#psychic and medium au

[autumn-foxfire]

KAISHIN AU IDEA

Toichi knew his son would be a magician who surpassed even his own feats once day and he was eagerly looking forward to that day. Having picked up Toichi's tricks as quick as he did breathing, and crawing, and walking, and escaping his play pen-Kaito was going to grow up to be a force to be reconned with.

Toichi hadn't realised how on the nose that would be until a simple breakfast when Kaito was five.

He had been taunting his son with trick spoons, pretending he could bend them with his mind and seeing if his son could pick up on the trick he was using when Kaito showed Toichi a trick that left him speechless.

"Do you know how I did it, Kaito?" he teased as he placed the bent spoon in Kaito's eager hands and let the small boy study it, chuckling as that cute little frown of concentration appeared on the boy's face.

"Are you taunting Kaito again, dear," Chikage called from the oven, turning around with a large stirring spoon in her hands and pointing it accusing at him.

Toichi stood up with a flourish, wrapping an arm around his lovely wife's waist and dipping her low, "I'm just teaching him some more magic, my love," he replied airly, "I could show you too-" he whisked the spoon in her hands away only to have it snatched away from him immediately.

"You've destroyed enough of my cooking utensials for a life-time, Toichi," she chided as she placed the spoon back into the soup she was cooking.

"I've always replaced th-"

"I DID IT!" Came the excited cheer of their son who was waving a spoon, not the one Toichi had handed to him but rather the one that Chikage had placed on the table for Kaito to eat his breakfast, that was indeed bent in half.

Chikage shot Toichi a displeased glare.

Toichi quickly released his wife and walked over to his son, "Kaito, did you bend that with brute force?" he asked, "You know your mother doesn't like us breaking with her cutlery."

"I didn't!" Kaito protested with a pout, "I used magic like you!"

Toichi was unconvinced, the spoon he had showed Kaito was created specifically to feel like a regular spoon but if held at the right angle be able to bend like butter with the simple push of a finger. A trick not very easy to replicate with the stainless steel that made up normal spoons.

"I can show you!" Kaito huffed and snatched another spoon from the table. He glared intently at the spoon while holding his breath, his cheeks puffing out and face turning red from the effort as he did.

Toichi was about to tell Kaito to breath when he saw it.

The spoon began to bend backwards. It began to bend backwards without Kaito even touching it.

When the spoon was bent until the round metal was touching Kaito's own hands, Kaito released his breath and thrusted the spoon towards his now pale father, a wide grin on lips.

"SEE!" he cheered.

Toichi delicately took the spoon, studying both it and his son, sharp eyes trying to find anything to explain what just happened. Wires, heat, anything to make the spoon bend the way it did.

He found nothing.

-

Yuusaku's parenting had been called to question quite a few times as he brought his son from crime scene to crime scene but Shinichi had never seened bothered by the sight of death so Yuusaku never bothered to ring Yukiko to pick him up and look after him while he solved the umpteenth murder he happened to stumble across.

In fact, Yuusaku could say with pride that Shinichi sometimes provided more help in solving the murders than some of the officers who were brought to investigate. His son had a knack for finding clues that most overlooked.

Never Yuusaku though, but he did have fun waiting to see how long it took Shinichi to find a clue after Yuusaku had found it. He was getting quicker every time.

That said, even Yuusaku had found himself curious when Shinichi had pulled on his arm just moments after the poor woman had been declared dead and said with all the confidence of a man who knew the truth that her closest friend who was currently breaking down in the arms of one of her friends was the murderer.

"That's quite bold of you to jump to conclusions like that, Shinichi," he gentle chided, "We haven't even found any evidence yet that could tell us she did it."

Shinichi looked frustrated, his eyes flicking to above the body of the woman, to Yuusaku and then to the floor.

"...She told me," he mumbled so quietly that Yuusaku almost didn't hear him.

Yuusaku's eyes narrowed, "Who told you this, Shinichi?" he asked so he could relay it to the police when they arrived.

Shinichi continued to look above the body, his face pale. Yuusaku followed his gaze but found nothing but an empty wall across from them and a quick sweep told him that it held nothing of interest. Was Shinichi nervous of the body? He had never been bothered by the sight of one before and he had seen much more gruesome sights than a woman who had died from poisoning.

"Miss Hana did," Shinichi finally answered and Yuusaku felt even more confused.

Hana was the name of the victim. When did she tell Shinichi she was going to be murdered by her friend? Hana and her friends had been seated at a table quite far from Yuusaku's family and they had only just arrived when the woman collapsed.

How could Shinichi and Hana have talked? Perhaps Shinichi had encountered the woman before?

Pushing his son's behaviour to the side, Yuusaku continued his investigation. It quickly came apparent to him that the closest friend had indeed murdered Hana and he gathered all the evidence he needed to expose her.

Said closest friend had another breakdown when the police walked forward to arrest her, crying over how Hana had blackmailed her to get her to break up with her boyfriend so she could date him instead.

"I don't get it," Shinichi mumbled after the woman's words turned into sobs, "You two said you saw each other as sisters, you both said so on her birthday, how could you kill her?"

The girl looked startled, as did everyone in the room "H-How did you know that..." she whispered.

Yuusaku frowned, "Is that when Hana told you she was going to be killed?" he asked.

The woman looked fearful, "T-That's impossible," she whispered, "We were alone when we said that-we weren't even in this country! Hana wasn't blackmailing me back then either so how could she know I would have killed her?!"

Everyone looked at Shinichi with a mixture of curiosity and alarm.

"Shinichi, how do you know that?" Yuusaku asked once again.

Shinichi turned back to look at where the body had collapsed, again not at the floor where she had laid but just above it.

"Miss Hana told me," he said simply, "Just after she died."

[confused-red-head]

These Curses We Bear

Chapter 1 - If these Walls Could Talk

Pro-Hero!Shouto Todoroki x Psychic Medium Detective!Reader

Masterlist

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WARNING: dark themes, death, minor character death, descriptions of dead bodies(no excessive gore), paranormal activities, blood, violence, cursing, angst, angst WITH COMFORT(moreso in later chapters), mentions of trauma, mentions of illness, fem!reader, READER TALKS TO GHOSTS, ghost child in chapter 1, children in general, Reader being a dork, home break-in, slowish burn, pro hero au, aged up characters, strangers to friends to lovers, etc.

"Sorry, but I'm not an exorcist."

If you had one yen for every time you've said this exact phrase, you certainly wouldn't have found yourself with a weeping man begging on his knees in the middle of an ice cream shop.

But beggars can't be choosers.

"Please! So many people have gotten sick and we have no idea why! We've had the place inspected from top to bottom and they haven't found anything! We had to throw out all of our previous batches of ice cream! This is costing us so much and at this rate we will have to shut down! I didn't know what else to do!", the shop owner pleads, his hands clasped together with a tear-streaked face.

With a sigh, you pinched the bridge of your nose. It was already late by the time you received the call from the shop owner, Mr. Masuda. The conversation over the phone was frantic and garbled, enough so that you had rushed out of your apartment in pajamas and gray peacoat. Rookie mistake. Seeing how you had nothing to lose, you may as well try.

"Fine. Alright. I'll try, but there's no promise that if there is a spirit or that it will want to talk. On top of that, I can't promise I'll be able to get them to cease activity. If that's the case, I do have the contacts of some people who may be able to help you."

"Oh thank you! Thank you! You are a lifesaver!"

Mr. Masuda bowed even lower as you sidestepped around him. You took in the shop's atmosphere. The place was brightly colored, various walls painted pastel blue, pink, and yellow. The tables and seats were covered in similarly-colored patterns; while the walls were decked out with signs, photos, art, and flourishing plastic plants. You thought it would have been a nice place to wind down after a day of running errands. Unfortunately for you, today was not that day.

"Now, where did you say the activity occurred most?"

Mr. Masuda rose from his bow and clambered to stand on his own two feet.

"The ice cream display! We've had customers feel nauseous or even faint due to a sudden difficulty in breathing."

You hummed in response and wandered over to the casing, your eyes flickered to and fro; searching for even a single speck of dust out of place. You quickly slip on a rubber glove from your bag, swipe a finger over the surface of the casing, and rub two fingers together, searching for any unusual substances. 

Nothing. No grainy or oily texture from a foreign substance. Still, that doesn't rule out foul play from a neighboring business, competitor, or even just a particularly upset customer.

Some people are real fucking crazy…

"You clean and wipe down every surface at the end of the day, right?"

You strip off the glove, shoving it into your pajama pants pocket to dispose of later.

"Of course! I wouldn't dare leave the place filthy!", Mr. Masuda was obviously offended by your speculation.

"Alright! Okay! I'm just making sure. You'd be surprised with what some businesses cut corners on…", you crouched down to inspect the ground around and underneath the display case as you continued to ask questions.

"Do you know anyone who could possibly hold a grudge against you or profit from the shop closing?"

"Wh-what?! No! At least not that I know of. It's not like we are in a prime location and I haven't had any encounters that I can think of that would cause such a response.", Mr. Masuda wrung out hands at the thought of someone wanting to hurt him and his business. "Do you think someone may have cursed me?!"

You hummed in thought.

"Hmm perhaps… if it really is a spirit that is.", you rose from your place on the floor and turned to face the frantic shop owner, "You said an employee saw a ghostly form when she was locking up earlier tonight?"

"Yes! Miss Kimura! She's a very hard working girl and very kind too! She does well with the children who come in! It broke my heart hearing how terrified she was over the phone after she saw it."

"Did she describe it to you? Have you perhaps seen a similar figure yourself?" 

"I haven't seen anything like she described, but she said she saw a pale white figure, small like a child. She said it looked like it was looking into the display case, standing where the incidents keep happening."

You dug your hand into your messenger bag, one you bring to on-site investigations, and pulled out a UV flashlight. 

"Mind hitting the lights for me?"

"O-oh! Of course!", Mr. Masuda rushed over to the light switches near the shop entrance. As soon as the lights flickered out, you clicked on the flashlight and passed the shining purple light over the display case surface. Quickly, you find something interesting. Two small handprints make themselves known in the ultraviolet light. 

"And you said you wash the display case every night?"

"Yes! We clean the place thoroughly after closing! Kimura said she only saw the figure when she was locking up.", he perked up a bit, prideful of his shop's cleanliness.

"Well… either she missed a spot or these prints are fresh…", you flashed the light over the handprints again to show Mr. Musuda, who quickly looked shaken over the find.

"I… I'm sorry…"

A voice called out, sounding meek and guilty.

"Mama always said I shouldn't touch the glass, but the ice cream looks so good…"

You turned slightly towards the voice that came from right beside you. Your eyes landed on a ghostly figure of a young girl, looking no older than six years old and wearing a hospital gown. Her head hung in shame, clearly guilty of her actions. You slowly descended into a squat, careful not to scare the spirit girl. 

"Hey…", you spoke softly as if she were a lost child looking for their parents ,"It's okay. We can clean up again. May I ask for your name?"

The girl looked spooked at the fact I acknowledged her at all. Her eyes went wide with surprise.

"M-mama said I shouldn't talk to strangers… but I don't think anyone else can hear or see me…" 

"You're a smart girl to listen to your mama. She's right afterall. I understand if you're nervous, but I just want to ask you a few questions. Only if you're okay with that, of course, but I'd really like to try and help you."

The girl tugged at her gown nervously, looking down like she was contemplating whether you could be trusted or not.

"...Okay…", She whispered, "I'll answer your questions. My name is Chihoko Konuma."

"You have a very lovely name, Miss Konuma. My name is Y/N L/N, I'm a private detective," You turned to Mr. Masuda and gestured toward him,"and this nice man is Mr. Masuda. He's the owner of this shop."

"I know Mr. Masuda!", she perks up at the name

"Oh? How do you know him?"

"Me and Mama would come here every sunday! He's very nice! And Miss Kimura too!", and as quickly as it came her happy attitude disappeared. 

"I… I scared Miss Kimura,didn't I? Can you tell her I'm sorry? I really didn't mean to."

"I'm sure she will be fine. It's okay. She just… didn't understand." You trailed off.

You inhaled and clasped your hands together, tucking them under your chin.

"Do you remember what happened before you found yourself here?"

"I… I was in the hospital. Mama said my lungs didn't work right, that the doctors were going to help me… It hurt. It hurt a lot. And Mama was crying. I was so tired. All I wanted was to see Mama happy again. I just wanted to go out like before. Then we could get ice cream like we always did."

You could feel your throat tighten at the sight of tears welling up in the girl's eyes, hands in her gown tighten even further. 

"... Miss Detective… I'm not going to wake up, am I?"

Your heart dropped and you couldn't bring yourself to look her in the eye. This was the part you hated most. There were plenty of spirits who didn't understand what had happened to them. Many went on believing that they were still among the living, going about their day confined to a certain space or attached to a certain object. But, being the one to break the news never sat right with you.

"... No. I'm sorry, Chihoko." Your voice stayed steady and firm, yet gentle.

There was a heavy silence that settled. One that felt like it could drag you to the deepest depths of the ocean and never let up. From the corner of your eye you could tell even Mr. Masuda was affected by the intense wave of sadness in the room as he cupped his mouth to keep himself from choking up despite only catching half the conversation.

"...You said you wanted your Mama to be happy, right?" You started, forcing yourself to look at her again, "Well… I'm sure the thing that would make your Mama happiest… would be knowing that you were happy… that you don't hurt anymore…"

Chihoko looked up at you, ghostly tears fell from her eyes, but disappeared before they ever reached the ground. Her hands loosened their grip on her gown.

"... Chihoko, would you like some ice cream?"

She stayed silent, but nodded. You finally rose from your squat and held your hand out to Chihoko. 

"C'mon, you can choose where we sit."

She nodded again and took your hand. You felt a cold and wispy feeling envelope your hand as she began to lead you to the table in front of the windows.

"Mr. Masuda, you can go ahead and turn the lights back on. We're going to have ice cream if you don't mind." You smiled at the man who looked absolutely baffled by the situation.

"O-oh… yes! Of course!" He flicked the lights on and rushed back behind the counter.

"Is… is this part of the process?" He paused for a moment, looking for some clarity from you. 

"Uhhh yeah! Yes! Absolutely! The spirit demands an offering! And the offering must be ice cream!" You gave off a silly dramatic flare to your little speech and you heard a little giggle from the now seated ghost girl. 

"Psst, what do you want?" You leaned over slightly.

"Hmm… birthday cake ice cream with two scoops…"

"The mighty spirit demands two scoops…"

"No! Wait! Three! Three scoops!"

"Wait! Three scoops of birthday cake ice cream!"

"I also want rainbow sprinkles! Oh! And a cherry on top!"

"And make that with rainbow sprinkles and a cherry on top! So does the mighty spirit Chihoko demand it! All hail the mighty spirit!" You flare out your peacoat dramatically in emphasis, "... and uhh throw one in for me too, please."

You heard giggles erupt from the girl as Mr. Masuda quickly began putting together the orders, looking even more puzzled than before. Once finished he rushes over with two cups. You took one of the cups from his hands and raised it high above your head. 

"Dear mighty spirit! Please accept our offering!" 

You sat the cup in front of Chihoko, leaning slightly, you said softer, "May you find peace and happiness."

Chihoko smiled brightly and kicked her feet in her seat, "Thank you, Miss Detective."

"Anytime, Kiddo."

As you sat in the seat across from her and propped your head with your hand, you noticed a daydreaming look in her eyes. As if she were somewhere else completely. Where the sun was shining, the flowers were in bloom, and the beautiful birdsong rang through the air. Soon enough the ghostly girl's visage had dispersed, the seat she once occupied was once agin empty.

That knot in your throat appeared again. You bit the inside of your cheek and took slow breaths. With a hefty sigh, you rose from your chair and turned to Mr. Masuda. 

"So… so that's it? Is it coming back?" Mr. Masuda stuttered out, still very much confused.

"No. She most likely won't be coming back. If the events occur again, just call me up again and I'll take a look at it."

"Ah! That's good! Thank you so much, Detective! And uhhh about the payment-"

"Don't worry about it right now. It's late. I'll call you tomorrow and we can work something out. For now just worry about getting your business back in order." You take your ice cream cup in hand, "But I wouldn't mind taking this and a few more pints of ice cream home, if you don't mind…"

The plastic bag rustled as it swung into your leg with each stride. Mr. Masuda gladly agreed to give you some ice cream and sent you on your way with a promise of payment in the future. 

The ice cream shop may not have been far from your apartment, but each step felt heavier than the last. The streets weren't empty, but it was certainly quiet enough for your thoughts to ring louder than the idle chatter of the people on the street.

 You hated this feeling. The emotional exhaustion that came with interacting with spirits was sometimes too much to bear. All you wanted to do was have your tea and fall asleep while cuddling your cat. Maybe cry a little. Or cry a lot. Who knows? 

The thought of home was enough to will the energy to make the trek back. You felt your feet quicken the moment you saw your tiny apartment building come into view. 

Your hand blindly dug into your bag for your keys as you made your way up the strangely steep and uneven steps you have learned to navigate. The moment you pushed in the code and the door opened you heard whispers in your ears. 

Yes. Your apartment building was also haunted. 

Lucky you.

It was the reason you could afford a decent apartment for so cheap. You made a deal with the landlord to keep the spirits in check for a more affordable price on rent. Especially since the spirits were quite lively.

 They weren't aggressive exactly, but more curious and sociable. They especially liked to give you all the apartment building gossip. You can't lie, it was pretty entertaining. Like your own personal reality tv show.

And this time they came to you with news of someone breaking into your apartment.

Oh goodie. 

Your mood soured and you began to march up the stairs of the building. Of all nights some random asshole had to choose tonight. If someone was going to die tonight it certainly wasn't going to be you. You would be personally adding a new spirit to the apartment building's collection. 

It wasn't until you had reached your door had you caught the feeling of a familiar aura. Your sour mood lifted into a mix of relief and confusion.

You unlocked the door and let it swing open.

"I know we are friends and all, Shinsou, but at least give me a heads up before you go breaking into my apartment."

You reached the end of the hall and flicked on the lights to reveal the pro hero, his indigo hair tucked away under a black, slicked back wig, dark brown eye contacts over his natural purple, and heavy make-up distorting his natural features. He sat on your couch with your cat curled up in his lap, who clearly didn't seem deterred by his drastically different appearance.

That little traitor.

"Long time no see, Miss Nancy Drew. As always you are no fun to surprise."

Despite the lax nature of his words, there was a seriousness in his voice and a hard look in his eye. An uneasiness settled in your stomach. You closed your door and slipped off your shoes

"Something happened."

It was less of a question and more of a statement. He nodded. It was then you sensed a second presence. One unfamiliar to you.

"So… who's your friend hiding in my bathroom?"

You didn't like this. You had never seen Shinsou look so hesitant. Guilty almost. 

"Look. I need you to do me a favor…"

"First, I need you to tell me who the hell is in my fucking bathroom, Shinsou." Your voice had cut him off. Quick and angry you whispered. You were not in the mood to play these games. 

Shinsou let out a frustrated and defeated sigh. Your cat jumped off his lap as he leaned forward to press his intertwined hands to his mouth. 

"Shouto."

Huh?

"Number three pro hero, Shouto."

…

"WHAT?!"

Taglist: @andypantsx3

[heyidkyay]

Havin' to be human |

As it's October and Halloween is by far one of my favourite holidays, I thought I'd write something a little different than usual! This is another Matty fic, not sure how long it'll be but if it's well liked I'll post a second part? Happy October, hope you enjoy it:)

Summary: There's a fine line between the living and the dead. I realised that at a very young age and still have yet to escape it- even after forcing myself to move miles away from home. It seems that you can't escape much though in Wilmslow either, not the dead, not overly-involved flatmates, and certainly not the curly haired lad that stands hanging about in cafe's. But when have things ever been easy for me?

“Would you like another biscuit, deary?”

I glance up from my slight daze and draw my eyes away from the staircase sat just outside the living room door to meet the older woman’s weary smile. I’m fine with the six she’s already handed me but I can’t find it in myself to deny her, so I just nod minutely and give her another quiet thank you.

“Sorry about all this, I’m sure he’ll be in any second now.” The woman, Mrs O’Donald, tells me, still fiddling with the biscuit tin. It's one of those metal ones you usually find in old people’s houses, full to the brim with either shortbread or sewing needles. Always one or the other.

“It’s no worry. I don’t mind waiting, I’ve nowhere else to be.” I assure her but she just nods quickly and then starts rearranging the table for the seventh time. I leave her to it, knowing it must bring her some sense of comfort. She seems the type, the many figurines littering the shelves are all in perfect position and the cushions on the sofa look practically untouched.

But while she does that, my gaze ultimately drags its way back over to the doorway, to the bottom step of the staircase where I can still see a tiny hand gripping the banister bar, the rest of the body hidden behind the living room door’s wooden frame. It's eery but I can't keep myself from looking.

I cough lightly after a moment and rest my teacup back on the coffee table, making sure to use one of the many coasters offered, “If you don’t mind me asking, Mrs O’Donald-”

“Rosie, please.” 

With a polite smile, I nod. “Rosie.” I correct myself and don’t pay attention to the light tremors in her right hand as she refills my cup once more, I say nothing about it. “I was just going to ask if you had any more children, other than Andrew, of course.”

I’m a little startled then by the way her entire demeanour seems to shift then, as though my question has triggered something deep within her. Gone are the faint tremors and stuttering pleasantries, she’s now sat deathly still, the fidgeting and the strained smile she’s worn since the moment I’d arrived have vanished.

“Just one other.” Mrs O’Donald, or rather Rosie, answers me, her eyes caught on the fireplace mantle now, where a plethora of neatly arranged photo frames crowd together, all of them silver and very detailed. 

“Oh,” I reply quietly in return, deciding now to tread with a little caution after having witnessed her previous response, “Are there many years between them?”

The older woman seems to swallow then, her throat bobs and her thin lips tighten, before her eyes dart back to me. I try not to outwardly react, not to still under their sudden scrutiny, their coldness.

“Why? Who told you to ask that?” She immediately quizzes me, hunching further in her armchair now that it takes a great strength in me to keep from cowering back in my own.

“No one.” I hurry to reassure her, and I can hear the tight pitch of my voice, how bewildered I sound. “No one, Mrs O’Donald. I just, I just wanted to know a little more about Andrew. That's all.”

Mrs O’Donald nods then at my lie, but my assurance seems to ebb her sudden worries, which gifts me no reprieve. At all. I’ve often gotten myself into some odd situations, some even more strange than this, but the woman’s reaction to such a simple question is so peculiar that it instantly sets me on edge, not to mention that the little hand on the staircase has vanished now.

Fucking Frankie and all her meddling, I could wring her neck right about now! I think to myself helplessly. 

Frankie’s my roommate, you see, we’ve been friends since I’d first moved to town, since I’d left London and got on the first train that had been leaving the platform. I’d seen her ad in the newsagents outside the local train station, all bejewelled and with this ditzy font, and had headed into a nearby cafe to give her a call. She’d been two months behind on rent and had been desperate enough to tack up her spare room on the bulletin board there for a couple hundred quid a month. Then along came me and well, I’d had nowhere else to go. 

We’ve been as thick as thieves from the get go though, she’d actually been one to arrange this rather impromptu excursion, having set me up with a lad she knew from secondary that was apparently ‘my exact type’. Not that she really knew what that was, in truth, Frankie knew nothing of actual importance about me, even though we were dead close. She had no idea why I’d even left home, or why I’d come to Wilmslow of all places, and had never once bothered me about it. 

My sex life, on the other hand, was something she loved to bug me about to no apparent end. Enough that I’d finally relented and agreed for her to set me up with this mate of hers after having seen a picture of him on Facebook, if only for the reason she’d let this whole thing go. I was perfectly content being on my own, preferred it actually, even when it sometimes grew harder having to keep everything to myself all the time, scared to let people near. But that was just life, wasn’t it, and life was so much easier when everyone around me was none the wiser to my… situation.

Mrs O’Donald appears to have softened a bit now and I try to return the gesture when she gives me a shaky smile. “Sorry, it’s just. It’s hard, even now, to talk about, you know.”

Fuck. I struggle to keep my smile.

“I didn’t mean to pry.” I’m quick to tell her, my chest tightening as I draw in another slow breath. I can see that the small hand is back now, there, just out of the corner of my eye. “We can pretend that I didn’t even ask, hey?”

The woman just shakes her head at me though and for the millionth time today I wish I’d never stepped foot through that fucking door.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Mrs O’Donald says, although I’m pretty sure she’s only doing it to reassure herself. “It was a long, long time ago. Gary says it does me no good to linger on the memory. And our Andrew’s the same.”

I have zero fucking idea as to who Gary could possibly be, her husband maybe? But I don’t even ask, just willing myself to pop out of existence then and there. Or for her pink puffy chaise longue to eat me whole. 

“Right.” Is all I can bring myself to say, and it’s then that my mind finally relents in its stubbornness and allows my eyes to wander back over towards the staircase again, only I’m not fully prepared for what I see. The hand is still there, only now it’s joined by another, the pair of them bracketing a wan head with unrelenting eyes.

I jump on instinct at the image and send the teacup I’d taken to cradling again soaring through the air. Mrs O’Donald jumps too, though her reaction is solely down to me, and I find myself so surprised that all I can really do is ramble, “I am so sorry. Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. I’m so, so sorry, Mrs O’Donald. Here let me-”

The woman, who appears to be in better shape now that she has something to occupy herself with, is waving my apologies away freely, a tea towel already in hand as she pivots around to wipe up the spilled tea. “Not to worry, dear. I’m the same somedays, just one of those things, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” I breathe out, though my stare is still stuck on the staircase and the tiny little boy staring back at me through its wooden railings. “Just one of those things.” I murmur.

To say I made a clean break for it after that, would’ve been an absolute lie, seeing as how the second I tried to say my goodbyes to Mrs O’Donald, claiming that I suddenly felt a bit under the weather and apologising once again for the spillage, did Andrew walk through the front door.

“Oh Andrew! You’re just in time.” Mrs O’Donald all but beams, a total contrast to the woman who’s been serving me tea and biscuits in her living room for the past twenty minutes. She hurries over to the front door to properly welcome him in whilst I linger in the hallway, only a foot away from the bottom of the staircase, trying incredibly hard not to concentrate on the soundless feet kicking at the skirting-board. 

So before Andrew could even utter a word to me, or simply breathe in my direction, I was slipping between the pair of them and out the front door before you could say ‘goodbye’. I practically legged it down their street, even as Andrew called out after me in obvious confusion, and didn’t stop running until I was far too winded and amongst the noise of the high-street in town.

I wasn’t always like this. I swear.

It had started out with whispers, mostly soft and indistinct, but occasionally a single voice would stand out amongst the others. I’d be on the motorway in mum’s car and suddenly hear ‘Look out, oh God, look out!’ in a frenzied voice that would quickly cut off, or ‘Such a fucking slag, knew she’d move right on-’ on the walk home from school, and even ‘Are you sure I locked the front door before we left?’ whenever I bypassed the house at the end of this one street.

They’d drift in and out of oscillation like a poorly tuned radio. Sometimes the voices are fuzzy, almost silent and barely there, whilst other times they can be so real and immediate that they have me spinning around in a circle trying to work out who’s talking.

It quickly grew from there though, the voices went from being carried on a nonexistent wave to falling from faintly drawn lips caught in a blur of movement. I’d see them just out of the corner of my eye, whenever I’d turn a bend or glance over my shoulder. The visions also made me pause abruptly, stop to catch the breath that had left me, they were like trails of smoke caught on the wind, like wisps from a candle freshly blown out. But even after that, with the seeing and the hearing, things still changed. The blurry images adapted, became more evident, more vivid. They went from hazy chance glances to people crowding busy intersections or sitting by a bridge. Had little girls with snapped necks living in my childhood bedroom and the neighbours lost dog sniffing around my ankles.

Even then though they tended to loop, to say the same things, and follow the same path. The little girl back home would often climb the stairs at night and I’d hear her footfalls, never a step mistook, always the same pattern, the same beat. Always repeating, apologising, crying. Enough that it started to drain me, enough so that I could no longer sleep in that house at night. Enough to force me out and away. 

Only recently have they started to interact more, see that I truly am there, that I can see them as much as they can see me. They don’t appear to forget as much either. Don’t repeat like they did for so many of the years before. When I ask them questions, they can choose to answer, they differentiate from their previous paths, follow me about with a questioning gaze instead of continuing the same cycle. 

That little boy back at the O’Donald’s house, he was one of them. He knew I’d seen him too. From the second I’d sat down. But he’d been reluctant to come any closer than the staircase, why I don’t know, but I chose not to dwell too long on it.

I finally breathe a sigh of relief when I see the front door to our flat, all pretty with the wreath Frankie had adorned it with, not to mention the brightly coloured paint that set it vastly apart from the rest of the street’s. I don’t think I’d ever been more thankful to see it, in fact, not even after that first time when Frankie had invited me inside and let me call it home. 

“Oi, and there you are! Honestly, what do you think you’re playing at? I’ve just had Andrew on the phone, ranting away! Said he just got in through the door when you all but bolted your way out of the house to run like a mad man on a mission down the street! I mean, what on Earth were you-” I’ve just slipped into the warmth of our little two bed and Frankie pauses the second she rounds the corner to the hallway, catching the gaunt face I’m sporting. “Oh, shit. You alright?”

I can only chuckle as I struggle to remove the coat I’d thrown on earlier. “Oh me? I’m fine!” I huff sarcastically, all but chucking the leather jacket up onto one of the hangers we have in the hall, “Fucking brill, me!" I add, but I’m still fighting for breath as I slump against the wall slightly to cast her a narrow-eyed glance, “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me Andrew had a dead little brother?”

“He what?” Frankie shoots straight back, eyes as wide as bowling balls and bleached eyebrows practically hitting her hairline.

“Andrew. Dead brother.” I repeat, forcing myself back onto steady feet so that I can slip past her and head into the kitchen, “What is there not to get about that?”

“No I definitely got it, just… processing?” She replies in that familiar twang of hers, voice carrying its way through the flat. 

“How could you not think to tell me, of all people, that tiny little detail?” I complain in a whiney groan as I set to sticking the kettle on, I'm still struggling to wrap my head around the whole ordeal and sitting honestly feels like the worst thing I could possibly do.

I hear her footfalls follow shortly behind me and when they stop I glance up to find her stood in the doorway, eyes still wide as ever.

“I didn’t know.” Is what Frankie settles on, her arms hanging limply by her sides, “I didn’t know.”

I pause immediately. Her words well and truly hitting me like a truck. 

“Oh, oh shit, Fran. God, I’m so sorry.” I hurry to apologise, a hand covering my mouth as she slowly makes her way across the kitchen tiles. “I didn’t even think. I had no idea. Fuck."

A startled laugh escapes her at that, but I know there’s no real humour in it. “Yeah, me either.”

We just stand there staring at each other for a long while, both in obvious shock. Me trying to get over the experience, her coming to terms with the newfound information I'd all but thrown in her face.

It’s the kettle whistling that sets the two of us back into motion. I look over to it and then back at her, we both seem to just move on instinct then, her heading to the fridge for the milk, semi-skimmed for her, almond for me, and I grab two mugs to fill with the usual brand of tea.

A quiet settles after that, until we’re both curled up on the sofa at least, tele on low and a brew in hand. Fran’s taken to sprawling herself across her end whilst I crowd myself up against the sofa’s back, knees touching my chest.

“So, dead little brother?”

I hum lowly at the cut in the silence, watching Fran's expression from over the rim of my cup, steam hazing the view.

“How dead we talking here?”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes me as I grip my mug a little tighter, mainly just wanting the warmth. There always came an unrelenting cold whenever dealing with the dead, and I was almost always cold these days.

“Pretty dead.” I tell her, pursing my lips when the image of his little face comes to the forefront of my mind, “He had these dark circles around his eyes, big and blue. He looked so,” I draw in a breath, “I don’t know, he just looked so small and bony. Wasting almost.”

“Cheers.” I snap myself out of it and look back over when I hear Frankie’s voice, I wince at the expression she now wears, all pale and pensive, though trying her best to cover it up. 

“Sorry.” I mumble, but she merely waves me off, shaking herself out of it before she takes a sip of her milky brew.

“Don’t matter, just, can’t believe I never knew of it.” She exhales heavily, “He was young though, yeah? So like maybe he died back when Andy were a kid or summat.” 

My eyes narrow in thought, “I don’t reckon so, when I asked whether she had any other children Mrs O’Donald got all weird about it, she just changed all of a sudden, and then when I wondered the same thing you just did, I questioned how many years were between them- the boys, I mean. She switched up, Fran. Like, gone was the wobbly old woman and there was this massive fuckin’ viper ready to strike me down.”

“Weird.” Frankie comments and she pulls the face she makes whenever something doesn't sit right with her. “Never seen her act like that, was always so skittish whenever we saw her out. Her husband never let her leave the house much though, my mum reckoned they had a bit of a domestic going on.”

I find myself glancing out the living room window, mulling her words over as well as the entire situation. “Maybe. The kid seemed withdrawn too, didn’t move from off the staircase the whole time I was there.”

“They usually move about then?” I hear Fran ask me and I hum as I blink, “These ghosts of yours...”

A small smile graces my lips and I roll my eyes once more before turning back to her, “They’re not my ghosts. And yeah, typically. Sometimes they’re stuck in a loop-”

“What, like reliving their death?” She grimaces at the very notion.

“Yeah,” I admit a little reluctantly, because it always seems to make me feel uneasy whenever I linger too long on it. “But then they sort of become more animate once they know I can see them too.”

“Oh, so you’re sort of like a battery then?”

“Pardon?” I snort, unable to help myself.

“A battery!” Frankie parrots a little livelier this time, smiling over at me as she pushes herself to sit up properly. “You like power them and crap, give them the energy to step off the path, you know?”

I wrinkle my nose, “Never thought of it like that.”

“‘Course not! But that’s why you have me, in’t it?” Fran snipes back, settling her tea down on the coffee table to give me her full focus. “Tell me more about Andrew’s brother then, did he say anything, do anything?”

I sigh whilst shaking my head, saddened by the fact that I now feel as though I have to set my cup down too. Frankie seems to get like this sometimes, where she gets overly excited by the things that intrigue her. When I’d first mentioned all this seeing spirits thing to her- it was only after I’d taken a trip with her to her nan’s house and seen her grandad mowing the grass- I’d still been getting used to the whole change in sight thing and had waved to the old man in the garden as we’d walked by, only realising just after that Frankie's grandad had been dead almost ten years. Fran had been eager to learn more once she’d pestered me enough into coming clean about the whole thing. Not once has she made me regret telling her though.

“He didn’t say anything, just kept looking. Watching.” I tell her truthfully, thinking back to the boy's empty eyes.

“Creepy.”

I chuck a cushion at her for that, which she only narrowly avoids by ducking, it skids across the living room floor and bumps against the tall cabinet we brought home a few weeks ago. “Not creepy, just, he’s dead, Fran. It’s all, well, it's all a little bit creepy but they're still people.”

She just shrugs and gestures for me to continue.

I sigh, “He wouldn’t leave the staircase, even when Andrew came home. Most times ghosts will just carry out their tasks, but sometimes when loved ones are near they’ll deviate and track them instead. This kid just sat there though, watching his mum and brother as he kicked his feet off the skirting-board at the bottom of the stairs."

Frankie hums as she listens, but then pipes up with “Did he die there then, on the staircase maybe?” when I’ve finished and it breaks me from my own train of thought. 

“‘Spose so, bit grim to think about though. Could’ve just tripped and fell, hit his head, died instantly.” I reply, chewing on my bottom lip as I fight not to think of any other scenario that could’ve occurred. Fran, on the other hand, is not like that though- meaning, I wouldn’t be surprised if she came home one day and told me she was going to become Wilmslow’s next big detective.

“Could’ve been pushed too, by the dad maybe? He wasn’t much of man, bit too short, too hefty, and had the ugliest mug you'd ever seen- me and mum always wondered how he’d managed to score a pretty thing like Mrs O’Donald.”

I purse my lips and inhale, “Could’ve been any of them if we’re going down that route.”

I feel more than see Frankie still then. “What, you reckon Mrs O’Donald could have done it?”

“Maybe,” I shrug a single shoulder, picking up my mug again. “I mean, she changed so quickly when I was there and I’d only been with her twenty minutes. Never know what could’ve happened behind closed doors.”

“Shit.” Fran murmurs and I almost feel bad when I add, “Could’ve just as easily been Andrew too.” Because her head snaps up so quickly she actually winces.

“What? No. Not Andrew, he’s far too lovely! Even in school he was well liked, everyone wanted to be his mate.” Frankie argues, adamant as she shakes her head. “There’s no way.”

“Okay, didn’t mean to upset you, babe, but I was only mentioning it. Everyone has a story, Fran, have things that they hide, that they don’t want other people to see.”

Frankie shakes her head and releases a heavy breath, sat cross-legged now, “No, I’m not upset. Well I am, but only ‘cause I set you up with him- and what does that say about me if he’s a killer!”

I pause entirely at that, before I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up out of my throat, throwing another cushion that does actually hit her this time. “You’re such a fucking self-obsessed twat.”

“Oi!” She immediately retorts, chucking the pillow straight back at me. “I’m not, but just- could you imagine? I’d have to rethink my entire life!”

I roll my eyes, “You’re such a drama queen.”

“And you, my dear, are in dire need of a good shag. So I apologise that I’m the only one here with their head screwed on straight.” She stretches over the settee to grab at her cup, wrinkling her nose when she finds it to now be cold, though she still drinks it. “But at least we can rule Andy out now, even if he didn’t push his brother down the stairs I don’t think he’ll be wanting to see you again.”

“Oh ta, Fran. I’m a catch, thank you very much.” I snark, all bark and no bite. “But yeah, glad we can put all this shit behind us now.”

“Um, no. That is not what I said. Now it just means that we can move onto the next guy on the list!”

“List?!” I squawk indignantly, Frankie just grins all shark like.

“Huh, I figured you would have worked that out by now. You’ve been here seven months, babe, so that means I’ve had thirty something weeks to work out a catalogue of people who might have yet to catch your eye.”

“Frankie.” I warn. 

But she just keeps on grinning, the cow. “You can thank me for it later.”

And she leaves it at that, pushing up off the sofa to stand and make her way back into the kitchen, “Fancy another?” She asks me with her raised mug in hand. I huff but ultimately nod, not looking forward to this charade she’s been apparently been planning in her head for months now. 

It’s a couple days later and the dust has barely settled when Fran asks me to meet up with her in this local coffee shop just off the main street in town. It’s her absolute favourite, she used to frequent it all the time up until her ex from college got a job there, but according to the rumour mill he apparently just got the sack after having been caught selling on the side- “coffee and a baggie, please and thanks.” Anyway, Frankie had been over the moon to hear about it and had popped in first chance she got, came home grinning that same afternoon with a latte in hand and a lemon loaf to share in the other. 

The loaf was to die for though, so I couldn’t blame her for the ruthlessness and understood why she was so keen to meet up there. I only wished she’d given me a bit more notice, I’d been halfway through researching a little more into the O’Donalds- because I could never seem to let anything go- that I’d barely even had the chance to run a brush through my hair. Still, I managed to make it in time and found myself smiling as I pushed through the door to the shop, a warmth wafting over me.

My eyes scan the crowd first, it’s not busy, only a handful of people litter the open space, but the cafe’s really welcoming, makes it feel like a place you can come to hideaway, what with all the dim lighting and wood furnishing. I step in further but can’t seem to catch sight of Fran just yet, so I pull out my phone to shoot her a text, figuring I can just order while I wait. Only, she’s apparently already beat me to it, texted I mean, telling me that she won’t be able to make it, that something came up, and then practically demanding me to stay and try the place out.

It’s a heavy sigh that I let go of as I send her off a quick reply and tuck my phone back into my pocket, feeling a little miffed about the fact that she’d forced me out of the flat only to bail at the very last second.

“You alright?”

I blink at the sudden voice and instinctively glance up to find its owner, a curly haired male leaning against the shop’s counter looks me over with the beginnings of a smile. 

My brows shoot up on their own accord and I glance over my shoulder to make sure that he’s actually talking to me, which seemingly makes him laugh.

“Yeah, I meant you there, Dottie.” He says and when I look back over he’s sporting a proper grin.

I frown at the gifted name and tilt my head down in confusion to peer at the outfit I’d chosen, “What?”

“Your scarf.” He tells me with a jerk of his chin, gesturing towards the silk square I’d used to tie my hair back only half an hour earlier. Instantly I reach up to touch it whilst he merely smirks, sharp eyes still trained on me.

“Oh, um. Yeah I’m alright, why?”

He simply shrugs and it’s with that gesture that I catch sight of the guitar case behind him, it’s a similar colour to that of his eyes but covered in an array of stickers and pins. “Look like you’ve been stood up or something, face is all... sad.” 

I can’t help the airy chuckle that escapes me, he’s hit the nail on the head there. “Not sad, more like pissed off.” I shoot back and step closer to the counter to get a better look at what they’ve got to offer. I’m already here, so who would it hurt if I grabbed myself a treat? 

“Ah, so you were stood up then!”

I turn my head towards him now that we’re standing more in line with one another, his hip resting against the display case, me facing the chalked boards. “Could say that. Was meant to be meeting my flatmate here, but turns out she couldn’t make it.”

He hums, pursing his lips a tad as he watches me and I just let him, looking back up towards the menu- only, it’d be much easier to see if I was wearing my glasses. Hated the things though, made me look all square, like my head was too big for my shoulders or something. Stupid, I know. But I suppose I was just that vain.

Frankie would laugh about it if she were actually here, I think, already knowing about the blur I’d been met with. 

“You work here then?” I quiz the guy, figuring I could either just get a simple breakfast tea or… “Know what’s best to get?”

At my question, he seems to shift so that he’s truly facing me and I note the wooden stirrer he’s holding between his teeth, as well as the way his eyes flitter across my face. “Don’t work here, no. Just waiting for my mate to finish up with his shift, though I am in here enough to know that the honey bee cortado is an actual, honest to God, blessing.”

“That so?”

That smile of his widens, his stare relentless even as a tall, curly haired boy clad in a green apron wanders in from the back.

“G, make this girl one of your specials, will you?” He says to the barista, or ‘G’ rather, who doesn’t even bat an eye at the ask, so I’m guessing that this is a usual thing. “That’s George, by the way,” The stranger beside me states, “And I’m Matty.” Weirdly he extends a hand out to me with that and I feel mostly amused as I reach out to take it, shaking his with a smile that can’t be helped.

“Y/n.” I return. 

Matty hisses between clenched teeth, looking as though my name has actually injured him somehow, my hand still cradled in his. “Nah, sorry, can’t get behind that. Don’t suit you.” He flashes a quick glance over his shoulder at the barista or well, said mate George, “Doesn’t suit her does it, G?”

“Don’t suit her.” George answers with a minute shake of his head, fiddling away with the coffee machine. His tone’s gruff, matches his stoney exterior a bit, but I can see the small curve of his mouth as he flicks a lever. 

“See?” Matty practically beams, extending the hand not holding mine outwards to further exaggerate his point. “Dottie though, I like that.”

“Makes me sound like an old woman.” I huff, wrinkling my nose enough that my brows crowd towards one another. 

“And still, you set my heart racing, darling.” He swoons theatrically and I can’t not roll my eyes at him before glancing downwards once more.

“You gonna gimme my hand back anytime soon, or?” I ask and Matty seems to realise then that he’s still in fact got my hand held in his, but that revelation only has him grinning harder and he moves to swing the joint pair between us both. He’s far too sure of himself, I deem.

“Nah, been chilly all morning, ain’t it? So I reckon I’m doing you a favour by warming you up.”

I raise a single brow- yup, what a cocky little shit. “Could always order yourself a brew if you’re cold.”

He pulls a face at my suggestion, “Wouldn’t feel the same though, would it?”

“Well, it looks as though you’re times up anyway, seems George here has just finished with my drink.” I reply, smiling as I move to step away, but Matty holds strong, leaving his guitar case to lean against the counter alone while he follows after me. I chuckle, shaking my head at him, “You always this needy?”

Matty hums but he’s nothing if not persistent, “Might be. Why, would that put you off?”

I narrow my eyes at him but turn to grab at the mug George has pushed onto the counter. “Might do.” I say, unable to help myself, “But sweaty palms do, and I also need my hand free to pay for this.”

Matty’s chocolate coloured eyes drop down to my mug and then back up to George, who’s stood waiting patiently by the till. “I’ll get it.” He suddenly tells me and then immediately starts riffling through his coat pocket. I blink, look between both him and George, who still appears as though this is nothing to be surprised about, and it’s only when Matty withdraws a crumpled fiver from his back pocket do I find my voice.

“You’re fine! It’s alright, I can get it, honest. But thanks.”

Matty waves me off, awkwardly what with him still holding both my hand and the newly acclaimed five pound note, then rolls his eyes at my rambling, “Nah honestly, I’ve got it. Least I can do for forcing you to put up with G’s crappy coffee.”

George just snorts, snatching the fiver from his mate’s hand, while I purse my lips slightly, “I thought you claimed it to be an honest to a God blessing? If this is shit, I’m holding you accountable.”

“Ignore him, it’s instinctual for him to be a twat.” George sighs as he closes up the till, Matty’s brow furrows.

“Oi firstly, you’re the twat. And secondly, where’s my change?”

“In my tip jar.” George is quick to retort, forcing a pleased grin for his friend before he’s walking his way back through the door he came from, “I’ll be two minutes, yeah? And you’d better be ready to leave ‘cause I’m not dealing with Adam’s bitching again.”

Matty just tuts and I realise that now it’s just him and I in a shop full of people who’ve been watching this entire exchange. “Ignore him,” He tells me, “Well, don’t. Adam will definitely be pissed if we’re late, but a couple minutes for you won’t hurt anybody.”

I just shake my head, hoping to hide my smile as I pick up the recently brewed coffee to take a sip. It turns out that as well as being an arrogant prat, Matty is also a liar, because the drink is heaven sent and I prove it with the soft sigh that falls from my lips. “Fuck, that’s really good.”

When I glance back up I’m only a tad embarrassed by my reaction when I see Matty’s cheeky smirk, even more so when he wets his bottom lip and I have to force myself to look away.

“G’s known for his coffee around here, should see the Yelp reviews from the yummy mummy’s that stop in after dropping their kids off at playgroup- we actually spent an entire night reading through them once, taking shots every time G cringed.” Matty reveals with a conspiratorial grin and he seems to delight in hearing me laugh. 

“I can almost imagine it.”

He hums, this low thing that resonates from deep within, “Should join us one time.”

“Us?”

When Matty nods his whole body moves with it, as though the rest of him disdains the thought of being left idle, the thought makes me smile. “Yeah, got this band. Four of us, me and a few mates. Should come see us rehearse, if you’re up for it.”

I squint back at him, not refusing the offer but wondering over it. “We’ve only just met, what if this is all a plan to lure me into your music obsessed cult?”

“Well, if it’s a cult, it’s a fucking small one. But I don’t think we’ll be Britain’s next Manson family so I reckon you’ll be alright.” Matty quips back and I just nod, taking another sip to hide my growing grin.

“You do this a lot, don’t you?” I can’t help but say, and at the tilt of Matty’s questioning head I carry on, “Flirt and hope you can rope some poor girl into bed by saying you’re in a band. Play ‘em a few chords and flash that smile, not that I’d blame them.”

Matty appears to take it in stride though and doesn’t even comment on the assumption, “And why wouldn’t you blame them? Is it the charming smile, or am I just that fit?”

I snort, then cover my mouth to keep myself from spitting out the sip I’d taken, only a little ashamed by the noise I’d just made. “No, think it’s more down to the fact that you’ve still to let go of my hand. Reckon even if I say no, you’ll still find a way to drag me along with you.”

“Ah, how you wound me, darling!” And our connected palms start swaying again, I realise in the next moment, after having looked down, that Matty’s closed the distance between us even further. I startle only slightly when my eyes lock right onto his. “So, how about it then? You coming or staying?”

And just as I’m about to reply, biting back the smile that wants to overwhelm my face, do I see him again. Just out of the corner of my eye. The flicker of a face pressed up against the shop’s window. I still instantly and the cup slips from my hand.

The boy, it’s the O’Donald boy and he's staring right back at me. 

[songofmyartandwords]

I wonder if the paths of the troupe gramarye and the aquato family circus ever crossed?

[iammistressofmyfate]

I am so close to finishing Haunted!AU...someone send me some encouragement to just finish the damn thing lmao

[gsstories]

MEGA AU: The lore of Genesis Virtud

In this AU, the events of all dangers of Freddy Fazbear locations all takes place in a shorter time. William isn't stuck as Springtrap for 30 years, more like 15 or something, some characters are younger and all that stuff. All events aside from that go the same except for one key aspect: the addition of Gen in the timeline and the possible agreement of being two nightguards instead of just one.

At the time, Genesis is a young college student who left her not so great parents and went to study, although not full on sure on WHAT to study for. She decided to go into mechanics cause she was interested in it at the moment. Anyway, college and apartment bills ain't cheap and she gotta get a job. She finds out that a pizzeria is looking for nightguards and she immediately jumps into the chance to work. She just so happens to be working with one of her buddies, Michael Schmidt, who she isn't particularly close to but they are somewhat friendly with each other. The two work together at the place at night, Michael managing the cameras and Gen, well, she wonders the pizzeria even when knowing it could be dangerous. She had been told countless times but she don't really care about it. So she wonders around often and she begins to realize something is off about the animatronics. Shadows (or what look like shadows) that don't have their real shape are always seen by her, often looking at her dead in the eye.

Genesis has had a gift ever since she was born: she was able to see ghosts and communicate with them. This made people and even her own parents find her creepy whenever she talked to people they couldn't see. So, you can imagine who she saw with the animatronics. Yes, the missing children.

She wasn't surprised when she saw them move, I mean, ghosts can do bizarre things even when dead. Although this was one of the most bizarre. She doesn't know when, she doesn't know why, but the animatronics seemed... friendly towards her. Maybe it was the fact she could see their agonizing souls, maybe it was because she was nice, whatever it was, they were fine with her walking around the place. With Michael, however, that was a different story, obviously, so Gen kind of became a peacekeeper between her fellow nightguard and the animatronics.

Even with their rage, the animatronics were still kids. They were needy, clingy, and Genesis just radiated that big sisterly energy that just made them reach out to her. And Genesis was what you would call a bleeding heart so she let them reach out to her. It may have been dangerous, yes, but these were kids. Children whose lives were taken at an early stage, children who were angry and upset is an understatement. They were furious.

So she took care of them. Hugged them, pet them, held their metallic hands, just gave them the affection they needed and craved so much. She couldn't save them now, she was years too late, but maybe she could relieve their souls a little. She got close to them, she cared for them after they were tossed away so long ago.

Some sweet moments were her talking to the animatronics, playing with them, teaching them some things she either learned in college or some random facts that she thinks they might find interesting. She found a TV and some VHS tapes that were Scooby Doo episodes and put them on for them and they loved them! All sitting down on the floor enjoying the show, Foxy having his head laying on Gen's lap as she pets his head. Adorable indeed.

She knew a 5th child was around, she saw them sometimes. They were more skeptical, untrusting. She didn't blame them so she was patient, calm and kind. Slowly, she began learning their names...

Gabriel, Jeremy, Suzie, Fritz, Cassidy...

Did she hear Evan...?

It was all nice and sweet until Gen and Michael got fired for tampering with the animatronics. Gen knew it was wrong but she got curious and wanted to help the kids. Unfortunately, that would no longer be possible. She does seem to catch some glimpses of certain children in her apartment complex though...

This happened when the new Freddy Fazbear location opened. Gen and Michael applied to find out what happened and the animatronics were aggressive just as before. And the cycle repeats, Gen befriends the animatronics, cares for them and loves them, even the withered ones. She makes sure they are okay (well, as okay as they can be when damaged) and showing she will always be with them even if she isn't there physically with them. She wants them to know she will never forget them. She befriends the Puppet, she knows they know more than they let on and she wants to help understand.

She learned their name

Charlie...

And the cycle repeats.

Fired once again, some years passed and Gen decided to study bioengineering and work with machines. A reminder of her time at the Fazbear Locations. Fazbear Fright opens up and she reunites with Michael and they both start working there again. The cycle repeats? Well, yes but no.

Genesis is able to reach out to the Phantoms but barely. Then the damn rabbit appears. Instead of an agonizing child soul, she is met with a murderous bastard who wishes to bring pain and suffering to those around him. And that is when she learns of Mr. Afton, Mike's father. Before the place is burnt to the ground though, Gen kicked that rotten rabbit's ass. So worth it!

In Sister Location, it was meant to be one person. Just one but Gen tagged along. She laughed when Michael was called Eggs Benedict. She was kind of worried when the animatronics were shocked. She was able to reach out to them, befriended them. Ballora and Funtime Foxy were her favorite. Ballora was rather kind when not trying to attack and Funtim Foxy was fun to be around. Michael was fine, they weren't going after him. Gen was the peacekeeper. She met Circus Baby and was quick to learn the soul's name.

Elizabeth...

Then the scooper incident happened. Gen witnessed Michael's organs be ripped out and replaced with a mess of wires and metal. She was horrified but she didn't run. She stayed with Michael despite the horror she had seen. She didn't leave his side, not even when he became a literal zombie. The stench was unbearable but she didn't care. She wanted to free the souls, let them find peace. She still caught glimpses of them.

Then the Pizzeria Simulator events happened. The cycle repeats.

And then it ends once the place burns down. She saw it on the news. 'Michael's doing' she thought 'Could have told me we were doing arson again.'

She did not expect the message from hours ago. She did not expect to drop her phone and then sink into her knees with a blank look on her face as tears fell to the ground.

'Gen. It's me, Michael. I finally did it. I'm setting the souls free, and sending William to Hell where he belongs… Now, I can finally be at rest. I'm afraid this is the last time we'll ever speak, but please don't cry for me. This is exactly what I want. I can reunite with my brother and sister. No one has to suffer anymore because of my family's tragedy. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me, but now you can live your own life. This is goodbye, my dear friend…'

Life was hard. Odd. Normal. She didn't catch a glimpse of those souls anymore. She couldn't see Michael's soul. Not even once. It made her upset. She was miserable for months but she eventually recovered.

She finished her studies, got a degree in bioengineering and an MD. A smart, wild yet compassionate woman she became. She adopted a child, a boy who was as mischiveous as she was when younger.

She builts animatronics in honor of her lost friends, bringing joy and happiness just as they brought her the same joy, although without all the souls and the arson. Everything is fine. Everyone is fine.

And then the cycle repeats.

[mmani-e]

Hello! After all this effort, behold:

DANGANRONPA DEMIX, THH EDITION!

Dr Demix 2

Finally got the talentswap designs I have for the THH characters one and done with! You can click through the read more section for some fun design insights. I'm intending on uploading a doc containing short lore bits about them eventually.

Kyoko Kirigiri - Ultimate Affluent Progeny

So Kyoko's design was both kinda simple, kinda not, wanted to give her a very fine and regal kinda attitude to her but not arrogant as that's very much Byakuya's thing. Her story is that she loves her dad more than the family business and her grandpa so she abandons detective work and just uses her brain to help her dad out.

Makoto Naegi - Ultimate Novelist

Makoto is a wonderful guy, just great all around. He loves writing children's books and happy stories. This is his main coping mechanism so he doesn't have to process any negative emotions he gets, the rest he can't process… well they go into a murderous psychopath alter.

Aoi Asahina - Ultimate Lucky Student

Shoujo protagonist Aoi. Cute, headstrong, affective, competitive, these are all the traits that make her fight for her friends and clash with Kyoko (and more often than not Byakuya) in the killing game, even when all hope seems lost… she pushes through, unafraid to let tears spill from her eyes for all those lost, but pushing all the same.

Byakuya Togami - Ultimate Detective

This one, I wanna go into more lore territory, cause I kinda memed around his last desc I gave him so here goes:

"A disgraced heir of the Togami household, Byakuya lost the competition that would've secured his riches. Disdainful and bitter, he sought out to get to the bottom of why he lost, uncovering a rabbit hole in the process. By the end, he proved his sibling a cheater, but it didn't matter because by the end as he found the sweet satisfaction of uncovering secrets and crushing liars and cheaters under the weight of their hubris far more satisfying than any inheritance."

Sayaka Maizono - Ultimate Spirit Medium

So Sayaka isn't a clairvoyant at all like Yasuhiro, in fact her entire skillset is completely different, first of all she is like an actual psychic, and I based her design off of the japanese Itako, quite loosely. Very interesting group, look it up, also she'll never use these powers in the killing game because I dunno how to even approach these rituals or what they look like or how to write them while remaining respectful, so she won't do it in a killing game for the express reason of her not having the right tools available and not wanting to disrespect her traditions.

Leon Kuwata - Ultimate Swimmer

I really wanna draw him again, all these characters again tbh, and I wanna show off the patterns on his wetsuit. It's a whole coral reef under there, that anemone and clownfish bit is only one part of a whole reef stretching his midline.

Sakura Ogami - Ultimate Programmer

Sakura has installed chips into her body to help optimize her body processes and also cause why not. As for the muscles, she's an Assembly programmer, the programs she's made can run on calculators she loves it.

Chihiro Fujisaki - Ultimate Martial Artist

Chihiro's design here with the two belts is an explicit nod to his preferred martial art - Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, so unlike Sakura in canon who'd be easy to imagine cracking someone's skull in half with a chop, Chihiro's approach is more crawling onto someone and bringing them down to the floor with grappling like an angry halfling monk. As for the belts themselves, on his head is his final junior belt, while around his waist is his current belt, he's not a black belt yet because he's still too young for it.

Celestia Ludenberg - Ultimate Baseball Star

Celestia actually isn't a legend in this AU, Taeko is. Celestia hates that and wants to start a baseball career going international, whatever the hell that means is up to her own definition, but she wants to be remembered forever as Celestia, not Taeko. Also extra sentence, but this is the SINGLE hardest design I've ever had to deal with here, I think in the future I'll be drawing all her little accessories and I have an alt costume for her I have in mind.

Hifumi Yamada - Ultimate Pop Star

So I changed Hifumi's story as I originally outlined in the OG post with him. He was friends with Aoi all his life, pretty much his only friend at all, and ever since he was little he had an obsession with writing songs, because he was obsessed with stuff like anime openings and was content to just keep the songs to himself. It wasn't till Aoi convinced him to share some of his songs that he started his journey to success, but bc he's not traditionally attractive, his first hits were literally just… his voice being played over other more attractive singers and it wasn't until very very recently that he even performed a song of his for the first time.

Toko Fukawa - Ultimate Fanfic Writer

So while Hifumi was clearly a Doujinshi but due to weird translation, ended up as fanfic creator, Touko is straight up a FF then Wattpad then AO3 girl, who would get obsessed with this really shitty, tripe manga that she didn't even like reading. It did however have super hot dudes in it, so she wrote good stories of those characters when she got frustrated with the actual authorial content - which was always.

Yasuhiro Hagakure - Ultimate Gambler

Quite LITERALLY the never stop gambling meme personified into a guy. He can lose 3 mil on slot machines but always comes out fine because it means if he keeps gambling he'll eventually run into his 1/3 and win giga millions, what he needs to pay off his debts. It isn't just with luck though either because his personality and lack of intelligence or understanding of most the rules of the games he plays means he'll never react the way he should when getting a good hand in poker or a bad draw in blackjack, so he wins those games almost always through just… stupidity.

Mukuro Ikusaba - Ultimate Biker

She's number 16 in her gang, and is easily the most loyal enforcer and taskman of the gang. She does anything she's told, to a grim and disciplined degree not typical for hooligan bike gangers, she doesn't really desire a seat as top dog of the gang though, after all she's got school to worry about, and her sister.

Mondo Owada - Ultimate Warlord

So his relationship and Kiyotaka's is gonna be interesting, because I don't want him to be exactly like Mukuro at all, who was just sort of an all-obsessed Yandere. It's more like he's always chafing under Taka, who is less than friendly with him in this AU, really the main way he even lets Taka boss him around is because he pays incredibly well and helps keep his gang members from devolving back into the unstructured, chaotic criminal life, the same that took his brother years ago.

Oh and yeah, he still looks like Guile, as he should.

Sparkling Justice - Ultimate Killer Killer

Yeah it's a reference to Killer Killer, sue me I love the manga. He has Hajirahara's ahoge, and I thought it'd be cute to also give him a mask just like the other Makoto from a Kodaka game series (Raincode.) Also, while Genocide jack stuffs all her scissors in her skirt, Makoto keeps a truth gun with "truth bullets" as his main weapon, the gun he stores inside the big book in the chibi of just Makoto, and the bullets kept on his person as the red buttons all over his body, which he pulls out when he needs to reload.

"Kiyotaka Ishimaru" - Ultimate Fashionista

Unlike Mukuro and Junko, Mondo absolutely cannot hide the fact that he acts nothing like Kiyotaka, though this is surprisingly fine to everyone else, because unlike Junko who plastered herself onto literally everything, Mondo always obfuscated himself from the public spotlight, at most showing only his suits while he hid his face behind something conveniently placed. Which played primarily to his vision of an ultimate fashionista, who was above everyone and catered to the rich and powerful.

Junko Enoshima - Ultimate Moral Compass

This was a fun one, I decided to let her have her red hair because I believe it to be the "natural" look of her hair, while attaching little clips of dyed hair to her buns as a replacement to keep her shape sorta and keep the strawberry blonde somwehere on her. Understand that while she is the "moral compass" she is still pretty deranged, and the only reason she focuses so much on keeping everyone on their best behavior is because it's endlessly entertaining to her to make her fellow moral committee members upset when she blatantly makes a mockery of the rules while still keeping kids on their best behavior to make a point.

Kiyotaka Ishimaru - Ultimate Fashionista and Tyrant, the Iron Hand of Despair

Taka's design I wanted to sort of focus on this sort of, holier-than-thou idea, where I wanted to make him look a lot fancier and upper-class than Junko does in his standard highschool fit compared to him. I wanted him to have an upper-crust sort of look

If you're reading this after reading this all, thanks! You're a wonderful person :) Signing off...

Mani

[brucewaynehater101]

Didn't know who else to send this to, so suffer my brain rot, I guess ♡

Anyway I've been on a fake powers!Tim kick and just the idea of fake psychic/medium!Tim looking unrevealed!hood-jason in the helmet and telling him he'd personally fist fight the crime lords personal demons. Jason is just "child no???? Also how would you manage that??"

Turns out that second question really should have stayed inside the head because Tim just smiled serenely, and 2 hours later, the Joker had been brutally assaulted.

Also, Tim did this as Tim, not as Robin. Jason is now reevaluating litterally everything he was told about this prissy rich kid

Fudge. I love a good fake psychic!Tim AU.

Let's see... as far as fics, obviously we've got to recommend "cards on the table" by wesslan. It's a good Tim joins batfam late au.

Shit... There's another really good one where Tim pretends to be a psychic because he can't otherwise explain how he knows who the Bats are (he's afraid of going to jail or something). They even "train" his powers, lmao. I can't find it, though :(

EDIT: "psych you out" by lukewarmbeefstew. It's locked so you'll need an AO3 account

Anyways! Two AUs inspired by this idea:

First one: Psych inspired AU - Tim, instead of becoming the third Robin, opens up his own psychic detective agency. He utilizes his stalking, hacking, and sneaking skills to gain information on people and pretends all of this "came to him in a vision." He starts this agency a little before Jason dies. Therefore, Jason uses his services to find more info about his bio mom (cause he doesn't want Bruce to find out anything and the agency promises secrecy). Tim finds out all the crimes Shelia committed, passes that info to Jason, and unknowingly prevents his death. Jason and Bruce still have a falling out, but Jason just moves in with Dick instead. The Bats are trying to prove that he's lying about his capabilities, but they can't quite catch him yet.

Second one: Tim, as the Dick Grayson fan he is, doesn't want to implicate Dick by admitting that his Robin gave away their identities to nine year old Tim Drake. Therefore, he knocks on Bruce Wayne's door and tells him that his "vibes are rancid" and Tim's there to fix em. Tim ends up becoming Robin and spends the majority of his career ensuring anyone who can give away his non-psych status (e.g. Martian Manhunter, Raven, etc.) are not in the same room with Tim and a Bat. He also has to go out of his way to procure information via stalking without the Bats somehow figuring it out.

The second one fits the ask better! Tim in that one is unhinged and has a habit of speaking in what he calls his psychic mannerisms. He has to sound all mysterious and mystic and shit to sell the act, but he also ends up being blunt as hell. This is how he ends up telling Bruce that his aura is "like a kicked puppy Bat dipped in angst glitter sauce." No, he does not elaborate.

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

-> Pairing: Ghost!Yoon Jeonghan x Medium-Choi!Reader

-> Featuring: Brother!Seungcheol, Cousin! Vernon, Doctor!Joshua (reader has a minor to severe crush on him to begin with), best friends Hoshi, Woozi, and Mingyu, God!Jun, spiritual advisor!Minghao, Patient's dad!Wonwoo and the rest of SEVENTEEN. There will be a few OC's also. I'll put there names later.

-> Sypnosis: After a strange encounter, Jeonghan wakes up outside of his body. The only person who can see him is Y/N, a woman with a gift (or curse as she would call it) who is able to see and communicate with the deceased that volunteers at the hospital. But Jeonghan isn't dead... not yet anyway.

-> Warnings: Paranormal au. Jeonghan is in a coma. Psychics/Mediums. Mentions of ex-girlfriends. Jeonghan has a history of being a bit of a bit of an f-boy. I've been watching too many k-dramas.

-> Word Count: still counting

-> Status: Started.

-> Taglist: Open. Comment on this post, send an ask or fill out the taglist form.

Jeonghan Masterlist | SEVENTEEN Masterlist | Tag List Form

Chapters:

Part 01 Part 02 Part 03

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead

[jojo-schmo]

hi jojo! im just wondering but ive been wanting to make a comic for a little while but im not too sure where to start 😅. i really love your style of art and your forgotten land roleswap, and i was wondering if you had any tips for beginners?

Hello, hello! Thank you for enjoying my Forgotten Land Roleswap comic, it means a lot! <3

I'm very honored that people have been asking me for tips and advice. All of this is coming from a hobbyist who draws these comics purely for fun outside of my regular day job. Some of my methods would probably deal psychic damage to a professional, LOL. But I'm more than happy to share some things I've personally learned! :)

First of all, the book, "Understanding Comics" by Scott McCloud ROCKS. It literally gave me a new dimension to understand the medium of comics and how it presents ideas and emotions to readers! And I haven't even had the chance to finish it all the way! I'm very happy I own a copy and I recommend having one of your own if you can, but it's archived here if you want to read it :D

I also like analyzing other comics and thinking about how they get information across to me as a reader. It's helped me learn more effective ways to visually tell a story, like what to include in a frame, how zooming in or out affects the feeling from the panel, maybe building a scene by focusing on other stuff if someone is talking a lot... etc.

ANYWAYS-! Some other tips I've learned through my personal experience-

I had to overcome a lot of negative self-talk in order to tackle a huge comic project like this and stay committed. I was a pretty severe self-deprecator for most of my life so far, and getting help has allowed me to catch myself when I'm slipping back into those habits, look in the mirror, and go, "NO, JOJO! You pour your heart into what you make and that is a wonderful thing! You are appreciated and loved and you deserve to have fun making something you are passionate about!!" Some examples of the negative self-talk I catch myself in....

"I'm a noob at writing and making a story interesting... What's the point of even trying?"

When it comes to starting a project, whether it's 2 pages or 2000 pages, is to just jump in and start! It's okay to be a little insecure or nervous about your technical art skills, writing skills, etc... But writing a "bad" scene is better than no scene- because you can always edit a "bad" scene down the line, but what can you do with nothing? Nothing!! I also put "bad" in quotation marks because I am trying to use that term less, and instead call them "early drafts." or "works in progress."

The first Roleswap scene I fleshed-out was the first Bandee boss fight, in May 2022. I made this drawing on an impulse, getting my ideas down on the page without thinking about the technical stuff like comic panel borders. I consider it like a "pilot episode" almost, haha. The final project is going to be very different from how things play out here. But it got me interested in the concept and excited to see where I could take it, and I made the decision to commit to an entire game plot's worth of AU comics!!

Also, what's the point in trying you ask? The point is to have fun! Making a fan comic in my free time means I don't have restrictions like deadlines, nobody's telling me what I can and can't write, and I can make the story as long or as short as I want! I have full control, which means the world I'm writing is all mine to create! Yes, with a fan comic there is a pre-established world with existing characters. But a universe like Kirby has enough open-ended concepts for people to take basic concepts in the world and take them to whole new levels! I think that's why there are so many amazing fan interpretations of Kirby characters and OCs. The rules are so vague, you can just make up your own a lot of the time!! And it's a wonderful exercise to learn skills for someday building an original world with all original characters from scratch! Magical!!!

"I'm not good enough to make a comic. I don't understand perspective or color and other stuff. Anything I make will look bad.

I once read a two panel comic on here. I can't find it anymore but I remember most of it. First panel showed the artist looking at what they're drawing on their tablet, looking defeated and sad. "Man, I don't even know how to draw this....."The next panel was like them smiling and shrugging, I think rainbows and sparkles were coming out of their tablet, ".....I GUESS I'LL JUST HAVE TO DRAW IT SHITTY!! :D "

IF ANYONE KNOWS THIS COMIC I'M REFERENCING, PLEASE TELL ME AND I'LL LINK IT!!! Because it permanently and positively changed my brain chemistry.

No kidding, making the decision to just do my best even if it's not perfect, helped me a LOT. I was always waiting to "reach a certain level" to tackle a huge project because I felt like I'd never do it justice at my current state. Except I had been telling myself that kind of stuff for years and I still didn't start any projects!!

So the day I said, "Oh well! If I draw backgrounds shitty, then it is what it is! I'll learn from it and draw the next background a little better," Was the day I could commit fully to the project. I'll keep studying how to draw them better for my own benefit, but I won't let my skill issues stop me from even trying!

And for my limited confidence in full-color art, I solved that by making the comic in black and white with no-to-minimal shading lolol. Because I can only address one skill issue at a time before it takes me 25 years to finish this HAHAHA.

It saves a BUNCH of time to work with skill issues rather than against them! Because at least experience is gained in other ways, and who knows, maybe that new knowledge will help address the skill issues someday! So identifying your personal skill issues and deciding which one to try to grow stronger, and which one to work around, could help with big projects!

"Nobody will read this. I'm going to put months or years of my life into a dumb little thing nobody will even care about."

Learning how to draw for my own enjoyment instead of somebody else's was one of the biggest breakthroughs I ever made. Enjoying the feeling of being challenged artistically and just doing my best, even if it's not technically perfect, is the reason why I was even able to start this!

And just because someone doesn't directly like, comment or whatever on a post doesn't mean nobody saw it! I used to get really down on myself for the lack of engagement on my art on other websites.

I was a lurker for pretty much my entire teenage years and never posted my own stuff or commented much. But that didn't take away the fact that I really enjoyed the things I saw online. Those positive feelings were real to me, even when I didn't know how to articulate it in words. Granted, I grew up into a Words of Affirmation main, and I use words to tell people the positive things I think about them as much as I can! But I know not everyone prefers words to express themselves. So I think about the people that I don't know enjoy my work- that just because I don't see it doesn't mean I didn't make a positive impact on someone by sharing my stories.

THIS IS GETTING LONG-- UHHH, STORY TIPS!!

If you work best on technology, start building the story in a Notes app, or a Google Doc! If you work best with pen and paper, start a notebook and rearrange stuff as you need to!

Or if you're chaotic like me, a mix of tech and paper!! I bought a notebook with ring binding so I can remove and rearrange pages of drafts as much as I wanted to! Like here's two very rough concept pages of one Chapter 1 scene made months apart.

I'd say planning out the biggest basic plot points and then filling in between as I went was most helpful! I also have separate notes for character motivations, important story-changing events, etc... So I can have my own reference when I'm writing new scenes!

Okay this was a lot, sorry about the yapping! Hopefully it helps even a tiny bit. If you have any specific questions I'm happy to talk about my experience in the creation process! Or elaborate on anything I said above.

And finally, because I'm not a professional there are probably plenty of other tactics that could work better for some people. My ADHD probably doesn't help with the chaos of my process either, HAHA. But thank you for reading this far and enjoying the peek into the rainbow glitter and soap bubbles that inhabit the right side of my brain, heehee.

[ugh-yoongi]

across the btuniverse ⟡ a bts x beatles collab | the masterlist

welcome to across the btuniverse, a collab for which we got a little help from our friends. we've got nine delightful stories for you to sit back and enjoy. as there is no deadline for this collab, all fics will be posted as they're finished. we thank you for your patience, and we really hope you enjoy them!

isn’t this more beautiful? ● written by @effortandmore 🍓 pairing: namjoon x reader 🍓 genre: idolverse, smut, angst, vibes 🍓 rating: explicit 🍓 summary: you meet namjoon by accident. you fall for him without noticing. he slips in and out of your life at will, and you let him. but as you get closer, you start to wonder if he’ll always feel lonely, even with you by his side. or, a small story told out of order about time, loneliness, and knowing what we deserve. → based on: eleanor rigby | READ HERE

long, long, long ● written by @moni-logues 🍓 pairing: jin x f. reader 🍓 genre: soulmates au, established relationship, angst, fluff, smut 🍓 rating: explicit 🍓 summary: a not-exactly-by-chance encounter gives you and jin a second chance to get it right. you don't. will jin give you a third? → based on: long, long, long | READ HERE

the secrets we keep ● written by @the-boy-meets-evil🍓 pairing: hoseok x reader 🍓 genre: musician (non-idol)!au, angst, smut 🍓 rating: explicit 🍓 summary: hoseok finally gets to go on his first real tour. it's everything he's ever wanted, getting to share his music with his fans. before he leaves, he promises you that nothing changes. he'll call every night and text every morning. there's only one problem. he’s not really sure if he means it. → based on: all my loving

a guy with a sword is bad news ● written by @ugh-yoongi 🍓 pairing: jimin x reader 🍓 genre: non-idol, mysticism au; strangers to lovers; angst, fluff 🍓 rating: mature 🍓 summary: yoongi tries telling him the “medium” he finds is bullshit, but jimin’s… stubborn, to say the least. desperate to find meaning in anything when his life feels like it’s falling apart. he expects that the tarot readings might not come true; expects the horoscopes and chart readings and psychic visions might not either. but jimin underestimates the only part of this charade that’s real: you. → based on: blue jay way

subject to change ● written by @hot-soop🍓 pairing: taehyung x reader 🍓 genre: slice of life, non idol au 🍓 rating: explicit 🍓 summary: taehyung makes up stories. he borrows the lives of the people he encounters, the people on his street - he writes about how they move, and what they say, and how he imagines they might think, how they might love. he writes about you, too. → based on: penny lane

nyooom ● written by @biashub🍓 pairing: jungkook x reader 🍓 genre: smut, idol au 🍓 rating: explicit 🍓 summary: working as a valet for the most exclusive restaurant in town had its perks. one of those perks? you got to regularly drive jeon jungkook’s car. → based on: drive my car

love to love you ● written by @wonwussy🍓 pairing: jungkook x reader 🍓 genre: angst, smut 🍓 rating: explicit 🍓 summary: he told you not to fall in love with him. you listened. however, he didn’t expect to break his own rule. → based on: if i fell

the fic info above is subject to change and belongs to its respective author.

[confused-red-head]

These Curses We Bear

Chapter 2 - Butterflies

Pro-Hero!Shouto Todoroki x Psychic Medium Detective!Reader

Masterlist

Previous - Current - Next

WARNING: dark themes, death, minor character death, descriptions of dead bodies(no excessive gore), paranormal activities, blood, violence, cursing, angst, angst WITH COMFORT(moreso in later chapters), mentions of trauma, mentions of illness, fem!reader, READER TALKS TO GHOSTS, ghost child in chapter 1, children in general, Reader being a dork, home break-in, slowish burn, minor self harm (skin picking), pro hero au, aged up characters, strangers to friends to lovers, etc.

"What do you mean Shouto is in my bathroom?! Why is he here?! Shinsou, you better start explaining what the hell is going on!"

You whispered harshly with your shoulders scrunched up to the underground hero, dropping your bags on the edge of the kitchen counter. Shinsou moved his hands from his face as he shifted in his seat. His eyes looked everywhere, but where you stood.

"I technically shouldn't even be telling you this… but we were working on an undercover case involving some drug dealings in the area." He sighed, the bags under his eyes seemingly even more prominent.

You took this time to stiffly make your way into the kitchen, your narrowed eyes still pinned onto Shinsou.

"It was supposed to be kept under wraps. Todoroki was the one who contacted me for help. He believed there was a connection to a previous incident that he dealt with and he needed someone with more experience in this field." He continued as you gathered two cups and a tea container, bringing them to the counter. You placed the tea bags into the cups and poured the hot water from your dispenser.

"Of course, he insisted on coming as backup. No one was supposed to know except us and a few informants. Then… shit hit the fan." Shinsou went silent, still slumped in his seat. The look in his eyes made it look as if the stress from tonight alone took a few years off his life.

It was unnerving to see your usually snarky and straightforward friend beat around the bush so much.

"Shinsou, what happened?"

Your voice and eyes softened at the fact he looked so distressed. There was still a sharpness there, emphasizing that you wanted answers. Then his exhausted eyes finally met your's.

And a part of you wished they didn't.

"He found a body." Frustration and failure swirled in his contact covered irises.

You were silent. Frozen in shock. Your eyes locked onto him as if staring at him would somehow pry the information out of him faster.

"He was supposed to wait in the van. He heard a scream and went to investigate. That's when he found the body… and so did an officer on patrol. He wasn't wearing a full disguise so the officer recognized him. Officer dumbass immediately called for backup and decided to fire first before asking questions." His sweaty hands repeatedly clenched and unclenched into fists.

You leaned onto the kitchen countertop in your disbelief, your forefinger pressed to your mouth. Did you accidently collapse from exhaustion in the street coming home? This seems all too surreal.

"And knowing the police chief here… he doesn't trust heroes as far as he can throw them. The number three hero is now a wanted criminal… the headlines will be everywhere by morning." You added in a breathy mumble, still trying to fully understand that this was your reality.

Shinsou only nodded solemnly.

"... What else is there?..." You knew there was something he hadn't told you.

"He described the body to me… He said it looked like she drowned in nothing. Her skin was blue and water poured from her mouth. Yet her lips were severely chapped and in certain areas the skin cracked , there was nothing around that she could have drowned in. The area around her was bone dry and there was no sign of struggle…"

A cold chill shot down your back.

You heard this before. You've obsessively read over reports with similar autopsy descriptions. Now you really couldn't believe the situation you found yourself in.

"They're back… after ten years of silence and all of a sudden they're back…" your jaw clenches as your gut fills with a mix of emotions; anger, frustration, sadness… dread.

Shinsou stood quickly, taking large strides to the other side of the kitchen counter.

"We don't know that…" he spoke firmly, silently begging you not to jump to conclusions.

"How can you say that when you know just as well as I do that this method of murder is unique to one person…" you bit back.

Shinsou pursed his lips with a stubborn look in his eyes.

"I don't think you should look into this case… but I also know you are the best bet we have to solve this, whether it is them or a copycat killer."

You smugly took a sip of your tea as a smirk grew on your lips, "You're stupid if you think there was even a chance in hell I wouldn't be working this case."

The corner of Shinsou's lips perked as he chuffed and took his own tea in hand, "I wouldn't have told you if I knew you were going to work on this alone…"

You paused as he took a sip of his own tea. What the hell was that supposed to mean?! Was he planning on working on this case with you? You didn't have anything against that. You've worked well with him before, but you had a feeling he wasn't talking about himself.

"You're not the only stubborn, little shit that's interested in this case." He nodded his head toward your bathroom door.

"No…" Your brows furrowed in defiance as you stood straight.

"Yes." A satisfied smirk grew on Shinsou's face.

"People are going to be crawling over the entire city for this guy and you want me to work this case with him?!" You set your cup down much harder than you had intended as Shinsou continued to casually drink from his own, having visibly relaxed since he first entered.

"Well then I suggest you better get him a good disguise and hope your make-up skills are up to par." He challenged looking lazily at you through his tired, half lidded eyes, finally coming down from the adrenaline high with the help of the tea.

"Right…" You gave him the most deadpan look you could possibly conjure.

"Don't worry too much about it, you can use the emergency supplies I hid here." Shinsou swirled his cup as if what he just said was the most casual thing in the world. 

"You hid shit in my house?! When did you even have time to do this?! Shinsou, what the fuck?" Your face scrunched in frustration at the fact he used your home as some sort of storage.

He just nonchalantly shrugged as he set down his cup and leaned away from the counter, "I'm an underground hero. I can never be too prepared and tonight was a perfect example of that." 

You followed as he strode over to the living room coffee table and swiftly tugged it from its usual spot to reveal a storage hatch. 

You looked up from the hatch and back at Shinsou. He smirked at your perplexed expression, "...You forgot this was even here didn't you?"

"Shut up…" You crossed your arms in a small act of defiance.

He only chuckled when he unlocked the hatch to reveal a large duffle bag as well as emergency disaster supplies. He tugged the duffle bag out of its place in storage space and plopped it onto your couch.

"It's honestly shocking how perceptive yet oblivious you are. I even left some disaster supplies for you in case of an emergency."

"Awww, you do care." You teasingly drawled out.

Rolling his eyes, Shinsou closed the hatch and returned the coffee table to its rightful place. You turned your attention to the bathroom door again.

"So… there's really no getting rid of him?" You perched your hands on your hips, looking up at him with a pleading look.

"He may look level-headed and stoic, but once he has his sights on something, he's one stubborn bastard." He shook his head.

You groaned, this is going to be a hell of a lot harder than you could have ever imagined. You may have dreamed of getting a chance to find this murderer once and for all, but never having to babysit the framed number three hero while doing so.

"...This better go well or I'm haunting your ass.", You folded your arms and glared at Shinsou who only looked smug as it became clear he got you to fold.

"I expect nothing less." He gave you a small half-smile.

You planted your hand to your hips, and looked at him more directly, "Well, since I'm gonna be busy solving this case and babysitting, what's your plan?"

He shoved his hand into his pockets as he sat on the arm of your couch.

"As far as the police know, Shouto was the only one there and I was miles away from here. I'm going to continue keeping an eye out for any drug dealing activity. I'll also find a way to get any new case information to you. He should have a burner phone on him, just text if you need anything."

"Thinking you're going to infiltrate the police station are you?" You quirked a brow at him with a knowing look.

"Are you sure your quirk isn't telepathy?" He rolled his eyes at you.

"Are you sure your quirk isn't 'Smart Mouth'?" You shot back.

Shinsou tilted his head with a smug grin,"Is that the best comeback you have, Nancy Drew?"

"Shut up. It's late and I'm tired." Your eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Fine. Fine. I'll get out of your hair. I'll see you when I see you." He stood and made his way to the balcony parallel to the living room. He slid open the door and turned to some pipes bolted to the building. You watched on from the balcony door as he gave you a playful salute and climbed down the pipes, descending into the alleyway below.

You stood in the balcony door for a moment before retreating back into your apartment. A heavy sigh was ripped from you as the weight of the situation finally seemed to sink in. 

You were so fucked.

"I'm okay. This is fine. You can deal with this. You deal with bullshit everyday. This will be nothing. Most of the police around here are stupid anyway."

You mumbled away, wandering over to your bathroom door, figuring you should at least introduce yourself to your unexpected guest. After knocking on the door you introduced yourself, resting your hand on the doorknob.

"May I come in?"

"Yeah. Come in.", his low voice resonated from the otherside of the door.

You turned the knob and opened the door to find Todoroki, sweat-soaked hair falling messily from his ponytail, with the top half of his hero suit unzipped, hanging from his waist, and his undershirt ripped to reveal his bare chest. He winced slightly as he used a cloth to dab at a wound on his side.

Oh. You were SO fucked.

You immediately averted your eyes to the floor, now noticing a few drops of blood that had fallen to the ground. 

"Ah… Sorry. I wasn't expecting… that.", You glanced up quickly and made a quick swooping gesture at his person, clicking your tongue, "Then again I wasn't expecting a lot of things tonight yet they happened anyway."

"Sorry. I should have warned you." He leaned, propping himself with one hand using your sink countertop.

"About which part? You, half-naked and bleeding in my bathroom or you and Shinsou breaking into my apartment?"

Todoroki looked away as he pursed his lips and his bi-colored brows furrowed in a clear look of guilt. How this grown ass man managed to look like a kicked puppy was beyond you.

"Sorry… I…", you pinched your nose with a sigh and looked up at him, "I'm sorry… It's been a long night… for both of us. Just… if that wound isn't too bad, go ahead and take a shower. There's towels and a med kit in the cabinet. I'll get you some clothes to wear. If you need help with anything, just call. We can talk after."

His eyes flicked back to you as he graciously nodded.

"Thank you." He breathed out along with a sigh.

You gave him a quick nod in return as you turned and left the bathroom wondering which higher being you could have possibly pissed off for you to deserve this strange form of punishment.

Luckily, Todoroki's wound was just a graze from a bullet. Simply a flesh wound and was easily patched up. He did end up needing some assistance wrapping up the bandage, in which you did everything in your power not to touch him too directly. Now, he sat at your dining table nursing his own cup of tea, hair tied back once again and dressed in a black v-neck and sweatpants.

"So," you start as you sit down across from him after refreshing your own cup of tea, "I know for a fact that you heard our conversation earlier. These walls are thin. But right now I just want to know what Shinsou told you about me, because if you're going to be staying here there's things you're going to need to know about me. Plus, I think it would be kind of unfair since I know more about you than you do of me since well… you're famous and all."

He seemed to take a moment to consider your reasoning and nodded.

"Shinsou hadn't said too much. Mainly, you were reliable and could be trusted. He also made a comment about having a very peculiar quirk. His words, not mine."

You internally cringe as you roll your eyes. Of course he would leave you to suffer explaining your quirk. Reactions varied, but it was usually a fifty-fifty chance between immediate skepticism or over-enthusiastic belief. Both sides were irritating to deal with in their own ways. One thought you were insane and the other thought you were a tool to be used.

"Right. Well. How should I explain this?... I can see auras, residual energy, and… spirits."

His eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh." His exclamation almost came out as a whisper.

He was silent as his forefinger rested on his lips, seemingly lost in thought. You waited for a reaction. Any reaction. You purse your lips and tapped your fingers on the table.

"This… is usually when people start bombarding me with questions or call me insane." You drawled out, cautiously trying to gauge his reaction.

Todoroki's train of thought was cut short at your statement.

"People have accused you of being insane?" The way he sounded concerned almost caught off guard but you quickly shook it off.

You shrugged, "Well, I can't really blame them. I thought I was crazy too when I first manifested my quirk. I thought there was something wrong with me when I saw transparent people everywhere and a shadow figure staring at me through my window every night, trying to convince me to play outside."

"That… must have been terrifying for you." He said with what you couldn't quite tell was pity or sympathy as his hand tightened slightly over the cup in his hand. 

You lazily shrugged again as you leaned back in your chair to fold your arms over your chest, "Eh, I got used to it. It got easier when it was confirmed to be a part of my quirk. Turns out it was something that came from my mother's side. She couldn't see spirits, but my grandmother could. The biggest difference being the fact I have no choice over whether I see them or not. I don't have a 'veil', as they call it. A separation between the world of the living and the dead. After that, I was sent to live with my grandmother until I went to Junior High."

"They sent you away?" Todoroki's brows furrowed, looking disturbed at the thought as he crossed his arms.

"Ah! Well… when you say it like that it sounds really harsh. Though, it's true my parents really didn't know the first thing about spirits and kind of dumped me on my grandmother. It was either stay with her to learn to cope with my quirk… or potentially be on suppressors for the rest of my life. I like to think they chose the lesser of two evils. It's not like I never saw my family. In fact, my older sister practically lived with us too when she was going to high school in the area. My parents would at least call once a week if they couldn't visit. Plus, my grandmother was and still is a wonderful woman. So it wasn't so bad.", your voice softened when you spoke about your family, more specifically grandmother as memories of your time at her house boiled to the surface.

"Though, I do often wonder what my life may have been like if they decided to just put me on quirk suppressors. I definitely wouldn't have found myself in our current situation," You chuckled a bit, but it came out as a bit hollow and fake with your dimming smile.

Looking back at Todoroki, you noticed a somewhat distant look in his eyes. He was taking this pretty well so far. He even zoned in on facts of your story that nobody ever seemed to notice or care for. Yet, here he was looking potentially even more distraught than when he was bleeding.

"Uh… H-hey. Todoroki? I know it wasn't the most ideal childhood, but it's all in the past now so don't worry about it if that's what you're thinking."

This seemed to finally snap him out of his thoughts and his heterochromatic eyes met yours. A shiver ran down your spine at an intensity simmering just under the surface. 

"...I must apologize again for breaking in. You seemed… already distraught when you arrived."

"No, I…," you sighed, "I admit the comment earlier was unnecessary. Although, I think I reserve the right to be a little miffed after having my home broken into, especially in our very unique situation, that doesn't mean I should act like a bitch the whole time if we will be working together."

Todoroki shook his head, "As someone who often works with Dynamight, I know a thing or two about 'Acting like a Bitch'. You were only reacting as anyone would. In fact, I'd argue you were quite graceful with your reaction to two men breaking into your home."

"Wasn't the first time and it probably won't be the last.", You chuckled and rolled your eyes at the unfortunately true statement.

Todoroki's brows furrowed in concern again, but seemed to dismiss it for another thought he deemed more important.

"If you don't mind me asking, where were you before arriving home? What were you doing so late?" Todoroki leaned on his elbows on the table, his cup empty of tea and discarded to the side.

"Ah, I don't mind. Even the detective needs an alibi. For all you know I could be the killer. Now, that would be a real plot twist... Anyway, I was called by a Mr. Masuda around 10:30 pm tonight. He told me about the strange happenings going on in his ice cream shop. They've been having customers feeling sick, light-headed, and even faint in their shop, but found nothing that could logically explain the sudden incidents. It was clear that this was costing them severely and Mr. Masuda called me as a last resort. Admittedly, a wise choice since there really was a spirit haunting the shop and I was able to appease it."

He nodded, but continued digging for info, "Was there something about this case that made you upset?"

You felt yourself stiffen. How the hell was this guy able to pinpoint shit like this? Then again, you shouldn't underestimate the number three hero like this. 

You pursed your lips and looked down to pick at your nails, "Yeah. If I'm honest, I'm surprised you caught onto that…"

Todoroki leaned further in, slightly tilting his head as if he was trying to catch my eyes again.

"May I ask what happened?" His smooth voice spoke softly.

You were silent, contemplating telling the truth. You had to remind yourself that this wasn't something you needed to hide and if you wanted the case to go well, you needed to be as honest as possible.

You swallowed the knot in your throat.

"The spirit… She was a young girl. Six years old, if I had to guess…", you willed yourself to remain neutral as possible, "I can only guess she died recently since she was familiar with Mr. Masuda and another employee. She said her name was Chihoko Konuma and, from what I could tell with the information she gave me, she passed away in the hospital from a lung issue. Her final wish was for her mother to be happy, thus she was attached to the place where she must have had her happiest memories with her mother…"

You roughly picked at a hangnail on your forefinger, "I told her that what would make her mother happiest now was for her to no longer be in pain…She was a smart girl. She even understood her situation to a point… to look a bright, young girl in the eye and confirm that her life has been snuffed out far too soon… it's a difficult thing to do."

A large, slender hand cupped over your own. All of a sudden, you remembered where you were and who you were with. You sucked in a breath and cleared your throat. As you gently pulled your hands away from his, you noticed your forefinger had started to bleed from the nervous picking. 

Shit.

"Right. I think that's enough questions today.", you quickly stood up from your seat and swerved around the table, speeding to your bedroom. 

"The guestroom is there, just left of the bathroom. Goodnight."

You slid the door closed before Todoroki could even reply and flopped onto your bed. Stuffing a pillow to your face, you let out the most agonized groan in an attempt to ease your embarrassment. You knew sleep wouldn't come easy tonight, not with everything that happened. 

For a while you laid awake, watching as a singular white butterfly perched itself on one of the potted plants you placed out on your personal balcony. Yet, the sight seemed to help ease you into a dreamless slumber. 

Your busied mind finally finding respite. You no longer cared for your grief, your embarrassment, or your frustration. You couldn't find yourself to care that you hadn't asked him some questions like you had intended, nor could you find yourself to care for how pleasant his hand felt on yours. You only thought one thing as you fell asleep.

'She always did love butterflies.'

Taglist: @andypantsx3 @canthavetoomuchchaos @xxblackroses623xx

[pinesfamilyguidetotheweird]

Recently, I've started watching a short anime called Night Head 2041, which is a reboot of Night Head Genesis (which was an anime adaption of a 1992 Japanese tv drama called Night Head...which I can't seem to find T.T), which I've also seen. To make a long story short, and without spoiling anything, its about a pair of brothers (not twins; just wanted to clarify) with psychic powers taken away from their parents and trying to navigate in a world not accepting to the supernatural.

Along with this, I've played games Control (a game inspired by the SCP Foundation; which I've finished the main game and is playing the Foundation DLC), the Medium (kinda stuck at a second stealth escape from the main antagonist; I'm shit at stealth), and a little bit of Beyond Two Souls...

All of this kinda gave me inspiration for a new AU where the characters connected to the Cosmic Zodiac have/are born with psychic/psionic powers. They, along with other anomalies, are taken to a facility that wishes to monitor them and help them keep their powers in check.

I'm gonna call the fic 'As Above, So Below' and for good reason. Reasons that I won't divulge cuz spoilers. I am in the process of planning it out and it is definitely my hyperfixation right now.

As for Cipher's Will, and I may be sounding like a broken record at this point and I apologize (I'm annoyed with myself and done with my own bullshitery too), I've finally thought of something much better when I decided to get rid of a lot of plot bunnies. Plus, an actual fucking plot. Whoo-hoo! And it's honestly thanks to the creation of an OC.

I am...kinda wondering if I want to make As Above, So Below a crossover this time around...but, I'm not quite sure yet.

Like how I've been wanting to add the Owl House, Amphibia, and maybe even Steven Universe characters in previous fics (what is wrong with me?) and, really, thanks to the nature of the facility (which is kinda like the Oldest House in Control), I can see these characters being in it. Just not sure of their roles yet.

Probably the best course of action would be to just keep the focus on the Pines until something happens because...well, I can say that the start of the story isn't even at the facility and is mainly focused on Dipper and Mabel.

[adventuringblind]

Mend Me

Lando Norris X Reader

Genre: Magical Realism via Superpowers (kind of), A mix of fluff and angst

Summary: After a long history of being running and hiding, she finds someone who isn't afraid of her. Enough to risk it all for him. Feat Oscar and Carlos being a chaotic duo for once.

Warnings: A tad dehumanizing (if you really squint), mentions of hospitals, mentions of blood/wounds/weapons/bruises, reader literally bring someone back to life,

Notes: This is incredibly experimental. I like these kinds of AU's that incorporate racing still. It's fun to see different concepts come to life in a normal world! I'm currently working on a few A/B/O fics and a few other experimental things :)

Side Note: and another request! I had so much fun writing these two and this story in general! I'm hoping to write more like this, or for these two specifically, in the future!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

This is not the life she envisioned for herself. The running, hiding, forging papers to try and keep herself safe.

Stupid unnatural abilities that she never asked for. A danger rating that started at three and moved up steadily as these abilities expanded. Classified within a unique group that tends to be more isolated due to their nature.

A healer is what her new papers say, a danger rating of five. Her armband required across the globe remains the same color. Unassuming and weak, which is how she needs to be perceived.

Powers, abilities, magic, auras, whatever you want to call them, manifest in different ways. Some are element based, some a material, some deal with things like the mind and soul. Smaller groups include shapeshifters, psychics and mediums, shadow work, and her own group.

Those who deal in life and death are not to be messed with. The healers and the reapers. Which, you would think wouldn't be dangerous. She was lucky enough to not be sentenced to a life in captivity. The reapers can decide who dies when, if they are strong enough. Usually prompted by the healers if they person is out of reach. It's a peaceful passing. Yet that doesn't stop people from fearing that kind of power and control.

No, she's a healer. Lower levels are kept as doctors and nurses. Knitting wounds together, feeling the pain of others, being able to x-ray a body without a machine, are all useful.

Raising people from the dead? yeah, that tends to freak people out.

Her wound transference started small. A scraped knee on a friend became her own, but without a mere itch. Soon it progressed into deep lacerations which bled less on her and healed faster. Then it was bigger injuries like broken bones and concussions.

Training was required for anyone with abilities. In order to see where they fall in rating, where they can be utilized, and make sure they have control over the chaos.

She spent ample time in the local hospital with the other healers. The paramedics had rushed inside. The body nearing death. They flatlined, mangled in different ways, yet she still managed at the age of sixteen to bring them back.

The amount of pain she was in was nearly unbearable. She'd almost killed herself in the process.

Her rating shot up to seven after that and she was whisked away to a facility for people like her. They moved her up to nine after another year. She'd managed to bring back someone who'd been dead at least a day.

She's a necromancer.

Whatever she is, they all knew they couldn't stay in that place. Inevitably escaping with their combined powers. She'd never run so fast. She was provided new classification papers and sent off to a different country.

Which is how she found herself here. Traveling and healing despite the prior adversity. She likes this job, specifically because she's strong enough to manage drivers and personnel in the paddock who hurt themselves with their own abilities, but not enough to look conspicuous. Which is a fine line she's toeing, but she makes it work.

She has regulars. Max Verstappen frequently asks her to come around. Metal tends to slice him when he's not grounded and specifically more agitated. Lando has a tendency to hit himself in the head with things when he's excited and the telekinesis decides he needs something right that second. Carlos shapeshifts into a bear, which comes with its own set of problems (she didn't know she'd have to be a vet, also). Then there is Alex, who always seems to be summoning feral street animals.

The year she started; she was nineteen. Lando and Carlos were teammates then. The Brit a in his sophomore year of the sport. The number of bruises on both drivers was ridiculous due to Lando randomly pushing and pulling random objects was ridiculous. Carlos even joked he might have been doing it on purpose at the time.

It was 2021, and the encouragement of Daniel, that got him to ask her out. An invitation she accepted. It was nice, but there was that lingering fear in the back of her mind that he would figure her out and turn her in.

A night out in 2022 is what changed everything for her. The ability to trust and a longing for connection driving her to spend the night with him.

Now, her suppressor band is strong enough that she's only supposed to wear it for twenty-four hours maximum. She'd put it on when she woke up the morning prior and hadn't taken it off sense. Lando had asked if she wanted to take it off, let their energies meld together. A privilege only people like them have. But she'd declined and he hadn't pushed.

She slept in. The best sleep she'd had in a while, mind you. Yet the pain firing through every nerve of her body had her crying. She hadn't cried in pain in so long. This was entirely new to her, and if she's honest with herself, terrifying to experience.

~~~~~

Lando stirs beside her. His hands cup her face and eyes scan her body as he attempts to understand what's wrong. She's unresponsive and he panics. Enough to call Carlos and ask if it's something to do with her classification of power. She could've overdone it, or it's the residue of a different injury she took on herself. Whatever the case, he needs help.

"Lando, mate, she's a five right?"

"Yeah? why?"

"Suppressor bands for five and up tend to be stronger than four and below."

Lando pauses for a second. "Aren't you a seven?"

"And I take mine off in intervals." Carlos' explanation makes sense. Enough for Lando to calm himself and locate the chain on her wrist. "Just take it off and see if it helps. It might not be immediate though so give it about ten minutes and then call me back."

"Thank you, Carlos."

"Not sure what we'd do without her. Maybe kill ourselves? So, you better keep her alive, mate!"

Lando ends the call. Her body seizing in his arms in a scary kind of way that makes him want to vomit.

The chain doesn't come off easily. The second he manages to unclasp it; she becomes deadweight in his arms. But he doesn't get the kind of relief he is hoping for from it.

The aura she has around her is strong and intense. The kind he's never felt before. It's not nauseating like when Carlos or Max is high on emotion, this is serene. Like he's never felt better in his entire life. Which is strange, considering how strong it is...

He calls Carlos back. This cannot be normal for a five. The fact he has it off, but she's sweating and gripping his hand like she's in turmoil makes him wonder.

"Did it work?"

"Uh - possibly?"

There is a brief pause. "What does that even mean?"

"Okay, so, energy of a five healer, is it supposed to be this intense? Cause I feel like I'm on cloud nine and she's still in pain." He wishes he could reverse it, just get her to settle and not look like she might die until he can help her.

"I'm coming over."

It takes Carlos too long to get to his room. His anxiety is getting worse by the second. She's finally exhausted herself enough to fall asleep, but her energy is still permeating the room in a way he can't describe.

Carlos nearly falls over when he steps inside the door. "You like this?!"

"I feel fantastic!"

"Well good, we know you have a soulbond now. We'll talk more about that later. I'm going to pass out if she doesn't have a suppressor on."

Lando whines, but he knows Carlos won't last like this. He just hopes something reset and bought them time to figure it out. He puts the chain back on her wrist and Carlos immediately looks better.

"Verdict?"

"She's not a five, that's for sure." He inspects the chain and her arm band. Carlos' own brown band is still around his bicep. The shapeshifter colors. Lando's is yellow for the energy category, Max's is red for the secondary elements, and Alex's is brown with a green stripe in the middle for the animal handlers. Her band is white with a black ring in the middle, the reapers are the opposite. The number attached to her band is a five. It's the same as a legal document.

Lando snatches the band off of where it lays next to his own. Sure enough, when he flips is around, A different number is crudely patched over enough that nobody could make it out unless staring for an obscene amount of time.

Lando hands the flipped band to Carlos. "She's a fucking ten."

Carlos hums and examines the elastic in his hands. He then fishes a suppressor ring out of his pocket and switches hers for the one he brought. The energy is still there, but the Spainard doesn't look like he's going to be sick anymore. Lando claims this as a win.

On the other hand, he can't fathom why she didn't trust him enough to tell him. "I don't understand-" The crack in his voice is embarrassing.

Carlos gets him to sit down next to him on the edge of the bed. He places Lando's hand on her shin and they watch the tension she was holding in her body disappear.

"Have you ever seen how the treat anyone six and above?"

"No... you never talk about it."

Carlos sighs. It's a pained one; eyes distant as he recalls memories. "Fives toe the line of being stronger than the people deem safe. These universal numbers used to classify us aren't just for the amount of energy we exert, it's what we can do as well. I shapeshift into a bear, which can be destructive, but I can also do it with fewer breaks and for longer stints."

"What does that have to do with any of this?" Frustration now evident.

"Relax, I'm getting there." Carlos gives him a pointed look and quiets himself. "Six and above tend to have more restrictions. They want to make sure we can't cause any chaos or start wars or something. Reapers are immediately labeled as tens. Healers start small but increase depending. I met a good few back in school that ended up being taken away for some unknown reason."

"So, she's a ten, meaning she can do what?"

"I'm not sure... but she is definitely at risk if anyone were to find out."

Carlos stays with him. Explains to him what is probably happening due to the extreme suppression of this kind of energy. He explains this soulbond thing. How their energies mesh well together which is what was giving him that euphoric feeling earlier. It's not rare, Lando is only a three himself, but for her it is because of the intensity.

It's around midnight when she wakes up, panting and drenched in sweat. Whatever these higher energies are, the seem to communicate for them. Carlos gets next to her and switches the suppressors again. He's giving her the familiarity in a stressful situation with no words.

"Fuck - Lan, I'm so sorry!" Her voice is hoarse and cracked. He wants to tell her that he's fine, that he understands, but words aren't there. Not when she looks this sick.

He opts for the physical contact route instead. The gentle kind, so he doesn't scare her. This hug feels different than any he's had before, but he assumes it's because his aura is actively seeking hers. "We have a soulbond. Our energies mesh together quite nicely."

"So, you know now? You're not going to turn me in?"

"Absolutely not! Carlos has been giving me a crash course and everything. I'm sorry that you are treated so horribly..."

She grips onto his shirt and sobs harder than she has in her entire life. It's broken, and Lando can't help but wonder when the last time somebody cared for her and her abilities alike is. "I'm not leaving you, okay? I might be a three, but I'll do my best to keep you safe." And he means it. He has every intention of keeping her out of the clutches of those who would see her locked away.

~~~~~

Lando convinces her to quite working under the FIA and let him take care of her instead. She still attends to the drivers since she can, because she wants to.

It's never a surpise when she receives a phone call from across the paddock asking for her assistance. It's more fun this way, not having the constant pressure of people watching her for any semblance of too much power.

Carlos keeps a close eye on her when she looks on the verge of overexerting her power or suppressing for too long. He had her and Lando set alarms for when to take it off and put it on again.

2023 comes around, and both her and Lando are more relaxed this year. Car wide, the Brit would rather die, but otherwise, he's fine.

Oscar is a rating six water manipulater. Carlos makes sure he knows where to find him if he ever needs anything. The FIA tends to get on the case of higher ratings.

It's because of that rating that Oscar manages to figure out she's not what she says she is. Lando gets wildly defensive when the Aussie brings it up. She just laughs when he threatens to throw his teammates dinner into his face.

They all get along nicely. Lando manages to not send random objects at Oscar despite various threats, and she still finds herself in every garage.

Then Vegas happens, and everything changes.

The crash replays on the screen, but she can't hear it over the sound of her heart. Their soulbond had only gotten stronger, she can feel his pain and discomfort now because of it.

As an established healer, Jon lets her tail him to where Lando is. The medical team only lets her go so far.

But it's worse than anyone is letting on. She can feel his heart slowing, the internal bleeding more than they originally thought.

He's still alive when the race ends, but he won't be for much longer. They won't let her inside. Oscar and Carlos can barely get past the front desk to where her and Jon are sitting outside the door. Doctors are still working away at a problem they haven't found yet.

"They won't let you in?" Carlos gives a look of utter confusion. "Wouldn't it be helpful to them?"

"Yes, but I'm too emotional to be in an operating room as a five."

Oscar's face lights up. "How far does your energy reach?"

"Decently, why?"

"If me and Carlos take our suppressors off, then we can blame the energy on that."

The three of them take off their suppressor in unison with Jon watching the end of the hall in case someone comes around the corner.

The wall makes it hard to navigate. But she knows Lando's aura like it's her own. She's mapped his entire body, healed him more times than she cares to remember.

The flatline of the moniter rings through her ears.

She finds his heart. Where he's bleeding out, where his ribs are cracked and splitting him open.

And she fixes it.

Lando sits up on the table, heat beating erratically, but he's alive. The doctors don't know what to do with themselves.

They open the door. The only one there is Jon, teary-eyed, but not from sadness despire what he says.

~~~~~

Lando is high on painkillers. Though he wishes his human healer were here to make it better. He just wants to meld with her, thank her without words.

Jon had filled him in on the details. It's not safe for her at the moment, but his teammate has her, and Carlos is on his way back to Lando after helping get her settled.

The Spainard drives him back. Even stopping for food on the way since none of them have eaten and Carlos has this perpetual need to store food for the winter. Lando always gets him honey as a joke.

"When you see her, don't panic. There's blood we have yet to clean up from the incisions they made. But it's mostly just pain and exhaustion."

Lando nods and opens the door. The sight is odd, more so than scary. She's on the bed, pale, and covered in different fluids. Her mouth is open, and Oscar is dripping tiny water droplets inside. Her supressor bracelet has been ditched, but her ring is on so the other two can be around her.

Her eyes drift towards him the closer he gets. "Lan!" She tries to sit up but fails after two seconds and yelps in pain.

"If you'd just take the water and stay put, then you might not be in as much pain." Oscar scolds her, but she just rolls her eyes.

Lando crawls onto the bed next to her. His hand drifts over where he heart is, and he places her hand over his. "I'm alive because of you. I can't - I just - I don't understand why they didn't let you in. You're not dangerous. You saved me."

"Lan, it's okay... I'm happy being considered dangerous as long as I have you around."

"Ay! What are me and Oscar then?!"

"Rivals, according to the media." Oscar muses and drops another bead of water into her mouth.

"That was planned and executed well, okay, we make great rivals." Carlos nearly jams some kind of pastry into Oscar's face, but he opens his mouth just in time. "What am I going to do with you three?"

Lando doesn't have the energy to ponder the question. Him and his lover end up falling asleep at some point. Both of them are still in pain and in desperate need of rest.

He wakes up to a call the next morning from Jon. His trainer is adamant about speaking to all four of them.

Yeah, they all get lectured about how he had to go get tested and was humiliated by the hospital staff when they laughed at Jon's own ability. "Aparently, making people sneeze isn't an ability. But I'm happy you're okay, Lando. I would've missed you, buddy."

"I second that!"

"And a third."

Everyone looks at her expectantly. Some kind of response swirls around in her head. Maybe witty or sarcastic with the way she's smiling to herself.

"If you died, Lan, I would've never forgiven myself." Her energy taps on his. It envelopes them, warm and comforting. Their bond still growing stronger as their souls dance together around them.

"Gross, you two should get a room."

"This is our room!"

"Your point?"

Carlos and Oscar can't stop their laughing fit. Delerious from the long night they had previously and little sleep then managed to get. Still, Lando goes back to being in his own world.

He's wrapped up in her, and she's wrapped up in him. Exactly as it was intended to be.

"Reckon you could make an undead army?"

"Osc - I swear to god-!"

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Persephone's Devotee (Hello, Mr. Monster AU, I)

Master List

Summary: In the age of Spiritualists and magicians, wyrds winds in different ways to link Dream of the Endless and Aisling Hunt. AU of Hello, Mr. Monster beginning in the 1920s. (Alternatively titled 'We All Hate Roderick Burgess')

Warnings: Implied child abuse/neglect, child left to travel solo, manipulating children for profit (non-sexual trafficking)

A/N: Your bird just got diagnosed with a life changing chronic condition (in addition to being put back on depression meds). We'll see how this post does. Have four chapters planned. The last scene is based on personal experiences with heat exhaustion/borderline heat stroke.

Dream’s tools brought many things to Fawney Rig. Wealth and prestige. Admiration, gifts, and influence. Nearly everything the magus wanted and only a fraction of what he thought he deserved. Roderick’s dreams of power and riches drew another tool to his hand, or perhaps Destiny drew the magus to her. The girl who saw strange things in the dark and found answers to strange riddles in her cards. But her wyrd would always draw her to old house and its shrouded dungeon, in any world or time. All because of what the Burgesses kept there.

In the eight years since the fateful evening he summoned and caught one of the Endless, Roderick had become a man much desired. He found himself with an invitation to Lord and Lady Werthrope’s party, a guest of honor at a soiree at their country estate. They promised a night of occult mysteries and foreign prizes. Bits of people and places from across the empire and beyond. Mummies from Egypt and fragments of Greek antiquities to gasp and shriek over with glasses of champagne and brandy.

Roderick carried himself as Lord Werthrope’s equal, and at least for that night, surrounded by ancient mysteries of all kinds, he was seen as such. He was an expert, a guide, someone to hold in reverence rather than an oddity to gawk over. He told them with his bearing, his dignity, and the ruby he wore on a golden chain around his neck. His wishes became dreams and so became real. He stood like a stronger god beside the broken figure of Apollo and scoffed at the mistranslations of texts he’d only ever read secondhand.

Beside the wonders kept under guard at home, what were these paltry things? He could have any of them he desired, and he’d already claimed better.

His sense of superiority carried him through the party’s early hours, moving from acrobats in elaborate costumes, to fire eaters, to ghost stories and flights of fancy spun by swindlers far below his consideration. He had an answer or alternative for everything. And then he met the girl.

She sat at a bare table with no long cloth to hide rolling ankles, clever fishing lines, or knocking accomplices. Only a candle and a deck of cards separated her from the guests, and she’d drawn quite a queue. Her feet didn’t even reach the floor, swinging idly between the legs of the chair as she read the cards of a distraught-looking dandy.

Taking his arm, Lady Werthrope said, “This one you really must see, Magus. She’s made quite the splash in New York and London.”

The Magus offered a tolerant smile. “And what is the trick? Does she blow out the candle? Bend spoons?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” The lady practically vibrated, eager to impress as she led them to the table, scattering the line. “She sees things, and she reads fortunes like no one I’ve ever seen, and I’ve had more than a few pet psychics in my time. This one’s a bit of a sad story.”

The magus clenched his jaw until the muscle in his cheek twitched. He could make whatever sob story the girl shilled much worse. Of all the frauds and liars who feigned knowledge of the occult, Roderick Burgess hated mediums and ghost whisperers the most. The tantalizing promise of connection with Randal – always waved in his face, always ultimately denied – it clawed open the rotting wound in his heart, and he let the poison drip back on any fools who tried his patience.

Let this one try to pull the wool over his eyes, and he’d unmask her in front of this glittering audience. She’d be a penniless sad story when he was through.

“Those people,” the lady said, nodding to a couple flanking the child, “are just the adoptive parents. Saw her family murdered, poor thing. They say that’s what cracked her open to the other world.”

“Do they indeed.” He kept his smile, showing his teeth as his grip flexed over the cane in his free hand. “Then I look forward to her performance.”

The Magus and the lady sat across from the faux family, and the girl looked at them. The people who weren’t her parents did not manage her well, Burgess couldn’t help noting. They’d painted her up with rogue and kohl that made her look even more like a child playing grownup games, and the feather in her headband hung limp and lifeless. She barely managed to grimace through a smile, and she spoke with all the enthusiasm of a student reporting on Ovid to the class.

“What are you asking?” A child’s voice really shouldn’t be so dull. Now that he was nearer, the Magus couldn’t help wondering if she was even younger than he’d first assumed. Not even ten, he thought, and already so exhausted.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. He kept his guard, but curiosity stirred beneath. She was no great performer.

Lady Werthrope leaned forward, eager to take the first reading as the girl shuffled her cards. They were nearly too big for her to manage, but in this at least she clearly had much practice. Her handling of the tarot was the most natural element of her demeanor he’d yet to see.

The lady talked about her dog Moxy, a cocker spaniel much loved and terribly spoiled. It was getting on in years, and, well, ought she prepare for anything dreadful? Only, her friend had just lost her terrier, and she couldn’t chase it from her thoughts…

The cards appeared on the table. One by one. The Six of Cups. The Two of Swords. And, lastly, the Nine of Swords reversed.

“Moxy is well-loved.” The child pointed to the first card. “That’s the foundation. But she’s getting older, and she may go blind eventually. She’s accepted it, though, and you will, too.” She smiled a little, hesitantly, like a pet used to getting kicked when she barked at company. The Magus noted how her gaze flicked to her pseudo-father.

Lady Werthrope clucked and reached over to squeeze the child’s hand. “You’re very honest. And very sweet. Now, won’t you show the Magus what you can do?”

Obediently, she gathered the cards and folded the deck, shuffling them with the fresh energy of her next customer. “What do you want to know?”

Roderick considered. It was a little below him to ask anything specific of a child spiritualist, and he still meant to test her. Hate stirred the old thorn in his heart, and although she didn’t speak with ghosts to earn her bread, he didn’t need to justify himself.

“I’ll leave the question to you.” He squinted in a way that may seem affectionate, but it was only sharp, a predator focusing on little fawn to see how quickly it might run. “What do you see?”

She flinched, lifting her eyes from the cards to meet his in a fleeting, startled glance. Like he’d come near to guessing something she didn’t say out loud. But then she bent over the deck, back to her work as the woman behind her set a hand on her shoulder.

“Be good, Aisling,” the adoptive mother said. “Show the Magus your skills. Don’t embarrass us.”

The child rolled her lip between her teeth, sorting the task quickly. One card. Two cards. Three cards. Tap, tap, tap on the bare table. The Magician’s face glowed in the candle light, and Roderick blinked. A good tarot reader must have good luck in order to draw the appropriate cards – or a marked deck. But he’d watched those little hands like a hawk, and he’d seen nothing. It wasn’t definitive proof by any means, but Roderick Burgess knew himself to be cleverer than a child.

Pointing to the first card, the Magician, the girl said, “You’re the Magus. The Magician is your creation of yourself.” The second card was the Nine of Cups. “Your cups all overflow, and you enjoy the plenty you already have.” And then there was the Ace of Pentacles. Roderick wondered for a moment if she’d laid the cards out of the intended order, but she simply said, “There is new wealth coming. You’ve just found something that will bring you more good fortune. The benefits will grow in the months and years to come.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.” He looked for cracks, and there were many. Fatigue clouded her eyes and weighted the end of every sentence. Not a sign of a lie, though. She couldn’t even pretend to be happy for the audience.

He turned the interaction over in his mind through the rest of the night, wearing away the questions and presumptions like the rough edges of a stone, and by the later hours, he thought he might hold a jewel.

The adoptive parents made themselves easy to find. They hadn’t left the table. Neither had the girl. The lord and lady hired them to entertain, and they stayed at their posts. They’d gathered refreshments, but no cup or plate sat on the table, and he wondered if they had any idea children needed things like water after a long night of speaking with strangers.

Really. The scheme was too transparent. The only lies hid in any manner of affection the parents pretended for the child they claimed.

The Magus marched up to the table, rapping the top with his cane to seize the drowsy girl’s attention. She blinked, started licking her dry lips, caught herself, and pinched her mouth closed with her teeth.

“Aisling, wasn’t it?” He nodded to her, encouraging her to echo the motion. “I would like a word with you. No cards. No reading. Just a conversation. Alone.”

The father stepped forward, ready to defend his meal ticket. “Sir, I’m afraid we can’t just –”

“The girl and I will sit here, at this table,” he tapped it again to make his point, “and you will both stand over there.” The cane swung to point towards the bar, which was well within sight but well out of earshot.

When the man moved to protest again, Roderick pulled out his wallet, and the father’s mouth snapped shut. A few pounds bought the adults’ willing compliance, and they went off in search of drinks with barely a backwards glance. Roderick settled into the seat he claimed earlier, watching the girl squirm. Her hands fluttered restlessly between her lap and the table, clearly used to the cards, uneasy without the form and ritual of a reading to guide the conversation.

That was well enough. Roderick had his own plans.

He signaled one of the roving staff, and as the waiter approached, he ordered, “A lemonade for the young lady.”

With a bow, the server hurried off, and the Magus smiled, lips closed, tilting his head as his legs crossed under the table. He was not a client. He was an adult who noticed, who might be moved to care, and in the few hours of their acquaintance, he was already offering more than anyone else.

“So, you see things?”

Her eyes snapped from him to the people who managed her. Then back again, and down to her lap.

“I’m not supposed to upset people.” She picked at the fringe on the garish frock she wore – entirely unsuited to her age and clearly uncomfortable. “It upsets Mr. and Mrs. Foster when I see things. Or when I talk about them.”

The Magus nodded, unsurprised. He wondered if the people who adopted her even realized her talents were genuine when they snatched her up. They had too many connections and too much showmanship to be anything other than experienced con artists. This little Aisling must be very sensitive, and the truly sensitive didn’t see strictly good, kind, or encouraging things. How she must terrify the fools.

The server returned with a cut crystal glass rattling with ice. The girl thanked the server, then thanked her benefactor, and wrapped her hands around the condensation-slicked sides. She sipped carefully, and Roderick could see the tension ease from her posture as she drank. Desperate as she was, she didn’t gulp, and with clear regret, she set the drink on the table still two-thirds full. But she kept her hands on the glass, lest some waiter assume she was finished and spirit it away.

“I won’t be upset, and I’d like to believe you.” Angling his head down to peer at her meaningfully, employing a look he’d once used when his son misbehaved, he asked, “What have you seen tonight that would upset people?”

The girl looked around, shifting so her chair creaked. This time, it wasn’t her adoptive parents she feared. Any ears may be a threat. When she leaned in, the Magus copied her, silently assuring her the secret would be safe with him.

“There’s a guest who’s not a guest, and he isn’t a man, either.”

The Magus hummed. “Say I believe you. Could you prove it?”

Seduced into the invitation of an adult confidant, and revived by the lemonade, she rushed to answer. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be believed and heard. The Magus was listening, and he was beginning to believe as well.

“The man paid the footman with holly leaves,” she hissed in a loud whisper. “The footman folded them like bank notes, and the spines stabbed his palms, but he didn’t notice. Look for the one with blood on his gloves.”

“And the man who isn’t a man?”

Shrinking back, the girl shook her head until the headband went crooked. Her hand pressed over her heart, rubbing hard circles as her face creased.

“He’d know I saw him,” she said. “I don’t let them know I see them anymore.”

Now there was a tale and no mistake. A child with enough power to annoy things beyond the veil – one that survived an encounter – was rare indeed.

“What happened?” He lent his tone a shade of concern. Facts, he found, traveled swiftest to a sympathetic ear, and he needed to know everything. Curiosity was growing into practical fervor as the first dreams of a plan grew into place. “Are you ill?”

She crumbled just a little bit more, folding into herself to protect the place she rubbed from some invisible threat. “Sometimes I see things that don’t want to be seen. One of them – hurt me. There’s no scar, but it hurt me, and now it aches.”

The Magus donned a solemn expression, though he felt a thrill at the prospect sitting before him. The little girl had unusual skills, and though she wasn’t handled well by the adults governing her, they must still turn a pretty penny showing her in salons and private homes. He’d confirm what she’d said, of course, validate her little proof, but she was either a better liar than he’d ever met or she was childishly honest. He knew where he’d put his money.

Where he might very well invest it, actually.

He didn’t say goodbye, only nodding as he rose and went in search of the servant with bloody gloves.

Of course, he found him. When he demanded to see what the footman had in his pockets, the boy paled, stammering excuses, only to pull out a handful of forest detritus. As the young man fell into a whirl of confusion and disappointment, the Magus truly smiled. The first real smile since Lady Werthrope brought him to the child’s table.

He must have a proper conversation with the girl’s current guardians.

Aisling clung to her bag, drowning in the heat as the train pulled away from the Wych Cross platform. Men and women fanned themselves with hats and newspapers, desperate for a breeze in the dead summer stillness. Ladies shed their gloves. Men loosened their ties. Propriety mattered less when the air was trying to suffocate them, a crushing, inescapable oven scalding the usually damp countryside.

A miserable day to travel.

Sweat dripped down her back, soaking the neck of her dress, gluing her hair to her skin. But she didn’t have a free hand to stir a breeze. Her bag was too heavy, full of everything she would need in her new home, or at least everything the Fosters thought they couldn’t sell for a profit. Mrs. Foster took her to the train station and dropped her at the door.

“Here’s your ticket. You’re heading to Wych Cross, and then to Fawney Rig. Don’t forget, and don’t miss your train,” she’d said. Then she climbed back into the cab beside Mr. Foster and disappeared into the flow of London traffic.

They’d sold her on to someone else, and now they were free of her.

She peered around the station, but it was really just a platform. In London, there were helpful adults in uniforms and suits who pointed out the right train and the right stairs to reach it. Nothing here told her how to find Fawney Rig, though, and the only adult in a uniform seemed to be the man in the ticket booth.

She’d find her way. She wasn’t a baby after all. She was eight. And she could read very well, and no one was coming to help her, so she better figure it out.

She stood in line for the ticket man’s attention. Surely, he could give her directions. The Magus was rich, and a little famous, she thought, so his neighbors must know where he lived. If the man in the booth didn’t know, she’d keep asking until she found someone who did. While she waited her turn, she set down her suitcase and sat on it, taking deep breaths that tasted like salt. It could be worse. What if it rained instead? Well. Actually. Rain sounded very nice.

Soon enough, she took her place in front of the booth, and the man frowned under his mustache like she’d arrived with a bill or a letter from someone nasty. She smiled prettily, the way the Fosters told her to, and tried to make herself look like less of a problem as she clutched her case again.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but do you know the way to Fawney Rig?”

He physically recoiled, and his frown hooked deeper with glowering doubt as he scanned her. “Fawney Rig? That devil worshiper’s house? Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve been sent to live there, sir. I’m expected, but I don’t think they’ve sent anyone for me.” Manners made things easier with adults. Good manners and clear words – the fewer the better.

But the man wasn’t swayed. He looked thunderous. Like she’d broken something valuable and ought to pay for it with a lashing.

“Do you have money for a cab?”

The Fosters didn’t own her anymore, and they’d given her nothing but cards, and costumes, and a hairbrush. All the cash stayed warm and safe in their pockets.

“No, sir.”

“Then walk down the main road. Go east from the village, and keep going until there are no more houses you can see from the street. There’ll be a path on the left with a big iron gate. Follow that and you’ll find your devil worshipers.” He waved her off like he’d slap her if not for the glass. “Next!”

Manners got her what she needed, at least. “Thank you.”

The other adults all moved aside as she trundled through with her case. It made it easier to avoid clipping ankles and shins with her luggage, but she wondered if they hated her the way the ticket man hated her – because of Fawney Rig – or if she simply smelled after the long, stuffy ride in third class. Not that adults needed an excuse to dislike her. The nice ones called her uncanny and gifted. The mean ones called her a witch, and a bastard devil-spawn, and other names a mother should wash out of their mouths with soap.

She wasn’t sure which ones were telling the truth.

She knew the way forward, though. To Fawney Rig. That was good, even if the other adults didn’t think so. The Magus may not be a nice person, she hadn’t known him long enough for the usual adult lies to wear thin enough to see through, but he was smarter than the Fosters, and he’d given her a lemonade, so maybe she wouldn’t be as hungry or thirsty under his guardianship. She’d still have to work. Adults only wanted her if they thought she could give them something. But everything was more bearable with a good dinner and cold drinks.

She hoped he’d give her another cold drink, even water with some ice, when she reached his home. The train ride left her terribly thirsty.

Leaving the shaded platform, she bowed away from the sun’s violent touch and started on her journey. The village only kept a cobbled road in the center of town. It led up to the train station, linking it to a clutch of shops and offices. A parish church sat a little way back from the road, separated from the secular world by a field of tidy tombstones in heat-bleached grass. People noticed her. They looked. They whispered to each other. But no one waved or offered a hand. Gossip didn’t move fast enough to beat her here from the train, and she wondered how people could tell she was odd. Society had so many rules beyond manners, but no one would tell her what they were, and she never guessed right.

By the time the cobblestones ended, she was struggling to hold onto her suitcase. The handle kept trying to slip from her fingers, even when she held it with both hands, and she had to work harder and harder to keep it out of the dirt. If she knew anything about the world, it was that good children didn’t drag their luggage, and bad things happened to those that did. She’d travelled enough to learn, and she wanted to make a good impression on her new keeper and his household.

The road outside of town went a very, very long way. The ticket seller’s instructions made each step sound the same length: go through town, pass the houses, go down the long drive past the gates. Her imagination had lied to her, though. Every time she thought she’d passed the last house, there came another. Each handed her down the chain of cottage gardens and small homes full of families who pretended not to see. They all knew she’d done something, like she had a brand on her forehead, and she wasn’t allowed to stop. She didn’t try to.

Everything looked sickly yellow in the midday glare. Dust hung in the air, stirred by passing cars, lingering without a breath of wind to dispel the choking clouds. Everything looked flat and dead, so much so she almost missed the gate. Another leg of her trek done. Still too far to go, and the private road leading to the Magus’ home was longer than it had any right to be.

She didn’t feel well. The trees gave her a little protection, but her stomach and lungs felt hard, strained, the way her arms ached with carrying her suitcase. Only they were parts that shouldn’t feel that way, and she thought maybe she should sit down.

But she was almost there.

Even if she walked slowly, and her feet didn’t land quite where she told them to.

She just wouldn’t think about those things. Complaining was just making excuses, and she was expected.

The house appeared out of nowhere, or she was too dizzy to see it through the leaves before the last turn in the drive. It loomed, a very final-looking destination, and her suitcase escaped her grasp. The case was slippery, and her fingers didn’t curl the way they should. She bent to pick it up, and when she straightened, the whole world spun.

She stood very still until it stopped, and she found herself shivering as she approached the front door. Very strange. Was she afraid? No. That didn’t sound right. She felt terrible, too terrible to worry, and none of it made sense.

But she’d nearly made it. She had made it. Almost.

Knocking summoned a young man, and the door creaked open as he glanced down with a quizzical expression. “Hello? Can I help you?”

She tried holding her suitcase with just one hand, but it slipped away again, barely missing her foot. Maybe a handshake was a bad idea. The stranger hadn’t held his hand out for a shake, after all. She was just confused. He might not want to touch her. And she must look a picture after her walk.

She should’ve done something differently. If she were smarter, or taller, or…

“I’m Aisling Hunt, sir. The Magus sent for me.”

“Oh.” The young man’s eyes popped wider, and she wondered if he was younger than she thought at first. Stepping back, he pulled open the door to usher her inside. “I’m sorry. I’d heard someone was coming, but I’d thought you’d be… well, older. And I’m just Alex.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Aisling.”

He nodded and plucked her bag from where she’d dropped it. “Yes. You said. Are you feeling alright?”

She didn’t know. And grownups didn’t really like it when she was unwell anyway. Before she could come up with a suitable lie that would get her what she needed without stepping on any toes, a familiar face appeared at the end of the hall.

“Ah! You made it.” Out of formal dress, the Magus still brimmed with authority. Aisling had met many adults who wore costumes and pretended to be something they weren’t, but the Magus seemed like he’d somehow stitched his chosen persona into his skin. “Welcome to Fawney Rig.”

She wobbled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Magus,” he corrected.

“Thank you, Magus, sir.”

At last, what he was seeing overshadowed his enthusiasm, and the old man frowned. “Did you walk here? From the station?”

“Yes, Magus.”

“The Fosters didn’t even give you money for a fucking cab?”

“Just the train ticket, sir. Magus.”

She blinked, and the whole room turned blue, like peering at the world through stained glass. It looked so pretty she didn’t realize the Magus was asking her another question until his hand settled on her shoulder.

His voice came from far away. “Can you hear me?”

Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, Magus, I walked, and I found Fawney Rig all on my own, and I’m not useless, please don’t throw me away yet.

But everything looked cool, and blue, and lovely. She was floating in it. Floating and so awfully heavy at the same time. The color slipped in with her breath, eroding her control until it slipped from her grasp like the suitcase had.

The world went dark, and she didn’t see, hear, or say anything more.

And deep below, in the belly of the house, Dream of the Endless waited in his cage, as senseless to the world above as she.

[iammistressofmyfate]

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish, Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent

Tags: Haunting, Meet-Cute, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Adam Parrish, Irish Ronan Lynch, Fate, solving a murder, Ghost Hunting, True Crime elements, Murder, Murder, Mystery, new relationships, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, Adam Parrish Loves Ronan Lynch, Bisexual Adam Parrish, Death, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Vomiting, Possession, References to Canonical Abuse, Alternative Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Adam Parrish is a psychic-medium, still living in his hometown of Henrietta, VA. He spends his time working part-time as a mechanic and part-time with the psychics of 300 Fox Way, helping clients connect with deceased loved ones. His life has been stable and uninteresting until a handsome Irishman shows up at 300 Fox Way looking for help with a haunting.

Excerpt:

The following morning, Ronan and Adam went to the sheriff’s department. Ronan drove the BMW and they swung by a coffeeshop on their way. 

Ronan brought Adam a vanilla latte and a flat white for himself. Adam loved that Ronan knew his coffee order and didn’t even have to ask. He wasn’t sure there was anyone in his life who knew all the small, silly things, and while it was small and silly, it still made Adam’s heart do a small leap of joy. 

The drive to the sheriff’s department was spent in comfortable, companionable silence. It was maybe forty-five minutes from the Barns, in nearby Harrisonburg. The building that made up the sheriff’s department was a tall, sand colored building with long, rounded windows. 

It didn’t really look like a sheriff’s department but judging by the patrol cars in the parking lot that said “POLICE”, Adam figured they were in the right place. Ronan found street parking and they went in together. 

“You don’t have to come with me,” Adam told Ronan gently but Ronan shook his head and took Adam’s hand. 

[Chapter Thirteen] [Chapter Fourteen]

[The Beginning]