#and I know there was a little brown moth in here a couple days ago right about that size that I never managed to catch

[grassbreads]

Up way late at night due to reasons and killed a bug in my kitchen that was either an extremely small cockroach or an upsettingly roachlike moth and it’s fucking haunting me

[jmeelee]

The Boy Next Door written for @averysterekfall​

“Go burn that anger off doing something productive!” His father’s words squeaked past the front door before it slammed. Stiles flew down his porch steps, out onto the walkway, acorns cracking under his stomping sneakers. He halted in front of the garage, stabbed every number into the keypad.

“Why won’t you just let me get my license?!” He’d yelled moments ago. What more did his father want?  Stiles had passed his permit test with flying colors, logged over 100 hours of practice driving, rocked driver’s ed, and taken three private, professional driving lessons.  He was more than ready to get his provisional license, and his father's hesitation was downright insulting at this point.  The garage door rolled up, exposing baby-blue paint inch by inch.

“Hey. What are you doing?” Stiles wheeled around, arms windmilling and heart racing.

The boy next door, Derek Hale, plopped a garbage bin at the curb in front of his house.  Derek and Stiles lived next door to each other for years, since Stiles and his family moved to Beacon Hills when Stiles was five. Only a year apart in age, they’d been close friends once upon a time.  Derek sat with him on the school bus and taught him how to play touch football.  An extra place setting was always available at the Hale family dinner table for when Stiles showed up like an only-child moth drawn to Derek’s large-family flame. But when Derek left Stiles in junior high to move up to Beacon Hills High School, he’d left their friendship behind too. He’d grown muscles and facial hair and a social life that had no room for Stiles anymore.  They still hung out occasionally at neighborhood barbecues, but it wasn’t the same. 

“Jesus, dude. Someone needs to put a bell on you.”

Derek looked down at the bulky garbage can—the kind Stiles knew damn well sounded like rumbling thunder on it’s trip to the curb—and back to Stiles, raising one dark bushy eyebrow.  “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing,” Stiles spit, breathing hard. “Don’t worry about it.”  What would Derek care, anyway?  He and his older sister, Laura, shared custody of a sleek black Camaro.  No one forbade him from taking his road test. And middle-child Derek Hale had no idea how it felt to be the sole beneficiary of an overprotective parent’s ridiculous restrictions.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Derek pressed.  “You stomped out here like you were going to kick someone’s ass.”

Anger and grief settled in Stiles’ lungs like cement. “I’m just out here, admiring my car—” Stiles waved a hand at the 1980 CJ5 Jeep parked in his garage—“which I’ll never be able to drive because my father is a controlling prick.”

Derek cut across his yard until he stood in Stiles’ driveway. “He’s worried about you.  In his line of work, he’s probably seen some terrible accidents, seen the cost of teenagers driving before they were ready.” Stiles rolled his eyes.  “You’re all he has, Stiles. Soon you’ll go away to college, and he won’t see you every day, and a car means he’ll see you less now when he’s probably trying to soak up as much time together as he can. Try not to be too tough on him.”

It wasn’t like Stiles didn’t know those things.  He did. But his mother had left Stiles the Jeep when she died.  She wanted him to have it.  She taught him about the clutch and the gear shift when he was seven years old.  He just wanted to roll down the windows and hear her laugh on the wind again. 

Stiles didn’t have the words to say all that to Derek, so he said, “Ew.  I don’t want to hear your logic, Hale.” He reached into a dark corner of the garage, swatted away some cobwebs and grabbed two rakes with worn wooden handles, and a couple of pairs of work gloves.  “Put up or shut up. I’ve got rage to burn.”

Energy spilled from him like oil from a smashed tanker. Leaves flung into the air.  Within minutes Stiles stood in the center of a thigh-deep pile; immense, immediate progress. It felt good.  He raked on and on, across the yard and back, until a multicolored mountain stood in front of him, the lawn a green swath behind.

Derek came and stood before Mt. Stiles, surveying it thoughtfully.  Then he turned and, without catching himself, fell backward into the leaf pile.  He sprawled comfortably, sinking to the ground, brown, red, orange, and yellow leaves sliding over his handsome face.  Stiles stepped into the pile, sat down cross-legged.  They were in a nest, hidden from the world.  

He looked at Derek and said, “Every day I don’t have my license feels like another day I don’t have her.” He shrugged. “It might be stupid to feel that way, but it’s true.”

Derek’s eyes softened at the memory of Claudia.  “Not stupid at all.” Derek put both hands around Stiles’ waist and pulled him down flat into the leaves with him.

The kiss was long.  And serious.

Stiles stared awestruck at Derek’s stubbled cheek, which pressed against his, and with amazement, brought his lips together to kiss Derek again. To start their second kiss, and choose when to end it.  Derek’s heart raced under Stiles’ palm, and his own picked up speed, keeping pace.

Very slowly, Stiles’ hand crept around Derek’s face, finding the back of his neck where his dark hair lay thick over his pulse.  Derek’s hand, rough-surfaced, gently touched his face.  He brushed the hair from Stiles’ forehead, traced his profile with the pad of his thumb.

“Derek!” Shouted his little sister, Cora, from the porch steps.  “Derek, where are you? Isaac Lahey’s on the house phone.  He says you aren’t answering his texts.” She waited a few moments, and when she didn’t get a response, she reentered the house and slammed the door.

They fell apart, each lying back on the crinkling leaves, staring up a blue, early October sky. “I’d better go take that,” Derek said.

“Sure.  Yeah.  Gotcha.” Stiles agreed.  “That guy’s pretty needy.” Derek huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. He stood first, brushing leaves off an ass that perfectly filled out his jeans.  He reached down, grabbed Stiles’ hand, and hoisted him to his feet.  Stiles could feel bits of leaf in his hair and down the back of his flannel shirt. 

Derek kept his fingers intertwined with Stiles’, reached out with his free hand, and picked an oak leaf from Stiles’ shoulder. “Can I ask you something, Stiles?”

“Uh.  Sure?” The words came out breathless.

“When you do get your license—and you will—could I be the first person you drive with in your Jeep?”

Stiles ducked his head, overcome, and stared at his feet for a few seconds. He looked back up at Derek from under his lashes.  “Yeah.  I think that can be arranged.”

Derek smiled.  “Can’t wait.” He squeezed Stiles’ hand before letting go.

Stiles’ heart and lungs were working hard enough to power the entire county of Beacon Hills.  Once Derek disappeared inside his house, Stiles picked up his rake again.  Their two bodies had left imprints in the leaf pile, like angels in the snow.  He raked the pile back together, until the prints were hidden, the evidence gone.  Their little secret, at least for now.

If Stiles’ dad found out, he’d probably never let Stiles leave the house, let alone take a road test.

The boy next door, Stiles marveled, touching a finger to his kiss-swollen bottom lip.  Who would have thought he’d be such a cliche? 

Stiles stored the rakes back in the garage and briefly rested his forehead against the Jeep’s spare tire.  “Soon,” he whispered.  The word, the Jeep, and Derek, all held the promise of happiness. “Soon.”

He closed the garage door and went back inside. 

__________

Thank you to @novemberhush​ for reading this over.  This ficlet is based on the first kiss scene from The Face on the Milk Carton 

[yourdeepestfathoms]

one day, a horn grew from my head (part one)

Beetlejuice, but BJ is more visibly demonic, there’s world building for the Netherworld, and he has a partner helping him...

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

- the whole being dead thing! -

A blue truck rattled up the gravel path, racing to beat the storm beginning to brew up in the sky. Rain was already starting to come down, drizzling over the clouds of dust kicked up by the tires. The headlights shone on the wall of an old house in the distance. From the darkness of the surrounding greenery, sharp teeth spread in a wide grin.

  “It’s almost time,” said the demon. “Took ‘em long enough. I thought he’d never get back.”

There was stirring at his side. He lightly whacked the figure next to him. His suit was sopped with rainwater, making the sleeves dangly and heavy as they hung around his wrists. It was odd to be in such merciless weather after having to deal with the acid rain back down in the Netherworld. Sometimes he couldn’t help but turn his head up to the downpour and let it run over his face in refreshing waves of coolness without it feeling like his flesh was melting off of his skull.

When his partner didn’t get up, he lightly poked her in the ribs with a claw. She squealed.

  “Come on,” he said. “It’s time to wake up.”

The mud-slathered, blood-stained young demon sat up straight from her curled position against his side. She blinked, and the moonlight caught on her bright hazel eyes, making them glow.

  “He’s here,” the larger demon pointed a black-clawed finger at the parked truck and the figure walking to the front door.

The smaller demon flicked her comically large pointy ears at the vehicle, then looked back up at him, eyes shining. A moth landed on one of her horn nubs.

The larger of the two smirked again, alligator teeth flashing. “It’s showtime, kid. Let’s put this plan into action.”

  “So, crazy story,” Adam began, taking off his rain-spattered coat. “I got all the way to Howard’s store, and Howard tells me they’re all out of stock.”

  “Oh no,” Barbara vocalized her dismay.

  “But I asked Howard Junior to check the back for me--”

  “Smart.”

  “--so he sends little Howard the Third and long story short, I got the last bottle of Manchurian tung oil!”

  “That’s great!” Barbara beamed. “Now you can finally finish the crib?”

  “Yup!” Adam said, ripping off the cloth of a shiny, wood-carved crib. It was his pride and joy in a strange sort of woodworking way. “It should be ready before the O'Brien’s baby gets here!”

  “She had it yesterday.”

Adam blinked. “Oh. Well--” He fumbled for just a moment. “Doesn’t matter! They’ll get it soon! They can put the baby in the…sink…in the meantime!”

Barbara laughed. It was a sweet, high sound that made Adam’s heart flutter.

  “That’s definitely a place to put a newborn,” Barbara said.

  “It’s round!” Adam said. “It can hold an infant. Plus, it doubles as a bathtub, so you can kill two birds with one stone!”

Barbara chuckled. She was shining one of her newest pottery jugs- her latest hobby. Last week it was painting. The week before that it was embroidery. And the week before that it was composting. He wondered how long this interest would last.

As Adam was shining one of the bars of the crib, rubbing his thumb over the pristine wood, he said, “Maybe we can keep it for ourselves.”

Barbara dropped her jug and it shattered into a thousand orange shards. Adam jumped, nearly ripping the bar right off of the crib. He stood up quickly.

  “Are you alright?” he sputtered.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Barbara said, haphazardly rushing for the broom. She began sweeping up the broken pieces of clay, then peered over at Adam. “What would we use a crib for?”

  “You know…” Adam gestured vaguely.

  “A baby,” Barbara smiled softly.

Adam smiled, too. “Yeah.”

  “I mean…we do have this whole house,” Barbara said.

  “It is a big house,” Adam nodded.

  “And we already have a minivan.”

  “A minivan is a family car.”

They smiled dreamily, imagining what it would be like to have a baby in their household, babbling adorably, snoozing in their arms, calling them “mama” and “dada”, having toys everywhere, getting in danger as they crawled around, crying, hating them when they grew up… 

Adam swallowed thickly. He shifted, and the floorboards creaked below him. “Oh!” He pointed to the ground. “But-- but the floor! Listen to this creaking!” He stepped, and it creaked again, perfectly on time. “We can’t have a family with floors like this! It can be a safety hazard!”

Barbara nodded energetically. She put the broom away and began walking over. “You are absolutely right! Someone could get hurt!”

  “Yeah! And we don’t want that to happen!”

  “Not at all!”

  “We have to do something about it before we have our own baby.”

  “Among other things. We have to baby proof this whole house!”

  “Yes! Great idea! We should get on that as soon as possible!”

  “You’re so right! As soon as possible! So we can get on that baby right away afterw--”

There was then an awful shriek, and Adam realized it came from below as the wood seemed to fold inwards, dropping he and his wife into the darkness below the house. The last thing he remembered was Barbara’s horrific screaming, and then something cold and hard smacking into the back of his skull… 

…and far above, in the light of the house, two heads peered into the hole, one with spiky lime green hair and the other wearing a red and black helmet.

  “Damn,” Beetlejuice said. “I knew they were going to die, but that was quite the fall.” He stood up straight. “Eh. Still a better death than others I’ve seen. At least their bodies will still be intact. Them being cut in half would make things WAY harder.”

The Jockey nodded at his side. She was leaning treacherously into the hole, so Beetlejuice grabbed her by the back of the helmet to keep her from falling in. He tugged her backwards. 

  “They’ll get up soon,” Beetlejuice said. “So we gotta get ready. Prepare. Where’s the book?”

The Jockey looked around mutely. Beetlejuice learned rather quickly that she wasn’t much of a talker. He had never actually heard her voice before so he didn’t know if she even  could talk, though she did nod when he asked if she could. Whether that was the truth or a lie to save face, he didn’t know, but he didn’t really care because they communicated together rather fine. It was quite a bit easier than he was expecting once he had all of her mannerisms down.

  “It’ll show up eventually,” Beetlejuice said, checking the watch he didn’t have. His sleeves were still dripping with rainwater. “In the meantime,” he gazed around the house. “Pretty big place they got here. And for only two people?”

The Jockey pointed to the crib.

  “Right. They  had been discussing starting their own family,” Beetlejuice nodded. He glanced back into the hole for a moment. The two bodies at the bottom were still in the same position as they had been a minute ago, but the pool of blood gathering around their heads had grown slightly larger. Their lights were definitely knocked out cold. “Hopefully the woman hadn’t actually been pregnant. Nobody likes ghost fetuses. They’re so weird. All crawly and goopy and malformed…” He shuddered.

The Jockey laughed. She was capable of making noises, just didn’t like talking for reasons Beetlejuice still didn’t know.

  “What about you? Did you have a house like this? Big? Small? Rich? Poor?”

She looked over at him, flicking one of her ears. She was quiet, as usual.

  “I only ask because my housing unit back in the Netherworld was terrible,” Beetlejuice said. “I was once chained in this abyss for, like, a hundred years. It was the worst. Really makes you miss normal houses, doesn’t it?”

The Jockey nodded faintly, her lips pursed, eyebrows knitted together as she stared at him.

There was suddenly a  thump  as a thick book appeared out of seemingly nowhere, crashing to the ground on a rather ugly green and brown carpet. Beetlejuice picked it up.

  “The rulebook,” he presented it to his partner. “Let’s see…” He flipped open to the first few pages and began reading,  “The Handbook For The Recently Deceased. Chapter One: The Netherworld. All ghosts should proceed directly to the Netherworld.” He closed it abruptly. “But that isn’t gonna happen! These lovebirds need to stay here with us and haunt their house!”

He thrusted out a hand and the fireplace roared to life, crackling with bright orange flames. The Jockey leapt around to it, the glow making her eyes shine. She followed him over to the mantle as he carelessly threw the handbook into the inferno.

  “Whoops!” Beetlejuice exclaimed. “Damn. There goes the book. Now they’ll never get to the Netherworld.”

The Jockey tittered softly. At the same time, there was the sound of shifting from within the hole.

  “Barbara…? Are you alright?”

  “Oh crap!” Beetlejuice grabbed the Jockey by the arm and yanked her behind the couch with him to hide. They both crouched low, listening as the couple crawled their way out of their tomb.

  “Holy smokes! That was some fall!”

  “I guess the floor gave out…?”

  “I didn’t think it was that weak. Are you alright, huh?”

  “I think so…”

  “Oh my god--”

  “You are like ice!”

  “You’re freezing!”

They must have discovered their body’s drop in temperature. 

  “I’ll make a… I don’t remember making a fire…”

The Jockey’s gaze shot over to Beetlejuice. He shrugged.

  “Had to destroy the book somehow, kid,” he whispered.

  “That’s so weird. It’s not hot…”

  “I think we should consider ourselves lucky. A fall like that could have been bad. I mean, my whole life flashed before my eyes like it does in the movies. I started asking myself the big questions, like… Why are our bodies still in the basement?”

  “What did you say?”

The Jockey grimaced behind the couch.

The couple then began screaming, though Beetlejuice didn’t exactly know why. He couldn’t risk blowing his cover just yet to check.

  “Adam! I don’t think we survived that fall!”

  “…What? You mean… Oh god.”

  “Here we go, kid,” Beetlejuice whispered to the Jockey. “It’s our time to shine.”

  “I know… I know. There’s still so much I wanted to do.”

  “I know, me too, but-- Hey, hey. We’re still together, right? We’re still in our house, all of our stuff is here! So what if we are…dead… That’s bad, obviously, but hey! Maybe nothing has to change!”  

Just then, Beetlejuice and the Jockey popped up from behind the couch. 

  “Hi.”

The Jockey waved.

Barbara and Adam whirled around to them. They all stared at each other in a beat of silence. Beetlejuice held up his hands.

  “Do not be afraid,” he said. His sharp black claws didn’t help the statement very much. “You are dead. I am also dead.” He pointed to the Jockey. “So is she. Maybe we can help each other out. What’s up?”

The Maitlands screamed and scrambled away as he advanced over to them with his hand outstretched. He backpedaled in reaction, pointy ears shooting up. He had  not been expecting them to act like that. Good thing he had a child with him.

  “Work your magic, kid,” he said to the Jockey.

The Jockey did as she was told, slowly walking over to the Maitlands with her hands up, palms out, claws visible, as if she were approaching a pair of spooked horses. The Maitlands seemed to relax slightly in the midst of the young girl, but then got weirdly defensive looks on their face. They bustled around her, forming a barrier of sorts between her and Beetlejuice. She blinked over their guard.

  “Hey!” Beetlejuice yelped. “That’s my jockey!”

  “Who the hell are you?!” Adam yelled. 

  “Help! I am help!” Beetlejuice said. “I’m here to help you both! And so is she! So can I have her back now? Pretty sure we have a whole codependent, separation anxiety thing going on here.”

Barbara peered at the small form of the Jockey, then at Beetlejuice protectively, not budging. “Are you her father?”

  “What? No!” 

Adam’s eyes somehow got even wider than they already were. “Did you kidnap her?!”

  “How did you even come to that conclusion?”

But Adam and Barbara were already wrapped up in the theory, becoming even more fierce and protective around the Jockey. Not that they were very intimidating. They had about the menace of a pair of pomeranians, and even that was being generous. 

  “You’re not laying another finger on her!” Adam yelled.

  “I didn’t kidnap her!” Beetlejuice yelled back, exasperated. Hints of orange-red were beginning to flicker around the crown of his head like the first sparks of a fire. If these two newly-deads weren’t so damn attractive he probably would have clawed their faces off by now and found a new couple to get a living human to say his name.

Barbara turned to the Jockey, crouching slightly to meet her eyes beneath the rim of her helmet. “Sweetie, did this mean man take you from your parents?”

  “I didn’t take her from anyone!”

  “That sounds like something a kidnapper would say,” Adam said, narrowing his eyes at him in suspicion.

  “I’m not a kidnapper!!”

The Jockey quickly held up her hands again, shaking her head. She weaved around the protective forms of Adam and Barbara and darted over to Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into his side possessively. He glared at the Maitlands for a moment before cooling off, easing his stare. The red and orange fire beginning to light through his hair went down. 

  “I did not kidnap her,” he reiterated. “She is my partner.”

Adam opened his mouth.

  “NOT LIKE THAT!” Beetlejuice cut him off before he even got the chance to say something. “Partner in business. My business partner. We work together.”

  “You work with…a child?” Barbara asked.

  “She’s more useful than half of the adults I know.”

The Jockey stood up a little straighter at that.

Adam looked Beetlejuice up and down. “You said you were here to help us…”

  “Right!” Beetlejuice perked up. “Yes! We are!”

  “Help us with what?” Barbara asked.

  “To learn how to scare!”

  “Scare? Scare who?”

  “The people who bought your house!”

At that moment, two men dressed in delivery outfits came in and began grabbing everything they saw. Barbara and Adam tried to stop them, but their yelling and waving did little to help. Beetlejuice and the Jockey watched on in amusement.

  “They can’t see us!” Adam finally exclaimed.

  “Keen observation, Adam,” Beetlejuice said. He took the crop from the Jockey’s holster and began waving it around as if he were giving a presentation. “The living ignore the dead. We are invisible to them. And they’re so wrapped up in their stupid little lives that they usually just ignore the strange and unusual unless you make them, which is why we’re here.”

  “This is all so much to take in,” Barbara said, running her fingers through her hair.

  “Hey, I get it,” Beetlejuice said. “It’s a lot, but it’s okay! You two are special! You died together! That NEVER happens! Unless it’s a murder-suicide, which makes for a VERY awkward eternity.” 

  “How did you die?” Adam asked warily.

Beetlejuice laughed. “Oh, that’s cute. I was born-dead. Never got to experience human stupidity.”

  “And her?” Adam nodded at the Jockey.

  “Horse racing accident,” Beetlejuice said. He thought it had been obvious from her muddy and bloody silks and the hoofprints branding her body. He tapped a claw on her helmet. “She doesn’t talk very much, so don’t expect an answer from her.”

  “Wait-- how can you be born dead?” Barbara blinked.

  “I’m a demon, Babs, try to keep up.”

Both Barbara and Adam’s eyes widened. Thankfully, they didn’t freak out like they did the last time.

  “You’re a WHAT?!” Adam yelped.

  “So is she!” Beetlejuice pointed to the Jockey.

  “You don’t…look like demons…” Barbara said hesitantly.

  “Well, that’s just rude,” Beetlejuice looked down at the Jockey. “I swear, Breathers read the Bible once and think all demons are the same.”

The Jockey nodded with a tiny giggle.

  “Demons aren’t exactly what you’re used to,” Beetlejuice said to the confused faces of the Maitlands. “If you weren’t already ghosts, my true form could strike you dead simply by being in your midst. I can kill a Breather with a single stare! But I appear in this form,” he gestured vaguely, “to seem less intimidating. Don’t want to scare off any potential clients.”

  “You need to work on that,” Adam said.

  “I can go more demonic whenever I want, though,” Beetlejuice went on, ignoring him. 

He then snapped his fingers and a pair of black-and-white striped horns burst out from the crown of his head. A long, arrowhead black tail slithered out from his waist as his legs painlessly bent backwards into a more hock-jointed position, large talons pressing out from his ratty shoes. The Maitlands stared in shock. The Jockey looked enraptured, her ears fluttering. 

  “Like so,” He presented himself to them. “And this isn’t even what I REALLY look like.”

The Jockey clapped energetically. Beetlejuice grinned at her toothily. 

  “I was born a demon,” Beetlejuice said, looking back at the Maitlands. “Therefore, I was born-dead. She,” he drummed on the Jockey’s helmet, “became a demon. That happens if a ghost becomes too consumed with bitterness, grief, or anger and can’t get over their deaths.”

Barbara and Adam both shot worried looks at the Jockey from the implication behind Beetlejuice’s words. Beetlejuice didn’t blame them for that one. It was uncommon for ghosts to become demons; only if their deaths were REALLY bad. And for a child to turn, no less… 

  “Anyway,” Beetlejuice continued. “There’s a lot of feuds between the two types of demons because born-demons perceive turned-demons as “falsies” or “dirty half breeds” since they used to be humans and weren’t born with their horns and whatnot.” He tapped one of the Jockey’s little horn nubs for emphasis. “It’s just this whole thing.  We get along just fine, though!”

As if to prove it, he and the Jockey smiled innocently, showing their sharp teeth. The Maitlands blinked back at them. Adam glanced over Beetlejuice’s shoulders as the movers continued to haul out furniture.

  “So you can really help us get our house back?” he asked.

  “You bet your sweet dilf ass I can!” Beetlejuice replied animatedly.

Adam’s cheeks flamed to an adorable shade of pink. Barbara looked slightly startled before barking, “There’s a child here!”

The Jockey waved a dismissive hand and mouthed,  “I’ve heard worse.” She then tugged on her filthy silks for emphasis of sorts. 

  “Please say yes!” Beetlejuice said, trying not to beg. “Nobody else can help you! We’re all you got!”

Adam and Barbara cast one more dismayed look at their departing furniture, then said, “You’re hired.”

Electric green shot through Beetlejuice’s hair like the lightning bolts during an acid storm down in the Netherworld. His tail had to be wagging at the speed of light. He shook the Jockey’s arm eagerly. 

  “They said yes!!” He yipped, and the Jockey grinned up at him gleefully. He looked at the Maitlands. “You won’t regret it!”

The Maitlands looked slightly worried. 

  “I sure hope so,” Adam muttered.

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

Jaws dripping with gore, the many-limbed, razor-clawed amalgamation towers over the smaller creature on the street, holding a heart between its teeth. The smaller creature raises its blunted, chipped, and ripped off claws in a sign of weakness, spiked tail tucked between its legs. The abomination devours its heart, then hisses in its ear, “D o n ‘ t e v e r t o u c h h e r a g a i n.”

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

Beetlejuice’s eyes popped open. He stared into the darkness all around him, thick and tall like walls of onyx. Rain was still falling outside. Normal rain. 

There was shifting at his side. The Jockey curled up tighter against his side, finding him warm despite the Dead being deathly cold. Finding his presence comforting despite him being awful.

She didn’t need to sleep, and yet she did. Perhaps to retain a shred of normalcy in her unlife. The Maitlands seemed to be the same way from the soft snoring coming from the other corner of the attic. It was too dark to see them, but they were there.

People were there. 

His tail was still out, so he draped it over the Jockey’s ankle, testing her reaction to the touch. Even in sleep, she stirred, ears flicking slightly. She slumped over completely into his lap, her head cushioned by one of her arms, pointed tongue caught between her sharp teeth. Beetlejuice snorted. He poked her helmet.

  “I don’t know how you sleep in this,” he said.

There was no answer. Even if she weren’t asleep, she wouldn’t give him one. That was okay. He didn’t mind her silence. 

[spaced0lphin]

Counting Stars

“Bailie is determined to count Jeff’s freckles.” - @virusq

This takes place post-TBMS, after the events of ME2 and before ME3.

The evening was blue with twilight. Humidity and the whine of cicadas spilled into the kitchen through the open patio door. Shepard was still out there, leaning on her arms and staring into the black pines. The opened letter on the table turned his stomach. An Alliance insignia showed through the envelope. In disgust, he turned it over face down. This was the thanks she got for spearheading the operation to save the known galaxy; a warning. The message was simple: Either show up in court voluntarily in a week, or be dragged there.

Joker's own eyes looked back at him, his image caught in the glass door. It felt weird, but also good to be out of Cerberus fatigues. Sometimes it seemed like his reflection looked a little wrong without them, but he remembered feeling like that after putting away his Alliance blues for the last time, too. 

A bizarre, almost musical croaking from outside caught his attention. It wasn't familiar - but Shepard, in all her stormy silence, didn't seem bothered by it. Dusk was settling fast. It was weird, this place. It was some little house on the far outskirts of the city Shepard grew up in. The warm, familiar rumble of the engine was traded in for wind in the trees, birdsong in the day, and whatever spooky noises the damn woods conjured up at night. Joker did not like the woods. Being so close to so many trees, all growing at once in strange, chaotic angles - it was unnatural. It and the nearby ocean smelled nice, though.

His Omnitool glowed, displaying the time. Two hours ago, she'd opened the mail and stormed outside. He picked up the offending letter and slid off the chair, putting the paper out of sight. This whole house in a familiar place thing was meant to be a break, a reminder for Shepard of what she was fighting for. Instead, all she'd found was this insult. He thought about hurling it in the garbage. It just wasn't fair.

The curious sound came again, this time from somewhere a little closer. Shepard hadn't moved an inch, nor noticed his approach. Not even the rap of his knuckle against the glass door, half-open to where she'd flung it a couple hours earlier could steal her focus.

He cleared his throat. "Hey," he said gently. "What was that sound just now?"

At the sound of his voice, she lifted her head as if snapped out of a spell. Her eyes were red and she sniffed. She'd been crying. A pang of guilt shot through his chest. He should have known. All this time he was sat twiddling his thumbs at the table like an idiot waiting for orders, she was out here, crying her eyes out with only the trees and mosquitoes for company. He slid the patio door closed behind him and leaned on the bannister with her.

"Uh, noise?" she asked, her voice thick. "Just now?"

"Yeah. It sounded like… uh." He screwed up his throat. "G-Ghauck," he tried. She recoiled, making such a face at the awful sound coming out of him he couldn't help but laugh. To his relief, she cracked a small smile, too. "No, no, wait, wait, hold on…" He did his best mimicry of the odd call. "Ghaaaawk. Like that."

"That's a raven," she answered, wiping at her eyes. "I think your first try was maybe a raven getting eaten by something."

"Heh. Maybe, I mean I don't know what's out there in… in that," he said, gesturing to the deep blackness in front of them. The little yellow light covered in bouncing moths could only do so much to illuminate even the first layer of branches. "It's so much worse than space," he grumbled. "At least you can see in space. Here there's things. So many things, and they all run and swim and bite, and… fly." He paused. Shepard wasn't looking at him - but up, at the sky. She tapped her Omnitool briefly, then all the lights went out.

They waited for their eyes to adjust. Stars separated out from the blueish darkness above. They looked so different beneath miles of atmosphere. Little swirling black dots blotted a couple of them out in patterns as tons of bugs did their crazy dance high above.

"You've never heard a raven before?" she asked with another sniffle, the sound a little loud in the darkness. He thought about her voice, and all the times he'd heard her be strong. In the course of everything, she’d yelled, commanded, screamed for her life, even laughed in the face of death. But never, never ever once that he knew of, had she actually cried.

"No, I guess not," he said. In the gloom, Shepard's shape started to materialise. She had her face tipped up towards the half moon, eyes closed against its light. He wondered at what she must be thinking. He couldn't imagine why she hadn't ordered a shuttle to Vancouver five minutes ago. How seeing that letter waiting for her hadn't sent her direct to HQ to scream in their faces about their ignorance and injustice. His own rage about it boiled hot in the back of his mind like the surface of a star. It didn't take much to picture himself cracking a rib telling them where to shove their trial. How dare they threaten her after everything? Where were they all this time to demand accountability now? Suddenly, he understood why she had been staring into those dark trees.

As she let out long breath after long breath through her nose, it hit him like a ton of bricks. Shepard wasn't on a shuttle right now doing those things, because Shepard had run out of fight. She had nothing left. She had given them everything already, and still they wanted more. They wanted her freedom. He knew that feeling, and in answer to it his throat grew tight.

"Hey," he said, nudging her arm gently.

She opened her eyes. "I'm sorry, Jeff. You were saying. Did you need something?"

"…C'mere." He pulled her close, tucking her head to his chest. She was silent. Her back shuddered a little, so he enclosed her in his arms as best he could. He kissed and stroked her short clipped hair. She carried the scent of vanilla, the sea breeze and everything good about the galaxy.

Shepard broke like glass. The sound of her wordless sob made his throat knot up so bad it was almost hard to swallow. Everything she went through, he was right there with her. Physically in only a few cases, but always in her helmet. Every hard decision and breath held in hesitation was a memory he shared, too. His way of dealing with it all was not to think about it most of the time. Always, he tried to focus on the next thing, and to give her someplace else to be when she was with him. But as her tears seeped through onto his skin, he knew she didn’t have that luxury anymore. He wanted to tell her it was okay, except it wasn’t okay, not at all. He didn’t dare shush her, the last thing she needed was to be told to shove it all back down inside herself.

After a little while, it felt right to sway, like when he was held once himself, a long time ago. Eventually, her halting breaths steadied, and tears slowly stopped spreading the wet patch on his shirt. He lost track of how long they stayed like that. He would have stayed the whole night like that if he could, but his left thigh trembled. Always the weaker of the two, his left had more extensive work done to the weak bones, and the muscles fatigued quicker. Just balancing on one wasn't an option.

"Mm, yanno, I didn't realise the fact I never heard a raven before would upset you so much," he whispered in her ear as he rubbed at a knot between her shoulders. She shook again, and Joker's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. But a second or so later, her quiet laughter made him sigh with relief. "Yeah… Okay. Hey, I need to get off my feet."

Her fingers curled around his as she followed him back inside. There was some long couch thing in the obscenely picturesque living room, and that would do just fine. He moved several of the fifteen cushions people always fill couches up with onto the floor and eased himself down, gingerly putting pressure on the twitching muscle. She reached over and pressed at it too. He kept waiting for her to speak, to address what just happened somehow, but kneading the muscle in silence was all she would do. 

“Been a while since you shaved your head,” he said, running his fingers through the fine growth. “You growing it out?”

She smiled and scratched his chin pleasantly through his beard. “The reason I left flight school used to have a thing for long hair,” she said quietly. “I’ve kept it shaved ever since.” 

“Oh. Right.” He took a second to admire the half-inch of rich chestnut brown. “Hey, only grow it out if you want to. Y’know, luscious vid-star locks or not, doesn’t matter to me.”

The weight of her head lay against his shoulder. “I think it’s time.”

“Because that doesn’t sound ominous.”

She smiled softly. Even red eyed, pale-faced, and her face wet with tears, Shepard was always beautiful. Dabbing at her eyes again with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she said, “I shaved it all off the same day I left flight school. It was… kind of a statement, back then.”

“Well. Whatever statement you’re making now, I’m listening,” he said. Her green eyes flicked from point to point, studying him. “Ah heh,” he added with a grin, “That sounded a lot less serious in my head. You know something I’ve always wanted to do, though?”

“What’s that?”

“This,” he said, and traced from her forehead down her cheek, as if tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Her arms slid around him. She sniffled, then grinned wide, in that way she always did before saying something stupid. “You say you don’t mind my hairstyle choices, but I’d dump you if you shaved.”

He laughed. “Listen, I’d dump me if I shaved.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I don’t actually have this killer jawline, it’s all just sculpted hair. I look like a yahg under this.”

She kissed his cheek. “You know, I’d never seen you in actual sunlight before today.”

“O-kay…? You say that as if I look different?”

“No, but stark light shows details, and I noticed something I never did before,” she said as she took his arm into her lap. “You’re covered in all these light freckles. The light from the displays washes them out and I’ve only ever seen you in dim light.”

“Uh… huh,” he puzzled. “There was that time your leg was all busted up and I took you to a café.”

“Yeah, but even in the day, the Citadel looks very different from Earth. Anyways. It reminded me of something from when I was very little.” Shepard turned his hand over and began drawing ticklish little circles in his palm. “My grandmother was a pretty interesting woman, from what I remember. She used to tell me that freckles were a kind of map,” she explained, squinting down at his skin in the darkness of the room. “She said they are a star chart, and they show a snapshot of the universe where a person’s soul was born.”

Joker lay his head back. Shepard’s little piecemeal memories of her family were always interesting, but very often bittersweet. If it had been anyone else’s anecdote, he might have made some kind of crack about such a sentimental idea, but as she curled up to his side, he couldn’t bring himself to wreck it for her.

“Well, let’s think,” he said. “I got a billion of these, all over, so clearly I’m from somewhere near Sagittarius. What about you, though?” It was hard to see much, but her skin tone looked smooth as ever. “I don’t think you have very many.”

“No. Just a handful, here and there. I remember wishing for a million of them, just like she had.”

“Ugh, you’re gonna give me a cavity,” he groaned. “Little baby Bailie at like five years old asking her gramma how to grow stars on her or something. It belongs in a cartoon.”

“Hard to tell, but I think you’ve got about sixty-seven right here… I need better light.”

“You’re… counting them?”

“I am,” she said. “It could be fun.”

“You have a weird idea of fun,” he said, shaking his head. 

Her lips travelled up his arm, from his wrist to his shoulder. “Do I? I think our sensibilities might be closer than you think…” “Oh?” “I’ve been thinking.” “That usually ends in explosions somehow,” he said. She smiled softly. “I think... I want to spend these next six days finding out where you’re from.”

“How are you gonna do that by just counting ‘em?”

“Oh, Jeff. Don’t bring logic into this. Just go with it.”

“No I mean, wouldn’t you wanna cross-reference them with known star charts? I bet EDI could do that. Maybe she’d burn out a processor… Y’know, you might actually be right, that does sound kinda fun,” he said with a snicker.

“I don’t need to do that. I can use the star charts up here,” she said as she tapped her head. “See this little arrangement? Looks like the Five Sisters in the Aurean Expanse, kind of…”

“Wait, what? Really?” he asked. His forearm looked the same as it always did. Maybe there were five darker spots among them, but it was dubious at best.

“Oh, definitely,” she replied, never breaking his gaze as she kissed the spot.

“Pfft,” he said, before recognising the glint in her eye. “Oh. I mean, uh. Yeah, interesting. Y’know, with this first pass at it, maybe just take a look, and uh… mark anything you recognise? To look at. Again. Later.”

She moved fast when she needed a distraction. Her chilly fingers made him shiver in the best way as she slipped her hands up his shirt. He followed her lead and just lay back. Of all the stars to be counted, he figured he had a few lucky ones, himself.  

[heart-eye-harrington]

frozen hearts don’t thaw overnight

(gif credits to @harringtown​, thank you!)

Summary:  After the break-up with Nancy, Steve isn’t sure how to spend his Sunday mornings. He finds himself in the diner you work at week after week

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: mentions of loneliness

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Steve found himself in a never-ending battle with the cold. He hated the goosebumps and stiffness that it brought. Regardless of how many layers he wore, the wind found its way to his skin, frozen fingers running down his spine. No matter how many people he surrounded himself with, he always felt the coldness in their hollow laughs. He could turn on every light in his house, but, the shadows of simpler times lingered in the corners. His house was too big, any warmth dissipated in its sheer volume. 

Nancy was a candle, a small and steady flame that provided warmth and light. She was a comfort, someone who listened and paid attention. She invited him over for family meals that took place in a house full of life. The Wheeler house never felt empty, filled with Mrs. Wheeler’s homemade meals and genuine questions, sibling banter and occasional laughter, Holly’s wide eye gaze, and Mr. Wheeler’s unsolicited advice. As dysfunctional as the whirl-wind was, it the warmest Steve felt. 

The small flame burned for a while, long enough for Steve to get used to it. With a single breath, it was blown out. 

A single word, bullshit. 

It had been months, but the frost she left behind could not be shaken. Steve woke up to an empty house. The January morning air waited for him outside of his comforter, pouncing into his bones after he shrugged off the thick blanket. Sleep did its best to linger, clouding his vision and trapping warmth under his skin so he wouldn’t freeze. Steve would pull whatever sweatshirt he threw on closer to him as he walked down the stairs, footsteps echoing with each step. 

If this were months ago, he’d be rushing out the door, speeding off to Nancy’s house for Sunday brunch. He’d be glaring at Mike and trying whatever new breakfast casserole Mrs. Wheeler would subject him to. Nancy would give polite tight-lipped smiles, her hand would brush his bicep. 

Now, all that waits for him is an empty kitchen and a barely stocked fridge. As much as he’d gotten used to being alone, to cooking half-way decent meals for himself, to silent lonely meals, he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to get out. So like a moth to a flame, he sought out warmth. 

Steve grabs his keys off the hook and drives to the local diner.

 It was perfect. He could sit at a stool, no need to awkwardly ask for a table for one, order some hot food, and people watch. Sunday mornings brought all walks of life to the eatery; older couples share sticky buns and black coffee, parents groan as their children spill maple syrup on freshly pressed church clothes, hungover teenagers laugh as they piece together the night before. 

“Morning! What can I getcha?” A question plucks Steve from his wandering daze. He looks up to find your soft eyes. A white waitress hat, the one that resembles a paper boat, sits crookedly atop your head. He’s instantly entranced by your comforting energy, but realizes he can’t just soak it in, he needs to say something. 

“Um, can I get…” Steve quickly tries to scan the menu, hoping something jumps out to him in the next few milliseconds, “uh, a coffee with cream and sugar?” He looks up to you with a sheepish expression, as if his request was somehow odd and unreasonable. 

“Sure thing. Let me grab that, it’ll give you a bit more time with the menu.” you turn, off to get his coffee and a dish of cream cups and sugar. You’re gone just long enough to let Steve breathe and pick out his breakfast. You try not to over-analyze the somber energy that lingers around him as you set down the dishes and take his order. 

You and Steve didn’t really run in the same circles. Of course you knew of him, he was the king of Hawkins High himself, but you hadn’t known this Steve. This Steve had sunken shoulders and anxious eyes. As his trips to your diner became more frequent, you’d hope the puzzle pieces would fall into place, but it seemed like the opposite was happening. 

It was like watching a masterpiece flake away before your eyes. Every week more chips of paint would fall, the facade crumbling to reveal what was underneath, a sad and confused boy. 

You did pick up little things about what was underneath. You saw how he took his coffee, drowned in cream and sugar, a tower of empty cream cups assembled during his every visit. He held his mug with two hands when it rested on the counter, as if trying to warm up frozen fingertips. Loud noises and dogs barking made him stiff, his grip tightening on whatever was in his hand. He always took his eggs with hot sauce and dipped his potatoes in whatever was left. 

It seemed to be an especially harsh winter, not a week went by without flakes falling. Hawkins was covered in a thick blanket, the snow muffling and quieting the already sleepy town. Steve warmed despite the weather.  After weeks of sitting silently, observing others from his own little world, he tried to bring you into it. 

“Here is your ‘coffee’-” you laugh at the word, seeing as there was barely a drop of coffee amongst the cream and sugar, “and the number one. Need anything else?” You take your rehearsed pause you’ve learned to do after working here for so long. It was just enough time for patrons to look over what you delivered, or think of something they’ve needed since you last helped them. 

“Some warmer weather.” Steve gives a small chuckle to hide some of the seriousness behind his words. It seemed to be an endless winter, but the diner was always warm. You’re used to sarcastic answers like that from patrons, but this was the first time Steve’s joked around with you. 

“Well, l can call the weatherman, see if he can swing anything for ya.” If felt good to see a twinkle in his eyes, and not the distant grey that’s been plaguing them. He picks up his forks, pushing around some of his eggs. He shifts, taking a breath, contemplating his next moment.

“Has this seemed like an especially cold winter to you, too?” His gaze says on the plate, eyebrows knitted together, a small shake to his head. The lure was out, now to see if you’d humor him and bite. 

“Hm, maybe. To be honest, I don’t quite mind it. You know how hot it gets in here by now,” you draw another laugh from him. It feels like the two of you practically live amongst the checkered floor and coffee rings on the counter. “But when I’m not rocking this killer uniform, I usually have on one of the sweaters I knit.” 

A lopsided smirk pulls on Steve’s face, mischief flashing in his eyes. “You knit sweaters?” Steve’s smirk only widens as he notices you shift a bit, ready for your defensive words before they come.

“Ye-yeah. I do. What? It gives me something to do, and they’re warm.” You suddenly don’t know what to do with your arms, opting to cross them in front of your chest. In mere minutes the power dynamic has changed. Steve’s the one with witty comments while you’re left speechless. The sudden flip leaves you disoriented, and off to help other patrons.  

Weeks continued to pass, but winter held Hawkins with a firm grip. Spring wouldn’t be coming soon, but the diner was 24/7. It was always warm, not just from the grills but from the people. You and Steve had warmed up to one another. Long gone were the days of observing, now you couldn’t get him to shut up. You often got in trouble for talking to him too often, your manager joking that he was getting special treatment. 

The cold morning air still waited for Steve, but it didn’t seem to have the same edge. He was back to driving somewhere full of life and noise. Steve had found a place with smiling faces and people who cared about him again. He had a designated place to sit, where he’s expected and even anticipated. 

“Moring!” his voice especially chipper this Sunday. 

“Morning Steve!” you call from across the diner, scribbling his usual order on a ticket and handing it to the kitchen, not even needing to ask him what he wants. Before making your way behind the counter, you grab something from your bag. 

“Here” you place the brown paper package on the counter, along with his ‘coffee’ and fixings. 

“What’s this?” Steve raises his hands and eyebrows, eyes dancing from the string to your blushing cheeks. 

“Just open in” you insist, both for his sake and your own. His fingers make quick work of untying the twine you used and tearing through the paper. Underneath is something forest green and soft. He unfolds it to find a hand-made sweater. It takes a few moments to process, a few passes of his fingers against the stitches for him to realize what this means. 

“Did you make this, for me?” his question is soft as the snow outside the window. 

“No, it’s for Donna,” you giggle, nearly blinded by the light in his eyes when he looks at you. They’re wider than you’ve ever seen them, yet somehow harder to read than ever. A million emotions are welling behind them. The ice on his heart has melted, thawed by a new candle. 

“Thank you” is all he can say. It’s all-encompassing. Thank you for taking the time to make him a sweater, for helping him, for listening, for the food, for the laughs, for noticing him, for welcoming him, and for caring. He may be stuck in a never-ending battle with the cold, but now he had someone else on his team, and he was confident that they would be staying for a while.

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

taglist: @kurtsbuckethat @harrington-ofhawkins @nxncywheeler @cececroft​

[crawgluvr4]

ao3

warning for child abuse.

Jack leaves Indiana the week before he turns eighteen.

His parents go to visit a family friend for the weekend, leaving him in charge of his sister. Beth walks in on him as he’s packing, and says: “Wish I could say I was surprised.”

Jack adds another pair of socks.

“So where are you headed?” She leans against the doorframe, nonchalant, but her voice is a touch too light.

“Army.” He rummages through a drawer, considers if there’s any point in bringing a hairbrush. “Out of state.”

“Smart.” Beth scuffs the heel of her shoe on the threshold of his room. “Won’t find you.”

“You can come,” Jack offers, fruitlessly. He puts the hairbrush back in the drawer.

She just smiles at him, bitter around the edges. “Did you tell Vince?”

“Couple days ago.” Jack runs his hands along the edge of the duffle bag. “I was going to tell you.”

“Were you?” Beth folds her arms. There’s a vicious red welt Jack knows extends all the way down her forearm, half hidden by her jacket. “Before or after you stole the truck?”

“Vincent is giving me a lift.” Pathetically small. “To the city. I’ve got a plane.”

Beth hums. “Suppose he hid the ticket for you?”

“Mhm.” He zips up the bag, swings it around his shoulder. It’s not even halfway full. “I better get going.”

“Ask him if he’ll set me up with his sister,” she jokes. “I’d like someone to help me out too.”

“I’m serious,” he says again. Grips the strap of the bag so tightly it hurts. “You can come with me. They let you do that.”

“No, they don’t.” She tilts her head. “I’ll be okay, Jack. I can always go stay with Gina. Her parents don’t mind.” 

Jack bites the inside of his lip, still guilty. “I’ll come back for you in a couple years, then.”

“Sure.” Beth leans off the doorframe, gestures like she’s rolling out the red carpet. “C’mon, then. No need to linger here. Nothing much to stick around for.”

“Beth…” He stays still, still with a death grip on the bag. “I don’t want you to think I’m leaving you with them. I just…”

“I know.” Her smile thins. “He won’t come near me. Mom won’t let him, you know that.”

It’s a reassurance and a cruelty at the same time. He nods, unable to find any words that sound right, and leaves his room. The door shuts - thud-thunk - behind him, and the floorboard three steps down from his room whines for the last time Jack will hear. 

Outside, Vincent is already waiting, nervously drumming on the wheel of his mother’s car. Jack knows she’s going to be furious with him, and Vincent is still here, all the same. It’s not fair; not fair that he’s doing this despite Jack breaking up with him, and leaving, not fair that he’s leaving Beth behind because he’s too much of a coward to stay, and not fair that his father - 

Beth puts one hand on his shoulder and he practically jumps out of his skin. She laughs, then shoves him forward, and he stumbles down the steps. The middle one creaks like it always has, loud enough to hear through his window.

Vincent nods at him, and smiles, waving to Beth as she stands on the porch. Jack turns - the house blocks the evening sun, and Beth is shrouded in shadow, the porch light not yet switched on. He thinks about how he may never see that porch again, and gets an odd surge of guilty delight.

“You better write,” she says, and Jack politely ignores how her voice cracks at the end. 

“I will,” he responds, sliding into the passenger seat. 

He doesn’t.

--

Jack returns to Indiana once.

He gets the call while he is, luckily, in the country. He’s asleep in Chicago one moment, then methodically booking a flight to Bloomington at two in the morning the next.

“Jack?” Gabriel mumbles, still half asleep. He pulls most of the quilt towards him as he rolls over, cracking open an eye. “You okay?”

Jack says nothing, just books the plane and saves the ticket, then puts his phone down on the nightstand. The carpet of the hotel room feels like a yawning abyss, and he pulls his legs back up onto the bed, clutching his ankles.

“Jack,” Gabriel says again, and Jack’s scrambled thoughts are cut through by a warm calm. “You’re shaking. What happened?”

Jack can’t comprehend speech, so instead he lets Gabriel share the singular thought: Beth is dead.

Gabriel pulls him back into a hug, and then he’s crying until he’s retching and aching because he never wrote.

Gabriel insists on coming with him to Indiana, so they book another meaningless hotel and Gabriel argues with someone important on the phone for a solid hour. Jack in turn insists he goes to the funeral alone, and Gabriel doesn’t argue, just sits sharing his pain, lets him know in words and thought that he understands.

Jack knows he does, but some part of him still blindly thrashes and says you can’t, you can’t. You loved your family. Gabriel hears it and pretends he doesn’t. Jack will apologize when he remembers how to feel anything other than grief. It had been the same when Los Angeles was destroyed; Gabriel stricken with guilt that he had let down people who had done nothing but love him, and Jack couldn’t understand that, could he?

Jack brushes temporary brown dye through his hair because he is technically a celebrity; Gabriel helps him style it just enough that when he looks in the mirror he barely recognizes himself, dark haired and unshaven and eyes red. Gabriel kisses him goodbye and makes him promise to be back before midnight, knowing that it won’t just be a simple in and out of the church. Nothing ever was, here.

Jack was raised Methodist. He assumes Beth either stuck with it or never wrote a will; she was twenty-five. The cities had been declared safe, more or less. It’s a closed casket service. He wonders who organized the funeral, because he was never contacted until a family friend had notified the undertaker that she did, in fact, have a brother. The priest drones about how sad it was that the Morrison family should suffer such an end, another tragic casualty of the Crisis. 

There are a grand total of twenty people at the funeral, and Jack assumes most of those missing are dead. He sits himself near the back and eyes the door, ready to hurry out in case he’s spotted. He can’t make out anyone near the front, but at the back he sees one of his father’s co-workers and nearly has a panic attack until he reasons how ludicrous that would be. So he spends the rest of the service half-dissociating, never taking his eyes off the pale wood coffin at the altar. 

People begin to shuffle out, and he dips his head to avoid eye contact, and almost everyone files out of the church without paying him mind. He barely registers one lingering figure until they sit down on the pew next to him, and he thinks, God, this is it, this is where they find me.

“Jack,” Vincent says. 

Jack just stares at him.

“Everyone else is gone,” he continues, with the gentleness reserved for those incapacitated by loss. “Why don’t we get some coffee, yeah?”

Jack nods, and they leave, and he misses the burial because he isn’t sure he can stand it.

Vincent doesn’t make idle chatter, keeping a respectful silence while they enter some chain coffee store and he orders for them both. Jack finds himself staring at a caramel latte, his old favourite.

“It’s good to see you,” he says eventually, lamely, as Vincent sips at whatever he’s drinking.

“I’d say the same,” Vincent half-smiles, “But I do see your face every day. The hair’s a good touch.”

He subconsciously reaches up to touch it. “Yeah, I did my best on a day’s notice and no sleep.”

“It looks pretty natural.” Vincent eyes him for a moment. “I think blonde suits you better, though. And don’t go any darker than that.”

“Thanks for the fashion advice.” Jack takes a swig of the coffee, and it burns his tongue. Absurdly normal. “How have you been?”

“Oh.” He pauses, looks a little skittish. “Well, okay, given the circumstances. Pretty glad Dad built that nuclear bunker, because it allowed us to stay pretty much safe for most of the Crisis. Hopefully now that’s over with, I can actually go to college, you know?” Vincent raises an eyebrow. “I suppose I have you to thank for all that.”

“Not really,” Jack says, automatically; he had received far too many undeserved thanks in the past few years. “It could have been literally anyone. I was picked up randomly from my squad and got pretty damn lucky.”

Vincent snorts, dismissive. “Still. It was you in the end, right? Well, not just you. You can thank your friends for me too.”

Jack thinks of how Ana or Gabriel would respond to that and feels almost hysterical. “Sure.”

“And,” Vincent glances down at Jack’s hands, awkwardly resting on the table. “Congratulations, as well. I saw that interview on the T.V. Gabriel, right?”

Jack remembers he’s actually wearing his wedding ring instead of having it around his neck, because there’s no blood or dirt to get stuck in it at a funeral. “Yeah. He, um, wasn’t very happy about that afterwards.”

There had been an interview after the Behemoth had been destroyed where despite Jack’s careful guidance, the host had consistently stressed how close friends he and Gabriel must have been in order to pilot together. Eventually Jack had snapped and said something vaguely obscene, and the interview had ended and Gabriel had tried to be as embarrassed as possible while also not losing himself to laughter. Their relationship had, subsequently, been the subject of several tabloid headlines that Jack wishes he could forget.

He’s smiling a little, though, and Vincent looks relieved enough that Jack decides there’s no better time to ruin it. 

“I, um. Did you keep in touch with her?”

Vincent politely laces his fingers together, expression neutralizing. The cuff of his dress shirt sticks to the table, which he doesn’t notice. “Not really. After she graduated, she left the state for a while, but ended up back here when… when John died. I don’t know where she went in the middle of a war, but she seemed to miss it.”

“Right.” Jack gets the overwhelming sense he’s being invasive, somehow. He wraps his hands around his mug. “And when my mother was killed?”

“She inherited the farm.” Vincent takes another sip of coffee, with the arm with the cuff that isn’t stuck to the table. Jack is pretty sure it’s jam. “She didn’t want it, but nobody else was going to buy a farm during the Crisis, so she stayed there. I really didn’t see or hear much of her. She kept to herself.”

Jack stares at his latte.

“...She did ask about you a lot,” Vincent adds. Some of the bubbles in the latte foam burst. “She said if I ever saw you to… say she misses you, and she loves you.”

It’s a lie. Jack almost appreciates the effort. “What else did she say?”

Vincent looks at him for a long time, mouth drawn into a line. “Jack, I don’t think-”

“Please.” The mug starts to burn his hands.

Vincent looks torn, but in the end he relents, because he had always been honest to a fault. “Beth was angry you never wrote. I’m sure you know that. When she saw you on the news, she… understood, but that anger never really went away, I don’t think.”

Jack nods. Another cluster of foam bubbles pop out of existence.

“I really didn’t keep up with her that much. I think her seeing me hurt a bit, I always got the feeling she assumed I talked to you. Which of course I didn’t,” and his voice is just a touch sad, because Beth wasn’t the only one he promised he’d stay in contact with. “But there was no way I could convince her of that without making a bunch of unfair assumptions. At John’s funeral, she gave a speech about how family had always been important to her, and repeated it verbatim at Catherine’s.”

Jack almost laughs. “I’m surprised she gave a speech at all.”

“She was pretty good at keeping up appearances,” and suddenly Vincent’s use of the past tense feels more real. Jack’s mild humour fades, and he clutches the mug tighter. “I, um, don’t know what’s happening to the farm. I think it goes to the state, unless Beth left it to you, but I don’t think she’d do that.”

“Probably not.” Jack watches as Vincent lifts his stuck cuff from the table; it is, indeed, jam. 

“Do you want to visit?” He asks. “No pressure, but it might help.”

Jack considers it; thinks about Beth standing on the porch, shadowed by the house, consuming her and never letting her go. “No.”

“Alright.” Vincent tries a smile. “Well. Do me a favour and give me some way to contact you in the future?”

Jack obligingly rattles off his phone number, and Vincent scrabbles to input it. The jam on his shirt sticks it to the inside of his suit sleeve. 

They finish their respective drinks in silence, Vincent kind enough not to prod and Jack too guilty to ask anything else. For nearly a decade he had cut himself off from thinking about his life here, focused only on war and saving the world instead. Guilt sidles up his throat and he once again has to convince himself of the absurdity of being recognized while having a public panic attack.

Vincent watches him for a minute before intervening. “If you need to leave, we can leave. I’ll drop you anywhere in the city, Jack, it’s no problem.”

It’s pity, Jack thinks suddenly. The same thing that had motivated him to drive Jack to the airport and take the fall for borrowing his mother’s car. Vincent knows nothing about him anymore aside from what’s on the television and the few snipped stories he had shared with him about his father, clipped and sanitized for public domain. And his dead sister, buried in the same plot as his parents that had cut him out of their life the moment they realized he’d escaped it.

He shakes his head. “My hotel isn’t far. I’d appreciate the walk. Clear my head a bit.”

Vincent doesn’t believe him, smile thinning, but he accepts it. “Alright. If you ever… have questions, or need anything…”

The implication is supposed to be: just ask. Jack knows he means: I’m only offering because it’s kind.

Vincent says goodbye outside the café with the same detached kindness he had at the airport ten years ago, but Jack understands it better now.

He walks around Bloomington for hours. There’s not many shops open yet, mostly restaurants and a few supermarkets, sparsely stocked. The rest of the city is shuttered and dead, and there are far fewer people milling in the streets than he remembers.

His body aches; he doesn’t remember when he last ate, and it feels like his grief overrides his enhancements. He thinks about how if he had come back for Beth she would still be alive, safe, somehow. It’s an impossible thought but he holds onto it anyway, and then his phone is ringing because it’s midnight and he’s alone cold in a back alley with no recollection of how he got there.

“It’s okay,” Gabriel says when Jack can only sob harshly into the phone. “It’s okay. I’ll come find you.”

Gabriel tracks his phone and finds him within ten minutes, only half a mile from their hotel. They sit out in the cold night on the concrete until Jack collects himself enough to walk, numbly, back to the room. Gabriel mumbles soothing nonsense under his breath and doesn’t ask where he’s been, just hauls him into bed and wraps him in the stiff linen sheets until he’s above freezing. In the morning, Jack will mechanically eat enough food for three people and spend the flight back to Chicago trying not to throw up, and he will never go back to Indiana.

--

Twenty years pass. Jack Morrison dies in August, and Soldier 76 visits Indiana in February.

The farm has been reappropriated by the state, but they have ignored the house, which stands shabby but firm in the twilight. It feels like some kind of hamfisted metaphor, or a sign, or something, but he doesn’t really care. He’s brought two large canisters of gasoline, and a box of matches. Conspicuous, but efficient.

Soldier 76 knows the middle porch step creaks loudly, and avoids it as he ascends, and the door is broken and comes off the hinges because he pulls too hard. He stares at it for a moment, then leans it against the wall and is swallowed by the house.

There’s still furniture inside, sparse and rotting but intact. He checks the drawers out of morbid curiosity, but there’s nothing left in most of them, all trinkets stolen or donated at some point. There’s some cutlery and some dishes, maybe a couple pieces of stationery, nothing to identify who once lived here. He knows he has to go up the stairs to properly coat the building, but he also knows that the room closest to the top has a floorboard three footsteps away that whines.

He exits the house, and picks up one of the canisters. It takes him a while to sum up the will to enter again, and he stops at the top of stairs and considers for a long time.

He eventually walks forward. The floorboard whines. His room is completely empty; no bed, no drawers. Scratches in the concrete walls that have softened with age. Someone was ripped from here hundreds of times, sometimes fighting and sometimes relenting. The barn, visible from the window, has long since been torn down.

He douses most of the petrol in this room alone, trailing the rest down the halls and he doesn’t dare to enter any of the other rooms. His - Jack’s sister’s door is closed, as is his parents’. Soldier 76 sloshes liquid over the handles methodically and when he returns down the stairs, the whine of the floorboard is lost in the sound of his laboured breath.

Hallway, kitchen, living room, office; one after the other. He takes a break only to fetch the second canister, discarding the first in the fireplace. His entire body stinks of gasoline and he wonders as he works if he will catch flame when he lights a match, and knows he doesn’t care. There are a few picture frames still hanging on the walls, faded photos of scenery with no human in sight. He splashes the petrol directly at them and they spit it back in his face.

The second canister empties, and the fumes are almost overwhelmingly nauseating. He throws it at the bay windows in the living room where Jack’s mother would ignore what his father was doing to him in the barn and watch the evening news. The glass shatters and the noise startles him despite his action, and he reels backwards and out the front door.

His first attempt to light a match is thwarted by the shake of his hands. He ends up peeling off the thick leather gloves and striking them bare, and some cruel miracle prevents his body alighting. He throws it in, strikes another, throws it, again and again. A hundred matches join the pyre and the smoke is acrid, thick and suffocating. Some memory dances at the edge of his thoughts; an explosion, fuel leaking on the ocean surface, white hot pain across his face - and he ignores it, because those memories are for the man who died in the Mediterranean Sea.

The blaze lights up the darkness and burns long into the night, and by the time it’s reported the sun is touching the edges of the sky, illuminating the skeleton of the porch. The fire department arrive swifter than any emergency services had in the past - two Omnics with a heat resistant chassis enter the building to search for survivors only to miss the ghosts.

Soldier 76 watches from a safe distance, where the farmland meets the edge of a small wood, where Jack Morrison would hide as a child, as a teenager, where he intended to die. The fire is extinguished, the house is destroyed, and ash sticks to his skin. The man inhabiting his body leaves Indiana and never returns.

[mother-snake]

self-destruction pt.1

(welcome to a new series! this will be angsty... but thats to be accepted by now...) tags: @idkanameatall warnings: self-hurt, crying, tears. general angst thrown out the window words:4646 next: n/a

-janus wakes up to a voice in his head he hasnt heard since the day he was created. things can only go down hill from there, cant they?-

She asked me, "Son, when I grow old, Will you buy me a house of gold? And when your father turns to stone, Will you take care of me?"

Nothing had been okay for a while. And no one had realised how much it had been affecting a certain side. the split… Virgil leaving… Remus leaving…

And now he was alone. Something he wished he never was. it had hurt to wake up each morning and make breakfast, only to call on Remus to remember that he was gone. he didn’t know how long he cried when the deep green door wasn’t in its place. The three dark sides had promised each other that no one would be left behind… yet… here he was.

Alone, cold and done. The lines on his arms showing the pain that seemed to break over the surface. maybe that’s why it hadn’t been such a surprise when he woke up late one day, a heavy weight draping over him.

He had laid there for a while before standing up to at least make himself look presentable despite the fact no one was there… old habits die hard.

And when he looked into the mirror. He had been surprised. His once shiny brown hair was duller, grey streaks mixed in, making him look like he had aged years over night. even his scales had matched his grey hair, just darker… his eye was still yellow. Just duller.

He stared at his reflection curiously. Reaching up and running his had along his scales. He flinched as he felt how cold they were. Not warm like they used to be. But now ice cold.

Then he froze in place. A small voice. One he had not heard since the day he was created. But it had stuck with him. And it spoke something that sent a shiver down his back.

“I’m sorry self-destruction,”

And just like that…it was gone.

Had that really been what had happened… had his core shifted? Become something new? this… wasn’t like a split. He would have known if there was one present. Anyone would have.

A weak smile grew on his face. he truly had changed. There was no way the others could trust him when he looked even more like a villain.

he looked around his room. Nothing had changed much to his confusion. Everything was still bright yellow and pitch black.

His eyes landed on his hat. He walked over and picked it up. he brought it up to his chest and held it tight. it was a gift. From the one person who hadn’t deliberately left him. The one gift he had ever gotten… and it had been from Romulus.

He placed it back on his vanity. It was time to retire the hat… things were changing. And maybe it was time to start from fresh. Completely.

“just listen to me!” he jumped at the voice that screamed in his head with such agony. this… was Logan’s voice? What?

He felt himself sinking down before he knew what was happening. Drawn like a moth to a flame. His mind reeling from the sudden noise and overwhelming sensation of sadness that had swept over him.

--

When he arrived. he had been rather surprised. He was in Logan’s room. The walls covered in graphs and papers. It was bigger than his room. Almost double.

His eyes landed on a figure hunched over at a desk. The light sound of tears made his heart ache. But… that was it. he didn’t seem to care as much as he used to. Maybe it was the lack of feeling in his chest.

“Logan?” he said. the logical side seemed to tense at the spoken word. “Logan, are you alright?” Janus said as he made his way over, trying to avoid knocking over the several towers of books.

--

Logan took a breath and looked over to where the deceitful side was. he blinked and rubbed his eyes… what the… what had happened?

He wasn’t sure what to focus on really.

His hair, scales, eye or the thin lines on his arms that were scabbed and fading. “Janus… what happened to you?” he said as he stared at the other. “that’s not why I’m here,” Janus stated coldly, sending a shiver up Logan’s spine, “I want to know if you’re alright.”

“I… I am fine Janus, I assure you?” “really then?” he said as his lips twitched up, “so you’re not bothered by the fact the others wont listen to you then?”

Logan froze as he turned back to his computer. “what?” his head snapped over to look at the other.

“you’re being ignored by everyone… and its causing you stress. But instead of facing it, you’re over working yourself,” Janus stated. “why do you care deceit,” he spat back. “one, that’s not my title… two because I care. If Thomas’s logic burned himself out due to over working, things could get bad. That and despite the fact you say you have no emotions; there you were not just five minuets ago crying due to the others not listening and messing up the schedule.”

Logan was at a loss for words. He glared at the snake. “falsehood,” he said as he stood up, “im logic. Emotions don’t matter to me. they only get in the way. if this is an attempt to make me join the dark side, I suggest you leave.” he glared at the other. Anger boiling in his chest.

“go talk to the others,” Janus muttered as he cast his eyes away, “tell them that they are making you work over time. That’s all I want to say.”

The small smile was replaced with a blank stare. And he was gone just as quickly as he had come. leaving a puzzled Logan in place. Wondering one thing. what had he meant by deceit no longer being his title…

She asked me, "Son, when I grow old, Will you buy me a house of gold? And when your father turns to stone, Will you take care of me?"

 Janus sunk to his knees when he arrived back in his room. Silent gasps filled the air as tears poured from his eyes. he thought that maybe Logan would be able to see past all he had done. Think logically about why he was there in the first place.

He guessed wrong. And the words that had fallen out of Logan’s mouth were like knives to his soul. He would be telling the truth when he said that it had taken so much energy not to break down at his words then and there.

Why had it hurt so much? was it because after several weeks of being alone, that was the first thing anyone had said to him? or was it because of his new core… he didn’t know. But he just wanted to stop crying.

 it had taken half an hour before he stopped crying. He moved himself off the floor and onto his bed. he laid sprawled out, weakly holding onto the blanket under him. Burying into the fluff and warmth.

Little to no energy left. The lack of sleep from the previous night getting to him, making it hard to keep his eyes open. soon he caved in, grasping onto the sleep.

--

Logan had been concerned, the more he thought about what Janus had said. and it was slowly getting to him. “Logan? Are you alright?” Patton asked.

Ah. He was just staring at his toast. Had he been so caught up in thought? “after breakfast I would like to talk to you all, if that’s alright. But I will have something to do first,” he sighed, slumping his shoulders. “of course! But may I ask why you’d like to talk to us dear nerd?” roman asked. “it’s about the schedule. With everything that keeps coming up I’m constantly trying to fix it. and at the minuet I don’t know how Thomas is going to get everything done,” “so you need help cutting some things out?” Virgil said as he took a sip from a purple cup. “basically… yes.” “no problem specks,” Virgil said as he shrugged his shoulders.

“anyways, where will you be going?” “ah… I will be visiting Janus later,” roman and Virgil froze at his words. “why?” roman said with a raised eyebrow. “he… was the one to bring up the fact I was burning myself out. I said some harsh things. I also have a question to ask him.”

The other four sides looked between each other with confusion and worry.

 He was outside Janus’s door sooner than he would have liked. But he was okay with that. Patton had sent him away with a box of cookies for the snake. Worried about him as they hadn’t spoken since the Lilly-Patton incident. he unconsciously rubbed his neck.

He sent three sharp knocks on the door. But much to his surprise, the movement had pushed the door open, the deceitful side must not have closed the door properly.

He nudged it open just enough to peek inside. A sharp pain filled his heart as he saw Janus sprawled on the bed that sat in the furthest corner of the room. another thing he realised was just how cold it was. like an icy blanket that covered the entire room.

He entered cautiously, placing the tub of cookies down by Janus’s hat. he looked over to the sleeping side with worry. He had never seen him looking so peaceful. It was kind of worrying truthfully.

He summoned a blanket and draped it over Janus, hoping it would keep him warm for now. he reached into his pocket. A small sorry letter he had written in case Janus wasn’t in. but sleeping was also another reason he hadn’t thought about.

He placed it at the end of the bed. Hoping the other would find it when he woke up. and if he didn’t, that wouldn’t stop him from apologising in person. he knew when he was wrong about something. And he knew he was wrong to say the things he had.

I will make you queen of everything you see, I'll put you on the map, I'll cure you of disease.

He had been surprised when he was slowly waking up. something warm was covering him like the worlds best hug. He would be lying if he said he didn’t pull it further over himself.

But as he slowly woke up, he cracked his eyes open and almost broke. He stared at the blanket that was covering himself only to see the deep blue colour. Logan had been here?

He sat up quickly, scanning his room quickly to see if the side was there. Not to his surprise… he wasn’t there. his alarm clock told him he had been asleep for a while. Lunch rolling around the corner soon.

He pulled the blue blanket over his shoulders and tied the ends like a cape. He forgot how cold he was for a couple seconds.

He looked over to his hat, a small plastic box sitting next to it. a small part of him thought he was asleep. There was no way that a light side would willingly come over… right?

He picked up the container and opened it up. chocolate chip cookies stared back at him. yes… he was definitely still asleep. There was no other way this was happening. Yeah… he would wake up in a couple seconds and he would be alone once again. None of this would be here.

He sighed and reached into the box, pulling out a cookie. a tiny smile formed on his face. he knew Logan couldn’t cook. So, there was a high chance that it was Patton’s or romans cooking.

He placed it back into the box and closed it over. But he held the container in his hands a little longer before placing it down.

Any warmth that had filled him before seemed to dull down as he realised that despite everything. He was still alone. For all he knew they were doing this to keep him away for a while longer…

“why can’t I do anything right!” the voice yelled in his mind. this one he could tell was Patton’s.

He sighed. Today was going to be a long day. He could already tell. he snapped his fingers and changed out of his pyjamas and into something else.

Black dress pants and a yellow button up. his caplet draped over his shoulders. Logan’s blanket still tied around himself like a cape.

And soon he found himself sinking down.

Let's say we up and left this town, And turned our future upside down. We'll make pretend that you and me, Lived ever after happily.

Janus arrived in the light side’s kitchen. Patton stood staring at the wall. he let out a cough, grabbing Patton attention almost immediately. “oh! Hello Jan- “he cut himself off as he looked at the snake with shock, “you…seem to have changed quite a bit there,”

Janus simply rolled his eyes, not as bothered as he felt he should have been by morality’s words. “anyways… I came to ask if you were okay,” he moved himself over to Patton's side.

“I’m… I’m okay kiddo,” Patton said, plastering a fake smile on his face.

Janus returned the smile with a blank look on his face,” that’s a lie. Isn’t it?” he sighed. “I don’t know what you mean?” “you’re bottling it up. you feel like you keep hurting those around you with everything you do,” Janus felt like such a hypocrite, “and you feel like you’re driving them away in the process. Am I wrong?”

Patton felt tears pricking his eyes as he looked at Janus. “what do I do?” he said, “I don’t want to lose them…”

Janus stayed silent. His face scrunched up in thought. His fingers rapped over the counter. “I don’t know truthfully… but maybe you should just confront it head on. Don’t skirt around the issue…” don’t do what I did, that’s what he meant.

Patton looked at him with a sad smile. “would you like to join us for lunch Janus?” he said as he rubbed his eyes, getting rid of the tears that messed with his vision. “as much as I’d love to, I know roman and Virgil wouldn’t want me there,” he said sadly. Patton could feel the small amounts of sadness coming from him. But it was blocked off by something else. As if it was being hidden by something else. Whatever it was, he couldn’t sense it. “well, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to join us.”

Janus gave a weak smile in Patton's direction and turned to leave but froze as he saw who was standing at the door.

Virgil glared at him but he could see the confusion in his eyes. “why are you here deceit,” he growled. “one, that’s not my title any more. And two… Patton simply needed some assistance. I was happy to help,” he said, keeping his eyes of the anxious side.

“excuse me?” Virgil said startled, “what the hell do you mean deceit isn’t your title anymore?” Janus shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the other. “you can call me self-destruction from now on,” he said coldly, glancing up an connecting his eyes with the purple of Virgil’s.

Neither side knew what to say at what the now self-destruction side had said. This was new. sure, there had been splits… but never a full core change… “Janus…” Patton said as he took a step closer. “don’t,” Janus said, holding a hand up. Patton stopped walking towards Janus. His concern for the side growing even more.

Virgil didn’t know what to do, he just stood there dumbfounded. This was the last thing he had been expecting. Okay sure, he had been startled when he saw Janus’s new look. but this… his title shifting to something new. something like that? he didn’t know what to do. And he didn’t like not knowing things…

“how long,” Virgil said as he stared at the snake. “only this morning�� no one else knows,” Janus said.

They shifted uncomfortably for a couple more seconds. “well… if you don’t mind, I think it would be best if I left for now,” Janus said, making his way over to the door Virgil had been blocking.

“no,” the anxious side said, “we don’t know what you can do now. How do we know if you wont effect Thomas,” he said staring at Janus. “please, you didn’t care about me before, why change that now?”

Virgil felt his chest tighten at the words spoken by Janus. “as much as I hate to say it… Virge has a point. With a new title… you will have to learn new things about yourself. And having people around might help,” he said carefully, trying to block out the words Janus had previously spoken.

“just let me go,” he muttered, swaying as he stood as still as possible. “Janus are you- Janus!” Patton yelled as he caught the side who had toppled over.

Janus was unconscious before he heard Patton yell his name.

Virgil was by their sides in seconds. Panic spreading through his veins. “Janus… Janus,” he said as he shook the snake, hoping to wake him up. “he’s like ice!” Patton said as he jerked his hand away from his head.

“get the others and tell them that Janus will be staying with us for a while,” Patton said as he picked Janus up bridal style. Trying his best not to shiver under the coldness of the others skin.

She asked me, "Son, when I grow old, Will you buy me a house of gold? And when your father turns to stone, Will you take care of me?"

Virgil gave a sharp nod before bolting out the room and making his way to the bedroom hallway. the first door he came to was Logan’s. he pounded on the door, hoping it would startle Logan out of his work. he heard shuffling on the other side before his door creaked open. Logan looked at Virgil rather surprised.

“get your ass down stairs,” Virgil said before shooting of to the twins shared room and pounding on the door in a hurry.

The door opened on its own and he flung the door open irritably. “get your asses down stairs, now,” he said as he looked at the twins who seemed startled by his sudden appearance, most likely thinking he was Patton.

But non the less they both stood up and made their way down the stairs after Virgil and a rather confused Logan. the three of them got closer to the living room. The sound of shuffling and Virgil pacing was all they could hear until they reached the room.

Patton was draping a blanket over something on the couch as Virgil moved something, placing a pillow underneath. and as the three of them got closer. They stopped moving.

“Janus,” Logan said before making his way over to the other two sides. he knelt down next to the unconscious side, “what happened?” he asked looking at the moral side. “we don’t know, we were talking and he started to sway before falling unconscious. I managed to catch him before he hit the ground, but he’s so cold. Almost like ice,” Patton muttered.

Logan reached his hand and placed it gently on the sides head. Patton was correct. He was cold as ice. “keep him wrapped up in the blankets,” he said before turning to the twins, “can one of you come with me to Janus’s room? I need to check something out from earlier,” he said as he stood up. “oh, and Virgil. Go into my room and get the medical box from under the bathroom sink. His arms need to be covered,”

Virgil stared at Logan, “what do you mean by that specks,” he whispered. even Remus who was normally loud and yelling, his eyes glazed over at his words, “he said he stopped…” he whispered horrified.

“ill come with you then dear nerd, we shall be back soon,” he said as he sunk out with Logan not too far behind.

I will make you queen of everything you see, I'll put you on the map, I'll cure you of disease.

 Logan and roman appeared in Janus’s room. The first thing roman did was curse under his breath at how cold it was. “no wonder he was so cold specks… his rooms colder than the artic!” “but why…” Logan said as he began to look around.

The room was much smaller than his own. But it was much more cluttered. A wall of trophies Thomas had won sat high and on display. musical posters and photographs hung the walls. a bookshelf sat facing Janus’s bed. Filled to the brim with books on philosophers and snakes.

Then his eyes landed on something. A small leather-bound book that looked far older than anything on the book case. “roman,” he said, causing the side to look up from his position, looking in a small wooden box. he made his way over as Logan removed the book. it didn’t take too long for him to realise what he was holding. “looks like a diary,” he muttered.

What had caught roman was the symbol printed into the front. One he hadn’t seen in on much. but knew all to well. “why does he have Romulus’s diary?” he said to himself, but it didn’t go unheard by the other in the room.

“no… its Janus’s,” he said as he flicked through the pages, “each one was signed of by Janus. Not Romulus- wait look here,” he said.

The hand writing and use of pen had changed from black to a multi coloured one. Red and green ink swirling on the page. he read over what was written.

They re read what was written. Guilt seemed to flood into them as the read it over and over again. had Romulus and Janus been that close that… oh god… a sick feeling laid planted in romans chest. he didn’t know much about the person he had split from. But he knew that Janus had always played a part in his past. He thought that maybe he had been the cause of the split.

Not that Romulus split on purpose in hopes to better balance out the mind scape for everyone’s sake. Maybe… he would discuss his plan with his twin later. “we should keep looking. And if we don’t find anything… we can put it down to his core shifting and messing with his room,” Logan said; he only getting a nod in response.

Ohhhh... And since we know that dreams are dead, And life turns plan’s up on their head, I will plan to be a bum, So I just might become someone.

Janus needed to stop falling asleep. He was going to mess with his sleep schedule. he noticed three things as he began to wake up for the third time that day. one, he was warm. Not Logan’s blanket, just keeping out the cold. This was full on Patton hug level of warmth. second was the smell of cookies that hung in the air. It was comforting to some extent. Only he knew he hadn’t done any cooking in a long time. third was that he was lying on something soft. His bed had always been stiff and hard. This, he was able to melt into like putty.

He didn’t want to move. He was perfectly fine being here for the rest of eternity. but he was curious as to where he was. so despite his body complaining against waking up, he tried his best to crack his eyes open. A bright light filled his vision, causing him to et out a small hiss of pain.

Then noise filled his ears, the sounds of people shouting and moving filled his head as he finally got his eyes open. he didn’t expect to see all the light sides surrounding him.

“Janus! Are you alright?” Patton asked. he didn’t know what to do. His mind ran at several miles an hour, a light panic setting into his chest as he realised how close they were to him.

Virgil seemed to know the look on Janus’s face, “everyone back away, you’re crowding him. He’s already starting to panic,” he said as he shuffled away slightly.

The others followed suit as they realised Janus was indeed internally panicking. they waited a couple minutes before Patton turned to Logan who gave him a quick nod. He stood up and made his way out of the room. “sorry,” Janus muttered as he bowed his head down. “it’s alright Jannie,” Remus said as he smiled at Janus.

He looked around the room once again. Still confused as to why they weren’t being hostile as before… “what happened?” he asked as he looked at them. Virgil shifted uncomfortably, grabbing Janus’s attention, “you fell unconscious after I confronted you in the kitchen. Patton caught you before you hit the ground,” he said, keeping his eyes away from Janus.

The room fell quiet. But it wasn’t bad… it felt calm. “well, should I put a movie on in the mean time?” roman asked everyone. “I have no quarry with that,” Logan said as he adjusted his glasses. “same here princy,” Virgil said. “sure thing bitch,” Remus said punching his twins arm getting a wince in response.

Janus nodded, moving his hand to rub his arm before looking down, realising he wasn’t touching his coarse skin. Once again, he felt himself freeze in place. They had seen them…

Well he was fucked. “Janus- “he looked up from his arms and towards roman. “is there anything you’d like to watch?” Janus didn’t respond, he only looked at roman before casting his eyes back to his wrists.

It was at that moment Patton entered the room with a bowl of soup. He gave it over to the grey scaled side with a smile. “you missed lunch and dinners still a while away, I thought you might get hungry,” he said cheerfully.

He held the bowl staring at it for a couple seconds. The soup seemed to ripple for a couple seconds. And it was then that he realised he had begun to cry. a pair of hands moved the bowl from him and someone wrapped him up in a hug. That only seemed to make him cry harder despite the fact he had clung onto the person.

“I’m sorry,” he hiccupped as tears continued to pour. he tried to stop crying, but the tears continued to pour despite his best efforts. “it’s okay Janus, you’ve been too strong for a long time, its our turn to return the favour,” Virgil whispered into his ear. another several sets of arms wrapped around him to the best of their abilities.

She asked me, "Son, when I grow old, Will you buy me a house of gold? And when your father turns to stone, Will you take care of me?"

Things were far from fine. That was for sure. But in that moment… he knew why he was crying and it wasn’t from sadness or loneliness or the never-ending coldness that laid over his heart that slowly seemed to be filling up with something warm.

The tears were from the overwhelming love he felt the others giving him despite all he had done. the warm looks given his way. he didn’t deserve them. But it felt so nice.

I will make you queen of everything you see, I'll put you on the map, I'll cure you of disease.

He himself was by no means going to be okay for a long time… but this?

This was a start.

[dansnaturepictures]

1/8/21-Common Grayling, Silver-studded Blue, Spotted Flycatcher, Fallow Deers and more at Whitefield Moor in the New Forest and home 

Aiming to make it a bumper butterfly weekend we did this yearly trip we do to try and see a Common Grayling on the heath the other side of the road from the Whitefield Moor car park where we parked between Holmhill Bog, Hincheslea and Wilverley Plain. Early on into the walk in a dry patch of another somewhat showery day we were thrilled to notice a grayling fly and settle on some pretty green moss/lichen among some very pleasant bits of purple in flower heather. We were fortunate to get a prolonged view of this sweet camouflage artist, with exhilarating views of its flashes of orange too. I took the first picture in this photoset of it with my macro lens. I was over the moon to secure a sighting of this New Forest specialty species for another year on this glorious heath. Another of my favourite butterflies to see for the first time this year after Wall Brown at Durlston yesterday. This was a brilliant view of the Common Grayling and I was so happy to see one. My 42nd butterfly species of the year as it was in 2019 here and as it did that day it levels my 2018 total, the total confirmed as my personal record at the time back in 2018 with Common Grayling here too now surpassed twice in 2019 my highest ever butterfly year list total and 2020 and levelled in 2021 now too. I sit writing this up on my phone on the way home as I do this specific bit whilst my Mum and her partner are in Tesco in Brockenhurst where I remember musing when writing up the blog for that day about 2018 becoming my then highest ever butterfly year list just over three years ago and the wonder of the sighting and there was some glorious symmetry of summers today I felt. I loved being out in the forest again today. In tune with my butterfly year when it wasn’t exactly a perfect wall to wall sunshine day which you’d associate as good for butterflies we had just enough and did just enough to so thankfully get another species seen.

For an early fifteen minutes of the walk I did another Big Butterfly Count where I saw two Gatekeeper and two Meadow Browns which is always great to see. There was a nice little white moth the other side of the road at the car park at the start of the walk too.

As hoped as we walked on we saw a decent handful of the blue beauties that are the Silver-studded Blues too I took the second picture in this photoset of one seeing one a bit battered as well, it was nice to see them flitting around on the heath. It’s always such a precious moment seeing these both them and the grayling are real credits to the wonderful biodiversity of the New Forest. Its no coincidence they’re both among my favourites really as I’ve had so many amazing chances to see them over the year with the connection we have to the New Forest and coming here and I’m so proud of them as true New Forest specialities. In years I usually seem to see Silver-studded Blues around when they first come out at the Deadman/Turf Hill area of the New Forest a strong heath for them and love it. But they are out for a decent chunk of the summer and there are so many New Forest strongholds so by the time we come to the other side of Whitefield Moor for the Graylings later in the season we get a valuable second look at these rare gems of the heath.

Walking into an area with burnt bracken we were delighted to see some Spotted Flycatchers flying between it and perched, getting cracking views of this wonderful bird one of my best of the year after seeing some at Millyford Bridge in the New Forest in May. It was special to make out their characteristic and sweet markings and colours. I got the third picture in this photoset of one. I was in aw of them again today a great typical New Forest bird of the summer months. It became a brilliant afternoon of summer forest birding with fine finch views with Goldfinch and Greenfinch the first of the latter I’ve seen for a while and Linnet later on. Stonechat which I took the fifth picture in this photoset of one I enjoyed seeing yesterday too and Meadow Pipits made pretty sightings at the top of vegetation. As we walked round to the Holmhilll Bog area and back in a heavy shower we were delighted to briefly catch sight of a delightful Dartford Warbler. And later a Raven barked loudly and it was special to see it flying high over the heath. Like Goldfinch, Stonechat and Linnet one I saw well on both trips out this weekend at contrasting locations and two of the best in the south for me of the Purbeck Coast and New Forest. I took the fourth picture in this photoset one of many beautiful views here today.

Alongside the purple bell heather there were some pretty flowers around in the forest this afternoon, including a yellow hat trick of gorse, bird’s-foot trefoil and tormentil and white clover, probable hawk’s-beard, possible cat’s-ear, cotton grass, purple loosetrife by a stream characteristic of the habitat and some interesting little white ones in the stream. In the shower around the Holmhill Bog area I loved catching sight of a handful of Fallow Deers another classic New Forest creature I enjoyed celebrating on a second walk in the open forest running after Deadman Hill/Turf Hill in late June with some young about it seemed too. There was a great group of New Forest ponies we passed a couple of times today on the walk getting intimate views of these forest pioneers seeing a foal on the way in which was nice. The heath looked very dramatic in the grip of rain which I managed the sixth picture in this photoset of as we got back to the car and when it cleared up as the seventh picture in this photoset at the car showing this in some classic summery conditions we enjoyed an ice cream after the shower in the car park there were some very dramatic and pretty sky scenes sitting nicely over the vast, open and pretty wilderness of heath and trees including pine trees with little pockets of the heather beginning to paint the landscape purple.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: My first of one of my favourite butterflies the Common Grayling this year, another of my favourite butterflies the Silver-studded Blue, one of my favourite birds the Dartford Warbler, Spotted Flycatcher, Stonechat, Meadow Pipit, Linnet, Goldfinch, Greenfinch, Great Tit, Raven, Gatekeeper, Meadow Brown and moth.

Lately as I said yesterday I have been looking back on 2011 a lot and that year in particular most walks we did really was a New Forest one or at least ones out in the car especially over that school summer holidays period for me. I spoke last time I was in the open forest about my nostalgia for being here every time I do walks like these which I used to do maybe five or six times a year each or more. So especially this year ten years on with 2011 being a year we discovered a lot of the forest walks this one included I am feeling nostalgic and reflecting on the amazing times I have had in the precious New Forest. Another monumental and fantastic weekend for me this year comes to an end. I hope you all had a good one and have a great safe week.

There was a little bit more wildlife and photography wise to pack into my weekend when home lately I am taking a lot of pictures later in evening of the sky especially. It was great to see some pretty orange flowers on a well planted roundabout near to home on the way back today. I took the eighth picture in this photoset of some flowers I now know as geranium on the balcony the pink ones, as well as House Sparrows and Collared Dove which I tweeted tonight on Dans_Pictures. And in some fine sunny patches I took in great views out the windows and there were some stunning sky scenes with clouds draped across the sky really looking so beautiful and interesting and some very pleasant bits of red at sunset too. I took the final two pictures in this photoset of these. 

[thatboomerkid]

PORTALS

We open weird portals to the Underworld and pull the Damned out for cash [part 1]

Hellcrashers Fiction by Nonbinary Bones

I broke open the factory door with a crowbar and entered a decrepit manufacturing plant. The soot-covered facility went bankrupt years ago and still leaked chemical waste into the “Mighty Missisip’” several decades later.

For a brief moment, the only noises were the icy wind racing over the waterfront and the soft ticking sound of the van’s engine behind me. The side panel of the van slid open.

“Sweet baby Jesus, it’s colder than a witches’ tit in a brass bra out here!” Felix exclaimed.

I nodded my agreement as a mechanized lift lowered my co-worker’s wheelchair to the ground.

Jackie hopped from the passenger seat, her military boots crunching on the wooden timbers of the boardwalk.

Sections of the greasy promenade had rotted away, revealing the polluted harbor below. The rancid waters stank of dead fish and petroleum. A huge rickety crane loomed overhead, its base squatting in the water, rusting its way towards oblivion.

Jackie opened the back of the van, rooted around, then pulled a bulletproof vest on over her tank top. She held another vest out in her grimy hand. I took it with a grateful nod.

Vasquez put The Club on the steering wheel, a sunshield on the dash, and began inspecting his gear. He may have been an OCD prick, but he knew how to plan a job.

New Kid hovered nearby, hands in his pockets.

“Hey Bitchnugget, try doing something useful for a change!” Felix jibed.

We grabbed our camping gear and entered the factory. Light filtered in through broken windows from sodium streetlamps outside. The center of the room was illuminated, but darkness clung to the corners. Conveyor belts and walkways filled the cavernous space like a real-life version of Chutes and Ladders. The air reeked of grease and metal. Rusted machinery spoke of long years of disuse.

Felix accidentally rolled right through a pile of animal droppings and cried out in disgust at getting shit in the tire treads. His shouts echoed in the gloom.

I dropped a duffel to the floor and opened it up, revealing a cache of weapons. We divvied up the contents so each of us had gas masks and guns.

“Alright everyone, huddle up.” I said. Everyone gathered in a semi-circle. “Vasquez, give us the rundown.”

“Today is a standard snatch-and-grab. Our target is named Aurora Laura.” He held up a centerfold spread ripped from an adult magazine. The lewd pose didn’t leave much to the imagination. “Real name Laura Brown. Originally from Omaha.” He squinted at the glossy pages. “Measures 34B, Waist 25, Hips 26. Likes puppies and men who aren’t afraid to show their vulnerable side.”

The New Kid blushed, Jackie snorted, and Felix grinned.

“We have reliable intel that the client’s Dearly Departed is being held in a Domain known as Hotel California. Basically, it’s worse than the worst ‘No-Tell Motel’ you’ve ever imagined; word on the street says each Dweller gets their own room, so we’re searching door to door.” He sighed.

The rest of us groaned out loud. “The floor-plan tends to change on its own, so watch out for that. This isn’t Scooby-Doo: we do not split up under any circumstances.”

“If you see something valuable on the way out, grab it. And I’m talking something portable. Smaller than a breadbox. We don’t want another incident like last time.”

Vasquez looked pointedly at Felix before continuing.

“Garrett, you’ll pop the Cherry for us.”

I nodded in response.

“We go in, acquire the target, and get the fuck out of Dodge. Any questions?” Vasquez looked at each of us with an upraised eyebrow.

New Kid raised his hand like a schoolboy.

“Why am I not surprised?” Felix asked the ceiling.

“What’s a Cherry?”

“It’s a door, Kid. A gateway Down Below Where The Bad Men Go.”

“Oh, right.” he said, blushing.

“Okay then, let’s get to it.” I said.

Past wasp’s nests and sticky linoleum floors I found a door with an “Employees Only” sign on it. The door-frame sagged, dislocated from rotted walls heavy with mildew. The door had warped over time so even though it was unlocked I almost couldn’t get it to budge. The factory door bore battle scars and boot prints from a hard fight with someone who lacked a crowbar. Someone like me. Busting open the door revealed a tiny office containing a desk, chairs, and an empty safe. Nothing worthwhile. I closed the door again.

From my backpack I took a jar of a milky yellow fluid and a barbecue basting brush. When I unscrewed the lid, a nasty rotting smell wafted out. My nose wrinkled in distaste as I began painting the door hinges in slime.

“What the Hell is that?” inquired the New Kid over my shoulder.

“Kid, Crashers never say the H-Word. Never. Not even Topside if we can avoid it. I told you this before we started.” I said.

“Aw, come on! That’s some superstitious bullshit!”

“I mean it.” I glared at him. “Watch your fucking mouth or you’ll jinx the whole Crash. Do not say the H-Word.”

“Sorry. What the heck is that?”

“Ever hear of ‘bukkake’?” I replied.

“No?”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, but why are you doing that?”

“This particular Cherry won’t pop until the hinges have been lubed with actual body secretions. And before you ask: no, spit won’t cut it. Just be grateful the gateway doesn’t need it fresh.”

“Are they all like that?”

“No, some of them only open at midnight or you have to make a cat cry in pain. It depends on the Cherry.”

“Can I ask you a question?” the Kid asked, shuffling his feet uncertainly.

“Another one? Sure, Kid. Ask away.” I replied patiently.

“What makes a Cherry open where it does? I mean, if they can open anywhere how come a gateway doesn’t open up in the middle of Times Square? Or in a daycare?”

I paused for a long moment, considering.

“Rust and despair. Plants need water and sunshine. Mushrooms need shade and shit. Cherries need rust and despair. Simple as that.”

When I finished painting the hinges the door creaked open on its own, this time revealing a rickety wooden staircase down into darkness. Felix cracked a couple chemical glow sticks and shook them. They began glowing with a golden-green light and he tossed them through the doorway.

I grabbed the handles behind Felix’s wheelchair and edged it closer to the Cherry.

“Hey careful with the merchandise, peasant!”

“I ain’t afraid to kick a cripple downstairs.”

Felix stood up on the other side of the portal.

“What the fuck? You’re just faking?” Kid asked in an angry, disbelieving tone with eyes wide as dinner plates.

“No, Cuntpuddle.” Felix said, rolling his eyes. “My legs don’t work Topside, but they work just fine in the Nether.”

“Topside?”

“That’s just a slang term for the world we live in. Topside is the place that the Damned covet beyond all else and the rest of us take pretty much entirely for granted. Don’t know what you got ‘till it’s gone, as they say. It’s the world you see out your window, where we get born, fuck around, and die. It is what it is and for the most part it’s a pretty okay place to be. For the most part.”

“But how can he walk on the other side of the gate?”

“I don’t know Kid, but as soon as you figure it out let me know.” I said.

We turned on our lights and the five of us moved slowly downwards, footsteps echoing in the gloom.

The staircase was built out of salvaged boards, no two of which were the same; different lengths, different colors. There were fourteen steps exactly, but the topmost step was smaller than all the others and bright red. A last minute addition to avoid Unlucky 13 perhaps.

My nerves were on edge as we descended. Every little creaking step telegraphed our movements to anything lurking nearby.

At the bottom of the stairs we found a diseased and barren wasteland. The ground was black and filthy like the Athabasca oil sands of Canada. My throat and lungs ached. Noxious smoke filled the air and made breathing a chore.

I saw a hundred burning fires lighting up the distant mountains. That made me real tense. I’d watched “The Hills Have Eyes” once and the things down here would have put cannibal mutant rapists to shame.

Glancing backwards, I saw the staircase slowly disappearing like it’d never existed.

----------

In front of us, our destination was uncomfortably close. Squatting less than two hundred yards away was a dilapidated motel modeled after every circa-1940s cheaper-than-shit roadside inn on “the wrong side of the tracks” but worse. The walls had been marred by fire. A flickering red neon sign stuttered “VACANCY” into the night. On the porch was a screen door creaking back and forth on its hinges as if begging for relief. Acid rain tinkled weakly against the corrugated tin roof.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Hotel California.” I said.

Inside, we found rusted pipes leaking raw sewage and rotting the stucco. Fungal blooms spread over paper-thin plywood with the texture of rotten leaves splintering at the softest touch. Nearly every window was boarded up over the remnants of razor-sharp glass.

We searched room to room, seeing some of the sickest things you’ve never imagined. Things that can’t be unseen. It took us almost three days to find our target. I think the New Kid must have puked twenty times during that stretch.

Sleep was damn-near impossible for a variety of reasons. The moth-eaten sheets were stained yellow, constantly and consistently damp with every body fluid imaginable.

Thanks to the AC units mounted in the walls, most of the rooms were freezing cold and when I say freezing cold I mean actual people covered in actual ice. Never thought I’d see someone with their own urine frozen in an icicle hanging from their crotch.

Some of the rooms were blazing hot, literally cooking the inhabitants alive.

“Mmm! Smells like down-home cooking!” Felix quipped as he caught a whiff of scorched human flesh.

The ice machine down the hall never actually worked until you were attempting to sleep at which point it spontaneously turned on. It wouldn’t do a damn thing when you wanted it to but it would happily and loudly make the sound of a thousand blenders grinding away at a fistful of pebbles as soon as you laid down.

The first night we were camping in one of the motel rooms when the old TV in the corner suddenly turned itself on, self-tuned those old rabbit ear antennas covered in foil, and scared the ever-loving crap out of us by blasting some repugnant program at maximum volume.

The New Kid unplugged the television from the wall, but it stayed on anyway, causing him to start pounding on it angrily.

“Kid, quit making such a damn racket.” Vasquez said.

“Okay, fine.” the New Kid huffed, throwing himself down on the bed. “So here’s a question.”

“Jerkstain, your entire life is one big fucking question.” Felix quipped.

“Where do those shows come from? Is it something the Hotel made to screw with us?”

“Actually, that is a good question.” I said, busily stripping, cleaning, and reassembling my rifle. “I’m fairly certain those shows are piped in from CRT.”

“CRT?”

“It’s another Domain in the Big Bad. Except instead of a motel imagine a sewer filled with television sets and bad wiring. All the TV channels are fucked-up versions of the worst shows ever made.”

“Yeah Dickcheese, if you survive this job maybe someday you’ll get to go there!” Felix said, holding out a flask.

The Kid ignored the jibe but accepted the flask and took a swig of whiskey.

“For example?”

“Okay, you’ve seen the show ‘Survivor?’ Now imagine it’s more like the Hunger Games except the contestants hunt and eat each other to survive.”

“Jesus…”

“Trust me Kid; you really don’t want to watch anything on that boob tube. Here’s a question for you, Kid. How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Well… I dropped out of high school and started getting into trouble, hanging out with a bad crowd. One night my gang broke into a moving van and the cops spotted us. So I ran and made it into the basement of an abandoned meat packing plant. Found a door leading to a hallway made of baby teeth. The cops following me got eaten by a monster made out of tumors and barbed wire. Bought me time to get back Topside. After that, it was only a matter of time before I found more Crashers. What about you guys?”

“Back in the day I was a long-haul trucker until I went into the wrong goddamn gas station. My partner never really came out again. I found that I’d lost the use of my legs when I dragged myself out of the Pit. I figure if I keep Crashing I’ll find a way to make them work permanently.”

“How about you?”

“Me? I’m in it for the money. Cold, hard cash. This ain’t no charity; I got bills to pay. When I do a job, I expect to get paid.” I said.

“Amen to that, brother.” Jackie said, tilting a bottle in my direction with a nod. “The bigger the paycheck the better.”

“How about you Vasquez? How’d you get into this line of work?”

“I’ve been doing this my whole life, man.” Vasquez replied.

“Say what now?”

“When I was a kid, I was a refugee. My dad brought me to the U.S. from Cuba on a raft made out of old plastic barrels he lashed together. I think I was about nine, maybe ten years old at the time.”

“You’re a Cuban?”

“Cuban-American to you, gringo. I’m a Hialeah boy, born and raised. Before ‘95, if a Cubano set foot on American soil they got the chance to apply for residency status a year later. Lucky for us, we made it ashore before we got picked up on Miami Beach. Dry-Feet, they called us.”

“Dad got a job working graveyard shift at a gas station and I started going to school. I always walked down there by myself to bring Dad a soda and we’d sit and chat for a while. One night I’m going down there right before bedtime and there’s all these police out front with that yellow crime scene tape strung up across the door. The cops say that the robbers put lit matches all over him before they killed him.” He takes a long swig from the bottle.

“So Mom couldn’t afford the rent without Dad, and after that we were sleeping rough. Couch-surfing, church pews, shelters, and sidewalks.”

“My God…” Kid said.

“God? God can’t help us, man. See, Satan led his army to storm the Gates of Heaven and drove God and the angels out. The demons smashed his palace of blue-moon marble into dust and Satan sits on the Throne of Heaven. That’s why our world is so fucked up.”

“So Dad’s spirit came to me. He was bloody and there were these tiny flames burning all over his body. He told me that demons found doors to our world. That’s why the gates keep opening, man.”

“Dad told me that he was joining God’s secret army of angels to take back Heaven. He told me that I needed to learn to fight. To stay strong and smart, so I could count on myself, no one else. To fight back against evil. So I went looking for the gates. You look hard enough and long enough, eventually you find something. And I did.”

“Man… is it worth it?” the Kid asked.

“That’s not the right question.” I said.

“Huh?”

“The real question is do you censor yourself or not?”

“What do you mean?”

“Option A: you say the things you ought to, and shut your mouth on what you actually think. You wear the clothes you’re told to wear, go where they say to go when you’re told to go there, do the things they tell you to do. In return, you get the job, the girl, the two-point-five kids, a white picket fence, and a dog. You get to eat three square meals a day, get laid occasionally, and probably enough money to get you everything you need, some of what you want, and a bed to sleep in with a roof over your head. You’re a slave but you’re comfortable.”

“Option B: you get nothing. You get fuck-all and you’ll like it because you’re free. Go where you want when you want and do what you want to do when you want to do it. Comfort means fuck-all because you’ll probably get arrested, get your head kicked in, or both.”

“So my point is do whatever you want to do because I really don’t give a shit, Kid.”

We sat there silently for the rest of the night. There was really nothing more to say.

It was the second night when the New Kid decided that he actually did want to watch something on TV. Scrambled Porn Sally was pole dancing and the fuzzy static bar was right where you didn’t want it to be.

We found the Kid staring and slack-jawed, his nose touching the flickering television screen. His eyes were watering and blood trickled from one nostril.

I shook him out of it and he mumbled a quiet “thank you.” Every so often I’d catch him stealing glances at the television when he thought I wasn’t looking.

If you were still so exhausted that none of that kept you awake, the phone rang and room service cheerfully provided a complimentary wake-up call just as you were nodding off.

Then there were the cock-roaches. Behind one door we found one of the Lost covered in chittering insects. Carnivorous, angry little bastards about three inches long and sporting chitinous dicks.

The moment it was dark the cock-roaches came scuttling out to bite a hole in your skin, pump their nasty bug-dongs in the bleeding orifice, and lay eggs in your flesh. After a few minutes, the cock-roaches deposited a load of eggs and goop into the poor bastard which then burst open and made a new swarm.

Hiding in every nook and cranny, they skittered into hiding beneath the bed and in the closet when illuminated by a flashlight mounted on the barrel of an AR-15.

The New Kid squashed a couple roaches beneath his boot and the rubber sole began to sizzle. “Damn it! That burns like battery acid!” he shouted.

“Then don’t do that.” I calmly said.

On Day Three we found a Damned that swore up and down he’d seen our target. We’d bribed him with a little baggie of black tar heroin that offered a brief respite from his torment, so we felt confident the intel was solid.

We were moving through the darkened hotel hallways, guns at the ready. The Kid was on point with Vasquez watching his back. Felix and Jackie were in the middle while I was behind the squad.

“This scary-ass motel reminds me of that movie ‘Identity’ with John Cusack. You ever see that shit?”

“Is that the one where Cusack delivers a bag to a creepy motel out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Nah, man. That’s ‘The Bagman’ but it did have a creepy motel.” he said.

“Okay, so is Identity the one where Cusack has to stay in a haunted hotel room?” Jackie asked.

“No goddammit, that’s ‘1408.’ Identity is the one where there’s like a dozen people stranded at this motel in the middle of nowhere and they start getting killed one by one.”

“Okay, first of all: why does John Cusack stay in so many scary motels?”

“Typecasting?”

“And secondly, why are we talking about this while we’re standing in the scariest motel ever?”

“Third question.” I interrupted. “Do you two ever shut up?”

We entered Room 303 and finding it completely thrashed, lingered in the doorway. Mattress slashed, threadbare blankets ripped, and every stick of furniture broken. The stench in the room was overpowering. The source was easy to spot; a cadaver lay rotting amid scattered toys on the floor.

“Rock and roll.” Felix said glibly.

We slowly searched the room.

“Dude check this out!” Felix excitedly waved his latest find: a teddy bear stitched together with human skin, complete with male genitals and real eyeballs too. Just looking at it gave me the creeps.

Giggling, Felix waved the bear inches from the Kid’s face. “Come here and let me give you a big old kiss!”

“Ugh, it’s blinking at me.” Jackie said.

“You’re coming home with me little buddy!” He stuffed the doll into his backpack.

We heard a scraping sound inside a large armoire in the corner with the doors shut. Everyone went silent immediately. Vasquez pointed his gun at it.

“Come on out of there slowly, and you won’t get shot.”

There was no noise or movement of any kind in response. Felix sighed before moving very slowly towards the armoire. He pulled the door open quickly, surprising the woman crouched inside. She was covered head-to-toe with bleeding holes from the cock-roaches.

“Climb out of there slowly, with your hands up.” Vasquez said. The woman seemed to comply with Vasquez’s order, her palms open and weaponless.

The Kid hesitated for just an instant when she sprang at him. The woman grabbed his hand, pointing the gun away from herself and he fired out of reflex, the blast ringing in our ears. He tripped over the corpse on the floor, falling backwards. His head hit the floorboards, dazing him momentarily.

She straddled him, clawing his face and howling like a banshee until Jackie stepped forward and bashed the other woman upside the head with the butt of her rifle. The woman collapsed to the floor, clutching her bleeding skull.

“Oh God, don’t kill me, don’t kill me!” she sobbed as she cowered and covered her head with both arms.

“Quiet!”

The woman shut her mouth instantly, but her body visibly trembled and her eyes welled up. Occasionally, tears ran down her face, leaving twin trails on her filthy cheeks.

“Damn guys, isn’t that a little harsh? I mean, look at her. She’s scared and she’s hurt!” said the New Kid.

“Look Kid, I explained this before but let me make it perfectly clear. She isn’t a person deserving of respect and dignity. She’s a very bad person who did very bad things and ended up in a very bad place.” I said.

“Yeah, but-“

“Everyone, and I mean everyone, in the Down Below deserves to be here. No one wakes up down here for being an atheist, or being gay, or for smoking weed when you were sixteen.” I continued.

“Every single person in the Bad Place committed at least one genuine act of pure, unmitigated evil.” I counted off a list on each finger. “Rape, murder, torture. Shoot, I’ve even been on a job to collect a Wall Street banker who stole people’s retirement accounts then blew it on hookers and cocaine.”

“The point is that they did something that caused pain and suffering to others and whatever they did was enough to earn a ticket Way Down to Hadestown.” I pointed to the woman crouched and shaking on the floor. “That includes Little Miss Sunshine here.”

“You try anything like that again, and I’ll shoot your hands off. You run, I shoot your feet. Am I making myself clear?” Jackie said to our target.

“Yes.”

“Is your name Laura?”

“Yes… how…?”

Felix gripped the woman roughly by her chin and held her face up. Vasquez pulled out the centerfold and looked back and forth from one to the other.

“That’s a positive ID on the primary target.” Vasquez said.

“Great, can we get the Hell out of here now?” said the New Kid.

“Goddammit Fucktard, we told you not to say the H-Word!” Felix yelled angrily. He grabbed the Kid by the straps of his flak jacket and shoved him back against the wall.

The New Kid stammered out an apology, but we all knew the damage had already been done. By all rights, we could have abandoned him right then and there. We could have left him to die, but for the time being, we still needed another pair of hands to finish the job.

“We need to get out. Now. We have definitely overstayed our welcome. Bag her up.” I said.

Felix and Jackie grabbed the target by the arms, holding them together and Vasquez locked handcuffs to her wrists. The Kid shoved a black bag over the target’s head despite her protests.

Prize in hand, we made our way out of the motel room just as fast as we could.

----------

At long last we made it to a stretch of blacktop. Abandoned vehicles filled the road and we cautiously threaded our way around them. Each vehicle was rusted or gutted, and most of them had corpses for passengers. The Damned turned their rotting heads to watch us pass, reaching weakly out to grab us.

Dead weeds stuck up wherever they could find purchase in the cracks. We found that the road had been melted, cooled, and reformed. Several Damned had been submerged in the asphalt, arms outstretched as if surfacing from beneath a pool of black oil. Their cries were muffled but still audible. There were impressions left behind in the asphalt after it had released its prizes to the scavengers who came later.

“Hey, do you hear that?” Jackie asked.

“Hear what?” said the New Kid.

“Sounds like something scraping on metal. Listen. It’s coming from over there.”

Obscured by the tinted windows of a camper shell, something moved in the back of a rusted pickup sitting up on cinder blocks. The New Kid crept slowly up to the back of the truck and dropped the tailgate.

A sleek, obsidian hound with a human head launched itself out of the back of the truck. Its fur was black and glistening, with a body built for speed like a greyhound but with the face of a man. It opened its disjointed jaw and roared like a mountain lion, revealing rows of serrated shark teeth.

Like a heat-seeking missile, it hurtled itself at the Kid with every intention of clamping its jaws around his throat. He brought his arm up to block the hound’s attack and the beast locked its fang-filled maw around his limb.

The creature snarled, shaking the Kid like a rag doll, intent on tearing his arm off in a gout of blood. Claws tore his clothing, and the Kid screamed in pain as triangular teeth began to puncture holes in the flesh of his arm.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a short length of wood. He scrambled for it in the dust with his left hand while the dog savaged his right arm. The New Kid finally managed to wrap his hand around the sturdy board and brought it down on the canine’s square-shaped head in a sweeping arc. There was a loud crack as the board connected, but he could’ve been smacking it with a flyswatter for all the good it did. He struck the sharkdog in its human-shaped face with the board over and over again. The New Kid tried shoving the end into the monster’s mouth to pry it open, but the beast refused to release his bleeding arm.

The moment I saw an opening I shoved my old Ka-Bar knife right into the side of its head. The beast shuddered and died, collapsing in a heap on top of the Kid. He wiped blood and gore off his face and looked up with bleary eyes.

“Told you not to use the H-Word.” I said.

We stopped beside a rusting Quonset hut for a quick break. Jackie dug around in her backpack for a pack of smokes and her lighter. Felix went to take a leak on the other side of the building.

I took a swig from my canteen. The water in the canteen had a sharp taste of iodine from the purification pills I’d dropped in: not unexpected from reclaimed water, but always tough to stomach.

Vasquez sat the package down beside the Quonset and removed her hood long enough for me to give Laura a drink of water. She gulped it down gratefully before we replaced the hood on her head.

I mentally inventoried the remaining water. We all had plastic bottles in our packs plus had the canteen on my hip. I’d read somewhere that the best place to store water was inside ourselves. While I understood that intellectually, I couldn’t help but be daunted at the prospect of making our way across the desert without any water tucked away for later.

Rations were running low too.

We were still many miles away from an exit Topside, and the Bad Place was always full of surprises.

“Hey Garrett. Got a minute?” Vasquez beckoned me over to the side of the building. “You know what I just realized?” he asked.

“That simultaneous revelations aren’t a thing?”

Vasquez leaned in to whisper in my ear. “We are now standing in the Tollway.”

“Route 666?” I asked.

He nodded. “I didn’t recognize it before because there’s no tollbooth and no signs. But one of us is going to pay the toll. You know who I mean.”

I looked over at the New Kid. He was nursing a knot on the back of his head and his face was still all scratched up from Laura’s fingernails. The New Kid removed the sopping bandage wrapped around his arm. The wound where the sharkdog had bit him was black with infected tissue.

Together, we coldly calculated his chances of survival and came up short.

The New Kid was taking a leak on the side of a rusted Quonset hut while Vasquez and I decided his fate.

Rumbling engine noises heralded the arrival of a flat-black sedan on the horizon. A vehicle of generic make and model, the police cruiser had clearly driven through “You-Know-Where” and come out on the other side.

Jackie and Felix grabbed our target and the five of us hustled behind the Quonset, hiding as quick as we could and praying we weren’t seen. The New Kid wasn’t so lucky. The dumb fuck stood there with his dick in his hands and didn’t notice the police cruiser until it was too late.

The battle-scarred vehicle came to a stop, engine idling. The dented drivers’ side door opened and a bipedal male wearing a khaki uniform emerged from the dark interior of the cab. At first glance he may even have passed for human except that every inch of skin was horribly burnt and mutilated. Steel-toed boots crunched on the gravel as he approached.

The Trooper peered at the Kid through his mirrored aviator sunglasses. One hand rested on the nightstick tucked into his belt.

Unsure what to expect, I kept my hand near my pistol just in case.

“You live around here, boy?”

“No sir. Just passing through and found the place like this.”

“I find out you’re lying to me, we’re going to have a problem, boy.”

“Understood.” Every now and then, I caught a glimpse of scarred flesh beneath his shirt.

“Alright then. Just so long as we have an understanding between us.” The Trooper looked around at the horizon almost as if he’d forgotten he was in the middle of a conversation. His gaze settled back on the Kid. “What’s your name, son?”

“My name?”

“Don’t play dumb now.”

Without warning the Trooper pulled a baton from his belt and smashed the Kid with a merciless blow. He doubled over in pain, clutching his belly.

The Trooper loomed over the Kid, lightly smacking the baton in the palm of his palm.

“Looks like you in a heap of trouble here, boy.” the Trooper said with a pronounced Southern accent. He pronounced “here” like “he-ah.”

“You look healthy, don’t have the shakes. No sir, I can tell just from lookin’ at you. You a young man, your back is strong, and you got all your parts in working order, yes sir. You got your whole life in front of you. Seems to me you’ll make a fine slave.”

“You’re gonna dig for us with your bare hands, until your skin is gone, and you dig until your finger bones are worn down to lil’ nubbins. Yessuh, and I’m gonna beat you so bad you’re gonna thank me for the privilege of diggin’.”

The Trooper raised the baton to smash the Kid over the head.

Shots rang out as I unloaded my Glock 9mm into the Trooper’s head, blasting him over and over again. Bullets shattered his aviator shades and tore holes in his khaki uniform before the Trooper fell to the ground. We ran up and Jackie fired her shotgun point-blank into the Trooper’s face before checking on the Kid.

“That seems like overkill, Jackie.” I said with a smirk.

“Overkill is nothing but a word.”

“That stick looks like lacquered hickory but felt like rebar covered in nettles.” The Kid hissed.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here. If one Trooper found us, more are on the way.” I said.

The crew hurried into the Cruiser while the target went into the trunk like a piece of luggage.

“Buckle up.”

“I don’t want to.” the New Kid pouted.

That nasally whine was the last straw. Ice water flowed through my veins. It must have showed on my face because when he saw my expression he recoiled.

“I don’t give a fuck what you want. I ain’t your brother, I ain’t your dad. Lately I ain’t even a nice person. If you don’t do what I say when I say I will knock you the fuck out and make it happen. Now buckle the fuck up.”

He buckled up.

I shifted the police cruiser into drive and stomped on the gas. Nothing happened. “No.” I stomped on it again, shouting louder each time. “No, no, no! I do not believe this horseshit!”

“Is it a Ford?” Felix joked.

Aggravated, my forehead hit the steering wheel. The Troopers were bearing down on us fast. I stomped down on the gas out of frustration and the Cruiser lurched forward. Surprised, I looked up and the vehicle died again, whiplashing our necks. “What the-?”

I closed my eyes, gripped the wheel, and stepped on the gas. The Cruiser moved forward slowly.

“Guys, you’re not going to like this.”

An hour later and my heart was still hammering in my chest and I was white-knuckling the wheel. Vasquez sat right beside me, giving me directions as I drove pedal-to-the-metal with my eyes shut tight.

Bullets pinged off our vehicle and I ducked out of reflex. I could barely hear the gunshots over the roaring engines and police sirens.

“Can’t this piece of shit go any faster?!” Jackie screamed inches from my ear. Jackie turned in her seat, firing a few potshots at the other cruiser.

Felix rooted around in the Army surplus duffel bag and pulled a homemade pipe bomb from the bottom. He lit the fuse with a cheap gas station lighter, let it cook for a moment, then lobbed it out the window at our pursuers.

His throw fell short, and the pipe bomb landed in the middle of the road.

Whether it was Luck or Fate or God deciding to finally give us a break, the second cop car drove over top of the pipe bomb, straddling it with all four tires before it went off.

The police cruiser lifted off the ground, bursting into flame and sending two Troopers screaming into oblivion.

“Keep driving, let’s get as many miles away from here as we can before this thing runs out of gas.” Vasquez instructed.

The sun was setting, and already a cold wind was sweeping down from the hills. Within an hour the temperature would drop by fifty degrees. Sleeping in the exposed cab of the police cruiser would prove to be a very uncomfortable option that night.

And the next night.

And the next.

Four of us left the New Kid hogtied and blubbering in the middle of the road. None of us said a word about it, but we all knew our offering was accepted because we found an exit Topside within an hour.

To this day, I don’t know what dragged him screaming into the desert. But the toll had to be paid.

----------

We delivered the package to a seedy film studio on the outskirts of Las Vegas, Nevada. On the soundstage was a set built out of plywood and made to look like a teen girl’s bedroom: painted pink and full of stuffed dolls. Stage lights hung from metal bars where the room’s ceiling should be, and several cameras were aimed at the bed from different angles.

We were escorted by a couple of hired goons. Low-rent thugs with chrome-played Glocks tucked in the waistband of their jeans.

Vasquez led the way past the stage lights and cameras. Jackie and I flanked the package, while Felix rolled behind with a sawed-off shotgun cradled in his lap.

“You know what the worst job here would be?” Felix asked.

“What?” I sighed.

“Janitor. Can you imagine cleaning this place every night? ‘Excuse me sir, can you lift your feet? I’m trying to mop here’.”

“Jesus, Felix.” I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

“Every night you have to clean it! You can’t imagine the smell!”

“Sure I can.” Jackie retorted. “Like a warm turtle tank probably.”

Felix chortled loudly.

Our customer was a loathsome weasel named Bob Gunkel. He was fat, slowly sliding his way to four hundred pounds. He came out of his office wearing a Hawaiian shirt with huge sweat stains under his pits. He wiped cheese puff dust off his hands, leaving long orange fingerprints on his khakis. The very sight of him made my skin crawl.

“Well? Did you bring her back to me?”

Vasquez pulled the black bag off the package’s head.

“You did it! I have to admit, I had my doubts when I heard you could bring her back but you actually did it!” Gunkel caressed her with his meaty fingers and the expression on his face looked like he was already creaming his pants. She flinched away, but we’d kept the ankle chains and handcuffs on for a reason.

“Laura, sweet Laura, I know I got carried away the last time we were together, but I promise you this time is going to be different!”

Vasquez gripped my arm before I even realized my fist was clenched.

“Sir, not to interrupt, but if you’ll just pay us our fee we’ll be on our way and leave you two alone together.”

“Of course!” He snapped his fingers and one of the goons retrieved a couple of greasy fast food sacks, handing them to Vasquez.

Vasquez checked the paper bags and the wads of cash inside. Jackie and I watched the goon squad to see if their hands moved towards their pistols.

“Are we good?” Gunkel asked.

Everyone held their breath for a moment.

“Yeah, we’re good.” Vasquez said. “Let’s move out, team.”

“You lovebirds have a real nice time now, y’hear!” Felix called on the way out.

Later that night we were sitting in a strip club called Sin Bragas working our way through our second bottle of Don Julio Blanco.

On the asphalt, neon-drenched streets of Topside, we're nothings and nobodies. Between the fast food and taxes, the bad gas station coffee and the past-due child support payments, we’re just pieces of soiled human garbage. In a world of drugs, traffic, radio, politics, smoke and mirrors, we’re little more than dirty, disposable pawns.

Yet amongst the freak show outlaws and leather-clad outcasts, the occult cabals and deranged sickos, the demon summoners, the adrenaline junkies, and conspiracy nuts who make up the heart of the Hades-diving fringe, we’re death-defying, bigger-than-life rock stars.

Every form of fame has its own form of groupies. There are women who sent marriage proposals to Ted Bundy when he was on Death Row, for God’s sake.

Most of us had a scantily-clad woman hanging on an arm or crawling in our lap. Jackie was busy showing off her new tattoo, flexing biceps as big as my head. Her upper arm shined with fresh ink depicting a sexy Devil Girl straddling a black spade with the number “13” in racecar red.

“Well, I gotta go drop the kids off at the pool. Felix said.

Vasquez rolled his eyes and jerked a thumb towards the hallway behind him. Felix rolled his wheelchair to the men’s room. I followed.

When I stepped into the men’s room Felix was pounding on the handicap stall door. “As if my life wasn’t hard enough!” Felix shouted.

I was standing at the urinal when one of the local yokels came in. I recognized him as the hillbilly at the bar telling racist jokes to the stone-faced bartender.

Now, every man knows that there are unspoken rules of men’s room etiquette. When you’re first and there are multiple urinals on the wall, you’re supposed to take the spot furthest from the door. When you come in second, you take the spot furthest from the first guy. What you don’t do, what you never, ever, ever do is stand at the urinal directly adjacent to the first man. That’s a surefire path to an ass-kicking in my book. Of course, this mullet-wearing motherfucker decided to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me.

“You guys are Hellcrashers, aren’t you?” he asked.

I didn’t respond.

“Dude, you guys just go down to Hell, kick Satan in the balls, and rescue the souls of big-tittied single moms. Man, that’s fucking awesome. “What’s it like being a Hellcrasher, bro?”

“Ever hear the one about the guy who wouldn’t shut the fuck up with his dick in his hand?” I curtly replied without looking at him.

“Um, no?”

I reached up and grabbed the hair on the back of his head then slammed him face-first into the tile. His nose broke and he crumpled like a wet paper sack, hitting his chin on the urinal on the way down to the floor. I hosed him down with the contents of my bladder for good measure.

“That’s what it’s like.”

I was washing my hands when I heard Felix shouting.

“Hey! Can somebody toss me some toilet paper? I’m all out of shit tickets over here!”

I left the club without a word.

[sparklyaxolotlstudent]

Because I haven’t been able to make a fic introducing my concepts to the ML-verse, I decided to skip those and write stuff after the fact. 

Long Story short: At least one of the Miraculous boxes was stolen and cursed. The cursed Miraculous were scattered and sealed, and Ladybug using the Miraculous cure for the first time managed to wake them up. 

A guy in Mexico managed to heal one(Teamwork), while another one was healed by itself(Healing). When they tried to heal a third one(Movement), both Kwami and holder feel into a magical coma. They went to Paris, where they knew Ladybug was, and Master Fu managed to wake them up. 

He tried to give the Miraculous to Master Fu, but he entrusted him to recover the rest of the cursed Miraculous (His test was that he didn’t hesitate to give them when Master Fu asked in exchange for waking the kwami and the holder (Who He didn’t personally know) He also taught them about Unifying the Kwamis of Teamwork and Healing would allow them to Heal the Curses without magical comas.

Without further ado:

NEW BEGINNINGS  

-

It was a dark and stormy night… or rather, Ladybug wished it was. She had just had one of the worst days of her life and the night was calm and quiet. She almost wished something would happen just so she could stop thinking about Master Fu, about Hawk Moth about losing all the temporary heroes now that he knew who they were, and about what would happen if Chat Noir learned her identity.

She could feel the cold Parisian air as she used her magical yo-yo to swing from rooftop from rooftop, and for the first time in her life, she could understand how Elsa had wanted to flee from everything in her life. She had to help her parents at the bakery. She had to do well in school. She had to be the Class Representative. She had to design for Jagged Stone. She had to be Ladybug. She had to save Paris. And now, she also had to be the Guardian.

It’s not that she didn’t enjoyed each and everything she does, but at times, she just wanted to scream and take a breath. It was too much. It was too much.

She had latterly even enjoyed some of the akuma fights, as they allowed her to de-stress in the form of punching said Akuma. How wrong was that? She was supposed to focus and deal with them to minimize the damage. Sure, her “Miraculous Ladybug” trick undid all physical damage, but she wasn’t so sure it undid all psychological damage that being kidnapped, send to another dimension, transformed into an inanimate object… drowning…

She reached a rooftop and took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to just scream into the night. She had thought of using Kaalki to go far away and allow herself to scream, to cry and to openly weep the loss of her mentor, but knew that the power of the Miraculous shouldn’t be used for personal gain, and as the new guardian, she should never succumb to temptation.

She looked around and smiled bitterly. She had brought herself to Master Fu old house. She both hoped that Chat would show up, just to take her mind off those thoughts, and at the same time she hoped he wouldn’t show up, as he would probably just flirt with her and won’t understand a thing of what she had going on, despite being there when it happened.

She sighed, took a seat and decided to watch the stars.

And that’s when she noticed someone coming out of the house. She sighed again. Maybe the night won’t be uneventful after all.

She jumped out of the rooftop where she had been sitting and in a swift motion of her yo-yo she captured the evil doer. A young man, she analyzed. A bit on the shorter side, dark hair, brown eyes… he looks somewhat familiar. The guy looked at her and laughed.

“Hey there Little Lady! I was about to go looking for you”

Ladybug raised her eyebrow. She recognized the nickname, but it couldn’t be him… and then something came out of the backpack the guy was wearing.

“Hello Ladybug!” said the small creature “Long time no seeing you, how ‘you been?” The little brown and blue skunk-like thing said, ignoring the guy tied up in the yo-yo string behind them.

“Hey Izztli. Wait… then that is… Skunk?”

“Not the identity reveal I was looking for, but yeah. Hi”

Ladybug released him from her yo-yo, and helped him stand up. She looked at him with curiosity.

“I… what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad of seeing you but… wait, have you been practicing your French?”

“Not at all. And that’s one of the reasons I’m here” The young man looked around. “We probably should talk in a more private place” he added, taking a key out of his pocket and opening Master Fu house with it. Ladybug’s eyes went wide. She hadn’t notice before that he had used a key.

“Where did you got that key?” Asked Ladybug once they were inside the main house.

Marinette couldn’t help but feel sad. The place was pretty much as she remembered. The same furniture, the same decoration… but there was nothing personal of Master Fu. Everything that meant something to him he had taken when he left. It made it seem emptier somehow. The guy took a seat and invited Ladybug to do the same.

“Well Little Lady, Master Fu called me a couple of weeks ago. I told him I had gotten a new Miraculous and was on my way over so he could check it out, but he insisted I should wait until this specific date to come. We ended up finding another one in the meantime.”

The boy showed Ladybug his new Miraculous and opened his backpack. “Come on guys, say ‘Hi’ to Ladybug”

Four kwamis came out of the backpack. Ladybug still wasn’t used to how this guy could have so many miraculous at once, but it was probably because he was technically an adult.

“Ladybug!” said a black and gold one, which Marinette knew was the Axolotl of healing. He hugged Ladybug’s head, as did the turquoise one, the Hummingbird of Movement.

“Hi Cuilli, hello Xihuu, how are you guys?”

“Awesome! We rescued two friends!”

The skunk kwami nudged the other two creatures towards Ladybug.

“Ladybug, is my honor to introduce you to Coattl, the Serpent of Communication, and the reason we are understanding each other right now”

“A pleasure my lady” said the grey serpent in a feminine and pleasant voice. “My power allows the holder of my Miraculous to understand and be understood by anyone they talk to”

“The pleasure is all mine, Coattl”

“And this is Mattli, the Ahuizotl of Wealth” The guy grinned. “He’s the reason I was able to come here via airplane now”

“’sup Ladybug” said the little Kwami, not really paying attention to Ladybug, but looking around the place.

“His power makes things into valuables. He transformed some stuff into gold, which I sold and then got the tickets to come here. Good thing Kwamis don’t show in x-rays”

“Wouldn’t it be much faster to use Xihuu?”

“Yes, but I needed to come here legally. Master Fu was insistent on that. He also told me were I would be able to find this key, but I haven’t been able to contact him at all. Do you…”

The guy noticed Ladybug change of expression and immediately noticed something was wrong.

“Do you need to talk about it?”

Ladybug sighed. “I can’t, or I might lose control and…”

“Say no more! Xihuu, on the move!”

“What are you doing?” asked Ladybug alarmed, after the guy had transformed into Colibri, or how he called himself when he used the Hummingbird Miraculous.

“You need this” He took his hula hoop, “Ollin!” the hula hoop reduced in size until it became a bracelet in his arm. He grabbed his backpack, and the other Kwamis got inside it. He then offered his hand to Ladybug. “Trust me” she took his hand, and then both were teleported in turquoise sparks.

The first thing she noticed was that the sun it was still up wherever Colibri had teleported them.

“Xihuu, let’s stay!” Colibri said, transforming again into the same guy as before. He opened his backpack, freeing the other kwamis and taking some candies for Xihuu.

“Welcome to my home Little Lady!” He announced, while closing the curtains. “My name is Mateo Torres. We’re in Mexico now, so you can relax and… well, let it go.” He flourished with his hand. To Ladybug’s surprise, he had a poster of Frozen. “Hawk Moth won’t notice us here”

Ladybug sighed, and told Mateo everything. About how Hawk Moth had discovered the guardian due to Feast (Which Mateo deduced was the reason Master Fu had called him), about Chat Blanc, about Mayura, about Chloe Bourgeois betrayal, about how she couldn’t call the temporal heroes anymore for help… and about how Master Fu had to sacrifice his memories, his whole self...

And since she was able to rant out safely, and felt like she could trust Mateo, she also told him about Lila and about how she had to leave Adrien, how Chat Noir wasn’t an option for her anymore, and how she was now the New Guardian at 14 and how dare he use a Miraculous for personal gain.

“That’s rough buddy… wait… you’re fourteen?”

“Tikki, spots off” she said, becoming Marinette again. “My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And I’m tired” Tikki looked at her holder and just hugged her face. The other Kwamis present did the same.

“I’m 20, and I’m suddenly not very comfortable.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Relax, you’re not even in my radar”

“What? No, gross, you’re like a sister to me,I knew you were younger than me, but I thought you were at least 18 and on the petite side. I’m uncomfortable because you have been defending Paris for longer than I have had a Miraculous, and you’re way younger than me to boost!”

“Does that mean that the Little Lady is our Guardian now?” asked Coattl. The other kwamis looked at both humans with wide eyes.

“NO!” said Marinette, a little louder than she intended to be. “Master Fu trusted you like he trusted me. He probably wanted you to be the Guardian of the Life and Death Miraculous like he wanted me to be…” Marinette stopped and sobbed.

“It’s ok Little Lady” he said, placing a hand over Marinette’s shoulder. Marinette pulled him into a hug and started to cry. “It’s ok. I now know why he gave me that key. I’m moving to Paris to help you against Hawk Moth”

“WHAT? NO WAY!” Marinette pulled him away. “Don’t get me wrong, I would love to have someone to talk to about this stuff, but you need to be able to lift the curses on the Aztec kwamis as soon as they appear!”

“And I will; it’s not like Xihuu can’t help me move to where we are needed”

“And what about school? You said you were in university”

“I actually dropped out a while back”

“WHAT? NO! You shouldn’t put your life on hold just for the miraculous!”

“And you should?” asked Mateo raising an eyebrow

Marinette looked away.

“I wasn’t getting the best of grades just being the Hooded Skunk, the whole mess with the rest of the cursed Miraculous just made them worse. But now thanks to Mattli I can totally concentrate on finding the rest of the Miraculous”

Marinette crossed her arms. “You shouldn’t use the Miraculous for personal gain” Tikki nodded in agreement. The other kwamis looked like they wanted to agree, but didn’t want to go against to their master wishes.

“I agree, but it’s not like I’m living a millionaire’s life” he gestured to the rest of his house. Marinette had to agree her house was a lot better. “And Master Fu gave me his old house. I’m guessing he wanted to give it to you, but couldn’t risk Hawk Moth putting two and two together”

“And he wouldn’t with you?”

“As far as everyone in Paris will know, I’m a crazy foreigner who bought that old house… Darn, I will need to get a job to justify expenses.”

“Well, there should be a spot at my school for…”

“Yeah, no, school work would probably be full time. I’ll just probably just ‘import’ Mexican sweets”

“… You’re going to abuse Xihuu’s power for candy?”

“Hey, you guardian you way, I’ll guardian my way. Plus, I only need a front, not a get-rich-quick scheme”

Marinette sighed and closed her eyes, thinking about it.

“Wait, I just realized that technically speaking, you have more experience than me, so you’ll be my mentor”

Marinette opened her eyes, and laughed.

“We would only see each other as heroes… and please only help when I ask you to.”

“I agree. It would be weird to hang out with you… well, like this... But still, don’t hesitate to ask me to abuse my powers when you need some stress release” He smiled smugly. Marinette hit him playfully on the arm.

“Deal!” Marinette cleaned her face, wiping away the tears, feeling much better. “Hawk Moth won’t know what hit him. Tikki, Spots on!”

“Xihuu, On the Move!”

-

I’ll probably continue this in a non-linear way, like, there will be more parts, but I’ll maybe skip some parts or return to them... I dunno honestly.

[raisinbran79]

((( Please give feedback!! I'm a sad writer))))

The day came late for Jack Brown. The afternoon sunlight shot through his broken blinds pulling him from a restless slumber. Sometimes before he opens his eyes, he’ll forget where he is. He’ll forget his dread of embracing the day. 

Jack opens his eyes and in a haze looks towards his smartphone. His skeletal fingers were shaking and the camera app on his phone flashed a reflection at him. Jack brown could be mistaken for a corpse if it wasn’t for the bright, ice blue of his eyes. He cringed at his reflection and went to check the time.

Sitting up in his single bed, his lungs felt full. He pushes out a strangled cough. Jack wiped his face and saw the black sludge that had leaked out of his lungs. Jack felt a lump in his stomach whenever he thought about his grandmother dying of lung cancer. even though his grandmother had passed from lung cancer when he was 21, hence the reason he is now the sole resident of her rent-controlled apartment. Jack remembered the day he had found her in the kitchen slumped over a bowl of cheerios with her oxygen tank screaming for more air, as her lungs probably did. 

Jack looks around her apartment: It was a small place stacked with his grandmother's old paperba and erotica novels, her moth-eaten old furniture, and  pictures of her friends and family that he had never met. Evidence of a long and happy life should have been a comfort to Jack. He wanted to erase all the evidence of her. Make this his real home, yet he couldn’t bear to do it. These photographs lined every wall, even in the bedroom. He felt like a stranger here, like he didn’t belong. Like everywhere else, even in his own home, he had strangers staring at him. The constant loneliness of a million eyes glaring was now the only comfort he held inside of himself. 

Jack pulled himself out of bed, groaning with each pop in his bones. He picked up his uniform from the floor, A grey pinstripe button-up with SECURITY detailed on the front pocket and black slacks. In the pocket were a crushed pack of cigarettes and his father's red pocket knife, a reminder of the man he would never be. Beside him on the nightside table was a photo of Jack and his father. When his father was younger you could’ve sworn he was a movie star. Long blonde hair, and not even one crooked tooth. Jack pushed a hand through his dusty blond hair and ran his tongue over his yellowing teeth. He cleared his throat again and placed a cigarette in his mouth. One of his darker fantasies involved him waking up one morning and coughing so hard bits of his lung would spill out of his mouth, at least he wouldn’t have to go to work.

Jack made his way to the kitchen and opened up his fridge. The only thing cast in the fluorescent light was a dilapidated birthday cake. It had been Jack's birthday less than a week ago. Some of his coworkers had got together and purchased it for him. It was a vanilla cake ( he hated vannile) with pink icing. On the top of the cake, in red swirly lettering was “ Happy Birthday Jake!”  The mistake did not bother Jack, the subject of birthday cake had always been a sore spot anyways. 

His father Bo Brown, smelled like cheap barley and stale tobacco. A cigar always seemed to be perched in between his index and pointed finger. Jack, had always thought the way his mama, Eleanor Brown, was different and more delicate. As if in between those red painted fingernails she was holding a daisy. It was Jack’s sixth birthday and Eleanor had baked him a vanilla birthday cake with cream cheese frosting. His father, always being one for celebration, was very very drunk. What Jack didn’t understand was that drunkenness was the closest thing to goodness his father was capable of. The alcohol disillusioned his ambitions making him an unpredictable and stupid man.  

In the doorway of the kitchen his mother stood with the birthday cake. She was a round woman. 

Her eyes were like two round blue and green globes like the one in his classroom, and her cheeks round summer peaches. Jack did not receive his mother’s body type, instead he was cold and angular like his father. Eleanor stood with the cake on a platter and six red candles illuminating her smile in a heavenly halo. Bo sat at the kitchen table tapping his yellowed fingernails on the table and sipping his drink. The ice cubes clinked as he clapped his son on the back and yelled drunkenly 

“ Well, Ellie, our sons are finally a man!” he shouted, “ and a man deserves a man’s gift.” 

From his work jeans Jack’s father brandished a black box. When he opened it, a tiny red pocket layed there peacefully. 

“ Now Bo, don’t you think he’s a little.. Young” his mother laughed sheepishly, her eyes brandishing terror. 

“ Now Bo, don’t you think he’s a little young” Bo mocked as pure rage flashed across his face and he flicked open the knife and pointed it towards his wife. 

“ Don’t you ever tell a man what to do and what not to do with his son!” he drove the knife down into the table. 

The room was so quiet  Jack could hear the blood pumping in his father's veins. His father’s face erupted into a tepid smile as he handed Jack the knife

“ I’m only joking Jackie” his father clapped him on the back once again. 

Jack was too afraid to cry. However as his mother placed the birthday cake in front of him, he saw tears in her eyes. 

“ Happy birthday Jack” 

He was too young to feel this old, but even the twenty-minute walk to the bus stop winded him. He passed young millennials with their smartphones and turtlenecks. He didn’t know who he was a part of, 23 is an ever confusing age anyways. If Jack had it his way he’d be seventy already so there would be an excuse to be so miserable. 

Jack sat toward the back of the bus as he always did. In front of him was a younger couple. The girl had short bleached hair and was wearing an oversize jean jacket with the words `` Reject society!” painted in bright red. The boy had a shaved head and was wearing a green knit sweater. His large combat boots were sticking in the aisle. As the bus started to roll the girl pulled out a cell phone and a set of headphones. She put one earbud in his ear and one in hers. The boy smiled at her, and she giggled. She set her head on his shoulder and even though Jack couldn’t see her, he knew she was smiling. He felt strange looking at them. As if he was eavesdropping on their little world. Jack was jealous of them. He was jealous he didn’t have someone to rest their head on his shoulder. To hold hands as they walked home together. To smoke cigarettes on his balcony with. Jack wasn’t unattractive. It was that Jack was terrified of people. Isolation, Jack realized, brings a lot of things. Jack thought he would forget how to speak. That his words would shoot up in his throat, and stop just behind his teeth and he`d choke on them. That his tongue would never move again and turn to cement, that`d he'd die struggling for breath. Even if those things happen .. then he wouldn’t mind too much. 

The bus slowed to a stop and the young, in-love couple scurried off. Once again as Jack stood up, his bones popped and cracked. He exited the bus, gently apologizing as he bumped into people. They said nothing back. 

Most people were exiting the museum as he hurried up the steps. Jack loved how it looked. It was reminiscent of the old homes in the south. Tall white, marble pillars in front of the doors, large glass doors with gold trimming that never chipped. Long flower boxes on each of the windows that always held cigarette butts and grocery store flowers. The building itself held an undeniable glow to anyone that stood in its shadow. 

As he entered the building one of the curators, Quinn, gave him a polite smile. Quinn was tall with dark, dark brown hair. For what Jack knew, she was nice and very very smart. Quinn always knew when to speak and she was the best with guided tours. Jack thought maybe he could ask her out for a drink one night. Maybe they'd start talking about art, and the music they liked and what he wanted in ten years. Maybe she would kiss Jack outside of his favourite Chinese restaurant and maybe Jack would meet her parents. If not that, maybe they could just be friends. 

Jack didn't have time for all that, if Jack had the right words, maybe. 

He set his bags down on the front desk and clocked in at the computer. Jack sat down and stared at the setting sun through the long windows. It was just about time to lock the door. He crossed the large entrance hall, his work boots echoing through the museum. Jack pulled his ring of keys from his belt when all of sudden Quinn was barreling up the stars. Beige high heels in hand. Jack opened up the door as she reached the top.

" Jack!" She shouted, " You're a damn lifesaver!" 

" Is everything okay?" He said 

" Yes, yes I just forgot my wallet" 

Jack let her in, and she pushed past him walking toward the front desk. 

" It's my anniversary tonight, and I didn’t want to be without" she chuckled 

" Congratulations Quinn" he smiled 

" Thank you, thank you. Were going to his favourite Chinese place on the upper side -"

" The Golden Castle?" Jack asked 

" Yes! That's the one?" She asked 

There was a silent pause as Quinn dug through the drawers at the front desk. 

" Is it only you here tonight?" She asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence. 

" Always is" 

Quinn lifted her wallet into the air triumphantly. Smiling beautifully. 

`` Well, Jack if you get too bored, there's a new exhibit just down the hall..``

She came close to him, too close. Jack tried not to be weird. But He saw her crystalline eyes reflect from the dying sunset and the small scar above her top lip. She had freckles too, hundreds of them dotted all across her face. When she smiled, her top teeth were crooked, it made her face look kind and warm. Jack looked up from her lips. 

`` Technically it’s a preservation piece, I haven’t even seen it. But, since you’re all alone” she said “ Maybe you could take a peak and tell me all about it.” 

Her body pressed against his as she leaned into his ear 

“Just don't let anyone find out, it`ll be our little secret. Okay?”

Jack beamed at her request . He put two fingers to his lips and then into the air.

“I promise, Scouts honour,” Jack said with fake confidence

There it was again, that little laugh, and that gorgeous smile. 

“ Have a good night Jack” she moved past him and out the door. She fluttered down the stairs quickly. 

“Hey, Quinn!” Jack called after her horsley 

“ Yea?!” Quinn called back from down the stairs 

“ Try the eggrolls” 

Quinn looked up at him, smiled once again and slipped into a taxi. Jack was still smiling when he closed and locked the door. He turned away from the door, and finally his cheeks fell. His face burned from smiling so hard. 

“Jesus Jack,” he thought to himself, ``Try the egg rolls?`

The night rolled on as it always does, slow and with no mercy. Jack had his feet up on the front desk and was scrolling through the 10 cameras set up on an old computer monitor. He moved his hand onto the mouse and clicked through the cameras carelessly. 

Jack knew that there was no way that anyone could get in or out of this place. His job was merely peace of mind to the faceless millionaire that owned this place. While he had never met his boss, he always pictured him as an overweight man in a tight navy suit. Usually smoking a thick cigar and having a large shiny bald head. Kind of like the old mob bosses in his father’s favourite movies. 

 All of a sudden, there was a slight itching behind his ear. He dragged his dirty fingernails behind his ear, trying to soothe the itch. The more he scratched however the more that erupted into a burning hot inflammation. He whipped his head around and smacked his ear violently. 

What the fuck, What the fuck, what the fuck? Jack screamed to himself in his head.  

Without warning, a tiny black beetle fell from Jack’s ear and into the palm of his hand. Its exoskeleton was hard and smooth. It’s mouth curled into two lewdly sharp pincers, 

Jack’s heart leapt into his throat and he threw the beetle on the ground. It scurried toward the far end of the hallway. Panting, Jack watched as it’s tiny body disappeared into the shadows. 

It was then that he noticed that there was a long shadow running up the hallway walls. Had he forgotten to turn off a light? No way Jack thought to himself. All the lights in the museum only used two switches. One for one-half of the museums’ lights, the hallway on his left, and another the hallway on his right. But one ominous light burned through the darkness. Jack stood and went to investigate. Just as he stood from his chair, the burning in his ear ceased. 

Once again his boots echoed in the empty hallways. Clump..clump….clump.

The source of the light was nowhere to be seen. Yet long shadows still ran up and down the walls. Jack turned a corner and finally there it was. The light was shining behind a large security door labelled " The Art of curse and passion DO NOT OPEN" 

This was the new exhibit Quinn had told him to venture into. Jack had made it a habit to stick to the rules. Even though Jack didn't move an inch, the door seemed to be getting closer to him with every beat of his heart. 

Lub dub….lub dub...lub dub

He outstretched his palm now drenched in sweat and grasped the polished door handle. 

When he pushed open the door, a blinding white light pierced into his eyes. Jack screamed at the pain and tried to cover his eyes but it seemed as if his hands had melted to his sides. 

In a matter of seconds, his eyes adjusted to the light.

The room was empty except for one painting. It was in a midsize thin brown frame. The painting depicted a woman. Her face was cold each angle smoother than the next. The woman's hair was deep deep obsidian and her eyes crystal white, almost as translucent as glass. A melody of flowers pooled around her, encircling her in the richest colours of flaming crimson Rose's, Bold purple violets and sapphire forget me not. She was the most beautiful woman, Jack had ever seen and once again without moving a muscle, the painting seemed to move closer to him with each beat of his heart. 

His hand hovered to her face, begging to touch her skin. Jack's body burned for her, itching like a junkie wanting a fix he yearned for her more than anything he's ever wanted. 

A soft voice came slithered over Jack's neck and into his ears 

Touch She begged Touch me 

With no second thought, Jack was removed and there only lay his desire. His long skinny finger brushed what he hoped to be canvas but instead was supple flash. Jack jumped back his heart hammering in his chest, closing his eyes tight praying hoping that this would all be a dream. He dug his fingernails deep into his palms praying that maybe that would wake him. 

Yet when he opened his eyes, the painting had gotten closer and closer. The fear left his body as a receding tide. He was left face to face with Her. Jack’s breath left him in fleeting gasps. Her face moved, looking through him and at him all the same.  Her blushing rose lips grazed him. Jack melted at the feeling of her tongue grazing his bottom lip.

She tasted like springtime. Fresh warmth after months of bitter cold and for the first moment, Jack's world was no longer colour blind. He was locked into her. 

Help me Jack her voice was smooth and kind,  I know, I know how lonely you are. How your heartaches as mine does. How the emptiness fills you like desire, I feel it too Jack. Please, please let me out. 

I can’t Jack thought to himself I’ll lose my job 

Please Jack, she begged, you hate it here, you despise this place. 

From the bottom corner of the painting, a milky white hand appeared. It outstretched and wrapped itself around Jack’s cheek. Digging her palm into his jagged face, seemingly touching him from the inside. 

I’ll save you Jack if you save me first. 

There was no more Jack, only the paint that had seeped from her lips into him. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out his father's pocket knife, assuming his destiny and releasing Her from her cage. 

Jack rolled her up and cradled her in his arms. He felt her warmth radiate all over him. 

Jack left the room, now dark as if the lights had never been on. His boots clomped once again, faster as he sped towards the door. Jack saw that hours had passed by him while he was in the room ; dawn illuminated the museum. To the front doors in which he quickly unlocked and threw open. The screech of the security alarms rang in his ears and he pumped his legs, not worried about turning off the alarm, not worried about anything. Jack's lungs felt as if they were made of lead and his blood pure and burning adrenaline

 Feeling the bright morning dew slick on his skin and the light finally breaking through his fog. 

Faster Jack, they can’t catch us 

Jack ran so fast that the gods would never touch him. His long legs burned and begged him to slow down but Jack had what he never did, purpose and love. 

It was too early for passersby to see him. The occasional morning jogger passed judgement at his uniform. They assumed he was just another nighttime degenerate crawling into the day. 

He ran even faster. 

Jack entered his apartment. The silence was crowded by the blood pounding thick in his ears. Jack stood for a moment. Revealing how the faces in all of his grandmothers' photographs seemed to smile at him now. 

Unravel me Jack she said 

All at once Jack rushed toward his kitchen table, swiping the ashtrays and stacks of paperbacks onto the ground. He opened her onto the table and was once again swept by her burning beauty. 

He pulled up a chair and sat there at his table staring intently at the painting. Memorizing each curve, each line of her face. Tears burned at his eyes, and he wept onto her. 

It’s okay Jack, You’ll never have to feel that way again, I just need one more thing

Anything, absolutely anything Jack smiled though his gut-wrenching sobs. 

You must devour me

The life he lived before her was black and grey and now he breathed technicolour.

Dust settled on the table around him and on his fingertips. Spider’s and dust mites scurried up and down his furniture and the carpet. Large moths had fluttered onto my clothing, slowly but surely tearing away my cotton uniform. Leaving me a bare corpse dissolving into dust.  I was disappearing as if his body was becoming weaker, and weaker with each passing breath. 

You must devour me. Her voice echoed through his brain, and Jack became aware of what he must do. 

Jack moved his skeletal frame towards his fridge. His stomach was caved inward, and his ribs jutted out at all angles. Jack’s stick-like fingers grasped the door and opened it. The cartilage in his knuckles cracking like ice on a pond. 

In his fridge, behind the cake, there was a glass cup of cream and a mason jar of honey. Jack used his failing strength to set the cream and the honey on the table. He slumped down once again. 

Jack lowered his head to her face one last time.  Pressing his forehead to hers and his chapped lips to hers. All he tasted was canvas. 

Please don’t leave me he thought, I love you

Jack, don’t you see, now I’ll always be apart of you

You’ll never be alone again 

He stuck his fingers into the jar of honey and slathered her face encompassing her in sweetness. Delicately he ripped a piece of her and stuffed it past his lips. Dissolving the canvas into a soft pulp. His back molars did not dare tear the paper to bits. His stomach screamed for fullness. The ball of dissolving canvas lodged itself below his Adam's apple. Jack poured the cream down his throat and colour entered him. With ravenous lust , piece after piece Jack began to gorge himself stuffing every last piece inside him. He ate around her face, devouring the prismatic flowers first. Slathering each piece in gobs of honey and gulping down cream. Sputtering whiteness from his full mouth. Jack paused when it came to her waxy and pointed face. He ripped larger, and larger portions from her face until the only pieces left were her eyes. He held the last pieces of her in his hands and dipped her in the honey. He swallowed so much of her she gripped his throat. The yellow liquid dripped down his chin and onto his wrists, the long self inflicted scars of his youth were bathed in sweetness. 

Never again Jack promised himself,

Never again the woman's voice promised him. 

If alone was a feeling, loneliness was a hole in the bottom of his stomach an ache in his tooth. An itch in the back of your eye. I had always had this hole, this ache and this itch. 

As she entered me, as her color filled me….

Jack brown was never lonely again. 

….

[ships-and-saints]

“I can’t stay away.” [Part 4] [Nesta x Cassian]

a/n: i’m soOOoOooOory, not sure if anyone’s still around waiting, but i just finished writing and editing this today, and hopefully i’ll be writing more stuff in the future again~ hope you enjoy!

NOTE: MAJOR ACOWAR SPOILERS!! CW: Nightmares, PTSD FST: Moth’s Wings (stripped down) by Passion Pit Word Count: 2392

Parts: [ teaser ] [ part 1 ] [ part 2 ] [ part 3 ] [ part 4 ] [ part 5 ] Read it on: [ fanfiction.net ] [ archive of our own ]

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You're drifting like a fire Buried deep under the water Your resting on your laurels Is stepping on my toes

Whose side are you on? What side is this anyway? Put down your sword and crown Come lay with me on the ground. Come lay with me on the ground.

- Moth’s Wings (stripped down) by Passion Pit

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Nesta went into the bathroom to run hot water for the bath, and Cassian drifted over to stand in the doorway, watching her.

She was lifting small bottles to her face and sniffing delicately. After smelling several, she picked two and squeezed a couple of drops from both bottles into the pooling water.

Cassian's nose twitched as the soothing scents of lavender and chamomile filled the air.

"Maybe this will help you relax as well," she offered. He grinned back lazily. The floral scents and the warm steam from the tub were making him sleepy, though.

"Turn around." Nesta's eyes narrowed, but Cassian put his hands up complacently and obeyed, turning to face a wall, although she could not stop his thoughts.

He could hear the fabric sliding over her skin as her nightgown and undergarments dropped to the floor. She stepped into the bath, which was filled halfway and clouded with bubbles. "You can turn around now."

Cassian turned; Nesta's hair was tucked up into a bun and she sank down into the bubble bath, everything beneath her shoulders submerged. Her long, blonde eyelashes fluttered as she sighed quietly.

Cassian was trying his hardest not to let his mind dwell in the gutter for too long. He moved towards her, and she handed him a shampoo bottle and a wide-toothed comb.

Her eyes were wary, but she watched as he seated himself on a small stool next to the tub, which looked comically small in his presence, and began lathering up the shampoo in his large, scarred hands.

Cassian reached towards her with his hands, a question in his eyes, and Nesta shifted in the tub so that he was facing the back of her head.

Gently, Cassian lathered the shampoo into the roots of her hair, massaging her scalp and coaxing the tension from her skin. As he continued washing her hair, some of the tension in her neck and shoulders released as well. Her long, golden-brown hair clung to her wet skin, and Cassian occasionally ran the comb through to brush out any knots or snags.

After thoroughly shampooing her hair, Cassian grabbed the wooden pail nearby and handed it to Nesta, who submerged it in the tub. She leaned forward and dumped the hot water over her head, rinsing out the shampoo. Bubbles and waves cascaded against the walls of the tub.

Next, she placed some sort of oil in her hair and twisted her long, wet hair into a bun atop her head. Although she was still partially submerged, she placed her hands on her hips. “I can do the rest myself.”

Cassian smirked at that. “Are you sure you don’t need help? I’m sure I can help with the hard to reach places.”

Nesta couldn’t decide whether to be more annoyed or amused.

Cassian put his hands up again. “Hey, I’m just a lowly bastard servant, after all. Your wish is my command, milady.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow in amusement at that.

“Fine, you may stay and help me wash my back,” she allowed, her chin up. “Don’t get any strange thoughts, though.”

Cassian was definitely feeling smug, but he tried not to show it. He nodded and waited until she had washed up, and then she sat on the edge of the tub and reluctantly handed him the lathered loofah.

They sat in silence as he carefully scrubbed every inch of her back. Although he couldn’t see Nesta’s face, he imagined she was satisfied as he could hear a soft sigh occasionally.

Afterwards, she rinsed off, and he handed her a towel before leaving her to get dressed.

He was seated at the desk with his head in his hands, lost in thought, when Nesta stepped out in her pale-blue nightgown, still drying her hair with a towel.

“Cassian.”

The sound made him jump slightly. “Oh, Nesta. I was wai… I just wanted to tell you goodnight before heading back to my place.”

Nesta watched him with her ice grey eyes for a moment, her expression unreadable.

Cassian tried not to fidget, his wings rustling slightly.

“You can stay here for tonight… If you’d like.”

She slid into her bed and looked at him, a question in her eyes.

Cassian just nodded, slightly stunned. Eventually he came back to his senses and cleared his throat.

“I’ll ahh.. I’ll also wash up then.” He hastily made his way to the bathroom and took a quick shower, brushing his teeth with a spare toothbrush he found in the cupboard.

Although he could not have taken more than 10 minutes, Cassian could already tell Nesta was sound asleep by the sound of her breathing by the time he stepped out of the bathroom. He smiled crookedly; he was not disappointed because it meant she was comfortable enough to fall asleep in his presence, albeit he had been showering at the time.

Hopefully, he could get into bed without disrupting her…

Cassian crept over to the empty side of the bed and while leaning on the bed, slowly slid one leg under the covers. As he lifted his other leg up, his shin collided with the side of the bed with a resounding thunk.

“Fuck!” he swore aloud and froze.

Nesta made a sound and shifted in her sleep but seemed not to wake. Cassian let out the breath he was holding and gingerly lifted his hurt leg into the bed.

Mother, that hurt… But at least Nesta didn’t wake up. Well then, I think should plan a date for us… But I can think about that tomorrow, I should try to sleep now.

Cassian laid awake staring at the ceiling for a while, but he did not feel as anxious as he usually did when trying to fall asleep. Maybe it was because he could hear Nesta’s every breath, which he counted until he got distracted and lost count, and then started over again once he remembered he had been counting…

Eventually, Cassian counted 244 breaths before he finally drifted off to sleep.

Cassian arranged for his date with Nesta to be in Rhys’s private garden, and two days later, he brought her to the exquisite and well-kept garden. The private garden was dedicated to Rhys’s mother, who had passed centuries ago, and it was well-maintained and well-loved, even by the groundskeepers and gardeners. Hedges lined the walkways of some of the more private areas, whereas other areas were surrounded by flower beds and open to public view.

There were so many flowers of various species, Elain would probably have believed she had gone to a place beyond Death.

“So… what do you think Nesta?” After some time walking in silence, Cassian cleared his throat and spoke up.

Truth be told, Nesta was pleasantly surprised by how beautiful the place was. She gave him a sidelong glance, and he thought she was not going to reply at first, but then she spoke. “It’s beautiful, of course. It seems wrong to speak here. How do you know about this place?”

Crow’s feet lines appeared by Cassian’s eyes as his mouth quirked up into a fond smile. “I grew up in this household, and the garden didn’t always look like this. It’s grown over the centuries. Rhys used to bring girls here.”

“And you?”

Cassian shot her a sly look. “Not me. Never had anyone I really wanted to bring, and I didn’t come here as much as Rhys did, anyway. I can barely tell two flowers apart.”

Nesta remained quiet, but she carefully examined and stored away every precious truth Cassian told her about himself. She was remembering yesterday morning, how they had both woken up after sharing the same bed, and how surprisingly comfortable she still was with his presence.

Although the last time Cassian had come here was some decades ago, he still remembered the history of the garden and the stories he’d been told by Rhys and his mother. Occasionally, he would point out rare, important flowers that would not naturally bloom in the garden otherwise.

“Some flowers are gifts from other Courts, and some require special magic to bloom properly if the atmosphere is not quite right,” he had explained.

“They’re all beautiful,” Nesta murmured, “I would love to come here with Elain someday… the public garden of course, not the private ones.

“I’m sure Rhys wouldn’t mind; you’re both Feyre’s sisters. He wouldn’t begrudge her anything.”

She shrugged. “All the same. Some spaces should remain… private. Sacred.”

Cassian kept himself from rolling his eyes, but he did remind her that Rhys used to bring girls here to impress them.

They continued to walk a little ways in silence after that, until they reached a crossroads with a large fountain in the middle, surrounded by hedges.

“Well, that’s the end of the public viewing. Now begins the private tour. This way, Nesta.” Cassian walked past the fountain towards one of the many unmarked paths and beckoned her.

Nesta followed along, curious as to where the path would lead.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Nesta asked doubtfully as soon as they walked into what she discovered was a maze of hedges.

Cassian smirked. “Afraid you’ll get lost in here? Don’t worry, I’ve still got my wings.” He flexed them slightly.

“No, I’m just afraid you’ll embarrass yourself,” she replied derisively.

He winced but was still grinning. “Ouch. Don’t worry, it should only be a short walk from here.” True to his word, after walking around the winding path for five minutes, they reached what looked like a dead end.

Finally, we’ve reached the end of this ridiculous maze, Nesta thought. In front of her was an archway carved from a wide hedge, and strands of flower vines fell across the archway. Cassian brushed aside some of the vines, and Nesta was drawn forward. But it might have been worth it…

She deeply inhaled the fragrance of the flowers as she stepped beneath the archway and took in the surroundings.

They had ended up on the cliffside. Across from her was a stone wall and an ancient-appearing wooden bench, slightly overgrown with vines and flowers. Surrounding the clearing were trees and wildflowers, but there was a clear view of the deep blue skies, and Nesta could hear the waves crashing down below.

She slowly walked into the meadow like she was in a trance, and Cassian just let her take it all in. To be honest, Cassian could not remember the last time he had been in this exact clearing, but it must have been when he was very young. He and Rhys had loved to play hide-and-seek and chase each other around in the hedges. It was Rhys who had reminded him of the private clearing and recommended he take Nesta to it when Cassian had casually mentioned his date idea yesterday, and he was glad he had followed Rhys’s advice.

A stone wall with vines intertwined separated them from the edge of the craggy cliff. She wandered to the wall and peered over, where she stared directly down into a large pile of sharp, slick rocks. Stepping back, her eyes flickered over the circular enclosure, big enough for maybe eight people to stretch out comfortably, the walls comprised of trees, hedges, and flowers. The grass before them was dotted with patches of lovely wildflowers in varying hues.

Cassian had whipped out a thick blanket from the basket he was carrying and was now sitting on it, leaning back on his hands watching her.

"Do you like it?"

Her eyes flickered to a bright red bird swooping overhead. "What is there not to like?"

Cassian laughed, and Nesta could sense his relief. Smiling, he patted the spot next to him, the picnic basket on his other side. "Hungry?"

She drifted over and sank down onto the blanket, both legs to one side.

"Can anyone see or… hear us?" Nesta whispered, feeling like if she spoke too loudly… she was disrupting something special, something sacred. Cassian's mouth twitched.

"Not unless you count the birds and bees." She smacked his shoulder lightly and he could not help but let out a chuckle.

She savored the sound, trying not to smile too much. She had been so close to never hearing that sound again, never hearing his voice or seeing his beautiful and irritating face… She didn't know how much it would bother her until right before the Cauldron had struck and she had screamed in fear for him.

Cassian idly observed as a pale green moth fluttered through the grasses, with feathery wings and dull colors, although it was exquisitely patterned. His eyes drifted to an iridescent, blue butterfly sucking nectar from a flower nearby, the edges of its wings thinly lined in black. He noticed Nesta looking towards the same one.

"Beautiful," she breathed, her eyes drinking in the beauty of undisturbed nature. Funny, he was thinking the same about her.

The waves of the sea ceaselessly struck the shore, sighing against the sand as the tide pulled the wave's wandering fingers back. Birds occasionally chirped and cawed to their mates and their offspring while insects buzzed and chirruped in the grass and bushes.

They feasted on the delicious picnic lunch prepared for them by Nualla and Ceridwen, with the help of Elain. Cassian refilled both of their glasses with sparkling lemonade.

Nesta seemed content to just sit and stare out into the sparkling sea, forever, with her long hair blowing in the wind. Cassian tried not to be too obvious as he watched her.

She finally turned to him and smiled, and Cassian felt his heart swell. He squeezed her hand and lightly pressed it to his lips.

“Thank you… for today. It was exactly what I needed,” Nesta said.

Cassian was at a loss for words. “No, of course, that’s what… You know, that’s what mates are for, right?”

She laughed lightly. “I think mates are more trouble than they’re worth.”

He pouted slightly at that, and she laughed again, a wondrous, tinkling sound that Cassian wished he could record and replay over and over, again.

“I’ll always be here for you,” Cassian said suddenly.

Nesta turned to look at him, her blue eyes steely, seemingly unsurprised by his sudden proclamation. “And I, you. Wherever we go, we go together.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

[cupidmarwani-archive]

(4/13)

That went horribly. Worse than Ava could imagine. The princess hated her before they even met, and made it clear that whatever this marriage will be, loving isn’t it. There was always a real chance of this, but it’s different to have had it happen, to be living with the pain of knowing she has been fully rejected but unable to back out of this marriage. The princess hates her. And the day after tomorrow, they’ll be tied for life with no escape.

No peace exists for her here and now, somewhere she’s unfamiliar and without so much of her family. They’re coming on the morning of, ready for the wedding, leaving her with no one but a couple of spare guards and Connor to keep her company as she stands on a balcony. The city really is beautiful. Clusters of lights, golden and heavy, twinkle up at her and hint at the shadows of the royal garden. That will house the engagement photos tomorrow and the reception Sunday, but she’d rather explore it on her own, or with the princess at her side. 

Someone knocks at her door, and she reluctantly opens it in case she’s going to be brought to another event to welcome her to the kingdom. There’s no more magic. Instead, she feels a little trapped in something that will merely run her life into the ground and leave her lonelier than ever before.

It must be a Baille servant, because Ava doesn’t recognize the woman. She’s dressed plainly, with a loose braid and wide brown eyes that remind her of a puppy. What does she want? If this was about the wedding, it would be someone higher ranked, and no servant should be coming to her quarters unannounced this late. Perhaps she should call a guard. 

“Lady Bekker.” The woman curtsies and looks up at her. “My name is Natalie, I’m the princess’ seamstress. Could I speak with you for a moment?”

Ava isn’t entirely sure if it’s safe, but what else does she have to lose? She steps to the side and allows Natalie into the room for whatever reason she’s come here. She doesn’t seem to be too much of a threat at least. If she tries something, Ava will have a chance against her at the very least. And Natalie walks in like the room is familiar, takes a comfortable seat on the faint couch and offers her a hesitant smile.

“I know that she wasn’t very nice to you. She’s just scared, is all- no one told any of us about the wedding until a few days ago.”

“She clearly doesn’t want to marry me.”

Now Natalie won’t make eye contact with her, but it’s not a respect thing like with the servants at home; it’s more out of an awkwardness and unhappiness that comes from being caught in a shitty conversation like this one while knowing it’s entirely her fault for starting it in the first place. That’s what she gets for showing up in Ava’s chambers late at night to talk to her about the fact that she will be married in two days to someone who hates her.

“Of course not, she doesn’t know you. This is a terrible situation, My Lady, for both of you, but I must beg you to give Her Royal Highness a chance. She’s very sweet, and kind, and understanding, but she’s been pushed into this with no warning. You have to be patient with her.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

Natalie lowers her gaze in humility, as she should. Ava will not lower herself to taking orders from a servant. But perhaps she has a point, that her betrothed is more than meets the eye, simply overwhelmed by the wedding. It’s something good to hope for. There could be the slightest chance that this marriage won’t be completely painful and lonely, like so much of Ava’s life at home in the shadows of her sisters and the actual royal family.

“Do you honestly think it will get better?” Ava asks her.

Hesitation is nearly answer enough, but then Natalie stands and tucks her hair behind her ears. “I think it could. I’ll talk to my princess, alright? Just please don’t give up on her.

At that, Natalie dismisses herself, something no one would have dared to do in Jenia, but it seems there are different codes for the servants here. After the marriage, she’ll have a conversation about their behavior toward her. So impolite of someone who will soon be their princess, and eventually their queen.

That’s something Ava really is looking forward to even if her betrothed doesn’t want her; to be a queen is glamour. Jewels and dresses and parties and as much extravagance as she wants because she sets the rules, and no one can take anything away from her ever again no matter what. She’s always wanted to be a queen. All that she has to do is survive the princess, which Natalie seems determined to help her do. Does the seamstress have ulterior motives, she wonders?

No matter, because Ava is already adjusting her bracelet and making her leave, ignoring the guard that trails her at a respectable five foot distance. They’re tighter about security here. It could just be another difference, or because she’s suddenly become so much more valuable than she ever could have hoped to be back at home.

“Ask Her Royal Highness to meet me in the gardens, please. Tell her that it the idea was Natalie’s.” Just in case Natalie somehow has more sway than she does. “Immediately.”

A quiet murmur marks the guard telling someone to pass it along as Ava finds her way to the huge, crystal clear glass doors leading into the gardens. They bask in the golden light of countless lamps, nearly as plentiful as the glimmering stars above when she takes a seat at a carved wooden bench and watches moths chase each other around a soft red flower she doesn’t recognize. A Baille native, then, or imported from a Jenian enemy.

For the first few minutes of solitude, Ava worries that the princess will not come. Seconds before she gives up, there’s the creak of the doors, and she’s greeted with the sight of Princess Reese in a pair of luxurious sleep pants and a form fitting tank top. She’s stunning. But she’s still coldly distant when she sits at Ava’s side.

“I think an apology might be in order,” the princess says softly. “This whole thing- it isn’t your fault, and I shouldn’t have treated you like I did at dinner.”

“It’s okay. You were just scared.”

The words feel softer on her tongue than they sounded on Natalie’s, but that is harsh in comparison to the feel of the princess’ hand in hers when she reaches out with more confidence than she expected of herself. It’s nice to hold someone’s hand. Soon they’ll do more; every marriage must be consummated, after all.

“You can call me Sarah. Since we’re getting married, and all that.”

“Ava.”

Sarah is a beautiful name, perfect to match the angelic face that smiles at her in the glow of the gardens and makes her think of the stories of angels that were told to her to send a restless child off to peaceful sleep. No nightmares, no monsters under the bed, nothing to fear for a little girl growing up in luxury. She realized the angels weren’t real as she got older, but now that she’s even more grown, she knows that they are. One is standing right in front of her with kissable lips and corkscrew curls and wide doe eyes and Ava thinks that she may just love her already. But alas, of course, there is no such way to express it before Sarah pulls away and suggests they both find their way back to their chambers and get some rest for the exhaustion the next day will bring.

She can’t wait to tell Connor about this turn of events.

@bipeteypie​ @one-chicago-hell​ @bookreader525​ @sarahreeese​ @sextonsharpwinhalstead​ @isthiswhatshameis​ @jorgerules​

[readbeneaththelines]

Just The Person I Need Pt. 2

Kwon JiYong is a Multi Million Dollar business man thrown into parenthood when his brother and sister-in-law die in an accident. leaving A son and daughter behind. Y/N is a nanny that loves what she does. What happens when their lives become intertwined? Will she be Just The Person He Needs?

Characters: Business Man!Kwon JiYong X Nanyy!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut somewhere along the way

Word Count: 1890

Warnings: None for this chapter

cr,to gif owner

You were a young and carefree spirited woman. You graduated university a few years ago after coming to Seoul to study abroad and decided to let your degree go by the wayside and began working with children instead of business administration. You had a natural way with children, sharing in the innocent joy they found in everything they did. You worked for a couple of families as a part-time nanny. You didn’t mind the crazy schedules or the constant back and forth between them. All you cared about was seeing those kids smile when you were with them. The children you cared for came from highly influential and very rich families. You got to spend almost every day in gigantic homes, chasing little ones as they played hide and seek one one floor of the house, baking cookies or cupcakes with the little girls, or playing catch with the young boy. Everyday was something new, and you loved it. 

Half the week was spend with the Choi family and the other half was spent with the Kim family. Mr. Choi was a neurosurgeon and his wife was an obstetrician. They doted on their kids, and you, taking several vacations each year. You traveled with them on most of the trips, fitting in like one of the family members. You loved their three children dearly and had been working with them for almost two years. Mr Kim was a lawyer in a large corporate law firm and his wife was one of the partners. They were a little more reserved than the other family, but you didn’t mind. They had only one child, a little girl of age two. The three days you spent with them, were constantly busy. Chasing the little girl all over the penthouse suite that took up the entire top floor of a skyscraper. They did not travel as much, but when the did, they spare no expense in assuring you were well taken care of too. 

Friends often asked why you chose to be a nanny instead of following through on you education.  Smiling at them, you would calmly say, “The joy I see when I engage their minds and hearts gives me more joy than anything else on this planet. I am the one bringing those smiles to their lips, I am the one enriching their minds, and I get to share in that joy and happiness. Who wouldn’t want to experience that every day?”.

You was sitting on the floor, the Kim’s little girl propped on your lap. She was singing a song as the toddler clapped her hands along with the tune. Giggles erupted as she finished the song with a huge flourish and tickled the girl’s sides. 

“Mow, Mow peas!” she squealed as you went straight into another tune.

The doorbell rang, startling the toddler and causing her to wail out of fear. You quickly wrapped your arm around her and stood up. 

“There, there. Did that mean old doorbell scare you? I’m sorry. Let’s go see who it is so we can tell them they are being mean by scaring little old you.” you sing-songed as you walked to the main door. 

The bell rang again and you yelled back, “Coming, give me a moment, I’m on my way.”

Finally reaching the door, the girl settled on your hip had stopped crying and was down to just sniffles and hiccups. Re-adjusted her to the other hip, you reached for the door handle. Opening it slightly, you peeked around the solid oak door.

“Hello. How may I help you?”, you asked as your eyes came to rest on a young gentleman in a slate grey Dolce & Gabbana suit. His hair was slightly longer on top and swept to the right, his brown hair had honey gold highlights that honestly shimmered in the light. His brown eyes were piercing, the same honey gold color in speckles throughout. Your breath hitched as you lifted your head to meet his eyes straight on. When he spoke, his voice had a tenor tone about it, thick and seductive. His smile was captivating and you were drawn to his lips like a moth to a burning flame.

“Hello Miss. I was on this side of town and was wondering if Mr. or Mrs. Kim happened to be home at the present? My name is Kwon JiYong, and they work with my company. I was just going to ask them a few questions before I headed home.”

“They aren’t home quite yet, but Mr. Kim should be here any minute if you would like to wait in the lobby downstairs. If you are unable to wait, I would be glad to give them a message for you.” you stated. Suddenly, a chubby hand reached for the door, pulling it opened further.

“Is that Jae-ri’s hand I see?”, he spoke, a tinge of laughter in his voice.

The little toddler squealed in delight at the sound of his voice. Leaning to the left, and almost falling from your grip, the chubby cheeks grew from the smile she was giving him as she strained to look around the the edge of the door.

“I see you Jae-ri, give your momma a big hug for me, okay?”, the same laughing tone was still there. Jae-ri bobbed her head as she clapped and giggled at the top of her lungs.

“She must really like you, Mr. Kwon. She is usually shy around most people.” you said as you watched the two of them interacting.

“Yeah I get to see her when they bring her by the company’s family cookouts and some quick meetings. She is the cutest thing, but she is a real handful from what I’ve seen.”, he smiled a goofy dimple-filled grin as he finished talking. Jae-ri giggled some more as he made a few more funny faces.

I’ll wait for them downstairs, thank you for your help Miss…” his voice trailing off since he didn’t know your name.

“Y/N. Sorry and no problem. It was nice meeting you Mr. Kwon.” Y/N said as she watched him turn and saunter off for the elevators. Looking back at Jae-ri, she whispered, “I can see why you are so smitten with him Jae, he is quite the looker isn’t he?”.

You watched as he boarded the elevator, blushing when he caught you staring and gave a small wave and bow. Shutting the door, you set Jae-ri on the floor. Taking a deep breath, you exhaled, releasing the breath you had been holding as he walked away. 

Damn girl, has it been that long since a man talked to you let alone stood that close to you? you muttered to yourself. 

You were in the kitchen, fixing dinner for Jae-ri, when you heard the main door open. Two male voices and one female voice wafted down the corridor into the kitchen.

“Y/N, we're home.”, you heard Mrs. Kim calling out. Picking Jae up,  both of you wandered into the great room where Mr. and Mrs. Kim were standing with Mr. Kwon. You felt your face flush, knowing that he had caught you earlier staring at him.

“Why hello again Miss Y/N, I didn’t think I would be seeing you again so soon”. Looking at the couple, he explained about coming up first to see if they were here before running into them downstairs.

Jae wiggled her way out of your arm and half toddled, half ran to her parents, a drool filled smile spread wide across her cherub face. After hugging her parents, she wiggled free again, and reached up for JiYong to pick her up.

“Alrighty squirt. Give Uncle Ji a big hug” he lifted her up and gave her a quick squeeze. He then set her down and watched her waddle-toddle-run down the hallway, her mom in tow behind her.

“Would you mind getting Mr. Kwon and myself a drink and bring them into my office please?”  Mr. Kim asked. You nodded your head at both gentlemen and headed for the side table. You placed a few ice cubes in the snifters and poured both men a whiskey straight. You knocked on the door, then entered. Both men were seated on the large leather couch, chuckling about something or other. You set the glasses in front of them, then turned towards Mr. Kim.

“Sir, is it okay if I retire a little early tonight? One of my roommates from Yonsei University is in town. I was hoping to catch up with her before she leaves again.”

“No problem at all. In fact, why don’t you take tomorrow off and spend some time with her. Eun-ji is going to work from home tomorrow morning so she can spend some time with Jae-ri.”

“Are you sure? I would appreciate that so much. Thank you Mr. Kim. It was nice seeing you again Mr. Kwon, have a good evening. Thanks again sir.”

Without hesitation, you were out the door and heading for your room. Grabbing your cell from the dresser, you called your friend Ha-eun and confirmed that you could meet up with her. You put on some light makeup, brushed your  hair and put it in a loose ponytail. You quickly changed into your favorite jeans and sleeveless button-up top. Telling Mrs. Kim goodbye, you headed for the door. Your head was down as you hurried your pace, causing you to walk straight into Mr. Kwon’s arm.

“Oh! I am so sorry sir! I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t hurt you, did I? I am so sorry!” your breathing sped up, hoping that this handsome young gentleman wouldn’t fuss at you before leaving. Tear streaked makeup is the worse to fix.

“No, it’s okay, I’m fine. Are you okay, Miss? I didn’t mean to stop in front of the door, I was just about to leave.” he looked you over, making sure you were steady.

“Thank you, I am fine, just a little startled.”you spoke, voice strangely shaky, almost like a school girl trying to talk to her crush.

“Please allow me to accompany you downstair, Miss, since we are both headed out, that is.” A hint of a smile curved at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes, thank you. See you tomorrow evening Mr. Kim. Give Jae a goodnight hug for me.”

And with that, you and JiYong were out the door and waiting on the elevator. When you reached the lobby, he told you goodbye and held the door. 

 She is quite the cute thing, they are lucky to have someone as energetic and cute as her as a nanny.  

He lingered his gaze as you walked down the sidewalk, a light spring in your step as you went. He took in the sway of your hips, the back and forth movement as your ponytail swung with each step. He could still see green eyes looking up at him after she bumped into him. Shaking his head, he laughed at himself. 

Well Ji, has it been that long since a woman looked you? You might need to get out more often for sure, if that’s the case!

He lifted his eyes to watch as you began to fade out of site. If only he knew then just how much you were going to change his life.

@min @beautifulseoulliar @agustd-suga-yoongii @astronomyturtle @aspaceformyself @dreamyoongi i @trashkazuya @maxinaptak @micky1518 @rosiemilas @karri570

@seoulsunshineandstories @kwonnansi @xjamlessparkx @berryjam17

@kingsuckjin

[real-fanta-sea]

Red thread trash - AU Trikey fanfic

Hey! I promised to upload my fanfic here as well - find it right below the “Keep reading” button. Let me know what you think about it - your feedback fuels me like anything else :) I included some minor hints of pop culture/literature every now and then and generally had a great time writing it even though it’s still short.  I plan on updating it soon so if you like it, stay tuned :) Chapter 1 -  My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense “You are sick, dickhead!” That was all she was able to spit out before shutting the door with such force all the yellowish photos on walls thumped the disgusting, bleached out wallpaper they were attached to. It was getting dark and a sharp sound sent shockwaves through creeping silence of the night. Tired street lamps gave out eerie orange light which sculpted everything in soft outlines and gave a fine monochrome touch to washed-out colours of the early evening. Dust, startled by the outburst, sat back on surfaces it originally sat on, creating a delicate icing on the ugly cake of an apartment it was in. It was full to the brim, filled with dying cacti in flower pots, virgin self-improvement books, some of them sealed in original plastic, action figures, statues, souvenirs from places so distant and abstract no one ever heard of them, old calendars and along with dozens of empty ball pens an assorted clutter of a bachelor. It was a miracle the small, one-room apartment did not explode with everything stored inside. On the wall next to the door, the landline phone decided to commit what it’s silent owner contemplated for years and fell down from the holder, and hit the ground with an ugly crunch. The sound made the owner snap from lethargy. Up to now, he only stood in the middle of the place, staring at the door emotionless.

 He felt nothing but a gentle touch of the street light and bags under his eyes growing heavier. When he heard what happened to his world link, he blinked and with a sigh, he took a step forward and hanged the phone back to the holder, inspecting it only to find nothing broke so far. “There, there, not today- You’ll outlive me, little friend” he let out a raspy mumble and rub back of his neck with his other hand. He didn’t feel anything out of ordinary. His back hurt a bit from the lair of his improvised bed and his sedentary job - the latter was most likely the culprit there, but he wouldn’t admit it. His stomach rumbled angrily through the thin skin and onto the fabric of his shirt - two cups of ramen a day were not enough to shut it anymore. His nose was full again - and the dust irritated it as much as it annoyed him. Yet somewhere deep inside him, the void seized power a long time ago and he didn’t give a shit about any of these things anymore. For the life of his, he couldn’t bring himself to grieve the recent loss of a lover either. People always came and went, he thought to himself. People always used him. Cheated him. Played him and inevitably left him when he needed them the most. They left him miserable. Vulnerable. Hurt. He didn’t need nor want them anymore. He abided them. He just wanted them all to die a horrible, gruesome death and if possible, to watch the whole process from the first row, bathe in their cries and pleading and enjoy his utter shortage of fucks to give with a wide grin on his face. Aaand it would make the show so much fun if he got to sprinkle his popcorn with a bit of fresh blood! Hell, if he murdered his shrink first, he would help more people than that stupid jerk ever did in his life. Come to think of it... Suddenly, before he could slide any further on his twisted spiral of thoughts, there was a familiar pressure on one of his feet and a soft purr vibrating against his shin. He blinked the mental image of creatively mutilated psychologist away and eyed his pet with a soft smile. The tomcat which settled on his foot was one of the new members of the pack as he prefered to call his furry companions. It gave those obese fluffy balls of fur a feral glamour of feared predators they might have shared with their ancestors. In reality, his pack preferred the luxury of being fed three times a day and shedding hair on his sweatshirts while sleeping wherever they collapsed. The tiny apartment currently held six members including the human one. They were all flawed to perfection, collected from behind the bars and given a new life. John Silver, the tomcat, curled up securely on his master's barefoot, lack one paw to be a complete, light grey cat. He probably lost it in a scientific experiment which went tremendously wrong and accidentally involved an electric can opener and children of his previous master. He never meowed about it but other cats knew anyway. Then there was Jude Hardy, a brown cat who smelled so bad other hissed anytime at her anytime she came close and made her spend life under the kitchen sink. Johny Lemmon had shotgun scars visible through his tabby and white fur - he got them for meowing too loud. Somewhere under the blanket on a bed was a tabby named Ulysses who lost his tail and ear on his way home one day in an accident. Right beside him slept his sister Sybile who was terribly short-sighted and bumped to anything when she attempted walking around the flat. She was there when her brother was hit by the car but there was nothing she could do to prevent it as she didn't see it coming. The only human left in the pack was named Trevor Philips.

With a cat in his arms, he made his way through a maze of full bookshelves and sat heavily into an old armchair, fidgeting to find the perfect angle. Nothing could ever compare to a fuzzy feeling of love he shared with his pack. A soft touch of fur soothed him in a way his prescription pills would never do. Trevor raised his eyes from a purring bundle of joy he held and run his fingertips down its spine, scratching and gently stroking every now and then, completely lost in his own palace of thoughts again. There’s still a couple of hours left till next dose, he thought to himself. He vividly remembered the first week he was forced to medication - a wild roar of anger and disgust from being put on a schedule, from becoming a number not worth anything else but chemical alternation. He hated every touch of an old, naphthalene smelling nurse or the bull kind of a doctor who forced his jaw open to the point it snapped on one wonderful evening. He always had himself for a person not bound by any chains or rules. His persistence in breaking rules and spitting medicine was legendary. Heck, he did it for fun. It gave him all the attention he never had and fuck people who had to pay for it with their health of job. However, one day, he woke up a different person. The mighty, untamed creature he once was was gone, and the only memory it left were nail scratches on sterile white walls of his cell and a variety of body fluids mixed and smeared all over the ceiling in a brutal, honest impersonation of Michelangelo’s chapel. The day the beast went missing was a breaking point. The world he woke up to was void of bright colours. Every bit and piece of his existence felt detached, taken aback, abstract. He would always recall the feeling of cold liquid under his bare feet and a horrid smell that brought him to senses. He never asked the doctor how long he had stood in his own faeces nor did he ask why he pissed blood. He would never tell him. Instead, he got yet another dose of medicals. And he obeyed this time. And every time they came he accepted it. Trevor knew too well they broke him and shaped him like a piece of Tetris puzzle so he could fit in the line. He knew he lost himself in the process. But since he got separated, he couldn’t bring himself to care. And when they eventually let him out of the bright white hell, when they dressed him in a cheap second-hand suit and gave him a small place to live, he didn’t rebel. He obeyed. He followed the lead. He spoke to his shrink. He got a pet. He got a job. He drank water. He ate. He slept. He shat. The same fairy tale noir of a lonely life on repeat forever. He fit the line too well. Trevor let his hand slip from Silver’s back onto an armrest. Orange coloured light from outside mixed with neon from a place he could see through a narrow alley which led to his block of flats. A bright red, intrusive and obscene. A moth trap set up with fresh meet every week, he thought to himself. He eyed the place from his armchair and looked around. His last love interest came from that bar. All she left behind was a used toothbrush in a plastic cup on a kitchen sink, a pair of bob pins under the bed and lingering smell of cheap perfume piercing everything it touched with a brutal force. She was not that different from any other woman he ever knew. Each of them wanted money and stripped men of it by shaking their asses and burying faces into their sagging cleavages. Even if they did not admit it, be it high-class wive all glamour and chic or a grey mouse of an accountant in his shithole of a job, they all were miserable whores, bitches not worth a dollar yet they would surely kill for it if given a chance. They all wore insufferable perfumes and fake smiles that made his blood boil. Unfortunately, when he got a job as an assistant in a small branch of a Fleeca bank, he had no idea the place would be full of such creatures. He recalled the first day of work with a sigh, being yelled at for not bringing a latte for accountants, then for not fetching paper clips fast enough, and then again and again till he was let out in the afternoon, completely stripped of dignity and quite frankly, he didn’t even have the energy to sustain one at given time. Now that the fifth year of his atonement passed by, all he wanted was to burn the place down as a celebration. He hasn’t done it yet. His favourite coffee mug was there and he chose not to risk such a loss. The red light took over and illuminated his way when he carefully put Silver down and took a couple of careful steps towards an old cupboard and let it moan its screech into the night. With a light chuckle, he grabbed the colourful box realising they made his mind work in schedules and tech plans. He never put it on the same place two days in a row when he first came there. Now it had its fucking place right beside unused penis-shaped pasta he received in secret Santa game at work a couple of years ago. They had their place too. Never moved an inch. Trevor popped the lid and slid an elephant worth of pills into the palm of his. Funny how everything looks like candy a second before you start tripping balls. He knew the thrill too well. Fishing a dirty glass out of the sink, filling it with piss some still called water and swallow it like an obedient little bitch he was. Good, good. Let them keep you alive or let them kill you in ways which are not as fun as drugs. As he felt the chemicals taking rule over him, everything was good somehow. The room swayed. The colours exploded. He fell on the bed. Good. Good. Good.

[the-fiction-witch]

Master

TV SHOW: WOLF HALL COUPLE: RAFE (TBS) X READER RATING: SMUT SUGGESTION 

I stood nervously, my dress hanging from my staved body. I was a peasant girl daughter for a farmer in Norwich, I had gotten to old for my family to keep me so I walked as far as I could till I found a popular road just as some horses rode down stopping before they reached me "You peasant girl!" One called "Yes sir?" I asked "What are you doing out here?" He asked "Just walking to town sir" I answered "To the town? You looking for work?" He asked and I nodded "you cook?" "Yes sir" "You clean?" "Yes sir" "You sew?" "Yes sir" "Bring her along, I think I have a use for Her" he said to know of the other men with him as they rode off, the man he told stayed behind and helped me into a little carriage with my things, Once we arrived at a beautiful country house he pushed me into a room with many other girls as that man came back he sat writing paperwork and sending girls outside as he did, he was selling them for certain things, a few went to laundry service, a few to a lord's keep, many to a whore house, I was one of the last and I was nervous to say the least. "So what is your fabulous plan for the new one?" Another man asked "I have a perfect place for her, send her up to Cromwell's he's been needing a new house girl" he says and the man came over grabbing my arm and forcing me into another carriage with my things I relaxed a little but still very worried, where I was going and what my jobs would be when I got there.

When I arrived at the beautiful house I smiled a little, going and Knocking on the door, a older women opened it and looked confused "Who are you?" She asks "I'm y/n" I said handing her some papers they gave me she unfolded them and read "Ahh at last our new girl" she said leading me inside she walked me around the empty house and explained I would make beds, do laundry and sewing, clean and occasionally cook if needed she introduced me to the master of the house cromwell, and a man that helped him around some relation I'm sure but I forget what exactly, and she left me to dust the dinning room, she explained she was an busy as the lady of the house and all of cromwells daughters had passed away not so long ago. I stood Dusting and humming for a while till I heard a barking which made me look up as I heard voices too I turned towards the door two see two young men, the first holding some dogs in a pale green jacket with fur, clearly not used to this cold. The other a skinny man quiet a bit taller then the other man in black almost completely if not for small hints of white and blue around him he wore no furs in fact a rather a lack of clothing at all he was clearly used to these harsh winters. They looked to me as confused as I was to see them, but I looked away returning to my work as master Cromwell came in "Back so soon boys?" He asked "Yes, they had a good run about" one said "Yeah Gregory got to cold" the taller boy laughed "Rafe that's not true! I was worried being out so late" Gregory complained "Alright well good your back boys" Cromwell smiled "miss y/n" he called so I went over "Yes master Cromwell" I nodded "Theses are the other boys, Gregory my son and rafe Sadler my ward" he explained "Pleasure to meet you masters" I nodded "Pleasure miss y/n" Gregory smiled taking his dogs and going to chat with his father so i returned to my dusting "Y/n was it?" Rafe asked "Yes master Sadler" I nodded "Good" he smirked and I froze as I felt a hand on the waist of my corset "my rooms the bedroom closets to the stairs, I expect that if I call... You'll come running?" "Yes master Sadler" I nodded "Good, I'll see you later" he smirked slapping my arse before heading off to do something else.

I stood in the kitchen starting on breakfast, not even the other lady here was awake yet, I heard the door creak which made me jump as I turned to the kitchen door to see rafe stood clearly just dressed leaning on the stone wall beside the door shutting it slowing "morning miss y/n" he smirked "Morning master Sadler" I nodded getting back to work "you're awake awfully early this morning" "Excuse me?" He asked "Sorry sir, I was just curious" I blushed "Curiosity killed the cat you know" he warns "I know sir, it's just your not normally awake this time of day" I smiled "I don't you're quite right" he smirked "what a smart little thing you are" "Thank you master Sadler" I blushed "It's alright, I wanted a word with you anyway," he says "About what?" I asked "I called for you last night, you never came? Are you ignoring me?" He asked "Ohh, no no never master Sadler," I told him very worried "Really? Because I've called for you every night you've been here and not once have you come to see me" he smirked "I'm sorry sir, it's just I'm still getting use to this place and I've been very tried likely in bed before I could have heard your calling" I explain "That so?" He smirked, "well, it's not going to happen again is it miss y/n?" He warns "Definitely not master Sadler" I nodded "Good" he smiled and I heard him step closer his hand on my waist in a tight grip "I want you in my room by dark, I want you waiting for me when I get there, I have a lot of...jobs for you" he whispered in my ear and I nodded "good girl" he growled "and not a word about this to anyone else" "Yes master Sadler" I nodded "Good, I'll be seeing you tonight then" he smirked giving my exposed neck a kiss before heading back upstairs.

I didn't know what to think about tonight I was scared but I didn't want to disobey him as he was the master of the houses ward after all, as soon as I was done I hurried up to his room and going inside the fire just about still going on the corner the wooden panelled walls and floors clean and perfect his bed made neatly and the curtains drawn clearly the other lady had been up already As I don't do the rooms really, I heard steps up the stairs so I stood by the fire unsure where else to go, the door opened and rafe stepped in he saw me and smiled looking me up and down and biting on his lip, he shut the door and I made note that he locked it leaning against the wooden door looking at me "good girl did just as I asked" he smirked "not quite how I wanted you but... Well work on it" "Where or how did you want me then master Sadler?" I asked "Come it with me miss y/n" he encouraged as he sat on his bed tapping the leftover space suggestively "I can't if master Cromwell found out-" I began "That's an order miss y/n" he warns so I went and sat on the edge of the bed as far from him as I could and I felt the bed shift as he got on his knees with a chuckle as he wrapped his arms around my waist "in the bed" he laughs "But master Sadler I really shouldn't-" I began "Do I really have to order you again darling?" He smirked that word made me blush hard the way it rolled off his tongue like he had been calling me it forever "ohh you like when I call you darling?" He smirked and I just blushed more "humm come on then darling, into bed" he smirked tugging me onto his bed more so I did as he asked and sat in bed with him he looked at me those brown eyes taking in every inch of me biting his lip as he did until his eyes met mine and he licked his bottom lip slightly "your a very pretty little thing" "Thank you master Sadler" I blushed "Very...busty, never thought I'd like that so much on a girl" he smirked "come on, dress off" "What?!" I asked in shock "Take the dress off darling" he growled "No," I said covering my self with my arms "No? Darling, I am one of your masters, you will do as I ask. And I want to see your beautiful body without that old moth-eaten dress in the way, so remove it or I do" be explained "No, I won't" I argue "You won't? Alright fine, much more fun" he smirked forcing me to lay on his bed, he was skinny but by god he was strong he sat over my thighs smirking down at me as he held my arms tightly away from me "No, no no please" I begged "Why? Come on you've been looking at me since you got here, and now I want to give you attention and you don't want it?" He smirked "Please sir, it's that-" I began "It's what? you sexy little thing" he smirked kissing down my neck trying to pull my dress up "I'm an innocent," I told him and he stopped sitting up away from me "You're what?" He asked "Innocent" I blushed sitting up and fixing my dress a little "Innocent? Really?" He asked seemingly annoyed and I nodded "so... knowone has ever, touched you or kissed you or... Fucked you?" "No sir" I blushed "I'm an innocent" "Ummm don't tell me that darling" he groans shutting his eyes and biting his lip again almost to blood "it just makes me want to take it away" he growled, "would you let me?" He asked "What?" I asked "Would you let me?" He smirked "let me... De flower you, be your first, take your innocence away?" "Master Sadler... I Uhhh I " I blushed "What? No boy ever wanted to take your innocence away?" He asked and I nodded "awww, well would you let me, darling?" He asked "Well I uhh I don't know" I blushed I hadn't really very thought about my innocence, not something I worried about "I promise I'll be gentle" he smiled "and I'll take care of you after, I'll keep you nice and safe darling" "I would let you" I blushed "if you promised not to let them get rid of me" "Deal darling" he smiled giving me a kiss "take your dress off" he winked before getting out the bed he went and put a log or two on the fire as I began slipping my dress off and he began getting his own clothes off on the other side of the bed I couldn't help staring but he often caught me looking as soon as I was down to my underdress I got under the covers..

I stood in the kitchen cleaning up and packing away as everyone else was in bed already when I heard the creak of the kitchen door but thought little of it likely just the wind till hands gripped the table I was cleaning leaving me trapped between there arms "ummm good evening beautiful" he smirked kissing my neck with wet passionate kisses "Evening master Sadler" I nodded "Enough cleaning, it's time for bed," he says "I want you to come with me now!"...