#project raincoat

[queen-daya]

KC Cooper & Marisa Miller in “Unmasking the Enemy” @monthly-challenge | Day One: “Rain”

[swordfangs]

arches

[therealprismcat]

Really random art dump most of its Dee some of its sisi and then boom. little kat

[dogtiber]

it’s been raining lately and Tiber is SO unenthused. he keeps begging to go outside, we get to the door, he sees it’s wet and just gives me the most pitiful offended look. refuses to go out, goes up stairs…and then 5 minutes later rinse and repeat lol

[jiishwa]

i hate when i try to look something up on google and pinterest and it just doesn’t exist. and they say there are no original ideas anymore.

[tneraincoat7]

[glutenfreedragonpotion]

I own so many blue clothes

[e3rt]

JEFF the KILLER rewrite by Ekatlani

Hi everyone, I want to start by thanking everyone who has supported my work so far and waited patiently for this post.

Alongside that I want to thank @gh0ulkitty for the amazing editing they provided throughout this. Without all the community support and help I don't think I would have completed this project to the standard it is.

Thanks to all my mutuals and discord friends for the feedback and assistance as well

enjoy!

Jeff the Killer 

By EkatLani 

♱ 

Pig shit. Pig shit, blood and wet earth. That is how Liu would describe his childhood home; a plethora of vile stenches which permeated the air, briefly interrupted by conversation, boredom and family dinners. His brother, too, who sat perched on the wooden fence nasally inhaling the exhumed smoke he periodically released from his dry lips.  

It helped with the smell, he insisted, although Liu had an inkling that was just an excuse.  

The eldest stood, ankle deep in a slurry of swine excrement, feed and damp dirt, attempting to shovel the bulk of it into a wheelbarrow. Rain had swept through the farm last night, emulsifying the flurry of foulness into the most wretched of chores. The air was still bitterly chill, both brothers wearing heavy layers under their raincoats to stave off the assault of backsplash from the shovel. The heavy thunk of the mud splattering every which way as it landed against the aged metal. 

Jeff seemed unbothered, laughing as Liu had groaned awake when the smell carried through the crack of their bedroom window and into the still dark room.  

“Cheer up, soldier, no school today!” He had responded wildly while combing his black dyed hair into place, his first cigarette of the day hanging lazily between his bared teeth. 

Jeff, for as long as Liu could remember, woke up at the crack of dawn, far before the rest of the house. To do what? Liu didn’t know really, probably to jerk off uninterrupted. He was always showered, dressed, awake before even the laborer that was their father, who frequently pestered Liu for his sleeping habits. He compared him to their mother with a nasty snarl on his lips every time. 

Liu had rubbed the sleep from his eyes and, in one wide sweep, he tossed the blanket from his body, slithering out of bed.  

His brows furrowed as he sighed deeply, “Fuck this.” Before long, there they were, taking turns cleaning up nature's gift while the aforementioned swine serenaded them with squeals. The brevity of missing school was a small mercy, at least... 

Jeff’s boots squelched into the ground as he landed next to his brother. Puberty had been kind to him in some ways. Despite being a year younger, at seventeen, he stood a solid head above the older. Lithe with corded muscles whose strength betrayed his appearance, he was a lot more durable than he looked. 

“Pass it over sissy, before I burn my lips.” He spat the butt into the ground, reaching his pale, spindly hand outward. Liu released his grip on the shovel and took his station leaning against the fence, which shifted from bearing his weight. 

Jeff may be taller, but Liu was more compact, bearing the physicality of labor from a young age. With calloused hands now tucked into the pockets of his coat, plastic crinkling sharply, he exhaled, smirking at Jeff’s remark.  

He took it in stride instead of catching the bait. If he did, it wouldn’t be long until the two were dragged back inside with busted lips and scabby knees. Undoubtedly with hungry stomachs,  sent to bed dinnerless.  

The younger sibling hunched over the shovel, using his heel to press the sharp end further into the dirt.  

“Do you think we’ll finish this today?” Liu inquired, voice hoarse.  

“Oh, definitely not.” Jeff responded jovially. 

“Ugh, I fucking hate this.” 

“Yeah,” Jeff heaved, leaning against the shovel, “Want to do something else?” 

“And get our ass beat? Smart move.” 

“You’re no fun sometimes.” He decided, dropping the shovel into the slurry, trudging off unceremoniously into the nearby shrubbery. Liu shook his head and continued the work, not bothering to follow him. He’ll reappear before dinner, regardless of what he wasted his time doing. 

The farm was an empty open space graced with a selection of pigs, ripe for slaughter, surrounded by thick foliage. The smell he could handle, the shit he could handle, but the blood? Pig squeals sounded awfully human at the best of times, and the panicked screams before death were deafening—a job Liu just couldn’t do. A job Jeff was kept from, if only for his own sake. But no, no slaughter for him.  

Liu’s senseless meandering in his own mind was interrupted by the bellowing voice of Mr. Woods, “Alright! Boys, dinner. Inside!” He clapped all the while, beckoning them. Liu planted the shovel and dragged himself inside.  

Jeff didn’t come home until after dinner, the likes of which was heavy and uncomfortable. Liu could tell his father was waiting, just waiting for a reason to blow up.  

Liu tried to be inconspicuous even as he swatted flies away from his face. As if a sudden move would reveal his inability to complete his chores.  

His mother, who was still in the kitchen as the two men ate, insisted on cooking with the window open. Despite the weather, or smell or insects, the narrow window would stay open, and she would gaze out. Placid to the world as she cooked, humming unidentifiable tunes.  

The food was tasteless in the dense air of tension, holding Liu’s head as he fixated on the plate. Mr. Woods didn’t speak, open mouth chewing throughout the evening, slurping at his lukewarm beer. The sun had long set when Jeff had stumbled through the door, and Liu braced for the pot to bubble over. Spill its turbulent fluids throughout the home. 

His mother stood in place, peaking at the scene from beneath her curtain of dark hair. Still, she made no move to interject, remaining a silent observer in her own home. Mr. Woods said nothing, eerily still, and for a moment, Jeff simply stood in the doorway.  

The brothers shared a concerned and confused glance, weary. Cautiously, Jeff broke the pause by walking further, his scruffy Great Pyrenees a few steps behind. The dog strolled lazily, tongue lolling out and white fur muddled from the weather.  

Jeff flinched as a bottle suddenly shattered against the door behind him, exploding beer and glass shards everywhere. 

“Get that filthy fucking dog out of my house!” Their father roared, sending the dog scrambling away in a panic, back to the fields. Jeff stood, frozen, and Liu hurried to interject. But when his father looked him dead in the eyes, Liu looked back down at his half full plate.  

“Good job today boy.” Mr. Woods drawled, the words feeling harsh and unearned. Liu briefly glanced up and nodded.  

Mr. Woods then turned back to the boy who still stood by the door and nodded toward the stairs.  

Both brothers knew what that meant. Jeff all but ran up the stairs, leaving the rest of the family in a familiar silence. Liu struggled to eat the rest of his plate, casting furtive glances at his father all the while.  

Mr. Woods sat back and snapped his fingers for another drink, the wall still damp from his wrath.  

Liu excused himself and hurried to bed, laying wide eyed until Jeff returned to their room later that night. He was limping, calves branded with red welts.  

“I don’t know why you do it to yourself, Jeff.” He whispered into the darkness of the room. 

“I don’t know why you do fucking nothing, Liu.” He rasped, voice dry and sharp, accusatory. And Liu sat with his guilt for the rest of the night.  

If Jeff had to describe school, it would be; boring, boring and boring. As were most things. Incredibly boring and uninspired.  

He preferred staying on the farm, with the pigs and his brother and his dog and all the things he could do with no one giving a shit. All things that were his and his alone. 

He remembered the day he realized he hated school– he must’ve been six or seven? He had approached a girl on the playground who was swinging from monkey bar to monkey bar, small and pudgy with flushed cheeks and twin braids.  

Other kids compared her to a pig, making snorting noises at her until she teared up and ran away. Jeff liked her, Jeff liked pigs.  

So, when he went up to her, he attempted to jump for the bar next to the one she was grappling, hoping she would like him too. Give him her attention, and he could see her do something other than cry and scream, something no one else got to see her do.  

But the little girl kicked at him.  

Jeff planted into the sand, brows furrowing in anger as she yipped at him to leave her alone. In retrospect, she probably assumed the boy meant to chase her off the bars and ostracize her like the others, and maybe now Jeff would have responded differently.  

However, his frustration at the rejection was more emotional than his young body could contain. How could she, fat and short, push away the opportunity to have a friend like him? Who was much taller than the other boys and could easily make them leave her alone. Was she stupid? 

He figured she must be and grabbed her by the ankle, yanking her down into the sand with him. Anger soothed as she hit the earth below.  

She scraped both her knees, wobbly and unable to break the fall, her forehead following. Scratched up and teary eyed, she ran to the teachers, and for the rest of the year Jeff had to be sat in a different class from her. Which greatly frustrated him. 

So yeah, he hated school, and it was very boring. 

Except for Mrs. Goelet, who he found vehemently entertaining. From her uncertain stuttering when the class wouldn’t listen, to her tired crow’s feet– he found her so entertaining.  

When the class would boisterously yell at her and ignore every reprimand, he would sit and listen intently. Watching her and her brown hair and long colourful skirts she would stride around in. He would stay after class and pester her with a million questions, knowing she was too reserved to call out his deceitful behavior.  

Yeah, that was his too, he decided.  

He shuffled through the halls, easily spotting his brother over the sparse sprinkling of peers. He walked right past him, red welts littering his calves with a stinging reminder of the previous night.  

Fucking brutal. His dad was a total sadist, holding both his brother and mom on a tight leash. If Jeff had it his way, he’d turn that wannabe into pig feed before the sun set. 

Even if he ignored Liu, he was glad it was him over his older brother. Liu would’ve sobbed all night, from either the pain or the humiliation.  

Instead, Jeff walked right out to the area behind the gymnasium, where the ass crack end of the school faced more thick shrubbery. Around this turn of weather, you could find all sorts of birds plastered along the bush floor, pecking at the worms that writhed to the surface.  

Jeff sat on a tree stump, beckoning a plump pigeon closer with a writhing insect held between his fingers. Pigeons were particularly trusting birds, Jeff had found, easily convinced by food. Sort of like pigs.  

The pigeon twitched its little face side to side, hopping closer. When it got close enough, Jeff lashed his arm out, spooking the bird. It frantically tried to flail from his clenched grip.   

During the struggle, Jeff heard a small snap, watching as it flopped to the ground. Flapping only with one wing now, broken. Damn. He sighed and stood, leaving the animal to scurry off into the thicket. It would adapt, pigeons were like that, but he didn’t want a pigeon that couldn’t fly. For his birthday he had asked for a birdhouse, but his father had laughed and called him a sissy for liking birds.  

Well, Jeff thought his dad was sissy for picking on his wife. So, he conceded to getting his own birds one way or another. However, they die easily from “stress”, Liu said.  

“You can’t keep it in a shoe box for fucks sake.” He had tossed the limp bird out their bedroom window, abandoned to the elements of nature below. He had discovered it after it began to smell foul, “You’re seriously too old for this shit.” 

Meandering about the woods, he kicked at the ground in boredom until a voice had interrupted his aimlessness.  

Multiple voices, approaching from the school. Jeff’s face twisted in recognition, jaw ticking. Randy, the only one whose name he bothered remembering because– compared to the others– he was the only one of any note.  

Inexplicably cruel in a way Jeff couldn’t emulate, kind of cool when he wasn’t slobbering over his words to spit them out in time. Randy, along with a group of others, emerged from between some trees, pausing when his eyes landed on Jeff. He smiled like he was fighting a laugh and tapped the pudgier boy on his left.  

“Does anyone else smell shit?” He approached, a crooked grin on his face. 

“Randell.” Jeff nodded back at him, not retreating as the foxy haired boy closed the distance between them.  

One of the girls was looking at Jeff, and he quickly recognized her as Mrs. Goelet’s daughter. They had the same nose and slender neck. He bit back a smile at her, but she simply looked at Randy apprehensively.  

Randy was smiling at him with his wolf-like and crooked teeth, “Why didn’t you invite me out here? Aren't we best friends?” The group behind him chuckled, passing glances at each other. Jeff didn’t get the joke. 

“I’ll let you know next time. Since you want to see me so bad.” He meant it as a dig, implications slathered in insult. But really, he meant it. Maybe one day he could show Randy his pig farm, then he’d know how bad pig shit really smelt.  

Randy grabbed him by the arm, forced joviality forgotten, tight lipped as he seethed out, “Who the fuck would want to go anywhere near you?” The group behind were looking on, hungrily, like a pack of hyenas waiting for their turn.  

Jeff was on the ground in seconds, legs buckling, Randy towering above him with clenched fists. Someone yelled something, a plea or sneer. He couldn't discern which among the cacophony of jeers and insults hurled at him.    

Randy leaned over Jeff's silhouette, spitting as he spoke, “Piss off, faggot!”  

Jeff stood back up, dusting himself off, shoulder checking Randy as he walked away. He passed that girl again, who kept her head down in shame as he stared at her. Reminded him of Liu.  

Jeff didn’t know who did it at first, but someone had kicked the back of his knee. Clad in dark baggy jeans they couldn’t see the still aggravated lesions beneath the fabric. Fiery pain undulated from the contact, sharp and unrelenting. 

On impulse, he struck, whipping around elbow first and a crunch echoed among the foliage. Writhing in the dirt, clutching his must-be broken nose as pained whimpers left him, was the large kid Randy had taped earlier.  

The kid—Troy, he discovered from Randy’s exclamation– was staring at him with a mixture of fear and anger.  

Jeff stared back, his elbow smeared with blood, fingers buzzing. His throat constricted with cold, insistent excitement. He was angry, sure, but this was something. Moments like this made the dull repetitive drawl of school worthwhile. 

A dull pain radiating up his torso snapped him out of his glare. A rock clattered to the ground beside him. He watched it skid to a halt in the dirt. Someone had thrown a rock at him. 

Whipping his head back up,  his eyes landed on a raw-boned skinhead kid with gritted teeth.  

He was all knees and elbows, holding another rock in hand, standing just behind Randy. The group of kids mirrored his savage expression, an array of disgust and hatred. Okay, Jeff soothed internally, you can’t take all of them.  

Searching for an escape, he landed on utilizing his coltish limbs to get the fuck out of there, back burning with the heat of Randy's glare. However, his concern likely outweighed his anger, Randy didn’t give chase. Still, he found ample opportunity to shout after Jeff. 

“You’re done Woods! You’re fucking done!”   

Jeff sprinted, overwhelmed with adrenaline, his chest tight with exertion. He ran all the way home, not stopping once.  

It was a trek. Normally, Liu drove them to and from school in his pickup. For as long as Jeff could remember anyway, Liu would often spiel on and on about how bad the commute was before he got his hands on the beat-up thing. Cold sweat trickling down his spine, he opted to avoid the leering wooden house with peeled paint and deck caved in on one side.  

Instead, he ran straight to the pig pen, ducking his head into the squealing solitude.  

Maymay had squirming piglets, which paused their suckling to stare at him restlessly, clutching closer to their indifferent mother. She was used to him. The consequence of being barred from slaughter meant the pigs didn’t fear him much.  

Their squealing died down, a whine and huff sounding from the back of the pen. His dog, roused from the commotion, stood lazily and inched closer to him with an eager tail. Jeff clutched the hound tightly, allowing him to fall asleep clutched in his grasp.  

He was shaking, he realized, his flesh humming from adrenaline. Unlike birds, people don't stop  after you crack them. The birds just hate you, and he doubted they’d come back if he left out feed. Chest twisting, he cried out in frustration, causing the dog to stir awake and lick his hand in appeasement.  

All this energy, all this want and need, and he had nowhere to put it.  

Liu didn't even fight him anymore, no matter what he said, as their father had forced him into fearful resignation long ago. Randy was something, though, something on the precipice he couldn't reach because they all huddled together like scared animals. It’s not like Randy couldn’t put up a good fight alone, so what’s with all the people?  

“Always, always.” He muttered into dusty fur, “It’s not fair, never goes my way!” His voice peaked, the welts on his legs painfully prevalent.  

The piglets squealed at his tantrum, only serving to further his frustration, jealousy curdling in his stomach. Piglets could do as they please, drink themselves stupid and scream without repercussions. Until their slaughter, which Jeff was denied the privilege of. One piglet, he took liberty with one piglet—he just wanted to know if they all sounded the same. Now, the slaughter stained him, and fuck his hands were still buzzing.  

He must have rocked back and forth in that pen for hours until a stocky figure ducked in alongside him. He sighed in defeat when he saw his brother. Liu hooked his fingers harshly through Jeffs shirt collar, dragging him out, murmuring that he stank. The sun was setting now, casting long, intimidating shadows from the tree line.  

His brother all but tossed him fully clothed into the shower, turning on the water that was always cold by the evening.  

Mud, sweat and feed melted from the persistent spray of water. Jeff shook fiercely as the stream soaked his hair over his face, staring down at the swirling stream of muck sinking into the drain. Jeff felt pulled toward that dark cavern, but his brother lifted him out. He always did, when Jeff strayed too far from the beaten path, it was Liu who corralled him back to normality. 

“Mom got a call from school.” Liu’s face was stern, “Was told to get you, been looking for hours.” 

Jeff hugged himself under the water, “I like the pen.” He shrugged. 

“Gross.” Liu chided, “Thought you grew out of that.”  

“I wanted my dog.” 

Liu rolled his eyes at that, exasperated, “Broken nose, Jeff. Family wants us to pay.” 

Jeff just snorted, making Liu raise his brows. He rolled his tongue under his bottom lip, visibly angry, and he threw his hands up, “Alright, fine. Y’know what? Keep being a freak with your fucking pigs and fucking dog.” 

He stomped away, and Jeff’s hand twitched after him. He should apologize, should take some responsibility, really, but he didn’t want to. He said nothing, and with his hand braced on the bathroom door, Liu turned one more time.  

“Jeff, I graduate at the end of the year. I want my own life. I won’t always be here to clean up your messes.” he slammed the door, leaving Jeff to clean himself up before supper. 

They didn’t speak to each other for a week, but to Jeff, it might as well have been months. In a way, Liu was right, Jeff’s perpetual boredom continuously led to him getting tangled in trouble. But it wasn’t his fault everything was so under stimulating, so predictable.  

Sitting in class, he tuned back in, catching himself staring at the neck of the girl in front of him. Mrs. Goelet’s daughter; he should really learn her name.  

She was taller than most girls, and Jeff noticed she slouched often. Maybe she was insecure over her height? Jeff never understood women’s insecurities.  

When his mother would pester him about her appearance, he was baffled.  

‘Do I look fat? Am I beautiful?’ she’d query with distant eyes as she would dress up for his father, desperate for Jeff's approval. He’d sit on the edge of his bed while she tried on outfit after outfit, awaiting his commentary with bated breath. The one time she’d asked Liu, he’d brushed her off, not interested in the plight of womanhood.  

Jeff, however, was honest...always. 

Even when the corners of her eyes crinkled in hurt at his remarks, Mrs. Woods always came to him.  

“I only ever wanted a girl...” she confessed in a drunken stupor one night, her clothes strewn about the bedroom floor and her makeup smeared haphazardly around her face. Immediately making a then seven-year-old Jeff promise to never tell a soul.  

She had wrapped her hair for the night taking her Valium with shaking hands, putting her flask back under the bedside table. Jeff never told; he liked knowing something about her no one else did.  

He concluded the girl's slouch was a silly insecurity, she would look much better standing tall. The line from the part of her hair to the nape of her neck was disrupted by the poor posture.  

At this point, it was bothering him. He flicked the loose lead of his pencil at her, causing her to whip around with a scorned look on her face that quickly softened to embarrassment upon seeing her assailant's identity. She smiled sheepishly and turned back around; Jeff threw the remainder of his pencil at her.  

“What?” She hissed in frustration.  

“Go with me?” 

Jane was pleasant like her mother, if not a carbon copy of her save her choice of dress. Often dressed in dark regalia with lace and smokey eyeliner. She followed him like a dog to the back of the gymnasium, fiddling with her thumbs, anticipating.  

She sat on the stump he was on last time he’d come out here, tucking her skirt beneath herself when Jeff pointed to it. She seemed to be waiting for something, as if she expected something from Jeff.  

In the awkward tension, she broke the silence, “I’m sorry about last time.”  

She spoke quickly, and when receiving no response beyond a quick look, she stuttered out, “I—its...I don’t like Randy.” She explained, shifting uncomfortably.  

Still, Jeff didn’t dignify her with a response, causing her words to spill out uncontrollably. “I don’t know why I hung out with him. I don’t anymore—I don't know, I thought he was cool. Clearly, he’s not, I mean he’s a bully and I know that now and,” She took a deep breath, “I’m sorry.” 

Before she could continue, Jeff decided it was his turn to speak.  

“Jane,” He stated plainly, “I know you’re a good girl.”  

That made her skin itch; however, she tried to ignore the feeling. Jeff couldn’t mean any harm; she knew he was a bit...different. His accent a mix of the local western drawl and Eastern European inflections, he often spoke in odd and, at times, disconcerting ways.  

Jane would chalk it up to cultural differences, as her mom always told her to be nice to everyone. Even if they seemed different.  

Because of her kind nature, she had been sat next to Randy for most of the year. The teachers assumed she would be a good influence on him. He was cruel, but popular somehow. So when she was invited to hang out with them at lunch, she accepted.  

Her morals reached a crossroads when the boy she was meant to help ended up attacking someone–Jeff– unprompted. Jane decided she preferred Jeff’s company. 

Jeff, who was now rustling around in the bushes, back turned to the girl. She awkwardly tucked her hair behind her ear, “Hey, Jeff...” She looked around the trees, the environment blending into an endless ocean of vegetation. The world felt hazy as alarm bells began ringing in her ears, “What are we doing out here?” 

He looked at her this time, halting his motion to smile toothily, “I want to show you something.”  

He whispered like it was a secret. Glee dancing in his tone as he returned to the rustling.  

He grabbed something from the bushes, causing Jane to lean forward in curiosity, brows knitted together. He covered most of it with his jumper, but the foul smell was pungent. Jane wrinkled her nose.  

She snarled a bit as Jeff approached closer, but her curiosity beckoned her to stay. As Jeff unfurled his arms, Janes face twisted into vile detest at what lay in his hands. Nausea roiled through her body in sickening waves at the sight. 

Bloated, leaking puss with cloudy eyes, was a deceased piglet Jeff cradled delicately. Its skin looked rubbery, dull, and for a moment, Jane tried to convince herself it was some disturbed art piece. But the smell was undeniable.  

The stench of death hung heavily in the air, smothering her. She gagged and then doubled over, dry heaving and sputtering out bile.  

Jeff stood motionless, watching her, unflinching. Jane looked up through her lashes at him, panting, but he just looked back at her with no change in his expression. Still holding the deceased pig. 

“God,” she sputtered, acid in her throat, “put it away! What’s wrong with you!” 

Jeff’s lips twitched with a laugh, “I did, I just took it back out.” 

“You’re fucking sick, stay away from me.” She rasped, eyes burning from the acidity in her throat, stumbling away from him in a hurry. 

His smile faltered for a moment, “They sound different.” 

“What?” 

“When they die, they all sound different.” 

Jane did not like Jeff anymore, and she went home early. Too afraid to tell anyone what she saw, telling her mom it was just a stomach bug.  

Jeff hopped into his brother's car with a fat smile on his face. Liu scoffed, refusing to break his vow of silence, and the two drove home wordlessly. The towns' structures became few and far between the closer they got to home.  

Liu rolled down the windows at some point, side eyeing his brother occasionally, nose crinkled in disgust. Jeff had his gaze transfixed on the open road, shifting in his seat restlessly. If the two were talking, Liu would surely question the sudden excitement oozing from Jeff.  

Jeff's enthusiasm remained through the duration of dinner, uncaring for the flies that landed periodically on the meat and beet soup. Popping the insects between his teeth as he chewed. 

It earned him a swift swipe to the back of the head as Mr. Woods walked past before seating himself at the head of the table. Their mother emerged from the kitchen with glassy eyes, placing a soft hand on his head. Soothing the dull ache, Jeff felt those nimble and familiar fingers in his wiry locks. 

Jeff gazed up at his mother, leaning into the touch. Liu, unable to take the lunacy of it all, stood suddenly from the table, his chair grinding against the wooden floor.  

“Boy!” His father corrected, “You sit until you’re excused!” Food and spittle fell from his mouth and onto the table, his fist striking the varnished wooden table with a bang.  

“I’m not hungry!” He retorted, already disappearing up the stairs.  

Mr. Woods looked to his son who was now boldly staring him down as his mother's hand slowly retreated from his dark hair.  

His eyes were wild, dancing across the room, practically vibrating as they did so. Almost taunting. 

For a moment, Mr. Woods just stared back, eyes narrowed. Then, in a swift motion, he stood, grappling for him with a manic, crazed snarl on his mouth. His chair clattered behind him, crashing into the floor with a bang. 

His mother retreated against the wall with labored breath, pupils dilated in anticipation. Watching the scene unfold with blown pupils.  

Jeff held his fork in a challenging grip, mimicking his father's threatening stance. He, too, was now shorter than Jeff, something that satisfied a dark part of the boy. To look down on his father in this matter, kindled that burning desire inside him. 

Mr. Woods shoved the table, plates shuddering and food scattering, but Jeff held his ground. Mr. Woods face was a dark shade of rage, the tips of his ears red, a feverish glint perspirating on his forehead.  

“You little fucker! You better run, you better get the fuck out of here!” He hollered, sloppily grabbing his plate and waving it wildly above his head.  

Jeff grabbed his own and, without hesitation, hurled it at the man, consequences be damned. It bounced off his abdomen and shattered onto the floor, covering the space between them in sharp, dirty shards.  

His mother found her voice, shrieking and pawing at the air around Jeff. 

“Oh no honey,” she wailed, “Oh no darling, stop it! Stop it!” 

Her glossy eyes shined, frantic but distant, examining Jeff but somehow unseeing. She held onto nothing, grasping at the air with shaking hands. 

Before his father could catch his breath, Jeff twisted on his heels and sprinted up the creaking steps.  

He hadn’t even touched the bedroom handle when Liu’s open palm shot out and dragged him into the room. Both brothers held the door shut as it bowed from the unrelenting fury of their father’s fist.  

Soon enough, the old man grew tired and yielded, sputtering after their mother who was still wailing from the halls.  

The brothers breathed together for a while, unsure if the tirade had finished just yet. Only when the distant moans and yells abjured, did they calm. Looking at one another for a moment, it was Liu who slowly rested his forehead against his brothers and closed his eyes. Drinking in the silence, the stillness. 

 Jeff spoke, impossibly quiet, “Are you still mad at me?” He sounded child-like. Liu chuckled breathily and then shook his head, separating the two. 

He held Jeff's shoulders in a solid grip and looked at him, “No, I stopped being mad a while ago.”  

Jeff smiled and nodded, falling into Liu's embrace. His broad hands caressed the back of Jeff’s hair. More grounding than the feathery touch of his mother, whose affection felt distant and held expectations.  

Jeff’s smile fell, “I killed a piglet again.” he confessed. 

“I know. It’s okay.”  

Life resumed to normalcy, if only their own obtuse version of it. Mr. Woods had stormed out of the house as early as he woke, fire in his wake, their mother might as well have been sedated by it. She stood over the sink, cleaning one of the pots for hours, the skin of her hands cracked and sappy. That became the new routine, a welcome change for the duo, who’d much rather deal with their mother’s uncanny dissonance than their father’s unbridled rage. 

School was also surprisingly normal. No one pulled Jeff aside for his little stunt with Goelet’s daughter.  

He was saddened to see her seat empty that week, and the week that followed. He stopped going to that class shortly after.  

Liu was overall better for it; he had made some friends in the absence of his brother, but there was always some kind of block.  

He had met a girl, a nice one from the church. He lied about still going, despite not attending since he was small, and she ate it up. The rest of her friends, though, were moody and confusing to him. He often resorted to silence as his default response. One of her friends had said he was “mysterious” which, to him, felt like “weird freak” in a prettier package.  

Despite this, they still invited Liu to a party. Apparently, it was one of the girl's birthdays or something. It was an open invite, too, so Liu had hoped to drag Jeff along. Lately, he had been spending more time with his dog than anyone else.  

Since the piglet incident, Jeff had even been avoiding the pen, Maymay squealing at him upon arrival with newfound fear.  

Their father, luckily, hadn’t noticed the missing one. That, or he assumed the runt died and was eaten by the other pigs. Jeff was particular with the piglet he chose, knowing which one wouldn’t be missed.  

Mr. Woods was sparsely in the home lately, residing in the pub during his waking hours. He left the slaughter business to abandon, which troubled Liu deeply. Their mother wasn’t much consolation, as she seemed to withdraw further each day, meals becoming more miserable as a result. Poorly paired flavors in favor of filling the family's bellies, food unwatched left to spoil.  

“Jeff.” The eldest stood at the door of their room, poking his head inside, “Come with me tonight.” 

Jeff was lounging on the rickety bed, arms outstretched and head lolled to the side. A cigarette hung lamely against his bottom lip; a magazine adorned with various scantily clad women in his grasp. 

“Why?” 

Liu shrugged, “Might be fun, get out the house and talk to people.” 

“Spare me,” he responded firmly, “that's sounds lame...” 

Liu shifted, “There’ll be girls?” he suggested, quirking a brow.  

At that, Jeff seemed to pause and consider his brother's words. Wordlessly, he stood and began to rifle through his closet, searching for something to wear. Liu released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and nodded at Jeff.  

“I’ll be downstairs.”  

The party was fine at best. Jeff was wearing his baggy white hoodie and some distressed jeans with his sneakers, whereas Liu bore an old wifebeater, jumper and his work jeans. Liu’s cross necklace caught the light when he fiddled with it between his fingers. The scent of smoke and beer carried through a backdrop of rainy weather that beat against the tin roof of the home.  

It was a quaint set up decorated with warm light, and people sprawled across all surfaces. Liu had quickly found the church girl, as foreign as her presence here seemed to be, and stuck by her for what felt like hours.  

Jeff disappeared somewhere into the smokey haze of the living room, muttering something under his breath Liu didn’t catch. Liu sipped on a cold beer that the church girl had presented to him on his arrival. She was blonde, with square shoulders and minimal makeup that allowed a dusting of moles and freckles to peek through. 

‘Real marriage material.’ his father would say upon seeing her full figure and long hair pulled into a ponytail. Liu concluded she was too nice to bring home if things continued.  

As far as he could tell, she was happy to see him, occasionally gripping his arms and chest as they talked. Feeling brave, he tucked a stray hair behind her ear and watched her cheeks flush pink. She smiled while batting her light lashes, pushing closer to him. His heart stuttered in his chest at the proximity. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask her to sneak off somewhere private but was interrupted. 

A loud crash broke the tension, both of them whipping their heads around to follow the sound.  

The chaos was blinding. Smoke obscured his vision, and after coughing and waving it away he could faintly see glass scattered on the ground and the living room table tipped on it’s side.  

The second thing he noticed were the jean clad legs that lay gangly on the ground with a foxy figure hovering above them.  

Jeff was slumped on his back, tossed over the tipped table, clutching his stomach with a wince. Randy balled his fists and leaned menacingly close to him, canines flashing. His brother was snarling viscously, his blue eyes catching the yellow light with pupils like pin pricks as they glared at Randy.  

The red head’s clenched knuckles were bloody and pink from impact, tainted by Jeff’s gushing nose. The blonde girl gasped in shock and clutched Liu’s arm, digging her fingertips in the flesh. But he shoved her off, almost blindly, making her stumble as she tried to catch her balance.   

Liu pushed through the anticipatory crowd that watched on in hungry fascination. They parted for him as he hurried to his brother's side. 

The scene became clearer as he approached. A pudgy boy with a crooked nose stood with a self-assured smirk next to a thin, pale kid who peeked behind Randy. All of them held his vengeful stare.  

Jeff didn’t break his gaze once, even when Liu’s legs entered his peripheral vision.  

“Got you, fucker.” Randy spit. 

“Yeah, you did, now get lost.” Liu retorted, posturing next to his brother. Jeff stood back up, nursing his bruises and brushing sparse glass from his now tattered hoodie. Randy looked at  Liu, crinkling his nose. 

“Holy shit,” the skinny kid started with a stupid smile, “two for one!”  

Randy glanced behind him, “Shut it, Kieth!” He turned back to face Liu, “No one was talking to you, hick.”  

He spat the last word with venom,  face scrunching with offense, as if the brunette's mere presence was a challenge to his ego.  

“Well,” Liu took a step forward, “I’m talking now. So, you can talk to me.” Jeff’s eyes flickered between the two, hands flexing as they hung by his thighs, ready for whatever came next.  

Randy laughed heartily, to which his little back up squad mimicked submissively. Without another word, Randy's fist shot forth, but Liu was an artful dodger to quick and violent hands.  

Avoiding the impact, he took the opportunity to jab Randy in his side with his elbow. He was winded from the assault; Liu by all accounts had a lot more force and power behind him. Easily crumpling the paper boy on his tower of cards, body like a strong wind that stole his breath.  

The two behind Randy looked taken aback for a moment, but the shrill scream of some girl in the crowd broke them out of it. Kieth went to comfort his friend, while Troy stood tall with a sharp inhale, a bead of sweat rolling over his nose and down his chin.  

Liu heard the crunching of glass into the carpeted ground as Jeff overtook his position now. Despite the hunch in his back, he was far taller than the fatter boy across from him. Jeff was like a serpent, coiled, dancing, swaying threateningly while staring the boy down. 

“Troy,” Jeff spoke with a grin etched into his face, “I’ll put it back into place for you.” He reached for Troys nose, hand hovering inches away from his face. The veiled threat sent the boy out the door, retreating before any conflict continued. Randy's jaw clenched at the spectacle, his eyes widening as he yelled after the boy.  

Randy straightened his back, “Fucking useless.”  

He tossed an expecting look at Kieth, who despite his stature, seemed far more capable of holding his own. Perhaps a product of false confidence.  

He attempted to rush Liu. Why he went for the stacked figure no one would understand. Liu, on reflex, knocked him in the jaw, shaking his fist at the lingering sting. Kieth was surprisingly durable however, and ate the hit with impressive resilience, brushing it off.  

He elected for a different method the second time around, gabbing one of the copious sharp objects on the ground and lunging for Liu, swinging in a frenzy. 

Liu raised his arms defensively, gritting his teeth when he was slashed across the forearm. It was deep, crimson running in hot rivulets down his arm. He hissed, knitting his brows, braced for another attack.  

He poised himself,  ready to snatch the makeshift weapon out of the scrawny fuckers' hands. Yet, the second attack never came. Instead, Liu gaped, watching as the attacker's eyes bulged out of his skull. He was hoisted inches off the ground by the material of his shirt. With a sharp smack, he was slammed into the shrapnel littering the ground. Jeff towering above the body beneath him now. 

Unfortunately, unlike Jeff’s thick hoodie, the boy had a singlet on, and Kieth yelped as he made contact with the rough debris, knees stinging furiously.  

Randy, who still had his hands placed protectively over his torso, took a step back. Liu was ready to utilize the moment of pause, muscles coiled and ready to spring.  

But before he could, his attention was drawn away by Jeff, who straddled a whimpering Keith on the ground with his teeth bared in an open grin. He released a series of unrelenting attacks upon his face, blood splattering across his sweatshirt, seeping deeply into the fabric. The white fibers of the hoodie congealed from the onslaught of dark liquid.  

The blows escalated from dull thuds to wet squelches of viscera. Liu was frozen in place, entranced by the horror, unable to get himself to move. When Jeff didn't relent even after Kieth had stopped twitching, the morbid entertainment at the conflict dissolved from the crowd, who began to protest in fear. 

“Holy shit, he’s gonna kill him!” Someone among the haze of faces exclaimed, dread and panic evident in their voice. The crowd started undulating in an agitated swarm, voices rising, manic.  

Finally, Liu’s feet were released from where they were planted against the floor. He cupped his brother under the arm and dragged him off the unmoving figure, tearing Jeff away as if he were a rabid animal.  

Keith laid as a bloody pulp on the ground, motionless. Randy was shuddering violently, hands  tugging at his hair in raw terror.  

Before the crowd could riot or process the boy's state, Liu stumbled away with Jeff, who was staring at the scene with a content smile. 

His fingers fumbled fruitlessly for his keys in his pocket, and he yelled for Jeff to get in the car, urgently, finally managing to grab his keys.  

Jeff was laughing, chest heaving with mirth, his lips curled in a heinous imitation of joy.  

Liu floored the gas, paranoia swirling in his gut with growing nausea and dread. He felt as though he were being suffocated, his throat constricting, unable to suck in enough air.  

Surely, surely the boy would get up? 

His face was unrecognizable after the attack, swollen and sputtering, gruesome. His fingers had twitched and gone limp at his side. Liu swallowed hard, shaking the thoughts away, banishing them. Periodically, Liu would glance at his brother in his peripherals. But for the entire ride home, Jeff's grin never faltered.  

In quiet moments, Liu could hear the muffled sounds of a snicker.  

The road was illuminated only by the pickup's headlights, hardly penetrating the smothering darkness. Which didn’t help Liu’s anxiety. If anyone was following them, the dark country roads wouldn't reveal it. Liu could only see right beyond the beams of light on the path in front of him, the surroundings a blackened inky sea, swirling nauseatingly. Liu’s knuckles whitened against the steering wheel. 

Liu ushered his brother inside, head wildly snapping back and forth. When the door shut behind them, Liu took his time peeking through the windows before pulling the blinds closed.  

When he was sure they hadn’t been followed, he gripped his hair with growing desperation, profanities tumbling from his mouth. He paced around the living room while Jeff sat on the couch sneaking looks at him through his bangs.  

He’d stopped smiling, finally, but the corners of his lips still twitched from the comedown of the high.  

Liu spun on his heels to face his brother, “What,” he accused, “is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you?”  

His voice was shrill, but his brother remained infuriatingly impassive, shrugging and folding his  into his lap. His pupils were blown out, large like a feline zeroed in on a mouse, and his breath came in soft pants.  

He looked eerily calm, restrained.  

Liu's face flushed in frustration, “You could’ve killed him, Jeff! Oh God, he might already be dead...” Liu slid his back against the wall, crumpling into himself.  

Jeff’s face fell, “He’s not dead.” he spoke sternly, brows drawing together. 

“How do you know that?”  

“Because I could feel his breath!” At that response, Liu’s mouth hung open at the audacity.  

He wanted to snap back, to retort, but couldn’t find the words. It was a senseless justification; he might’ve been still alive when they left, but that many hits to the head didn’t bode well. Before Liu could muster a response, the silence of the night was broken by a bellowing bark and symphony of shrieks.  

The Pen.  

The pyrenees was going wild, snarls and barks so vicious you could hear the snapping of teeth colliding with one another.  

The brothers were quick to move, exchanging a wide eyed look, quickening their pace the closer they got to the chaos.  

As they crossed the field, drawing closer, the brothers became aware of twin lights in the distance, breaking the empty air darkness, illuminating the unseen insects and dust swirling in the air. The wails and barks were rabid, darkness engulfing the scene, shrouding it in the unknown.  

The boys heaved as they reached the pen, staggering to stand between the opening and the mystery car.  

The dog was positioned on his hind legs, corners of its mouth frothing with saliva. The rumbling engine of the car cut, and from the abyss emerged Randy, red hair illuminated by the light. Something hidden in his grip caught the light, glinting. 

The night air was swallowed by barking, the dog practically howling, teeth gnashing. 

Jeff and Liu stood  apprehensively, backs to the pen, eyes trained on the approaching Randy. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Randy seethed, lunging forward with a brandished pocket knife in hand.  

Liu instinctively grappled for Jeff, intending to push him out of the way. But Randy collapsed into the wet mud unceremoniously. A blood curdling scream pierced their ears, and Randy thrashed desperately in the mud, ankle firmly clamped between the dog's jaws. The dog swung its head wildly, saliva turning from a white foam into a deep red, meddling with the blood slowly soaking into the fabric of his socks.  

He continued to shriek, raising his knife high above his head, trying and failing to strike the beast down. The Pyrenees was a formidable opponent, though, and it lunged for the boy’s face. In the midst of trying to pry away the teeth that sunk into his supple flesh, Randy dropped the blade into the grass below. His arms flailed, fruitlessly trying to find purchase on the blade that was eaten by the soft earth and oppressive darkness.  

Jeff lunged forward, grabbing a handful of his dog's scruff, pulling flesh and muscle as he reeled back. Randy clutched the marred skin, blood gushing between his fingers. He writhed around the dirt in pain, screams turning into weak pants.  

“What in God’s name!” Mr. Woods was roused by the onslaught of echoing wails and was standing, gun in hand, lit up in the beams of Randy’s headlights.  

It didn’t take long for the ambulance to arrive, wheeling away a disoriented Randy on a stretcher. Jeff and Liu gave their statements to the police on the scene. Jeff's hands hadn't left the dog's bloody fur as the night unfolded, red and blue lights shimmering against the crimson splattered on the ground.  

The police deemed the incident an unfortunate result of trespassing by foolish kids.  

They both received a warning for the night, the knife attack being hearsay since Randy couldn't land a blow and no one could locate the weapon. It also helped that Troy had dogged his friends in, confessing teary eyed to his mother that he didn't want to be friends with them anymore. That, coupled with the nasty gash on Liu’s forearm, relieved the family of most consequence.  

Kieth was also fortunately still alive, already roused from unconsciousness in hospital. All things considered, the night concluded a lot better than anticipated. Rattled but safe, the family returned inside to forget about the night altogether, falling into restless slumber. 

For the next month, Randy’s father came to their door daily, threatening the family. Mr. Woods was the one to answer first, and had promptly slammed the door shut in the man's face. He would peer through the window, yelling belligerently, cursing the family for what they did to his son.  

“I’ll get you and that rotten mutt!” he had exclaimed repeatedly, vein popping in his forehead.  

Even when Randy got out of hospital, the abuse didn’t subside, with the father gathering his own extensive bloodline to stalk around the property provocatively.  

Jeff started sleeping in the pen again, feeling indebted to his loyal companion. He cooed over him and soothed him against the persistent heckling, hushing him when he would tense at the taunts. He slept, face pressed against his white coat, in case anyone dared to overstep that fence and be a vigilante.  

He would wake occasionally to the sound of rocks hitting the pen, once even stirring awake to the smell of meat thrown over the fence, hitting the dirt with a wet thump.  

Bait, Randy’s folks were attempting to bait his dog. He hugged that fur tighter every night.  

Liu and his father would take shifts sitting on the rocking chair on the old porch, shotgun at arm's length. Mrs. Woods would be seen sporadically peeking out the windows, paranoia drawing her face into tight lines.  

The tension wasn’t dying down anytime soon, so the brothers had no choice but to return to school and attempt to complete the year. Their peers had returned to avoiding the brothers like the plague, whispering accusations and poisonous rumors as they passed.  

One gloomy night, Jeff had returned home from a long day of school with Liu and headed back out to prepare some feed for the week. Like usual, he dropped his bag on the floor, kicking his sneakers off and stuffing his feet into the faded, mud-soaked wellies propped against the wall.  

He made way to the pen, eager to see his boy after a long day of boredom. Peeking his head into the entryway, he searched the room, bewildered when he didn't catch hide nor hair of his fluffy companion. The pigs oinked at him curiously with wide eyes. He pursed his lips. 

Ducking back out, he began checking along the outside, searching diligently for signs of life. However, his dog wasn't patrolling the perimeter, either.  

No bother, he could be off relieving himself, Jeff reasoned. Yet, a creeping sense of unease tangled in his chest. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he took a deep inhale of the chilly air. Using the lungful to project his voice, breath billowing around his face, he began to call for him. 

His feet planted into the sludge as he trudged around the property, a deep pit forming in his gut. The cold felt constricting the longer he was outside and fruitlessly searching, his cheeks stinging with its touch.  

After a good half hour of this, his breathing became increasingly ragged, mind racing with unfavorable conclusions. The sun crested the trees, casting a weak golden glow on the darkening fields. Empty. Jeff jogged back inside.  

Uncaring about the tracks of mud he left in his wake,  Jeff frantically searched the house. He practically turned it upside down, checking in places the big Pyrenees couldn't possibly fit. His movements were progressively more manic, calling to the dog every few moments.  

Maybe...maybe his dog came inside? Maybe his father let the dog indoors to avoid the assailants.  

Liu still wasn’t home yet, and Mr. Woods was seated in his recliner, reading the newspaper, oblivious to the world around him. Jeff paused his erratic searching to face his father. 

“Sir?” He cautioned, not wanting to set him off. Finding his dog was of paramount importance, and if that meant being civil with his father, so be it. Mr. Woods grunted in response, as if to say, ‘get on with it, boy.’ 

Jeff continued, forcefully casual, “Have you seen the dog today?” 

Mr. Woods licked his thumb, the crinkling of the paper deafening as he turned the page. 

“The dog?” Jeff encouraged, expecting an answer. 

Mr. Woods shook his head, “More trouble than it was worth, boy.”  

The air felt liquid, and time seemed to halt altogether. Jeff didn’t feel his limbs moving, nor did he notice the change in the weather when he went back outside.  

His mind felt slower than the world around him as the pen came into view. Shadows cast by the trees hung accusatory across the dirt path and Jeff's knees buckled as he collapsed into the wooden opening.  

He eyed the flattened earth, marked from years of heavy slumber from his precious mutt. He crawled along the ground, dirt packing into his nails and smearing along his knees. His throat was tight, he wasn't able to suck in enough air, his vision narrow. 

Some of the pigs waddled their fat bodies closer, curious, snorting the air around Jeff. He curled up into the depression in the ground, tucking his legs and arms close. Jeff hugged himself and wailed. Taken from him, it was all taken from him.  

His tether to humanity, the one thing beneath him he still found care for. Gone in one cruel action. 

He sobbed and wailed like a child until his body gave out.  

Liu found him that morning, tossing an old blanket over his shaking form. His lips were blue and the tips of his fingers and nose were bitten from the cold. Every shaky breath manifested in cloudy white puffs of air inches from his face. His eyes were open and bloodshot, staring blankly into nothing.  

Snot and tears were crusted dryly onto his face. Liu gazed on sympathetically; he managed to piece together what had happened. His warm hand fell onto his brother's shoulder, rubbing comforting circles along his arm.  

Jeff didn’t react to the contact, continuing to stare off into space, unseeing. Liu released his hold with a brief squeeze, dragging the hand down his own face.  

He was tired. Of all of it. He felt aged and ragged and had no resolve anymore, as if he had been thrown into the whirling depths of exhaustion and despair, unable to claw his way out. He looked at the pathetic mess of his sibling, who seemed so far away at his feet. It was the first time in a while that Liu felt taller than his brother. 

“One night.” He told him, “One more night you can stay here, and then I'm taking my brother back.”  

There was a small flicker of acknowledgement in Jeff’s cloudy vision and Liu left him like that.  

Tomorrow, he’d take his brother inside, clean him up, and scrounge together a way to get them both out of there.  

Their father had abandoned his duties as the breadwinner, recognizing that the brothers were getting too big to keep under his thumb and at his mercy. Jeff’s revolt had frightened him and the man for a moment, he recognised his wife in those wild eyes. 

He turned to the bottle, face perpetually red, speech slurred, and it wouldn’t be much longer before the money dried up. 

Mother had stopped cooking, wandering aimlessly in the halls of the house like a ghost. She was so disconnected from life, she might as well have already been dead.  At night, Liu would hear her nails raking along the walls, as if searching for something under the floral wallpaper. Her mind was far gone, maybe buried beneath the creaking wood of the floorboards. A distant memory of a mother haunted the home. 

When Liu prepped the feed the previous night, he found himself rationing it. The plumpness of the pigs would fade and they’d become skinny, unmarketable cuts of flesh. Discarded. 

Jeff, for all intents and purposes, was his only family left, and Liu refused to let the sickness of this home consume him too. They had a car, and they were both capable of work. Even if it meant scrubbing floors and living motel to motel, Liu would figure it out.  

He feared that any longer in this household would drive them both to lunacy.  

And on top of it all, his father had shot the dog. The dog that guarded his prized brood and kept the family fed. His father had shot it dead, and the town was still insatiable. Shadows from passing cars danced against the drawn blinds of the home, an ever-present warning. A promise. 

Yeah, Liu thought, they needed to get out of here.  

He’d allow his brother to mourn, say a final goodbye, and then Liu would drive them both as far away from the wretched home as possible. This bastardization of family, he would take it no more.  

Scrambling around their bedroom, the one they’d shared all their lives, he grabbed and stuffed whatever he thought essential into two large duffle bags he’d managed to drag out of the attic. He went over to his bed, gripping the metal frame, and he hauled it back Underneath was a floorboard that protruded outward like a waterlogged roof.  

Liu wrenched his calloused hands under the splintering wood and, with a ragged breath, pulled with all his strength to dislodge the panel from its position. Beneath the now open panel was stacks of cash Liu had spent the past year hiding from Mr. Woods.  

He had pried the panel open when he began collecting the cash, stashing it away. Any time his father questioned the missing money, he would deflect by reminding him of his wife's medication. 

It wasn’t a lot, but it would be enough for the two to survive until they figured out work.  

The biggest issue would be getting his brother hired, as they’d never had to get a job outside the farm before. And Jeff was never one for change.  

He stuffed the money deep under the clothing off the duffle bag, making sure it’d be hidden from drunken hands.  

Lui dragged the duffle bags down the stairs, placing them next to the door. Mr. Woods stared at him, bottle in hand, from the recliner he refused to move from.  

“Where the fuck do you think…think you’re going?” He slurred, barely making it through the sentence, drool seeping from the corner of his lip, eyes half lidded and glossy.  

Liu huffed as he looked at the pathetic man, “I’m taking Jeff and I away for the weekend. Until everything cools off.”  

Mr. Woods took his now empty bottle and hurled it at the floor. He sunk deeper into the recliner, disapproval painted across his features. It didn’t matter, though, because there was nothing he could do to stop Liu.  

A miserable acceptance settled over the room, like a thick fog of dissonance. A silence that held many unspoken words. Distantly, he could hear his mother's shuffling feet from upstairs. The air suddenly felt colder. 

Day melted into evening, which settled into night. Thick clouds shielded what little light the stars and moon provided in that isolated farm, and it had been a while since the fireflies had been around.  

Jeff still stared, open eyed, at nothing, limbs feeling too heavy to move. One of the piglets from Maymay’s litter had curled up near his feet, sniffing and oinking softly. He wondered if the pigs knew their protector was gone, if they missed him. He wondered if they were capable of such emotion; perhaps they only felt scared or uncertain. 

If they did, Jeff couldn’t tell either way.  

He felt thankful for the blanket draped over his body as a particularly cold gust of wind blew through the open entrance. It carried the smell of alcohol, strong enough to sting his nostrils.  

Ugh, must be his father.  

Jeff considered killing his dad; it’s not like his dad loved them anyway, and now he had a great reason to kill the man. Not to mention, Jeff knew the pigs would grow hungry soon, judging by the looks of the feed. They’d eat anything but teeth if need be.  

The dried spittle on his chin cracked as a wheezed breath escaped him, almost a laugh. He waited for his father to stumble through the door, and Jeff would strangle him right there with the blanket—leaving him to the swine.  

He started to shake, limbs tingling awake, and the strange stench grew stronger, breaking through the smell of livestock. As Jeff propped himself up on his elbows, he froze, hearing hushed whispers. 

For a moment, he thought the dehydration and lack of sleep was making him delirious, but the voices were unmistakable. Jeff pressed his good ear against the wooden wall, shushing the concerned snorts of the swine. 

Maymay peered at him wearily and everything suddenly went quiet. Even the crickets and rustling from the wind stilled.  Pressing further into the wall, Jeff heard a faint click and one distinct sentence. 

“Light this fucker up.” 

White hot flames roared to life, climbing along the wooden shed, kissing the roof before Jeff could even comprehend what was happening. All-consuming heat engulfed the shed, ignited in red and orange, black smoke choking the oxygen. The swine began running around in a flurried panic, squealing.  

It was burning, everything was burning. They screeched and tried to dart for the opening, but the unkempt wooden panels quickly collapsed inward, blocking all those present inside the indiscriminate hungry fire.  

The heat was unbearable now, licking at his flesh, singing his hair, suffocating his lungs. 

Just beyond the sound of wailing meat and hungry flames was the sound of jeers and laughter. Illuminated in red were two figures; a plump boy and a redhead. Jeff finally found his voice and he screamed his throat raw. His shirt had caught, and he could feel the fire dangerously close to the skin beneath, biting it.  

One of the pigs was alight already, spreading the flame further in its panic, running in fruitless circles, the smell of burning flesh clogging the smoke. Jeff tried to scream again, but the smoke suffocated him, scorching his lungs. He sputtered and hacked onto the ground, saliva black with soot, vision spinning.  

As more pigs collapsed, he found his voice one last time, his hysterical cry breaking through the overbearing noise of burning swine.  

Liu’s eyes cracked open, wincing at the light which penetrated through the cracks of the window. He groaned, digging his thumb and forefinger into his eyelids.  

He stood, stretching his stiff muscles, yawning  

“What is going on?” he murmured, confused.  

One eye closed, he peeked through the glowing crack of the window. For a moment, he couldn’t make sense of the scene in front of him. But when reality sunk in, he was rushing down the stairs, stumbling.  

Feet heavy, he burst out the door quicker than the locks could bear, leaving them to swing from marred hickory. His parents were stirred by the commotion, chasing after him while shouting. 

“What’s wrong with you? Boy!” Mr. Woods slurred, words dying in his throat as his eyes landed on the flames flickering in the distance.  

Suffocating, thickened ash filled the air, scents of flesh singing nostrils and howls of agony echoing.  

The pen was devoured by flames, the height of it kissing the willowy trees that hung above. Randy and Troy stood just outside the flames’ reach, faces alight with horror at the sight before them.  

Without thought, Liu tackled Randy to the ground, knocking the lighter out of his hand. He grappled his wrists, vaguely aware of his father collapsing to his knees beside him.  

“It’s gone, it’s all gone!” Mr. Woods yelled, catching the smoke in his throat, coughing.  

On cue, the roof of the pen caved in, igniting the fire anew and releasing the trapped screams inside. Some of the pigs, burning, escaped the flames and ran. None made it far, legs failing as they dropped, bodies giving out. Their skin was blackened and raw, layers of flesh and fat exposed to the cold air, eyes melted from their skulls.  

Liu grabbed Randy by the collar of his shirt, shaking him in his tight grip, “What did you do? What the fuck did you do?”  

His voice broke as his eyes became wet ,not realizing he was crying until a tear landed squarely on Randy’s face. Randy's hands were trembling, mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish as he tried to find an excuse.  

Troy was still standing, awe struck at the flames, eyes reflecting the carnage. The squeals were dying out as seconds dragged on to minutes. 

Randy sounded like his age for once, naive and afraid, stuttering out, “We-we didn’t… we didn't know.” He shook his head frantically, “We thought it was pigs! Just pigs!” 

His words fell on deaf ears, hands releasing their grip on the collar to find the exposed throat of the fox below him. Randy quickly grasped his wrists in a weakened grip, pleading.  

Mrs. Woods approached the flames still clad in her nightdress. Her eyes were glossy, fogged with familiar distance.  

Horrified understanding trembled across her face in one fleeting sweep. She reached a hand up, concerningly close to the threshold beyond safety, twitching. Mr. Woods motioned to corral his distant wife, but paused when he noticed the now raised hand of Troy. Finger outstretched, his hand quivered as he pointed to the gulf of the fire.  

Mrs. Woods muttered, “My baby, my little girl?” Liu released his grip on the throat below him, following the line of hands into the center of the fire.  

Emerging from the flames was a figure, silhouette undeniable as it passed over the fallen structure. Feet pushing aside corpses and charred wooden planks, walking like a fresh babe without motor function.  

“Jeff?” Liu pleaded, moving closer.  

Jeff stepped forth from the flame, following the call blindly.  

For a brief moment, he seemed to smile at his brother. It was so brief, it could have been a simple trick of light. Maybe it was a mirage, created in the recesses of Liu’s mind, and maybe none of that mattered anymore.  

Before his brother’s eyes, under the smoke obscured stars and glossy gazes, Jeff collapsed to the sullen earth, and died.  

The smell of burnt livestock and feces radiated over the distant town, and in some indiscernible amount of time, sirens could be heard approaching the now settling flames. The wet earth and torrential weather were desperately welcomed to cull the manifesting death.  

Whatever money Liu had managed to scrounge up over the years had gone to setting up Jeff’s post-surgery home care. It had been several months of inpatient medical treatment and various operations to get him prepared for the return home.  

He was adorned in both compression garments and gauze, leaving his face and mouth concealed. His hands and legs remained mostly unharmed; covered in wet earth, the flames had left only first-degree burns to redden the skin. 

The rest of his body, however, was littered with both second and third-degree scarring. The taunt skin snaked around his torso in contracture stripes, occasionally making an appearance when the gauze shifted.  

The laundry list of medications and wound care the medical team had given Liu was hard to understand, the length of some of the words far surpassing his own vocabulary.  

But the fire had eaten more than just his flesh; it consumed the hearing from one ear and half the sight in his right eye, and four of his toes had to be amputated.   

He needed help to even walk to the bathroom.  

All of that was fine, though. Liu could handle it for his little brother.  

What had been bothering him the most, waking him from the ever-present nightmares, was the idea of changing the dressings.  

None of the family had seen Jeff’s face since that night.  

Their father was halfway in the grave himself, drinking so heavily he spent more time asleep than awake, alcohol always within grasp. Mrs. Woods would only leave barely edible meals outside the brother's room, and if it weren't for those plates, Liu could convince himself she had disappeared altogether. She was a ghost, swept away in the wind, shuffling feet absent. Haunting the house; present, but on a different plane.  

Therefore, Jeff’s care was left to Liu, who took on the responsibility without complaint. 

Liu sat on a chair across from the bandaged figure sleeping on the wireframe bed. The figure's chest was heaving deeply, small puffs of air escaping his open mouth.  

Liu’s hands were clasped in front of his face, brows drawn together. He felt conflicted, finding himself at a crossroad of emotion.  

He was surprised, happy, and horrified that his brother had survived. 

He wondered if his relief was selfish in nature, if his relief stemmed from fear of having to grieve his loved one, unable to imagine letting go. He wondered if, perhaps, it would have been for the best if Jeff had died that night, unceremoniously among the swine he spent the most time with.  

He knew the pain must’ve been unbearable, even with the concoction of sedatives and painkillers constantly running through his veins. From the fitful twitching, to the clammy appearance on the minimally exposed skin, it was sickeningly clear to Liu that Jeff was in pain.  

He wondered what was going through Jeff’s mind, if he was cognitive of his fate, and what that meant for his psyche. How had Jeff felt in that pen? Did he wake to the fire and smoke in a panic, scrambling for salvation with the pigs?  

It was hard for Liu to picture his brother, so wickedly self-assured and unfazed by the world, being stricken with panic and agony. Subordinate to the flames, fire, light, and consumption.  

Realising he was trapped, that this was the end. 

Except it hadn’t been, and now he was trapped once again, this time in the confines of his own scorched flesh and gauze holding him together. Liu’s brother, so dependent now, so incapable, any spark of rebellion and acidity stripped against his own volition. How could he possibly be feeling, if he felt at all? 

Liu placed a tender hand on the blanket sitting against Jeff’s chest, feeling the muscles twitch upon contact. He reached forth to cup the gauze wrapped around his face, watching his lips strain, breathing becoming more ragged. Carefully removing the metal clips to avoid furthering his discomfort, he peeled, revealing the carnage layer by layer.  

As he approached the last of the gauze, Liu's hand trembled. He withdrew, trying to shake his discomfort and gather himself.  

He reasoned internally, reminding himself that he needed to do this for him, that he wasn't the one suffering here. Against any mounting anxiety, Liu finished undressing his brother’s face. 

He was unrecognizable. A stranger laying in the spot he could have sworn Jeff occupied moments earlier.  

His skin was patchy with burst blisters, blooming primarily on the right side of his face, crawling down his neck and jaw in red spirals.  

The irritated, pink flesh looked painful, although the nurses had informed Liu that the second to third-degree burns meant extensive nerve damage and the silver lining was minimal pain.  

Where his nose once situated, there was nothing but the taut sheen of the skin graft with two dark caverns for nostrils. Reconstructive efforts had done their best to restore Jeff’s appearance, but the muscle and cartilage was too far gone, prioritizing function over aesthetics at that point. 

His right ear was flat to the side of his face, the remaining skin of the area a scaley scar with a rough surface.  

The parts of his hair that remained were short and unkempt from his hospital stay, a large chunk from his hairline recessed, presumably never to grow back.  

The eyes that gazed up at Liu were wide and unblinking, bloodshot and partially cloudy on the right side, looking past his brother. For a moment, Liu saw his brother lying in that pen the morning before, gazing distantly in mourning, and guilt settled in the eldest heart.  

If he had dragged his brother inside, wrenching him from his wallowing the morning he found him, none of this would have happened. If he had stopped his father from killing the dog, from putting a bullet in the one thing Jeff truly loved, or if he grew a spine and stood up to the man like Jeff always wanted, this could’ve all been avoided.  

But it wasn’t, and now Liu had to take responsibility for this, for his brother, for his only family.  

He was waiting for that feeling of recognition, that bond of familiarity to warm inside him. 

But there was nothing.  

The body before him felt and looked like a complete stranger; uncharted territory.  

Pushing aside the rising emotion in his chest, Liu started unwrapping the rest of the layers, revealing more burn, more red.  

He redressed the wounds hastily, eyes stinging, trying his best to maintain gentleness in his movements. He stepped back, examining the silhouette before him, swallowing the consequences of his compliance as he forced himself to look. To really look at his brother– or, at least, what was left. He turned away, unable to bear it much longer.  

He grabbed his brother's medication, washing it down his throat to minimal resistance apart from some breathy whines, ringing and reverberating through Liu's ears like a sick chime.   

Liu slumped back into the chair, throat closing up, vision blurring. His head fell into his hands and he cried. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks in fat droplets. 

His brother had died. How could he not be dead? He saw him collapse! He witnessed his brother's soul evaporating from his singed flesh, intertwining with the black smoke rising into the night sky, away from Earth, to elsewhere. 

He was mourning a man that was right in front of him and had no one to turn to.  

He was living with a corpse. The corpse of someone he loved, taunting him with wheezing breaths and unseeing eyes. 

That was how life was for months. Months that passed aqueously and seemed to slip through his fingers. A nonconsensual ravaging of his life that became total destruction of his autonomy.  

Liu’s life was consumed by caring for his brother, his parents offering no relief, choosing to retreat into their own vices. If anything, they only added to the oppressive environment, sucking the life from Liu's veins.  

All the while, Liu waited, desperately clinging to the idea of his brother, who felt more like a concept than a tangible form or person, in no way reflective of the body on the bed. 

There was nothing, nothing in those countless moments Liu spent tending to the body that was once his brother's.  

He didn't emit that familiar warmth, no longer exhibiting those quirks and features in his small movements. The earthy, laborious odor of the farm Jeff used to wear gave way to the sterile smell of bacitracin and gauze. 

Jeff never uttered a word, which was perhaps the hardest part of it all. All he did was stare off into the distance, eyes dull and lifeless, reflecting Liu's gaze back at him. Sometimes, Liu imagined that he could see an accusing tinge to his stare, as if condemning Liu. 

When he wasn't caring for the body, Liu was manically scrubbing at every surface he could reach, the house seemingly in a perpetual state of filth despite his efforts.  

The fire had left foul smelling soot that clung to one's nostrils far after it dissipated. Liu found himself cleaning the home multiple times a day, especially in the kitchen, where the open window had welcomed the filth inside.  

Scrubbing dutifully, he was lost in his own world. He was like that for a while, until his thoughts were interrupted by a disturbance upstairs.  

At first, he convinced himself it was his mother, shuffling aimlessly. But that explanation didn't last long when he heard the distinct sound of metal scraping against wood.  

Dropping the dusty rag, he trotted up the stairs, bewildered. Had Jeff gotten up? Was he moving? Did he need something, was he himself again? His heart was thrumming faster against his chest, anticipatory, hoping against all hope. 

Liu softly pried the door open, careful to avoid spooking the figure inside.  

His narrow vision from the crack in the door only allowed him to see to the corner of the room. Slowly, working from the ground up, Liu's eyes traced the figure occupying the space, his focus a sharp pinpoint. Standing there, murmurming indecipherable words, was Jeff.  

Tufts of black hair sneaked from the dressings, his exposed legs pink and blistered, quivering with disuse. The rhythm of his muttering was erratic and soft, as if he were arguing with himself.  

Liu risked cracking the door further, concerned, paranoia biting along his vertebrae. 

“Jeff?” He inquired gently, voice low. As if on cue, a large slam shook the ground behind him, tearing his attention away, the hairs on the back of his neck raising with alarm.  

When he snapped his gaze back to Jeff, his eyes practically vibrated in their sockets. Beneath the blankets, a sleeping figure laid with zero indication of movement.  

“What...what?” Liu wheezed to no one in particular, suddenly winded. He squeezed his eyes shut and closed the door again. Liu stood in the empty hall, beside himself, deciding he needed to get more sleep. He casted one last glance behind him as he trudged away, a small part of him expecting to see a clouded eye staring back at him. 

The second time an incident similar took place, Liu had been asleep. It was his sense of smell that twitched him awake, his nostrils burning. A strong odor of smoke wafted through the bedroom, parallel to the room Jeff's body occupied. He faced away from the open door, back exposed. 

Fitfully, he turned around, noticing a discarded blanket strewn across the other room's floor. The bed was vacant.  

Anxiety nipping at his heels, Liu stood, heading for the toilet, assuming Jeff would be there. He froze in place when something from the window caught in his peripherals.  

He turned slowly, neck tingling. The window perfectly framed the remains of the pig pen in its center, which was nothing but a pile of charred wood and discarded life.  

Standing still, staring at the pile, was a skinny silhouette, outlined with unwinding gauze. Liu’s gaze was only broken when it whipped its head to stare right back.  

Frightened, Liu ducked out of sight, heart in his throat as he rushed down the stairs.  

It was cold out, his brother must be delirious. Must be having some kind of night terror, or must be lost.  

Upon opening the front door, Liu found the darkness of night absent. Golden, hot sun beamed down from above, glittering and sweltering, as if someone flipped a switch on the time of day.  Liu's chest felt tight, vision blotted out from the abrupt change of environment. His stomach flipped and nausea threatened to crawl up his throat. What the fuck was happening? Was this some kind of nightmare? 

When his vision returned, Liu caught no sight of his brother. His breath stuttered, taking in the sight of pure daylight, entire body shaking despite the heat. 

Liu fought his instincts and decided to check out the glowing pen that was practically a beacon beneath the rays of sunlight. He could feel a strange allure to it, as if he were drawn to the area, even when every hair on his body begged him to turn away.   

He felt the heavy weight of eyes burning into his back as he wandered further from the home, and he glanced back, sight trailing up to their bedroom window. He discovered the curtains had been drawn closed, a flicker of movement from inside catching his attention.  

He dashed back inside, the soles of his feet slipping in the warm mud, sweat trickling down his jaw. He staggered up the steps, leaving the glaring light of day and the alluring pig pen behind. 

“Jeff!” Liu called out, panicked, voice strangled.. What the fuck was going on? He shoved the door open, panting. 

All that greeted him was the body tucked into the bed, chest rising and falling softly to the sound of crickets. Moonlight casted upon the white sheets, bathing the room in silver light. 

After that, Liu’s sleep was on rapid decline. Often, he’d find himself crawling into bed, fighting the waking world, desperate for slumber, only to suddenly be met by daylight streaming in the window.  

It felt as if only moments had passed, as if he had slept without realizing. Liu didn’t feel as if he’d slept a wink. 

 However, more pressing matters smothered his attention. There were two figures he always found himself chasing; the absent body in the bed, and the figure roaming the halls maniacally.  

Sounds and scents haunted him, and at one point he frantically searched the halls for hours, convinced he heard the sound of a plump hog’s hooves clicking against the wooden floor. He wasn’t even quite sure what he’d do with the pig if he found it.  

Having caught himself nearly mixing his mothers and Jeff’s medication one night, Liu opted to go to bed early, hoping to sleep off whatever was afflicting him.  

He rationalized that this feverish nightmare could be insomnia or an affliction, potentially a combination of the two.  

Liu decided he would ignore the night’s assault on his senses unless he was sure it was necessary to address. He fed the pain medication to Jeff and then promptly collapsed into his own bed, wrinkling the sheets with a tight grip, “Goodnight, Jeff.” His voice was weary, but he willed himself to lay his head down and close his eyes.  

Unbearable pressure on his chest. Suffocating weight grappling his lungs with an iron fist, strangling him. He woke with a start, vision a blur as he attempted to shove the assailant off of him.  

He struggled to make sense of what was happening, panicked.  

A figure towered above him, dark shadows cast along its features. Loose bandages hung haphazardly by Liu's face, brushing his cheek, exposing only a mouth. 

 Sleep and panicked confusion still holding him in its grip, Liu croaked out, “Jeff?”  

A sharp pain twisted in the center of his chest, radiating in throbbing waves of heat and static.Eyes widening, Liu’s gaze left his brother, catching the glint of silver bathed in the moonlight.  

He glanced down, chest heaving, the seams of the gash vibrating. Sticky crimson coated his torso, spreading, dark and rapid. 

Was he bleeding? Was he dying? Jeff, did Jeff do this—no, surely not his brother?  

The figure above him cracked open its mouth and smiled madly, his brother’s voice fanning across his face, echoing in the empty walls of the bedroom. It let out a long, moaning hush, shushing the figure beneath it. 

“Go to sleep...” 

Liu woke with a start, gasping for air as he sat upright, clutching his chest, pupils dilated like a wild animal. He whipped his head around, disoriented. He wasn’t in his bed, instead in his father's recliner. He couldn’t recall moving downstairs, but at this point, he didn’t care to know. 

Liu felt...good. Really good. Despite the anxious beating of his heart he felt awake for the first time in a long time. 

He settled into the recliner, his racing heart calming, relief like a wave in the depths of his bones. It must have been a nightmare, he concluded, considering the lack of blood and his seemingly unharmed body.  

With a spring in his step, Liu walked to the bathroom, intending to feel alive again. He splashed cold water on his face to wake his skin, feeling it tingle upon contact.  

He leaned down to repeat the motion, suddenly hissing in pain and grasping the counter for balance. Sharp pain radiated from his abdomen.  

Gritting his teeth, Liu lifted his shirt, jaw slack when his eyes landed on a large slash along his torso, stretching from under his left nipple down to his right hip in a pink, fresh cut.  

It wasn’t bleeding, oddly enough, and looked cleanly patched up. 

“The fuck?” Liu muttered, running a finger lightly over the wound, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth at the sting. He racked his brain at the sight, returning to the nightmare from before.  

Surely, his brother hadn’t attacked him? He could barely stand, let alone wield a knife and hold him down. 

Liu was standing outside the duo’s bedroom door. Jeff would need his medication soon enough. Something in Liu’s head was telling him not to. Telling him to turn away, stirring a deep feeling of primal instinct in his gut. Was that body behind the door his brother? Was that catatonic corpse, so unresponsive, really Jeff?  

Those nightmares and allusions of the figure often felt more real than what was objectively the reality.  

Was it so mad to think his brother was capable of such harm?  

Jeff, who had been consumed by the fire and had smiled, smiled right at Liu.  

Jeff, who killed the piglets he coveted and took glee in fathers' self-destruction.  

Was it presumptuous of him to assume his brother–surely not in his right mind–was incapable of turning his anger on his brother?  

Liu was reminded of all their childish squabbles in this home, the busted lips and blackened eyes. None of that could be seen in the corpse lying on that bed. He had to be sure, though, and so he opened the door with a deafening creak. 

The room was shrouded in darkness and the body lay placid, barely breathing on the wireframe bed.  

The world shifted as he stepped forward, “You don’t talk anymore.” He accused. “You don’t even look at me when I change the dressings.”  

Fitfully, the figure twitched at the words. Liu scoffed, scornfully, “How can you be my brother?”  

He pressed further and gripped the bandaged face with none of the gentleness he had subjected it to prior.  

The bandages moved, pushing the flesh beneath which cringed upon contact. Liu’s fingers found the corner of the figure’s mouth and pulled—forcing the mouth into an open lipped smile, stomach turning with revulsion.  

The body fought the assault, soft breath turning into pained whimpers, trying to shift its head from the hold. Liu dropped his hand back to his side, leaving the body alone for now. “Yeah,” he realised, “You are definitely not my brother.”  

He could see clearly, could see the fingers on his hands and the shoes on his feet. Liu’s eyes did not lie, he saw his brother die in that fire and whoever that was couldn’t be him.  

It smelt like death, whatever it was, with rotten soiled flesh leaking fluids into the mattress. He saw that open cavernous nose, a nose that could only be the product of decay. No one could survive what his brother went through. No one.  

This thing was within his brother's corpse, wearing Jeff’s skull and forcing Liu to suffer more. To tend hand and foot to a sibling who should be buried. His brother’s body couldn’t rest, was kept perpetually suffering and without the capability to end it himself. For why? What purpose? Liu gingerly touched his shirt over that laceration on his chest.  

Liu would allow this exploitation no longer.  

He left the room, pushing the door open, but he was met with resistance on the other end. Confused, he tried again, this time the resistance giving way to the sight of his mother on the other side.  

Her face was colourless, lips parted slightly. She lifted her hands up to cup her son's face, stroking lightly. Her appearance was offensive, with hair matted into a thick mass and a nightdress stained with urine, blood, and saliva.  

She smelt like she looked, rancid, as if she hadn't washed in months, and the hands that stroked Liu’s face felt grainy.  

She whimpered as she spoke, teeth coated in plaque, rotted breath wafting over his face,“You’re a good brother.” That was all the reassurance he needed. His heart swelled with her approval; his mother had finally seen him. 

Liu lifted his hands to clasp her wrists and led the woman down the hall back to her room, weary. He could barely comprehend the disarray of the master bedroom. A hoarder's hull now, it smelt like a septic tank and had incoherent sprawling's littered on the walls. 

He had nothing to say to this, knowing the woman was beyond reason, and having more urgent matters to attend simply made it hard to care. He simply lay his mother down and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. She closed her sunken eyes, the sharpness of her cheekbones unnatural and jagged, and she smiled softly. 

For a moment, that youthful, maternal glow returned to her features and then she was gone. Liu's breath caught in his throat. 

Liu shut the door behind him, glancing at Mr. Woods, who sat in his recliner that faced the window next to the front door. His reflection was wavey and indiscernible, but he was undeniably awake—bottles littered the wooden floor around him. Liu ignored the man, heading for the tool storage by the garage entry door.  

He could feel the peripheral gaze of his father, continuing to pretend it away. His hands gripped the rusted handle of the shovel, feeling the weight of it, deep green paint chipping off the handle. Liu jiggled the door handle, which had gone stiff from the bitter cold outside. 

“And what are you doing, boy?” Mr. Woods spoke, not moving his head from its locked position, bloodshot eyes trained ahead.  

Liu continued to pull at the handle, “What are you planning now?” Mr. Woods’ voice was croaky and raw, yet still held its stern an unwavering command over his son.  

Liu paused for only a moment, a residual habit formed from fear of his authority, and then he began yanking on the handle roughly. The elder man in the recliner began to laugh, a deep rumbling sound that came from his stomach, guttural.  

He rose from his chair, revealing a cigarette on his lips that glimmered in the smoke. In his right hand a half empty bottle and in his left a lighter, his thumb grazing the switch threateningly.  

Liu felt sweat bead on his brow, and he began slamming his shoulder into the door in a frantic attempt to dislodge it.  

Mr. Woods began to ramble, “What are you, boy? So fearful of the now, you haven’t noticed it’s all gone to guts already! We’re all dead, all dead!” He laughed again, uncontrolled, manic, “What do you fear? It’s all happened already, boy! And you...did...nothing!”  

Click. Click-click. 

 The flame flickered from the lighter, and Mr. Woods grinned as he poured the bottle down his shirt. Horrified, Liu watched in stunned silence as his father self-immolated, catching the hem of his shirt with the flame. 

Engulfed by sputtering fire, he collapsed back into the recliner, igniting the remainder of the fluid along the ground and spreading the flame.  

He slathered his skin as he burned, laughing choked and wild and raw. His flesh sloughed off from his abrasive kneading, revealing the layers of raw skin, muscle, and viscera beneath. He gargled and screamed in agony, writhing in the burning recliner, succumbing to the flames of his own creation. 

Liu screamed, the smell of burning flesh clogging his nose and stinging his eyes. Gasping for air, he grabbed the shovel, wedging the metal in between the door and the wall. He heaved, cracking it open, slamming his shoulder into the heel of the shovel. The door finally gave way with a wicked force, shuddering on its hinges. 

Liu fell through the door in his desperate scramble to escape, gagging on the taste of his fathers flesh. He landed on a strange, lumpy heap, cold wetness seeping into his clothes.  

He recoiled from the feeling, eyes falling onto the body of a Great Pyrenees underneath him, head blown open and smeared against the porch from the door's force. 

Liu staggered to his feet, retching and covered in viscera, clutching the shovel like a shield. He ran. He ran far from the house.  

He only looked back once. 

The dog's head was a crimson smudge on the porch, orange light flickering from the open door and glistening the gore beneath it.  

The surrounding forest was like a siren, luring him deeper and deeper, singing to him, a lullaby and a promise.  

Blanketed in the darkness of the thick trees, light struggled to penetrate, time ceasing to exist. Liu fell upon a patch of bare earth, a patch of earth seemingly untouched by nature and human life alike and he knew it must be here.  

He knew it in the depths of his stirring soul. 

He began to dig. And dig. And dig. A large hole slowly broke through the untouched earth, wider and wider with every desperate shovel.  

Night and day passively turned into each other in what felt like an endless tango. A loveless entanglement that Liu felt, a grueling dedication to his atonement.  

This was his final reprieve and the only way out now.  

Stepping back and dropping the shovel to the soil, Liu gazed down at the pit before him. Deep, open and welcoming, an earthy grave revealed itself to him.  

It was perfect, the most perfect thing he’d ever done. It might as well have been the only thing he had ever done, the only accomplishment of his life. 

Liu followed the scent of flesh back into the home, passing the charred corpse which lay in the recliner, bottle in hand, facing the window. 

He trudged up the stairs, arms shaking with exertion, and opened his bedroom door, discovering it was empty. Void. 

Panicked, he gripped the filthy shovel in hand, knuckles white. A distant cry. He paused, listening intently. The sound repeated. 

It sounded like his mother.  

He followed the noise, softly stepping along the wooden floor to minimize the creaking it produced, cautious of what waited ahead, wielding his shovel like a weapon. 

As he drew closer, the sniveling transformed into rampant wailing, punctuated by fits of laughter. The sound was uncontrolled and painful, as if forced upon its inhabitant. The high pitched peals of laughter, so reminiscent of his mothers, then deepened into something guttural and gravelly, morphing and twisting. 

No longer did Liu hear his mother. In her place, he heard his father.  

Yet it was wrong, manipulated and bastardized as it echoed down the hall.  

Then it was him, his own voice echoing back at him in a foul mockery.  

He wanted to stop, to run away and never come back, urgency burning in his chest and begging him to run for his fucking life,but he found he just couldn’t.  

This was his monster, a monster that was the culmination of every time he turned away, and it held his brother with ferocity, gnashing its teeth and howling.  

For as long as it lived, they’d never be free.  

Closer now, the upstairs bathroom door creaked on its hinges, open. The cold, clinical light inside illuminated the dark hall. Liu inched forward, breath coming in short gasps.  

 A dark shape stood under the fluorescent light, bandages forgotten on the ground in a dirty, stained pile. Liu looked at its reflection in the mirror, no discernable features among the blood and bile on its visage. Blood gradually formed a puddle of crimson at the disfigured feet, partially dried and cracking.  

Liu couldn’t move, frozen, feet planted beneath him and numb. Yet, he couldn't look away.  

Sensing his presence, it turned around, revealing its grotesque form, drooling. In its hand was Randy’s discarded knife, soaked in crimson, fatty liquid.  

It stood tall and persistent beneath the flesh of its broken body, unfazed by the corpse it wore. The mouth, the maw. As it spoke, blood and mucus projected outward, splattering the tile and mirror. 

“Et lingua ignis est universitas iniquitatis,” It began, jaw swinging uncontrollably as it spoke, “lingua constituitur in membris nostris quae maculat totum...” Trailing off as it spoke, choking on its own blood. The sound of it was diseased, grinding against his psyche, like shredding flesh and sinew with bare hands. 

Its mouth was cut open on one side, skin floppy and jagged, exposing teeth and a lolling tongue that struggled to remain in its mandibles.  

Liu pleaded, nausea rolling through his stomach, his heart stuttering in his chest fiercely. He begged for the figure to halt, to stop and release his brother. Never before had he laid eyes on something so foul.   

Yet it continued, raising the blade to its left cheek, maintaining Liu’s attention as it began sawing the sharp edge back and forth with vigor.  

Through the blood it sputtered out, gargling, “Corpus et inflammat rotam nativitatis nostrae inflammata a gehenna!”  

Its voice was shrill as it sawed repeatedly, slurred speech slowly erasing any remnants of its former self.  

Liu pressed his hands to his ears, face scrunching up, pleads drying up on his lips as the words gave way to pain. Pure, unadulterated agony. Like electricity boiling him alive. He choked on a gasp and tried for his voice. 

“Shut up!” He cried, tears mixing with snot and saliva down his face, “Leave him! Leave him and let me bury my brother! Let me put him to rest!”  

The body kept repeating the words over and over, degenerating into incompressible garble as it struggled to enunciate through the thick liquid.  The body threw its head back, laughing to the sky, and then it buckled over to vomit onto the tile floor, a vile mixture of blood and mucus.  

Liu took advantage of the moment, struggling as he forced himself off his knees. He threw himself against the figure, crashing into the wall, crumpling.   

He heard a blunt thud and they both tumbled forward. The figure, lethargic, slid down the wall, still gripping the blade in hand, swinging blindly.  

Liu wasted no time, grabbing the figure by its remaining hair and using his years of experience hauling dead weight to drag the figure down the stairs. It thumped against each step, leaving a blood trail, eyes dull and previous thrashing ceased.  

Liu dragged the monster deep into the forest, over roots and under jutting branches, where its open grave beckoned him to finish this.  

Into the hole, the body crumbled onto itself,  lifeless eyes staring into nothing.  

Liu got to work shoveling the soil into the grave, and as he did so the body released wheezy, taunting laughs. This only spurred him on, who aimed the dirt at its head, hoping to snuff it out.  

However, even fully covered, the dirt mound misshapen and hasty, the laughter still penetrated through the earth. Transforming it into a rumbling rattle deep within its chest. He shoveled and shoveled until nothing but dirt remained. 

Unmoving and destined to rot, Liu collapsed to his knees over the earth.  

He wailed, cries clawing their way out of his throat. He continued until his throat could no longer, digging his hands into the earth and gripping the soil as if he could hold his brother one more time.  

The laughter beneath died down and silence fell over the forest; no whistle of the leaves in wind, no chirping of birds, no chirping of crickets.  

Life ceased; a flame starved of oxygen, died out unnoticed. 

Days had passed before anyone noticed what had happened. Dejected and isolated, the Woods’ family were far forgotten in the local zeitgeist.  

It took Jane Goelet working up the courage to confide in her mother for the family to be confronted. With the word of Jeff’s state—incapacitated by circumstance—circulating around town, Jane mustered the ability to speak.  

She had gone to Mrs. Goelet and floundered over her words as she recounted her meeting with Jeff. Reasonably horrified and seeking answers, Jane’s mother reported the incident and sent police right to the front door.  

Unprepared for what they would come across, the two officers had knocked to no response. It was only when the rookie, who curiously peered through the window, witnessing the remnants inside did they call for backup.  

The search revealed the fate of the family.  

Mr. Woods sat in a charred and derelict recliner, body burnt beyond recognition to the point that dental work was required to confirm his identity.  

Mrs. Woods was discovered upstairs in a room that reeked with the pungent odor of death. Her body was bloated, the cause of death undetermined due to the multitude of injuries. A combination of blunt force trauma and multiple stab wounds, varying in depth and originating from multiple weapons.  

Liu was eventually discovered wandering the forest, holding one of the weapons—a shovel—tightly to his chest. The cause of the blunt force trauma was taken by officers, and Liu himself was inconsolable. Delusional, dehydrated, he was taken in, bursting into tears sporadically for indistinct reasons.  

He was sedated, transferred for medical attention and held in a private room for questioning. The only person who couldn’t be recovered was Jeff, whose body seemingly disappeared without a trace.  

Several weeks were spent searching the forest with no sign of the boy. He was presumed dead, and the investigation promptly closed.  

Liu faced court for the deaths of the Woods’ family, but due to lack of evidence he was only charged for the death of Mrs. Woods. With reason of insanity, he was sentenced to seven years, on condition of attending extensive psychological treatment and rehabilitation programs.  

Rumors carried by whispers throughout the town, unanswered questions birthed tales wild and unbelievable. Jane herself was left haunted, nights filled with dreams of burnt figures and piglets.  

Her mind would wander into the unknown months within the Woods’ home, weaving fables of unimaginable suffering.  

The few details she could handle her mother recounting did little to quell her obsession. 

Inevitably, the only person that knew Jeff’s fate was gone from the world, as if he never existed at all. Dead or alive, Jeff Woods was no longer.  

Epilogue 

Randy's first stop was the pub.  

Maybe not the brightest choice, but it was something he felt nipping at his heels. He was unsure if it was the idea of drowning his sorrows or if it was the occupant who promised to meet with him.  

Either way, he walked hastily across town, stern to ignore the burning looks from those whom he passed. The town this time of year felt desolate, snow and ice coating the ground in a relentless hold. Salt sprinkled the roads and sidewalk, glittering beneath the moon.   

Randy’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets, ears and nose pink from the cold air. The pub they agreed on was at the end of town, a hot spot for the town drunks and floozy women.  

He strolled through the door, cupping his hands over his mouth and breathing out hot air. He rubbed the cold from his fingers while looking around, until his eyes fell on brown hair.  

Troy had his back to the door, fingers gripping a short glass, ice swimming around dark liquor. He hadn’t noticed Randy walking in the door and was watching the bartender—a petite woman with pink stripes in her hair—making cocktails. 

If it were some years earlier, Randy may have tried his hands at provoking the pretty girl, but now he felt unsure.  

Before, he was untouchable, but now it felt like every move was subject to voyeurs' treatment. He was unsure if the few other inhabitants were actually stealing glances at him, or if it was a product of his newfound paranoia.  

He took seat on the open stool next to Troy, tapping the counter twice to beckon the lone woman behind it. The larger boy's attention was grabbed simultaneously, and he was looked up from his glass.  

Meeting Randy’s gaze, he nodded, “Hey-” the greeting died in his throat, eyes widening for a moment. Randy knew why and he threw him a tight smile. Diagonally, across his face, from brow to chin, was a large and ugly scar. It healed shabbily, unlike the dog bite, which had healed with minimal remnants thanks to his father. This was inflicted by design to be a visual eyesore.  

“Turns out,” Randy began, grabbing the fresh drink that was placed on the counter, “People in juvie don’t really like bullies.” he took a swig, feeling the burn down his throat that settled warmly in his stomach,welcomed in the cold air.  

It was true. When word got around about what he’d done, the others had dealt with him. In their vigilante justice, they wished for him to feel what Jeff’s newfound reality was. His time locked up was an isolating and uncomfortable experience.  

Troy nodded in understanding and held up two fingers toward the bartender. The two sat in silence for a while, a bittersweet awkwardness. Troy had managed to avoid consequence, confessing what they had done on a plea deal.  

Three drinks deep, Randy decided to break the tension, “If you wanted to just get fucked up like old times,” He chuckled, smile not meeting his eyes, “You could’ve just said so.”  

“Kieth’s dead.” The words were like a gut punch. Troy was staring intently at his empty glass. 

Randy swallowed dryly, “W-what?” He sat upright now, “I thought, I heard he was fine after...” 

“It wasn’t that.” Troy cut him off, looking at Randy now, “Someone killed him.”  

Randy shook his head. 

 Dead? That couldn’t be true, no way. 

But, undeniably, it was. Keith was dead, murdered in his sleep. Randy’s head fell into his hands, running fingers roughly through his hair. He tapped his glass, calling for a refill. 

“Do they...do they know who?” He couldn't finish the sentence, struggling to process reality.  

“No.” Troy said bluntly, downing the rest of his drink and nodding to Randy, “So watch your back.”  

The implication was overt, the scar on his face tingling as Troy left him, Walking out into the cold darkness of night.  

Drink after drink, Randy spent hours in that bar, until final drinks were called.  

“Sorry man,” The girl spoke while wiping down the counter, “gotta close up.” 

With slurred speech Randy retorted, “Wanna walk me home?” 

The girl threw him a disgusted look and pointed to the door, “Get out, Randy.”  

She spat, and he grumbled, defeated, putting his jacket on. The dark of night was suffocating, a fully sober man would struggle to navigate it, let alone inebriated as Randy was.  

For a moment, he thought he heard footsteps tailing him, but when he turned around, all he could see was an empty road.  

Paranoid anew, Randy picked up his step. He pulled out his phone and began calling, watching his surroundings. The call went straight to voicemail. 

“This is Troy, can’t answer ya’ right now. Leave a message, or don’t!” Randy shook his head and redialed, feet stumbling as he picked up the pace. Once more, it went straight to voicemail, and once more, Randy redialed.  

After the fifth turn to voicemail, he left a message, “If this is a joke, you’re still a weak cunt. Pick up! Seriously!”  

He feigned confidence, not wanting to reveal his fear into the dark, as if the façade would fool anything trailing after him.  

He was at his front door, struggling with his keys to unlock the door. He panicked when he couldn’t muster up the motor skills to undo the lock. The door opened anyway, Randy’s mom hearing the panic from inside and letting her son inside.  

Once inside, he ran to the bathroom, his mom yelling after him. Randy vomited into the toilet, a combination of alcohol and fear spurring him on.  

Images of Kieth flashing through his mind, his mom stood at the door with her arms crossed. In her nightgown, she dragged her son to bed, where he promptly passed out.  

Troy never called back or answered his phone in the morning. Despite asking around, no one could answer, or cared to answer, about his whereabouts.  

As Randy came to realise, most of the town sought to forget about those three. They had crossed some unspoken line in the cruelty, leading to complete societal excommunication.  

Wherever Troy was, that was no concern of the townsfolk.  

Randy reconciled all this to the bartender for multiple nights, and despite his previous transgressions, she let him ramble. As each day passed, he spent more time at the bar.  

One particular night, he had drowned himself to the point of immobility, unable to walk more than a couple feet to and from the bathroom. The bartender staunchly cut him off and all but threw him out the door. On the front steps he sat, occasionally leaning over to expel the contents of his stomach onto the ground.  

His head was thumping, and he clutched at it in pain. Randy’s vision was doubled, and he watched as two sets of feet came into his vision. The figure stood for a moment, silent. Randy struggled to focus.  

“C’mon Randy,” He heard a raspy, strained voice say above him, “Let's get you to bed.” 

The mystery figure hooked an arm under Randy, hoisting him to his feet. Alarm bells sounded in his mind but try as he might, he was subdued by the figure. The two walked off into the forest.  

Randy’s slurred protests failed as the two walked further away from civilization. It felt like an unbearable amount of time before they came to a halt. Randy, unable to see clearly, struggled to make sense of what was in front of him.  

Until he heard snorting.  

Eyes squinting, he stared into the dark pit below and muttered, “Pi-pigs?”  

With a rough push, Randy tumbled headfirst into the hole. His face planted into slurry and pig excrement, violating his senses, smothering him.  

He lifted his head, holding back what little was left in his stomach, and came face to face with a pig. It was chewing lazily, snorting curiously at the boy. Confused and disgusted, Randy focused on its pink snout, dizzy.  

Suddenly, it stopped chewing and spit something out into the mud.  

Randy eyed it, squinting. A tooth. 

Sobriety rushed like a cold tide through his body when someone dropped down into the hole behind him. 

He rolled over onto his back, gazing up. It hovered above him, tall and pale. Despite its disfigured, threatening face and white blood-stained hoodie casting dark shadows, the red head instantly knew who it was. Those eyes, icy and partially clouded now, were unmistakable.  

“Jeff?” Randy questioned, voice watery. 

Jeff looked at him, mouth cut into a wide smile that bared his teeth. He stepped forward and reflexively, Randy backed up, his back hitting the dirt wall of the pit. Randy whimpered as Jeff got closer, hopelessness settling in his soul. 

“Shhh,” He hushed Randy, slowly revealing the bloody knife from the pocket of his hoodie, “Just go to sleep.” 

END. 

if you're still here- thanks for reading <3

[anime-grimmy-art]

Little Nightmares - Harpy Hare Initially a song I wasnt too much into, it was a happenstance that I got a creative boost for Little Nightmares as it got stuck in my head. Was a fun project and I think I learned a lot! Well, at least I feel more comfortable drawing the hood of the raincoat now xD Harpy Hare by by Yaelokre Little Nightmares Tarsier Studios

[msilwrites]

How I met your mother (Simon Ghost Fic)

A/N: This is the same You (Y/N) as "Midnight Snack Mystery". And this is the story of how You and Simon first met ;) Parks and Rec! Reader (LOL, Cause you're a gamekeeper) Gamekeeper! Reader Groundskeeper! Reader Ex-MI5! Reader Shy! Reader Possessive! Simon 'Ghost’ Riley  Fluff! Simon Riley

This idea was also inspired by this work of art from @p1nkmic;

Coz well.... do you see that? Yeah, that’s Simon’s torso. Keep that image in mind . Go ahead, use it as your mental image while you read. Trust me, it makes everything more...better!! Warning: A little charged. Please dehydrate a bit, and have a glass of water. A bit of Simon's Dirty Mind, and his innuendos.

----------

The rain wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to keep most people indoors. The steady drizzle pattered against the leaves, mixing with the rhythmic sound of Simon’s feet pounding the muddy trail. He jogged with the same methodical pace he always kept, the familiarity of the nature reserve surrounding him, the calm he found in the solitude of these early mornings. His running shoes, worn but reliable, gripped the muddy path beneath him as he pushed forward, each step sure despite the wet ground. He ran with the steady pace of someone accustomed to the solitude of early mornings—time to think, time to sweat, time to forget. He always jogged here, not far from his new house, which was still very much a project.

The house had been cheap—too good to pass up, even with the renovations it required. And the area? Quiet. Peaceful. Safe. Just what he needed after weeks, or even months, away on short deployments. A place to come back to, to recharge, and perhaps… put down roots, if only a little. And it was just a less-than-half-an-hour drive to the base, which made it even more ideal.

He passed the familiar bend in the trail where he’d seen her countless times—the gamekeeper. She was crouched on the ground, her petite frame hidden beneath a dark green raincoat, hood pulled up to shield her from the drizzle. Gloves on, boots heavy with mud, and a cart full of foraging supplies beside her. She was always here, quietly gathering mushrooms or tending to the wildlife, and plants, focused, purposeful. Simon would catch glimpses of her when he passed by, but they exchanged little more than a brief nod. She wore a mask, and although he’d caught the hint of her features beneath it, he’d never pressed for more. It was the same for him; he kept to himself, respecting the unspoken distance they had.

Today, though, something was different. As Simon neared the bend, he felt the rain pick up, droplets falling harder against his skin. He slowed his pace, glancing up at the grey sky before wiping his face with the back of his hand. The moisture clung to his forehead, sliding down his chiseled jaw. With a frustrated sigh, he pulled off his mask and yanked up the bottom of his compression shirt to wipe his face. He wasn’t expecting anyone to be around, no one had been in days. He figured it was safe, so he revealed his face, wiping the sweat and rain away, exposing his muscular torso as he tugged the fabric up.

He was just about to lower his shirt when he saw her. She was standing a few feet away, wide-eyed, frozen in place. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the rain falling softly around them. Her gaze moved from his chest to his jaw, lingering for just a beat longer than Simon expected. When her eyes met his, there was a flicker of surprise—and something else. The way her cheeks flushed beneath her hood made something stir inside him. She didn’t look away, her eyes locking with his, and for a brief moment, they both felt the charged tension in the air.

Simon cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Didn’t think anyone would be out here in this weather,” he said, his voice gruff, yet not unkind. He put his mask back on, trying to hide the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

Y/N stood still, staring at him for a long moment, her gaze lingering on his exposed torso and the way the rain traced down his chiseled body. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away. The tension between them was palpable, thick with something neither of them had expected. She remained silent, the tiny shovel in her hand still as she seemed lost in the moment.

Simon noticed the lingering silence and waved a hand in front of her face, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Oi, you alright there, love?” Simon called, a teasing edge to his voice as he waved a hand in front of her face. “Bit of a daydream, are we?”

Y/N blinked, shaking herself out of her daze. Simon’s faint smile lingered, not just playful but knowing—he was well aware of the effect his presence had. He wasn’t just the tall, imposing figure who commanded attention; he was also Ghost, and he knew how easy it was to come off as a monster. But right now, that smile held an unspoken challenge, a quiet confidence that didn’t need to be loud to be felt.

Y/N quickly cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Right. Well… good luck with the run,” she said, her voice a little quieter than usual.

He took a step closer, his tall frame casting a shadow over her, but there was still that unspoken space between them, a distance that he respected. His voice was low, with that quiet curiosity, as if he genuinely wanted to know. "What’s your name then?" It wasn’t the usual question, not for him. There was something different about her, something that had him asking more than just the basics.

Y/N paused for a beat, still a little flustered, her cheeks betraying her as she glanced up at him. She was used to being invisible, to hiding behind her mask and keeping to herself. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to drop the act. "Y/N," she replied, her voice softer than she intended. "And you are…?"

"Simon," he answered simply, his lips curling up in a small, quiet smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. His eyes, though, were a different story—sharp, taking in everything as if he was reading her. "Nice to finally meet you properly."

She gave a small nod, trying to ignore the way her pulse was racing. "Likewise." She held his gaze, trying not to feel too out of place under the intensity of it.

Just as the words hung in the air, the rain slowed to a drizzle, and then, as if the weather had been waiting for the right moment, a beam of sunlight broke through the trees. It lit up the clearing, casting a warm glow over them, as if nature itself was nodding along with the newfound connection between them.

Simon had been in countless situations, under countless masks—literally and figuratively. As Ghost, he was an enigma, a terrifying shadow that no one dared to truly look at, let alone scrutinize with anything resembling genuine interest. People were afraid of what he represented, of what he could do. He was the monster lurking in the dark, the face hidden behind a mask, eyes cold, emotionless, distant. It was how he kept things, how he stayed safe.

But with her, it was different.

Y/N had looked at him in a way no one ever had. It wasn’t fear, wasn’t caution. It was something else—something, softer, hungry even, deeper, like she was trying to dig past the layers, beyond the mask, to understand him. Her gaze wasn’t just focused on the man in front of her; it was like she was trying to reach into him, pull something out from the depths he kept hidden. It made him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to.

It unsettled him in the best way. No one had ever looked at him like that. Most people kept their distance from Simon Riley, the ghost, the monster, the soldier. But not her. She looked at him as though she was trying to figure him out, to understand what lay beneath all that.

He didn’t know if he could trust it, but the curiosity she’d sparked in him was undeniable.

"See you around, Y/N," Simon’s deep, raspy voice broke through the air, and he turned, his muscular frame disappearing into the mist as he walked off to cool down.

"Sure…" Y/N managed, though the word barely escaped her lips. She stood there frozen, heart pounding like a drumbeat that echoed in her chest. Her mind was on fire, replaying that moment over and over. The tall, imposing figure she’d seen on her runs for months—that man—had now been standing right in front of her, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that was almost too much to handle.

She’d never felt that hot under the collar just from a simple conversation. It was like her brain short-circuited, and all she could think was, I would very much like to climb that mountain of a man. She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts that were running a marathon in her head, but damn, his body was like a walking, breathing fantasy.

“Focus, Y/N,” she muttered to herself, still standing there as if glued to the spot, watching his broad back disappear into the mist.

----------

The sun filtered through the dense canopy of the nature reserve, casting dappled light across the forest floor. The air was crisp, and the morning held a serene quietness, save for the occasional bird call or rustle of leaves. Simon had just finished his usual jog, his body slick with a faint sheen of sweat. He slowed to a stop, his breathing steadying, and tugged off his shirt, wiping his face and neck with the damp fabric.

Unbeknownst to him, Y/N was nearby. She was crouched on a patch of grass just off the trail, wearing her usual dark green jacket, mask, and gloves. A sturdy net was slung over her shoulder, her boots caked with mud from trekking across the reserve. She had been searching for a fox cub that had somehow gotten out of its enclosure. But her focus shifted the moment she caught sight of Simon, his shirt now slung over his shoulder, muscles defined and rippling under the sunlight.

Her reaction was instant. Her eyes widened, betraying her surprise and—despite herself—a hint of intrigue. She froze, one hand clutching the handle of the net, as though caught in a moment she wasn’t supposed to witness. Her face might have been partially hidden beneath her mask, but her eyes said everything.

Simon’s gaze flicked toward her. He noticed the widening of her eyes, the way she stood so still, like a deer caught in headlights. A small smirk tugged at his lips as he took in her figure—small and focused, even when startled.

“See something you like, luv?” His voice was deep, tinged with a playful lilt that betrayed his usual stoic demeanor.

Y/N blinked, pulled out of her reverie, heat rising to her face beneath the mask. Her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her net as she cleared her throat, utterly flustered and completely at a loss for words. She glanced down, trying to look anywhere but at him, but the image of him standing there, shirtless and confident, was already burned into her mind.

Y/N blinked, feeling the heat rise to her face beneath the mask. Her hands scrambled at the net strap on her shoulder, as if it might anchor her in the moment. “Uh... I—I’m here for the... wild—you’re loose!” she blurted, immediately cringing at her own words. “I mean—the wildlife! Loose wildlife!”

Simon arched a brow, his lips twitching as he fought back a smirk. “Am I now?”

“No!” she squeaked, the pitch of her voice betraying her panic. “Not you—you’re not wild! I mean, not that kind of wild! Just the—the other wild!” She gestured vaguely, her brain clearly abandoning her as she clutched the net tighter.

Simon chuckled then, low and warm, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement only made him look even more effortlessly put together, and Y/N realized she’d just dug herself into a verbal hole she had no hope of escaping.

“You sure about that, luv?” he teased, his voice laced with amusement. “Sounds like you’ve got me pegged as the wildlife.”

Y/N’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Mortified, she turned abruptly, muttering something incoherent about “nets” and “loose things,” before practically speed-walking away, her boots crunching against the dirt trail.

Simon stood there, grinning as he watched her retreat. “Wildlife, huh?” he murmured to himself, the chuckle still rumbling in his chest.

For Y/N, her only saving grace was the mask hiding her face, though her mortification was probably written all over her posture. If only the ground could have swallowed her whole.

----------

It had been weeks since Y/N last saw Simon, and honestly, she had mostly gotten used to the quiet of the park. The wildlife was her focus, not the joggers who happened to come and go. As usual, she was out early in the morning, rifle in hand, ready to deal with the wild boar that had strayed too close to the public.

The tranquilizer rifle was a heavy piece of equipment, but it wasn’t the weight of it that made her nervous—it was the idea of taking down a wild boar with a dart, a calculated decision, one she couldn’t afford to mess up. The last thing she needed was an animal running loose with a bunch of park-goers nearby.

She was adjusting the strap on the rifle when the sound of footsteps caught her attention.

Y/N’s heart gave an involuntary skip. Her gaze shot up—and there, as if he were summoned by the thought of her, was Simon. Out of nowhere. Just jogging along the path. His grey t-shirt clung to his chest, each muscle highlighted as if the universe was conspiring to remind her of exactly why her pulse was already racing.

Great. Just great. Focus, Y/N. Focus.

Y/N didn’t flinch, her grip steady on the rifle in her hands. She was used to this—she’d handled firearms enough times to know exactly what she was doing. But her heart? That was racing, and not because of the job at hand. It had been weeks since she’d seen Simon, and here he was, jogging along the path, looking sweaty, fit, and entirely too distracting.

Simon slowed as he spotted her, his easy stride coming to a stop. “Well, well. If it isn’t the wildlife wrangler,” he teased, his voice laced with that familiar mischief.

Y/N didn’t flinch, but her grip on the rifle tightened, fingers adjusting instinctively to keep it steady. She gave him a quick nod, trying to remain focused on the task.

Then, she fumbled—just a tiny twitch in her finger, and the rifle made a loud click as she set the bolt for the tranquilizer dart. It was a small sound, but it felt too loud in the quiet morning. Her heart skipped a beat, and she shot Simon a quick glance.

Simon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You alright there, love? Don’t tell me I’ve made you nervous?”

“No! I mean—no, it’s not you,” she stammered, shaking her head quickly. “I—uh, I was just… making sure the rifle was… you know... cocked,” she finished, cringing the moment the words left her mouth.

Simon’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He took a casual step closer, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Cocked, huh?” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “Now, that’s an interesting choice of words.”

Y/N’s face went bright red under her mask, and she couldn’t help but shift her weight awkwardly. “I didn’t mean—I mean, cocked the dart, not… not anything else!” She fumbled again, trying to fix the mess she’d made. “The dart’s loaded, not—I’m not talking about…” She trailed off, wishing she could disappear into the ground.

Simon chuckled, his grin widening as he leaned in slightly. “You sure you’re not just cocking something else, love?” he teased, his voice thick with playful innuendo. “You’re looking a little flustered there.”

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to get a hold of herself. “I—I need to take care of the wildlife. A wild boar,” she said quickly, hoping to change the subject. “It’s loose, I need to get it back under control.”

Simon’s grin turned even more playful. “A wild boar, huh? Thought you’d be handling that with a little more finesse.” He motioned toward the rifle. “You sure you know how to handle that thing?”

Y/N’s mind was racing. She was so not prepared for this. “I know what I’m doing!” she blurted out, though she couldn’t help the nervous energy buzzing in her voice. “I’m just trying to keep the park safe. It’s not that big of a deal,” she muttered, more to herself than to him.

Simon chuckled again, clearly relishing the moment. “Well, if you’re planning on pulling the trigger, love,” he said with a sly grin, “you should at least buy me dinner first.”

Y/N’s brain froze for a second. She blinked at him, unsure of how to respond, her face flushed a deep shade of red. “I—I don’t... I mean, it’s not payday yet,” she stammered her excuse, desperately grasping at straws. “I don’t even know what you like to eat. Or, you know, where you go for dinner... Not that I’d know.” She quickly added, “I don’t really like crowded places. But, uh, I can cook for you? I can definitely cook... If you’re into, like, home-cooked meals and—"

Simon raised an eyebrow, his grin turning smug as he took a step closer. “Home-cooked, huh? You gonna cook me something wild? Because I’m partial to game. Or maybe you’ve got something else in mind that’s more... well, you know, meaty?”

Y/N blinked, flustered beyond belief. “I—I can hunt for you! What kind of meat do you like?” she asked, her voice trailing off as she realized just how badly she was digging herself into the hole. “Like, if you want wild boar, or duck or pheasant, I can definitely get you some... or something else—uh, more wild?”

Simon’s smirk deepened, leaning in just enough to make her heartbeat quicken. “Oh, you’re offering to hunt for me, love? Now that’s a real treat. I think I could get used to that.”

Her eyes widened as she realized exactly what she was saying. “No! Wait, no! I mean, not like that,” she stammered, backing up a little, trying to save herself. “I’m just... I gotta take care of the wild boar... I’ll just... focus on that.” She pointed at the rifle like it was her only escape.

She could feel the ground shift under her feet as the words tumbled out of her mouth, each one worse than the last. She wanted to dig a hole and crawl right into it. Or at least disappear into the ground. Hell, at this point, she’d settle for vanishing completely.

Simon was clearly enjoying every moment of her discomfort, his grin turning into something downright devilish. “Well, well, love, looks like I’ve got you all worked up,” he teased, his voice low and thick with innuendo. “You sure you’re ready to handle that wild boar? Because it’s not the only thing that needs taming around here.”

Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. Her grip tightened on the rifle as she exhaled a deep sigh. “Yeah, I’ll just—” She waved the rifle in a half circle, “—deal with the wild boar, alright? You stay here, keep being your handsome self.”

She immediately wanted to smack herself for saying it, but it was too late now. Without waiting for his reply, she turned sharply and began to walk away, desperate to escape. She could feel Simon’s stare burning into her back, the weight of it lingering long after she was out of earshot

A/N: And we end for this part here. You can consider this finished, until—or unless—I get another idea again. LOL!

[piri-ooch]

From my fic ‘The Devil’s Gift.’ My OC 🍎📻 baby Damien in his red raincoat and yellow rain boots seen in the most recent chapter. And then I drew an extra one with him in his normal coloring and Charlie because they’re so cute together ❤️

[nicksbestie]

Nooks And Crannies - M. Sturniolo

a series

part five (read part four here)

Summary : You always seem to be somewhere in the bookstore Matt works at, never buying anything, just reading, and while Matt is technically not supposed to talk to customers for so long while he's on the clock, he can't help himself.

Warnings : none!

Word Count : 1038

Pairing : Matt Sturniolo/Reader (romantic)

A/N : i didn't forget about this little project, don't worry!!

You stared at the bookmark, and the number scribbled onto it, pushing down the anxiety and deciding to send a message.

hi! is this matt?

You didn’t have to wait long for a response, the almost immediate ping of your phone catching you by surprise, indicating a reply.

(XXX)-XXX-XXXX : yes! i assume this is ____?

You quickly saved his contact, simply saved as “matt :)”.

“yes! how are you?” 

The conversation only blossomed from there. You were glad that you lived alone now, because had you still been living at home, your family would have teased you about just how much you were smiling at your phone. You texted Matt nearly nonstop, and you had been enjoying every moment of it. It was just like your normal conversations at The Ivy, sharing book thoughts, or snippets of your day, or even funny jokes. You had received a ton of silly pictures from Matt’s brothers, as they had a habit of stealing his phone and sending random selfies. You found it funny, Matt found it annoying, but either way, you always had something to talk about. Conversation with him was never dry, which you had been slightly afraid of when you had texted him for the first time, and he always replied as quickly as possible, unless he was at work. 

When you weren’t talking, you couldn’t deny the fact that you missed speaking to him. It was really nice to have someone who actually wanted and enjoyed talking to you. It was another couple of days before you could actually take any time off to leave your apartment, and of course, the first place that you went when you left that afternoon was The Ivy. It had been pouring rain, but you couldn’t stand being inside your room for one more minute. So, you pulled on a raincoat, grabbed the umbrella by your door, and began the short walk downtown. Since it was warm out, and the sun was peeking through some clouds, the walk wasn’t miserable, and you actually quite enjoyed it. You had always loved the rain, and since you had an umbrella to keep you dry, you didn’t mind being out walking in it. 

It wasn’t long before you pushed open the door to The Ivy, shaking your umbrella out beforehand. You wrapped it up, putting it into your bag, and moving to a shelf that had some colorful book covers, as they had caught your eye the second you walked in. You noticed that a lot of them were new shipments, having just been placed on the shelves, and you were so excited to pick up a couple of them and pore over the pages. You read the backs of a few of them, and they seemed intriguing, so you held them in your arms as you made your way over to the cafe to get a cup of coffee. Besides, you deserved it after your insanely busy previous couple of days. However, when you got over to the counter, there was already a cup with your name scribbled on it, with it being your usual. 

You went and picked it up, smiling when you noticed Matt waving at you, sitting at one of the tables with his own cup. “Was this you?” You asked, motioning to the cup. He smiled at you, nodding. “I saw you walk in, figured I’d order your usual for you since I was grabbing my own coffee anyways.” You smiled, taking a drink from it, enjoying the way you automatically felt relaxed. “Well, aren’t you sweet.” He grinned, a smirk on his face. “I try.” You read the back of the book that he was reading, nodding in slight interest, and it was at this point that you noticed the name tag being on his shirt.

“Wait, are you working right now?” 

He shook his head, turning a page.

“Nope. I’m on my break, but I took it so late that I actually get off only fifteen minutes after I go back on shift.”

You sat with Matt for the rest of his break, chatting about random things, mostly books and coffee, but also how both of your mornings had gone prior to being at The Ivy. Matt had worked a short mid-day shift, so he hadn’t been there all morning, which he was grateful for. He had picked up a coworker’s shift since they had been searching for coverage due to a family emergency, and he was heading right back home as soon as he got off. You found a good book to read when Matt had to clock back in, and you dove right into it. You were enjoying the gentle atmosphere, and the time flew. You were a fast reader, so you got through a good chunk of the book before Matt got off the clock and found you still at the coffee table, coming over to say goodbye before he left The Ivy. 

“So, where are you heading after you leave here?” 

You softly laughed, shrugging.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. The rain has gotten a lot worse, and I was going to go walk around shops, but I’m not sure I want to go back out into that. I may just stay here for a while until it lets up, but I’m glad I got to see you! Even if it was within your working hours.”

He smiled, removing the name tag off of his shirt.

“Yeah! One of these days, we’ve got to hang out outside of this shop. I do have a personality other than work.” 

“Oh, I’m sure that you do. You’ll have to show me it eventually.” 

Matt looked like he was pondering an idea, so you quietly waited for a response.

“Why don’t you come home with me?” 

You were slightly taken aback, and nervously laughed.

“Damn, you have to ask me out first!” 

Matt smiled, shaking his head.

“Not like that. Just for dinner. You can meet my brothers, we can spend time together outside of where I work, a nice get to know you more night. If you’re not interested, I totally understand!” 

You smiled at him, walking towards the door with him.

“I would love to.”

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[the-kr8tor]

Once More to See You

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.4k

Synopsis: Like Alice in wonderland, you accidentally fall to another universe where everything is different from your universe, including your best friend, Hobie Brown. Will you be able to come home to your best friend before you get ripped apart molecule by molecule? Or will you fail and leave the love of your life wondering where you are for the rest of his life?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, CW Blood, CW violence, TW death, CW injury, CW vomit mention. Bestfriends to lovers (speedrun edition), established relationship, Hurt/comfort, Angst.

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Masterlist

Eyes almost crossed, back hunched and aching, you tinker at the tiny components of the inter dimensional watch Hobie started putting together. He brought it to you last night with a paper bag filled with your favourite takeout to bribe you in helping him. “It's for emergencies,” he said, “I don't trust that vampire from the future,” he grumbled in between bites of chips.

The soft music from your record player filters through the dimly lit room, save for your work lamp, the sun is just about setting in the horizon. You have the perfect view of the expansive London skyline just outside your window. It's a foggy day, clouds hanging above like cotton balls, fluffy and grey— rain's coming, you surmise from the unmistakable smell of petrichor. It's already raining somewhere, you think. And you worry immediately for him since he's still on patrol. Did he bring a raincoat with him at least? But knowing him, he'd just swing around while there's a downpour. And when you scold him while he's dripping wet, soaking your carpet, he'd just shrug and say, ‘I looked bloody good at it though’ to which you'd scoff, but secretly agree.

Distracted, you poke at the wrong wire with your metal pliers, a spark from the main power source shocks you, flinching and yelping, you check for any damages on your fingertips.

“Should've worn rubber gloves, love.” Hobie's sudden whisper in your ear makes you jump out of the stool, goosebumps appearing on your arms as he catches you before you land harshly on your back. “Got you. Maybe you should invent seatbelts on barstools, hm? You'd make a fortune from pubs alone. No more drunkards falling face first.” He jokes, arm snaked along your back, hand splayed over your ribs, and face dangerously close to your own.

You decide to quip back as revenge for making you almost fall. “I would invent it if you weren't dropping so many projects on my lap.” Still floating above the floors with the help from his hold, he fakes letting you go. You squeak, hands instinctively flying to his shoulders for support. Maybe you shouldn't have teased him when he's the only one standing between you and a bump on your head. “You little—”

He raises a pierced brow, “what'd you say again, love?” His mischievous smirk tells you that he's about to do it again, so you surrender. How could you fight him when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world that's worthy of his touch?

Lips clamping down, you still glare at him despite the overwhelming fondness for the man holding you in place.

“That's what I thought.” Chuckling, he sits you upright back on the stool, he even fixes your shirt for you. “There, lookin' mighty fit today, why are you all dressed up?”

It's your turn to quirk an eyebrow, “dressed up? Hobs I basically live in this shirt.” He unabashedly roams his eyes over to the old band shirt that he made himself once upon a time. “Bold of you to assume I have some place to go.” You say even with the searing heat from your cheeks, and clammy hands.

“We could go,” Hobie shrugs, hiding his sudden shyness, you have that effect on him. “There's a new building we could swing to, if we go now we could still catch the sunset.” He inches closer, hand smoothing down the goosebumps on your arms.

“It's gonna rain, Hobs.”

“How'd you know? You a weather girl now?”

“I can smell it, and also my knees feel it.”

“What are you eighty?” He says with a laugh. “Does that make you a cradle snatcher?” Half joking, he really wishes that you'd get the hint.

Eleven years of friendship and counting, you still haven't crossed that invisible line between friendship and something more. It's not from the lack of trying from Hobie's end, no, he has told you a few times that he fancied you, more than a best friend would. But you're too afraid to say it back, to say or even scream that you fancy him, or love him is the better way to put it. But you're afraid that it might not work out, that friendship is the best thing for the both of you, that all the longing looks thrown between you, and all the lingering touches were all just attraction because you've known each other for basically forever; and the feeling wouldn't last once you do get together.

You don't want to risk your friendship only for it to end in tears and heartache. No, you love him too much to hurt him like that, and he knows it too.

He was more bold with his feelings for you a few years before, years before he was bitten and was given the heavy responsibilities. But now that he bears the title of Spider-man, he's starting to think having a romantic relationship with you while he's tangled up in all the danger he faces everyday, isn't such a great idea. So his advances are much less now, Hobie just misses you, he suppose, that's probably why he asked for your help with his own batch of watches even though he can handle it on his own while he's blindfolded. An excuse to just see you, an excuse to be in your presence. Because if you can't be together, he'd settle for staying like this forever, just best friends.

Best friends who unequivocally love each other, best friends who are waiting for the right time. Even if it means waiting for forever.

You smile softly, knowing that his joke is a half wish. “That means you're a coffin snatcher then.”

Hobie leans closer, hands on top of your table that's behind you, arms caging you in. You can smell the leather on him, and the usual scent he sports when he's particularly in a good mood. You'd know, you gifted the cologne to him. He thinks you're uncomfortable because of the position, he was about to move away but you remedy that with a smile, and with your hand placed on the back of his elbow. He can feel how your pulse hammers against your skin.

“C’mon, love, the view's pretty up there.” His view right now can't compare though.

“I can see the view from here, besides, I still have work to do.”

He tilts his head, an act he knows you can't resist. “I’ll swing you back home quicker than you can say ‘cougar’” you laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners, and he thinks your smile is better than any sunset he has ever seen. “You've been cooped up in here for too long. When was the last time you've seen the sun—?” You open your mouth for a quip but he beats you to it, “not including seeing it from your windows.” Nodding, he raises both eyebrows, looking at you through his long lashes.

For a moment he thought you'd agree, that you bought into his charms. But you clear your throat, moving away, lips tightly closed like you refuse to spill any secrets. Or spill out a confession. I don't want to ruin this, you think, if I go, what would happen up there? Your mind runs through a thousand scenarios, a consequence of your genius mind. It's not all good, you suppose, and you're sure that whatever happens on top of that skyscraper, you'll never come back from it.

You love him, you really do, but he has a heavy burden to carry. You don't want to add to it. Leaning to the side, still sitting on the stool, he instinctively hovers his hand close to your side, just in case you fall off again.

“I fixed the problem on your watch by the way.” Changing the subject is good, changing the subject means you don't have to face reality.

“Yeah?” He acts nonchalant, yet, there's a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. It's not all your fault, he thinks. All the tiptoeing around each other, all the heavy side glances aren't all your fault, it's his too. He might've faced a hundred or so dangers but he can't seem to find the courage to finally say those three magic words. Jaw tightening, he's not mad at you, he's mad at himself.

“Your initial power source didn't have enough juice. Hence why it can't generate the right particles for inter dimensional travel.”

Hobie leans on the table, hand still close to your waist, eyes roaming intently at your handiwork. You're good, too good at making these watches, even better than Miguel could be. Or he's just biased. You made it look good too, even with the hodgepodge of materials he gave you.

“You figured that out in less than twenty four hours?” He's in awe of you, he could've thought of that, but it would've taken him a tad longer. “Fuckin' brilliant,” he says under his breath.

You raise your chin proudly, “I did, it was easy-peasy.” It was not, you barely slept because you couldn't sleep not while this huge glaring problem sits at your work table. If it needs fixing, you're gonna get it fixed within the day or you think you'll crumble into dust. Especially if it's Hobie asking for help.

Hobie beams, he's incredibly proud of you, but, “you crossed your lines, love. If you want me to catch on fire then you did it brilliantly.”

“What?” Your smug smile melts, eyes scanning the colourful wires. Shoulders sagging, you glare at him. “No, it's not.”

“Yes it is,” chuckling, he takes your hand to guide and point it out for you. “Right there. Between the cooling system and the red wires.”

Eyes narrowed, nose wrinkling, he smiles at your cute expression. “I can't see— oh.” You see it, the mess of wires lies just under the new power source that you were so proud of. “Fuck.”

“You owe me,” Hobie pokes your side.

“No, I don't. Not all of us have super eyesight.”

“Really? Blamin’ my poor eyes?” Hobie widens his hazel eyes, brilliant swirls of colours mesmerize you.

“Your eyes are far from poor.” You shove his face away from you gently, smiling, you laugh at his fake glare. “Don't you have to patrol, spiderman?”

He surrenders, huffing, he takes his mask from his back pocket to put it back on his head. “Fine, just make sure to fix your wires, I don't want to come back to a crater the next time I visit.”

“I'll uncross them, don't worry. I'm not an amateur, y'know.”

Hobie pats your shoulder for now, maybe he'll pay you a visit again tonight just to make sure your flat didn't turn into ashes. You call him back before he could exit through your fire escape.

“Be careful, please?” Your worried tone makes him turn back around to face you. You imagine that he's at least smiling under his mask. “Just…I have no idea what to do with your watch if you suddenly croak.”

“Always so bloody sweet,” walking back towards you, he grins even though you can't see it. Your worries make you reach towards him. Holding him by the lapels of his leather jacket, you trace the little stitches he made. His spider senses tingle, and he hears how your heart quickens. “I'll be fine, yeah? Don't worry ‘bout me.”

“You know I'll always worry.” You whisper.

“I know, I'm like that too when it comes to you.” Your breath hitches in your throat. He shuts his senses down so he can't hear how fast your pulse thumps, or how you weakly swallow down your nerves. “Why don't I come back here tonight, ease that genius mind of yours.” He pokes your forehead, you nod. “Good, I'll bring takeout, that isn't instant ramen. Seriously, love, that shit ain't good for you.”

“It's tasty though.”

“You'll get kidney stones.” He begins to walk backwards, so he could still see your face as he goes. For some reason, he doesn't want to go. But he suppose that he always has this feeling whenever he visits.

“I've got a clean kidney,” you softly smile, waving goodbye, hoping that he comes back to you in one piece just like always.

“Sure you do,” one leg after the other, he exits from the window until you're staring into your open window and until his lingering scent fades.

“Right,” you sigh, slapping your cheeks to stay in the present, then turning around to continue your work.

For an hour you painstakingly untangle the wires with your tweezers, minutes turn into hours, and your empty stomach grumbles. Lower back aching once again. For a second you're just about finishing it, then a spark lights up, then a blinding explosion of colours.

You should've worn rubber gloves.

—

Hobie swings casually towards your flat, it's a lot harder to swing with one hand while the other holds onto the plastic bag filled with your favourite. Smiling under his mask, wind blowing towards him, buildings whizz past as he increases his speed.

The smell of smoke hits his nose. Then puffs of black tar greets him where your flat used to be.

Heart in his stomach. He lands on the pavement less gracefully, the bag slipping through his trembling fingers.

A crowd watches on at the burning building, pieces of glass lay under his boots, crunching as he stands frozen on the spot. His eyes roam for your familiar face, around the people that watch the blaze, grief curls around his throat when he doesn't find you amidst the throng of strangers. It slowly suffocates him.

Your name spills out of his lips, hoping with every utterance of your name you'll emerge unscathed. He feels dizzy.

A firefighter notices him. Hope blossoms in his chest when Hobie turns towards the uniformed man. But the forlorn face the man sports under the soot covering his skin says it all. “There's no survivors!” He yells above the sirens, Hobie crumbles to his feet. “There's no survivors. You're too late, Spiderman.”

He's too late. His ears ring, he could only hear the crackling of the fire whilst it eats away at you. Charred wood collapses, nose stinging from the smoke, vision blurry as tears silently fall.

You're gone. And all that's left of you are ashes that float down towards him like grotesque snowflakes. Sticking to his suit, heat clinging to his skin.

It's too soon, he had a lifetime with you. A sudden burst of rain pelts at him. You were right, rain was coming.

He should've tried harder to convince you to go out.

—

A swirl of neon colours whizz past as you fall into the kaleidoscope depths. Scream stuck in your throat, hand stinging from how you grip the watch, or what's left of it. It's now in your hand, jagged metal pieces piercing your skin. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, bracing yourself, you fall on the harsh concrete. The portal spits you out feet first, skidding across, body tumbling on the ground. You're otherwise unharmed despite the harsh landing.

Eyes adjusting in the light, you blink rapidly, shielding your eyesight from the intense sun.

Wait, the sun? Wasn't it sunset a few minutes ago?

Sitting up, you roam your eyes around where you landed. The familiar London skyline is to your right, while on your left are buildings you can't seem to recognize no matter how you try to remember.

“I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.” You say, full of bewilderment. The watch worked, but in the way you wanted it to.

The roof where you landed on is dirty, full of abandoned broken furniture. Pots upon pots of dead plants stacked on top of the other. Good thing there isn't any broken glass or you'd be bleeding.

Propping yourself up, you stand up on two wobbly feet. Stomach churning, vision warbling, you think you're about to be sick. You can't believe Hobie does this on a daily basis.

You inhale sharply, trying to compose yourself and the instant ramen in your stomach. “Oh fuck.” Exhaling, you calm yourself down. Heart finally steadying to a normal rhythm, you sigh before you check the remains of the cracked watch in your hand. “Shit!” The broken pieces fall off from your palm as you look at it. “I'm fucked!”

Like a child throwing a tantrum, you kick a cardboard box, it soars across the roof. Groaning loudly, you stomp on the ground as if it was its fault that you're in another dimension.

You felt it before it happened. Something spreads inside you, like a bolt of lightning has struck you. The sensation starts from the crown of your head to your fingertips, goosebumps appearing on your skin, you glitch for only a second but it's enough to give you motion sickness.

“Oh my fuck—!” A blast from behind you reverberates, wind rushing around you, whipping your searing skin. “What the—?”

If being stuck in an alternative universe wasn't enough, a guy wearing huge mechanical wings is approaching you quickly. Too quickly.

Before you could duck, the cackling vulture grabs you from the roof. Lifting you up, the whiplash from his momentum almost breaks your neck.

“Got you!” He laughs in your ears, metallic claws digging into your biceps. A black slithering blob weaves around his bicep, crawling up to your own like a slimy worm.

“What the hell, old man!” You scream above the noisy exhaust of his wings. “Let me go! I was literally just standing there!”

He clicks his tongue, like he's chastising a child. “No, no, no, not until he gives me what I want. Then I'll think about letting you go, but it's a long drop.”

“Who—?” As he says the word ‘drop’ you look down, vertigo making you nauseous. You must be a hundred feet above the streets. You wish Hobie was here to save you. Tears in your eyes, panic sets in, making your hands tremble and your chest desperately heave in air.

A flash of red and black, a harsh crack of bone, and a splash of something warm on your cheek, you fall from the vulture’s hold.

Gasping, reaching for something, anything to hold onto, you get snatched up before you turn into a bloody street pancake.

A strong arm envelops you as you hug tighter, face hiding away from the harsh winds. Clinging onto the stranger, they seem oddly familiar under your touch. They smell familiar too, like your nose is so used to it that you can recognize it above anything else. Leather and bergamot, the scent he wears when he's in a good mood.

You raise your head to take a peek at your savior. The spikes on his head are dark and swirly, like an evil unicorn's horn. They don't shine in the sunlight anymore, it's the same deep shade as his mask. He no longer bears the resemblance of your Hobie. He feels like him, smells like him, even the warmth spreading to you is the same. There's a deep familiarity, yet, there's something amiss.

“Hobie?” You call, and when he shifts his head to gaze at you, his grip loosens.

Craning his neck down, the eyes of his mask widens. “Y/N?” He breathlessly asks, arm sliding off from shock. “Shit!”

“Hobie!” Briefly falling, he catches you immediately. You both land on a roof, his arms are around you, hand shielding your head from the collision as you both slide across the terracotta roof. Eyes closed, you hide your face on his chest as he bears the impact for you.

Hobie groans, glad that he's wearing leather that helped with lessening his injuries from the awkward fall. Opening his eyes, he thinks he has died when he sees your face look back at him.

Expression etched into worry, you check for any injuries on his body. You get a good look at his suit, it's different, way different than you saw him last. The only thing that stayed the same is his old leather vest, but it looks like it's more well worn than the last time you've seen it. There's marks on the leather, and holes where it's not supposed to be in. You'd mend it for him like always, but there's more pressing matters.

Hobie reaches for you, black cloth enveloping and swirling around his toned arms, showing a bit of his scarred skin. You don't miss how his hands tremble as he holds your face in his calloused hands. It's all familiar to you, yet, his hands are more rugged, rougher, but you know it's him. You could recognize his touch anywhere.

“Did the vulture finally get me?” You raise an eyebrow at his question. The heaviness in his chest slowly fades for the first time in years, he wants to tell you everything, to hold you forever in his arms until all the holes in his heart are filled by you once more. His thumbs wipe the crimson off of your cheek, an instinct of his.

“W-what?” You shake your head, and he relishes at the sound of your voice. The same voice he has only heard in your old voicemails that he plays before going to bed. “I think you have a concussion, Hobs.” Gently, you reach for his mask, he stops you before you could lift it away.

“Hobs,” he chuckles weakly, “I haven't heard of that name in years.”

You know this isn't your Hobie but you can't help but sympathize with him, you can hear the sadness and hurt laced with his deeper tone. You'd ask, but it isn't your place. Literally.

Hobie sits up with a groan, back cracking, the sound making you wince. “Sounds like you need to stretch more.” You joke.

He laughs, his mind tricks him, making him think of all the teasing you've said to him once upon a time.

“I think my back is beyond saving by just stretching.” Head leaning on his elbow, arm propped up by his knee, he still can't wrap his mind around your existence. “Which dimension did you come from?”

You straighten your back, lips curling into a smile. “How'd you know I'm not from here?”

Hobie reaches for his mask, for a moment he pauses. Still, with an apprehensive tug, he takes off his mask. Shock and confusion is evident in your expression. Reminding him of the time when he told you he was Spider-Man all those years ago.

“You're…old.” A hundred questions flood your mind at the sight of his crow’s feet that decorates his eyes. He has smile lines around his mouth, he still has piercings but there's less of them now. His hair is graying, patches of grey that weave around his locs. Under the wear of time on his face, you could recognize that face amidst a thousand faces. It's Hobie, but not your Hobie. “Definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

He chuckles deeply, he misses that humour of yours. “You look how I remember.” he whispers, you could barely hear his words.

You knit your eyebrows together. “Did I travel to the future instead of a different dimension?” The same sensation passes through you, rattling your bones and wracking your senses. You glitch once again. Stomach churning, you cough out harshly.

Shaking his head, Hobie stands up then he gives you a hand. “Not time travel,” you take his hand weakly, lifting you up, he worries for you. “Definitely from another universe. Come with me to the safehouse and we'll fix your watch, yeah?”

Nodding, you trust him completely. “Okay, just to remind you though, don't jostle me around too much—”

“You get motion sick from web swingin’, I know, I remember.” His heart aches, and you can see it hidden behind his hazel eyes.

—

After swinging across the city, and with you fighting the bile rising to your throat, you two finally make it to his safehouse that's masquerading as an old laundromat. You and older Hobie enter from the back door, and another door greets you, all thick steel and seemingly bullet proof.

He enters a set of codes on the numpad that you didn't notice until he was pressing numbers in. You don't bring out the fact that the passcode was your birthday.

The door beeps, an indication that it's unlocked. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiling softly at your nervous eyes.

“Stay behind me, yeah? Don't mind the lads. Or the whispers.”

“Whispers? Why would they gossip about me?”

“Nothin'” he turns back around. “Just stay close to me.”

“Okay, I wasn't planning to wander anyway, it looks like a small house so—” just as you say it, a long staircase leading down to what looks like the abyss makes you think otherwise. “Are you evil Hobie? You planning on bringing me to your little house of horrors to kill me?”

“Are you part of the sinister six?” He asks flatly, slightly enjoying the banter.

“No—”

“Then you've got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Hobie continues to walk down the stairs, heavy boots thudding against the concrete with every footstep. Darkness surrounds him quickly, you could only see the outline of him under the dark. He notices the way you stay on top of the stairs, hands wringing together. “I've got a torch if you're scared—”

“Yes!” You exclaim too fast. “I mean, sure, yeah.” He doesn't tease, for that you silently thank him. You hear a click, and then a torch coming from a gadget on his arm lights the way. “Thanks,” you whisper, finally catching up with him.

The stairs lead you down further, with only Hobie's torch guiding the way, you subtly hold the hem of his vest. If he minded, he never said anything. Ears popping, another door greets you at the end.

Hobie knocks, a rhythm that you can't quite place. A panel on the door slides open, a pair of eyes roams over to Hobie's face and then to yours. Brown eyes widening at the sight of you, they close the panel, then they open the metal door with a creak. Light escapes from the opening, and you shield your eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Holy fucking shit,” a female voice exclaims. Their cadence is full of surprise, and somewhat breathless. “W-what— how?”

“She's not from here,” Hobie explains, almost sounding forlorn at his own words.

Your eyes finally adjust, and you see an older Yuri gawking at you. She has aged well and gracefully, you think, as she sports the lighter hair with confidence and wrinkles barely noticeable.

“Yuri?” You still ask even though you're ninety nine percent sure that it's her.

“The one and only, gorgeous.” Without thinking, she drags you inside, pulling you in for a hug. You heard her sniffle, and you felt how her shoulders relaxed just from the hug alone. So you let her embrace you, with your hand awkwardly rubbing in an attempt to soothe her. Pulling away, she holds you at arm's length. She pats your shoulder, smoothing your sleeves, “still gorgeous, and still unfair.” Snorting, she lets you go, turning towards your companion. “Gwen's been waiting for you.”

Hobie gets flung back to the present, the simple sight of Yuri hugging you has brought him to the past, back when everything was better.

You stare at him, and he knows there's a lot of questions swimming in that genius mind of yours. He nods once wordlessly, not trusting his own mouth to form coherent words right now.

You follow him just as he instructed, Yuri reluctantly lets you go. Your nails dig into your sweaty palms, and eyes restlessly looking around the safe house. The place is expansive, walls high up, and when you look down, you see weathered tiles that have cracked from time. There's a train track in the middle, and you realize it's an old metro station. Instead of advertisements and train schedules on the walls, you see several monitors hanging on it, thousands of wires running through all of them, beeping and buzzing coming out of the computers. There's also weapon racks littered around the place, large and something that looks like it came from a sci-fi film.

There's a lot of people running around, all clad in the same style as Hobie. Leather, chains and metal spikes all adorning their forms. You quickly look away whenever you pass a stranger who widens their eyes at the sight of you.

Tugging at Hobie's vest, you peer at him. “Why does everyone give me that same look? And who's Gwen?”

He doesn't stop his strides, “Gwen's a friend, she knows you, kind of.” He decides to tease you. Maybe it's his brain trying to compensate for the time he hasn't done it. “Why? You jealous? Green eyed monster rearing its ugly mug?”

You scoff with a playful smile. “Technically, I don't know you, so…” his smile wavers, “there's no way I'd be jealous. Also you're…old.” His smile returns, there's a question that suddenly pops in your mind. “Are we a thing here?” You suppose you should ask just to get it away, and this isn't even the same Hobie back home so you don't lose anything by asking.

His face flattens, something passes by his eyes and he turns away. “Don't worry ‘bout it.”

“That's not answering my question, or any of my questions—”

“Gwen.” Hobie passes by you without sparing you a glance.

He enters a large open space that is full of computers and screens that blink and beep. There's a dozen or so people that walk around the area, all looking frazzled and tired. It looks like a command center of some sorts. A stranger bumps into you, accidentally shoving you by your shoulder.

“Sorry, I—” The man stops in his tracks, it's Ned, or at least this universe's version of Ned. The wrinkles around his eyes and white hair says that he must've been the same age as this Hobie. The clipboard in his hand falls from his grasp, eyes wide and watery, he gasps. “Y/N—”

Hobie appears next to you, “yeah it's her, Ned.”

“B-but…she's—”

Hobie shakes his head, wordlessly having a conversation with his best friend. “We'll talk later, I promise.” He softens his voice. The interaction has you more confused. They have a stare down with you caught in the middle.

You give Ned an apologetic smile. Crouching, you take the fallen clipboard, giving it back to him. “Here, sorry for bumping into you.”

His hand trembles as he takes it. “It's okay, I gotta go.” Rushing, he leaves you and Hobie.

“Is he okay? Please don't tell me you're working him to the bone.” You scold him.

“No, you know I'll never do that.”

“Just like I said, I technically don't know you.” Exasperated from all the dodging Hobie has done, you walk away and towards the command center where a large table sits in the middle and in-between a huge screen.

Hobie has forgotten has stubborn you can be, following behind you, he can already see Gwen looking furious just standing next to the table, all menacing like.

“Hobie, what the fuck did you do?” The sudden angry tone makes your skin jump, kind of reminding you of your days back in school. “Have you finally lost your damn mind?” The blond woman gestures towards you.

There's red streaks in her braided hair, clothes perfectly suited to her form. She stands out from the rest, she looks sporty in her varsity jacket and white trainers. But of course she wears a pair of leather pants and an old band shirt that says ‘fuck getting fridged!’ You have no idea what that means.

Before she could blow a gasket, you explain yourself. “It's not time travel actually,” you say, voice faltering once you notice all eyes are on you. “It's interdimensional travel— on accident! I didn't mean to.”

Gwen crosses her arms over her chest, “you a spiderperson? Do you answer to Miguel?”

“No, not a spiderperson, just some idiot who made a huge mistake by trying to make her own watch because my best friend asked me to.” You take the broken watch from your pocket to place it on the table. “See? I broke it.”

“Your Hobie asked you to help him?” Older Hobie asks, you nod, his eyes flick over to you and then the bracelet. “Sounds like something I would do.” He whispers to himself.

“Wait, you don't have a watch on you anymore? Then—” Gwen starts but your glitching interrupts her.

It was only two seconds but you felt like your insides were being ripped apart, and your eyeballs were getting scooped out by a spoon. Heaving, hands gripping on the table for balance, you cough loudly as Hobie pats your back.

“Motherfucker—! That one was worse than the last one.” You almost choke on your own spit. “Goddamnit.”

“I was about to ask why you're not glitching, I guess I got my answer.” Gwen hands you a water bottle. “Here.” Turning towards Hobie, who's already picking apart the bracelet, she sternly calls for his attention. “What do you plan with her?”

“Fix her watch then let her stay because she's Y/N.” He nonchalantly says, lying through his teeth to rile up his already mad right hand woman.

“Your real plan, Hobie.” She taps her foot impatiently, you still wonder what his words meant. “We don't have the time or the resources to help her right now. Especially when our little machine still hasn't turned on.”

“Would you rather have her molecules ripped apart or spare a few parts so she could go home?” Hobie places his hands on top of the table, eyes narrowed, challenging Gwen. Whilst you take in his words. “Our main focus still hasn't changed, she's a guest and if we don't help her she will die.” Inhaling, he continues, “you heard her, she has someone to go back too. Someone who's lookin' for her. Do you really want him to experience that kind of—” he stops after feeling your eyes on him. He clears his throat. “We'll help her fix the watch, it'll take me a few hours to finish it and we'll still be on schedule for the attack.”

You set aside your oncoming demise to ask him about ‘the attack’. “Schedule for what?”

Gwen visibly relaxes from your gaze, you surmise that this universe’s you has history with her. “We're gonna take down Osborn once and for all.”

You knit your brows together. “You haven't done that yet?”

Gwen and Hobie blinks in surprise, intrigued, everyone else who wasn't already eavesdropping looks at you expectantly.

“What do you mean ‘haven't?’” Gwen asks, eyebrow raised.

“We already did that in our dimension a few years ago. I still have a few scars from it.”

Hobie cranes his neck towards Gwen, hazel eyes suddenly forlorn, shoulders heavy, and jaw tightening. “You succeeded?”

It all hits you, they've failed in where you and your friends have succeeded. You gained where they've lost, and you feel for their pain, you for*his suffering. You now know why he gave you that look the first time he saw you.

Composing yourself, even though your chest feels heavy, you still act as if their revelation doesn't bother you, when it has impacted you like you're the one who lost. “Y-yeah, I mean everyone helped a lot. I just did the best I can.” You scratch the back of your neck, “we had this thing that can cripple the symbiote inside his men—”

Gwen takes out a small circular device from her pocket. “Like this?”

You shake your head, “no, we just hooked a bunch of amplifiers around the area and Hobie and his band played really fucking loud. My ears ring just thinking about it.”

“Yeah we all know about them hating loud sounds but that didn't work for us before.” Gwen and Hobie's hopes are dashed. “And after all the tries, we stopped trying that method.”

“Why don't you guys ask for help with spider society? I'm sure—”

Hobie cuts you off, scowling at his feet. “I did, I asked for help. And what did that vampire from 2099 say?” He grows frustrated, knuckles shaking, eyes looking away from you. “He refused, saying that no one could intervene. That this was my canon event, and if anybody helped that it'll put the multiverse into dangerous territory.” Shaking his head, the man before shows up, and Hobie turns away from him. “It's bullshit, that's why I left.”

“We did find out why sound doesn't disable the symbiotes. Osborn made some kind of shield around them.” Gwen pipes up, shifting the conversation before Hobie gets angrier from the mere mention of Miguel.

“Like armor?” You ask.

“Yes, it's invisible to the naked eye. Thanks to Hobie, we finally found their Achilles heel. If only we could get this damn device to work then we'll be free of him and his regime.” She continues.

“Maybe I can help—”

“No,” Hobie quickly says, hurt in his eyes, he avoids yours. “No, I'll get your watch fixed up and you can go.”

“But I may be able to help—”

“No,” he emphasizes, with a shaky breath, he calls for Yuri. “Take her to the extra room,” instructing Yuri, she smiles at you apologetically. “Stay there until your watch is fixed.”

“She might be right—” Gwen starts but Hobie ignores her.

You glitch once again, stomach turning inside out, this time you feel like your skin is being ripped away. Eyes rolling on the back of your head, head spiralling. The next thing you know, you're laying on top of a hard mattress. Groaning, vision adjusting, you sit up carefully.

Your eyes adjust to the dim light hanging above, a single light bulb that swings from a draft seeping out of a crack in the wall. The room is small, barely even fitting the single bed. Walls of grey concrete surround you on all sides, there's a few posters on the walls that are tacked lopsidedly. They're all worn down, like they're older than you from the looks of the fading ink. A singular guitar sits at the corner, black and cherry red, hundreds of stickers are placed on it, adding to the roses that are painted all over it. It screams Hobie, but not your Hobie. Just sitting on his bed makes you miss him, even though you know they are not the same.

Stretching your aching neck from awkward angles it was put through because of the glitching, you spot a polaroid picture sticking out from under the pillow. You don't want to be nosy, but seeing your own face smile at you has you reaching for the photograph.

It's you, but not you exactly. Your face is the same, clothes you can't recognize. The only thing you can recognize is the way you hold onto Hobie. This universe's Hobie. Cheek pressed on his own, mirrored smiles on both your lips, his arm around your waist, pulling you close as if you'd fade away. And your arms enveloping around him like you're shielding him from harm. There's one detail that jumps at you with how yellowed the paper is and how crumpled the corners are, you're both incredibly young.

“Oh,” There had been signs, and this now confirms it.

You look at the steel door as if you had x-ray vision, as if you can see through it and see the Hobie that this version of you had loved once upon a dimly lit pub where the polaroid was taken.

Placing the picture back where you found it, you test your shaky legs. You make it two steps before you start glitching out, tumbling towards the door, forehead pressed on the cold steel, you heave dryly.

There's tears in your eyes when you open the door. Silence greets you, the air is cold and stagnant, the lights that were blinking at you earlier are now dim enough that you have to feel your way towards the concrete hallway and out into the warm light. Your hands glide along the almost frozen walls, rough sandy concrete hitting your palms like sandpaper. Footsteps quiet to not rouse the sleeping crew.

Finally making it out, lungs cool, and teeth chattering, you feel sicker by the minute. Hobie stands next to the large console, back towards you. Metals clicking and grinding against each other, Hobie doesn't look over his shoulder from your presence.

You knock on the wall to not startle him and ruin his work. Hobie finally cranes his neck to look at you, shoulders tensed and eyebrows knitted together in either frustration or concentration.

“You okay?” You ask, voice echoing in the vast room.

“I should be askin’ you that.” He goes back to the table, immediately tinkering.

“Well, are you?”

“You're stubborn.”

“My best quality.”

You hear him softly chuckle thanks to the silence hanging in the air. Walking closer, you smile at the sight of his rubber gloves that protect his hands.

“So?” You ask again.

“Never better.” He flatly says, eyes focused on putting your watch together.

“Why'd you leave the society?”

“Thought you were smart?”

“I am, and a consequence of that is being utterly curious.”

Hobie sighs but doesn't stop working. “Creative differences.”

“Ah, I knew it. You and my Hobie would get along well.” Your words trail off when you see the same spherical tech sitting next to him. “Is that the thing you can't figure out?”

He spares it a glance. “Yeah, the bane of my existence.”

You go around him to look at it closely. Eyes narrowed, arms tucked, you lean closer. “I think—” you grab it before Hobie could stop you. The glitching must've taken a toll in your critical thinking because you crack it open like an egg in your hands. “That's your problem.”

“What the fuck?” He says breathlessly, almost yelling, eyes wide, hands already grabbing the tech to fix it. “What is wrong with you?”

“Thin shell.”

“We've established that you have a thin skull—”

“Rude, but I'm talking about that.” You point at the sphere while Hobie's cradling it like a baby. “the shell is too thin,” you take half of it, pointing out its faults. “See? You need to make the shell a bit thicker, put a pressure plate so that—”

Hobie has a growing smile. “When it's thrown it automatically turns on. With the thicker shell it can withstand it and with it helps distribute the energy more evenly. Shutting all the shields down around its vicinity without needing to push a button.” His eyes widen with realization with every word he says that you already know of. “That way we can arm every rebel with a hundred of these and take down Osborn's venoms without risking close combat. Fuckin' brilliant.” He looks at you in wonder. Embarrassment flickers in his eyes, he should've thought of that, yet, he didn't. You might not be his Y/N but you're worthy of her name.

“Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” Your next sentence has your hands shaking, he notices. “Was your Y/N as brilliant as me?” You finally ask.

Hobie's cheery face falls, “She was smart, but not that brilliant. Her bravery makes up for it.”

“I'm sorry.” Tears stick to your lashes, heart aching for the man before you.

“You are curious.” After years without you, he still has no idea how to respond to those exact words. “How you feelin’?”

“Me?”

“Finding out a version of you is dead must be fuckin' weird.”

You shake your head. “I first thought that I'd see an old wrinkly me.” A half joke. You smile at him to make him feel better, but with how forlorn those hazel eyes are, you might've made it all worse. You weren't lying, you wanted to see a glimpse of your future, but finding out the version of you here is long dead doesn't compare to the feeling of losing someone you've known for years, loved even. “It's terrifying, but it doesn't compare to how hurt you must be. Losing her, I mean.”

He didn't see you grow old. He didn't experience growing old with you.

Hobie clears his throat, “I know you're not her.”

“And I know you're not him. But it looks like we both share the same feelings for them respectively.”

“That obvious?”

“Hobie once told me that in every universe there's always someone for Spider-Man. So yes, it's obvious.” You give him an empathetic smile. “How'd you know it's the same for me?” For us?

“You talk about him like how I talk about her. Takes one to know one, love.” He holds your hand briefly, like it was acting on an old instinct. “Have you told him? How much you're bloody smitten? I have a feelin’ you haven't.”

You nervously chuckle, hands fiddling with a loose screw on the table. “Nope.”

“Let me guess, waitin’ for the right time? Scared of what would happen in the long run?” He says knowingly.

You don't look him in the eyes. “Yeah.”

Something flashes behind Hobie's eyes, after a beat of silence, he finally speaks. “She died protectin’ my crew, did you know that? She died protectin' me, and how do I thank her? Years of failing, years of fighting and we've only come close but never winning in the end.” Hobie sniffs, head raised to look at the graffiti painted on the ceiling. “If i just told her that I loved her, I would've had more time with her. Instead, I was a coward, all those years wasted because I'm a coward.” Hobie finally looks at you, the warm light from the lamp lights the trapped tears in his eyes. “Don't wait for the right time.”

You shake your head, heart clenching at the sight. “I don't think all those years were wasted. You loved her quietly, and I think she did too. Time spent together isn't wasted, just like your silent love. Love is never wasted.”

He smiles softly, the resemblance of a younger Hobie is etched under the small smile. “You would know.”

“I would know,” you smile back. Trepidation hangs around your neck like a two ton steel necklace. “How would I know that he feels the same way? What if it doesn't work out? Or worse, reject me?”

“His loss,” Hobie grins, a genuine one that you haven't seen this version of him sport. It's the only thing you need for reassurance. “But I highly doubt that will happen.”

Nodding, you feel determination where the heaviness once resided. “I'll tell him when I get back. I promise.” You say wholeheartedly.

“You better, don't make the same choices I did.” Hobie holds your hands like how someone holds a feather, gentle and kind. “At least I got to see her one last time, eh, love? A bit younger but beggars can't be choosers.” You feel something heavy on your wrist. Looking down, you see a working watch. Hobie slyly put it on you, it even has your dimension already keyed in on the screen. You look back at him, mouth slightly agape. “Too much power, that was the problem. Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” You laugh at him using your own words against you.

“Thank you, do me a favour?”

“Tit for tat, huh?”

You giggle, then you face him seriously. “Crush Osborne. Fucking decimate him. Or I'll come back and bring the cavalry.”

Hobie's finger ghosts above the button. “You know where to find me, love.”

“And you know where I am.” You smile as the portal opens behind you. A gust of air breezes past you, eyelashes fluttering in the wind, a kaleidoscope of colors dancing on Hobie's face, illuminating his hopeful eyes. “I'm serious, if you need help—”

He slides his hands away from yours. “Go home, Y/N, your Hobie is lookin' for you.” With the mention of him, you give him one last smile for him to remember. You take a step back and fall back into the portal.

—

You fall unceremoniously on the wet pavement, body crashing on a pile of discarded boxes and metal trash cans. The crashing sound would've startled anybody and would have their attention, but no one seems to pay you mind as everyone stares at the ashy remnants of your flat. Groaning, you slap your forehead because of your stupidity. You feel relieved because you seem to be home. Everything seems to be in place, and everything seems to be normal.

“Fucking idiot.” You whisper breathlessly at the sight of your charred flat. Your relief gets washed away when you see Hobie in his suit kneeling down in agony whilst bystanders watch on in grief. Your eyes flick over to him and back to your flat, then back to him.

His shoulders are shaking, head in his hands, nails digging into his mask. You'd yell his name if not for the crowd. Instead, you walk to him, legs still wobbly but getting steady with every step. Soon enough, before you could make your presence known with your hand reaching for his shoulder, he moves his head so fast that you're afraid that his neck would snap. The eyes of his mask widens, standing up, he grabs you lightning quick.

Arms holding you close, you feel his warmth as he slides his hand to your pulse. Hobie sighs in relief, even laughing as he slots his face in the crook of your neck.

You mirror him, hands kneading on his back, telling him you're back and you're not going anywhere with the simple touch.

“I thought— where—?” he starts, but you press your lips on his cheek. He practically freezes in place even with his mask acting as a barrier.

“I love you,” you confess, just as promised, and truthfully. “I love you—!” In a half second after the words are uttered, he swings you both effortlessly on a rooftop, away from prying eyes.

Hobie steadies you on your feet, mask discarded in a heartbeat. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do.” You don't miss the sight of his tear stained cheeks. Your hands reach for him, thumbs rubbing softly on each cheek. “I love you, Hobie.”

“Good, then you don't mind me doin' this?” The warmth of his hand seeps through his gloves, that won't do, so he takes his gloves off to feel you. His bare hand is on your nape, the other is placed on your waist, fingers tapping on your skin lovingly.

You already know what he's asking. “Nope, not at all—”

With an inhale, he closes the distance, kissing you, taking your breath away.

You've fulfilled your promise.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[rubywithecat]

hey! you are not writing for aot boys anymore??? :(( i used to wait for your hc they were the best!! if you are still writing for them, can you make aot boys and when their s/o makes them laugh?? (specially the jaegers brother huhhuhu)

Hihi! Omg im so glad that u like my hcs and thanks a lottt for loving them. It means a lot to me <3 T-T

And yess I’ll still write about AoT and I was even rewatching it during these days coincidently Loll

~AoT boys when their s/o makes them laugh~

-Eren-

U were humming ur fav song when he came into the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?” He asked as he hugged u from behind and kissed u. “It’s ur fav ramen, Eren” U answered, kissing him back. “My brother Zeke is also joining dinner tonight is that ok?” He asked as he helped you. “It’s fine I made a lot” u answered.

“Here are the servings. Zeke, help urself any drink u like it’s in refrigerator” u said as u joined the dinner table and he nodded. “What’s for dessert, love?” Eren asked taking a bite of his food. U looked at him and then smirked. “Well the dessert ur getting is me” U teased and winked at him. Zeke almost threw up his food and Eren got so shy that his cheek became red but he couldn’t help himself smiling so hard about it, then he coughed in embarrassment.

He dragged u to the kitchen counter and passionately kissed u. “Right in front of my brother?” He said. “Yeah? I did make u laugh right?” U said innocently. “U r going to regret it, love” He smirked.

-Reiner-

It’s rainy season and at Marley camp, u and other warriors have to train despite the heavy rain. U put on the raincoat and walked to training session with ur friends. “The rain isn’t stopping since the morning” Annie complained. “But I like rain” Berthold replied. “But not the heavy rain, Berthold. It makes us harder for outdoor practice” U said.

Reiner was already there and he was waiting for you guys under roof, arm crossed and standing position. “How’s ur way of coming here?” He teased as u removed ur raincoat. U sided eyed him and sarcastically said “It’s so good that I’m so wet right now” u said without thinking other meaning and the realized it and quickly yelled. “No no that’s not what I meant!” U look so cute for him being all shy. Reiner busted out in laughter. “Hey Reiner u dirty mind!!” U yelled. “Uh? I’m not the one who said I’m wet” he teased again which makes u blush even more.

-Porco-

Everybody partying hard after tough mission and u are at 2 shots now. “Let’s play truth or dare” Reiner suggested and others cheered him up. “Whatever” Porco said, annoyed as he smoked his cigarette. “Come on Porco! It’s gonna be fun!” U persuaded him. “Please” U gave him cute eyes and he finally agreed.

“Truth or dare?” Pieck asked u. “I’m going with dare” u said confidently. “Well, I dare u to say a cheesy pickup line to Galliard” she said, setting u up. It would be so embarrassing normally but ur vodka shots make u over confident. U grabbed Porco shirt’s collar and whispered into his ears. “Hey Mr.Jaw titan, don’t look down on me cuz i would look so good underneath you”. He smiled and then laughed so hard. “What did she say?” Zeke asked loudly. “Shut the fck up I’m not telling u” Porco replied.

The next day, u couldn’t even look at Porco face cuz of embarrassment. He would laugh about it and find it cute. “Hey how did u sleep last night huh?” He asked. “Fine I guess” u said awkwardly. He suddenly pinned u to the wall and u thought he was gonna kiss u but he just looked at u closely and smirked. “Mr Jaw titan was a smooth line” he teased.

-Zeke-

He was having a hard day but still make time for the date. He agreed to go look sunset with u even tho he has stress about his work on unfinished project, he pretended like it’s nth and doesn’t wanna make u feel like a burden to him cuz ur not.

“Zeke look at there” u pointed to somewhere and when he tilted his head, u sneaked a kiss on cheek suddenly. He was surprised but he smiled at u and u can tell it makes his day a lot better. “U little sneak” he said as he grabbed ur neck and kissed passionately back. “U could have said so if u want it” he smirked and u giggled. “I can make ur stress is away, trust me?” U teased him, bitting ur lips.

-Levi-

U made a bet with Connie and Sasha that they owe u a drink if u could make ur captain laugh. At first, u tried with all the humors but he got all serious and as a result, u got punished by having to clean the window.

It’s nearly night time and u were still cleaning the windows. “I think he’s being so heartless” u told to Sasha as u wiped the window with anger. “Well, U shouldn’t have accepted the challenge” Sasha said, helping u. “Yeah I’m regretting that now Sasha” U sighed and suddenly yelled as u saw Levi behind u as u turned to get water. “Captain! Didn’t see u there hahaha” u said awkwardly. “Who were u telling that is heatless?” “We were talking about….umm… Jean” U looked at Sasha, asking for help. “Yeah yeah Jean was… acting so mean…” she played along. “R u sure? I thought that kid was talking about me” he asked her and looking suspiciously at u. U smiled confidently but dying inside. “Why would I say such thing to our handsome and hot captain?” U said dramatically, looking at him with puppy eyes. He looked at u back for a sec and he can’t help but let out a little laugh. “Stop messing with me kid” he replied. U can even see him blush.

-Erwin-

It was a formal meeting and u had to follow Erwin as his personal assistant. U had to wear heels and formal tight dress which is really uncomfortable for u.

After meeting, u thought everyone left so, u took off ur heels and swore. “Fck that hurts! How did those women stayed all fine with these fcking shoes!” U were talking to urself. Then u looked aside and saw Erwin was there. “Ah— im so sorry sir! Since when did u come back?” U apologized immediately. “Don’t wear it if it’s uncomfortable for u” He gave u a new pair of shoes. “I brought this for u” he said as he helped u wear the slippers. “Sir u don’t have to! Thank u so much!” U said as he finished. U stood up “Omg this is so amazing! Ur the best Captain!” U said and it made him laugh. “I’m glad u like that” he replied.

[bambisnc]

he's the one that's livin' in my system baby! [03]

pairing : roommate!sungchan x reader WE BACK GUYS genre : flufff cw/tw : food mentions + reader is sick and overworks themself :/ dont do this bbgs (gn) wc : 0.4k!

you're sick. in the head, yes, but also physically.

maybe it wasn't the best idea to stand in the rain to buy a newly released mint chocolate sundae; which surprisingly had a lot of fans who were out for blood.

apparently though, they'd all been much better prepared than you - meaning that they had checked the weather app and brought along a plethora of umbrellas and raincoats galore.

you however, had not, and hence here you were. starting off spring and your vacation from uni with a cold.

the image of your roommate sungchan's butterflies in the tummy inducing smile as he noticed the green dessert was the only thing that kept you going.

through all the piles of extra credit work you'd brought onto yourself. through the aches and the tiredness. and through not having seen him since the morning.

and hence, here you are : in a feverish (pun intended) haze; hunched over your laptop, mindlessly slaving over a word document.

-

"wasn't there a saying which spoke about idiots not catching colds?" a voice startles you awake. you .. fell asleep? of course you fell asleep.

you mumble sleepily, "you're the idiot..."

the voice easily responds, "well you know, that may be right! it's not me who with a fever of 102.5 degrees."

"a ... fever?"

"mhm. oh and you're overworking yourself on top of that! that's obviously very helpful."

your attempt to defend yourself comes out rather weakly owing to your sleep addled senses, "i need to get this finished by today.."

"no you don't. i called professor hong - he's really such a sweet guy - who mentioned something about this not being due for 2 weeks."

you're left a bit speechless at that. you really need to make it a habit to double check things, don't you? weather app notifications, project deadlines, etc....

you feel your arms being moved gently. before you can ask when he came back or even display your slight shock at his appearance, you find yourself lifted up completely in sungchan's arms.

"i didn't want you to get me the ice-cream yn. nothing's worth your health," he says in a voice barely above a whisper.

you can hear his heartbeat from where your head rests on his chest. it's comforting.

"i wanted us to go there. together."

oh.

your sickness-hazed brain barely allows you to able to string together any words for an appropriate response before he reaches his room and lays you down on his bed.

"sleep." sungchan tucks his covers around you in a comfortable way. "you need more rest."

but when he seems to get up from the side of the bed, you can't help but grip onto the hem of his shirt, hoping it gets your message across.

it does, of course it does.

he smiles; and oh, you think, maybe this was worth it.

notes : super inspired by irl events. i.e. im sick. in spring. vacations. cryinf. + [series m.list] [m.list] song rec : !!! BOX BY NCT DREAM yes ik this has nothing related to it BUT STILL STREAM SMOOTHIE