#self para. | 001

[damianesco]

[ PATTERNS. SELF PARA 001 ]

SUMMARY: Damian experiences his first serious same-sex relationship. TIME FRAME: August 2024 - October 2024 TW: Emotional abuse, abuse, alcoholism, language, dissociation, relapse

AUGUST 26, 2024. [ URIEL: No show ? ]

It’s six in the morning, and Damian hasn’t slept.

He’s getting ready in the bathroom, staring at the bags underneath his eyes with a small frown. No doubt some of his students will make some smart comments about the sight — he wishes, fleetingly, that he were as good as some of the other volunteers at Bright Sparks with makeup. Might’ve made it easier to get through this.

“Hey.”

Jason steps inside the bathroom, in a soft gray t-shirt and similarly-shaded sweats. He’s got the day off today. Says he’s gonna spend it catching up on the sleep they missed last night.

He steps toward the toilet and takes a piss. Damian’s still staring at the bags underneath his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Jason asks, flushing the toilet.

Damian glances at him. “I look like shit.”

“Aw,” Jason steps toward the counter, pressing a gentle kiss to Damian’s temple. “You could never.” He runs a hand through Damian’s already-unkempt hair, and it feels warm on his scalp. “But I get it. Heavy bags,” he nods. “Guess you’ve learned your lesson, huh?”

Damian frowns.

“Don’t start a fight at night,” Jason raises an eyebrow. “Could’ve avoided the whole thing if you’d just relaxed.”

Right. Damian had mentioned — something about Jason’s tone, when speaking to the waiter at dinner last night. He hadn’t liked it — it’d been condescending, and rude. Jason had felt triggered, he’d said, as he’d been labeled condescending and rude his whole life growing up just because he was born into privilege. I didn’t choose it, Damian. I feel like you’re getting on my case about things out of my fucking control.

“Yeah,” Damian mutters, glancing back at the mirror. All he sees looking back is a stupid man who doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone.

–

SEPTEMBER 2, 2024. [ URIEL: You going 2 meetings in BH ? ]

—

He hasn’t spoken to Oliver in a week.

He keeps glancing down at his phone, hoping maybe the next notification that shows up is from him, to no avail. He’s scrolling through Instagram mindlessly when Jason walks into the kitchen.

“You’ve been staring at that thing for hours,” he says casually as he makes his way toward the fridge. “Waiting for a call?”

Damian shakes his head once. “Not — technically,” he admits, glancing up at his boyfriend. “Ollie and I — we haven’t spoken since—” he stops himself. “I just miss him.”

Jason says nothing as he reaches inside the fridge for the water pitcher. He says nothing when he sets it on the counter. He says nothing when he grabs a glass from the cabinet, when he fills that glass nearly to the brim. He says nothing after he chugs half of it and sets it back down.

Then he says, “I always thought he was a shitty friend.”

The instinct to defend Oliver is quick to rise in Damian. Years of practice. “He’s not,” he insists. “We just — we had a disagreement,” he says. “It’ll pass.”

“Will it?” Jason raises a challenging eyebrow at Damian. “He strings you along for years and then, what? One little spat and he drops off the face of the earth?” He gives Damian a sympathetic look. “You deserve better, baby.”

That’s not what this is, he wants to say. Oliver wouldn’t do that. He knows Oliver, longer than he’s known Jason, even — Oliver wouldn’t—

Jason grabs Damian’s phone from his hands and pockets it. “That’s enough of this for tonight.”

Damian gives him a puzzled look. “What?”

“It’s just messing with your head,” Jason presses a kiss to Damian’s forehead. “Let’s just relax. You and me. No phones.”

It’s a sweet gesture. Still—“I need to call Sofia, tell her I’m spending the night.”

Jason’s lips twitch almost imperceptibly downward. “You’re a grown man,” he points out to Damian, voice sweet. “You can stay out for a couple of days without keeping your little sister updated every single time.”

“She’ll worry.”

“She has her own life,” Jason reminds him. “You’re not the center of the fucking universe, Damian. She’ll be fine.”

And Damian doesn’t really have an argument to make against that — even if he did, he doesn’t think it’d be a good idea to make one at all. He hasn’t slept the past two nights, not well, because he’s slipped up a couple of times, made Jason feel insecure or belittled. He’s working on choosing his words more carefully. He’s working on doing better.

“Maybe we go to a meeting tomorrow?” Damian puts the offer out into the room gently. It’s been a minute since either of them have been to one. He doesn’t know about Jason, but Damian’s starting to feel the absence of the meetings like bullet holes in his willpower. Sometimes he’ll wake up from a dream — a nightmare, really — and still feel the alcohol burning down his throat. 

Jason shakes his head. “Why the fuck would we go to a meeting?” he crosses his arms over his chest. “What, I’m not enough for you to talk to?”

“No,” Damian amends quickly. “Of course not. But — you know—”

“Right,” Jason laughs, the sound piercing and bitter. It cuts through Damian’s resolve quickly, sagging his shoulders. “I’m never enough for you. Always running to a meeting, always needing your friends to text you back. Why are we even fucking doing this, Damian?” He demands. “If I’m just always going to be an afterthought?”

Damian shakes his head profusely. “You’re not, that’s not what I—”

“Save it,” he snaps, making his way upstairs. “You can sleep in the guest room tonight.”

The bedroom door slams shut, the sound reverberating through every inch of the house. Damian feels it like ice in his veins.

It takes him about an hour of sitting in silence, gaze fixed on a day-old stain on the floor, to realize Jason’s kept his phone.

–

SEPTEMBER 10, 2024. [ URIEL: Worried about U, kid ! U will give me ulcers. Talk soon ? ]

—

“Mr. Escobedo.”

Damian glances up from his desk, meeting Elsa’s gaze. Elsa’s worked at the front office for years and years and years — longer than Damian’s been alive, he’s sure. The students are taking a test; some of them glance up curiously at the interruption. Damian stands from his desk chair, and glares playfully at his gaggle of teens.

“Eyes on your own tests,” he warns. “I’m right outside.”

He follows Elsa out into the hallway, frowning. “What’s up, Elsa?”

She gives him something of a wry smile. “Damian,” she reaches out and squeezes his wrists affectionately — or perhaps reassuringly? “We’ve gotten several calls from a certain Jason Plymouth asking about your classroom’s extension.”

Damian’s stomach sinks. “Is he — is everything—”

Elsa holds up a placating hand. “As far as I know, everything is fine, dear,” she promises. “But he is — persistent.”

Damian wipes at his face. “I’m sorry. He’s probably — I turn off my phone on test days, he—”

Elsa shakes her head once. “We cannot give him your extension,” she tells him. “You may. But we cannot.” She pauses. “I recommend you call him back,” she says slowly. “Ask him to maybe stop calling…?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Damian assures her. “Of course. I’m so sorry, Elsa.” 

Elsa eyes him for a second, almost searchingly. Eventually, she asks, “Is everything okay, Damian?”

The question catches Damian by surprise. “Yes,” he replies almost instantly, the word rushing out of his mouth like an instinct. “Yes, it is. I’m — of course it is,” he laughs, though it sounds a little rattled to his own ears. “I’m so sorry. He’s probably just worried. Won’t happen again, I promise.”

Elsa hesitates for a second, before finally nodding her assent. “Alright,” she takes her hands back from Damian’s wrists and makes her way back to the front office, nothing else to say to him.

He doesn’t know what he tells himself to convince his heart it’s racing out of anything other than fear.

But it works.

–

SEPTEMBER 14, 2024. [ URIEL: Did U change UR number ? Is this still Damian ? Please respond if not. ] 

–

“You fucking embarrassed me!” 

Damian doesn’t know what to do when Jason starts shouting. A part of him wants to shout back — another part of him wants to flee — but whatever part of him wins out is always a part that shrinks into itself, doing his best to look as small as possible, as unassuming as possible. 

“I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, please,” Jason walks up to him, face so close to Damian he can smell his boyfriend’s sushi-laced breath. “Batting your eyes at the waiter like a fucking slut. Thought you were gonna get on your knees for him right then and there.” He spits the words into Damian’s face, and he feels his body start to go taut in response to the proximity. “Meanwhile, your boyfriend has to watch it all happen and smile through it like the dumb little cunt you think I am—”

“I don’t,” Damian insists. “Jesus, Jason, I don’t think you’re — I never even—”

The lamp’s knocked over before Damian has a chance to take his next breath. The glass of the lightbulb shatters across the floor into shrill, fine pieces, decorating the otherwise pristine marble tiles of Jason’s living room.

“Fuck,” he shouts, taking a step away from Damian. Damian’s eyes remain fixed on the mess. “You see what you made me do? You drive me fucking crazy, Damian,” his voice is tense, but it sounds sadder this time. At least Damian thinks it sounds sadder. He’s hurt Jason — he gets that. Even if he hadn’t meant to — maybe he’d inadvertently sent some mixed signals to their waiter — maybe if he were just a tad bit more self-aware—

“Did you hear me?” Damian blinks out of his stupor and meets Jason’s heated gaze. “I said clean it up. I’m going to bed.”

Damian nods once. “Okay,” he replies quietly. 

Jason holds out his hand, then, wordlessly. Damian instinctively reaches for his phone and presses it as gingerly as possible into his boyfriend’s palm.

Then Jason turns on his heel and stomps up the stairs.

And Damian cleans up the mess. 

–

SEPTEMBER 16, 2024. [ PILAR: missed u for el grito 🥺 stop ignoring meeeee ]

–

Jason hasn’t spoken to him since Saturday. 

Damian’s tried to say something to him. Anything. But he gets the silent treatment. He doesn’t get his phone back until Sunday evening, and that’s mostly because it’s being blown up by work emails, and Jason seems tired of listening to the notifications.

He reads Pilar’s message and feels tears sting at his eyes. 

He doesn’t reply.

–

SEPTEMBER 17, 2024. [ PILAR: hellooooooo motherfucker i’m telling sofia on you!!!! ]

–

Jason comes home with a large bouquet of flowers and a million apologies. He gets on his knees and cries into Damian’s lap, begging for forgiveness, swearing he’ll do better. He’s trying, he’s trying, he says, he’s so fucked up, this is what they made him, he’s so fucked up, but he’ll do anything to make it better. He’ll do anything to make it better. 

Damian runs a soothing hand through his hair and shushes him, comforts him. It’s okay, he tells him in between sobs. I forgive you. It’s okay.

It is okay. They can work through this together, Damian thinks, hope swelling in his chest. It’s okay. They’ve both been through so much — it’s only natural that this would be work. It’s okay. 

It’s okay.

–

SEPTEMBER 24, 2024. [ NO NEW MESSAGES ]

–

Damian sits outside the community center in Chicago. He doesn’t go inside.

The fact that he’s managed to get here at all — Jason’s on a work trip this week, and Damian’s managed to go home. Say hi to Sofia. Shower in his own bathroom. Sleep in his own bed. For a second, he’d remembered what normal used to feel like, and almost as if on autopilot, he’d found himself taking the train to Chicago and finding his way to the AA meeting he hasn’t attended for a month.

He can’t work up the courage to go inside, though. He thinks he feels embarrassed, but about what — he can’t really say. Maybe it’s the fact that he never got back to Uriel. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been craving a drink so fucking badly this past month he feels like he’s going crazy with it. Maybe it’s the bottle of tequila he’d purchased last night before the liquor stores forced themselves closed, now hidden under piles of blankets in his closet. 

He should go, he thinks. He has no business being here. 

Damian pushes himself off the rickety bench when he hears his name in the familiar low, dulcet tone he’s come to expect from his sponsor.

He meets Uriel’s gaze, surprised. “Uriel?”

Uriel makes his way over to him, arms crossed — despite his usual stoicness, there’s something like worry in his expression. Damian wonders if he’s going through something, too. 

“You made me think you was dead, kid,” he tells Damian, frowning. “Had to reach out to some folk in Blue Harbor, make sure you wasn’t.”

Damian looks down at his feet, ashamed. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I’ve just — had a busy month.”

There’s a beat of silence wherein the words hang between them. They’re not quite a lie — they don’t quite ring true, either.

“You goin’ in?” Uriel finally asks, and Damian shakes his head instantly. 

“N-no, I just—” he clears his throat. “I just—” He doesn’t have an excuse, he realizes. None that sounds good enough to his own ears. “I’m not.”

Another beat of silence. 

“You relapse?”

Damian shakes his head. “No,” he promises. “I’m fine. Just busy.” I’m fine, just busy. I’m fine, just busy.

“Maybe we go get some coffee, hm?” Uriel offers. “I’ll buy. Some o’ the good stuff, too, none o’ that new-wave hippie dippie shit.”

Damian laughs slightly, and it almost hurts his throat. “Thank you,” he finally meets Uriel’s dark gaze again. “But I really do have to go.”

Uriel searches his gaze for a second. “Whatever it is,” he tells Damian. “I can tell you it ain’t worth it, kid.”

Damian feels his eyes start to sting. That’s where Uriel’s wrong. It is. He’s always thought himself off, thought something was so inherently wrong with him no one could love him — and now here’s Jason, offering him his love, promising him the world, something Damian never thought he could have. It’s worth it. He needs this. If not Jason, who? Who else will put up with him? Him, damaged goods, no filter, no worth? 

“Goodbye, Uriel,” he mutters. 

He leaves his sponsor behind.

–

SEPTEMBER 25, 2024. [ NO NEW MESSAGES ]

–

He opens the bottle of tequila and pours himself a glass.

Damian stares at it for an hour before he pours it down the drain. He’s about to do the same to the rest of the bottle, but something stops him.

Instead, he hides the bottle back inside his closet. Forces himself to forget about it.

–

SEPTEMBER 27, 2024. [ URIEL: Here if U need anything ]

–

“Fuck, I missed you,” Jason groans, kisses him deeply one last time before rolling off Damian. Damian, for his part, traces the usual patterns on the ceiling with his eyes. Doesn’t point out Jason texted him every half hour, asking him where he was, what he was doing. Doesn’t point out he hadn’t given Damian a chance to miss him. Doesn’t even think it matters, because this is how it should be. Jason should miss him this way. Obsessed with you, he’d once said. And that can only be good, right? 

It means Damian’s been good. It means Damian hasn’t scared him off yet.

“Did you hear what I said?” Jason cuts through his train of thought. “I said I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Damian replies automatically. The pattern on the ceiling turns into a horse. Then a dog. Then a cat. It starts to look like a cow, maybe.

He feels Jason roll off the bed. Hears his footsteps retreat into the bathroom. Damian rolls onto his side and looks at the wall, listens to the tick, tick, tick of the clock above the headboard. 

His mind drifts to his closet. 

–

OCTOBER 2, 2024. [ NO NEW MESSAGES ]

–

It doesn’t matter.

In the long run — in the grand scheme of things — what’s one glass?

What’s two? What’s three?

What’s Jason’s breath smelling of weed and his tasting of alcohol if they’re mingled together, anyway?

What does it matter, if this is what love is? If this is where he’s found it? 

In the long run — in the grand scheme of things — what’s one bottle?

It doesn’t matter.

–

END.

[rorysanderson]

[ FADING. SELF PARA 001 ]

SUMMARY: Rory has his nightly conversation with Eliza. LOCATION: Rory's porch, late evening. TW: death, grief

It’s cool enough in October that the crickets start to chirp again, rather incessantly.

Annie complains about the sound, insisting she’ll never be able to fall asleep like this for fifteen minutes straight before she eventually falls asleep like this. Rory envies a child’s ability to sleep through just about anything, including an admittedly obnoxious cricket choir.

They’re louder out here. Not surprising, considering they’re surrounded by foliage and trees more than they’re surrounded by anything industrial. Rory can accept their presence begrudgingly, if only because he knows it’s him, really, who’s the intruder here. It feels unfair Rory would hold a grudge against them for the simple crime of existing where they’re meant to exist; something Eliza had affectionately insisted to him, for a very long time, Rory knew nothing about.

He sets both cups of earl gray down on the small table out on his porch, then takes his usual seat to the left. Rory watches as the steam rises from the cup that isn’t his, carried away by the cool night breeze, off to where he can’t follow. What fills the silence for the next five minutes is the crickets’ high-pitched instrumental, the rustling of leaves against the wind, and the occasional intrusive chirp of a bird that’s not meant to be awake anymore.

Rory spins his cup between his fingers gingerly, careful not to burn the tips of them by pressing against the ceramic for too long. Eventually, he brings it to his lips and takes a sip, the heat of the tea comfortable enough to both satiate his thirst and warm his body against the dropping temperature. He sets the cup down again, tracing the rim of it, before he starts.

“Annie’s learned the word fuck,” Rory tells his girlfriend, gaze fixed on the untouched cup of tea across from him. “Keep thinking she’s not listening all the time, but that little bugger’s got her ear to the ground always,” he snorts, amusement settling inside him. “I’m surprised she didn’t learn it sooner, honestly. She’s been warned she can only say it in the bathroom, and never in front of anyone else,” his lips tighten into a warm smile. “Yesterday she broke one of her Barbie’s heads off accidentally and I watched her march straight into the bathroom and shout it,” Rory laughs, rubbing his face both tiredly and disbelievingly. “Wish you coulda seen it, Ellie.” 

His hand traces the smooth edges of the porch table. He’d built this almost immediately after he and Annie had moved to Blue Harbor, knowing he’d need a place, eventually, to sit outside and talk to Ellie. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, if the tea didn’t play such an important part of their talks. Rory doesn’t think he believes there’s anything to look up at the sky for — feels a little silly, if he tries it. He supposes there’s nothing less silly about talking to a cuppa, mind you, but at least there’s something about her there. The cup’s got a hideous neon-pink pattern printed around it, the loops largely reminiscent of ass cracks. It’s what had drawn Ellie to it in the first place, cackling at it at the thrift shop, and she’d happily drank her tea out of it for years after the fact.

Humming, he continues, “Valley’s finally told me about what happened with her and Murph,” he tells Eliza. His fingernail scratches at the wood of the table anxiously. “I’m sure she’d’ve preferred it’d been you she could talk to. Never been good at all that,” he swallows, his throat starting to feel a little tight. “Not like you, anyway.” The steam is still rising from the cup, but it’s coming in thinner waves now. “I know you’d be worried about her. I’m worried about her, too. Getting her to ask for help — it’s like pulling teeth,” he huffs, the words filled with affection despite himself. Valley and Eliza had been good friends for a reason; she reminds him a lot of her, in many ways. “I won’t keep my eyes off her,” he promises Eliza unnecessarily. “I mean it.” 

He continues to tell her about the past week — an oddity at the flower shop, an ambitious commission by a young musician, Annie’s affinity for Ms. Zakwe, her new favorite teacher. Peanut Butter’s great escape, the grand army of insects he’d been afraid he was going to have to fight, the quiet afternoons off where nothing particularly interesting happens. He talks until the steam has stopped rising entirely from the tea inside the cup, the night seemingly having cooled it down in its entirety. He talks until he’s out of things to talk about, and the elephant in the room has made its way to their porch, sitting on its hind legs. 

Rory purses his lips. He can taste his heartbeat, suddenly, with how far and fast it’s beating. He thinks he has the words, really, but they’re stuck to the roof of his mouth now, and his tongue feels heavy. 

So instead he says, “I’m sorry.”

The tears sting at his eyes almost immediately, the knot in his throat constricting so fantastically it almost feels like he’s going to choke with it. His hand grips the handle of his cup so tightly he fears, for a second, he might well and truly break it. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, wiping at his nose with his free arm. “I didn’t think I’d like him this much, Ellie.”

A part of Rory knows there’s nothing to apologize to her for — she’d never have given him any sort of grief for this, under the circumstances. Even in life, he doesn’t think there was a jealous bone in Eliza Carmichael’s body. She’d been perfect in every sense imaginable, and Rory had been at the right place at the right time, lucky enough to orbit her as long as he had. And still, he can’t help feeling like the admission is some sort of betrayal: he’d promised her, once, he’d spend the rest of his life loving her, and now — now—

“I think I’m forgetting your voice,” he admits, voice thick, blinking tears away. “It’s hard to remember it, on my own. I used to—” he clears his throat. The knot sits firm. “I used to be able to pick you out of a crowd by the sound of it. Pick apart your moods with it. And now, uhm,” his eyesight’s blurred over, suddenly. “And now I can’t even remember your laugh. I can’t even remember how you said my name, Ellie.” 

He chokes on a sob, pressing the heels of his palms tersely against his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. He wants to tell her how different they both are from each other — where Eliza had slotted herself into the parts of Rory that had been left wanting his entire life, Jack’s somehow snuck into the crevices of what remains, content to live in the spaces Rory never filled. How where Eliza had always burned so brightly she’d blind anyone who looked at her too long, Jack slumps into himself and exists outside the lines, like a sculpture at an art museum you’re not meant to touch. How where Rory’s losing the details of Eliza he’d been sure he’d committed to memory for years, he’s slowly starting to learn the exact number of Jack’s laugh lines, the depth of his frown, the texture of his scars, all by heart. 

The love he has for Eliza burns as brightly as the first day he’d laid eyes on her. He cannot deny her that — he cannot lie to himself about it. It is, perhaps, the reason why it hurts to think of her as a disappearing memory, as a stack of carefully-wrapped canvases sitting in storage, collecting dust instead of admiration. And where Rory thought there was no room in him left, no way to make it inside himself with such overwhelming grief having taken up residence, it turns out somewhere between a shy smile from across the way while unloading moving boxes and the feeling of calloused lips soft against his own, there exists a chasm, still. 

Does this count as a broken promise, then? I’ll love you forever, but I’ll forget the details of your face. I’ll love you forever, but I’ll not be able to remember the exact curve of your smile. I’ll love you forever, but you’ll start to live outside of me bit by bit, until time takes the rest of you.

You’ve never done anything by halves, have you, Rory Anderson? Eliza had asked of him once. Her voice still eludes him — she comes through like a radio station just outside its frequency. But he does remember how she’d caressed the side of his face, looking at him with such fondness it’d spread through Rory like a wildfire. I hope you know what it feels like one day, to have the attention of someone like you.

Maybe. 

He thinks of Eliza’s insistence that the world was made up of colors Rory’s yet to discover, her firm belief that he’d see what she saw, one day — that he’d find that burst that so eludes him, and he’d know, he’d know, then, he’d found exactly where he was meant to be. 

Maybe, Rory thinks as he lets the breeze run through his hair, take whatever’s left of his quiet sobs — maybe making space for more does not constitute a broken promise, in the end. 

Maybe some things have to be felt through their absence, by the gaps in the memory they leave behind.

Maybe, actually — this is how all things are meant to be loved:

Deeply, even as they fade.

[ashxrdavenport]

patient zero – self para.

set on the night of may 5th, 1989.

ooc: since i intend on using this story for plot purposes in the near future, i figured i'd post it to his blog.

the taste of fresh blood straight from a jugular is so inebriating that he doesn’t quite realize what he’s doing.

so rich, so satisfying… he had been told it was good. better than the bagged, tomato-juice-colored liquid he’s used to. but this… this the best thing he has ever tasted. and he drinks, and drinks, and drinks until he’s drowning in it. he drinks until he chokes. until there’s nothing left to drain. and still, he keeps sucking, just to make sure he has taken every single remaining drop…

when he lets go of the body, it hits the pavement with a thud. loud and moist, as it crashes against a puddle. its echo rippling through the alley behind the bar.

still engrossed in the high, he doesn’t pay much mind to it. he’s too busy licking the gaps between his fingers, the space under his nails. satisfying himself like a child eating ice cream for the first time.

it’s only when he can’t taste blood anymore that his senses begin to clear. the world begins to spin at its normal speed again. the rush and the hunger start to wear off. his undead heart slows down. his senses relax. his perception returns. and, in between heavy breaths, asher gradually comes back to reality. thoughts start unclogging, things start making sense. humanity comes back to him, replacing that feral, beastly hunger. and, finally, he realizes.

fuck.

fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fu–

he stares at the body for a while. face contorted into an expression that seesaws between horror and concern. furrowed brows and agape mouth revealing his terror and disbelief at what lies at his feet.

fuck. he just wanted to give the guy a scare. beat him up a bit and get on with his life. that was not what he wanted. fuck no. that wasn’t supposed to–

he has to do something about it.

does he go for gwen? does he tell her he just murdered someone? she must know what to do in these situations, right?

but then again, she has given him all the instructions. she has tried her best to orient him to not become a murderer… jesus, she's going to be so pissed... actually, no. he isn’t supposed to think about that guy anymore. weakens him, apparently. satan, she’s going to be so pissed…

no. he can’t tell her. he has to deal with it on his own. he can’t get into any more trouble.

he looks around, desperate. trying to find something. anything. and as something moves inside a dumpster in the dark, he has an idea.

fucking gross. but time efficient.

he fishes for a trash bag, empties it on the dumpster – the reek of waste and rot torment his nostrils – and sets it next to the body.

cracking sounds echo through the dark street as he breaks bones and ligaments, like a nutcracker, but tenfold. even with his heightened strength – on top of what he considered already high strength, even before he’d become a vampire –, he still has a hard time snapping the forearms and legs in halves.

he doesn’t hate the feeling, though… not that it’s fun, by any means, but he is so caught up in breaking the guy’s body into a foldable little mass, that he almost forgets he just took someone’s life…

when he’s done, he fits it all inside the trash bag. he ties it up and heaves it over his back.

a 6’5 man walking down the streets with a black bag, in the middle of the night. not suspicious at all. nothing to see here! just taking out the trash! into the forest! to throw it in the river! what was he supposed to do? leave a body in the dumpster for a sloppy trash collector to drop it the next day and start a whole police investigation? who would want that?!

when the heavy work is done, he sits by the river to watch a dismembered arm and a leg float away (other pieces had been scattered around the forest in precariously dug holes). and it’s only then that the adrenaline starts to wear off. a different kind, though. not the same ecstasy from choking on fresh blood. but a more human, mortal kind. and it finally starts to sink in.

fuck.

he just murdered a guy.

a guy he had met at a bar not two hours ago. sure, an asshole that he had grown to hate within two minutes of conversation, but a human being, nonetheless.

he’s done his fair share of wrongdoings in his. way too many for his own sake. but that was a whole new level…

all the cliché thoughts start coming. what if they catch me? what if he was just a normal, random guy with a family? what if they catch me?

and as a severed foot disappears in the distance, he feels something tug downward inside his ribcage. it isn’t sadness. It doesn’t make him cry. is it guilt? he figures, but he can’t really tell... It is different. unlike anything he ever felt. and it is so, so strange. because he doesn’t know if he feels for the guy, or for someone he might have left behind. or if he just fears getting caught… but he feels… wrong.

is this what he has become? is this who he is now? 

[raging-ale]

;; dear papa.

tw: blood, death, suicidal thoughts. having been at deaths door so many times before even before coming to camp and taken upon the blessing of being titled the son of ares - pain has always followed. it was late, too late - he had left his phone behind so atticus, wyatt, remy and oliver won't track him. it was a stupid move, yes, but he wanted alone time, he wanted a moment with his father, hoping he can be heard - feel his presence, that warmth he craved from his blood.

standing before the statue of his father, he kneeled down before him as he laid the greataxe before him. tears streaming down his face as he pulled the hoodie back and the images of the demigods killing him over and over again started to play out. gasping for air, he can feel the sharp edges of their blades ripping into him over and over again - making him choke on his own blood. grasping onto his throat in that moment, he looked up at the statue and just began to sob.

"dad? -- i failed you... i failed them... i.... i broke the promise i gave to mother.. to you... to them... i .... " alejandro felt his chest hurting right were that dark mark was over his heart. still unclear what had happened to him - how was he still alive? "i wish... i wish i can go back and change what i did.. i shouldn't have eaten that.. i was so stupid.. iw as so fucking stupid.. i have always been stupid.. i just thought that what if he ate it and just got stronger.. i just... i was thinking of myself.. and not them... " sobbing even more, he held his chest even tighter.

"i don't know how i am alive.. i want to think it's you that saved me... a-again... but... why? why would you save a stupid fucking child like me.... i ,... dad.. please... please i don't want to die! i found my family.. i found them... i don't want to leave them... " his emotions were uncontrolable in that moment as he felt the weight of all his emotions taking over. the monster inside him for calm - scared as well, he needed to protect himself, he just got to a point where he felt happy to be alive.. always wishing for his death, for his own release of the pain that was caused to him. blaming ares, his father for it all when he got to camp - but having heard his voice, his praise - echoing in his ear, he felt that it had lost that.. his father was angry at him.

"oh gods... what have i done?" right there - there was that anger, that lost child that was always so fucking scared just unleashed in that moment. one of the most heart broken screams was let out as he fell forward - sobbing, not caring who might have heard him with how loud he had yelled, he didn't care. all he cared about was trying to reach his father, feel his touch, anything. "i'll do better, i'll do better for you, for mom, for them... i just... thank you... if... if.. that.. was you.. i ... " slowly looking back up, tears streaming down his face he slowly placed a hand down on his greataxe and took in a deep breath. "i hope you are still proud of me.. papa..." his words soft, calm - hopeful - his story doesn't end here. he's alive - he's still alive.

the son of ares - a survivor!

[wmucody]

TITLE: I Was Never There. DATE: Saturday 24th March. SUMMARY: After his walk with Frannie, Cody decides to push down his own barriers and show his growing feelings for Mercedes by gifting her a small but meaningful present. Only for things to not go as planned.

The heat radiated off Cody's exposed chest - his skin a golden colour with a hint of red blushing through. A visual result of forgetting to put on more sunscreen for him and Frannie's wander around the small, local markets. The flowy shirt sat open, his usual golden chain hugging his neck gently. His aftershave mixed with the aroma of the Mexican beer he had picked up to drink while he was getting ready. His playlist blaring the walls around him. It was going to be a good night.

A small tethered cord bracelet tangled around his fingers. His thumb rubbing softly against the mixed blue and purple charms. It was a minuscule gesture but one that he was willing to make, to push by his boundaries, to move slightly forward in whatever him and Mercedes were caught in. Words weren't his forte. Well, they were in situations where he could bullshit; however, in times of true connection where voicing his feelings were crucial, it was as if all ability to speak were stripped from him.

Cody flicked his eyesight back into the reflection of the mirror. As he took a deep breath, he finally left the room - cutting off the speaker's music during his exit. Darting throughout the sea of bodies, he didn't stop to speak to anyone who tried to get in his way. If he didn't do this now, he feared that he might never get the courage again. All the girls, the guys, with their sunkissed skin and lack of clothes, they didn't matter at this moment in time. There was only one person his soul was navigating towards.

"You seen Cedes?" He questioned someone near by, taking no interest in who it actually was as his eyes still scanned the crowd. Following the direction of the other's pointed finger, a smile curled at the ends of his mouth. A new feeling of excitement creeping into his body's radar. A feeling that he'd refuse to let himself feel for years on end. This was the moment. The exact moment that he had been building himself up for in previous hours. Rehearsing what he would say so he wouldn't fuck this up.

Taking two steps forward, Cody clocked the oh-so familiar figure in front of him. Her lips occupied with another's. He stood there. Lifeless. All emotion drained from his face as he felt the opening of his heart brick back up within seconds. His eyes studied the situation in front of him, the grip on the bracelet loosening with each second. It was as if someone unplugged him and all feelings drained from his body within seconds - leaving him as numb as his stance suggested.

The gaze of his jealous eyes were interrupted as a drunken passerby accidentally knocked into him. He shook his head, as if he was shaking all shock away from his body. Of course, she was going to kiss someone else. It was fine. It's what they do - tamper with the fate of their relationship only to find comfort in the body of others. Biting down firmly on his lip, Cody knew he had to get out of there before they spotted him. Turning away, he flicked his wrist throwing the bracelet into a plastic rubbish bag, to be buried with the other Spring Break scraps.

[mir-iamwilde]

I could be mean, I could be angry, you know I could be just like you || SELF PARA

LOCATION ➝ TABLE + ICE

TIME FRAME ➝ 10/17. Morning.

WARNINGS ➝ None? I don't think.

NOTES ➝ Just Midge feeling like shit about herself. Mentions of Zach, Gabe, Abby, Danny, Puck, Noel, Dani, and her father.

It wasn’t as if Midge had been lonely this whole time, she’d been keeping herself occupied, but it was hard seeing siblings being reunited and she wasn’t with any of hers. Midge stepped out onto the rooftop patio of the bar, taking in the chance to breathe some fresh air. Sure, she’d been outside, they’d been moved twice now, but she didn’t really get to feel and enjoy it. She was mostly worried about Abby. Zach and Gabe, what little she’d heard from and about them, they seemed okay. Abby’s texts had scared her. What could Abby have ever done to feel that this is somehow karmic for her? If anything, it was Midge who’d deserved some karmic retribution. Most days she was sure in her conviction that her father was a bad man, and that the things she did weren’t bad, she was just enjoying herself, making money, and maybe pissing him off in the process, if he ever found out. Yet, here she was, now in a place with 3 men she’d slept with in probably the last week, and no one who knew the real her in sight. Midge was lying to everyone she knew and all for what? Just to hurt her father, when he didn’t even know she was doing it? Was it even fair of her to feel the need to hurt him, when really, didn’t that make her just as bad as him. He hurt his children, and that was the main reason she hated him so badly, and now, she realized, maybe she was more like him than she ever knew. Thinking about her conversation with Danny the day before, she bit her lip, she’d been stupid to think that there was something there. When they left here, Danny would realize she had been a fun time but there were women out there who could hold his attention far better. There were women who deserved his attention. What happened with Puck had been tension release for both of them, and that was really her true strength, giving someone something to do to take their mind off the bullshit happening around them, and that was really it. Now she was with Noel, too. Noel, who’d always been sweet to her and even wanted to take her away for a weekend, but why? It was all the situation, people were acting strangely, they were feeling sentimental or whatever. Noel would change his mind, or maybe he wouldn’t, but a whole weekend with her? He’d be so bored he’d probably gouge his own eyes out by the end of it. Not to mention Dani, who had actually made the mistake of caring about her, and she’d been too scared to be the person Dani needed. Why was she so afraid of everything? Maybe not everything, just her father, and herself. Why did everything in her life seem to revolve around sex and whether or not people wanted her? She knew there was probably some psychological connection there between being physically wanted by people, and not feeling emotionally wanted by anyone, and the fact that she hated herself, but she wasn’t a therapist, so what did she care? Midge let herself cry for 30 seconds, her arms wrapped tightly around her body as she wished she could be anyone but herself. She wiped her tears, took a deep breath, and forced herself to stand. Her facade came back, and she was going to be fine, even if she had to fake it until she was out of here. She’d be fun Midge, she’d entertain whoever needed entertaining until she could be home, and hate herself openly again.

[devouredxmuses]

ingrid & emery ; self para time: well into the party karma.

something hadn't felt right since her homecoming. she wasn't naive enough to believe that everyone would be happy to see her, but she was naive enough to believe that she could handle everything they'd thrown her way. it reminded her of the reason she'd left this shithole the first time. arrogance, that's what kept her here, even after the slaps asher, laurie, heath, and theo had given her. there she stood now, in the kitchen of the party, sipping the liquor from her cup and looking for something to liven the night up. that's when she spotted him by himself. the tribrid had clocked him laughing and chatting with people she knew, people who wanted nothing to do with her. she didn't like it.

he'd just finished the rest of the drink in his cup when the red head was before him, offering a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. emery knew her, he'd seen the face in heath's memories and he attempted to extract each one. " let's go for a walk, " she compels ( or attempts to, if vervain hadn't been running through his system ). self preservation was high on his list so he obliged, nodding feigning to be affected. her fingers grabbed his sleeve and tugged him toward the door. maybe he should have tried to search the crowd for heath or asher, but he didn't want her to suspect anything. instead he reminded himself of the stake he stashed in his waistband.

the second ingrid had lead him outside she grabbed his shoulders and turned to slam him against the nearest brick wall. " fuck, " he grunts once the connection is made, feeling a throb of pain radiate through his body. she lets go and he drops down to a knee. " wow, you really do pack a punch, " he mutters. " you're chatty, most men beg at this point, " she raises a brow. he wasn't her usual type anyway, he'd acted as a stand up gentleman each time she'd spotted him throughout the night. this was personal. " and does begging ever stop it ? " emery wasn't as defenseless as he looked, his abilities hidden. if he got ingrid distracted enough, he could get in her head.

" i think we both know the answer. get up, " another attempted compulsion and to his feet he goes anyways. " gonna do a number on me too ? like you did heath ? " emery shouldn't have said it, but he couldn't help himself. the man had become a close friend, a surge of protectiveness rushing through him. " excuse you ? " her eyes narrow and her arm shoots out to grab his neck and pushing him back against that wall. " did him so bad he had to ask me to make him forget you, " he choked out in her grip. that was his leverage. it certainly wasn't fair for him to divulge his friend's business, but this was a matter of life and death. of all the things ingrid thought would leave his mouth, that was not one of them. her grip loosened so he could speak once she was done, wanting to hear whatever bullshit he'd spew. " and how would you be able to do that ? " a sneer, a dare she didn't know she was asking for.

" like this, " his hands shoot up to wrap around her wrists. eye and physical contact would help him best. in a flash she was no longer standing in front of emery, she was down on the ground. a few feet from her she watches the scene before her, the last hug she ever shared with her father. elijah's arms wrapped tightly around her as she sobs into his chest, muttering how much she loved him. the pain getting closer, much closer. then as quickly as the vision was there, it was replaced.

now, she's in that alleyway. just in time to watch the expulsion of power thrust heath off his feet. watched as she ran to his side unable to help him, tears staining her cheeks as she begged him to come back. a pang of guilt stabbing into her, it dulled to a throb. again, the memory was gone and she was still stuck in her spot. images flashed before her at near lightening speed, each life she'd taken replaying before her eyes, a sob getting caught in her throat. " enough ! " she screams at emery wherever he is, she couldn't see him.

in a snap she's back with the witches. it had been so far away from her, not having thought of this moment since she turned i off. this moment, it was the beginning of the end of ingrid mikaelson. this time she wasn't just watching the scene play out before her, she was in it. ingrid was frozen on her knees, the woman couldn't move, couldn't look away as she watched her mother be taken from her again. the hand plunged into her mother's chest and was as if the dam she'd carefully constructed exploded. at the same time there was a stab in her gut, this time it was physical.

emery had lodged the stake in ingrid's stomach, an insurance policy, if memory lane hadn't subdued her. she sunk to the ground as everything she'd shut off started to consume her. the flesh wound somehow being the most dull feeling. " i'm sorry, " she gushes while looking up to see the person who'd forced her switch to flip back. the words she'd be uttering for the rest of her life. still she weeps on the ground, emery's heart sinking in his chest. he shouldn't be the one with her here now. " no, i'm sorry, " he murmurs, not necessarily sorry for doing it, but for how much it seemed to hurt her.

" just go, please, " she whimpers while pulling the wood from her abdomen. she needed to be alone, her body starting to heave as everything was settling in. the disgust, the anger, the sadness, the grief, all the pain she'd locked away a year ago. he wanted to say something, to offer her some sort of comfort, it was in his nature. but he also wasn't a fool. he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. ingrid was dangerous regardless. getting away from her was needed. without another word he books it back in the direction of his house. that was enough excitement for one night.

ingrid was left in the darkness as she sobbed. her fists smashing into the ground as hard as she could, cracking the cement. " fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, " she bawls as the skin of her knuckles split. she moves so her back can rest against the wall, drawing her knees to her chest as she felt herself be swallowed whole by the agony she'd delayed.

[havenbsinclair]

Timeline: November - December of 2023 Mentioned People: Lake Sinclair, @julianxheywood, @kanyonwebb, Marie Sinclair, @summercassidy (brief recap of the thread), @riverxjackson (brief recap of the thread), @noahsinclaxr, @norasinclair (Some of the threads are still being written on the dash so I summarized what I imagine will happen.) Notes: All research in regards to this self-para was done via Google. It is in no way intended for this self-para to be harmful, nor misinforming as I simply used the internet and my imagination to develop a scenario and instill some development within my character.

Note: Colored writing is dialogue by NPC's. Yellow is Lake, pink is Haven's mom

November 15th, 2023

"You know, Mom, that stuff you put on my cut didn't fix it like you said it would." It wasn't typically normal for Lake to be argumentative in this sense, but, to say that Lake had been 'normal' recently was almost the wrong word to use. Things with Lake had been rather tense since he'd started spending time with his dad, Kanyon, and while Haven was almost too concerned with it, she let it going; after all, Lake was at that age where growth spurts, mood swings and puberty were all possibilities. While she was convinced it was anxiety ridden from the change in his environment, she knew that he would talk when he was ready, and until then it was her job to help him. Raising an eyebrow as she listened to her son's words, Haven turned from the stove where she was making a fresh batch of mac and cheese for Thanksgiving and looked at the spot on his arm that had popped up what felt like two weeks ago. "It's still not heeled?" she questioned, letting herself turn towards him and examined it as he lifted the band-aid that he'd been picking at for nearly an hour it seemed. "Well, if you'd leave it alone, Lake it would probably do better." she spoke, though, she couldn't deny the thought that something about it not healing completely yet seemed suspicious. "Let's maybe try something else and keep it covered for a few more days, but someone may have to eat some more vegetables to keep his bones nice and healthy and his scrapes healing up properly." she laughed, offering her son a playful wink as she heard him move to the bathroom to grab some other medical supplies, the faintest 'bleck; leaving his lips in disgust. With a chuckle, Haven shook her head as she washed her hands, following her son to doctor up his injury before dinner.

November 23rd - 26th, 2023

Thanksgiving morning started out like all the other mornings in the Sinclair household. Just like she'd done many time growing up - and especially when she'd moved to college and only really got the comfort of home for the holidays - Haven turned on the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade and cuddled on the couch with a cup of coffee in her hand. She had biscuits and bacon in the oven - upon Lake's request - and was spending as much time with her boy as she could while they awaited the presence of Julian and time for Haven to start cooking her portion of Thanksgiving dinner. Haven wouldn't get too many of these, so, she was trying to soak it up while she could; if she blinked too hard she'd find herself watching her son drive off to college or something just like she'd done to her parents, and the thought made her heart hurt a little. So, just like she often did, Haven leaned over in the moment, cuddling with Lake who was laying on the couch, but instead of being greeted with an eager and enthusiastic child, she was met with an attitude that reminded her a lot of herself in her younger days. "No, Mom! Get off of me. I don't want to cuddle you." The remark it's self wasn't what seemed to take Haven back; it wasn't unusual for Lake to not want to cuddle her in his older age, but rather it was the attitude, the way that her son seemed to be talking to her like she was his worst enemy. This wasn't like him, even when he was mad or upset Lake had never snapped at her like this. Nodding as she moved, Haven sat up, moving from the couch in an attempt to distract herself - the only thing she really wanted to do was cry - she checked the food in the oven, setting a timer for the remaining time limit on the oven and sipping the glass of water she poured herself and awaited her boyfriend. At least he wouldn't yell at her and tell her he didn't want to cuddle..

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

"Well, sweetheart, he's a growing boy. You know, you weren't exactly the nicest child when you were going through puberty yourself." The sound of her mother's statement sent a shutter down Haven's spine at the mere thought that Lake could be experiencing signs of puberty. He was almost twelve after all; but, Haven hadn't expected for this to happen for another few years. Sure, it was an unreasonable thought, she knew that, but, the idea of her son being her 'baby' for just a little while longer had become such a comforting feeling to her that she wasn't quite ready to face that things could be changing for him. With a sigh she nodded as she looked over at her son who was carelessly playing video games on the living room tv and nodded, despite the fact her mom couldn't see her. "I think that's it. Or at least I hope." she added. "I was talking with Julian and Kanyon about it and Kanyon said he noticed it too, but, I'm trying to just be positive." she sighed. "I wonder if he's a little anxious about all the changes and such and that's why. I mean, he went from having just me and our family to having to share me with Julian and share his time with his dad too, I just think it's a lot." It had been a few days since the Thanksgiving get together with the Sinclair family, and just like the morning that he'd snapped at Haven, Lake's behavior was back to him being snappy. It was consistent, and thankfully it wasn't just at her anymore, however, the feeling of not doing or being enough for him seemed to be overwhelming her more and more as each day passed. Though, something about listening to her mom made he smile, and Haven nodded when she heard the voice of her mom reassure her on the other end. "I just don't know where it's coming from. I wasn't ready to deal with this yet, but if this is a glimpse of what it's going to be like raising a teenager, I'm not ready."

November 30th, 2023

It was a tradition that Haven and Lake get a real tree every year, just before the start of December and decorate it once they got it home and situated. And this year was nothing different, only difference is they were going a little earlier in the year than planned, but Haven didn't mind that. With Kanyon now in the picture and her splitting time with him for the holidays, she wanted to do as much with Lake early so that they didn't miss out on their traditions. And much like with other years in the past, shopping for their Christmas tree ended with a night of grocery shopping and picking out a new Christmas movie to watch, but much to Haven's surprise, Lake picked out far more snacks than normal this year. But, she didn't say no; she couldn't. The part of her that was holding onto her son's childhood was enough for her to nearly give into any random request; from Christmas cookies to the holiday trail mixes, slowly the cart started filling and Haven smiled. These were the nights she'd been looking forward to the most when she'd found out she was pregnant; carrying on holiday traditions and creating new ones with her children some day. Dinner had been pizza - much like years passed - and Haven had been shocked at how much of the pizza Lake had eaten. Eight slices of a medium pizza at one point had been enough for the two of them for dinner, and lunch the next day at least, but, tonight had been different as Lake had managed to eat nearly the entire pizza in one sitting and was asking for more. With a small shake of her head, Haven laughed at her son watching as he devoured the last bite of pizza. "Sorry bud, but I don't have any more pizza but I can make you something." she smiled, looking at her son for a moment before she tussled his hair. "Or we can dive into the snacks?" she watched as Lake began scanning the snack spread that was on the counter and she laughed, looking at him with the smallest smile. "You feeling okay, bud?" she questioned, but watched as Lake nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, I'm just hungry." he shrugged, opening a bag of trail mix and moving towards the living room. "Can we watch Elf next?" he asked and Haven nodded. "Sure thing, get it ready and I'll get the hot chocolate." she smiled, making herself a mental reminder to be sure to buy Lake the next size up in clothing. Between the energy he was exerting into sports and his age there was probably a growth spurt happening with this amount of food he was consuming, and she wanted to be prepared for it just in case.

December 7th - 13th, 2023

With Lake's emotions in full pre-teen swing, Haven was thankful for any attention he was getting outside of the negative attention he'd been getting from her recently. She didn't like putting her foot down or being strict when it came to discipline, but, his behavior and attitude recently had been something she couldn't ignore, much less when he was around other children. It was one thing for him to be hateful or snappy with her, but, for him to do it around other kids seemed unusual, though, just like most of the things Lake was doing these days, that didn't stop him from being a kid. The mother and son had been at the park for nearly half an hour already when Lake was reaching for a bar on the monkey bars and completely missed, falling to the ground. Obviously concerned Haven checked on him, only to be told that his vision was a little blurry, and concerned that he'd hit his head, she'd made the child sit which had resulted in 'worst mother of the year award' she was sure. Because no child wanted to be sat down at the park, much less one Lake's age. Though, as Lake and Luke played once Summer and Luke arrived, Lake's mood shifted - more so confirming with Haven that her fears of being the worst mom ever were in fact proving more to be true by each passing second. That was something she'd definitely have to work through, that was for sure. But for now, she was focused on watching her son play and while he was still young at heart she wanted nothing more than to watch him be a child.

"Lake, man, you keep rubbing your eyes." Haven spoke, looking at him as he came back from the lane rubbing his eyes again. "Are you sleeping okay?" she questioned. "Do we need to get you some allergy meds or something?" she placed her hand on top of his head as she often times found him eager to do whatever his mind was set on instead of stopping to listen to her. Though, just as she assumed Lake shook his head. "No, Mom. I'm fine." the child spoke, looking at his mom, rubbing his eye again and then closing it, looking at her now with one eye. Though, shaking her head she looked down at him. "You say that, bud, but, you rubbing your eyes like that has me concerned." she spoke. "You still seeing things blurry?" she asked, looking down at him. With a small nod and a quick glance at River, before shrugging. "We'll keep an eye on it, use some drops and maybe talk to your teacher." she commented. "But maybe go clean out your eye, see if that helps and then come back." Nearly five minutes later Lake did just that, nodding at his mom. "That was a good idea Mom, it worked!" he excitedly explained, taking the glass of water he'd poured for himself and chugging it, before returning to the bowling lane. With a small smile and a nod, Haven laughed. "Glad it helped, bud." she smiled, looking back at her son and then at River, shrugging before they joined him on the lane.

The week had been long, and Haven felt like she'd been running around like crazy. Between the playdate with Summer, bowling with River, holiday shopping and all of that had taken a toll on both of them. So, when Lake had decided to nap after school on a Wednesday afternoon, Haven hadn't thought much of it. He'd had a dentist appointment just after lunch, and once he'd finished his homework, Haven had found him sleeping and while she put dinner in the crockpot for that night, she let him rest. Though, at 5 o'clock when he was still sleeping she went to wake him having him get dressed for his horseback riding lesson, though, the second she left the room Lake was asleep again. And when she got distracted with a meeting, she didn't quite realize it until it was already after six, and when she rushed into Lake's room to get him to leave, she found he was sleeping again. "Sorry, Mom, I'm just tired." Though, being tired didn't warrant an apology and Haven shook her head at him. "You don't need to apologize for being tired, Lake." she smiled. "Your rest is important. If you want to skip practice today you can stay home and rest. It's flu season so, I don't want you to risk it. If you need sleep, stay home and rest." she reassured, but made a mental note to keep an eye out for any other symptoms as she left his room.

December 18th - 22nd, 2023

Haven had noticed enough about Lake to be concerned and had already tried calling to get an appointment with his doctor who didn't have anything available until the middle of January. She'd notified his teacher, curious if they'd noticed anything to which she'd been told no. Though, when the last week of school before Christmas break came around, she'd gotten an email from his teacher, explaining that this week he'd been easily distracted, unable to focus, very moody and also was needing to take frequent bathroom breaks, which was really beginning to disrupt his learning. Replying to the email that she'd talk with him over break and try to get him in with the doctor, Haven sighed, letting herself really think about all the things that she'd been experiencing with Lake. What could they mean? What was going on and why did it suddenly not feel like this was pre-teen hormones anymore?

December 29th, 2023

Waking up that morning had been nothing short of normal; Lake had stayed the night at Noah and Nora's place and Haven had gotten some much needed alone time after some holiday plans. She'd planned to go to their house for lunch, spend the day with them and bring Lake home to have some quality time with her son - she was hoping that some alone time with him would help his attitude recently - as she knew these days were limited. Lake was growing before her eyes and she wanted to hold onto every part of his childhood that she could. He seemed to be growing right before her eyes, and she hated every moment of it. She was enjoying the peace and quiet though, watching a Christmas movie she'd been meaning to catch up on, a bottle of sparkling water on the coaster beside her and a bar of chocolate in her hand. She still had a few hours before lunch, and in true Haven fashion she'd missed breakfast so this was her first 'real' meal of the day. She hadn't even realized that she left her phone on the island in the kitchen, and only stood to get it when she heard it buzzing, watching as the screen changed from a call to a missed call and she saw that Nora had called her twice now. Growing concerned, she lifted it to call her back just as Nora was calling her a third time, and Haven answered, but before she even had time to speak she was hit with the news that felt like a punch in the gut. Lake..passed out.. conscious.. loopy... Noah and hospital. were the only words that seemed to resonate in her ears and she nodded, quickly, feeling her breathing begin to quicken as she felt herself begin to panic. She couldn't even remember if she said anything to Nora before she hung up the phone, grabbing her keys and leaving her home abandoned. She could barely even remember getting from point a to point b, her heart pounding in her ears as her wallet and phone were thrown into the passengers seat and her car was thrown into reverse, backing out of the driveway as her mind went through all the things that had happened recently. The mood swings, the intense hunger and thirst, the blurred vision, the fatigue, his behavior at school along with the constant bathroom breaks, and lastly him passing out, was it all connected? Had she missed something that she should've seen a long time ago, something that was a key part in why Lake was on his way to the hospital now? She didn't have time to think, she didn't even have time to cry, yet, somehow the tears that she didn't even know she was holding in had escaped, running in streams down her cheeks. Wiping her cheek and her nose with the back of her hand, Haven put the car in drive and began the drive to the hospital, flashers on and foot on the gas; her baby needed her, and there was nothing and no one that would stop her from getting to him.

THE END

[fearthereaperx]

WHERE: Stargaze Station WHEN: October 2000

Michael Monroe didn’t have the slightest comprehension of what he was doing, though judging by the stern set of his jaw and his steady, forward facing eyes, no one would have ever known. It was only apparent in the little tells– the way he occasionally reached up to scratch at the stubble lining his jaw, or how his hands tensed with a reflexive need for a cigarette. To anyone else, Michael would have appeared as calm and composed as he always was, but inside? He was reeling.

He didn’t know how to be a father. How could he when he’d never had an example to follow? Without that blueprint in mind, Michael had no idea how to confront his new reality– the one in which his sister had overdosed on heroin and god only knew what else, and he’d been called upon to pick up the pieces. He hardly knew where to begin, but as he glanced over at his fifteen year old now motherless nephew and noted the way the glow of moonlight betrayed the smallest glimpses of the grief that consumed the boy, Michael knew that he had to try.

He just didn’t know where to start.

Admittedly, Michael didn’t know much about Cole, and he knew that was largely by his own doing. When Diana had told him she was pregnant all those years ago and who the father was, Michael had done what any brother would have. He’d gotten her the fuck out of Tonopah Valley. And then he’d done the thing he doubted he’d ever fully forgive himself for– he’d stepped back. He’d stepped back and let Diana fend for herself hundreds of miles away when she hadn’t been in a position to do it.

Hindsight was always twenty-twenty– naturally– and as Michael looked back, he knew the decision he’d made hadn’t been the right one. He’d allowed selfishness to guide it– the Sons of Silence had been in its infancy and he, along with the other founding members, had desperately been chasing that dream into a reality. The short and long of it was that he’d pushed all of his focus at the club, rather than his own flesh and blood.

"See that?” Michael began, gesturing up at one of the constellations overlooking the valley. “That's Orion, and just below him, there’s Sirius, one of the brightest stars we can see from down here. Something, ain't it?" He’d always liked the stars, for more reasons than he could possibly name. They were a nice reminder of how vast the universe really was, and how small he was in comparison. In a lot of ways, it helped him scale his problems, one by one. Not make light of them, no, but place them in a way that made it all seem that much easier to manage.

"Guess so,” came the mumbled reply from the teen at his side.

One thing he’d noticed about Cole? He didn’t say much. And that was fine– Michael had grown quite accustomed to leading conversations over the years and had learned to take certain cues for exactly what they were. Glancing over at his nephew, he eased out a long sigh and reached into the inside pocket of his cut, hauling out a worn pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter. Setting a smoke between his lips, he offered another to Cole, already hearing Laura scolding him inside his head, but for half a heartbeat? He didn’t think about the consequences– particularly how much Laura would have his ass for offering their nephew a smoke– but perhaps that was because it didn’t take a genius to realize that Cole had already smoked his fair share.

"Y'know why I like coming out here?" Michael continued, picking up where Cole’s silence had left off. “When I’m at my worst, I like to look up there,” he paused then, gesturing up at the deep indigo night sky and the bright stars that dappled it. “For every star I see, I try to think of something good. It’s almost like I sorta assign ‘em, in a way,” he explained, shrugging a shoulder. When he said it out loud, Michael figured it probably sounded silly, and maybe it was to a degree, but it helped steady him when little else seemed to work. “When I need reminding of everything that’s good in the middle of everything bad, and I need something to ground me? I just look up, and I can name ‘em one by one.” Perhaps it was just a more elaborate way of saying count your blessings, especially in a life that afforded so few of them. 

"But more than that, you see how vast all of that is? Reminds me of how small I am,” he started again, hoping that the message was coming across the way that Cole needed to hear it. "Not insignificant, no. But it’s got a way of putting things into perspective– makes you realize just how much of this world is out of your control.” If he wanted Cole to take anything away from his monologue, it was that, because he knew what his nephew was thinking, what he was feeling, without him uttering a single word. There was a name for that weight he saw in Cole’s eyes. It wasn’t just sadness, or grief. It was guilt– something Michael knew so well and could spot from miles away. In this situation, it wasn’t justified– Cole hadn’t done anything wrong, he hadn’t let his mother down in some way– but still, Michael could understand why the boy felt it anyway. It was the way he was wired. Like Michael, Cole felt everything so deeply– whatever emotion it was, he tapped into the deepest parts of it and felt it on a visceral level…and because of that, Cole would always be in pain, just as Michael was.

Peeling his eyes away from the night sky, he eyed Cole, a soft frown sinking between his brows, "What happened with your mom wasn’t your fault, Cole. You know that, right?"

Beside him, the boy unleashed a smoke stained sigh and shrugged, "Ain't so sure," he muttered, head shaking before he swallowed hard and dropped his gaze.

“I am,” Michael countered, glancing down at him with a raised brow, “If that means something to you.” He liked to think that it did if only because he hoped it might bring Cole some measure of comfort. Maybe it might relieve him of some of the weight he carried on his shoulders. "Your mother was a complicated woman," he continued, sighing heavily, "Complicated kinda runs in our blood, in case you hadn't figured that out already." He’d never known a Monroe to live simply, or breathe easily. It just wasn’t in their DNA, he was convinced of it. They were all complicated people, stubborn, and hard to love, and yet somehow, they carried on. Softening then, Michael found himself smiling in spite of the somber turn the conversation had taken, "But one thing that wasn't complicated was the love she had for you. It was the single most straightforward thing about her." 

Admittedly, Michael and Diana had grown apart over the years, and it was something he wasn’t proud of. It haunted him, really– if he was being completely honest about it. But on those rare occasions when they did talk and catch up, all Diana ever talked about was her son. It wasn’t about the big things though– no, Diana told him about the finer things, those that required a keen eye to pick up on. She told him all about Cole’s expressions and what certain ones meant, and about how she’d always known when something was bothering him when the way the warmth of his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Diana saw all the things Cole probably thought she didn’t– because she loved him. 

"Your mom had a passion for life unlike anything I've ever seen,” Michael murmured, raising his cigarette to his lips and inhaling a long drag.

“So why’d she run from it?” Cole fired back without missing a beat. 

It was a fair shot, Michael figured. Diana’s death looked an awful lot like a suicide, but he had a hard time believing that his sister had set out to end her life. He wanted to believe it was a miscalculation, an honest mistake on her part. Or maybe that was just what Michael kept telling himself to hold his own guilt back. After being so absent from Diana’s life for so long, how would he even recognize the difference? “I don’t think she meant to, Cole,” he offered, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more– Cole, or himself.

“How ya figure?”

It was a loaded question, but not an unexpected one. The bitterness sneaking in between each word wasn’t unexpected either. Michael shook his head, knowing neither one of them would ever know for sure, but he liked to think Diana hadn’t done it on purpose. That reality was one he couldn’t bear to stomach. “Because she would’ve never left you intentionally, no matter how awful things got,” he offered, shrugging a shoulder. Michael had to believe that the love Diana had for her son outweighed her demons, but even as he sat there, trying to convince Cole of that, he knew just how troubled his sister had been– how deeply she hurt. 

“It’s easy to feel angry. In your shoes? Hell, I’d probably feel the same way. Feels easier than facing the hurt, sure,” Michael started up again, switching gears the slightest bit. He couldn’t take back what happened to Diana, nor could he explain it. But what he could do was try and get through to his nephew– a boy who knew more hurt than he should ever have to and who’d been forced to grow up long before he was ever supposed to. “But hurt ain’t a bad thing– not if you grow from it. And you’ve got a real shot at doin’ that now.”

Still, even as he said it, Michael knew that was easier said than done. Diana had been all Cole had ever known for his entire life and within an instant, she was gone and his world had flipped on its axis. He’d been sent to live across the country with an aunt and uncle he didn’t know. He could only imagine how overwhelming it was, how angering and frightening. Whatever Cole felt, Michael figured he had full rights to it. “I know your world’s been flipped upside down, son,” he murmured, reaching over to tuck an arm around the teen’s shoulders, “You’ve got every right to be twisted up, spun out– whatever the case may be.” But he didn’t want those feelings to bulldoze the warmer memories of his mother. Cole deserved a softer landing than that– he deserved to think about his mother and not hate every second of it, or hurt. It wouldn’t happen overnight, Michael knew that, but he hoped that one day, Cole could remember the good before the bad– the beginning before the end.  “I ain’t ever gonna tell you how to feel, but I will say this,” Michael started, tossing his dying cigarette down into the dirt. “I dunno if it’ll ever make sense, if it’ll ever not hurt…but I’m here every step of the way, alright? We don’t know each other all that well, but I’ve got you, Cole– I’ve got ya.” Shaking his head, he glanced down at his nephew, and when he did, the sight before him damn near broke his heart. That sad, lost look in Cole’s eyes had only grown, finally reaching that point where it was bound to spill over. He could see Cole holding it back, fighting to keep his tears at bay, but as one managed to slip and slide down his face, Michael only held the boy tighter and swallowed hard when Cole clung back to him, nestling himself against his side. “Your mother was more than the worst thing she ever did– some of us are.” Michael had to believe that– it was the only way he could reconcile with what he was and the awful things he did. "And before you let her go, I hope you look for her– for who she really was," he murmured, reaching up to wipe that stray tear away. "Think you'll see a lot of yourself whenever you do." Michael smiled then because even in the midst of his grief, he’d been able to spot the similarities between his sister and his nephew. In a lot of ways, Diana was still very much alive through him. "And that ain't a bad thing."

[morrisxn02]

-– task 001: initial sit downs

september, 2022.

When the police knocked on the door labeled 205C, they were met with a jagged and weak figure. The Edward Morrison that roamed the halls of Ogden that September was a ghost of the man everyone knew. A slender, feeble creature that only had one thing in his mind. Greer. The NYPD had already interrogated him but since this was a cross-jurisdiction case, he had been oriented by the Morrisons' attorney that he might need to talk to the New Hampshire police once again. He did not want to waste much time, so he just let them into the compulsively organized lair that was his bedroom, clean and cataloged like a hospital. "You can have the chairs if you wish." He told the officer. His answers had been practically pre-scripted; pre-approved by the family attorney, albeit sincere. So he knew that would not take long. But it would be just as confusing as hurtful as the first time. (...) In retrospect, to honestly answer the policewoman’s question he would have to admit that he might not know Greer at all. But then again, who the hell did?

“When did you last speak to Greer?”

“July 3rd.” His answer doesn’t take a heartbeat. He had texted her again the following day, but there was no reply on her side – something awfully unusual when it came to their chat. They wouldn’t take too long to reply to each other because they were each other’s emergency contact, and it was a sort of unspoken rule between the two that a text ignored for too long should prompt some preoccupation. “About 11 pm.” He unlocked his phone and handed it to the police officer. He knew cops in Manhattan already had that information, but he knew nothing about how jurisdictions worked, so he figured he would just rephrase the answers he had given the NYPD when they interrogated his family. He had nothing to be afraid of, anyway.

“When did you last actually see Greer?”

“The day before. July 2nd. I was driving down to our beach house that day to spend the 4th with a couple of friends. I asked her if she wanted to tag along, and she said no.” He refrained from elaborating because he had already told that story a thousand times, and then replayed it in his head another thousand just to find a loophole, something he could’ve done differently.

“How well did you know Greer?”

Dumbfounded, he says nothing for a second. Sure, this must be a procedural question like all the other ones, but it seems redundant and absurd and it’s almost offensive. “I like to think I know her very well.” He responds on autopilot, though when he stops to think about it, he notices how vague that answer really is. “I mean, we grew up together, we have a lot of the same friends, we are fairly close…” The blandness of his answer reflects his own relationship with Greer. They worked well together, like two birds of the same feather. But their siblinghood was very… complicated to say the least. Yes, they enjoy each other’s company, have their own inside jokes, and even talk about the people they go out with, but there is so much he hides from her. So much he hides from everyone. And he knows Greer is very much like him. There is so much she hides from everyone. Especially from him. So, although he loves and cares for her, and she might even feel the same, he never trusted her. It could even be said that their relationship sometimes borders sort of a transaction. A favor for a favor. A lie for a lie. A secret for a secret. Greer has been a cobweb of favors and lies and secrets since she was born. And to honestly answer the policewoman’s question he would have to admit that he might not know Greer at all. But then again, who the hell did?

“What was your relationship with Greer like?”

Well, that was an easier question. One he had a prompted answer for. “We are close. We hang out with somewhat similar crowds and just generally hang out with each other. We get along.”

“Have you heard or seen anything about where she was this summer?”

“Not at all. As I said, we were supposed to spend the 4th together but she just– disappeared.” He had a hard time talking about it still. No matter how objective and pragmatic he was, talking about your missing sister probably gives everyone, even the most rational person alive, a hard time.    

The officer thanks him as she gets up, trying to sound understanding, almost as if her pity would do him any good. He thanks her in return, again on autopilot – though he cannot wait to be alone again – and closes the door after she walks out. Yet again he finds himself wondering if there was something else he could have said. Something that could have helped her. Or himself. Because, at this point, everyone was a suspect, and he was well aware.

[miloxhughes]

Dec. 10th / 7:35am

No one knows what it's like To be the bad man To be the sad man Behind blue eyes

No one knows what it's like To be hated To be fated To telling only lies

The heavy knocks that echoed throughout Milo’s apartment abruptly woke him up from a deep sleep. He groggily wiped his hand across his eyes and forehead, jaw clenching up tight as another series of knocks bounced off the walls of his condo. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He snarled out angrily, yanking his sheets and blanket off his nude form in one harsh sweep. Milo pulled a pair of sweatpants from off the floor and threaded his fingers through his unkempt bedhead. He had no clue who was at his door, but they were about to witness a very unpleasant side to Milo. The party-loving male had a late night that wrapped up only two hours ago. It started with doing what Nathan asked of him. Stopping by Le Cirque to see if anyone out of the ordinary was sticking out. No one appeared out of place while he was there. All seemed business as usual at the club. Just as he was finishing his last drink, a girl he had hooked up with a couple times before approached his table. One shot led to another, and another, and another. The pair eventually found their way back to her place where they continued to drink and snort lines off each other. The sun was just about to rise by the time Milo stumbled into his condo, dragging himself upstairs to pass out on his bed. If he had any idea that some pain-in-his-ass would be pounding on his door two hours later, Milo would have skipped out on his romp with the girl from the club.

He lumbered downstairs, muttering every curse word under the sun with each step he took. “This better be real fuckin’ important!” Milo unlocked his front door, yanking it open, ready to raise hell with the poor soul waiting for him. Standing at the threshold to his condo were two men wearing gold badges on the outside of the coats. Panic wasn’t a sensation Milo was used to. He had learned to thrive in chaos, which in turn made him less fearful in life. Seeing two cops at his door sparked a small flame of fright in his gut. Milo’s first and only thought was they were here to question him about Nathan and Freddie. Why else would two serious looking cops be standing at his door? “Uh, can I help you fellas with something?”

“Milo Hughes?” The first detective piped up.

“Yeah, what’s the problem?”

“I’m Detective Keller and this is Detective Barns. We’re from the homicide unit out in Boulder.” He added, showing Milo their badges.

His brows furrowed tightly together. “Homicide?”

“Yes. Your mother is Jamie Hughes, correct?”

Bewilderment etched into Milo’s features at the mention of his mom. He hadn’t heard or spoken to her since she had kicked him out when he was 19. She left town not long after that.

“Yeah, but I don't know where she is if that’s why you’re here. I haven’t seen her in years.”

The two detectives glanced at each other before turning back to look at Milo. “We’re sorry to be the ones to tell you this, but your mother’s body was found a few days ago in Boulder. It appears she overdosed on heroin. We ran her DNA and you were the only living relative we could find in our system. We need you to come to Boulder and identify her body.”

Milo stood motionless as the words sank deep into his head. He had made dark jokes before about his mother dying because of how heavily involved she was in drugs and alcohol. There was always a part of him that knew she wasn’t going to be long for this world. Not unless by some miracle she managed to sober up and stay clean. He never really considered how he might feel about her dying, mostly because he chose not to think about her at all. Milo had zero positive memories connected to his mother, so there was no reason to dwell on their past. He searched within himself for some kind of emotion to connect to her death, but there was nothing to be found. “Say I do this..,what happens then?”

“If you identify her as your mother, you have the option to either claim her body, or you can wave all claims to her body and give her over to the department of Transitional Assistance.”

Milo chewed into his bottom lip. One part of him wanted nothing to do with any of this. Why should he care what happens to her now that she’s gone for good? Then there was some unexplainable part of him that wanted to go and see for himself if it was really her. Milo felt entirely confident that he could handle it. He could identify her body, sign over his rights, and never have to think about it again. “Alright. I can make the drive today.”

“We would appreciate that, Mr. Hughes. Here’s my card. I wrote the address to the medical examiner on the back. Just ask for me or Detective Barns when you get there.”

A few hours later

Milo couldn’t help from shifting about as he waited in the front lobby of the medical examiner’s office. The back of his neck had been practically rubbed raw from the amount of times his palm had anxiously dragged back and forth across it. When he finally caught sight of one of the detectives who showed up at his condo, Milo shot up from his seat, ready and eager to be done with this whole thing. He escorted Milo to the morgue, pausing for a moment when they reached the door.

“Do you need a minute before we step in?”

A short huff blew past Milo’s lips. “No, let’s get this shit over with. I got somewhere to be tonight.”

The cop gave the younger male a concerning look before opening the door to the morgue. The smells that reached Milo’s nose were new and unpleasant. He couldn’t fathom how anyone would want to work around dead bodies for a living. The medical examiner greeted the pair, walking them over to where they were storing his mother’s body. Milo ignored the way his heart started to frantically pound like a jackhammer under his chest. His fingers balled into fists, digging his nails into his palms to focus on the pain and not his nervous heart rate. The medical examiner opened the door and pulled out the sliding steel table, revealing the black body bag containing the woman that had brought Milo into this world. The sound of the zipper being opened caused Milo’s stomach to lurch. He swallowed down the bit of bile rising to his throat, digging his blunt nails harder into the flesh of his palms. The examiner pushed the flap open. Milo glared down at the pale, unmoving body. There she was. The woman he was meant to love, but grew to hate was gone. His blue hues couldn’t tear away from her thin face and sunken eyes. Her skin had been robbed of all color and nothing was left but an ashy shade. Run. The voice popped into his head without warning. Milo tugged at the collar of his shirt as his throat started to tighten. “Yeah, it’s my mom. Give me whatever papers I need to sign to get rid of her. I don’t fuckin’ want her.”

Both men in the room started in slight surprise at the harsh words leaving Milo’s mouth. The detective tried to suggest Milo reconsider, but he immediately rejected the idea. His mind had been made up. All he wanted, needed, was to get this over with and get the hell out of there. His stomach twisted and turned as he quickly scribbled his signature on the necessary papers to hand over his mother. When the paperwork was done and he was free to leave, Milo all but bolted out of the building. He only made it halfway through the parking lot before losing his fight with the nausea in his stomach. It felt like he had been sucker punched in the gut, reeling him forwards as the contents in his stomach harshly spewed forth from his mouth. He retched until nothing was left and a series of dry heaves tightened up his spine. Dizzy and weak, Milo stumbled slightly towards his car, wiping the back of his sleeve across his mouth. He all but fell into his driver’s side seat, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. “You fuckin’ pussy. Get your shit together.” Milo angrily whispered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. The image of his mother in the body bag flashed into his mind, forcing his lids to snap open. He needed her out of his head. She didn’t deserve to be there. Water welled in his eyes, which in turn only made Milo more enraged with himself. He sat up in his seat and knocked his fist against his jaw, grunting roughly at the hard punch. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” Milo refused to shed a single tear over his mother. God knows she didn’t shed any over how she treated her son. He snatched up his cell with trembling fingers and quickly texted his dealer. Milo knew exactly how to deal with ghosts from his past. The surefire cure to making all thoughts of his mother disappear. It didn’t matter how long it would take. Milo wasn’t going to stop until every trace of his mother vanished from his mind for good.

[thierrydupont]

( nov 23rd - the dupont family home )

I wear this crown of thorns Upon my liar's chair Full of broken thoughts I cannot repair

The attic of his parent’s house held more memories than Thierry could count. Boxes upon boxes held meaningful items and pictures that had been passed down through the Dupont family. Before he lost Olivia, the cop had no reason to feel any kind of negative emotion towards that single room in his family home. Now, Thierry was utterly terrified by the haven of memories. Some of his daughter’s belongings resided in that attic. When he moved to Providence Peak, Thierry had left behind any trace of Olivia. All he brought with him was a picture of his daughter that he kept safely hidden in his bedroom closet. Everything else stayed behind to collect dust in the attic of his parent’s home. He had never been proud of that. It was selfishly easier on him to not have the belongings with him.

When his mother had asked Thierry to grab some Christmas decorations from the attic his heart froze up in a sheer panic. He had no logical excuse to make up for why he couldn't do the simple task that was asked of him. All the poor soul could do was smile and nod at the dear woman he loved. He walked up the steps to the second floor of the house, fists clenching up tight as he looked up to see the thick string hanging from the attic door. His lids closed, releasing a steady stream of collected breaths before reaching up to grab the string. The familiar creaking noise of the steps coming down sounded almost thunderous in his ears. His dark hues glanced upwards into the eerie darkness, slowly reaching out to make the climb up the wooden steps.

The scent of dust and cardboard boxes filled the air around him. Thierry reached over to switch on the light to the attic, squinting slightly as his eyes adjusted to the change of color to the room. He shuffled his way through the boxes and family belongings that had been tucked away for years, searching for his Mother’s Christmas decorations. Beads of sweat started to break out across his brow and his palms felt clammy to the touch. Thierry just wanted to find what he was looking for and get the hell out of there. He pushed his way to the back of the attic, spotting a box with Christmas lights spilling out of it. “Thank Christ.” The anxious male muttered under his breath, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. Thierry scooped the box into his arms, noticing something that caused the cop to go frozen with fear. A red plastic bin with Olivia’s name scribbled across the top stared up at him. He roughly swallowed down the massive lump that swelled within his throat. The box in his hands fell to the floor. As if an imaginary hand was pushing him down, Thierry quickly dropped to his knees, despite the voice in his hand telling him not to. His fingers popped the lid off the bin, sucking in a soft breath as his daughter’s belongings met his misty-eyed gaze.

His hands reached inside to gently pick up the blanket she used to sleep with as a baby. He could vividly remember how precious his daughter used to look wrapped up in the soft, pink covering. Memories of rocking Olivia to sleep in his arms played out in his head. A constricting ache wrapped around his heart, squeezing the organ tighter and tighter. Thierry pressed the blanket against his nose, inhaling deeply in the hopes that her sweet scent would still be lingering. There was nothing there. His lids shut tightly together, holding in his breath until his lungs began to burn. Any physical trace of his daughter had been gone for a very long time. All that was left was boxes and bins of her belongings, collecting dust in a dark attic. Thierry’s mouth finally parted open to gasp out a muffled sob into the baby blanket buried against his face. Warm tears soaked into the cotton fabric as the former father wept uncontrollably. He wept for Olivia. He wept for the life that was taken from her. He wept for the time he missed with her. Every emotion he had buried down deep within his soul after Olivia’s passing was clawing its way to the surface. Thierry was helpless to stop it. His guilt wanted him to experience the immense agony coursing through him. He deserved this. He had failed his daughter, and this was his punishment. A never-ending pain that would haunt Thierry until his last dying breath.

[heatherxmp]

Gnosis 🌊 W.C 001 (Core Memories)

{{ For the Monthly Writing Challenge of March dealing with core memories. Again, this was held onto by me for a bit due to life and work going hectic. }}

Gnosis, noun; “knowledge” or “awareness” from the Greek. Often used for personal knowledge compare with intellectual knowledge.

🌊

   Heather exhales and smiles. Then he smiles as he lays there in the warmth of his bed and lets the feeling of it drift around his sleepy mind. The wash of memories that flood him are dancing fragments of time that play back in little snippets drawing up sensations not only in his mind but across his body.

    He remembers the feeling of it; the sudden seizing of his heart the first time, the way he wondered if he was sick as he felt both hot and cold at the same time when his eyes fell upon that face for the first time. There’s a little laugh from the siren as memories keep flowing. The ghost of what that hand felt like in his, or the way that laugh bounced between his ears the first time he heard it. It wove itself into who he knows and it’s stuck there happily in his very being. Heather, half asleep and remembering everything, can still tell you the way that the weight of that memory on his chest telling him the happenings of the day, or how it felt to watch every sunrise and forget it in favor of remembering how it painted orange and yellow light across the cheekbones of someone else.

    And it doesn’t hurt to remember all these things because they were beautiful things to feel. To smell. To touch. To learn and experience.These little snippets of memories that make up his life and the things, places and people - person- they’re attached to are precious because they mean he lived them.

   Heather opens his eyes and knows it’s another new day. Another day to create things he’ll look back on later and remember the ways felt when they happened. Just as he is now.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

   He sits up and watches light try to fight its way in through the black out currents of his room before he yawns. It’s another new day and that’s worth living just to see what might weave itself into his mind forever. His eyes drift to the pillows beside his own and he smiles again now.

   It’s another new day and he’s got more memories to make.

[wmuhummel]

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 | 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝟎𝟎𝟏

Kurt hasn't moved from the same spot he had been standing in for the last twenty-minutes. Arms crossed, eyes narrowing in contemplation as he looks over the accessories he had laid out on the middle unoccupied bed in the middle of his and Finn's dorm room. While the roommate in question was video gaming in peace and leaving Kurt alone, it wasn't stopping the idle twitch in his eye every time he would hear Finn shout in frustration at the laptop. He had debated taking his things and deciding it in the common room a few times, but knows that's an easy way for something to get stolen or lost.

So here he continues to stand.

Gloves weren't even a contender to his list of possibilities at first. Instead he had debated using a fancy, wooden walking cane to give the aristocratic appearance of higher class than the rest of his peers. It was beautifully crafted, but only used once last year at the Halloween Masquerade Ball. He had purposefully used it to whack Finn on accident in passing at the end of the night, so it had been a successful event in that regard. But as his roommate was not going to be in attendance, and he didn't want to accidentally harm Blaine, he tucked the cane back in its respected corner.

There had also been a debacle on wearing a crown, shoes with heels to make him even taller than his date but really highlight the length and curve of his legs, a kilt, a top hat, and even a brightly colored tuxedo to really stand out. All got vetoed and replaced back in storage, as tonight wasn't about making a spectacle of himself.

Tonight was about this being the first time he got asked first. And there was no way in hell he was going to go out of his way to intimidate Blaine Anderson of all people in being too flashy and making it all about himself. There would be other times for that, but tonight wasn't it.

As he dresses, he goes over planned out scripts in his head about what could possibly go wrong with the night. Outside of the obvious floods, fires, and a winter tornado blowing all of Lima away of course. Sanitizing wipes, extra pair of socks, napkins, and a small bottle of breath spray are concealed in his jacket pocket, along with his phone and keys. Something could be spilled on him looking like this, or worse, he could accidentally spill something on Blaine and make a fool out of himself - cause the guy to regret asking him at all.

What if they kissed tonight? And his breath was more savory than the food and it leads to being shamed in shared whispers among the jocks after Blaine tells Sam in disgust that it was the worse kiss he ever experienced?

What if he fell and hurt himself? What if Blaine fell and hurt himself? Would that make the front page of the Muckraker to be pointed and laughed at for the rest of semester?

What if he got a blemish?!

A quick check over, for the umpteenth time, in the shared mirror in the room, tells him that his face is clean and clear. His hair looks more chaotic than the usual put-together coif, but he wanted to try something new. Maybe a push for himself to look somewhat attractive past the insecure thought that he just wasn't Blaine's type. Was he anyone's type, really?

'Don't do this', he chastises himself in his head, straightening up and turning subtly to check himself in the mirror from all angles. 'You're only the type to those with taste in the first place. He's lucky to have you on his arm tonight. But you're also lucky to have him, and don't fuck this up.' Hands smoothing over his jacket, he turns to Finn with baited breath.

"Does anything look wrinkly or off to you?" He asks, spreading his arms and giving a half-turn for his roommate. Not that Finn's input was completely trustworthy, he was a straight guy who wore a greased stained t-shirt to class today - Kurt saw it and was horrified. But before Finn can say a thing, there's the knock and Kurt drowns his roommate out entirely.

Here goes nothing.

( @wmublaine )

[misunderstoodxmike]

ᴛᴜʀɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴀʙʟᴇs || sᴇʟғ-ᴘᴀʀᴀ

             the last twenty-four hours honestly didn’t feel real, no matter how many times that he replayed in his head.  he even wondered if he really developed a version of stockholm syndrome.  they didn’t even want to leave each other’s side. If it wasn’t for the fact that both had unfinished business left to deal with. mike had to go back to pack of a few of his things to stay with cyrus  and see his family and reassure that he was fine. as well as end his relationship with noel.  when that was done, he was supposed to call cyrus so they could make plans.  although he was sure that mostly so cyrus could make it official between them and know that he was safe. either way if things did go south with noel, he was still expected to tell cyrus. the man completely concerns with his wellbeing. normally it bothered him when someone became like that, but the other really did care about him. not to mention that he was head over heels for the other. It was crazy how one event could change everything. mike felt as if he owed cyrus so much for everything that he did. the male made him feel special and like he was the only person in the world.  his thoughts get interrupted when the car pulls up to his house.  the driver steps out to open the door and help him out of the car. cyrus insisting that he is driven home, instructing his staff to treat him like the princess that mike is. which earned him an eyeroll and blush, but mike knew arguing with cyrus was pointless. mike thanked the driver, and looked at his montgomery house with a smile. it was the first time that he had done it in a long time. then again, the last few days were strange. he felt stronger, happier and healthy but most importantly in love.

             mike opened the door, quickly realizing that he was alone by how quiet it was.  he was going to settle in before giving them a call.  maybe a long shower, quick snack and a power snack.  shutting the door behind him, and leaning against the door letting out a breath and smile. his mind thinking of even giving cyrus a quick call to let him know that he got home and see what he was up to. even thinking of the possibility of inviting him over and introducing him to everyone. he began making his way up the stairs when a voice made him jump. ‘you’re just going to walk past your boyfriend and not say anything?’  mike turned his attention to noel who was sitting on the sofa, drink in hand and staring at him.  he froze in place, not expecting to see him for another day or so, giving him a chance to think about what he was going to say and noel a chance to cool down since cyrus had sent him what could only be describe as a professionally shot sex tape where he took mike’s virginity.  he didn’t even want to think about how pissed noel must have been when he seen it. mike walked over to where he was sitting. “listen noel, I di—”  he found himself being cut off by the other male. ‘mike stop right there. I don’t blame you. the only person that I blame is myself because if I had been a better boyfriend, none of this would have happened. I am angry and hurt over what happened but you did what you had to do. I’m just so sorry that it had to play out like that. believe me when I said that I was doing all I could to get you out. I was ready to break you out when I was informed that you had been set free.’  the male got up and walked over to him, caressing his face.  mike avoided eye contact with him, feeling extremely guilty about what he had done and was about to do.  it didn’t help that he was covered in hickey that cyrus gave him. which noel noticed since his hands came up to touch them, rubbing them like he was hoping they would disappear.

           mike tensed up and took a deep breath to relax but it was pointless. the nerves that he had weren’t going anywhere. At least, not until he said what needed to be said.  “I’m sorry too, noel. I think it’s best if we take a bre—”  once again being cut off by noel tilting his head so they were looking into each other. ‘mikey, I know you cheated and I forgive you. I’m no saint either, but I love you so much.’  his words and eyes seeming sincere. ‘I know how cyrus can be, believe me, he probably made it seem like he wants you. although he is only doing it to get to me, and in doing so take you so he can dump you when he’s bored.’  that bothered and anger mike as he was about to defend him when noel started talking again.  ‘there are some people I want you to talk to before you decide what to do. I also want to say one more thing too when they are done. if you decide that you want to break up, I’ll respect it and leave you alone but please, just hear them and me out.’  mike nodded his head.

         three guys seemingly appeared out of nowhere.   It was the least that he owed him for cheating on him. the guys introduced themselves as Steven, James, and David whom were all involved with cyrus. their stories were very similar to each other and his own. they were all drawn in by his charm and good looks. It all started the same, they met him and were drawn to each other. cyrus took them to bed where he made them feel special. that’s where they departed for Steven, the next morning, cyrus was nowhere to be seen. his staff was the one to tell him that he had left and was expecting for him to be gone. cyrus ghosted him afterwards, and never spoke to him again. it seemed that it had all been an act to get into his pants. James had left before cyrus had a chance to, but the male hadn’t been done with him. apparently to woo him, the male had sent him flowers, alcohol and chocolates among other gifts. the male would also make surprise appearances and take him out. It seemed that cyrus wanted more than a one night stand with him. they were on their way to become serious. when cyrus ceased all contact with him. when he went to talk to him, apparent according to james, the male said that he was bored of him. that he shouldn’t have wasted his time with him. the room fell silence. in that moment David started speaking, he was married to a rival of cyrus. they had met when cyrus crashed his husband’s party. Just like everyone else, he fell for the charm. They saw each other in secret with cyrus even convincing him to leave his husband which he did. according to him, they planned to run off in the dark of the night. when David showed up to his place, he heard noises coming from cyrus bedroom. what he walked in was cyrus fucking another guy. david was devastated which led to an argument between them and him being escorted off property by cyrus team. mike thought that he was going to be sick.  They all apologize to him before quickly making their exit. the air around him became thick and difficult to breath. Noel reached out for his hand and pulled him close where mike felt himself start to water up. Before he had a chance to lose himself, noel started to speak. ‘I know that it’s a lot but the pure thought of losing you made me wake up. I promise to be a better boyfriend. I treated you like trash but that ends now. mikey, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.  I know we are young and stupid, but there isn’t another person I want to be with. I never want to lose you without making you realized how special you are to me, so.. michelangelo oswald montgomery, will you marry me?’ noel said as he got on his knees and pulled out a small box which contained a ring. he felt as if he was going to faint. “I need some time to think about it.” without another word, mike ran upstairs where he slammed the door behind. meanwhile noel got a phone call from someone, and answered in a hushed voice. ‘it’s done, while I am upset that he didn’t say yes, I know he’ll say yes despite what people think I do love him. I’ll be damned if I lose him to that dick. He may have gotten the upper hand on me, that won’t happen again. thank you for the information once again, and don’t worry, you’ll be paid handsomely. I should get going though. I have a wedding to start planning for.’

[prometheanpiero]

The portal was down with The Pyramid. They said everyone who had been in the Otherworld encampment was dead and gone. Epimetheus had been there, so had Nettelia. The two most important people in his life had remained there and everyone told him that they were likely wiped away by the Necronomicon's force. But the druids had spoken about Nettelia's immunity to blood magic and the book that she'd created. She had to be alive. Epimetheus- Prometheus could hardly allow himself to think that it was true, that his twin brother was gone. But deep inside, he knew it, he felt it had to be true because even Nettelia would not have been able to save him. It was all the forethought and logic that Prometheus was capable of having as the avariel felt within something snap. The next few hours were a blur.

In a matter of seconds he was at what had once been the Domus Aurea but the building had been leveled and was reduced to nothing but rubble, the portal there gone too. Monsters descended on him and Prometheus' mind went blank of anything but Nettelia and Epimetheus, grief and rage unlike anything that he had ever known in his life. The seraph blade went through everything living indiscriminately, no strategy or sense in the killing and they just kept returning. He didn't care. For a moment, he needed this. Cries of rage and frustration became breathless gasps as the avariel expelled every bit of his energy into the decimation of these creatures until the exhaustion gave him some insight back into sense.

Prometheus collapsed by the rubble, leaning against the seraph blade as tears collected in his eyes but he didn't notice the tears nor the blood that coated nearly every inch of him. He felt nothing but the hammering of his heart and the burn in his lungs. How long had he been attacking like this? Prometheus stood up in slightly shaky legs, flinging the seraph blade down to the ground to let it disappear. There had to be someway back, someway to find Nettelia. Epimetheus had died without forgiving him. But his brother's lack of forgiveness would have been worse if he didn't try what he could to get Nettelia back at the very least. That was fine - Prometheus would never forgive himself either. He tried to gather back his senses as another creature came forward. It roared out and Prometheus only looked up at it as it spat and extended its tentacles and claws, the avariel's long hair being blown back with the force of the monster's roar. "Can we please take five?," he muttered up at it. If it came too close, the avariel would simply reappear behind it.

who?: open to all where?: the burning streets

✧₤✧

Monster was good, so good for his mothers. They would surely praise him. Not once did Monster flinch against the pathetic onslaught, tearing the insufferable it to pieces. Munch munch, gobble gobble, gulp!—-not because Monster was hungry, but because they may look favorably upon him. No injury would faze him, and if he were to get crunched instead so be it. Monster had killed many and he would kill more before he met his demise. Onto the next! The matrons didn't need Monster to rest, so before the skull matter was fully down his gullet he blindly charged to cull the battlefield further.