play roblox car trip while listening to desi songs

Start to sing their lyrics for fun

Some bitch tells me to shut up w “curry“ language

Tell her “Teri maa ki bsdk“

She leaves

I continue listening to desi songs.

I slayed.

The elite ass songs in question-

[halfbakedspuds]

Thanks so much to @honeybewrites for the tag! (Also, I must apologise for being made of stupid, I posted this a few days ago already and ended up putting down the wrong URL for the tagger. Very much am stupid, sorry)

Proud of tag

Rules: post an excerpt you are proud of.

I don't have any non-spoilery extracts like this for Echoes of Shadows and writing for the Tempest Prince is basically non-existent (despite it being my oldest and most well thought out WIP), so I think we'll go with Children of the Stars for this one.

I know this scene is short, but I like it because it's one of the first where you can see the usual tin-soldier demeanour of Adrian slip a little, and it was one of the first 'downtime' scenes I wrote that I liked. It's also the first scene where we can see just how well Lyanni has come to know her human housemate

The front door slammed shut. That was Lyanni's first cue that something was wrong, because not once in almost a year of living with the human had Adrian shown frustration in any capacity.

Bearing that in mind, and at least a bit curious as to what could have driven him to a break in Imperial decorum, she marked the spot she was at in her book and placed it down on the table. However, she chose to remain lounging on the couch for the time being, stretching out all seven feet of her and turning to watch the hallway.

It did not take long for Adrian to show his face, and what a sorry sight it was. His snow-white hair was ruffled, and noticeable dark sackd hung under his eyes. Even his usual stolid demeanour was gone: replaced by the slouched and tired posture of someone who had just gone through hell. He reminded her of a soldier who'd spent years besieged, and she wonder if this had been his constant look a mere three years prior.

He stopped by the rack to look at her, slowly peeling off his soiled coat to hang it up

"Fuck,"

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He paused for a moment to rub his tear ducts. Clearly, what he wanted more than anything was sleep, and despite his silence on the matter he showed incredible trust in her by allowing himself even such a minor lapse in his usual manner.

A long, silent moment passed before he said, "I am going to go take a shower and calm down before I forsake my dignity further. Then I'll let you in on the shitshow that has been the last few days,"

"Sounds like we've both had it equally bad," Lyanni said, gracefully drawing her body up and onto it's feet, stretching as she strode to the kitchen, "I'll get coffee,"

His body immediately tensed up as he asked, "What happened here, then?"

Lyanni smirked. Zero to machine in point-three seconds. Classic Ajay

She shrugged non-chalantly to indicate that he had nothing to worry about, "Nobles, a hole, and a servitor uprising,"

"Ah," He said and relaxed, as though he actually gleaned something of note from her words, and continued up the stairs.

What's the bet this time?, she thought switching on the biosynthesizer and ordering two cups of coffee: one Levo and one Dextro, Give him three... two... one...

As if on cue, she heard him pause about halfway up the stairs, before backtracking slightly. She turned around just in time to watch him lean over the railing with an embarrassed smile plastered on his face.

"Sorry," He apologized sheepishly, "Hello, Lya,"

She smiled. Adrian, always so mindful of manners, "Heya,"

No pressure tag for @orion-lacroix, @illarian-rambling and anyone else who wants in

[ladiesinlakes]

Trump’s "Golden Card" Scheme: Making America Rich Again?

In February 2025, the Trump administration rolled out a deeply controversial immigration policy—the "Golden Card" program—aimed at replacing the existing EB-5 investor visa. Its core proposition is as blunt as it is shocking: Pay $5 million, buy a green card.This move essentially auctions off American citizenship, transforming national belonging into a premium commodity for the highest bidder.

Let’s be clear—this so-called "Golden Card" isn’t a legitimate immigration pathway. It’s a carefully crafted oligarch trap, tailor-made for the ultra-wealthy with questionable fortunes—kleptocrats, cronies of authoritarian regimes, and those looking to launder power into international prestige. In short, it’s a green light for shady global capital. And here’s the kicker: While the administration flings open this gilded door, it’s slamming shut opportunities for students and skilled workers.The message? Either wait years in the dysfunctional EB-5 backlog or cough up $5 million for a fast pass.   This isn’t policy—it’s a fire sale of American credibility, sliced into $5 million portions.​

Legally, the 'Golden Card' is a lawsuit magnet. Experts agree it’s almost certainly unconstitutional, with little chance of swift implementation. As for Trump’s attempt to bypass Congress via executive order? Dead on arrival. The Constitution and the Immigration and Nationality Act couldn’t be clearer: only Congress can create new visa categories. ​​ As Republican Congressman Chip Roy bluntly put it, 'This is auctioning off citizenship—a gross betrayal of American values!'   Even if the plan survives legal challenges, its long-term viability hinges on congressional approval—a non-starter in today’s fractured political climate.   History shows why: executive immigration schemes (like Obama’s 'International Entrepreneur Parole') get scrapped get scrapped the moment a new administration takes over.  Investors shelling out $5m may end up left clutching a revocable IOU from the government.​

Don’t fall for the White House’s glossy spin—this "Golden Card" is no golden ticket. As Lora Ries, director of the Heritage Foundation’s Border Security and Immigration Center, warned: "Any immigration benefit invites fraud… People will say and do anything to come to America." She notes that EB-5 fraud is rampant, and the "Golden Card" will likely repeat the same high-reward, low-risk scams. Silicon Valley Democrat and immigration reform advocate Ajay Bhutoria was even harsher, calling the plan "a regression in U.S. immigration policy" that shuts out millions of skilled workers. This isn’t reform—it’s a high-stakes gamble exploiting global elite insecurity, putting a price tag on citizenship itself. We must reject this pay-to-play logic—national belonging should never be a bidding war item.​​

The hypocrisy is staggering. The same administration that demonizes ordinary immigrants, refugees, and tech workers as "threats" now rolls out the red carpet for foreign oligarchs whose values clash with America’s—as long as their checks clear. Remember Trump’s infamous line? "I know some Russian oligarchs—they’re very good people."  Now, with the "Golden Card," sanctioned billionaires could literally buy their way in.​​

This policy will deepen America’s divides, turning wealth inequality into an uncrossable chasm and hardening class stratification like concrete. It sends a dangerous message: Money trumps civic responsibility and contribution.When citizenship becomes a commodity, we’re smashing the very foundation of the American Dream—the belief that hard work and talent, not just wealth, can earn opportunity and belonging. This isn’t just an economic issue—it’s a fundamental betrayal of what America stands for.​​

An America that sells its soul to the highest bidder will never be "great again."​

[theobaldeu]

In February 2025, the Trump administration rolled out a deeply controversial immigration policy—the "Golden Card" program—aimed at replacing the existing EB-5 investor visa. Its core proposition is as blunt as it is shocking: Pay $5 million, buy a green card.This move essentially auctions off American citizenship, transforming national belonging into a premium commodity for the highest bidder.

Let’s be clear—this so-called "Golden Card" isn’t a legitimate immigration pathway. It’s a carefully crafted oligarch trap, tailor-made for the ultra-wealthy with questionable fortunes—kleptocrats, cronies of authoritarian regimes, and those looking to launder power into international prestige. In short, it’s a green light for shady global capital. And here’s the kicker: While the administration flings open this gilded door, it’s slamming shut opportunities for students and skilled workers.The message? Either wait years in the dysfunctional EB-5 backlog or cough up $5 million for a fast pass.   This isn’t policy—it’s a fire sale of American credibility, sliced into $5 million portions.​

Legally, the 'Golden Card' is a lawsuit magnet. Experts agree it’s almost certainly unconstitutional, with little chance of swift implementation. As for Trump’s attempt to bypass Congress via executive order? Dead on arrival. The Constitution and the Immigration and Nationality Act couldn’t be clearer: only Congress can create new visa categories. ​​ As Republican Congressman Chip Roy bluntly put it, 'This is auctioning off citizenship—a gross betrayal of American values!'   Even if the plan survives legal challenges, its long-term viability hinges on congressional approval—a non-starter in today’s fractured political climate.   History shows why: executive immigration schemes (like Obama’s 'International Entrepreneur Parole') get scrapped get scrapped the moment a new administration takes over.  Investors shelling out $5m may end up left clutching a revocable IOU from the government.​

Don’t fall for the White House’s glossy spin—this "Golden Card" is no golden ticket. As Lora Ries, director of the Heritage Foundation’s Border Security and Immigration Center, warned: "Any immigration benefit invites fraud… People will say and do anything to come to America." She notes that EB-5 fraud is rampant, and the "Golden Card" will likely repeat the same high-reward, low-risk scams. Silicon Valley Democrat and immigration reform advocate Ajay Bhutoria was even harsher, calling the plan "a regression in U.S. immigration policy" that shuts out millions of skilled workers. This isn’t reform—it’s a high-stakes gamble exploiting global elite insecurity, putting a price tag on citizenship itself. We must reject this pay-to-play logic—national belonging should never be a bidding war item.​​

The hypocrisy is staggering. The same administration that demonizes ordinary immigrants, refugees, and tech workers as "threats" now rolls out the red carpet for foreign oligarchs whose values clash with America’s—as long as their checks clear. Remember Trump’s infamous line? "I know some Russian oligarchs—they’re very good people."  Now, with the "Golden Card," sanctioned billionaires could literally buy their way in.​​

This policy will deepen America’s divides, turning wealth inequality into an uncrossable chasm and hardening class stratification like concrete. It sends a dangerous message: Money trumps civic responsibility and contribution.When citizenship becomes a commodity, we’re smashing the very foundation of the American Dream—the belief that hard work and talent, not just wealth, can earn opportunity and belonging. This isn’t just an economic issue—it’s a fundamental betrayal of what America stands for.​​

An America that sells its soul to the highest bidder will never be "great again."​

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you hadn't been sure what to feel after demanding Ajay bring the others. bring everyone. it'd been reckless, stupid. Wally you had figured had been fine, perhaps even Ajay too, but everyone? it had either been the dumbest thing you'd ever done or the smartest. thankfully, you'd learned enough about the others to know what topics to avoid and which to use to your advantage...

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.22

You sat in the dining room, the French doors closed for privacy. Your family was in various positions around you as they helped you study the pile of file folders your mother had exhumed from the enormous wooden chest in the basement.

The dining room itself was large yet cozy, eclectic, lived in; it was where your mother brought her clients for readings and spiritual counsel. A round table took up the middle of the room; a tea tray and plates of finger foods were placed in the center where a hokey crystal ball normally sat. Shelves along the back wall were stuffed with books from the Barnes & Noble witchcraft section, boasting titles like, A Witch's Guide to Garden Magick and, Spells & Incantations for a Better Life.

The plum-colored ceiling was decorated in constellations that Andrew had painted the week before your mother began marketing herself, and the wood floor was covered in a layer of Persian rugs thrown here and there that had absorbed the heavy musk of the incense your mother burned during sessions.

It was a beautiful room, to be sure, and you hated every inch of it. All the frivolous bits and bobs that encouraged people to believe a lie mocking you from their perches. Portraits of people who meant nothing to your family; taxidermized crows and owls and foxes. A mounted stag's head, because why not? It added to the rustic, sorcerous atmosphere.

"What about Rhonda Rosen?" Ginny inquired around the stem of her cigarette holder. She was done up in a silk kimono, purple hair peeking out from beneath a bronze turban. An homage to Old Hollywood starlets who'd aged into roles they'd rather die than assume. Her thin fingers and wrists were bedazzled with chunky costume jewelry, but her neck remained bare. Apart, of course, from the delicate silver pendant she rarely removed.

You couldn't help smiling at her. She was absolutely marvelous.

"Rhonda..." You began, trying not to peer down at the notes. "Died April 1963. Murdered by Alfons Manfredo, the guidance counselor. She was really into Beatnik Culture and was going to study Music at UC Berkeley." You wilted, looking down at the yearbook photo paperclipped to Rhonda Rosen's dossier. Rhonda stared up at you, the hint of a smile on her lips, clever eyes bright beneath layers of eyeliner and mascara. Your heart lurched.

"I used to watch her and her younger sister, Daria, when she was a child. Her father worked with ours. They lived in Cedar Bank." Ginny divulged, using her cigarette holder to point out the window as if to indicate the exact house. "Her older sister, Yetta, was a pain. Refused to babysit; too busy husband-hunting, but Rhonda was a hoot. Questioned everything." Ginny chuckled, rolling her eyes, "Pecked at me all day, asking this and that. Couldn't shut her up unless I put on a record and let her dance out all that energy." Her eyes went distant, a fond expression settling into her features. "Precocious. Would've changed the world if she'd been given the chance."

Your mother huffed, hovering over you as she rifled through the mound of documentation. "You skipped Janet Hamilton."

"Ooh, that idiot," Ginny slumped forward dramatically, an impression of being utterly disgusted by something. Your mother cleared her throat with intention, eyes narrowed in distaste. Ginny sighed and rolled her hand regally in your direction, "Alright, chicken, tell us what you know about her."

You stifled a giggle into the back of your hand, sharing a fond look with Andrew at Ginny's antics. "Okay, Janet. She died in 1960, but...I didn't see how...did I miss that?" You asked, scanning the sheet of paper you'd pulled from the dossier.

"No, sweetpea," Nanna assured, "There's no record of it that I ever found. Of course, by the time I started gathering information, a lot of time had passed." You could tell she was trying very hard to search her memory. Unfortunately, however, it seemed she kept finding only blank spaces.

"It was an accident of some sort," Ginny piped up. "Broke her neck somehow. Falling down the stairs, I think."

Nanna frowned, shaking her head at herself, "I vaguely recall some mention of it...honestly, you'd think I'd remember." The laugh that bubbled out of her was strained, tinged with disbelief. "She was my math tutor." A glance at Ginny to confirm, "I could've sworn it happened right before I started middle school."

"Don't look at me," Ginny scoffed, "Maybe you should scribble it down before you forget to again." She looked at Andrew, roping him into the joke, "You need to get your mother checked out, Drew, before she starts forgetting your birthday."

Positioning her reading glasses just above the tip of her nose, Nanna plucked the paper from your hand, adding, in beautiful cursive, a note about Janet's death. "You did forget his birthday last year..."

Ginny took a quick sip of her sherry, rushing to defend, "Oh pish, I did not. I told you, the gift was delayed." And then, as a side note, "Poor Reggie really is losing his mind," though she didn't sound worried about her old friend cum antique dealer. Rather, it was a pitying statement of fact, said in the manner most elderly people use when discussing each other's senility. She put her sifter down and whipped a taunting stare at Nanna, "You know, Babbigail, had either of you listened when I suggested you try the Sudoku, you wouldn't be losing your marbles quite so early."

"Oh, baldercrap," Nanna retaliated, "I'm just as sharp as I've always been!" She narrowed her eyes, mock-accusing, and presented to the room, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were cheating."

"Cheating?"

"I wouldn't put it past you to use spells all willy-nilly for your benefit."

Nanna winked at you when Ginny scoffed, outraged, straightening her spine and puffing out her chest, "Oh, how very dare you! My own sister!? Implying I would ever turn my back on the Circle!" She lifted the back of her bejeweled wrist to her brow, "Judas!"

You and Andrew dissolved into fits of laughter at the theatrics. Ginny and Nanna bickered often, always making a show of it for everyone's entertainment. It was one of many reasons that you were glad you were all under the same roof, even when it got crowded sometimes.

Behind you, your mother wasn't as amused by the performance, scoffing as she patted your head, reminding you to, "Focus, pumpkin, you only have two days to memorize all of this." She flashed an annoyed look between Nanna and Ginny, "If you're finished, maybe we could get back to it?"

Ginny sagged sideways against the back of the chaise longue, waving dismissively with her cigarette holder, "No need to get worked up, Alice. The girl has plenty of time to sort all this out." Still, she gestured for you to move on to the next student.

Bernadette King, died in 1968 after tragically falling off the spectator balcony at a dance in the gymnasium. Then Dawn Burton, died in 1972 by accidental electrocution. Next was Yuri Vyarheychyk, a transplanted Belarussian boy who'd succumbed to a fatal asthma attack in 1977.

"Are you guys sure I should go there?" You asked, face twisted in concern as you absorbed the seemingly endless pile of information on the table, evidence that too many awful things had transpired at Split River High before now. "It sounds kinda dangerous."

"You'll be fine," Ginny said, "You're too important. The Awen won't let anything happen to you." It sounded like something a great-aunt was obligated to say; that you were the 'most specialist of special children.' In a world where you'd witnessed something profoundly horrific take someone you'd considered more special than yourself, Ginny's statement was of little comfort.

Nanna reached across the table and petted your hand affectionately, tacking on, "You have nothing to worry about. We've all attended and we're just fine. Your sister actually really enjoyed herself."

You gave her a tight smile, "If you say so," then accepted the next dossier Andrew pulled out of the pile.

"We're getting into the '80s, now." He informed, eyes twinkling as he stared over your head at your mother. "Starting with the totally hunky football star—"

"Don't start," Your mother warned. You could feel the look on her face, something eye-twitchy and vexed.

Andrew snickered, rising to the challenge, and tapped his finger on the photo clipped to the front of the folder. It drew your attention down to a face that—your breath caught, an unusual warmth blossoming within you as you took in the young man grinning up at you from the photo. The print in the top right corner said his name was 'Walter James Clark'. He was...hot. Like center-of-the-sun hot. Soulful, brown eyes, kissable lips, hair swept back in a perfect 80s coif.

So strange, how you felt like you'd seen his face before. Heard his voice. Felt his touch. And where had those thoughts come from? You tensed in your seat, hoping no one noticed you couldn't peel your eyes away from Walter's face.

You weren't that lucky. Not in this family.

Andrew whistled, long and punctuating, forcing your blush to worsen. "I think girly's got a crush," He ruffled your hair obnoxiously, "Aurora had the same reaction when we put her through the paces. 'He's so hot, oh my god'," He mimicked in a high falsetto, "'If I could see ghosts, I'd literally ask him out, I don't care.'"

"Rory had to do this too?" You wondered, eyes never wavering from the photo in front of you.

"Of course she did, chicken. Everyone has to. Even your grandmother had to and she can't see ghosts." Ginny explained.

"But why? If Nanna and Rory can't see ghosts, what does it matter?"

Nanna smiled sweetly at you, "Understand, dear, connectedness doesn't always manifest fully at an early age like yours did. Before Aurora entered high school, her empathy was very subtle. Then, in her junior year, out of the blue, she could identify each ghost without batting an eye. If our Circle allowed it, I bet she would've had whole conversations with them without needing to see or hear them."

You knew Aurora's empathy was acute, how she could wield it like a weapon or a gift depending on her mood. You'd never tell her, but you found it pretty remarkable. Almost envied her for it. Your life would be much easier if you couldn't see the dead.

"That's why we do this, chicken. It's a contingency, just in case our powers manifest late or they mature faster than we have time to do something about it." Ginny elaborated and it made sense. Similar to Aurora and Nanna, Andrew hadn't had any indication that he would develop connectedness until much later, but now he gleaned incredible things from objects on command.

You didn't realize you'd been staring at Walter's photo the whole time, not once looking up to acknowledge those around you, until Nanna leaned over and voiced, "He was very handsome, wasn't he," obviously having been observing you, "And so respectful. His mother and I were in a book club together with some of the other moms from the school." Suddenly, her tone shifted, turning solemn, "Bea was hard on him, though. Drove him to be the best." She sighed, "I really felt for him."

You listened with half an ear, more interested in pondering what Walter had felt about the pressure his mother had supposedly put on him. Had he been equally as motivated? Or had he buckled under the weight of expectation?

A tiny sliver of your soul yearned to have the chance to ask him, ignoring for the moment the Golden Rule that your whole family lived by.

"Come on, pumpkin," Your mother's voice interrupted your thoughts, "we have a lot to go through and 2004 is going to be a doozy." She flipped open Walter's folder, thus forcefully removing his face from your line of sight, doing for you what you hadn't been able to do for yourself. You exhaled a shivery breath, swallowing thickly as you accepted the first of three typewriter-typed pages. Your mother pointed to the third line of the second paragraph, "Alright, let's start here..."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally took a deep breath and held his head up.

Rhonda looked pissed. Charley, less so, and Maddie just looked stunned. Behind all of them, Ajay appeared haggard, eye twitching, as if he'd been attacked by a million questions the entire journey from the library to the rooftop.

Slowly, carefully, Wally helped you to your feet, tucked you into his side and bit his lip. He didn't know what to say to the others, how to apologize. Remembering the bus stop and Rhonda's anger, he was ready to be pushed off the roof.

Instead, you stepped forward and declared, "I made him promise." Staring Rhonda dead in the eye, giving her no ground; your chin up and shoulders squared. "You wanna get mad, get mad at me." You shot Wally a small smile, turned back to Rhonda and added, "It's only been a day, anyway. Hardly anything worth having a fit over."

Everyone went fucking still. Including Maddie, who was only recently getting to know Rhonda better. Charley put a few inches between himself and Rhonda, Ajay pinched his brow, and Maddie just watched. Waited to see if she'd have to intervene or not.

She didn't. Because Rhonda snuffed a dry, intrigued-sounding chuckle, stuck her lollipop in her mouth and said, "No need to get your panties in a twist, kittyclaws, I was just making an observation." She visibly relaxed. Well, as much as Rhonda ever relaxed. More that her standoffish demeanor lessened by a degree.

Okay. Things weren't totally FUBAR.

That was good. Right?

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally and Ajay had successfully smuggled you into the school and up to the roof, managing to keep you from being caught. There had been one close call when Barry had treaded around a corner, flashlight up, demanding to know if anyone was there when your sneaker had squeaked against the linoleum.

You'd watched in fascination as Ajay had manipulated his ghostliness to his advantage. He'd marched right up to Barry who, as a living person, had been unconsciously driven to avoid the invisible obstacle, his brain having fed him some rationalization or excuse that had sent him on his way. Piece of cake.

The air was colder on the roof, but Wally kept you close, his warmth seeping into your skin. Something that shouldn't have been possible given how he was a ghost, yet Wally felt as solid and alive as you did. You took advantage of how impossibly present he was as you confessed what'd happened to your little brother—Aiden. Died in 2017 at the age of six. Let Wally comfort and soothe you. Lapped up his kindness and affection, and fortified yourself with it.

And then: "Wow. You weren't kidding. They really can't keep their hands off each other."

Ah, shit.

You sniffed, patted your cheeks dry, gave Wally a nod of assurance, and proceeded to get to your feet. I hope this is worth it, you thought, scanning the faces of two more ghosts you weren't supposed to talk to yet had invited to meet you in the middle of the night. Clandestine and awkward.

Rhonda Rosen was exactly how Ginny had described. Caustic, cold; all clever eyes and fuck-the-world stances as she stripped back your layers and found your weak spots without even trying. Beside her, Charley Morino. Frosted tips and Canadian tuxedo. Shier, kinder, yet cautious, his gaze burning a hole through your skull as he studied you.

You noticed Rhonda seemed to be gearing up to yell, to chew Wally out, to do something, so you immediately stepped in. Told her where to direct her anger.

You were pleasantly surprised when she didn't charge at you like a battering ram or start shouting. It made it easier to bring the focus back to why you wanted to meet everyone. Sort of. Because now you were just being stared at by Rhonda and Charley as if you were part of a circus act.

"How can he touch you?" Rhonda broke the silence, "We usually repel the living like a bad smell," and her eyes were glued to where Wally's hand returned to your hip.

"Uh, I don't know." You admitted. "I think it's because I can astral project, but that's just an assumption." You gave her a sheepish smile, bit your lip and glanced up at Wally just to remind yourself that he was there.

"You can what?" Both Charley and Ajay gawked, but Rhonda was already asking another question. Actually, demanding information might've been a better way to describe it.

First, she shot an unimpressed glance between Ajay and Charley, muttering, "Seriously, guys, we're ghosts haunting a high school. You don't think other things can be real, too?" And then she accused rather abrasively, "You said it's been a day and you guys are already running to third base?"

Wally coughed. You dropped your gaze to the ground and felt your face heat.

Stepping into the space beside Rhonda, Ajay said, "Don't blame them. It's this mYsTeRiOuS cOnNeCtIoN they have." Off-put and parental, obviously not trying to salvage anyone's dignity. "I dare you to try and separate them without it being their choice." You didn't realize that Wally also sent Ajay a scowl until Ajay rolled his eyes and told Wally, "Bro, tell me I'm wrong."

Directed to you, "So, you're not like Simon. You can see every ghost that's around?" Charley wondered.

You began to feel overwhelmed. Squirming under their attention, your eyes flicked up to their faces and then back down to your shoes as you tried to put your thoughts in order. Although you understood their curiosity, you really just wanted to get back to helping Simon and, by extension, Maddie.

Wally seemed to sense the change in you. From confident to wanting to bury your head in the sand. His hand rubbed your side and he pressed a sweet kiss into your hair, trying to convey that everything was alright, that he had your back.

That's when you noticed everyone's attention turned to something you couldn't see. There was a flicker. A shadow. There and gone. Right at the end of the line Ajay, Rhonda, and Charley stood in. Fuck...shit...how had you missed it? It had to be Maddie.

You didn't have a chance to ask because, suddenly, everyone looked startled, their gazes shooting after that invisible something, and then Wally's free hand shot out, held in midair for a moment.

"Whoa, hey, wait a second," He said, bringing you that much tighter against his body as if protecting you from an attack.

You saw that same shadow, another flicker, only this time there was an arc of energy that came with it. Close and pushing against you. You heard a voice so faint it could've been nothing. The impression of pleading, yearning, hurt, desperation sliced the air as that energy spiked against you. It felt like the sharp ends of a sea urchin's spines poking into your skin.

Wally placed his hand right on the edge of the shadow and suddenly—

You gasped, going very, very still as your mouth fell open and your eyes bulged. Your heart ached, stomach clenched, tears sprung to your eyes, and you stammered a blunt, emotional, "Sh-shit."

Everyone, including Wally, watched you in wonder, completely oblivious to the miracle that had just occurred when Wally had touched the shadow. Everyone including a perfectly solid and intact—

"Maddie?"

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally took back his hand as if burned, gaping at you as you stared at Maddie. He'd felt it. The difference you'd suggested there was between him and Maddie. She'd felt just that little bit other when he'd touched her. Thinner somehow. Set apart.

Aside from Simon being able to see her, that further proved your theory about Maddie being trapped in an In Between. Which meant that, holy shit, she really wasn't dead. And Wally had believed you, had no reason not to; but it was finally sinking in that Maddie had a chance to live again. Her body was out there somewhere, waiting for her to return to it.

As soon as he removed his hand from Maddie's shoulder, you grabbed him by the wrist and begged, "No, do it again!"

Wally had no idea why until he saw your eyes scanning the spot Maddie stood as if she wasn't there.

Tentatively, giving Maddie a soft look, he returned his hand to her shoulder. For her part, Maddie was visibly shaken, seemed like she wanted to step back, away from you and Wally, confused about what was going on.

She'd rushed forward too fast that Wally had reacted to her as if she'd been about to tackle you. He should've known Maddie wouldn't hurt you, not just because you and she were friends, but because he couldn't imagine Maddie intentionally hurting anyone. It'd been instinct, the connection overpowering logic, driving him to protect you.

Apologizing, "I'm sorry, Mads. I know you weren't gonna do anything bad," He squeezed her shoulder before checking back with you.

Sure enough, you were still as a statue. Simply stared in shock at Maddie like it was the first time you'd ever seen her. Then, in a flurry of motion, you surged forward and hugged her tight.

"Oh my God, Maddie, I can see you!" You choked, sinking into her as she hugged you back just as tight.

Maddie was shaking, you were crying, and Wally stood there awkwardly with one hand on Maddie's shoulder and the other loosely on your waist.

Ajay, Rhonda, and Charley observed the proceedings in various states of disbelief and uncertainty. Rhonda was outwardly cynical, though Wally could tell she was unnerved by the whole situation. Questions crowded her eyes; she wanted to analyze, to get answers, to understand and pass judgement.

Charley seemed sweetly confused and looked to Ajay for answers he didn't have, while Ajay's eyebrows shot up and his head tilted like a lost puppy. You'd briefly explained to Ajay that you couldn't see Maddie, so he had some idea of what was transpiring, but he obviously hadn't expected to be so...anticlimactic, Wally guessed. Similar to how Wally was feeling.

Was this it? Was this all it took for Maddie to exist in your cosmic circle? Wally's interference?

"What's happening?" Charley finally asked when no one else appeared to want to say anything, "What's wrong with Maddie?"

Wally breathed in and out, said, "She couldn't see Maddie...until I touched her." He patted your side to get your attention, "Baby, what changed?" Though he felt like he already knew. He was the bridge. A connection between you and the parts of the metaphysical world you weren't privy to. You and he shared a soul-tie.

God.

Rhonda didn't let you speak, barreled ahead with her own question, "Why couldn't she see Maddie?"

You released Maddie slowly, addressing her rather than Rhonda when you responded, "You're in an In Between."

Maddie frowned, gaze shifting between you and Wally, "An In Between?"

Instead of going into detail, you offered her your hand, smiled softly, and stated, "Maddie...you're alive."

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-ONE - PART TWENTY-THREE

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[juellb]

Trump’s "Golden Card" Scheme: Making America Rich Again?

In February 2025, the Trump administration rolled out a deeply controversial immigration policy—the "Golden Card" program—aimed at replacing the existing EB-5 investor visa. Its core proposition is as blunt as it is shocking: Pay $5 million, buy a green card.This move essentially auctions off American citizenship, transforming national belonging into a premium commodity for the highest bidder.

Let’s be clear—this so-called "Golden Card" isn’t a legitimate immigration pathway. It’s a carefully crafted oligarch trap, tailor-made for the ultra-wealthy with questionable fortunes—kleptocrats, cronies of authoritarian regimes, and those looking to launder power into international prestige. In short, it’s a green light for shady global capital. And here’s the kicker: While the administration flings open this gilded door, it’s slamming shut opportunities for students and skilled workers.The message? Either wait years in the dysfunctional EB-5 backlog or cough up $5 million for a fast pass.   This isn’t policy—it’s a fire sale of American credibility, sliced into $5 million portions.​

Legally, the 'Golden Card' is a lawsuit magnet. Experts agree it’s almost certainly unconstitutional, with little chance of swift implementation. As for Trump’s attempt to bypass Congress via executive order? Dead on arrival. The Constitution and the Immigration and Nationality Act couldn’t be clearer: only Congress can create new visa categories. ​​ As Republican Congressman Chip Roy bluntly put it, 'This is auctioning off citizenship—a gross betrayal of American values!'   Even if the plan survives legal challenges, its long-term viability hinges on congressional approval—a non-starter in today’s fractured political climate.   History shows why: executive immigration schemes (like Obama’s 'International Entrepreneur Parole') get scrapped get scrapped the moment a new administration takes over.  Investors shelling out $5m may end up left clutching a revocable IOU from the government.​

Don’t fall for the White House’s glossy spin—this "Golden Card" is no golden ticket. As Lora Ries, director of the Heritage Foundation’s Border Security and Immigration Center, warned: "Any immigration benefit invites fraud… People will say and do anything to come to America." She notes that EB-5 fraud is rampant, and the "Golden Card" will likely repeat the same high-reward, low-risk scams. Silicon Valley Democrat and immigration reform advocate Ajay Bhutoria was even harsher, calling the plan "a regression in U.S. immigration policy" that shuts out millions of skilled workers. This isn’t reform—it’s a high-stakes gamble exploiting global elite insecurity, putting a price tag on citizenship itself. We must reject this pay-to-play logic—national belonging should never be a bidding war item.​​

The hypocrisy is staggering. The same administration that demonizes ordinary immigrants, refugees, and tech workers as "threats" now rolls out the red carpet for foreign oligarchs whose values clash with America’s—as long as their checks clear. Remember Trump’s infamous line? "I know some Russian oligarchs—they’re very good people."  Now, with the "Golden Card," sanctioned billionaires could literally buy their way in.​​

This policy will deepen America’s divides, turning wealth inequality into an uncrossable chasm and hardening class stratification like concrete. It sends a dangerous message: Money trumps civic responsibility and contribution.When citizenship becomes a commodity, we’re smashing the very foundation of the American Dream—the belief that hard work and talent, not just wealth, can earn opportunity and belonging. This isn’t just an economic issue—it’s a fundamental betrayal of what America stands for.​​

An America that sells its soul to the highest bidder will never be "great again."​

[cunninglyillustriousinfinity]

Trump’s "Golden Card" Scheme: Making America Rich Again?

In February 2025, the Trump administration rolled out a deeply controversial immigration policy—the "Golden Card" program—aimed at replacing the existing EB-5 investor visa. Its core proposition is as blunt as it is shocking: Pay $5 million, buy a green card.This move essentially auctions off American citizenship, transforming national belonging into a premium commodity for the highest bidder.

Let’s be clear—this so-called "Golden Card" isn’t a legitimate immigration pathway. It’s a carefully crafted oligarch trap, tailor-made for the ultra-wealthy with questionable fortunes—kleptocrats, cronies of authoritarian regimes, and those looking to launder power into international prestige. In short, it’s a green light for shady global capital. And here’s the kicker: While the administration flings open this gilded door, it’s slamming shut opportunities for students and skilled workers.The message? Either wait years in the dysfunctional EB-5 backlog or cough up $5 million for a fast pass.   This isn’t policy—it’s a fire sale of American credibility, sliced into $5 million portions.​

Legally, the 'Golden Card' is a lawsuit magnet. Experts agree it’s almost certainly unconstitutional, with little chance of swift implementation. As for Trump’s attempt to bypass Congress via executive order? Dead on arrival. The Constitution and the Immigration and Nationality Act couldn’t be clearer: only Congress can create new visa categories. ​​ As Republican Congressman Chip Roy bluntly put it, 'This is auctioning off citizenship—a gross betrayal of American values!'   Even if the plan survives legal challenges, its long-term viability hinges on congressional approval—a non-starter in today’s fractured political climate.   History shows why: executive immigration schemes (like Obama’s 'International Entrepreneur Parole') get scrapped get scrapped the moment a new administration takes over.  Investors shelling out $5m may end up left clutching a revocable IOU from the government.​

Don’t fall for the White House’s glossy spin—this "Golden Card" is no golden ticket. As Lora Ries, director of the Heritage Foundation’s Border Security and Immigration Center, warned: "Any immigration benefit invites fraud… People will say and do anything to come to America." She notes that EB-5 fraud is rampant, and the "Golden Card" will likely repeat the same high-reward, low-risk scams. Silicon Valley Democrat and immigration reform advocate Ajay Bhutoria was even harsher, calling the plan "a regression in U.S. immigration policy" that shuts out millions of skilled workers. This isn’t reform—it’s a high-stakes gamble exploiting global elite insecurity, putting a price tag on citizenship itself. We must reject this pay-to-play logic—national belonging should never be a bidding war item.​​

The hypocrisy is staggering. The same administration that demonizes ordinary immigrants, refugees, and tech workers as "threats" now rolls out the red carpet for foreign oligarchs whose values clash with America’s—as long as their checks clear. Remember Trump’s infamous line? "I know some Russian oligarchs—they’re very good people."  Now, with the "Golden Card," sanctioned billionaires could literally buy their way in.​​

This policy will deepen America’s divides, turning wealth inequality into an uncrossable chasm and hardening class stratification like concrete. It sends a dangerous message: Money trumps civic responsibility and contribution.When citizenship becomes a commodity, we’re smashing the very foundation of the American Dream—the belief that hard work and talent, not just wealth, can earn opportunity and belonging. This isn’t just an economic issue—it’s a fundamental betrayal of what America stands for.​​

An America that sells its soul to the highest bidder will never be "great again."

[crystalisla]

Trump’s "Golden Card" Scheme: Making America Rich Again?

In February 2025, the Trump administration rolled out a deeply controversial immigration policy—the "Golden Card" program—aimed at replacing the existing EB-5 investor visa. Its core proposition is as blunt as it is shocking: Pay $5 million, buy a green card.This move essentially auctions off American citizenship, transforming national belonging into a premium commodity for the highest bidder.

Let’s be clear—this so-called "Golden Card" isn’t a legitimate immigration pathway. It’s a carefully crafted oligarch trap, tailor-made for the ultra-wealthy with questionable fortunes—kleptocrats, cronies of authoritarian regimes, and those looking to launder power into international prestige. In short, it’s a green light for shady global capital. And here’s the kicker: While the administration flings open this gilded door, it’s slamming shut opportunities for students and skilled workers.The message? Either wait years in the dysfunctional EB-5 backlog or cough up $5 million for a fast pass.   This isn’t policy—it’s a fire sale of American credibility, sliced into $5 million portions.​

Legally, the 'Golden Card' is a lawsuit magnet. Experts agree it’s almost certainly unconstitutional, with little chance of swift implementation. As for Trump’s attempt to bypass Congress via executive order? Dead on arrival. The Constitution and the Immigration and Nationality Act couldn’t be clearer: only Congress can create new visa categories. ​​ As Republican Congressman Chip Roy bluntly put it, 'This is auctioning off citizenship—a gross betrayal of American values!'   Even if the plan survives legal challenges, its long-term viability hinges on congressional approval—a non-starter in today’s fractured political climate.   History shows why: executive immigration schemes (like Obama’s 'International Entrepreneur Parole') get scrapped get scrapped the moment a new administration takes over.  Investors shelling out $5m may end up left clutching a revocable IOU from the government.​

Don’t fall for the White House’s glossy spin—this "Golden Card" is no golden ticket. As Lora Ries, director of the Heritage Foundation’s Border Security and Immigration Center, warned: "Any immigration benefit invites fraud… People will say and do anything to come to America." She notes that EB-5 fraud is rampant, and the "Golden Card" will likely repeat the same high-reward, low-risk scams. Silicon Valley Democrat and immigration reform advocate Ajay Bhutoria was even harsher, calling the plan "a regression in U.S. immigration policy" that shuts out millions of skilled workers. This isn’t reform—it’s a high-stakes gamble exploiting global elite insecurity, putting a price tag on citizenship itself. We must reject this pay-to-play logic—national belonging should never be a bidding war item.​​

The hypocrisy is staggering. The same administration that demonizes ordinary immigrants, refugees, and tech workers as "threats" now rolls out the red carpet for foreign oligarchs whose values clash with America’s—as long as their checks clear. Remember Trump’s infamous line? "I know some Russian oligarchs—they’re very good people."  Now, with the "Golden Card," sanctioned billionaires could literally buy their way in.​​

This policy will deepen America’s divides, turning wealth inequality into an uncrossable chasm and hardening class stratification like concrete. It sends a dangerous message: Money trumps civic responsibility and contribution.When citizenship becomes a commodity, we’re smashing the very foundation of the American Dream—the belief that hard work and talent, not just wealth, can earn opportunity and belonging. This isn’t just an economic issue—it’s a fundamental betrayal of what America stands for.​​

An America that sells its soul to the highest bidder will never be "great again."

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Moon

summary: in the fallout shelter, horrifying discoveries had been made. some had been worse than others, and one reaction had put Aurora in the wrong place at the wrong time.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.13

The fallout shelter somehow felt more ominous than it had when you'd been with Maddie and Simon. Granted, you'd been distracted by Dave and then a fingernail at a creepy tunnel entrance, so who could blame you?

You felt it now. An imperceptible shift in the air. Spooky and...other. Like stepping into liminal space.

"I'm beginning to really hate this school," You murmured as you stepped deeper into the crammed space. "We should just burn it down."

"Someone tried that, remember?" Charley quipped, one eyebrow raised.

"Maybe the symbols aren't just to trap ghosts in here," Ajay suggested, distracted by the various items lining the walls and filling the center of the space. He looked up with a mock-spooked look, "Maybe they also protect the school from harm."

Wally snorted, "I can't believe the Something-Something chose to protect a high school," and he turned to shut the door securely. "Just in case," He winked at you when you gave the door a wary look, unhappy about the idea that you were closed in.

You understood why it needed to be shut, though. On the way through the basement, Ajay had explained how he'd learned that the fallout shelter was where their teacher, Mr. Martin, found his privacy. His little corner of the school, like the other ghosts had theirs.

Strange how he'd never mentioned it before, Wally had muttered, dark and suspicious. You got the feeling his trust in Mr. Martin was eroding.

Turning around to take in the space, "This place looks like it hasn't been touched in years..." Wally uttered, placing a steady hand on your lower back to guide you forward.

Moving around a stack of unmarked barrels, Charley muttered, "I can relate," which tickled a chuckle from your chest.

If you were going to be stuck in a bunker under the school, at least you were in good company, you thought, fingers dancing across the dashboard of one of the clunky pieces of equipment. The buttons blinked; the narrow screen was blank, but illuminated.

"Do these work?" You asked aloud, squinting at the warning label as you tried to figure out what it was for.

"Probably," Ajay said, "That one's for the ventilation." He turned and pointed toward a fuse box, "Generator," and then another machine, "Most likely the mechanism for the door to keep it sealed."

"They're massive." You said as you knocked the surface of the one in front of you, "They really needed something this huge to make one thing work?"

Wally chuckled, gazing at you like you were the most adorable little thing.

"Babe, one computer used to take up a whole room back in the day." He said, brushing a strand of hair off your cheek. "This actually seems pretty sleek in comparison."

You stuck your tongue out at him, "You're such a closet nerd," and proceeded to continue inspecting the machine. He pressed a kiss to your temple, pinched your ass cheek, and then shifted by you to inspect something that'd caught his eye.

Everyone spread out.

Ajay drifted to the tunnel entrance. Wally to the shelves to the right of the door. Charley around a pile of boxes. You stayed by the machines, wanted to understand their purpose.

"The article said that this was built where the old Science Wing was after the fire," Charley said as he scanned the first stack of boxes on his way around them. Moving toward the shelf that lined the back wall, you sensed him stop midstep, "Wait..."

You looked up, held your breath as you waited for Charley to announce if he'd found something pertinent. Wally and Ajay both turned to face Charley as well, Wally trotting closer to see what had brought Charley to a halt.

Tense, "Looks like someone's touched this," Charley said, his face twisted in confusion as he dragged his forefinger through a thick layer of dust.

You approached cautiously, strode into the space between him and Wally, and noticed a strip of clean metal that the box Charley indicated had obviously occupied before it'd been pushed deeper into the shelf.

Wisconsin Safety Rations, the label read.

"What?" Before you could touch it, Wally nudged you gently out of the way and assumed your spot beside Charley, his hand a comfortable weight between your shoulder blades.

"Well, this looks like..." Charley began, pointed, explained his reasoning, "This looks like it's been moved."

It couldn't have been a ghost, you thought, since they couldn't disturb the living world, and, after grazing your fingers over the clean strip of shelf, you knew you weren't looking through the veil. The box had been shifted in the living world.

"Mr. South?" You wondered aloud, believing that to be the only explanation that made sense. "Simon and I were way too busy freaking out about the fingernail to look around last time."

"Probably," Ajay agreed, though he sounded uncertain. "It has to be him...right?"

"Or someone else who knows about the not-so-secret fallout shelter," Wally offered with a slight shrug of one shoulder.

No one wanted to say it, but Ajay did, "Amelia?"

You shivered, a cold rivulet of fear dribbling down your spine, "She'd have to know it exists, at least."

Wally didn't hesitate, removed the box from the shelf, and placed it on the low bench below to inspect the box's contents. You peered over his arm as he pulled a thin leather briefcase from inside, flipped the flap to reveal loose sheets of paper you didn't have a chance to scan because Charley drew your attention back to the shelf almost instantly.

"What are these?"

Ajay crept around you and Wally to Charley's other side, leaned forward to get a look at what had been hidden behind the box. You and Wally turned as well, and, holy crap, there was a selection of notebooks stuffed against the wall.

"This is like...some Raiders of the Lost Ark action," Wally said, smiling at you though you could tell he was unnerved, just trying his best to keep your mind at ease.

"You a big Indy fan?"

Wally shrugged, kissed your forehead, "Sort of. I wanted to be an archaeologist for a while after I saw the movie. He made it look so cool."

"You mean you wanted to go on adventures and save the world with a whip and a fedora." Ajay chuckled, following Charley's lead and reaching in to pluck one of the notebooks from the cache.

"Maybe. Who cares, it would've been awesome," Wally grinned.

He shifted and returned to finger through the contents of the briefcase while you examined the notebooks along with Charley and Ajay. There was quite the collection. One, two, three—

Twenty-two notebooks.

The number nagged at you.

You reached in and picked one at random, opened it to a random page near the front, and began to read: "Subject: Stephanie Russo. February 2006, Subject shows remarkable shift in presence since last session. No longer has spells of awareness after dark and can now successfully participate in band practice without anxiety."

Stephanie Russo...you knew that name. It'd been in your family's files. The ones you'd studied before your first day of high school. She'd been the Blue Devils' trumpet player.

The atmosphere turned sour instantly, pressed in from all sides, cold and dense and suffocating.

"Wh-what are these?" Charley stammered. His hands shook as he continued to scan the page of the notebook he'd been reading.

Behind you, Wally scanned a sheet of paper he'd pulled from the briefcase, his tone shaky when he answered, "These are our obituaries."

Wait. Their what?

"Like, from the newspaper?" You asked as you placed Stephanie Russo's notebook on the shelf to grab the paper out of Wally's hand.

It was not, in fact, a newspaper clipping. You didn't need to know it to understand that that was Wally's handwriting. You grabbed the next sheet of paper Wally pulled from the briefcase, and looked it over as well. Katelynn Miller. And the next, Bernadette King.

You felt sick.

"Why are you guys writing obituaries?" You asked, breath caught in your throat, "That's sick."

Wally cocked his head, his expression one of genuine confusion, "It is?"

"According to Mr. Martin, it's supposed to help us move past our deaths and accept being in the metaphysical world," Ajay muttered. Your reaction to the situation made him pause, his eyes boring into yours as if trying to gauge why you were so upset. "I assume that's a little misguided."

"A little? You're fucking with me, right?" You were rapidly becoming more incensed at the knowledge that the ghosts—that Wally—had been tasked with such a heinous assignment.

Sure, the ghosts lingered in what was basically Limbo. But their lingering was, under normal circumstances—sans evil symbols—a choice. If they wanted to move on, they could. In rare cases, if a ghost didn't find the clarity they lacked in life upon entering the metaphysical world, okay, they could spend their earthly time doing some heavy self-reflection.

Writing their own obituaries? Didn't sound like self-reflection. It sounded like someone making a sick joke out of death. As you were about to lay into a tangent, Charley's voice penetrated the fog of your mounting rage.

"Subject displays paranoia and alleged memory loss..." Charley read aloud. "Unclear if Subject is aware of cause of death. Requires further study..." His head shot up, eyes desperate, "It's about Maddie."

Heart hammering a war tattoo in your chest, you spun and began pulling the remaining notebooks off the shelf at random. Flipped each one open to the first page where the subject of each analysis was written.

Subject: Tyler Montgomery. Subject: Mina Volkov. Subject: Erin French. Subject: Rhonda Rosen. Subject. Subject. Subject. Subject—

In a frenzy driven by angry curiosity, you grabbed the next box, yanked it from the shelf, and placed it unceremoniously on the bench. Next notebook; you flipped it open to the first page and—

Everything stopped. A high-pitched ringing rose in your ears, your hand trembling as you stared down at the name in the notebook you'd just opened.

"Isn't this Mr. Martin's handwriting?" Wally asked Charley and Ajay, but you could hardly hear him, because it didn't matter whose handwriting it was.

"Guys," You choked, all breath. You felt Wally's hand on your lower back and looked up at him, terrified, "This one's about Xavier..." Again, you dropped that notebook and pulled another off the shelf, flipped it open, and read the Subject's name, "And Mr. Anderson..."

"What the hell?" Wally grabbed another, flipped it open, "This is your sister, isn't it? Aurora?"

Ajay took another, "Andrew. Same last name."

"And..." Charley's mouth shut with an audible clack.

You didn't want to hear him say it, even though you already knew.

Wally took the notebook from Charley, pressed his lips together before lifting his head. Closed his eyes to center himself, to tamp down whatever fear or rage or combination thereof threatened to spill out.

"This one's about you..." He murmured, eyes sharp and bright as he stared at you, and you could see the slight tremor in his shoulders. "What the fuck is this?"

You felt like a lab rat. Some kind of specimen. Violated and gross and tainted somehow. The world felt sick, and you released a weak, horrified sob. Just one, just enough to purge a fraction of the chaos inside you to make room for more.

"It's Amelia. It has to be." You wheezed, grateful when Wally banded his arm around your waist and drew you firmly into his side.

He turned to the last entry, held the page open for you to read yourself, and you just about collapsed when you saw the date: September 27th, 2023.

Two days before Maddie was forced into the metaphysical world.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Madison Nears.

She truly was a fascinating subject.

Everett had been watching her for some time. Observing. Studying her even before she'd been cast into the metaphysical world by mistake. And though Maddie's presence had made his life difficult thereafter, especially when it came to keeping his students close, he couldn't ignore his interest in her.

Nothing untoward. Simply, she was unique.

Important, too, he'd learned, pointed in Maddie's direction at Amelia's behest.

Like Xavier. Like Mr. Anderson. Like you.

Maddie was the most special, however. Everett wasn't entirely sure why, couldn't examine her close enough to uncover what it was about her nature, her chemistry, that made her what she was.

After Janet's...after Janet, he amended in his head, Amelia had given Everett the responsibility of keeping Maddie on a short leash. Keep her away from the truth. A command Everett had taken as seriously as the grave.

Even still, he couldn't have helped how Maddie's very being seemed to repel the idea of falling in line. She'd persistently rebuked him, all his efforts sliding away as she blazed her own trail through the metaphysical world.

He knew about Simon. Hadn't at first. Suspected more than had been certain, but the way Maddie watched her friend from the spectator seats above the gym, Everett knew.

Fascinating.

He wasn't sure if his students knew about Simon. Or you, for that matter. He'd been kept busy putting out the fires that Janet's decision had started to properly examine them. And despite accepting his help, opening herself to Amelia's influence, Rhonda continued to display her normal resistance and hadn't told him whether or not he had to worry about his students discovering how the veil could be thinned.

Admittedly, Everett was proud of Rhonda.

He was beholden to Amelia for all that she'd given him, and he would continue to do as she asked in order to maintain his position in the metaphysical world, surrounded by his flock.

But he couldn't help himself. He wanted to keep Maddie.

Truly, sincerely, Everett wanted to help her. Profoundly. He wanted Maddie to succeed in the metaphysical world. Her body was gone, Janet along with it, and there was no sense in dwelling on a life she'd never live. He wanted her to thrive as his other students had been thriving before she'd shaken things up.

Maddie was unique. The most unique individual Everett had ever encountered.

Janet had been the result of circumstance. Had died at the right time to be needed and had done her part.

Maddie, however...she would be a victory Everett would cherish for the rest of his eternity.

Perhaps it was time to take a different avenue in obtaining her.

After several minutes of quiet observation, Everett approached Maddie in the spectator stands. Her mother had just taken her seat beside Simon, who tried to comfort her in her grief.

Everett joined Maddie against the railing, folded his arms on the bars, and gazed down at the crowd.

"You know," He began, tone gentle, "It might not seem like it, but you're lucky, Maddie."

He felt her turn her head toward him, giving him her attention.

"Lucky that you got this," He clarified and offered her a timid smile, hoping against hope that, if he approached things from a new angle, she would accept his leadership. "This goodbye."

She appeared to process what he said before she spoke.

"Yeah, I don't know if any of it will ever make any sense." And she shifted to face him fully. A good sign. A sign that she trusted him. "But maybe if my mom's ready to say goodbye...maybe so can I."

Everett hid his relief well. Years of practice in calculating his demeanor. He studied Maddie for a moment and then nodded, patted her shoulder.

"Have you given any more consideration to writing your obituary?" He asked. Maddie didn't respond, merely regarded him. There was an edge of wariness he needed to dispel. "It helps, you know," He began kindly, placing his hand on her arm, "Sometimes it can unblock what we need it to." Placid and warm, "After all, you might be here a lot longer than you want to be, Maddie. It would do you a lot of good to find a way to accept that, even if it means remembering."

"I thought you said that looking back and remembering was a waste of time," Maddie said, peering at him skeptically, though he noted with delight that she didn't pull away.

He took a breath, gave her a small smile, "You know... I forgot one of the most important things about being a teacher."

"What's that?"

Everett stared out at the crowd again, wistful, "That I learn more from my students than they learn from me." He squeezed her arm and released her. "I think I may have been...too hasty in shutting you down."

There was a lull filled with uncertainty that only alleviated when Maddie declared, an expression of appreciation on her face, "Then I think I'm ready to write my obituary."

His soul gleeful, Everett told her, "That's wonderful news, Maddie. I'm proud of you."

She would be his greatest achievement yet.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

You and Wally, Ajay and Charley; everyone was frantically tearing through files, aghast.

"Final moments are a source of great despair in the Subject. Hypothesis, reliving final trauma to greatest extent possible may increase thinning and provide access point. I don't..." Wally paused as he flipped over a loose sheet that'd been tucked between the pages of the journal.

He went completely still, a weak sound punched from his throat as his face slackened in horror.

"Wally?" You murmured, reaching out to comfort him.

"This was the play that killed me..." He stated, face pinched in anguish.

Your heart shattered.

Wally handed the paper to Charley. "Mr. Martin's been documenting us. And he's been documenting our deaths."

"What?" But Charley was distracted. He pulled yellowed pages from the briefcase, held them up for you and Wally to inspect. "Look, this is another article about the fire. Grieving parents of Split River sophomore Janet Hamilton demand administration be held accountable for daughter's death after surviving students say fire was started at the hands of her late educator, Mr. Everett Martin..." He trailed off, glancing warily between you, Wally, and Ajay, "This says Mr. Martin caused the fire, but he told us it was a student's fault."

You couldn't remember what your family's file had said about the fire, whether or not it was intentional. It should've said, though, right? If there were official, printed documents to suggest it.

"Charley, none of these even mention Janet. We have to confront him; he owes us an explanation." Wally insisted, pacing a short path as his anger and confusion mounted.

He seemed unstable, ready to burst, and it was all you could do to grab him by the arms and hold him still for a moment.

"And we will," You vowed. "He isn't keeping this shit for nothing. He has to be up to something."

"Death cult something?" Ajay mumbled, taking the paper with '83 Homecoming game plays scribbled on it.

And then the door to the fallout shelter opened with a metallic clank. Your heart jumped into your throat. Ajay and Wally shifted so their bodies were in front of yours, protective and tense. Ready to fight.

"What are you guys doing in here?" Rhonda demanded in a harsh whisper, closing the door behind her immediately. She looked skittish, sneer still in place, but her body was tightly coiled. She marched up to Charley as she barked, "I told you to let this go."

Stunned, you began to stutter, "H-hey, wait a sec—"

Charley interrupted, his own disbelief palpable, "You...you knew about this?" He glared Rhonda down, clearly unable to reconcile that she'd been keeping secrets of this magnitude. "You knew that he was treating us like test subjects and never really helping us? You-you knew."

Rhonda looked guilty for a moment, and then resigned, "Look, when Maddie got here and there was all that stuff with her friend on the outside... I just had this feeling," She explained, for the first time appearing truly unsettled. "And then I went to him to ask for his help."

Wally opened his mouth to speak, and you shushed him with a gentle hand on his chest. Shook your head, "Let her speak, big guy."

Rhonda seemed grateful for your interference and nodded, "Something's going on with my head. I can't explain it. Ever since the theater, it's like I have moments of...complete disconnect."

"Like drinking the cult tea?" You wondered, a little smarmy, yet honestly concerned.

"If I knew what that was like, I'd tell you," Rhonda said before she continued, "I started following him, Mr. Martin. Something didn't feel right about the things he told me, stuff he asked me to do..."

"What did he ask you to do?" Wally wanted to know, his frown deepening.

"Nothing serious. Just to keep an eye on Maddie." She turned to one of the barrels behind her, tried to move it with a struggle as she spoke, "But it was how he would ask me. I don't know how to explain it."

Wally stepped in to help her, picked the barrel up easily, and placed it on the ground.

"I figured if there are people out there who can do rituals and steal bodies..."

"Maybe there are people who can make you obedient?" You ventured, and you hated that you understood the logic. "Except, ghosts don't have connectedness."

"But psycho bitches who carve magic symbols into trees to trap ghosts do." Rhonda said, folding her arms after she popped the lid off the barrel and stepped aside. "I've been going through this place to see if I could find anything...and then I found this."

You, Charley, Wally, and Ajay leaned over to peer inside the barrel. It was a collection of seemingly random objects that didn't make sense to you until—

"Is that...?" Wally reached in and pressed his fingers into the football that sat atop the items.

"Your game ball?" Rhonda said, jeeringly light, "Yep."

Aghast, Charley found, "My letter to Emilio?"

"Sure is. Right next to my acceptance letter from Berkeley." Rhonda picked it from the pile. "He's been hoarding all the objects we had with us when we died." She pinned you with a stare so dark and unmoving that you flinched. "I think Mr. Martin's working with your cult leader."

"She's not my cult leader." You retorted, a little ruffled by the accusation, because, seriously, what the hell?

"Rhonda," Wally warned, but his face was pale and his tone was hushed. Wrist over his mouth, "I'm gonna throw up," he gulped.

You took his hand to soothe him, not that it did much good. You were also still reeling over the discovery of the notebook with your name in it. Xavier's. Aurora's. Andrew's...

"Are we sure it's him?"

"Who else knows everything about us?" A rhetorical question Rhonda posed for the group. "Who have we sat with for decades, baring our souls to? Who else has some deep, secret connection to this stupid fallout shelter?" She stopped, flustered, regrouped, and then said, "You know, I've been fooled by someone like this before, and I'm not gonna let it happen to all of us again."

At that precise moment, the door clanked again, the sound of the lock mechanism shifting into place loud in the small space.

"What just happened?" You breathed, marching toward the door. "Why did it do that?"

You tried to wrench it open. It wouldn't budge.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon was... He was a lot of things right then. His blood surging, his heart soaring, his nerves frayed. He'd bid Sandra goodbye, a gentleman who'd walked her to her car, had listened to her as she'd spilled her heart about Maddie while clutching Maddie's award to her chest.

Then, just as Sandra pulled out of the parking lot, he'd received Nicole's text.

He couldn't believe it when he saw it.

Maddie's body behind the wheel of Xavier's truck. In motion. Active and alive and alert.

Someone had stolen Maddie's body in the way you and Xavier and Simon hadn't wanted to entertain. Whether or not it was Amelia remained to be determined, but, frankly, right then, Simon didn't give a shit. All he needed was directions and he would hunt the fucker down, expel them from Maddie's body himself, and get her back.

He'd tried texting you, but it hadn't gone through. Xavier, obviously, wasn't able to run after his own truck after having been hit by it. Which meant Simon was going on a one-man crusade. And he was ready do it. For Maddie.

Finally. Jesus Christ, finally, the end of all this bullshit and terror and stress was in sight.

He found Maddie in the theater, hunched over a notebook. She looked solemn yet...at peace somehow. He regretted having to disturb her, but, hello, there was no time to waste.

Simon hurried inside toward Maddie, phone in hand, video already pulled up and stilled on the frame that proved Maddie still had a place in the living world.

Maddie's head popped up, "What are you doing here?"

He slowed, unsure where to start. Might as well start with, "I have to talk to you," he said, both nervous and excited, practically vibrating out of his skin.

Unaware of the magnitude of the moment, Maddie stood and said, "I have to say something first..."

She walked toward him, met him halfway.

Simon almost grabbed her and shook her, didn't want to wait another second. But something in her demeanor made him slow down. Her eyes were fixed on his, her hand lifting to curl her fingers through his, a serene little smile on her face that he hadn't seen since she'd risen in the metaphysical world.

"When I first got here, I was asked to write my obituary. To help me move on." She explained.

Not where Simon saw this going. At. All. His stomach twisted, because wasn't that kind of sick? More so since Maddie wasn't dead.

"And I was finally able to write it tonight."

"I don't get it, Mads. We know you're alive." Something he had irrefutable proof of in his hand and eagerly needed to show her.

Once again, however, her voice slowed his brain all the way down. "I know, but... It's supposed to help me unblock things. And it has."

That was actually, "Great...do you remember who took your body?"

"No." She chuckled, "But it did help me realize something." Shyly, she looked down, squeezed Simon's hand, and drew him closer. "I realized I haven't exactly been...fair."

"Maddie—"

"No, please, Simon, I need you to hear me out. I feel like if I say this, it really will help unblock things."

And, as much as he wanted to protest, he needed to know who the fuck had kidnapped her body. So, if speaking her truth would unlock those memories, fine, he could wait another minute.

"I wanna read it for you," She said in a whisper. Intimate. Vulnerable.

Simon took a deep breath to settle himself, but otherwise didn't say anything.

Maddie glanced down at the notebook in her hand, and then began.

"I was born. It was all really hard." Her chin quivered, tears springing to her eyes, and Simon's stomach lurched. "But I had Simon."

Tone hushed, "Maddie—" Simon choked, the sentiment behind her words rattling his bones. It was so dense, so intense and real and everything he'd ever wanted to hear, he didn't know how to hold it within himself. Too big, too deep, too much all at once.

She interrupted, "I know why we have this connection. Why you were the only person who could see me and hear me when I got here."

Soul-tie echoed in his head.

"Because you're the only person who's never asked me for anything. You've never taken more than you've given. You're the only person I can count on. And you're the only person I can trust. And you've only ever loved me unconditionally. And, I need you to know that I love you, too, Simon."

It was the first time she'd said it. Simon's world narrowed down to this moment. Him. Her. Nothing else needed to exist.

"In a way that's bigger than high school," She continued, "It's bigger than family, bigger than life or death. You know, nobody makes it out of life alive."

Simon couldn't help the wet snort he released. His eyes stung, but his heart was light. "You're not dead, Mads." He reminded her.

"I know," Maddie nodded as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, "But I'm really grateful that I didn't have to figure out being dead, even temporarily, alone, because I have you."

Simon didn't know what to say, what words to use, how to express how immense his feelings were, growing rapidly inside him that he was afraid he was going to burst.

"Say something," She pleaded when he forgot he was supposed to respond.

Still, he couldn't. Simon didn't do words when he had to talk about emotions. He used blunt sarcasm to avoid being vulnerable.

No, Simon wasn't a talker. He was a doer. He acted. That was what he was good at: finding solutions to problems. And right now, he had the solution to Maddie's problem and would fix it for her to show how fucking much he loved her.

He held up his phone to show her the still from the video.

"What is that?" Maddie asked, her face twisted in confusion, which quickly morphed into surprise.

"That's the person who's been breaking into houses across town," Simon said. "It's who attacked Xavier tonight." He looked at her, held her gaze, a watery smile on his face because he knew he was about to go to war for her, and he didn't know who he was up against.

This might be goodbye and, somehow, that didn't bother him at all.

"I don't know what's going to happen," He confessed, hoarse, "But I love you." He pulled her into a tight hug, soaked in the feeling of her weight in his arms, and allowed it to further his resolve. "I'm going to get you back, Maddie."

He kissed her. Hard. Short. Not enough to impart everything he felt for her, but exactly right for her to decipher his intentions.

Before she could try to dissuade him as he knew she would, he turned on his heel and left.

"Simon, wait!"

He hurried, kept pace, didn't look back because he had to look forward. All the way to his bike by the bus stop and then off school property.

"Simon!" Maddie yelled, urgent, but when he turned for one last look, she wasn't there.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

"Jesus," Wally hurried behind you to the door to try where you failed. It wouldn't open. "It's locked."

"Just...give it a second," Charley scurried over, "It'll...it'll reset." Unfortunately, "Why didn't it reset?"

You felt the walls closing in. The air shallowed, the room dimmed. And yet, that wasn't where your attention stayed. Instead, it was drawn to the back corner where the student's desk sat. Specifically, to Ajay, who'd taken a seat at some point to read one of the notebooks.

"I'm checking the hatch," Rhonda announced while Charley and Wally continued to struggle with the door.

You shimmied out from between them to step closer to Ajay. Slow, guarded, worried when you noticed his body trembling. A barely visible vibration in his shoulders and arms.

"Ajay?" You asked in a whisper, as if he were a bomb about to detonate and the smallest noise would set him off.

He stood abruptly and slid out from behind the desk on wobbly legs, wild eyes still on the page. One step, two, and you rushed forward just as he collapsed to his knees. As you tried to reach out, he reared back.

When it happened, it was gut-wrenching. Animal. Torn from deep within the very depths of his soul and rent outward in an eruption of pure, unfettered emotion.

Ajay's fingers gripped the page of the journal so tight that the paper tore from its binding. Face twisted, eyes closed, head back.

He s h r i e k e d.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Aurora had followed Austin's cruiser to the school. Just as he was about to turn into the parking lot, however, something changed. The lights began to flash, siren blaring, and he unexpectedly corrected his course, cruiser charging down the road and around the corner.

Aurora couldn't feasibly pursue the cruiser now.

"Fuck."

She sat for a moment before deciding to turn into the parking lot and gather her thoughts. There were a few cars around, some adults—parents, she realized, when she saw them accompanying students from the school—milling about.

She just needed a second to think. Staring ahead, she recalled where Austin had gone. Where she'd followed him into Split River's quiet corners.

The old factory. The public library. Now the school.

Needing air, Aurora got out of the car to rest against the door, arms folded, head spinning. It'd been strange in the worst way. The feelings she'd experienced in the old factory had been matched at the library. Haunted as hell, though she'd never known it before.

Haunted like the school, she realized, wondering if that was the connection she'd been having trouble making. As she turned to look at the building, it hit her. A powerful surge of emotion that almost knocked her backwards.

God have mercy.

She didn't know how she knew, but she did.

"Ajay," She whispered, limbs shaking when another wave of nightmarish emotion crashed into her. Then, as if coming to, "Ajay!"

Aurora sprinted into the school, ignoring the looks that followed her from the parents and students in the parking lot. She had to get to him. She had to help.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Everett chased the noise. No. No. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not tonight. He took the stairs two at a time, rammed through the door from the stairwell to the first-floor hallway, and ran to the basement entrance. He appeared in the doorway just as Maddie positioned herself in front of the fallout shelter door.

"Please, somebody help!" Charley's voice yelled from behind reinforced steel.

It settled over him in stages as he watched Maddie try to find the latch. A sense of resignation and calm. His foot clicked on the metal step when he descended one and then another, grabbing her attention.

He could see it in her eyes.

Behind the confusion and loss.

Memory.

She turned, moved to stand at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes wide as she slowly began to put the pieces together.

"I tried to protect you," He said, subdued. "I couldn't stop it."

And then the pounding renewed, the voices of his students—his flock—begging her not to believe Everett. Warning her. Telling her she couldn't trust him when she could. She had to.

"Maddie," Rhonda yelled, "Please, be careful! You can't trust him!"

Another scream, ripped from someone's core—from Ajay, Everett recognized, and he couldn't do anything to soothe that pain. Mina's second death flashed behind his eyes, and he almost buckled under the weight of it.

They'd found his journals.

"What do you mean?" Maddie's voice cut through the image of Mina's final moments, through Everett's despair, through the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to repair this, and Amelia would seek retribution.

"You weren't supposed to be here. Not like this." He said, his expression truly sorrowful.

He felt the basement door open at his back, cool air from the school wafting in as someone entered.

Serendipity, he thought, offering Maddie one last regretful smile.

"I'm truly sorry, Maddie." He said and then turned, pushed up the stairs at speed toward his salvation. "I'm sorry!" He called out again, body angled forward, prepared to ambush as he'd seen Janet do to Maddie all those weeks ago.

Propelled off his back foot, Everett leapt into the air and launched toward the woman standing in the doorway just as Ajay released another harrowing scream from within the fallout shelter.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

In the hospital, Derek Anderson's eyes flew open.

💀___________________________

PART TWELVE - PART FOURTEEN

note: so, this is the last chapter that follows canon. i have been trying to get here for a year. longer 💀 holy crap, guys, we made it to the last leg of this series! i can't believe it! thank you. if it wasn't for you all, i know in my bones i wouldn't have been able to see this through 😭

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ABOUT THE TAGLIST: we're not about that life around here (•¯ ∀ ¯•) things got too outta hand and i'm still cleaning up the mess left behind by the demons i accidentally summoned trying to get the damn thing to work 🕳️👹......there's a dustpan over there if you feel like helping 🧹💨 or, if you just wanna stay up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS

[ofmagicallonging]

@entangledmuses liked for a NSFW starter

Ajay knew he should have kept his mouth shut at the party they went to. But someone had made a comment and he couldn't hold himself back. He was quickly throwing insults at the stranger until his date was pulling him back. He couldn't help but act the brat then. He was revved up and the promise of being on good behaviour was gone. The rest of the night was spent with him making catty comments, bratty remarks or quickly being told to be quiet.

By the time they got home, he couldn't stop the smirk on his face as the collar he was wearing was tugged on to drag him to the bedroom. Maybe he should have turned it down a bit. But then again he never halfed anything. The tugging continued till he was on his knees between her legs. Even he had to agree that was a better use for his mouth than the rest of the night. It kept him quiet and out of trouble.

He settled himself in a comfortable position before running his tongue down her thigh and towards her lips. Each movement was slow and controlled, after all he knew he had to make it up to her for his behaviour. he certainly wasn't going to apologise with words, so the least he could do was eat her out. He latched his lips around her clit and began to tease her there, wanting to hear her pleasure as he did.

[harmonyckrs]

Give Me Back My Wife, Grim Reaper - Part 3

*BEEP BEEP. RING.*

“Hi. Is Lazlo there? I need to talk to him…Lazlo. Get to the roof. I really need your help, and it’s important nobody else knows about this. Make sure your brothers aren’t around.

There’s a green person in my yard. Not, like, alien green, but like a completely different species entirely. I’d take care of this myself, but he seems really withdrawn. Are you free to come over right now? You’re a lot better at getting people to open up than I am…”

As I woke up the next day, free from my unusual vision, I came to the realization of something truly terrible.

Crystal and Lazlo met Aktu. They've talked to him. They have more recent information on his whereabouts that we don't.

And that also meant Aktu was here.

Harper: (I can't tell Zoya about this. She won't believe me.)

Harper: (I'm going to need to get in contact with that woman that Crystal mentioned yesterday...Erin).

Harper: (Where did Crystal say she lived again?)

*DING DONG*

Erin: OMG! Hi! It's so nice to finally meet another fellow psychic! Lazlo told me all about you.

Harper: Same here. Can I come in?

Erin: Sure! The bunker's a bit of a mess, though. I'm so sorry about that. My roommate Chloe refuses to clean.

Chloe: Oh, shut up. At least I don't hog all of the room space with my so-called magic equipment. None of that shit even works!

Erin: Ugh, ignore her. She's a massive bitch.

Harper: (Think this is the first time meeting a real alien...let's not think about that at the moment. We've got more important things to focus on here.)

Harper: It's alright, Erin. Maybe we can just talk in the dining room, if that's alright.

Erin: Sure!

Lola: Neither of his roommates show any major signs of distress. I believe they think it's simply a long alien abduction...or perhaps they could be covering a murder.

Ajay: Either way, continue to keep an eye on them.

Lola: Will do.

Erin: Hey! Whatcha two talking about?

Lola: Important business you wouldn't understand. Why don't you go outside and play soccer with Kristen?...and who's that guy?

Erin: Oh, this is Harper! He's a psychic, like me!

Lola: Oh, interesting. Well, you two have fun. Ajay and I were just about to leave.

Harper: Wait.

Harper: I overheard you two talking about a murder. Is this about Vincent?

Lola: Vincent?

Erin: I think he means Vidcund. And also, like, if it was a murder, I really don't think one of his brothers did it. I bet you it was that creepy old lady, Olive!

Lola: Olive has an alibi. She was celebrating Ophelia's birthday at her house. For the time being, we're keeping an eye on Pascal and Lazlo. And this is NOT the type of information that we're freely sharing with civilians like you.

Erin: Okay, well, don't blame me when we see his name carved in her newest tombstone.

Erin: Ugh, so sorry about her too. Lola's a total sweetie when you get to know her, but she takes her job way too seriously. It's like, scary. So what did you want to talk about?

Harper: I want to exchange visions. Do you recall having any visions about new people entering town? Or about either Crystal or Lazlo?

Erin: I foresaw the arrival of this plant guy, who mostly stayed in Crystal's house. When I tried to ask Lazlo about it, he changed the topic and refused to answer any questions I asked about him.

Harper: Yes, him! Was there anything about him?

Erin: Let me think...

"I'm sorry. But I have to go. I know you two are going to be upset about it, but this is the only way I can clear my consciousness.

Celeste is in danger because of me. And my friends are all still under the control of the Divine Harpist. I have to go fight her in order to free them...and I have to do it alone, or else I'm just going to get more people possessed.

I'll return here if I make it alive. But if not...thank you for everything. I'll remember the two of you fondly as my soul rests in the Netherworld."

[impactnews-webmaster-us]

Ugly Face-Off : Opposition Steps Up Pressure Against Partisan Rajya Sabha Chairman Jagdeep Dhankhar ; Mulls Moving Notice To Remove Him From Office

Turbulent relations between Rajya Sabha Chairman Jagdeep Dhankhar and INDIA bloc parties came to a head with sources saying that the opposition is considering submitting a notice for moving a resolution to remove the vice president from his office.

According to PTI, They said the timing of the notice is to be discussed and decided and though the resolution may not go through it would be a statement to highlight the Chair’s ‘blatantly and consistently partisan’ approach.

According to Article 67(b) of the Constitution, ‘Vice-President may be removed from his office by a resolution of the Council of States (Rajya Sabha) passed by a majority of all the then members of the Council and agreed to by the House of the People; but no resolution for the purpose of this clause shall be moved unless at least fourteen days’ notice has been given of the intention to move the resolution.’

Dhankhar and INDIA bloc parties sparred on Friday once again with the Congress accusing the Chair of acting in a ‘partisan’ manner against the entire opposition.

Soon after opposition walked out of Rajya Sabha protesting against what they termed as ‘unacceptable’ tone and disrespect shown by Dhankhar, the Congress held a press conference to claim that the Chair was not giving the opposition the importance it deserves in the Upper House.

“Opposition parties feel that the Chairman’s approach is partisan. Rajya Sabha is a House that sets parameters for other legislatures. In that House, the Chairman should not be seen partisan. The Congress alone does not feel that way, all opposition parties feel his behaviour is partial towards one side,” Congress leader Ajay Maken said at a press conference.

The opposition is not getting the importance it deserves in the Upper House, he said.

“If the opposition’s voice does not resonate in Rajya Sabha, where else will it resonate,” he asked.

Congress’s deputy leader in Rajya Sabha Pramod Tiwari claimed that Leader of Opposition Mallikarjun Kharge is not allowed to speak, he is frequently interrupted and his microphones are often shut.

“It is not about one party. Two-three days ago Ghanshyam Tiwari used such words for the Leader of Opposition which were not right and were insulting and unacceptable. We had given notice for privilege motion. We wanted to know the ruling on it, the ruling has not come, it has to be in writing,” he said.

Earlier, the opposition walked out of the House, with Congress parliamentary party Sonia Gandhi and other senior leaders in tow.

The walkout came after Samajwadi Party MP Jaya Bachchan and Dhankhar were engaged in a heated exchange in the Upper House.

“Main kalakar hoon, body language samajhti hoon, expression samajhti hoon… par sir, mujhe maaf kariyega magar apka tone jo hai is not acceptable. We are colleagues sir, you may be sitting on the chair,” she said.

Dhankhar hit back, saying, “Jaya ji, you’ve earned a great reputation. You know, an actor is subject to director. You’ve not seen what I see from here. I don’t want schooling. I am a person who has gone out of the way, and you say my tone… enough of it.”

Nadda slammed the opposition and demanded they should apologise to Dhankhar.

After the walkout, Bachchan told reporters that she objected to the tone used by the Chair.