#cemetery woman we can still be down

[pizzarslice]

cemetery lady, my cemetery girl cemetery baby, i want you in my world

[itsalwaysteatimeinwonderland]

Request: Spike x fem!reader (I love Buddy and Spike together, but in fairytale land he’s ours instead of hers)

Plot: She’s a slayer who works with Buffy on occasion, when Spike sees her for the first time his jaw drops so far that Buddy has to keep her from stabbing him and saying “he works with us, don’t worry about him” and the rest of that first meeting of theirs is up to you

I love this prompt! I did go overboard with it. So apologize for the long and winded answer.

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William (Spike x y/n)

Requested: Heck yes! See above.

Word count: 3.2k (sorry)

TW: talks about being hurt.

Summary: Once a romantic, always a romantic.

Masterlist

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Another night of patrolling. You were tired of trailing behind Buffy. Always second best as a slayer. You managed by reminding yourself that you were here to learn and not hate. After all, Buffy was a good person; she's just bossy. 

"Can we take a rest? We've been out here for hours and nothing." You say.

Buffy sighs. "Fine." She sits by a gravestone. "Spike said there was a big bad roaming this area. I guess he was wrong."

"Who's Spike?"

Buffy takes a pause. "No one of importance."

You give her a weird look. No one of importance yet you’re out there hunting because of the information this 'no one' provided. 

You hear a twig snap and you’re on high alert. Buffy takes out her stake and jumps up from her seat. 

A figure steps out of the shadow. A vampire. You're quick to lunge at them. You start by throwing punches and kicking where you could reach but the vampire was strong and fast. After some time, you're able to pin him down. You lift your stake to end him.

"Stop!" Buffy yells. 

You turn back to her confused. You look down at the vampire and are caught by how handsome he is. 

"That's Spike. He works with us, don’t worry about him."

"You're the 'no one of importance'? A vampire?" You stall in getting up from him. 

"I’ve been threatened before but never by a beautiful woman."

You scramble to get off, embarrassed and angry.

"You didn't have to get up on my account" spike flashes you a smile. 

A charismatic vampire. Just what you needed. 

"A vampire. On our side. Explain." You turn to Buffy. 

Buffy sighs. "He was bad. He found a soul. Now he's good."

You eye him up and down. "A vampire with a soul? Do you brood too, like Angel?"

He's caught off guard. He's too busy admiring you. Taking you in. He swore time stopped when your eyes met. If you were the last thing je saw begore he dies, it would be enough for him. 

He opened his mouth to respond but he was too caught up in your presence to formulate a sentence. He felt like a dolt. Like a schoolboy with a crush. 

"Well? Too good to talk?" You tease. 

He smiles and steps closer to you. He holds back from caressing your face. 

"Sorry, love. I was caught off guard by your beauty."

You blush. A smooth talker. You walk past him trying to avoid his probing gaze. 

"Are we done here?" You ask Buffy.

"Yeah. Tonight was a bust. Thanks, a lot Spike." Buffy walks past Spike along to your side. 

Spike's eyes trailed after you. He could drown in you and still be content. He formulated ways to be around you, hopefully, with you. 

The next night Spike found himself by Buffy's side. Anxious for you to join.

"Bored enough to patrol with us?" Buffy asked annoyed.

Spike was too busy craning his neck and looking left and right to find you to answer Buffy. 

You eventually run up to the pair. You look Spike up and down, a bit nervous that he was there. 

"The Nobody is tagging along?" You asked Buffy.

She assented. 

The three of you skulk around the woods and cemetery in the hopes of finding a vampire, a demon, anything. Tonight, seems to be another bust. Buffy couldn’t stop but worry for you meeting Spike. She consistently caught Spike following you, looking at you.

All the while, Spike is thinking of witty things to say to get your attention. He feels like such a goof around you. You were his ale and he was drunk on you.

"Well I’m done." You say. 

Spike perks up. He can walk you home. That's romantic, right. 

Buffy sighs but concedes. She is still watchful of Spike’s behaviors. She worriesyou’re your safety. However, she trusts your judgment and your ability to stay safe. After a brief good night you start walking away. Spike jogs after you and walks in pace with you.

"What are you doing?" You question him. 

"Walking you home." He says simply.

"What makes you think I can't walk home by myself?"

"A pretty girl like you shouldn't be alone at night." He kicks himself for being so forward.

"You think I’m pretty?" You look at him.

Spike's words come out in a jumble. He doesn't know how to respond, especially as you look at him. He feels like such a fool around you.

"Is this your place?" He points at a house nearby. 

Your attention is rerouted to the house in question. You assent but you're curious how did he know what your house looks like. You choose not to ask. 

Spike realizes that he has given himself away. Of course, he knew what your house looked like. He stalked you the night you met. He had to know everything about you. 

You both walk up to your porch. 

"Thank you for walking me home."

"Jus' doing my job."

"What job is that, exactly?" You tease. 

Spike is flustered and anxious. If he could blush he'd be a mess of hues of red. He chooses not to answer. He turns away and waves you good night. As he walks down the street he makes sure that he is out of your sight before he sprints back to his crypt. He was inspired. He was full. He was in love.

For the next several nights Spike patrolled with you and Buffy. Every night he'd walk you home. Every time he made a fool of himself in front of you. He wanted to redeem himself but just couldn't get himself well put together enough to show you he was smooth. 

One night Buffy decides its best if you split up. She makes Spike go with her but Spike protests. She reprimands him and he is forced to trail behind her. Spike is sluggish as he follows Buffy. It doesn’t take long for him to hear you yelling for support. He sprints your way, afraid for your safety. Buffy struggles to keep up.

One big demon was lurking down an alley way. You run up to him before Spike has the time to stop you. You get the wind knocked out of you by one of the demon's arms. Spike jumps in and goes for the eyes. As the demon thrashes, it takes him awhile to get to the demon's head.

Spike is successful in blinding the demon. He later ends its existence with a metal pipe to his heart. 

All the while you're knocked out on the floor, bleeding from the bruises you accumulated from being thrown around. Spike is quick to run to your side. His love mangled and bruised. Spike picks up you unconscious body bridal style and starts towards your house. Buffy blocks his path.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He looks at her annoyed, “Protecting y/n. What does it look like?”

“Put her down or I’ll stake you.”

“Go ahead. You know you need me more than I need you.”

Buffy groans and moves out of the way. She makes a mental note to keep tabs on Spike. Not all of him was bad, but a tiger can’t change his stripes.

It doesn't take long for you to awaken in his arms. Your vision is blurry but you can make out a chiseled jaw and blonde hair. The realization that Spike was carrying you hits you. 

"Put me down." You say in a gravelly voice. 

Spike looks down at you, nothing but adoration in his eyes. 

"Can't, kitten. You're in no state for walking." He responds

You wiggle around in the hopes of breaking free but you're welcomed with pain in different parts of your body. You decide its best to stay put. 

It's a quiet walk back to your house. You could smell his scent. Fresh dug up dirt and sage. You were entranced by it. 

When you reach your porch Spike refuses to put you down. 

"Let me in." He says.

You look up to him wide eyed. Before you could open your mouth to protest Spike interrupted you.

"I can't take care of you if I can't come in."

"Put me down." Was all you could muster.

You were so afraid of letting him into your home you would rather drag your body than let him in. In theory of course.

As soon as Spike obliged and set you down, your body faltered and came crashing down. Spike hyper aware of your every move, and knowing this would happen, grabbed you and held you bridal style again. 

You sigh in frustration. You were too proud to drag yourself into your home. But you were too afraid to give this vampire so much power. 

"All I want to do is care for you. It's the only thing I've wanted."

You look up at him. You're met with sincere eyes. You’re memorized by the slope of his nose, the arch of his eyebrow, the swell of his lips. You give in. 

You open the door and invite him in. Spike is elated. He takes in your scent. He dreamed, momentarily, what your scents intertwined together would smell like. Crumpled bed sheets, soft pillows, an unmade shared bed. You were open water, and he was drowning. 

He eventually snaps out of his reverie and walks you to the bathroom. He sits you on top of the closed toilet seat. You point to a first aid kit. He makes quick work of your bruises and cuts. He takes care of your face first. 

The closeness was killing him. He can feel your soft breath. Clearly see the tiny scars you accumulated on your face from fighting demons and vampires. He can feel your welcoming skin. 

Once he was done with your face, he had to tend to your ribs that he knew were bruised. 

He inhales and prepares himself. "L-lift up... your sh-shirt." He stammers. With you he wasn’t Spike, he was William Pratt. Nerdy, small and scared. This was by no means a confession of love yet he was afraid you would reject his request to take care of you. 

You were initially surprised by his request but you knew he needed to check your ribs. You slowly lift your shirt, suspicious but welcoming. 

If Spike could breathe his breath it would be stuck in the back of his throat. To gaze upon so supple flesh, the curve of your stomach, the color of your skin. If only he had more. He was spellbound. 

As he continued to take in your body he sees the nasty bruises on your ribs. He snaps back to reality and is quick to tend to them. 

"Sorry." He mumbles as he works on your ribs. 

You giggle. "I didn't know I was that pretty."

He hypes himself up to speak. He hopes that it'll come out charming and honest. He lifts himself up to look into your eyes. 

"You're breathtaking." He sticks the landing. It's not much but it’s what he can muster up. 

Your breath is shallow and shaky. It all hit you at once. You’re, alone and semi nude, in your bathroom with a vampire who was tending to your wounds. What were you doing? You didn't know this man that well. You start to panic. Spike can see it in your eyes. He stands and gives you space. 

"What is it?" He probes. 

"I don't know you. Why are you doing this?" You pull down your shirt. 

He's quick to decide on his words or else he'll lose you. "I'm drowning in you." His words are sincere, desperate. 

You sit there confused and overwhelmed. A vampire, in love? 

You bite your lower lip, not knowing what to say. You didn't want to admit it, but you were there with him in the throes of the waves. You think of ways of not chasing him away. 

You stand up and walk to your hallway into a closet. You pull out a spare pillow and some blankets. 

Spike follows confused and scared. What if his confession was too much.

"You can't go out. The sun will rise soon. You can stay with me for the day."

Spike is instantly giddy and energized. To spend the day at your home with you, he doubts he'll get any shut eye. 

"Sadly, you can't sleep in the living room. The curtains aren't dark enough. You'll sleep in my room, I'll sleep on the couch."

"No such thing!" Spike protests. 

"What's the alternative?" You question.

"I'll be a perfect gentleman." Spike grins at you.

There he goes again, finding ways into your heart. Always present, always charming. You trusted him to keep his hands to himself; but do you trust yourself? 

You sigh and assent. There was no other way to the equation. You're sharing a bed.

As you get ready for bed, Spike wanders around your room. He continues to take in your scent, touch your stuff and even look through your hamper of dirty clothes. 

When you're done, Spike is already lying in bed, shirtless. You remember to breath. You didn't know if you'd last the night. 

"Something wrong, love?" He asked. 

You shake your head and get into bed. You turn off your lamp and you're both consumed by the darkness. It was quiet. Too quiet. You tried not to make it awkward. 

"Are you asleep?" You ask. 

Spike smiles in the dark. "Not yet." He was relishing the closeness, the intimacy of it all. 

"Talk to me then. I'm not tired."

"What do you want to know?" He turns to you, his head in his hand, elbow propping him up. 

You slowly turn to him, conscious of the proximity. Of the possible contact. 

"Tell me about you as a human."

Spike takes a deep breath, not that he needed it. He hated talking about meek and small William; but for you he would do anything.

He dives deep into who his character was when he was human. He added disdained looks and nasty remarks about who he used to be. 

"... nothing but a pathetic unworthy sack of bad poetry."

"Stop it. William sounded sweet, and caring. Empathetic and loving."

Spike's eyes widen. No one has ever referenced to him as such, unless it was his mother. He clears his throat. 

"He was something" he dismisses your words.

"I think I'd love William. He might make a good boyfriend." You giggle. 

At your words Spike is instantly fired up. Yes! This is his way in. He needs to tap into William's energy. He needs to be loving and soft. Caring and unconditional. Not that he wasn't all those things already, but he doubted his ability to conquer your heart as Spike. 

"A rose by any other name is still a rose." Spike suggested. 

You smiled at the idea of Spike still being the same sensitive poet. You pondered on the possibilities. 

You guys talked for the rest of the night until the sun came up. Soike felt more confident and was witty, as he wanted to. 

Due to your extensive talks you both slept in until the sun set. You were the first one to wake up and went straight to shower and get ready for patrolling. Spike woke up to an empty bed. He panics. Was last night a dream. He jumps out of bed and searches for you around the house. Spike spots you as you exit the bathroom. He breathes a deep sigh.

Spike pretends to be put together and follows suit in showering and getting ready. 

As you walk out if the house and onto the streets Spike feels bold and reaches for your hand. Not the whole way. Just caresses and soft touches. He's testing the water. You don't move your hand away and Spike smiles. One you reach the cemetery he decides to go for it and grabs your hand. He waits. One second. Two. Three. You didn't pull your hand away. Success! However, you quickly let go of his hand when Buffy appears.

You greet each other. Your face red in embarrassment. You couldn’t get caught flirting with a vampire. You’re not Buffy, but you can see the appeal of such a pairing.

Buffy is weary and worried about you. But she’s too busy and tired to be patrolling tonight. She hates herself for thinking this, but she had no choice but to let you two patrol without her.

Spike is excited to have time with you, even if it means fighting baddies. He is watchful of your every move, how your scent fills the air, your soft breathing as you weave through the woods. Another slow night, nothing to be done. Spike pushes himself to invite you into his crypt. He wants to spend more time with you, bring you into his world. You agree.

You admire how he has made a place of death his home. You sit on the couch he has in his ‘living room.’ Spike explains that he hasn’t any refreshments to offer. You don’t care. He is quick to take a seat by you. He suggests watching TV. You decline.

“What do you want to do then?”

You’re feeling wild and bold. You wondered what it felt to kiss a vampire. You had shared too much time already. You knew his intentions. Why not take it a step farther. You felt like you were moving too quickly but time waits for no one.

“This.” You say as you lean into kiss him.

Spike is surprised but wants this more than his undead life. The kiss is chaste, soft. You back away to see his expression. However, Spike is too into the process to end it so quickly. He places his hands on the side of your face and leans in for a deeper kiss. He takes your taste, tropical fruit and sweetness. You give in, wanting this moment to last.

Spike’s kiss is rougher, wanting, full of desire. You move closer wanting to be engulfed by him. You didn’t know this is what you needed but here you were, being one with him. Spike asks for permission with his tongue to explore your mouth. You give in. The ambience is hot and heavy. Your breath is shallow. Your body is coming alive and you want more. Spike catches onto the cues. He can tell that this has turned into lust. He wants love. He slows down the kiss until you separate.

You’re confused and disappointed. You look at him for answers.

“I thought you wanted me.”

“More than life.” He says.

“Then, what’s wrong?”

“I want all of you. Not just your body.”

You blush. A vampire in love, what a sight to see. You didn’t know what it would look like to love a vampire. You didn’t know if this was wise, but you were too involved to back out now. You lean in for one last kiss.

“We can take it slow.” You agree as you walk up and leave the crypt.

Spike is elated and excited. He is full of life and energy. He may be drowning in you but you were right with him swimming in the same turbulent sea. He wanted you to be his life saver, the reason for him to continue on. He knew of love but never of this intensity. Nothing compared to this feeling. He walked down to his room to lay in bed. He reaches for a notebook and starts writing poetry. You were his muse, and he was -after all- a poet in love.  

[dinneronvenus]

Doesn’t Matter Now

⭑ Gojo x fem reader

⭑ inspired by the song “doesn’t matter now” by flyingfish (listen to that while you read for max effect)

⭑ tags: ANGST ON 100, description of a jujutsu technique that forfeits the sorcerer’s life, death, a funeral, a hopeless and depressed Gojo goes to a medium, hinted reincarnation

⭑ synopsis: Gojo already lost his only true friend, so he never thought losing a woman could hurt him so badly

“There’s nothing you could’ve done, Gojo. You didn’t even know.” Utahime spoke softly, her own pain wanting to break through in her voice. “Nobody did.”

Gojo remained silent, eyes glazed over, a cocktail of negative emotions mixing in his mind. He couldn’t even look at Utahime, whose outfit would remind him of you. They stood in the ruins of the shrine your family had built and ran for generations. It had come under attack by many cursed spirits and you had fulfilled your duty to protect the people who lived and worked there, as well as its secrets. With everyone else safe, it would be rebuilt and restored to its original glory, something that should have been a silver lining.

“It is not uncommon for a high priestess to give her life for her people.” Utahime said, voice breaking at the end. This brought Gojo even less comfort.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I hadn’t heard her say those exact words to me before?!” He snapped, still not able to take his eyes off the scene in front of him. It was Utahime’s turn to stay silent.

In the middle of the leveled temple, there was the evidence of your bravery. A set of heavy stone doors bearing an ancient inscription, left open by whatever you had summoned to walk through them, loomed over the two sorcerers. Gojo already knew they’d be used as a gate to honor your memory and remember your sacrifice. His eyes begged to see any scrap of you in the rubble. Maybe this was just a trick, and you were hiding behind one of the doors.

“What could her technique have been to have killed her in the process?” He whispered to the open air, not thinking anyone could’ve heard him.

“Gehenna Gate, it is a technique with the highest of costs,” A raspy voice broke the unbearable quiet. It was your mother, who despite everything, managed to keep a small smile on her face for your surviving friends. “I am sorry she never told you that properly. She wanted to protect you, in her own way.” Her hand came down on Gojo’s shoulder and the kindness in her touch almost burned him alive.

“I didn’t… I wish she…” Gojo stuttered out, hot tears stinging his eyes. Your mother pulled him into a hug, shushing him like a child.

Five days later, your funeral was to be held at your family cemetery in the mountains overlooking the temple. Gojo had no idea how he would survive that. He spent the time until your funeral looking for someone who could communicate with the dead. Thanks to his power and connections, he found one the night before and prepared himself to have one last conversation with you.

“Welcome, sir. I assume you’re here to see Mistress Takemi?” The young man spoke just loud enough to be heard over the jingle of the bell from the door shutting behind him.

“Yeah, and she knows already so I’m just gonna head back there,” Gojo sauntered through the foyer and down the hall to the back room where a woman in black and purple robes standing over a large glass table was waiting on him.

“Welcome Satoru,” she spoke cheerfully with a deep voice that echoed her years of life.

“Don’t call me that. Can we get started?” The overly familiar attitude irked him. The woman cleared her throat and dropped her cheerful act.

“I suppose we can get right to it then.”

The woman had a technique that essentially made her into a human ouija board. Her hands rested on the glass table and it began to glow a soft greenish-blue. Gojo could see the dark circles and puffiness of his eyes in the reflection, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself for being this unable to accept that you were gone.

“Satoru?” His name again, but this time he could hear your voice mixing with Takemi’s voice. He said your name in disbelief, tears of joy in his eyes.

“Yes, yes! It’s me, I wa—”

“You can’t do this, Satoru. It’s against the laws.”

“Please, don’t tell me that right now. You hid so much from me, please just let me ask you one thing.”

Silence. Fearing he’d miss his chance, he went ahead with his question.

“Did you ever really love me?” The depth of sadness and desperation in his voice was unbearable to you, even in your disembodied state. “Why couldn’t you have told me? I could’ve helped you, I would’ve done anything to have saved you.”

“In the mountains where they’ll bury me, follow a trail that begins with pink and white flowers. You’ll find everything you want to know at the end. Goodbye, Satoru.”

“No, no, no,” He wiped the tears from his face and gripped both of Takemi’s shoulders, shouting. “Please come back! I can’t do this again!”

Regaining full control of herself, Takemi pushed Gojo off her and had him escorted out of her shop. The whole world was one hideous shade of grey. He walked for a while with no destination in mind but the grave. He wanted to go find that trail right now but he didn’t have anything else left in him. He wanted to sleep for the rest of his life. Returning home, he set his alarm and went to bed with your instructions in mind.

Utahime and Gojo walked with each other up the mountain to the funeral site. Utahime thought it was odd but refreshing to see him dressed in more traditional clothing. Just one more thing that only you could get him to do.

Everyone took their places, and your father stepped up to the podium. “We are gathered here to send our beloved high priestess to her place of final rest with her ancestors…”

Once the funeral was complete, no one but Gojo, Utahime and your mother lingered too long.

“I’m sorry again for your loss, ma’am.” Utahime said, bowing deeply. Your mother gave her another one of those wise, otherworldly smiles.

“I don’t think I’ve really lost her.” She said before taking a last look around the cemetery and turning to leave. “Why don’t we give him some space?” She motioned to Gojo and Utahime followed her.

Now alone with your memory and your ghost, Gojo began to look for this trail you had mentioned. It took him a while to find it but when he did, his path to the end was quick. It led to a small clearing where the grass was lush, and he was consumed by the smell of many different kinds of flowers and plants. The sight of the small garden was as beautiful as you were to him.

Looking around for anything that could be the answer you spoke of, he saw a faint bit of energy coming from inside a tree. When he got close to the tree, he found it had a hollow spot in it where you’d left a diary. He fished it out and walked to a shaded place in the clearing to begin reading it. Every page was an entry about the two of you together. All of your private feelings from when he was just a crush, and once you had gotten closer, you even glued in pictures you’d taken together.

Gojo couldn’t control his tears or hide his sobs. His body shook against the tree as he held the diary close to his chest. He calmed down enough to continue reading it, with the last entry being dated a week ago.

She knew she was going to die… He thought. You had written about the rise of cursed spirits in the area of increasing numbers and strength and how you felt like it was time for you to fulfill your duty to your people. More than that though, you wrote about how you wished you could have told Gojo. How you wanted to stay with him forever, how he was the only thing you’d ever loved as much as you loved the Gods, and how because of that you wanted to make sure he was safe and didn’t have to fight for once.

It was all too much, Gojo swore he would drown in his own tears right there. The wind picked up and blew the diary’s pages, landing on entry from before you two had met.

6.25 — Training Notes: after a long session of training and studying my technique’s history in my family. I have learned of a way I might be able to circumvent its cost. If I summon a deity of destruction that has the ability to reincarnate, then I will reincarnate too! One of my ancestors did that long ago, although it took 59 days for them to come back.

Gojo couldn’t believe what he was reading. He wiped his eyes on his sleeves furiously and scrambled to his feet. He stored your diary in an inner pocket of his kimono and made his way down the mountains to the temple ruins.

He inspected the gate and found exactly what he needed to be able to accept the loss of the only woman he’s ever loved. Utahime was strolling the grounds when she noticed him in the air, getting a close look at the doors.

“Gojo, what do you think you’re doing? Get down here!” Utahime found his behavior so disgraceful. He chuckled on his way back to earth.

“I was just checking on something. Had to be sure that I wasn’t seeing things.”

His eyes were red and puffy, but his annoyingly cheerful attitude was starting to return. Utahime couldn’t tell if she was relieved or annoyed.

“Checking on what?”

“Eh,” Gojo put a hand over the diary in his pocket.

“Doesn’t matter now.”

[call-me-strega]

How to Become a Step-Dad in 5 Easy Steps: part 2 (chapter 1/?)

Here is part 1, lore

Edit: ao3 link now here

They do go to a library in this chapter so there are a lot of references to books in this chapter. I've read some but not all of them so I can say anything about their quality more than as things that I thought sounded interesting in theory. A lot of the stuff at the library was inspired by my own experiences with public libraries.

~~~

Step 2: Get to know them

Within the next 4 months Jason ran into Danny several more times. Each time becoming more and more enamored with the young man. It was hard not to when he saw how kind and hard-working he was.

~

The first time he ran into Danny after their first meeting he actually ran into Ellie first. Well, technically she ran into him but that's beside the point. But if you were gonna get technical about it he heard her little giggles before he saw her.

He had been at the library during some of his downtime to peruse some books and relax. The life of a vigilante crime lord isn't a very peaceful one, go figure. That's why Jason liked taking some time to himself every once in a while whether it was to have tea with Alfred, hang with one of his friends or siblings, or in this case visit Gotham Public Library.

Sure he could've gone to the Manor Library or gotten something online but the Manor was pretty far from the Alley and preferred having physical copies of his books rather than a computer or tablet. Electronics just didn't have that nostalgic book smell or the soft touch of a well-loved page.

Going to the library also came with its own perks. For one, he got to visit Barbie at work. It was always nice to see her as they had this unspoken solidarity between them. The atmosphere was also a plus. There was just something special about being able to be completely solitary yet still have this special connection to the other patrons. Seeing the old man enjoying a novel with his wife, the book club that met on Sundays, the haggard office worker winding down on the weekend with a graphic novel, the young woman teaching herself sign language, the teens goofing off while they were supposed to be studying, a mom reading The Kissing Hand to her kids, all of the various people here for various reasons; all of it made Jason feel like he was a part of something bigger.

He was currently browsing a display of LGBT+ books for young adults that the library had put up for Pride Month. '"Cemetery Boys", "Aristotle and Dante", "You Should See Me in a Crown", "Six of Crows", "Boyfriend Material", "Red, White, and Royal Blue", "Carry On", Oh- "The Song of Achilles" that sounds interesting?'

That’s when he felt a small chill pass behind him. He initially dismissed it as a draft from the air conditioner, but soon after he heard the sound of excited giggles nearby. He didn't think too much of it assuming it was another kid on their way out of the children's section. However, something niggled in the back of his head that this particular giggle was one he was familiar with.

That's when he felt something collide with his leg. He looked down to see a small child with a head of glossy black hair in a red beanie glomping his leg. Suddenly, the child looked up and beamed at him. Jason's eyes lit up with recognition and he laughed.

" Hey there munchkin, how are you?"

Ellie continued to smile, releasing her hold on his leg.

" I'm doing really good Mr. Jason! Daddy told me he didn't have any work today and he said we could go anywhere we wanted! First, we went to the bodega a got these really big breakfast sandwiches! Like really really big! Like the size of my face and we shared! And then Daddy took me to the park and it was really fun! I saw a squirrel there but it ran away before I could pet it! And then we came here and Daddy said we'd make me a library card so I could get whichever books I wanted. He read Oh The Places You Will Go and Where the Wild Things Are to me and then they were gonna have story time and Daddy looked tired from the park so I told him to read one of his space books and rest while I went to story time like a big girl! When story time was over I looked around and saw you so I came over to say hi and thank you for the cookies and food because daddy says we should always say thank you when people give us gifts!"

Damn, the girl sure had one hell of a motor mouth on her. It seemed she and Danny were in the middle of a father-daughter day. It brought a smile to his face to see that she was well taken care of, but based on her very informative rambles, it seemed they were taking care of each other.

" Why don't we go say hi to your dad, huh Elle?"

The young girl gasped, "That's a great idea! Then Daddy can say thank you too! And then you can read with us and come to our house for dinner! Daddy kept saying how he wanted to make something for you too since you made us the-, the- uuh... luz-on-ya and cookies!"

" Whoa there munchkin, how about we just start with hi?"

Ellie nodded with a determined look on her face, she wrapped her little hand around his pointer finger and pulled him along to the semi-secluded corner of the children's section. Sitting there in an armchair next to a small pile of books was Danny, who seemed to be out cold, The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy slipping from his fingers.

'Aah he must be tired from moving in and probably from working too' Jason thought to himself. A smaller voice in the back of his chimed in with its own two cents. ' He still made time for her. He took her out and is spending the whole day with her even though he's tired. He's a good dad.' That's when he made up his mind not to disrupt Danny's nap and let him get some rest before he had to tackle the rest of his father-daughter day with his hyperactive six-year-old. He placed a hand on Ellie's shoulder, stopping her as she was about to shake Danny awake, and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

" It looks like you were right about your dad being tired. How about we let him rest for now and I'll say hi another time? Besides I wouldn't want to interrupt your daddy-daughter day now would I?" He started to guide her to a different portion of the library quickly forming a plan, "Hows' bout we do something I think you'll like? Did you know sometimes they bring puppies and kitties into the library?"

The young girl gasped, " REALLY!"

" Yeah, sometimes puppies and kitties can help people who are feeling sad or nervous feel better. They also help teach kids how to act nicely and quietly so that they don't scare animals by letting them read to a puppy or kitty. I can help you sign up to read to a puppy or kitty today if you want? Then afterward, you can go tell your dad and he'll be really proud of you."

The young girl seemed so excited by the prospect that Jason worried for a second that she might explode.

" That's a great idea Mr. Jason! He'll be so proud of me and he'll bring me again! And I'll get so good at not scaring animals that the squirrels in the park will let me pet them! Then, Daddy will be so impressed that he'll let us get our own puppy and Cujo can come live with us!"

Jason winced, perhaps his plan had been a tad too effective. Single parents had a hard enough time keep themselves afloat while looking after their kids, a pet was extra expenses and another commitment to devote time and effort to. Pets were usually out of budget and out of question for anyone living in or near the Alley.

Well, he'd cross that bridge if he ever got to it. For now, he focused on getting Ellie signed up to read to Charlie, the old St. Bernard that was at the library this today. He and the trainer, he squinted reading her name tag, Amanda, supervised the session. Jason would be lying if he wasn't endeared by the sight of a young girl reading Dragons Love Tacos very enthusiastically to a dog nearly twice her size.

" It's nice to see a young father spending time with his daughter."

'I agree' Jason thought before realizing Amanda thought he was Ellie's dad.

" Oh- ah no I'm her -," Jason quickly made up his mind on the least creepy excuse he could find, " -babysitter. Although, her father does make a lot of effort spend time with her."

The dog trainer flushed and apologized for her mistake but Jason waved her off saying it was no big deal. Silently, he wondered how often Danny got time to himself. When he realized what he was thinking he raised an eyebrow at himself before dismissing it as worry for a young parent and wondering how he divided his time to be able to take such good care of his daughter.

Ellie was saying her final goodbyes to Charlie when he got a text from Alfred reminding him he had promised to meet him for tea and some chitchat. Once Ellie returned to his side he let her know that he had had fun seeing her today but that he had to go spend some time with his granddad and that he'd have to say hi to her dad another time. She accepted this with a surprising amount of maturity for a 6-year-old but made him pinky-promise that he'd definitely spend some time with the both of them next time they saw each other. Jason happily accepted and sent her back off to her dad before heading over to the tea shop he and Alfred liked to meet at.

" It is so nice to see you again Master Jason. I'm happy to see arrive in one piece. Usually when you are delayed it is due to some rather -ah, unfortunate hold-ups," Alfred greeted him. He returned the smile, sinking into his seat across from Alfred, ready to unload.

" Not this time Alfie, though it is a bit of a story."

" One I'm sure you'll be pleased to tell me all about," he challenged, raising an eyebrow. Jason just shook his head and chuckled.

" Sure thing Alfie."

~

The next time he ran into Danny and Ellie he was at the grocery store.

Jason had been examining a piece of zucchini when he felt a light, cool breeze quickly followed by the sensation of someone walking past him. A lean figure came and stood nearby inspecting the squash. Jason glanced up, having registered a new presence, before doing a double take. A small grin graced his lips as he spoke,

" Well hey there neighbor, didn't expect to see you today."

Danny looked up, slightly startled before he saw that it was Jason. He smiled back and returned his greeting in a warm tone.

" Hey neighbor, I didn't expect to see you either. Honestly, I was hoping we wouldn't meet till I had made a batch of my family's signature fudge to give you as a thank you when we returned your dishes for the food and for looking after Ellie that day in the library."

" Ah~ the little munchkin told you bout that did she?"

" She was pleased to inform me about how she was learning not to scare animals and how Mr. Jason was sooo nice and even pinky promised to spend some more time with her." he teased.

Jason flushed slightly, his hand coming up to the back of his neck,

" Oh yeah, I hope I didn't overstep my bounds there. She just seemed so excited."

" Yeah, that sounds like my little spitfire!" he chuckled fondly. He took a deep breath and continued. " Well if you don't have anything else going on tonight I'd love to have you over. Ellie has really been looking forward to seeing you again and I can whip up some fudge that you can take home with you if you stay for dinner?" Danny seemed to flush at his own forwardness before rushing to continue, " I mean- not that you have to, especially if you're busy! I just- thought it might be nice to get to know my neighbor, especially since Ellie seems to like you so much! But-"

Jason, who had just finished processing the dinner invite, interrupted before Danny spiraled deeper into his nervous rambles. He place a hand on Danny's shoulder to get his attention and spoke,

" Sure. I'd love to come over Danny." He smiled, puffing up his chest, “ Besides, I have a pinky promise to fulfill.”

Danny returned his smile with a laugh, giving Jason's shoulder an embarrassed shove. Jason grinned at having successfully made the other laugh. The two stared at each other for a beat, coming down from their high of making each other laugh, before flushing and looking away. A look of realization passed over Danny's face and he turned to speak to Jason again.

" You probably have your own groceries to finish and put away. How about you come over around 7:30? I can have the fudge cooling in the fridge while we eat, oh which reminds me, you’re not allergic to anything are you?"

Jason smiled back. "7:30 sounds great Danny and no, no allergies as far as I’m aware, though I’m not particularly fond of most shellfish."

“Well alrighty then I’ll see you at 7:30,” Danny confirmed with a smile and rushed off to continue his own shopping.

And that’s how Jason found himself standing outside the Nightingale residence in a casual maroon 3/4 sleeve tee, a dark denim jacket, and some of his nicer trousers with a bouquet of flowers he put a frankly embarrassing amount of thought into. He figured bringing more food wouldn’t be appropriate since he was a dinner guest, dessert wouldn’t fly either as Danny had claimed he’d be making fudge, and wine didn’t seem appropriate with a 6-year-old also in attendance.

‘Come on Jason, it’s just a casual dinner with your neighbors! Normal human interaction, nothing to be nervous about! You can do this!’

Jason took a breath and knocked on the door. He heard a pitched squee followed by a “it’s him daddy!” come from behind the door. Unconsciously, Jason smiled as he heard the door unlocking. As it opened he was met with a cool breeze from within the apartment and the sight of his two neighbors. Danny was in a pale, moss green apron, smudged with what appeared to be powdered sugar, over a pale blue button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and cuffed jeans. Ellie was dressed in an interesting combo of pink crocs, neon green leggings, a sparkly, powder blue tutu, a white shirt with glittery black script declaring her “Daddy’s little princess”, a denim jacket embroidered with flowers and vines on the back and sleeves, and a plastic tiara with a big purple gem in the middle fixed atop her signature red beanie.

“Hi,” Danny greeted a bit breathlessly. His young daughter stood in front of him beaming up at Jason.

“ Mr. Jason you came!” She bounced excitedly on her heels before launching forward to hug his leg. She tugged at his jacket before pointing to her own, “Look! We match!”

With a smile, Jason got down on one knee and offered the flowers to her, “ And what an honor it is to match with such a beautiful princess! Please, accept these flowers as a token of my goodwill m’lady!”

“Thank you!” The girl giggled, accepting the bouquet and scurrying back into the apartment. Jason watched her go with a smile. He then turned his gaze to look up at Danny who watched the whole interaction with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He met Jason’s gaze and smiled.

“Why don’t you come in too my good sir,” he teased, holding out his hand to help Jason up. Jason smirked at the opportunity Danny had unknowingly presented him. He took Danny’s hand but made no move to get up. Instead, he ran his thumb over the other man’s knuckles and slowly brought the hand closer to his face. He glanced up once more, teal eyes connecting to icy blue ones.

“Of course my dear king,” he whispered. His breath dancing over Danny’s hand, his lips ghosting over his knuckles. Maintaining eye contact, the kneeling man placed a gentle kiss on his knuckles, watching a beautiful red flush bloom upon the young man’s face.

‘His hand is cold. His fingers have the beginnings of callouses on them. It feels like his hand was made to fit in mine. This feels right’

Jason is snapped out of his reverie when Danny clears his throat. He coughs into his other hand while trying to hide his blush, averting his eyes in embarrassment. He doesn't withdraw his hand however, allowing Jason to continue to hold it. Jason took that as his sign to get up before this got too awkward.

He rose from the ground still not letting go of the other's hand. The pair stood there for a moment with their hands intertwined, as if a message was being passed through their tingling palms. A charge filled the air with an exhilarating tension. The kind you feel before trying something unfamiliar and new that, unbeknownst to you, will become your favorite.

“So, uh, let’s head in then?” Danny said, slowly withdrawing his hand from Jason’s, almost as if he was reluctant to do so.

“Let’s,” Jason replied and the two turned into the apartment.

Danny had Ellie show Jason to the bathroom so he could wash up as he set the table. He had made grilled squash, a macaroni and beef hotdish, and some Greek salad on the side. The three of them sat at the table making some small talk ( how are they liking it in Gotham, how did the rest of daddy-daughter day go, does Jason have restaurant/activity recommendations, would he like to see Ellie’s favorite model airplane, etc.) and laughing with each other over horrible dad jokes and Ellie’s antics.

Jason could feel his chest fill with an almost unbearable warmth. He would’ve sworn it’d have melted him from the inside out if it hadn’t been accompanied by an overwhelming feeling of joy and desire. The traitorous little whisper in his head returned to comment on how much he’d love to be a part of the Nightingale’s family.

Soon enough it was time for Ellie to head to bed and Jason to head out, lest he be late for patrol.

“Here, I can clear off the table while you put her to bed.”

Danny rushed to stop him despite the young child koala wrapped over his torso. “Oh, you really don’t have to do that. I can-”

“Relax your highness, let me take care of this while you put the princess to bed.” He gave Danny a kind look, hefting up the dirty dishes. Danny returned it with a grateful look and turned to go put his daughter to bed. Over his shoulder, Ellie looked up sleepily and weakly waved one last time saying “Goodnight Mr.Jason” in a small voice.

Jason smiled gently at her and replied, “Goodnight princess.”

He then turned back to his task of clearing the table. Moving the dirty dishes to the sink and the serving dishes to the counter. He figured he’d get started on the dishes while he waited for Danny to return. He let his mind wander as he covered a plate with soapy suds. Danny and Ellie seemed like a good pair of neighbors. He doubted they’d cause him any trouble and if they ever unintentionally did, Jason found himself thinking he’d find it rather easy to forgive them. The two were both so welcoming and full of life. They made Jason feel so happy and peaceful tonight. They welcomed him into their home and made him feel as if they enjoyed his company and wanted him around for more than just a cursory “return the favor” dinner. ‘As If he belongs there. With them.’ The little voice returned, prompting Jason to reel in his thoughts. He’s only known them for what? Two weeks? These weren’t the type of thoughts he should be having at this point. He tried to rationalize it telling himself he just missed the domesticity of family dinners like he had when Catherine was in a good stretch or like he had with Bruce, Dick, and Alfred as kid when they were all getting along. He made up his mind to attend one of the bi-weekly family dinners at the manor coming up. It’d be nice to see the little demon brat, big bird, and nerd bird again now that they were getting along like actual brothers.

“Oh! Jason you didn’t have to do that!” His train of thought broken by Danny rushing over to protest him doing dishes. “You’re a guest! You really didn’t have to-”

“It’s okay Danny, I wanted to,” he reassured the fussing young man who pulled him away from the sink. The young man responded by pushing him out of the kitchen and telling him to grab his jacket before turning back to grab something from the fridge.

And there he stood in the doorway, 20 minutes after he had intended to leave, still saying goodbye. Danny pushed a familiar Tupperware container into his hands, which recognized as the one he had given them lasagna in, now full of dark squares of fudge sprinkled with a bit of white and green on top.

Danny smiled as he handed him the sweets. “A family recipe with my own little twist on it,” he winked. Jason gratefully accepted, wishing the young man well and agreeing that he hoped to see the other again soon. And with that, Jason rushed off hoping that he wouldn’t be late for patrol.

~ Later that night Jason returned to his apartment, exhausted. He chucked his helmet off onto the bed and stumbled to his kitchen. He pulled open the fridge in search of something to eat when his eyes landed on the fudge his neighbor had given him. He pulled it out and grabbed a square, giving it a sniff before biting in. His eyes widened at the taste.

The fudge was, well fudgy, but not overly sweet. It had a richness of dark chocolate and a sweeter note from the white chocolate chips mixed in. There were also candied orange peels mixed into it which gave the fudge a bit of chew and acidity to break up the richness. The fudge was topped with pistachios adding a nutty, earthy flavor to the experience. He’s sure that if Martian Manhunter ever tried these he’d accuse Jason of giving him hard drugs. But what Jason liked most of all was the quality only homemade food and family recipes passed down over generations have. He could practically taste the amount of love and thought that went into this fudge.

Jason smiled to himself finishing off his square and decided the save the rest for later. He headed off to bed with a peaceful smile on his face and a warm, full, feeling in his chest.

~~~

I tried very hard to balance out the dialogue and description as well as to not make it too long winded and keep the story moving so please let me know what you guys think. I love receiving feedback so if there is anything you want to see more or less of let me know. I’m also open to suggestions of where Jason should run into our father-daughter pair next.

If anyone's interested here is what the bouquet was comprised of: apple blossom- preference, basil- good wishes, white camellia- you're adorable, goldenrod- encouragement/good fortune, violets- watchfulness/modesty/faithfulness

I actually looked up a real fudge recipe so that I'd have and easier time describing it. You can find it here: https://www.midwestliving.com/recipe/candy/creamy-rich-pistachio-tangerine-fudge

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Angel of Small Death

Part 3 of my Halloween mini series!

Dark Priest! Billy Russo, Dark Priest!Matt Murdock, Dark! Frank Castle

Warnings: Blasphemy, kissing.

You take two steps towards the altar, before stopping in your tracks.

“At all?” You ask.

“No, nothing,” Father Murdock answers, “Only a few bits and pieces of our time together, but he has no recollection of his childhood.”

The pain in your chest is searing.

“I see.” You answer.

“It's possible, it may come back with time, it's too soon to tell. Perhaps visiting him regularly might help. Though, if he grows agitated or violent, don't hesitate to come find me.”

You nod, studying his face unabashedly. 

He holds a stoic expression, before the realisation hits you that he can't see you.

“Um, yes, Father Murdock.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Please, when we are alone, you can call me Matthew.”

“Okay… Matthew.” You murmur, feeling something cold trace it's way down your spine.

“I hope we can find a way to work with each other once I am Abbott.”

You blink, surprised, a sliver of dread passing through your body.

You want to protest, as if anyone would vote a stranger into such a position, but you find a way to hold your tongue, smiling at him, though he can't see it.

“I hope so too, Matthew.” You say evenly, before you excuse yourself to carry out your duties.

.

There's a knock on your door.

You sit up in bed, grabbing your robe and swiftly tying it around you, you call out in question.

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

You reach for the latch, unlocking and pulling open the door to find Billy, dressed in loose fitting fabrics, looking down at you with glassy eyes.

“What is it?” Heavy concern in your voice.

“I can’t sleep, I keep trying to remember you. Can we go for a walk?” He asks.

It’s the middle of the night, but you nod, grabbing a scarf to throw over your head to protect your hair.

You take the back exit, so that no one can hear your footsteps and open their doors curiously and find a man where a man definitely shouldn’t be. You didn’t even understand how he ended up at your door undetected in the first place.

“For future reference, if you get caught in the women’s dormitories, you will be excommunicated from this place.” You say softly, giving him a rueful smile.

He inclines his head, but makes no apology.

You choose to walk the more isolated path, not wanting anyone to catch sight of you with Billy alone at night. Your robe was long, down to your shins, but beneath it you were only wearing your cotton chemise that barely touched your knees.

“How long was I at the monastery before leaving?” He asks first.

You blink, remembering what he had told you.

“You came when you were seven. Your mother had sold you for opioids, and when the woman that was taking care of you died, her husband passed you off to the monks here.” You spare a glance at him before you continue speaking.

“I arrived when I was fourteen, and we became friends before you left at eighteen. I haven’t seen you since that day, until now.”

“Did I- at least write you letters?”

“Only for a few months, but after that, no, nothing.”

You glance up at the moon, full, in all its glory, illuminating the path you've taken, through the trees, towards the cemetery.

“But you… we were close?”

You nod, “As close as two people of the opposite sex could get in a place like this.” 

He pauses, looks at you for a long moment. You smile patiently.

“I keep dreaming of you.” 

“Of our past?”

He shakes his head.

“Of you, now. Ever since I woke up and saw you, there's just been this pull, and I'm trying to figure out if it's always been there.”

You shake your head.

“I couldn't tell you.” You answer honestly.

You feel something inside of you flutter, that he might have felt the same way you did, all those years ago.

He turns, and continues walking, and you follow.

Tonight wasn't too cold, the robe wrapped around you was keeping you warm, but the stillness of the cemetery was starting to get to you.

This was supposed to be a holy place, a final resting area for the dead, but you had this odd feeling of being watched as you moved through the tombstones, passing the occasional crypt.

At the centre of the cemetery, you come upon an old stone gazebo, a statue of an angel posed in the middle.

“This place… I've been here before.” Billy murmurs, stepping in.

You feel your heart squeeze in your chest, looking at his back as he steps in, tilting his head in confusion.

You didn't want to talk about it, you didn't want to tell him about here, and the small mistakes you made together.

He turns, studying you, and you drop your head to study the stone floor in the dim moonlight.

“Tell me.” Billy says, determination in his voice.

“Tell you what?” You whisper.

“What happened here?” 

You swallow, shaking your head.

“Nothing.” You answer.

“You're lying to me.”

“I'm not.”

He huffs, raises his hands to press them to either side of his head.

He looks distressed, and you feel your throat squeeze, you reach forward to take his hands into yours.

“The truth is that I liked you, way more than you liked me, and you left, and you stopped writing, and you moved on to better, godlier things, and so did I. That’s the truth.”

He shakes his head violently.

“Then why do I feel like this for you? If you really meant nothing- why?”

Your breath halts in your chest before you speak.

“What do you feel?”

He stills, opens his eyes with determination in them, his hands squeezing yours, holding you in place.

“Like every vow I’ve ever made is worth breaking for you.” 

You gasp, leaning away but he doesn’t let you.

“You shouldn’t be talking like this.” You say calmly.

He blinks, tilting his head.

“I’m only telling you the truth,” He takes a step forward, and you back up in response, “Am I not allowed to speak my truth?”

Your body responds to his proximity, the darkness around you making you feel hidden. Your back bumps against the statue of the angel.

“B- Father Russo-”

“-Don’t pretend that we haven’t done what we’ve done. You’ve matured too much to deny these things.”

You suck in a deep breath, watching as he raises a hand to push your veil off of your head. He grips a lock of your hair, admiring the feel of it between your fingers.

Your lips part as his fingers trace their way behind your neck, he uses his thumb to tilt your head upwards.

“The scent of your perfume fills my senses.” He whispers, quoting Solomon to you right as he presses his lips to yours.

You raise your hands, pressing them against his chest, hesitating as his kiss deepens.

The response of your mouth is reflexive, it comes from somewhere deep inside you, kissing him eagerly the way your body demands.

“Your lips are as sweet as honey.” He quotes again, kissing your jaw, and then down, over your neck.

It’s unlike anything, your head tips back to allow him access, a burning between your thighs that demands more, demands your acknowledgement.

His hands undo your robe, opening it up to press his palms to each side of your ribs, sliding up to cup your breasts. You gasp when his thumbs brush your already peaked nipples, a sweet, tingling pleasure works its way over your skin.

His mouth is hot on your chest, tongue darting out and it reminds you- of a few days ago when you’d been in a similar position with a different man.

You gasp, pushing him back with all your strength. Billy pauses, a solemn expression on his face, his eyes dropping to eye your body through the open robe.

You huff, reaching to tie your robe shut.

“I’ll excuse your actions, because I think that head injury has clouded your judgement. But you shouldn’t do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and you pause, your anger being washed away by sympathy, “I’m just so confused all the time, and my thoughts are so fractured.”

He shakes his head.

“The only time I have a clear thought is when I’m thinking of you. I’m sorry, please- please don’t hate me.”

You frown, feeling for him, you reach out, wrapping your arms around him securely. You feel his hand rise to stroke your hair.

“It’ll be okay.” You soothe, your body tingling with the ghost of his touch.

.

.

.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forget-Me-Not 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You watch the dirt pour onto the casket. The caretaker shovels down the earth in a final farewell to a woman without mourners. You fold your hands numbly, waiting patiently for him to finish. There is little emotion to the affair. You just want it done with.

You don't notice the approach until a shadow wavers over the plot. You look up and nearly blanch at the blonde across from you. Frigga's golden locks are silvering but still finely coifed. She wears black in a mockery of the event. You're not offended for your mother, she harboured no good will in this place. No, you bear umbrage only for yourself. That clan truly thinks you can so easily be bought.

"You have my condolences," she says softly, lowering her golden lashes as another heap of dirt thunks onto the lid.

"Your son already delivered them," you reply frigidly, crossing your arms.

"It must be strange to be home again," she remarks.

"This is not my home," you insist.

She tuts and dips her chin. Slowly, she walks around the open earth and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with you. She fixes her posture and tilts her face in your direction.

"Then it shouldn't demand a high price," she sniffs, "we made a generous offer."

"Leave," you say, "now."

"It is only facts. Your mother can't have left you much more than her tab down at The Horn," Frigga intones, "you can take the money and go. You'll never have to see Hammer Ford again."

You scoff and jut your chin out, turning your face away from her, "you really think you can buy anything. Anyone. No, I want you to by that pit of dirt from the bank. You can wait, for once in your life."

"Careful," she warns.

"Or what?"

"You think the city has lifted you above us? That anything's changed--"

"Tell me, Frigga," you turn on her, "what can you do to me now? Look away? Keep your mouth shut? Just like you did before. You and everyone else, huh? Keep me at the point of your pitchfork? I am changed, Frigga," you snarl, "because I don't give a fuck about you or your last name anymore."

She inhales and her cheeks pinch. She glances over at the caretaker, old Foster, and gestures to him. He stills the shovel and nods, walking away, your mother left half-buried.

"My son was right about you," she squares her chin as she turns to face you fully, "you are a stubborn bitch."

You cackle and look around the cemetery. What a show she puts on. It's amusing.

"He must have mommy issues, 'cause he seems to like it," you rebuff.

Her lip curls, "I resent that suggestion."

"It's only a fact," you mimic her words back to her.

"Ugh, you are a smart one. You never used to be so mouthy. As I have it, you didn't make much noise at all."

You wince and bite down. Your teeth ache with the pressure of your fury. You could throttle her but you won't give her the satisfaction.

"Thank you for coming," you grit out, "my mother would've spat in your face."

It's her turn to laugh. She sighs it out and flutters a gloved hand at you.

"Think about the offer a little longer," she trills, "you know better than anyone, the future can take us to the most unexpected places."

You stare her down. He spins without hesitation and struts off. She waves and Foster reappears with his shovel. You take a deep breath and let it out through your nose.

Oh, you'll think about it. You'll think of the perfect fuck you for the next time an Odinson comes your way.

🏚

After the funeral, you drive to the small bank with its marble columns and arched double doors. You climb the steps and enter, the only teller behind the counter looking up at you. She greets you with a shaky smile as you approach. You know her, she sat behind you in physics; Marska.

"Hello, how can I help you today?" She asks.

"Well," you shuffle around the folder in your hands, "I need to close my mother's account."

"Oh?"

"She's dead," you say plainly. She knows, everyone does. They're all just playing that stupid game of pretend. They pretend that nothing's ever wrong. "I have her statements and a death certificate."

You lay both documents out promptly and wait. She stands from her chair and swallows, "let me get the manager."

You roll your eyes and sigh. You remember when she whispered with Kati during lessons. She was no kinder than anyone else. She cut off some of your hair and got you detention for swearing at her.

She goes off to fetch her superior as you wait. You clear your throat in the dull silence. She returns, walking slightly behind the man in his burgundy suit. You know him too. Fourth-period English.

"Hello, miss, I understand you want to close your account," he stands at the window as the Marska snaps her gum and twirls her hair. You glance between them. Really, they're fucking. You don't think the rings on their fingers were exchanged between them.

"My mother's. I'd also like to sign the foreclosure on her propety."

"Foreclosure. You understand you won't get any money back?" He raises a brow.

"I do know," you say firmly, "I don't care."

He types on the old blocky keyboard, sliding over the certificate and statement. He taps and clicks and looks at you again. "The account is closed. How would you like the eleven dollars?"

"Cash," you shrug, "and the foreclosure?"

He doesn't say anything. He turns to get your money from the drawer. As he comes back to you, you take it.

"A foreclosure won't come close to what your mother owed us," he says, "I suggest you seek a buyer."

You huff.

"How much would it pay?"

"Maybe ten at most. She owes-- owed us ninety."

"Ninety," you breathe.

"Like I said, it's a small town, I heard there's some interested investors--"

"Oh shut up, Pete," you shove the bills into your purse, "you're the same little toady you always were."

You shake your head and sweep around, marching out without another word. Even in her grave, your mother continues to fuck you over.

[wanderingwomanwondering]

Today’s buddie obsession brought to you by the s6 cemetery scene. I did a rewatch, now I’m unwell.

Buck noticed that eddie was feeling some type of way at the grave, so he offered comforting words. He tried to care for eddie’s heart but didn’t see that eddie wasn’t at ease (metaphorically he couldn’t breathe in that moment, something more was sitting on his chest!!)

Eddie noticed that buck wasn’t at ease and tried to reassure him that he doesn’t have to be anything but himself but eddie also *eventually* realized in the scene that he’d missed some important feelings that buck had been having about the lightning strike.

Eddie has learned to spot when buck can’t breathe (aka be himself) and buck has learned to spot when eddie’s heart needs a beat (aka emotional support), but then they both (to varying degrees) miss when the other is dealing with something that they think is their strong suit! Eddie missed buck’s deeper heart/feelings about dying and buck missed eddie’s lack of ease/comfort with himself in the cemetery. I read that scene as a lack of ease/comfortability on eddie’s part because he started off being open about his feelings (fear of dying alone) but quickly shifted to focus on buck’s needs. He was metaphorically out of breath…in a cemetery…looking like death. Buck didn’t fully catch that something deeper and important was going on with eddie.

The trauma of buck’s death made their communication in the cemetery difficult, because they both have big unspoken feelings about it and about themselves by extension. As others have said, and I agree, buck and eddie were talking past each other in that moment. But interestingly they were still somehow talking about the same thing.

Eddie was talking about his fear of dying alone. Earlier in the episode he was with Chris at Shannon’s grave and Marie said what she said before she died so it makes sense that eddie would be thinking about these things. What feels (mildly) extra is how clearly he wore the weight of those feelings during the scene??? It only starts to make sense because eddie was literally standing next to the person who’s recent death has been weighing on him the most. The actual person who he lost and couldn’t imagine his life without. But that person is talking about another LI, feeling seen by that LI and feeling unable to see himself…or eddie’s emotional turmoil.

Buck was talking about dying alone too but in a more roundabout way. He was exploring the power of feeling seen and understood. While standing next to the man who spent years in a marriage where he wasn’t seen by his partner or by himself. While standing next to eddie as the embodiment of the kind of living death that sets in when a person feels entirely unseen in a way they want to be seen! Buck talked about natalia with hope and awe because he felt seen by her which made him feel alive and energized. Meanwhile eddie looks like he’s dying during their entire conversation! He looks pale, distressed, he’s drowning in his clothes, he’s saying words but barely talking about himself, he’s deferring to buck because buck is the only breathing person complete with a heartbeat in that scene!! Buck being lost/misguided aside, he’s still feeling like he’s on the right path and grateful to be alive to explore it, but eddie doesn’t seem to come to life or catch a second wind at any point in the conversation.

Then we have the grave itself. Marie Ellis is the woman whose grave all of this happened at. The name Marie is a variant of Mary and can mean many things. One of the popular meanings, “beloved”, stood out to me. I think what eddie buried in that cemetery was his hope for a romantic relationship with buck 🫣 Shannon’s been gone for years and eddie seems to have peace on that front, if his conversations with chris are any indication. Tía Pepa encouraged him to date and he was relieved when Vanessa said she wasn’t ready to date . In my brain all of the above makes eddie’s glow-down in 615 all the more pointed! He was in mourning, burying his hope for something with buck and trying to accept that he’d need to find a different path to romantic love.

The second name meaning for Marie that jumped out at me was “bitterness”. That one seems relevant to the way the scene played out. Before eddie understood buck’s feelings, frankly he seemed annoyed. He was frustrated that buck was dating natalia. He used the excuse of her being from a call but buck’s s2 gf, Ali, was from a call and eddie didn’t have any objections to that. Taylor was technically from a call and eddie said nothing about that (even though we KNOW he didn’t like her). Eddie was either reading history and cautioning buck against falling victim to his old pattern and/or he was full-on fishing for a reason to discourage buck from dating natalia specifically.

Tbh I know it’s a long shot but I think eddie knows that he has or is developing feelings for buck and he was finally starting to admit that (to himself at least) then buck fell into natalia’s arms. I think it was a double whammy for eddie that buck felt truly seen by her after just five minutes; I can’t get over how shook eddie looked after buck said that!! It wasn’t until after buck revealed that he felt seen and didn’t know how to be with everyone else and that he didn’t feel like he was the same person after the lightning strike that eddie accepted it and resigned himself to the idea that he doesn’t have a chance with buck. Hence eddie’s constant parade of mournful glances between the distance, buck and marie’s grave!! Bonus points to the writers because Marie also has meanings connected to the sea, and water was a constant theme in s6.

Hopefully I’m not completely delulu. I’m sure I missed stuff and there’s always more to say but damn that cemetery scene had a lot going on!!

[if-mirrormine]

quiet comfort

summary: comforting kennedy when she needs it most.

pairing: kennedy x lev (nb!oc)

word count: 833

this drabble is for @dustoftheancients who participated in the raffle for palestine hosted by the incredibly kind and talented @northern-passage. all gofundme pages are still up and short of their goal, so in case you want to check them out and you have the means to donate, you can!

there's a quiet stillness in the air that borders on uncomfortable but it's not quite tense enough to reach that point yet. kennedy sits across from them, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. her hair is done up, pulled back from her face and instead of makeup, she wears a somber expression.

lev toys with the handle of their drink as they shift in the booth. the faux leather creeks quietly and kennedy's golden eyes flick over to them at the sound, a tenderness taking over her features that puts them at ease somewhat.

they clear their throat, looking for a way into conversation. "it was a beautiful service," they say and the words are genuine. candles, flowers, ambient music played by a clearly overexperienced and underpayed piano player. in all honesty, it was one of the more pleasant memorial services they'd experienced. if only a little lonely.

kennedy stares down into her coffee, a small furrow between her eyebrows that's turned her somber look pensive. "do you think i should've said something?"

they blink at her in surprise. "did you want to say something?"

she glances at them and sighs. "i don't know," she says before pausing to take a sip. "i feel like it was expected of me."

"we can always go back," they suggest, perhaps a poor attempt at lightening the mood. "as far as i'm aware, cemeteries don't have opening hours."

she cracks a smile and lev counts that as a win. "be serious."

"i am!" she gives them a flat look and they hold their hands up in a sign of concession. "alright; what would you have said? if you'd gone up there?"

she tilts her to the side, chewing on her bottom lip as she thinks. "professor wilkes was more than just a mentor to me; he was a friend. i wouldn't be where i am today if it weren't for his guidance and kinship. he believed in me when no one else did, he pushed me to be the best person i could be and i'll never be able to thank him enough for that."

the tears finally begin to spill over, tears she hadn't been able to shed earlier at the service or even two days ago when she found about his passing in the first place. ut's difficult watching kennedy cry, this woman who has aways been so confident and so strong, because they know there's nothing they can do to take away the pain or the grief.

instead they settle for simple comfort. slipping out of their side of the booth and into hers, opening their arms to her and letting her bury her face in their chest. it's all they can do to hug her back, breathe in the calming scent of her lavender shampoo and wait it out.

they're not sure how long they stay like that. long enough for patrons to come and go, for their drinks to get cold and for their right leg to go numb. eventually, kennedy pulls back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and giving a small, embarrassed laugh. "sorry," she mutters, her voice thick with emotion.

"don't be," lev replies softly, reaching up to wipe away the tears she missed. "i'm here for anything you need."

leaning into their touch, she hums. "thank you for coming with me today. i don't know if i would've managed without you."

they grin at her as they caress her cheek. "nah, you definitely would've. i'm just the arm candy."

she snorts, pulling her hand away from them to cover her face as she laughs. "arm candy, huh?" she teases, her laughter easing the tension that had been lingering between them. "you know, you might be onto something."

lev chuckles, enjoying the sight of her smile, however brief it might be. "it's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it."

the moment of levity does them both good, and they sit in comfortable silence for a bit, the noise of the coffee shop a gentle backdrop to their thoughts. after a few moments, kennedy's expression turns contemplative again.

"it still doesn't feel real," she says, her eyes on their face, analysing every minute detail like she has so many times before. "i keep expecting him to call me about some new journal he's reading."

"it gets easier," they offer. "i can't tell you when exactly but it will eventually."

ehe pouts. "i don't have that kind of patience."

they pull her close, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead and relishing in the feeling of her sinking into their embrace. "none of us do. but i'll be here for you the whole time."

kennedy lets out a soft sigh, her breath warm against their neck. "that means more to me than you'll ever know."

giving her a soft squeeze, they can't hide their smile as they rest their cheek against the top of her head. "i think i have an idea."

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Changes Chapter 6

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The full moon shone brightly on the dimly lit road. It was early morning, and most people had ceased their driving for the day - either because they were home or because they found a motel to stop at. There was one car, a rusty coloured model, driving down the road. The windows were open, and if you tried, you could hear the notes of Bach and Brahms flowing through the air.

Normally, Max would have sped up, having used the loneliness the night brought to get to his destination quicker than legally possible. However, the problem was that he didn't quite know where his destination was. After his visit to the Widow, he immediately took his car to go and find Lucien's home. The problem was that Lucien had never told him where he lived, and he just had the description of "an old family crypt" to go on. So here he was, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, looking for a crypt that could be god knows where.

With a frustrated sigh, Max turned the music down, stopping on the side of the road. He took a map out o this glove compartment, folding it open and staring at the hundreds of lines depicted on it. He took a pen from his chest pocket, crossing out certain places. Lucien had said it was a two hour drive from his crypt to Santa Carla, so that eliminated a lot of cemeteries already. He sighed, crossing out some more options. Lucien had never shown any interest in cities like Los Angeles, so for him to go south and move closer to there was unlikely. So, for now, anything south of Santa Carla was ruled out. Max was about to fold his map away when his eye fell on a place. Oakley. If he recalled correctly - and he did - Lucien was from Oakley.

A grin appeared on his face as he restarted his car, racing down the roads to the town. It would make the search much easier - tomorrow evening, he'd start. It was already four in the morning, and he'd have to find a place to stay soon. At four thirty, he parked at a motel, quickly getting out and walking towards the home office. No one was there, so he rang the doorbell, hoping for the best. He had some time to spare, luckily.

"You had a long night, didn't you?" A middle-aged woman opened the door for him. She was dressed in a bathrobe and some slippers, curlers in her hair - but besides that, she seemed energised enough as if she'd been awake for onpy a few hours.

"Yeah, you can say that. Do you have a room for tonight?" Max smiled kindly, grabbing his wallet.

"Sure. Any special wishes? We got one with a single bed, double, king-sized-"

"A single is just fine."

Max knew that if the quality of the curtains was bad, he would have no choice but to sleep in the bathroom. Getting the mattress of a single in there was easier than struggling with a mattress the size of a double or bigger.

"Sure thing hon. Just for one night?"

"Yes. If everything goes as planned I'll be going back home tomorrow."

"You here for a job?"

"Something like that."

He paid for his room, taking the key, and quickly moved towards room number 17. With the time he spent inside talking, he was really cutting it close. As he opened the door, he saw what he had suspected. The room was old, and he was certain he'd find mould in the corners of the room. A wooden bed stood in the middle of the room, on top of a faded yellow carpet. Across from the bed was a desk with a chair, and above that, a mirror that could really use some cleaning. Max sighed. He hated motels for this exact reason. But it would do. It would only be for one night. He wanted to find answers, and if this was the cost, he could survive it for one night.

As he got ready for the night, he couldn't help but be amused. As a human, more than a few centuries ago, he had been germaphobic. At least, that's what it would be called nowadays. Back then, it was called weird. You'd think that after so much time, he'd gotten over it, but there were moments where it still bothered him. It had gotten better. Killing didn't bother him, nor did the mess the boys made. But certain areas and spaces made him feel icky. Especially spaces occupied by mainly humans were a problem. He sighed as he looked around, deciding that if he had to sleep somewhere else the next evening, he'd find some high-quality hotel or something. He shoved the desk in front of the door, blocking anyone from entering.

The next evening, he awoke early. He had slept horribly, sitting on the bathroom floor after deciding that the mattress was simply too gross to even consider touching. It basically came down to him hardly having slept, but he decided not to care too much about that. One night of not sleeping wouldn't do anyone much harm. As he packed his bag and put the furniture back in place, he couldn't help but make a mental note that he'd have to invest in a camper or something similar. At least the mess he'd find in there would be his own.

"Good luck with your trip!" The woman from the night before called to him as a goodbye after he left the keys at her desk. He had no intention to stay and talk, knowing that the question 'How did you enjoy your stay' would come up, and his answer wouldn't be satisfactory. In his haste to leave, he didn't notice the woman staring at him and slightly shaking her head.

"What a strange man..."

It was a little after ten when Max found his way to the cemetery. He parked his car outside the gate, turning both the motor and the light off. There were only three crypts in this cemetery, making his search easier than he had anticipated. The first one he came upon, laying in the middle of some rosebushes, was locked. He made his way past the graves, noticing how many stones laid bare before walking up to the second crypt. This one was unlocked. He pushed the stone door open, and was surprised at the sight before him.

Lose papers were spread everywhere around on the floor, a broken chair and desk laid in the corner of the crypt - as if someone had thrown it there. In the middle of the room was Luciens coffin, broken to pieces. Max walked in, looking around. There were scratchmarks on the door, the walls, the wooden remnants of furniture. There had been a fight here. And someone was taken.

Max closed the crypt door, looking at the papers on the floor. He recognised the handwriting as Luciens, making hundreds of notes next to typed documents. He quickly collected them all, scanning them quickly to see if he could find mention of Julie's name.

Test subject 7B has shown no interest in participating in the experiments.

His eyes fell on that line, noticing Luciens handwriting next to it.

Julie???

Another page that had a picture of a large metal pipe forced through a woman's torso. Even on the black and white photograph it looked gruesome.

Subject 7B has yet to complete the change fully. Injuries seem to stop bleeding sooner but take longer to fully heal. Bruises sustained in an earlier fight (date 23/2/1985) seem to only now (05/3/1985) start to heal and lighten in colour. Estimated recovery time for the impalement is three months.

As Max piled together more and more papers, he quickly realised they were a medical file. Pages upon pages describing the horrors done tot he poor girl. As he finally collected the last page, he realised he had about a hundred in his hands. No wonder Julie had nightmares. Just skipping through the pages and seeing what they described was enough to make him physically ill.

Max sighed as he stood up, walking towards the door. Lucien was nowhere to be found - and that too worried him. He wouldn't just leave his place abandoned like this. Max looked around one last time, noticing a scrap of paper laying in the floor under some pieces of wood.

Berkeley University

Max frowned as he looked at the card. Lucien didn't go to university, so why did he have this card? He looked at his watch, noticing it was nearing twelve already, and decided that the crypt would be his spot for the night. Until then, he'd go and investigate the only lead he had. What was Lucien doing at Berkeley University? It was a short drive, taking only twenty minutes, before Max saw the university building arise at the horizon. It seemed to have a botanical garden, with brightly lit glass domes and - as far as Max could see from this distance - loads of exotic flora. The building itself was old, but people were working hard to keep it modern. On the left side of the building was some scaffolding. Max grinned. Of course, he could have made his way in through an open window or door anyway, but this made it much easier.

As he parked the car, he couldn't help but wonder what Lucien had been doing here. The vampire had been known for being lazy, refusing to take any jobs, and claiming that the undead live was one for free time - not for work. So, why would he go to the university? He didn't seem like the type to take up classes or teach for that matter. Max made his way to the side of the building, flying up - not wanting to climb the metal stairs of the scaffolding and risk being found out - and entering through an open window. Once inside, he stopped and looked around. The walls were split in two, the upper half bare, painted a bright white colour. The bottom was lined with faded yellow tiles. The floor was made of granite, and it could definitely use an update. The number of cracks in the floor was, in his opinion, unnecessary.

He walked down the hallway, searching for an office with Luciens name on it. It was his best shot. As he searched both the third and second floor hallways, he realised quickly that it was unlikely he'd find it like this. Maybe Lucien used a different name - something Max realised he should have thought of earlier - and maybe he had a hidden office or had just come here for a meeting with someone. He sighed, walking down the stairs towards the entrance of the building. With any luck, there was a receptionist there - or at least someone from the university - who could tell him if they knew Lucien and his whereabouts.

"Sir? You can't be here." A young man, in his twenties and probably working the nightshift as a side job to finance his studies, looked at Max. Max smiled kindly. The kid would not be a problem. He was scrawny, sounded nervous, and looked as if he had never won a single argument in his life.

"I'm sorry for barging in," Max said, "but I was looking to surprise a friend of mine. He said he worked here. Maybe you know him? Lucien-"

"Yes? Eh - he does work here sometimes, but he never really stays long. I haven't seen him tonight."

"Do you know where his office is?" Max asked, a subtle force in his voice. The boy would not refuse him - and if he did, he could always hypnotise the student. It would be tricky since he hadn't done it in a while, but he was certain he still could.

The student nodded, walking away from Max. He walked down a long hallway, opening a door at the end of it. Behind the door was the entrance to the botanical garden - but also a winding staircase going down. Max quickly dismissed the boy, closing the door behind him. First, he'd take a look at the botanical garden. Within a couple of hours, the sun would rise, and he would have no time then to investigate.

Wild flowers grew everywhere, hiding the pathways around the fountain in the middle of the greenhouse. As he did a quick sweep, he didn't find any sign of Lucien - or anyone else for that matter. What he did find, however, worried him. The plants growing here were medicinal, for the main part. That in and of itself wasn't that weird - but the fact that the majority of these plants were potentially harmful to both humans and vampires? Yes, that worried him.

Next chapter >

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

seven - a joel miller story

pairing: post-outbreak jackson!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5k

summary:

Joel Miller has spent twenty years pushing the grief and guilt surrounding the death of his daughter, Sarah, to the darkest recesses of his brain in favor of survival. And I've been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why

Living a more quiet life in Jackson means the ghosts of his past have returned to haunt him. He finds his solace in you, the town librarian.

author's note:

another work for the folklore anthology! i'd really love to hear your thoughts on this one, so please drop a comment or slide into my inbox if you're so inclined.

content warnings/tags:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, ANGST, themes of grief and loss, feelings of guilt, discussions of child loss and sibling loss (unnamed brother of reader), descriptions of panic attacks, nightmares, alcohol use, unprotected p in v, vaginal fingering, pet names, a reference to the harry potter series. let me know if any are missing!

“Look at me, daddy!” 

Joel watches as Sarah pumps her legs, soaring high into the cloudless blue sky. He has to shield his eyes against the painfully bright sun. He smiles as she laughs, the sound blanketing him in joy.

As she swings down back towards the ground, Joel hears a panicked shout. He turns, a man running toward him over the hill, arms waving. He can’t hear what the man is saying, he’s too far away.

A shot rings out and the man drops to the ground in a heap of limbs. Joel can see a line of soldiers, guns trained toward him.

“Sarah, we have to go!” He shouts, turning back to the swing set. The swing is empty. He searches frantically for his daughter but the little girl is nowhere to be found. “Sarah!”

He’s running, putting space between him and the soldiers. He begs and prays to a God he’s always had trouble believing in that he finds his baby.

He sees her, finally. She’s standing in the middle of a field, her back to him. It’s dark now, he’s not sure when that happened. 

“Sarah! Sarah, we gotta go, come on, baby,” he shouts. She turns, slowly, her arm braced around her stomach and a horrified expression on her face. Joel drops to his knees in front of her, taking her face between his hands. “Baby? What’s wrong?”

She lowers her arm, bright red blood smeared on her tan skin and a blossoming stain on her shirt. Her voice shakes as she whispers, “Daddy?”

Joel wakes with a shout, sitting up in bed as he struggles to catch his breath. His sweat damp skin erupts with goosebumps in the cold air of his bedroom. He presses a hand to his chest, the tight grip of panic around his heart easing incrementally as he fights for breath.

The brief glimpse of darkness between the curtains covering the window tells him it’s still early and a glance at the clock on the nightstand confirms as much. He groans, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. The floor is frigid against his bare feet and he shivers with the unexpected chill. 

In the kitchen, he makes himself coffee before slipping his leather jacket on and heading to the back porch. The dark sky has lightened the slightest bit, the encroaching dawn painting the inky sky a faded purple as the sun creeps up from its slumber. 

From his porch, Joel can see one of the side entrances to the cemetery. He watches as a figure emerges from beyond the concrete walls and it takes him a moment to realize it’s just you again.

You, the curious woman that runs the town library. He’s seen you on other occasions like this morning, where he’s trying to shake off the remaining webs of discomfort that have been spun in his mind. You shut the wrought iron gate and like you can feel his gaze on you, your head turns, keen eyes regarding him.

You approach his house, stopping at the bottom of the porch. You stand with your hands stuffed in your coat pockets, head tilted slightly and a smile on your lips as you say, “Up a bit early, aren't you?”

Joel takes a sip of his coffee. “Could say the same about you.”

“Early bird catches the worm,” you reply, smiling at him. He swallows. You make him nervous. Despite the few interactions he’s had with you, he feels like you know him to his very marrow, and that scares a man like Joel.

“More like a night owl.” 

You chuckle. “A bird is a bird. I’ll see you around, Joel Miller.”

He stares after your retreating figure for so long his coffee has gone cold. With a sigh, he returns inside, thoughts no less tangled than when he first stepped outside.

________

You survey the rose bushes you’ve cultivated, rows of different varietals beginning to blossom or in full bloom. The peony buds have gotten larger and any day now they should blossom as spring really begins to show her colors. The mornings and evenings are still cold, but the afternoons give way to hotter temperatures and thankfully you’ve been spared one last late winter snowfall.

You prune some of the faded blooms from the bushes, collecting them for composting. When you’re done, you return inside to wash up and change before heading to the library. As you scrub beneath your fingernails, your mind drifts to the specter of Jackson, Joel Miller.

There’s something about him that draws you in, despite the arms length of distance he tries to keep from everyone. You saw him the other morning after you made your way through the cemetery long before it officially opened, laying extra flowers around some of the less tended graves. It’s not the first time, and based on what you know about the older man, it won’t be the last.

________

Since Joel isn’t scheduled for a patrol for a few days, he decides to visit the library. Too much idleness is dangerous for a man like Joel, who is in constant search of something to keep his mind and body occupied so that his thoughts don’t drift to darker places. 

You’re sitting at the circulation desk when he enters, bent over a book as you read off the log number on it and write it in a journal under your hand. You look up, flashing him a smile that briefly suffuses him with warmth. 

“Hey,” you say in greeting. He nods, intending to just walk past you, but you continue to ask, “You need help finding anything?”

“No,” he replies shortly. You nod, smile faltering the slightest bit. Joel feels a flash of guilt before he tamps it down and walks deeper into the library. 

He explores the tidy shelves until he finds himself in the fiction section, reading cracked spines and faded letters until one catches his eye. It’s a small paperback sandwiched between two larger books, a pink spine etched with white lines and faded blue lettering. He wiggles it free, turning it over in his hands.

A Wrinkle In Time.

The blue cover with a snowy mountain scene, three children carried in an egg over a town by a flying white creature used to stare up at him from Sarah’s nightstand. It was her favorite book, one she had him read to her at bedtime when she was five. It was the same book he’d caught her reading under the covers with a flashlight past her bedtime when she was eight, the same one she carried everywhere until it fell apart and he had to replace it when she was ten.

Joel’s hand shakes and he has to steady himself by holding the bookshelf. His chest feels tight, too small of a space for his rapidly pounding heart. The words printed on the books in front of him all blur together as he tries to focus, tries to breathe, tries to stay in the present.

There’s a hand on top of his. Delicate, soft. A voice he knows he recognizes but can’t place is saying his name, but it sounds like it’s coming through layers of cotton in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut.

After a long moment, that vise grip around his chest eases and he swallows around the lump in his throat. He blinks, spots dancing in his vision as his eyes adjust to the light once more. 

“Joel?” You ask, voice quiet. It makes his muscles tense, coiled tight like he’s ready to run. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he replies roughly. He slips his hand out from beneath yours. “‘M fine.”

You’re silent for a moment, keen eyes making him feel flayed open and exposed as you watch him. Finally you ask, “Was it about your daughter?”

“No,” he snaps. Rage blinds him, white hot in his vision as he moves past you. 

“Wait,” you call out. Joel pauses but doesn’t turn. “It’s okay, you know. To still carry that pain. Did you ever even allow yourself a chance to mourn?”

He turns, looking at you incredulously. “What the hell do you mean? I mourn every fuckin’ day.”

“No, you grieve. You let the thoughts of Sarah—“

“Don’t. Don’t you say her name,” he hisses, stepping closer in his anger. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“—haunt you to the point of pain. You think I don’t know why you’re out there on your porch so early some mornings? It’s the same reason I’m out in the cemetery,” you confess. You take a deep breath. “You’ve been fighting for survival since the outbreak and you never gave yourself the chance to mourn. You owe it to yourself and to Sarah to try.”

Joel’s chest heaves, a venomous retort on the tip of his tongue when a voice calls out your name from the front of the building. With one last look that speaks volumes with no words, you disappear from the stacks.

Joel leaves the library and heads straight for the Tipsy Bison. A young man is polishing glassware when he storms in, door slamming shut behind him. 

“What can I get you?” The man asks as Joel slides onto a stool.

“Whiskey,” he demands. A glass is set in front of him, amber liquid poured until it's halfway full. He brings the glass to his lips and lets the alcohol burn its way down his throat and erase the taste of guilt on his tongue. Setting the glass on the bar he says, “Another.”

He drinks two more glasses in the same fashion, glaring at the boy when he hesitates to pour his third drink. He sips his fourth pour slowly, letting time pass as it always cruelly will.

Finally, when the light beyond the window panes starts to fade, he heads home, hands shoved in his pockets as he wills one foot in front of the other, gaze fixed on the pavement. It’s not a long walk but it feels like it as he cuts between buildings to avoid having to make conversation with people. 

When he reaches his house, he stomps up the steps as he digs in his pockets for his key. His boot knocks into something on the ground by the door. He bends over to pick up the object.

A Wrinkle In Time.

Joel opens his front door and collapses on the couch, book pressed to his chest as a dreamless, whiskey tinged sleep consumes him.

________ 

“Stop running! Put your hands up!”

Joel sets Sarah on the ground, raising his hands above his head. “We’re not sick! My daughter, she hurt her ankle,” he shouts.

The soldier keeps his gun trained on them as a staticky voice over the radio says something he can’t make out. His finger moves from rest to poised over the trigger, the barrel of his gun braced against his shoulder as he takes aim.

“No!” Joel shouts as the gun goes off. He launches himself in front of Sarah, wrapping his arms around her and bracing for the impact and the shocking pain. 

The pain doesn’t come. He slowly opens his eyes, expecting to see the soldier and his gun but instead he sees Sarah, a shocked look on her face as she clutches her stomach, dark blood staining her fingers. She’s far away, not right behind him like she had been.

That’s when Joel notices the weight in his hands, the cold press of metal to his palms. He looks down at the black rifle in his hands, then back up at Sarah.

“No!”

Joel wakes tangled in his sheets, panic coursing through his veins and a hoarse shout of Sarah’s name fading in the dark. As he chokes on the air his lungs are desperate for, he glances at the clock. It’s early again, too early for the rest of the town to be awake save for the people scheduled to return from patrol in a couple hours. 

He runs a hand over his face with a sigh before getting up. It’s been a couple weeks since he last had a nightmare, the product of back to back patrol shifts and helping with a building repair that left him so blissfully exhausted his traitorous brain couldn’t torture him, but it seems they’ve returned with a vengeance. 

Joel gets dressed and heads downstairs, making himself coffee that he brings out to the porch. He watches the cemetery gate, part of him hoping he sees you and a larger part hoping whatever haunts you has left your peace intact for the night.

Like his thoughts have conjured you from the ether, you step outside the cemetery gates. He sees the brief moment of hesitation when you notice him sitting on his porch, but a forgiving part of you must urge you closer. When you reach the porch, you regard him with that same look that makes him feel like you can see right through to his wretched soul.

“You’re up early,” you comment knowingly.

“So are you.”

“So I am.” You take a deep breath. “Come with me. I wanna show you something.”

You don’t wait for his response before you’re turning, heading for the gate and back towards the cemetery. Despite his better judgment, Joel follows, taking wide steps to catch up with your quick stride.

You walk the winding dirt paths between the headstones with sure steps that Joel follows with uncertainty. He’s never been in the cemetery, has never had a reason, so he appraises the headstones with a morbid curiosity, reading the names of people he’s never met. He notes that a number of the sites have flowers in various stages of freshness.

After a few minutes, you stop and Joel glances at the headstone you’ve paused in front of.

“Tommy had it put in a few years after he got to town,” you say quietly. “He told me about her…about what happened.” Joel takes a step closer, dropping to his knees. The damp earth cushions the fall, early morning dew seeping into his jeans as he reaches out to trace the carved letters of his baby’s name. 

“I’ll…I’ll give you some privacy. I just thought you should know she’s here.”

As you turn to leave, Joel reaches out and wraps a tentative hand around your knee. You look at him in surprise as he murmurs, “Stay with me?”

You lower yourself to the ground, settling in beside him as the sun rises and the world around you wakes from its slumber. 

________

You sit together in front of Sarah’s headstone for about an hour before Joel stands with a groan and mumbled curse. He holds a hand out to you to help you up, the gesture leaving you nearly pressed together. You search his brown eyes, hoping for a glimpse of relief but it’s still too soon to tell.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, stepping back and clearing his throat. “For snappin’ at you in the library.”

“I understand. I made a lot of assumptions that day,” you reply. He laughs, though it’s strained.

“Yeah, well, if there were still a lottery around I’d tell you to buy a ticket. You were right on the money.” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Thought I was gettin’ better. After all that time with Ellie…I felt like I had a purpose again.”

“Maybe that’s the issue. Thinking your purpose is tied to someone else.”

His brow furrows. ���How do you keep doin’ that?”

“Doing what?” You ask.

“Seein’ right through me.” 

You smile at him. 

“Like attracts like, Joel. Remember that.”

________

Joel starts visiting Sarah’s grave regularly. Sometimes it’s early, the result of another nightmare or returning from patrol, and sometimes it’s later in the evening, when fireflies begin to flicker in the grass as spring wears on. He takes the worn copy of A Wrinkle In Time that you left him, reading a chapter of it out loud each time as he sits with his back pressed to the stone marker.

One thing he notes with growing intrigue is how there’s always flowers on a number of the headstones, including Sarah’s. It’s a reminder that he’s not the only victim of loss, even if his own still feels like a gaping wound some days.

He visits the library again, a bag full of books he found on his last patrol shift heavy on his back as he enters the building. You look up from a book you’re reading as the door shuts, smiling at him. 

“Hey,” you say in greeting. “You need any help finding anything today?”

“No. Brought you somethin’, though,” he replies, hefting the bag onto the counter and opening it to reveal his bounty. “Found ‘em last patrol.”

You reach in and pull two of the books out, your grin downright ecstatic as you look at him. “The Lord of the Rings?”

“Complete set. You ever read it?”

“When I was younger,” you murmur, fingers tracing the cover of the book. “Thank you, Joel.”

His heart pounds as he looks at you, smile bright and eyes soft. You remove the other books from his bag, laying them out and checking them for damage. He likes watching you work, the gentle way that you flip through the time worn pages soothing to him as he stands there. 

“What’s your favorite book?” You ask, glancing at him as you work. 

“Not much of a reader. Sarah was, though. She would tell me about the books she was reading,” he says, voice catching on Sarah’s name. “She loved A Wrinkle In Time. Started the Harry Potter series, too. When the last one came out she made me take her to the bookstore at midnight just to get it.”

“My brother did the same,” you reply. “Dressed up and everything.”

“Your brother, huh?” Joel asks. You stack the books, avoiding Joel’s gaze.

“He was about Sarah’s age. Twelve. I was seventeen when…everything happened.” You pause. “The night that everything started happening, I had actually snuck out of the house. Went to a party in the woods. I made it back home just as the grid went out but when I got inside…”

“You don’t gotta tell me this,” Joel says.

“When I got inside, my brother was sitting at the table, covered in blood. Our parents had attacked him and he fought them off as best he could. He could feel the infection, you know? Knew something was wrong. He told me to leave.” You take a deep breath, your eyes returning to the present. A tear slides down your cheek and you brush it away quickly. “If I had been there—“

“Don’t,” Joel interrupts. “You can’t blame yourself.”

You laugh, looking at him incredulously. “Pot meet kettle!”

Joel laughs with you, a boisterous sound he hasn’t heard in years. It feels almost rusty in its disuse. “Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says when quiet descends once more. 

“It’s only fair, right? A tragedy for a tragedy?”

“I don’t think that’s how the sayin’ goes.”

You shrug. “That’s how the world goes, though.”

________

As spring starts to fold into summer, Joel finds himself growing closer to you. It starts with visits to the library when he’s off from patrol, helping you shelve and catalog books. Soon, he’s spending so much time there that he’s still around when it’s time for you to lock up and he offers to walk you home or to the mess hall for dinner. 

Dinner turns into the occasional drink at the Tipsy Bison. Those nights are his favorite, watching as you try to play darts after a few drinks and laughing when you pout after each missed shot.

Better days still give way to troubled nights, though. He wakes on one such night drenched in sweat, the nightmare just a haze of fear in his mind. It’s early, of course, so he takes a brief shower and dresses before grabbing his coffee and A Wrinkle In Time to make his way to the cemetery.

The ground is soft beneath his footsteps as he takes a now familiar path to Sarah’s headstone, seating himself on the damp dirt. He reads for a bit before the creak of hinges alerts him to someone’s arrival.

You enter through the front gate, a pile of flowers wrapped in butcher paper in your arms. He watches as you lay flowers around the graves with care, moving steadily among the rows until you’ve reached Joel.

“You do the flowers?” He asks. You take a seat beside him, gathering a wilted white rose from in front of the headstone and replacing it with a spray of yellow flowers. 

“Some of them. Sometimes people come to me for arrangements to bring themselves,” you reply. 

“Why?”

“Because I still believe in beautiful things,” you tell him with a shrug.

Joel watches you set the flower carefully on the ground in front of Sarah’s headstone and it feels like the final piece of a puzzle slotting into place. In the silence between you, his mind drifts to Tess, who he cared for but couldn’t give himself fully with the way he was when he knew her. He thinks about Bill and Frank and the kindness they showed him even when he didn’t show his gratitude. He thinks about Ellie, who stuck by his side despite everything he had to do to make it here. 

Then there’s you, who’s planted roots in his heart like the flowers you grow and filled him with a light he hasn’t known in a long time and it leaves him feeling damn near winded. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, when a crack of thunder precedes the opening of the sky, heavy raindrops filtering through the tree branches.

“Shit!” He curses, shoving his book into the waistband of his jeans beneath his shirt to protect it from the rain. “Let’s go,” he says, tugging you up from the ground and keeping your hand gripped tightly in his as you both sprint for his porch. 

You’re both drenched from the sudden summer downpour, rain dripping from your clothes and hair to the porch as you race up the steps. Another crack of thunder has you jumping, laughter spilling from your lips that joins the melody of the rain on the roof. 

As your laughter fades, Joel pulls you closer by the hand still held tight in his. He searches your face for any sign that you might not want this, might not want him, but to his relief he finds none. He wraps an arm around your low back, pressing your rain soaked body to his as he tilts his head to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

The kiss remains soft, gentle, a smooth glide of his slightly chapped lips against yours. You taste like rainwater but feel like sunshine, a perfect dichotomy. Joel pulls away slowly, not wanting to lose the connection but starting to feel uncomfortable in his soaked clothing.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s get some dry clothes.”

He leads you inside the dark house and upstairs to his bedroom. He finds a shirt and boxers for you, turning to give you the privacy to change as he does the same, setting the damp book on his nightstand and leaving his wet clothes in a heap on the floor. 

“I’m decent,” you announce. He turns, breath catching at the vision you make wearing his clothes, your nipples pressing against the worn cotton shirt. He reaches for you, wrapping an arm around your waist and a hand behind your neck to pull you into another kiss. 

You pull away first this time, stepping back and crawling into his bed. You burrow beneath the covers before lifting the edge, an eyebrow raised at him in invitation. He slides in beside you, blankets settling over your bodies as you rest your head against his bare chest.

“I’m scared,” Joel says, a whisper in the dark. 

“About what?” You ask, lifting yourself up to look at him. He swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Losin’ you. Losin’ Ellie. Losin’ Tommy.” A pause. “Like I lost Sarah. And Tess.”

“Fear doesn’t stop death, Joel. It just stops you from living.”

________

Something changes in Joel with your words. He lifts his head from the pillow to kiss you, his body shifting beneath yours to push you onto your back so he can hover over you. This kiss is different, more desperate as his tongue slides against yours and his teeth dig into your bottom lip. 

You slide your fingers into his hair, nails scratching against his scalp and making him moan into your kiss. He trails his lips across your jaw and down your neck as he urges your legs apart and fits himself in the space between your thighs.

His hips rock against yours, the friction making you gasp and pull on his hair. He chuckles against the skin of your neck before sinking his teeth against your pulse point, sucking a mark into your skin to match the one he’s left on your heart.

One of his warm hands lifts your borrowed shirt, bunching the material beneath your armpits and exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze. Joel dips his head to pull one nipple between his lips and he swirls his tongue over the hard bud, looking up at your face as he does. He does the same to your other breast, the delicious sensation of his mouth almost enough to distract you from the slow drag of his calloused fingers across your tummy and beneath the elastic of the boxers he’s leant to you.

He groans as his fingers circle your clit, gathering your wetness and spreading it over your folds with his movements. He leans up to kiss you again, deep swipes of his tongue exploring your mouth as your hips chase his hand with increasing fervor.

“You’re so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs. There’s a bright flash of lightning that illuminates the room, giving you a clearer view of the adoration simmering in his eyes.

You press a hand to his cheek. “You deserve good things, Joel Miller.”

He drops his head, forehead pressed to your collarbone. He slips two fingers inside of you as thunder rattles the windows, the storm overhead matching the one in your body as he works his digits with slow, methodical movements, curling them with each pull from inside of you. 

“Need you,” you whimper, “please, Joel, need you.”

“You got me,” he says, sitting up to tug the boxers down your thighs and pull the waistband of his down, freeing his cock that he takes on his fist, rubbing it through your folds.

He notches the thick head of his cock at your entrance, pressing inside of you with a single deep thrust that has you gasping his name. There’s another crack of lightning as he bottoms out, hips pressed flush to yours.

Joel starts to move, setting a leisurely pace, notably unhurried as you relish in the weight of him against you. His forehead drops to yours and he peppers your face with soft kisses, from your forehead to your nose to your chin. You smile at him and to your surprise and delight, he grins back.

He sits up, gripping your hips for leverage as his rhythm changes to something more carnal, more desperate, sharp thrusts that drag against something inside of you that makes stars dance across your vision. You’re moaning his name with each collision of his hips to yours and his head drops back with his own deep groan as you tighten around him with your release.

“Fuck,” he shouts, withdrawing quickly and taking himself in hand, hot splashes of cum hitting your stomach as you gasp for air. Joel leaves the bed for a moment and returns with a damp cloth he uses to wipe you clean before tossing it to the pile of wet clothes and climbing back into bed beside you.

He pulls you close and with your head on his chest, you let the pounding rhythm of his heart lull you back to sleep. 

________

“Look how high I got, daddy!” 

Joel watches a young Sarah deftly climb the limbs of a tree she found on their hike. He laughs as she straddles the last branch she can reach, waving down at him with a bright grin on her face. 

“That’s mighty impressive, baby girl, but can you get back down?” He shouts up at her. 

“Of course I can!” She insists, slowly working her way back down the branches. She makes it to a lower branch but she can’t reach a foothold from where she hangs by her arms. “Daddy!”

“I gotcha,” Joel says, moving to stand below her. “Just let go, I’ll catch ya.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”

Joel’s eyes flutter open. The first thing he notices is the sunlight streaming through the open window. You must have woken up before him and opened it. The room is warm from the late summer sun, but there’s a breeze that rustles the curtains as he stands and stretches.

He can hear the clink of pans downstairs and he follows the noise, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen as he finds you whisking something in a bowl. It’s been weeks since that early morning together in bed and every day since you continue to help put him together piece by jagged piece.

You must feel him there, attuned to him as you always are, because you turn and grin brightly at him.

“There you are,” you say, crossing the kitchen to kiss him. “Was wondering when you’d finally wake up.”

“Can’t a man sleep in once and a while?” He asks, pulling you in for a second and third kiss. “What are you workin’ on?”

“A cake. It’s July 20th.”

Sarah’s birthday. 

Joel’s breath leaves him in a rush. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and holds you tightly to him, your arms wrapped around his waist as you squeeze back.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Always.”

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist.

[markgarry909]

My wife and I were watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire while we were in bed.

I turned to her and said, 'Do you want to have Sex?'

'No,' she answered.

I then said, 'Is that your final answer?'

... She didn't even look at me this time, simply saying, 'Yes..'

So I said, "Then I'd like to phone a friend."

And that's when the fight started...

________________________________

I took my wife to a restaurant.

The waiter, for some reason, took my order first.

"I'll have the rump steak, rare, please."

He said, "Aren't you worried about the mad cow?"

"Nah, she can order for herself."

And that's when the fight started.....

_____________________________

My wife and I were sitting at a table at her high school reunion, and she kept staring at a drunken man swigging his drink as he sat alone at a nearby table.

I asked her, "Do you know him?"

"Yes", she sighed,

"He's my old boyfriend. I understand he took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago, and I hear he hasn't been sober since."

"My God!" I said, "Who would think a person could go on celebrating that long?"

And then the fight started...

_____________________________

My wife sat down next to me as I was flipping channels.

She asked, "What's on TV?"

I said, "Dust."

And then the fight started...

________________________________

Saturday morning I got up early, quietly dressed, made my lunch, and slipped quietly into the garage. I hooked the boat up to the van and proceeded to back out into a torrential downpour. The wind was blowing 50 mph, so I pulled back into the garage, turned on the radio, and discovered that the weather would be bad all day.

I went back into the house, quietly undressed, and slipped back into bed. I cuddled up to my wife's back;

now with a different anticipation, and whispered, "The weather out there is terrible."

My loving wife of 5 years replied, "And, can you believe my stupid husband is out fishing in that?"

And that's how the fight started...

_______________________________

My wife was hinting about what she wanted for our upcoming anniversary.

She said, "I want something shiny that goes from 0 to 150 in about 3 seconds."

I bought her a bathroom scale.

And then the fight started......

______________________________

After retiring, I went to the Social Security office to apply for Social Security. The woman behind the counter asked me for my Driver's License to verify my age. I looked in my pockets and realised I had left my wallet at home. I told the woman that I was very sorry, but I would have to go home and come back later.

The woman said, 'Unbutton your shirt'.

So I opened my shirt revealing my curly silver hair.

She said, 'That silver hair on your chest is proof enough for me' and she processed my Social Security application.

When I got home, I excitedly told my wife about my experience at the Social Security office.

She said, 'You should have dropped your pants. You might have gotten disability too.'

And then the fight started...

________________________________

My wife was standing nude, looking in the bedroom mirror.

She was not happy with what she saw and said to me, “I feel horrible; I look old, fat and ugly. I really need you to pay me a compliment.'

I replied, "Your eyesight's damn near perfect."

And then the fight started........

________________________________

I rear-ended a car this morning...the start of a REALLY bad day!

The driver got out of the other car, and he was a DWARF!!

He looked up at me and said 'I am NOT Happy!'

So I said, 'Well, which one ARE you then?'

That's how the fight started.

________________________________

One year, I decided to buy my mother-in-law a cemetery plot as a Christmas gift...

The next year, I didn't buy her a gift.

When she asked me why, I replied, “Well, you still haven't used the gift I bought you last year!"

And that's how the fight started.

Anon

[tomurasmoleunderhislip]

I lean down to give her a kiss because I need a

Girl that make me cry, a girl that make me happy

A girl that passed away back in 1985 2021

A girl I plan to marry, a girl I plan to wed

A girl I chew on 'cause my baby is already dead

Cemetery lady, my cemetery girl

Cemetery baby, I want you in my world

Cemetery woman, we can still be down

You're more than just a corpse to a psychopathic clown

[agaypanic]

Benny weir x reader!! Hi I'm the one who's been requesting all the MBAV stuff and now I have another! Can you do one where the reader is a mage just like Benny and her grandma is like long time friends with Benny's grandma. So the gang is in trouble and asks Benny's grandma for help but she doesn't have the power to do so she asks for assistance from her long time friend and her grand daughter for help. When they arrive Benny is just enamored with the reader once he sees her. Like to the point you'd think he's never seen a pretty girl before. In order to stop whatever the gang is fighting against Benny and his grandmother and reader and her grandmother needs to do a powerful seance together. After seeing her power Benny some how falls even more for reader and just follows her around like a lost puppy.-🐇

Work Your Magic (Benny Weir X Mage!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: The way Benny acts around you, it might seem like you’ve put a spell on him. You haven’t, you’re just an impressive mage.

A/N: G/n means grandma’s name, also first fic since i graduated lets goooo

***

“What have you gotten yourself into now?” Grandma Weir sighed, taking a sip of her tea. She looked at her grandson, who looked at her sheepishly while holding something behind his back.

“You can’t be mad.”

“Show me.” Benny set what was in his hands on the table before her. It was a box made of rotted wood, covered in dirt and moss, and radiating in magic. “Benny, what the hell did you do?”

“It’s not that bad, Grandma.” She gave him a look, clearly not believing him. “Okay, the box has the heart of the most evil vampire guy ever, but it’s not that bad.”

“Benjamin Weir! We clearly have different definitions of ‘not that bad’ because this is probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done! How did you even get this? Why do you have it?” Grandma Weir pushed the box away, standing to move as far away from it as possible. Benny picked up the box again and followed after her.

“Ethan and I dug it up at the cemetery. We gotta destroy it to kill the guy before he takes over the world or whatever it is he’s trying to do.”

“Then destroy it! Get it out of my house!” Not hearing him make any movements, she turned to look at him. Once again, he looked like he was going to say something she did not want to hear. “Let me guess. You don’t know how to destroy it.”

“We do! It’s just….” 

“Just what?”

“We need to open the box, but we can’t. So I was wondering if you could do it.” He gestured for her to take the box, but she only backed away. “Please, Grandma.” Grandma Weir tapped a ring on her finger against her teacup, glaring at the box.

“Get my spellbook.”

***

After going through every spell in the book she thought would work twice, the box was still locked shut. Grandma Weir closed her spell book with a shaky hand, worn out from all her use of magic.

“I can’t do it, Benny.” She sighed, sitting down in her chair and stretching out her limbs. “Whoever’s heart this is, they obviously don’t want anyone to get it.”

“Please, Grandma. There’s gotta be something you can do.” She racked her brain, trying to find a solution. Still sore from all the magic use, she muttered a spell, and a small contact book flew to her from her purse. She flipped through the pages before pointing at the person she was looking for. She summoned the phone from her purse and started dialing the number, shooing Benny out.

“Make yourself busy; I gotta make a phone call.”

***

Benny leaned against the car with Ethan, waiting for his grandma to come out of the local airport. She had called one of her friends to help her with the boys’ box. Benny brought Ethan so he wouldn’t be stuck with two old witchy ladies by himself.

“Oh, I think I see them.” Ethan pointed out. Benny looked to see his grandma and a woman around her age walking out, carrying a suitcase. They paused their walk and turned around, Grandma Weir’s friend waving her hand to get someone to follow her. A girl, who seemed to be Benny and Ethan’s age, joined the two with her suitcase. To say she looked ethereal would be an understatement. Benny had no idea who she was, but he was hoping that all would change.

“Boys, help us with the suitcases.” Grandma Weir ordered when they reached the car. Benny immediately went to the girl, leaving Ethan to carry the other two suitcases.

“Thanks.” The girl said as she handed her bag off to Benny. She followed him as he put her case in the trunk of the car. “You must be Benny.” He almost choked. He knew nothing about this beautiful girl, yet she had guessed his name correctly. How was this possible?

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“Your grandma has a lot of pictures.” She giggled at his groan of annoyance. “I’m Y/n. G/n is my grandma. She brought me as backup.” Benny was immediately even more impressed by her.

“So you do magic too?”

“I dabble.”

“Dabble?” Y/n’s grandma laughed. “Don’t let her fool you, honey. She’s one of the most impressive Earth Priestesses of her age.”

“She’s only saying that because she’s my grandma,” Y/n muttered, embarrassed by the compliment.

“Well, Y/n, I can’t wait to see you work your magic.”

When the group arrived at the Weir household, Grandma Weir immediately handed the boys’ box off to her friend, not wanting to be held responsible for it any longer. G/n examined it closely.

“Very powerful lock on this.” She murmured, showing the box to her granddaughter. “What do you think, Y/n?” The girl grabbed the box and immediately shuddered.

“Blood magic.” She set the box on the dining table and took a step back. “It’s definitely blood magic; no wonder you guys couldn’t get it open. Why do you even have this?” Benny laughed nervously.

“Long story.”

“Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum here are trying to kill a very powerful vampire, and his heart is in this box.”

“That’s strange,” Y/n said.

“Well, this kind of stuff is actually normal for us,” Ethan interjected. But Y/n shook her head, eyes on the box.

“No, it’s not that. Vampires don’t have their own blood once they turn into vampires. So either this guy used the blood of one of the people he killed, or he did this while he was still human to absolutely ensure he would never die. His heart is in here?” The boys nodded. “You can’t kill a vampire if they don’t have a heart to drive a stake through.”

“So this dude is evil and smart?” Benny sighed. “This is gonna be harder than I thought.”

“What should we do, G/n?” Grandma Weir asked. G/n stroked her chin, deep in thought.

“We could do a seance.” Y/n quietly suggested.

“Brilliant idea, Y/n.” Her grandma congratulated her, sensing what she was thinking. “Obviously, the owner of this heart isn’t going to just let us have it. We have to go through his bloodline to get it.”

“So, what do we do?” Benny asked.

“Take us to where you found the box,” Y/n answered.

***

“So, what are you doing?” Benny asked Y/n as he stood beside her, watching her wave her hands and mutter incantations.

“Cloaking spell.” She answered shortly. When the spell was finished, she turned to him with a smile. “We can’t exactly do this kind of thing out in the open for anyone to see.”

Benny and Ethan had taken the girls to the cemetery, where they found the heart in the box. The witches decided that the best way to get the lock off was to summon someone who shared blood with whoever made the lock and ask them to break the magic so they could get into the box. Not able to contribute anything to the seance, Ethan left Benny to work with the two grandmas and the pretty girl by himself.

“How long have you been practicing magic?” Benny asked, looking down and kicking up some dirt because he was too nervous to look at Y/n. It was as if he hadn’t seen a pretty girl before.

“Not too long. A few years, I think.”

“Wow. I thought you’d been practicing forever; you seem so good.” Y/n grinned, starkly contrasting her reaction to her grandma’s similar compliment earlier that day.

“No, I just have a really good teacher.”

“Kids!” Grandma Weir called for the teenagers, sitting next to G/n. “Get over here. It’s time.” The two scrambled to sit next to their grandmothers. The four spellcasters formed a circle around the enchanted box on the ground. “Everyone, join hands.”

Benny’s hand felt clammy in Y/n’s, and he hoped she wouldn’t comment on it. 

“Don’t be nervous.” She whispered to him, squeezing his hand as she closed her eyes. Benny just became more anxious. His nerves were not all due to the seance he was about to perform, although that was part of it. But the main reason he was so nervous was because he was holding the hand of a powerful and enchanting witch. He took a deep breath to collect himself. 

‘Asking Y/n to hang out shouldn’t be too hard after this.’ Benny thought, closing his eyes.

‘Let’s just hope you survive all this to ask me.’ A foreign but familiar voice sounded in his mind. Startled, Benny opened his eyes and looked at Y/n, who was already looking at him. Without saying anything else, physically or telepathically, she smirked and winked at Benny before closing her eyes again.

She was even more impressive than Benny thought now.

Seances were kind of scary. Benny felt like the wind was going to hurl him through a tree; it was so strong. He chanted incantations with the witches, gripping Y/n’s hand to ground himself. G/n called out to the ancestors of the blood magic’s owner to come, and after begging and getting whipped by the wind, one arrived. None of the spellcasters opened their eyes, afraid they would dry out or see something too terrifying. But they heard whispers of whoever had come pouring what was left of their soul into opening the box. Soon, the four sensed the energy leaving, and as they thanked whoever had come for coming, the wind settled into a calm breeze.

“That was…” Benny started, trying to find a word to describe what he had just been through. “Something.” Y/n laughed, brushing back the hair that had flown in her face.

“Something, indeed.” Benny’s eyes followed her pointed finger to the box, which was now open. “But at least it worked.

“You are so awesome,” Benny said to Y/n, in awe of her power. The teens’ grandmothers cleared their throats, and he suddenly remembered that he and Y/n weren’t the only ones in the cemetery. “Oh! You guys too!”

“As flattered as I am, Y/n did indeed do a bulk of the work.” G/n sighed, rubbing her hands. “The magic of a young witch can be very powerful, and her expertise just makes it more so.”

“Grandma, please.” Y/n dropped her head into her hands, not wanting to be the center of attention with a subject such as who has the most powerful magic in the group. Benny scooted closer to her, tucking a loose piece of hair she had missed behind her ear.

“No, she’s right. You’re like, really cool.” Benny mentally slapped himself. Really? That’s the best he could do? Y/n lifted her head to look at him, a small smile adorning her already gorgeous features.

“You’re not too bad yourself, Benny.”

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 31/?

Prev | Next

Dick walked through the cemetery holding a bouquet. He stopped in front of a grave. An angel looked over an empty coffin.

It felt wrong to visit Jason’s grave when he was still alive, but it was the only way he had to talk to his younger brother now. He put the bouquet down and then sat down. Dick didn’t really know what to do now. He didn’t even know why he had come to the grave in the first place.

Was it to ask for forgiveness? To ask why?

“I’m in therapy now.”

Silence. Did he expect anything else? Maybe.

“I know Roy wasn’t telling me to go to therapy out of the goodness of his heart, but…I needed to do it, I guess. Dinah’s a good therapist. She cuts through the bullshit and has no problem calling me out on my crap.”

The wind blew through the grass.

“I’m trying to get Bruce to go, too. It’s going as well as you can imagine.”

The angel stared at Dick, mocking him.

“Me and Tim take turns patrolling Crime Alley. It’s not too bad, but we already see cracks in your absence.”

At first, Red Hood’s lieutenants had taken over after Jason’s disappearance, and things had stayed more or less the same. However, the longer Red Hood was away from Crime Alley, the more criminals pushed boundaries, and the more the crime rate increased. Thankfully, having at least two Bats visit the place kept it from returning to its pre-Red Hood days.

They knew that the crime rate would keep increasing, but between Nightwing and Red Robin, they hoped it wouldn’t get too bad.

Bruce still refused to enter Crime Alley. Dick didn’t think it was only because of his parents.

“I’m sorry, Little Wing. If we had tried to integrate you into the family, you might still be here. I shouldn’t have kept Mar’i’s existence from you. Me and Bruce should’ve done better in welcoming you into the family.”

Too late now, he thought.

Dick and Bruce had thought that Jason would always be around. They thought they had time to bring Jason back into the fold. Now, he was gone in the wind. God only knew where he was. Well, God and Roy. He had a (possible) kid with him, and Dick couldn’t blame Jason for keeping the boy away from the family when Dick had done the same to Jason with Mar’i.

Well, not unless he wanted to be a hypocrite.

What else is new, his brain whispered.

Dick sighed and got up, dusting the dirt from his pants. He walked up to the angel and put his hand on it.

“I hope you’re happy and safe. Wherever you are, Little Wing.”

Thousands of miles away, while he was working on his car, Jason felt a chill go down his spine.

“Someone is walking on my grave,” he whispered. He blinked. How did he know that? Suddenly, the scent of flowers reached his nose. He looked around and saw nothing but oily rags and parts of cars scattered all over the place.

Jason went back to working on his car, a feeling of uneasiness filling him.

Back in Gotham, Dick wore his Nightwing suit and patrolled Crime Alley that night. He stopped a few muggings. He helped a woman return home after being followed and stopped a drug dealer from selling to a few kids.

One of Jason’s major rules was not selling to kids. The cracks were widening in Crime Alley with Red Hood’s absence.

Bruce, Tim, and Dick knew that Jason had been able to enforce these rules because a. he wasn’t affiliated with the Bats, b. he knew Crime Alley inside and out, and c. the people had accepted him.

They still didn’t trust Batman and the birds that flew with them. Not really.

Nightwing sat on top of a building overlooking Crime Alley. Thankfully, it had quieted down.

He tensed when he heard someone beside him before he noticed it was Black Bat. He relaxed a bit, still overlooking Crime Alley.

They sat in silence, letting the stillness of the area overcome them.

“Tell me about him,” she said suddenly.

Dick thought about it for a moment. Where would he even start?

“He loves reading. He loves the classics; his favorite is Pride and Prejudice.”

Black Bat cocked her head to the side, “Really? I never would’ve pegged him as a bookworm.”

 Dick nodded.

“Yeah, he was obsessed with reading. When he was younger, he wouldn’t go on patrol unless he had finished his schoolwork, the nerd. He wanted to go to college before—you know, before that happened.”

That was the crux of the matter: how different would things have been if Jason had never died?

Would he have graduated by now? Jason was brilliant, and Dick had no issues in believing that his bookworm of a brother would’ve graduated sooner than most. Would he be getting his master’s by now? Would he have a girlfriend? A boyfriend? Would the child he was with be surrounded by aunts and uncles? By his cousin? Well, there was no point in thinking ‘what ifs’ now. It was too late for that.

He felt arms around him.

“He’ll come back. I know.”

Dick tried to smile.

They didn’t know that, though, did they?

Jason was mostly out of it the rest of the day. He felt something was missing.

No, he knew what was missing. His family back in Gotham. He could survive, even thrive, with just Danny, Ellie, and Jazz. With Roy and Raven. But, a part of him, the child in him, missed his dad and older brother. He missed the possible relationship he could’ve had with Bruce’s other children, his other siblings if he hadn’t fucked up so badly.

He felt arms around him. Danny was looking at him with worry in his eyes. Even Jazz and Ellie were staring at him.

“What’s wrong, daddy?”

Looking into his son’s blue eyes, Jason knew he could never return to Gotham. They would take Danny away from him. Living away from his family was hard, but he wouldn’t survive if Danny were taken from him.

“Nothing, lad, daddy was just feeling a bit nostalgic.”

He looked into Danny’s eyes, “But I’m okay, now, chum. Daddy is okay now.”

Jason refused to have his son and small family taken from him.

@itsberrydreemurstuff @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @purrloin77 @writer-extraodinaire @charlietheepic7 @sinfulloccultist @nootherusernameworked @coruscateselene @chaoticchange @itsberrydreemurstuff @gmkelz11 @feral-bunny31 @paroovian @thatonegaybitch68 @d4ydr34min9 @overtherose @fandomwandererer @vipower001 @thordottir45 @blackrabbitt3t @rosecinnamonbun @bianca-hooks123 @epilepticnerd @dat1angel @consouling @flamingenchiladadragon @all-mights-asscheeks @ender-reader @fuyu-bitch @ravenswife

[tomatoluvr69]

Post-Helene diary 10/16/2024. (As a general warning, lots of talk about death, including children)

Life (in the city at least) is slowly inching back to normal. I’m still out of work. Schools will be closed at least a month, all told. And it’s getting cold. An outlying town a stone’s throw north of the city, where I have a couple friends, got snow last night; one of them slept on our couch. Still no running water, signal is still fucked, and the power goes on and off. But having power is such a luxury, so you can boil the water you bring home and microwave and refrigerate food. Still struggling with morale, but getting more and more able to get out of bed & take care of myself, and forcing myself to be around people when I can, which really helps. Hoping to host a movie night maybe this weekend, we’re all super fried and it’d be nice to gather in a super low-stakes way.

Had a burial yesterday. The man was shrouded, and lowering him into his grave meant touching his body through thin fibers. He died on the third of October, a couple days after the storm, so not a drowning death, but I’m not sure what the cause was. The family was able to be present for this one, and the ceremony moved me, I’m so profoundly honored to have had the opportunity to do this through no merit of my own. It’s good work, to which I feel well-suited. But it’s strange to shovel dirt onto the decedent while his wife and children look on. They were all new to ecoburial, the man hadn’t chosen it the way many in the sanctuary have; it’s what’s called an at-need plot (and folks, WNC is at need right now, lol). You could tell that the informality and wooded surrounds of the setting unsettled them at first, but the way things are done there is far more ancient and meaningful than at a conventional lawn cemetery, with its mandatory cement vaults, embalming fluids, and non-biodegradable casket materials, and we encouraged people come up to lay soil, aerate the first layer with sticks to aid in microbial access, fill in more soil if they wished and lay pine straw over the finished mound for erosion control and seed germination. I believe strongly in ecoburial’s capacity for closure, that seeing the shrouded body be covered, and being involved in digging and closing the grave, or pallbearing/lowering the decedent, can be a powerful way to process death. People used to/still do die at home. People wash their loved ones’ bodies, braid their hair, burn incense over them, sew them into shrouds, lay them out unembalmed and unrefrigerated in their own homes; in 21st century America we are cold strangers to death— everything happens behind steel doors. (Even hearses are outmoded— odds are you’ve driven down the highway next to a Toyota Sienna or somesuch that’s been retrofitted to transport bodies to and from funeral homes, hospitals, mortuaries, crematories, and burial grounds, and you had no idea.) Ecoburial removes this gulf, and I believe it’s especially crucial in the aftermath of the wide-scale death and destruction our region has seen. But the cemetery is tiny, and can only take a sliver of the storm’s dead— only a couple plots remain unsold. The admin was looking at purchasing more land, but the woman at the helm of that drowned with her entire family in a flash flood.

A girl we know works/worked at a mortuary that was along the river— drove by there the other day on my way home, the obliteration is eerie, they were gutting it for demo. Driving near any river right now still has the surreal, gloatingly detached feeling of a soundless dream, especially along roads you took all the time before the flood. The building had been nondescript before, just a medium warehouse looking structure with vinyl siding. But the bodies stored inside went unrefrigerated and were exposed to floodwaters, an aspect of the disaster few people without contacts or experience in deathcare would consider. Imagine the times you’ve been grieving a family member— now imagine phones are off, the mortuary’s been obliterated, and you’re stranded in your building for a week with no information or answers.

Found out about the death of a little boy, first or second grade, who attended one of the schools whose students I work with. He wasn’t my student, just a classmate of some of mine, but I still find myself really broken up over it. He was around the same age as [best friend]’s coworker’s boys, 7 and 9, who drowned in [outlying county], and I know they’re not mine to grieve— but working with so many kids in that exact age range in our community i’m so acutely aware of the caliber of loss. It hits me in these overpowering waves. Nobody in Appalachia knew to fear a hurricane, you know? Life here has shifted tremendously.

After the burial, we ate some cold lunches and a random packet of imported Japanese grape candies, joking grimly and catching up on an out-of-the-way bench near an Iranian woman’s grave and a couple adelgid-ridden hemlocks, where we wouldn’t be heard by the lingering members of the funeral party. Then, donned chaps and ear pro/eye pro to buck a bunch of trees downed by the storm around the land. I like chainsawing, but I lost a ton of physical strength after my ribcage fracture this summer, and I definitely feel it when doing manual labor. The difference is palpable. But bucking is easy, it requires no brainpower, and my friends just told me which trees to cut, while they worried about tension and felling. But both burials and saw work is quite physical and my stamina is beyond shot— definitely felt it today. And I got fucking DOMS in my back!!!!???? lmao. Hung low most of the morning because my volunteer childcare thing got canceled— it stormed, of all fucking things.

It’s getting cold. It’ll dip below freezing tomorrow night, and my window’s still out; I may sleep on the couch in the living room, which sucks, but I’m gripped by severe fear for all the people in the region who have nowhere to go; when I drove with my friend through his neighborhood in Swannanoa we saw families whose prefab/mobile homes got swept down the river, gone forever and destroyed, camped out in tents along the riverbank. Tens of thousands are still lacking power and gas to heat their homes— we are in the south, but we are up in the highest mountains in the entire eastern US. People will be unable to clean themselves because washcloth baths will be untenable in the cold. People will freeze to death in their homes, tents, and cars. It just feels like wave after wave of horror keeps hitting the region. Even though life begins to be bearable for those of us in the city— groceries, internet! Showers at the YMCA!— you cannot enjoy it amid the destruction. It’s a really weird feeling to be one of the lucky ones. Just sheer dumb luck. There’s no wrapping your head around it, when old classmates lost family and watched as their homes were swept away, their farm animals drowned. Survivor’s guilt is fucking insane. It’s really insane.

Though I’m worried about what two months’ rent and utilities is gonna be like without any work, my morale is slowly ratcheting upwards. Three of my friends are leaving the city forever in the upcoming weeks, which is a tremendous blow. One of my favorite haunts, the indie cinema in the river arts district, was obliterated beyond repair— I nearly cried seeing those photos. I’ll be stuck watching Joker and Beetlejuice sequels at the fucking Cinemark forever now I guess. And the Blue Ridge Parkway, where I went to run and camp and drive and picnic, is closed indefinitely. But I believe that many of my other frequent haunts will come back, unless, like many of the businesses dependent on a tourist economy in the height of leaf season, they crumble financially. But the tiny little cinema is a huge loss. We fucking adored that place. And you could tell it was the product of its owners’ passion and love, and filled with character, quirk, and charm. Truly no idea how different life here will be over the next months and years. Definitely altered— but how much? I can’t imagine living in Marshall, or having a studio in the RAD, or working in Swannanoa. Again, I’m so lucky. But it’s gonna be a really hard couple of months and years here.

The long and short of it is that life is getting easier for some of us, myself included, and though the trauma is at times genuinely incapacitating— I feel as though I am crawling towards feeling better. Being able to shower and launder my clothing in my own home will be huge, but still weeks away by the sound of things. I’m really wary of the coming months but cautiously optimistic— I am starting to feel alive again, and enjoy things, and think about things that aren’t potable water access, and the drowned. But it will take time to recover. To give some context, to Americans at least— think of what would need to happen for your public schools to shutter for an entire month, county wide (I don’t know much at this point about the surrounding counties’ schools, some will start earlier, some are still fucked indefinitely). All that being said, though, it is beginning to get easier. And I have people to lean on, and the capacity to hold up others when they lean on me. My home is intact and I have shelves full of food, and a stovetop to cook it on. And I watched a movie a few days ago! We’re crawling out of it bitches.

Ok, I have to go haul flush water now, lmao, time to drive my reeking whip around to a bunch of ramshackle old baptist churches in the area to see which ones still have big unmanned water totes in their parking lots. How does it feel to help a member of the LGBT community!!!!!!

[malinaa]

JULY SHORT STORIES WRAP-UP

well i’ve been getting back into reading individual short stories, so here’s a list of all of the ones i’ve been reading this month! they can all be found here as pdfs <3 all the ones marked with an * are my fav reads

ANT COLONY by ALISSA NUTTING — a woman hosts an ant colony in her body

THE VELDT by RAY BRADBURY — a mother, a father, two children, and their eerie automated home

NO IS YES by PAUL JENNINGS — a man teaches his daughter that yes is no, up is down etc. and her idea of language is tested when she meets another boy

THE PEDESTRIAN by RAY BRADBURY — in the near future, a man takes a walk and finds himself in a situation

THE SPECIALIST’S HAT by KELLY LINK — twins where one is better at playing dead than the other

THE OCTOBER GAME by RAY BRADBURY — a husband who hates his wife gets back at her

YOU'RE UGLY, TOO by LORRIE MOORE — local funny woman hates the midwest and goes back to the east coast to realize it’s also boring

THE HOUSE OF ASTERION* by JORGE LUIS BORGES — so basically you’re the minotaur and you live in a labyrinth and everything is fine until it isn’t

L’ESPRIT DE L’ESCALIER* by CATHERYNNE M. VALENTE — a type of modern orpheus and eurydice retelling but this doesn't end in the tragedy...or does it?

WE ATE THE CHILDREN LAST by YANN MARTEL — medical procedure turns to social experiment gone wrong

AT THE CLINIC by SALLY ROONEY — marianne and connell remember the events leading up to her visit to the dentist differently; alternatively, a microcosm of two people's relationship

I HAVE NO MOUTH, AND I MUST SCREAM by HARLAN ELLISON — ai wins and keeps five individuals alive for its own sick enjoyment

DIVISION BY ZERO by TED CHIANG — a wandering realization that, despite being similar, two people can be so distant, but with lots of math

FRESH WATER FROM THE SEA* by RAMONA AUSUBEL — a magical realist depiction of a daughter and her mother who’s slowly vanishing away

SHE UNNAMES THEM by URSULA K. LEGUIN — eve, of adam and eve biblical fame, unnames all the animals and then some

THE THIEF OF MEMORY by SUNYI DEAN — a hero with one duty, a desert that keeps taking, a storm that never ceases, and a villain that steals memory

HORROR STORY by CARMEN MARIA MACHADO — what’s worse? a haunted house or the relationship that’s crumbling inside of it

THE MOTHS by HELEN MARÍA VIRAMONTES — a granddaughter’s reflection of her family, but specifically her grandmother who died

THE PATH OF WATER* by EMMA TÖRZS — you’re in a fairy tale and you realize this and you try to unlock lost memories

HIGH DESERT by RAMONA AUSUBEL — a woman who lost both her daughter and husband to the sea moves to the desert but is still losing parts of herself

WARM BEDS by MÓNICA BUSTOS (trans. ANALÍA VILLAGRA) — three people share the same bed but never meet until the phantom presence of each other drives them to want to meet

IN THE CEMETERY WHERE AL JOLSON IS BURIED by AMY HEMPEL — an unnamed narrator visits her friend who’s dying

BONESOUP by EUGENIA TRIANTAFYLLOU — as the first line says, “you must eat the body part you want to grow stronger”

THE VERY PULSE OF THE MACHINE* by MICHAEL SWANWICK — a corpse at her back, her home base miles and miles ahead of her, an astronaut does everything to survive

TO EXHALE SKY by SHINGAI NJERI KAGUNDA — a queer speculative story about anticipated grief where the narrator has the ability to inhale and transform sorrow

XY by LUCY ZHANG — a woman with controlling parents finds their first attempt at a perfect daughter in the basement

AND YET by A.T. GREENBLATT — the haunted house of your childhood is a door into parallel universes