#the cicadas kept dying outside.

[cassieopeauh]

Stake to the Heart

Pairings: Mary (Sinners) x Fem!Reader (Established relationship)

Summary: Mary goes off to seduce and kill a drunk guy to feed herself and Y/n. Y/n waits in the woods for Mary to come back with dinner .A vampire hunter sees Mary and Y/n and goes after Y/n to kill her. Mary kills the hunter but Y/n is badly injured. Will she survive??? (Jk she lives I’m not cruel enough to kill off Mary’s forever gf)

Word Count: 2k-ish

Warnings⚠️: Lots of gore yall. Blood. So much blood. Gunshot wound. Silver bullet burning away constantly self-healing flesh. Strangling. Stabbing/Staking. Throat ripping. Eye gouging. Description of a dying/dead body. Reopening newly healed wound and cutting away flesh in order to remove a bullet. Punching. Kicking. I think that’s it. Maybe just a smidge of suggestive content I don’t remember.

A/N: idk if all of what I wrote conforms to the sinners vampire lore/vampire rules. For the sake of the plot let’s ignore any minor plot holes plz 🙏. Also reader’s appearance is unspecified but is written as a woman.

The humid Mississippi air hung thick beneath the Spanish moss that dangled from the branches of the oak and sweetgum’s that lined the empty dirt road. Two figures cloaked in shadows strolled along at a leisurely pace with their hands intertwined.

“You smell them magnolias darlin’?” Mary asked her current company.

You tilted your head up and towards Mary and her pale pink clad frame. The white buttons adorning the front of her dress reflected the soft moonlight peaking through the clouds.

“Yes, what about it?” You asked keeping your eyes on hers and waited for an explanation while you both kept your pace towards your destination.

“Means we’re gettin’ close is all. Front of the buildin’ is lined with em.” You nodded with a hum in response as you took in a deep breath to savor the sweet smell of magnolia blossoms.

The two of you were on your way to a bar on the outskirts of the town you were in. Those who got blackout drunk and tried to stagger their way back made easy victims of themselves for bloodthirsty creatures like yourselves.

“Now when we get there, I don’t want you goin’ after the first drunk fool you see. You leave everything to me and I’ll make sure you get to feed.” She spoke in a low voice with a slight smirk while looking at you.

It wasn’t that you were incapable of catching your own prey, even though you were only a vampire of 5 years you were still capable of taking care of your vampiric needs. Mary simply had a tendency to provide feeding opportunities for you herself. Using this as a way to keep you away from the handsy men in situations that required seducing prey and luring them into the shadows and ripping out their throats.

You smiled a bit knowing that there was no arguing with her over this, yet finding comfort in her protectiveness.

“Alright Mary, I’ll be waitin’ on you behind the buildin’ in the woods. Don’t you be late now” You untangled your hands to wrap your arm around hers and lean into her side as the cicadas droned on in the trees.

“I would never keep you waitin’ darlin’.” She said with a smile as she gave top of your head a quick peck.

With the summer wind in the grass and the lightning bugs in the trees the two of you carried on towards your soon to be hunting grounds.

————————————————————————

“Heyyy there prettyyy girl!” A drunken man outside of the tavern called out to the two of you in a slurred manner.

Mary shot a sly smile at you before turning around and sauntering over to towards the man.

You gave her a nod and then turned to walk behind the building and into the woods where you would be waiting for her.

“What you two fine ladies doin’ walkin’ around— heyyyy? Where’s your friend off to?? I’ve got enough to go around—“ His terrible flirtations were cut off abruptly.

“Oh don’t you worry. See, I just wanted to talk you alone. I don’t really like sharin’.” The man was too wasted to notice the way her eyes flashed silver as she came close and rested her hand on his chest.

This would be all too easy.

Mary had been all too focused on charming the man into taking him somewhere more private to notice the cowboy hat wearing bouncer that had been watching the two of you from his post. With a look of distain, he walked off in the direction you had gone just minutes before. A holster on his belt and a wooden stake inside his jacket.

————————————————————————

Dry pine needles mixed with oak leaves crunched under your feet as you walked into the woods line. Far enough into the shadows that anyone from the road couldn’t see you, but you could see them.

You found a nice dry spot to lay down and take in the night as you waited for Mary. A whippoorwhil call echoed into the darkness around you. Crickets and cicadas created that familiar nighttime southern orchestra of insect noises.

You closed your eyes and listened to the spring peepers sing out to the world from their homes in the nearby marsh.

You were so enraptured with the sounds of the night that your enhanced hearing didn’t pick up on the quiet calculated footsteps behind you.

One loud crunch had you whipping your head around to the sight of the barrel of a gun being pointed at your head. The gun was held by a man dressed in a leather jacket with a cowboy hat atop his head. His eyes showed pure distain.

Your reaction time was too slow to move completely out of the guns range.

BANG.

The hiss from the tip of the pistol mixed with the sounds sizzling flesh, coming from where the silver bullet was lodged into your right lung

You let out screams of agony as your writhed in pain on the ground while clutching and clawing at your chest. Trying and failing to pull the metal out of your wound.

“You filthy bloodsucker” his spat out in a gruff voice as he pounced on you to hold you down, while pulling a wooden stake from inside his jacket and attempting to stab you through the heart.

Through your tears of pain you realized what he was going to do and fought back. Grasping the stake and pushing back as he tried to push his weight to drive it into your chest. From your position underneath him you knee’d him in the stomach and knocked the stake out of his hands in his moment of pain.

Slashing at his face and attempting to bite his exposed flesh caused him to shove a rag in your mouth. You tried to break free and get up, but he punched you back down. He wrapped his calloused hands around your throat and pushed his thumbs into your trachea, his breathing ragged.

“Your fuckin’ kind killed my girl” He spat in your face. Your lack of oxygen from your airway being cut off along with the fact that one of your lungs currently had silver burning away the flesh as it tried to mend itself left you helpless as your vision started to cloud at the edges.

The man reached back for his wooden stake and tried once more to drive it into your heart, but your arms shot up once again and tried to keep the stake from piercing your skin. You cried out as the man’s strength overpowered you in your weakened state and the stake pushed slowly into your chest.

Blood seeped around the splintering oak and stained your dress.

Just as the man was about to shove the stake the rest of the way past your rib cage and into your undead heart, a guttural growl of rage erupted from the darkness.

It was Mary.

Not even a second later the man was torn off of you and pinned to the ground just as he had done to you. Teeth ripping at his throat and sharp nails gouging out his eyes while holding his head down.

The man let out screams of pure agony as his body shook and then stilled as he took his last gurgling breath with blood spurting from his torn arteries.

You laid where you were, vision slowly coming back into focus. Crying and tensing from the excruciating pain you were experiencing. Your sounds of pain from behind the rag called Mary to your side and away from the man’s corpse.

“No… no no no. Darlin’ you have to stay with me. I… I just gotta-“ With shaky hands, Mary pulled the stake from the shallow wound in your chest, running a hand through your hair as you yelped in pain.

She quickly tore off a strip of her dress and stuffed the cloth into the wound, attempting at packing to stop the bleeding while your vampiric flesh ever so slowly knit itself back together.

Seeing the filthy rag lodged in your mouth she pulled it out and allowing you to better breath and speak once more.

“M-Mary.. g-AH.. ughnn.. the silver… there’s goddamn… ghhh..s-silver in my lung-“ Each pause in your words was punctuated by another whimper of pain.

“Alright- okay- just.. just let me get it out now… ju-just stay still baby.” She spoke as her hands drifted below the stake wound and tore away your clothing to get a look at the pink flesh from the freshly healed entry wound.

With shaky breaths and teary eyes she looked up to meet your eyes as she realized what she would have to do.

You nodded to her and threw your head back with your eyes screwed shut in anticipation.

(Major gore warning ahead)

Mary extended her claws out on her dominant hand. With her pointer finger acting as a scalpel, she cut into the soft flesh in a circle and tear it away.

Screams ripped through you, hurting your burning lungs even further. Your body moved against your will. Instinct to survive trying to move yourself away from the ungodly torture.

“No… baby… I’m so sorry baby… you gotta stay still.” Her unoccupied hand pinning you by the hip to stop your writhing. Mary let out a small sob as she continued to dig her way towards your lung.

Blood. Your blood. It coated her hands. Mary had never hated doing something more than in that moment.

Finally, she felt something small and hard within your flesh. Just as she clasped it inbetween her fingers, she too felt the burning sensation caused by the silver.

Mary cringed in pain, but didn’t dare let go as she pulled the metal from your body and quickly tossed it in the direction of the man’s corpse.

Your screams had stopped but you continued to cry. Mary tore off yet another strip from her ruined dress and packed it into the wound she created.

“I… I was waitin’ for you and… and he got the jump on me… Mary I was so scared.” Your voice quiet. The last part nearly inaudible.

“Shhh.. shhhh… it’s okay… I should’ve never let you go off by your self I should’ve never… he could’ve…” Her voice trailed off.

She bent down to gently embrace you. Tucking her face into the crook of your neck and running the hand she had just used to cut you open over your hair.

“I ain’t never gonna let somethin’ like this happen to you again.” Her voice was steady this time and deadly serious. Her grip on you tightened just a bit.

You brought your hands up around her shoulder and neck and shut your eyes. Heart occasionally skipping a beat as the aftershock of what had happened set it.

“I love you Mary.” It was the only thing you could think to say in the moment.

Her grip relaxed as she pulled back to look at you, her eyes glinting a slightly reddish silver. With closed eyes, she leant forwards and let her forehead rest against yours, noses brushing against each other.

“I love you too darlin’.” She connected your lips in a slow and loving kiss.

She was never going to let anyone hurt her girl again. No matter the cost.

A/N: I might make a part two to this if I can find the time between my summer classes and life 😔

[mysticaletherealliving]

I could not stop wasting time. It was crazy. I wanted to do something with my life, but instead I went to sleep, or sung in the shower, or sat and stared at the wall. I couldn't even tell you about anything that I saw. I didn't talk to anybody. The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence.

- Yiwei Chai

[make1wish]

Gojo fanfic: A Pleasurable Way to Surrender

TW: 🔞NSFW, Enemies to lovers, non-con, arranged marriage, Gojo Satoru-is-the-head-of-Gojo’s family, eventual smut

Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

Setting: I’m an assassin, driven by the burning need for revenge after Gojo Satoru killed my father. Beneath the mask of a noble lady, I hide my deadly intent, each move carefully measured to fulfill my mission. In this setting, Gojo Satoru never attended the Jujutsu High and instead succeeded as the head of the Gojo family upon reaching adulthood, which led to his more erratic and domineering personality.

The late summer sun cast long shadows through the paper screens of the Gojo estate's parlor, where the air hung heavy with incense and unspoken intentions. The traditional tea ceremony setting - a masterpiece of calculated design - stretched before me like a stage for the deadly performance I had rehearsed countless times in my mind.

I knelt on the tatami mat, my borrowed kimono arranged in perfect folds, each movement precise and measured as I prepared the ceremonial tea. The delicate porcelain whispered against the lacquered tray, a sound nearly lost beneath the distant chirping of cicadas. The green powder dissolved into the hot water as I whisked it with practiced grace, creating a perfect foam that would have fooled any noble lady's discerning eye.

Through lowered lashes, I monitored the corridor outside. Gojo Satoru's presence approached like a gathering storm - powerful, inevitable, and impossible to ignore. His initial disinterest in these arranged meetings was legendary among the noble families, yet I counted on that very arrogance. The trap was baited with seeming innocence and propriety.

He paused at the doorway, and I felt the weight of his gaze through those remarkable eyes. The Six Eyes that had seen through my father's defenses now turned their penetrating focus on me. My heart thundered in my chest, but my hands remained steady as I continued the ceremony, each gesture a carefully choreographed dance of deception.

"How unusual," his voice carried the lazy amusement of a cat discovering an interesting mouse. "I wasn't planning to attend another tedious matchmaking session, but something caught my attention."

I bowed demurely, exactly as a noble lady should, while beneath my sleeve, my fingers itched to form the seals that would unleash my true purpose. "Gojo-sama honors me with his presence."

He entered the room with fluid grace, his white hair catching the dying sunlight. His traditional clothing, worn with casual elegance, did nothing to disguise the predatory power in his movements. As he settled across from me, his smile held all the warmth of a winter moon.

"Tell me," he drawled, accepting the tea bowl with deliberate slowness, "what brings such interesting jutsu fluctuations to my humble home?"

My carefully constructed mask nearly cracked. His words carried the playful tone of someone already aware of the game being played, yet choosing to toy with their prey. I kept my eyes downcast, focusing on the ritual before me, but I could feel his gaze peeling away layers of my disguise with cruel precision.

"I believe it is customary to share tea before sharing secrets, Gojo-sama," I responded, proud of how steady my voice remained despite the killing intent I struggled to contain.

His laugh shocked me with its genuine delight. "How delightfully proper! And here I thought this afternoon would be boring." He leaned forward, close enough that I could smell the winter-fresh scent of his breath. "Let's play this game of yours. I'm curious to see how it ends."

The tea ceremony continued, a delicate dance of ceremony and subterfuge. Each movement became a dual performance - the refined noble lady I pretended to be, and the assassin I truly was, both painfully aware that Gojo Satoru saw through every pretense and was merely waiting to spring his own trap.

"Let's play this game of yours," his words lingered in the air as he guided me from the tea room to the estate's private dining chamber. The setting sun painted the wooden corridors in shades of blood and gold, a fitting backdrop for our deadly dance of deception.

The dining room proved more intimate than I expected, with low lighting from paper lanterns casting mysterious shadows across Gojo's features. He gestured for me to sit across from him at the low table, close enough that I could study the dangerous grace in every movement, yet far enough to maintain the pretense of propriety.

"You handle the tea ceremony beautifully," Gojo remarked, his blue eyes gleaming with hidden amusement. "I wonder what other talents you're hiding beneath that perfect noble lady facade."

I arranged my kimono with deliberate care, using the movement to conceal the slight tremor in my hands. "You honor me with your praise, Gojo-sama. Though I fear my talents pale in comparison to your... reputation."

"My reputation?" His laugh carried a sharp edge. "Which one? I have so many these days." He leaned forward, pouring tea with casual elegance. "Perhaps you've heard how I deal with those who seek to harm me?"

The tea cup nearly slipped from my fingers, but I caught it with practiced grace. "I've heard you are uncommonly merciful to your enemies."

"Merciful?" His smile turned predatory. "Now that's a new one." He raised his cup in a mock toast. "To mercy, then. And to games played in the dark."

As servants brought course after course, our conversation wove between veiled threats and subtle flirtation. Each word carried double meanings, each gesture concealed potential violence. I watched him pretend to lower his guard, leaving deliberate openings that screamed 'trap' to my trained eyes.

"You seem tense," he observed, reaching across the table to adjust my tea cup. His fingers brushed mine, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Are you finding our little dinner party not to your taste?"

"On the contrary," I met his gaze steadily, even as my heart raced. "I find everything about this evening... intoxicating."

"How fortunate," Gojo's voice dropped to a dangerous purr. "Because I've arranged for a private tour of the estate afterward. There are so many... intimate spaces I'd love to show you."

The air between us crackled with unspoken intentions. His every movement telegraphed absolute confidence, a predator so assured of his superiority that he could afford to play with his prey. Yet beneath my mask of demure compliance, I felt the familiar cold focus of an assassin's patience.

"You're not like the others," he mused, studying me over the rim of his cup. "They come here seeking power through marriage, transparent in their ambitions. But you... you want something far more personal, don't you?"

I lowered my eyes, using submission to hide the flash of hatred his perception triggered. "Perhaps I simply want to know the real Gojo Satoru."

"Dangerous wish," he chuckled, rising with fluid grace. "But I'm feeling generous tonight. Shall we begin that tour? I promise to show you everything you're dying to see."

The moonlight filtered through the shoji screens as Gojo led me deeper into his private quarters. Each step felt heavier than the last, time itself seeming to slow as we approached his inner chambers. His hand rested lightly on the small of my back, a gesture that could have been courtly but carried an undercurrent of possession.

"Interesting," he murmured, sliding the door closed behind us. "Your jutsu fluctuations are getting stronger. Anticipation, perhaps? Or something more... lethal?"

I maintained my composure, though my heart raced beneath the elaborate layers of my kimono. "You seem very concerned with my jutsu, Gojo-sama."

"How could I not be?" He circled behind me, his breath warm against my neck. "It's like watching a butterfly try to disguise itself as a wasp. Beautiful, but ultimately futile."

My fingers twitched toward the concealed weapon in my sleeve, but before I could move, the air around me grew thick as honey. My movements slowed to a crawl as his Limitless technique took effect.

"Now, now," Gojo chided, catching my wrist with deliberate gentleness. "Let's not ruin the mood with violence." His other hand traced the line of my jaw, turning my face toward his. "Unless that's what excites you?"

I tried to pull away, but found myself pressed against the wall, his body caging mine with effortless strength. "You knew all along," I accused, abandoning pretense.

"Of course I knew," he laughed softly, his lips brushing my ear. "Your hatred burns so beautifully. It's what drew me to you in the first place."

His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat. I gasped, caught between resistance and an unexpected surge of heat. His mouth traced a burning path down my neck, each kiss a mockery of my murderous intentions.

"Stop playing games," I hissed, even as my body betrayed me by arching into his touch.

"But I'm enjoying this game," Gojo murmured against my skin. His hands slid down my sides, mapping the contours of my body through the silk. "Aren't you? Your body seems to be."

My attempts to form jutsu seals were met with increasingly intimate responses, his touches growing bolder with each thwarted attack. The line between combat and caress blurred dangerously as his hands found the edges of my kimono.

"Such dedication," he praised, slowly unwrapping me like a precious gift.

"Let's see how long you can maintain that killing intent while I make you forget everything but pleasure," Gojo whispered, his words igniting an unwanted heat beneath my skin. I struggled against his hold, but his Limitless technique turned each movement into a languid dance.

"I'll never forget what you did," I hissed, even as his lips traced a burning path down my throat. My resistance only seemed to amuse him further, his touches growing bolder with each attempted escape.

"Such passion," he murmured. "But you're fighting the wrong battle." His hands slid beneath the loosened layers of my kimono, mapping the curves of my body with deliberate precision. "Let me show you a more pleasurable way to surrender."

(The eventual smut could be explored on Wattpad! I promise it won’t let you down ;P love y’all!)

[nullfier]

  ▍ CASE FILE . . . KURODA, NOZOMI ⤻ @avichor .

the cicadas sang deep into the sticky summer heat, grass beneath them cool and the bottle of whiskey they had managed to swipe passed between them as the tiny port - town descended into an eery quiet. since their arrival, such quiet had only served to suffocate them, that much dazai knew. the people too kind, too close and inquisitive. days spent at nozomi's side went either of two ways: an endless disaster of noise that of which only his performance of normality kept him upright with legs moving forward, an aid to ignore the shadow that lingered at his side and followed wherever he went — or this, an empty quiet pushing between them that not even the gentle sounds of their breathing could fill, words left unsaid between them that they dared not speak into existence, lies or truths that they couldn't afford to let the other hear.

even in spending the morning in a tangle of limbs, her hair in his mouth and his face pressed against the warm skin of her bare shoulder, neither of them had found what they were searching for to face the dawn of the new day. and so they had met it as ghosts, walking alongside each other under the sweltering heat of the sun as though only distantly real beyond the touch of their skin.

“ osappi. ” delicate tone of her voice breaking the silence between them, making them real again. amber gaze holding the horizon, dazai had let his eyes slide to her in dulled recognition and acknowledgment that she had spoken. “ can i hit you ? ” words followed by the immediate crease of his brow, blinking slowly before he looked back to the disappearing sun.

his reply came easily. “ you think it'll make you feel better. ” her silence had hung heavier that day, her breaths shallower and filled with an emotion he couldn't decipher, her steps sluggish despite their already lazy pace. whatever stirred within her, dazai could understand the need to justify it through pain, real and tangible with something to show for it. evidence of life. the thought took him back without warning, final words spoken on a dying breath stained with blood, you thought you would find a reason to live within violence and bloodshed, but nothing will ever fill that lonely hole within you. dazai could recite the words to her, the same mantra he told himself before sleep chose to claim him in the twilight hours, but it wouldn't serve the same purpose. “ it won't, one of us will just end up bleeding. ” the lift of his shoulder, but her question remained an echo to nag at his mind. some part of him found it pathetic, that something in her mirrored a part of him he had yet to acknowledge, that same recognisable need for raw, unchecked emotion that would go unpunished within themselves so long as it confirmed that they could feel, no matter the lengths they went to achieve the realisation.

though whatever hurt nozomi felt, whatever it was she needed to make it real, she had asked him for it, had the decency to do so where dazai had only ever known how to take. so then with the defeated click of his tongue dazai made to stand, pushing up from the grass and dusting his hands against his thighs. “ up. up. ” the jerky offer of his hand, for a moment his limbs stiffened before he decided she had taken too long to take it, instead leaning down to grasp her wrists and haul her to her feet before him, steadying her when they were face - to - face. making changes, helping people. “ zomi gets one shot at this ... ” a sigh falling from his breath, dropping one of her wrists but bringing her hand between them, manoeuvring her fingers into a well - formed fist, thumb on the outside to avoid breakage. a pat to it before he stepped back, shaking out the tension in his limbs. “ so she better make it count. ” then offering her the unblemished side of his face, the other bruised from the previous week's scuffle, arms falling to his side and body rid of its defences for his own unavoidable pain and her probable disappointment that her feelings remained unchanged — both things he would bare just this once. to do something for someone else, because they had asked. “ go for it. in the next five seconds, if you please. make it good. ”

[gravvedolly]

I could not stop wasting time. It was crazy.I wanted to do something with my life, but instead I went to sleep, or sung in the shower, or sat and stared at the wall. I couldn't even tell you about anything that I saw. I didn't talk to anybody. The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence.

[withbriefthanksgiving]

Text ID:

I could not stop wasting time. It was crazy. I wanted to do something with my life, but instead I went to sleep, or sung in the shower, or sat and stared at the wall. I couldn't even tell you about anything that I saw. I didn't talk to anybody. The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence.

/end ID.

—Yiwei Chai, The Jacaranda Years

[cyramountain]

I could not stop wasting time. It was crazy. I wanted to do something with my life, but instead I went to sleep, or sung in the shower, or sat and stared at the wall. I couldn't even tell you about anything that I saw. I didn't talk to anybody. The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence.

Yiwei Chai.

[wannafeelnew]

“I could not stop wasting time. It was crazy. I wanted to do something with my life, but instead I went to sleep, or sung in the shower, or sat and stared at the wall. I couldn’t even tell you about anything that I saw. I didn’t talk to anybody. The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence.”

— Yiwei Chai, The Jacaranda Years .

[verssai]

The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence

[rareghanaian]

I could not stop wasting time. It was crazy. I wanted to do something with my life, but instead I went to sleep, or sung in the shower, or sat and stared at the wall. I couldn't even tell you about anything that I saw. I didn't talk to anybody. The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence."

[tazbidfarhad]

I could not stop wasting time

It was crazy. I wanted to do something with my life, but instead I went to sleep, or sung in the shower, or sat and stared at the wall. I couldn't even tell you about anything that I saw. I didn't talk to anybody.

The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence.

~The Jacaranda Years/Yiwei Chai

[thatgracelessheart]

The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence.

- the jacarda years by yiwei chai

[floridakilo]

“I could not stop wasting time. It was crazy. I wanted to do something with my life, but instead I went to sleep, or sung in the shower, or sat and stared at the wall. I couldn’t even tell you about anything that I saw. I didn’t talk to anybody. The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence.” (Yiwei Chai)

its so crazay how being in a transitional period will have you obsessively reevaluating every decision in yr life to the point of actual insanity…hello

[sofiaricoo]

"I could not stop wasting time. It was crazy. I wanted to do something with my life, but instead I went to sleep, or sung in the shower, or sat and stared at the wall. I couldn't even tell you about anything that I saw. I didn't talk to anybody. The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence."

[arotechno]

O. basilicum, part vii

By the summer that Basil turned eighteen, the state of affairs in Verdigris had begun to change.

Long before then, Jim’s mother had passed away unexpectedly, and he had followed his older sister out of town. His parting gift to Basil had been a new cane, as his old one was much too short to be of use to him now.

“Don’t worry about me,” Jim had assured him. “I don’t know where I’m headed, but wherever it is, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Basil had been skeptical, but he hadn’t voiced his concerns. It was a dangerous world out there, but who knew? Maybe Hank was right. Maybe there was a better world out there. If Basil had resigned himself to never leaving, perhaps Jim could see enough of it for the both of them.

In the weeks and months that followed, Basil took up fishing alone. Throughout the warmer months, whenever he wasn’t running errands for Frida or working in the community garden with Dusty, he could often be found down in the creek, wading up to his knees. Other times, he took long walks in the woods with his cane, staying out as long as he dared before Frida would start to worry.

She worried less, these days. That was one of the more surprising changes. Perhaps Basil was just growing up, or perhaps it was something else. Either way, Frida spent less time fretting over him and more time lauding him for how far he’d come since arriving at her doorstep, battered and broken. She did still worry for him, of course. Such was the natural way of things: the sun rose every morning, Basil did not have a heart, and Frida worried.

After all, for how much things may have changed in Verdigris, others would always remain the same. Basil liked that just fine.

All of that to say: by his eighteenth birthday, Basil had become so firmly rooted in Verdigris that the thought of calling anywhere else home felt incredibly foreign. Where he had once been a stranger wearing someone else’s clothes, now Basil walked the dirt roads of the village like he’d been born there, his unsteady gait the only visible indicator of his former life. Two more years and he’d have spent half his life in Verdigris. Already, Swallow’s Point felt like a distant dream.

Basil had long ago given up any intention of ever returning to Amistadia. It wasn’t home to him any longer; being driven out of it had severed those ties completely. Even if he wanted to return, even if he thought it was safe to do so, he doubted he could manage it. And what would be the point in returning? Nothing awaited him there. Why leave Verdigris, the only place he’d ever truly been accepted as he was? Here, they were left alone. Basil had no doubt that passing travelers knew they were out here—but whether those strangers recognized them as Heartless, he couldn’t say, and did it matter? So long as they kept to themselves out here, no one thought of them as a threat. Sure, there were some who understood—Jim’s mother had been one of those precious few—but most never would, so it was best not to bother.

Even so, Verdigris was a small place. And Basil knew, from Hank’s many stories, that the world was much bigger than this. But he was no king, no god, no hero—after everything, a quiet life suited him just fine.

Basil hefted his pack over his shoulder as he walked home from the creek, barefoot in the tall grass. In it he kept his shoes and his canteen, and his cane hung from a leather loop attached to the outside, should he need it. Fireflies rose up from the grass around him, blinking softly as if keeping time with his own steady breathing. Crickets chirped and cicadas hummed their mournful evening song, like a choir all led by the gentle summer breeze blowing through the hillside. Basil walked slowly, taking it all in, though he didn’t have time to stop and rest a while. He was already late for supper; the sun was starting to set earlier than he had gotten accustomed to anticipating.

As he crested the hill, Basil squinted through the evening’s dying light. Dusty stood at Garth’s front gate, gesturing wildly. Raising a hand to keep his sunhat from blowing away with the breeze, Basil hurried up the road to meet them. His bucket slapped against his thigh as he went along.

“...and that’s what I don’t understand!” Dusty was saying animatedly when he arrived.

“What’s this?” Basil asked, expertly dodging Dusty’s waving arm.

“Ah!” Dusty said, pointing. “You! Tell the old man here to stop being so damn difficult.”

“Oi, don’t involve the poor lad in this,” Garth cut in, voice gruff. He was hunched behind the fence, leaning on an old, sanded down tree branch he used as a walking stick.

“Don’t involve me in what, exactly?” Basil asked again, setting down his bucket with a sigh. It looked like he wasn’t going to be home for supper after all.

“Old man Garth here won’t accept anything from the town garden,” Dusty explained, crossing their arms over their chest. “Not a single bite.”

“I grow my own food,” Garth said firmly. “Save what the town grows for others who need it.”

Dusty gestured at Garth’s garden, incredulous. About a week prior, animals had gotten into Garth’s yard and eaten most of his late summer harvest. Something had also eaten one of his chickens.

“I have enough,” Garth insisted. “I preserve most of what I grow. Save your charity for those who need it.”

“Save my— I don’t understand what you think the point of a community garden is if not to feed the community!”

“Stop,” Basil said. Dusty actually quieted. Despite being one of the younger folks in town, Basil seemed to have that kind of sway over people. Even Dusty, from time to time.

Basil glanced down at his bucket of fish. Only a few measly brook trout sat at the bottom, still with their scales (he was too squeamish with a knife to skin them himself). He’d been hoping to take these home to Frida; it was a poor afternoon’s catch, but it was something. Basil frowned. Then, he picked up the bucket and held it over the fence toward Garth.

“Here,” he said. “At least take this. Just in case.”

Garth peered in the bucket, wary. He raised his bushy gray eyebrows.

“I don’t need charity from you either, lad.”

“Don’t think of it as charity.” Basil shook the bucket. The fish slapped around wetly inside. “Think of it as payment. I still owe you for this.” With his other hand, he reached behind and pulled out his cane, tapping it against the dirt.

Garth’s expression softened. “It was just scraps, Basil. Jim did all the work both times.”

“Jim’s not here, so I can’t repay him. Besides, you taught him everything he knows. Please?”

Garth was quiet for a moment, scratching his short beard in thought. Then, finally, he sighed and took the bucket.

“Thank you, lad,” he said softly.

Basil smiled wide and turned to walk off. If he stayed any later, Frida would certainly have his hide. Dusty stared after him, feigning suspicion.

“I still expect your help in the garden tomorrow,” they called after him.

Without looking back, Basil lifted a hand and waved. He understood the code for what it was: he would almost certainly be interrogated tomorrow. Dusty liked to challenge and taunt him, whether that meant a mandatory heart-to-heart or getting his hands dirty. Often, it was both. Whereas it had once embarrassed him, now Basil found himself looking forward to it. Not that he’d ever admit it.

That was the greatest change since Basil’s arrival in Verdigris, although it was mostly an internal one. In a way, the people of Verdigris had become family to him more than even his own parents had been. Thinking that way made Basil feel guilty, but he hadn’t seen his parents in eight years, and doubted if they were even still alive. Maybe they had loved him unconditionally—they certainly risked a lot for him. But Basil wasn’t too concerned with love, not anymore.

The people of Verdigris had taken Basil in exactly as he was. They’d sheltered, fed, and clothed him. They—Frida, Hank, and Ann especially—had raised him, and saved his life. Basil wasn’t very strong, nor was he particularly skilled; but he would be there for them in return, in the only ways he knew how. But it wasn’t out of a sense of indebtedness—that wasn’t the kind of debt that could be repaid, anyway. It was simply what felt right.

Frida was waiting on the front porch with a lantern when Basil finally arrived. He committed the image to memory, deep within the well of his chest, of her standing with a light in the dark, waiting however late into the night for his safe return.

She looked at him disapprovingly.

“Sorry,” was all he said.

“You’re never going to listen to a word I tell you, are you, Basil?” Frida asked fondly. She glanced down and tilted her head, as if noticing he had arrived empty handed. “No catch today?”

“I gave it to Garth.”

Frida hummed, urging him into the house, not caring for the dirt on his feet.

“You make it difficult to be upset with you.”

Basil beamed ear-to-ear, which only seemed to weaken Frida’s resolve further.

“Come now,” she said. “Supper is getting cold.”

[jessyreadss]

"I could not stop wasting time. It was crazy. I wanted to do something with my life, but instead I went to sleep, or sung in the shower, or sat and stared at the wall. I couldn't even tell you about anything that I saw. I didn't talk to anybody. The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence."

- Yiwei Chai, The Jacaranda Years (via crowsummer)